The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or live in an area where that sort of thing isn't allowed, don't read it.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Thanks as always to Tom W., my patient, hardworking editor, friend, and occasional co-author. Patrick, cariad, thanks for these and many unacknowledged "what ifs." Evan, one scene in particular here bears the stamp of the Lion on it; thanks for the great suggestions. Thanks to Ash and Mickey for their constant encouragement and support.
Timmead88@yahoo.com Chapter 23: Doldrums
"Man, that's fuckin' great!" Chaz whooped. "Now they'll catch the bastards!"
Steve had just said he knew who had attacked him.
"Don't count on it," Steve replied to Chaz.
"Steve," Tim said, "if you feel up to talking about it, we'd all like to hear what really happened."
"Sure, no problem. The guys who did this to me were those townies from the muny pool. At least one of them was. All three of them wore women's stockings over their faces, so I couldn't identify anybody that way. They all had on jeans, sneakers, and dark tee shirts."
"Then how can you be sure you know who they were?" Chaz asked.
"Well, when they jumped me, I tried to fight back. I kicked one of them in the balls pretty good, and he dropped to his knees and twisted around. As he did, his shirt pulled up, and I saw this tat I recognized."
"On his back?" Tim asked.
"Yeah. All three of those guys at the pool wear speedos. One of them has a tat of a snake that looks like it's sticking up out of his ass crack. It's a cobra, with its tongue flicking out. I don't suppose many guys have tats like that."
"Probably not, but funny, though," Trey said.
"Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, the guy whose balls I busted had that tat. The other two guys were about the same size and general build of the guys at the pool, so I'm sure it was them."
"Hot damn!" Chaz said. "Now the cops'll get `em for sure!"
"Well, I told the cops all about them. That Sergeant Ibrahim was in this morning. He says he'll find out from Chance Alford, the lifeguard at the pool, who those townies are and go talk with them. But I don't expect he'll ever be able to pin it on them."
"Why not if you saw the tattoo?" Chaz asked.
"Chaz, think of it this way," Ced explained. "Those guys can all alibi each other. Then it's just Steve's word against theirs. I doubt any D.A. would bring a case with that kind of evidence."
"Yeah," Steve said. "That's about what the sergeant said."
"Well, shit!" Chaz exclaimed. "That sucks."
The others generally agreed that it sucked.
"If the cops don't catch those guys," Chaz said, looking very determined, "maybe we can take matters into our own hands."
"Careful, Chaz," Tim said. "We don't want any vigilante justice here. Better simply let the police do their job."
"Tim," Chaz replied, "I said IF the cops don't get those bastards, we might do something." Then he grinned. "And I've got an idea of just what we could do."
"What do you have in mind, big guy?" Trey asked.
"Never mind for now." He grinned. "But when or if the time comes, I've got a plan."
Soon after that Cedric and Tim said they needed to get home.
"Thanks, guys, both of you, for being here. And for telling me what you did a while ago about, well, you know."
Ced laughed. "Steve, get used to it. We're gay. And if you're gonna hang with us, you may as well get comfortable with the word."
Steve laughed and said, "OK, Ced. You guys have all been great. I don't know how to thank you."
They came over to the bed. Each took one of Steve's hands, since they knew it would hurt him too much to hug him.
Then they left.
Trey and Chaz stayed a little longer to talk about the arrangements for getting Steve back to their place the next day.
MAX:
That Monday evening I stopped by a restaurant not far from St. Peter's for dinner. I didn't feel much like cooking. I never feel much like cooking, to tell the truth.
Mark and Lori, who were in one of the booths, motioned me to come and sit with them.
"Are you sure I wouldn't be intruding?" I asked. The assured me they wanted me to join them.
We compared notes on what we had heard from the others about Steve's condition. Mark chuckled, and Lori asked him what was funny.
"I don't know whether it has occurred to Steve yet or not, but they've told him he's going to be too sore to lean over for a week or so until the ribs heal. He won't even be able to wash himself without help for a while. So who's going to help him?"
Lori and I thought about that for a moment. She smiled brilliantly. I smiled, too.
"Yeah," Mark said. "Trey and Chaz are two of my best friends, but I'd be pretty uncomfortable if they had to wash my butt and legs and feet for me. Imagine how Steve will feel having to depend on two gay guys to help him take a shower."
Lori said, "You know, Mark, Steve seems to be an intelligent guy. From what you've told me, he has no prejudice about homosexuality. I shall bet that he will be bloody cool with it."
Mark and I grinned at each other over Lori's last sentence.
"Listen, guys," Lori said, "I've been thinking about fixing Steve up with a nice girl. He must feel lonely, with all us happy gay and straight couples around." Then she looked at me and added, "Maybe we should fix you up, too, while we're at it?"
I shook my head vigorously no. Mark said he'd ask his friends if they knew someone for Steve, claiming that he had only eyes for Lori and didn't even notice other women any more. Nice move. Then he spoiled it all by laughing out loud, and Lori and I joined in.
Thinking we'd exhausted that topic, I raised a question I'd wanted to ask.
"Mark, Tim tells me your father has moved to Florida."
"Yeah, Lake Polk."
"Where is that?"
"It's in central Florida, the northern part of Imperial County, not too far from the Disney Complex."
"I take it your dad is an Episcopalian like you."
"Yeah, Pops is very committed. He never misses Sunday Eucharist if he can help it, and was on the vestry in Meadville."
"He's in for a bit of a shock, I suspect."
"Why is that?"
"Well, the Diocese of Western Pennsylvania is a sort of a middle-of-the-road diocese. The Diocese of Middle Florida is one of the most conservative in the country. You told me at Tim's the other night that your dad is gay. The bishop of that diocese is a notorious homophobe. He's threatened to retire if the Church ever adopts a ritual for blessing same-sex unions."
"Well," Mark said, "I can't imagine anybody flummoxing Pops for long. He did tell me the other day that he'd found a guy he really liked. At church, too. But he doesn't even know yet if the guy is gay, so I think he's a long way from worrying about the Church blessing his union with anybody."
"That's probably a good thing. But I wonder how his fellow parishioners there in Lake Polk would respond if they know he's gay. And didn't you tell me he's the city manager? In that case, how would the community react if he were to come out?"
Mark pondered that. Lori took his hand and looked intently at him.
"My Pops is a really smart guy. I'm sure he's thought about all that. But thanks, Max, for the tip. I'll mention all that the next time I talk with him."
When I got home after dinner with Lori and Mark, I changed out of my clericals, put on shorts and a tee, plunked a cd in the changer, and flopped down in the recliner in the living room. My house was a mirror image of Tim and Ced's, but it contrasted in that they had new furniture, and, except for a new couch, I had leftovers and some things from the Goodwill store. I've always found Bach soothing when I was troubled, so I put on the double keyboard concerto and kicked back.
What was bothering me? The attack on Steve came to mind first. He was obviously a decent guy, and with Tim and his crew to vouch for him, I knew he was no pedophile. That he was so severely hurt by some jerks who just assumed the worst about him depressed me profoundly.
As I sat there, however, I realized that there was something else bothering me. Ced had assured me that he and Tim had had a heart-to-heart and that things were fine between them. Apparently Tim had gone all out to remind Ced how much he loved him. If Ced hadn't believed that, why would he have invited me to have breakfast with them every morning after Tim and I had had our run together? That was pretty generous of Ced, and only a special guy would have done it.
I think I was still hung up on Tim. I had always loved him. We kept it platonic. It's easy to do that in a place like Kenyon, where decency, morals, and ideals are constantly being talked about. I knew I was gay and that I would have loved to get Tim into bed, but he never gave me any indication that he would have welcomed such an invitation. Turns out he was as scared as I was of ruining the friendship we had.
Admittedly, I had fantasized then, and I still fantasized about his body. I had seen that tight little butt of his ahead of me in so many meets. I had seen it in jeans and shorts and bare in gym showers. Tim and I were about the same size, though I have a few pounds on him now. His feet are smaller, his dick is smaller, and that rock-hard ass is smaller. And, not being a foot-fetishist, I'd at least love to get my mouth on his cute little dick and his fine ass.
But he was taken. That much was clear. Tim had matured a lot, though he was a pretty serious guy even when I knew him in school. And he was quite obviously in love with and committed to Ced. I had to honor that. You don't have to watch them five minutes to see what a thing they have between them. I love Tim, and I want him to be happy. If Cedric weren't in the picture, I'd make a big play for Tim, but . . . .
So where does that leave me? Lonely, as usual. I find my calling very fulfilling, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I longed for something like Tim and Ced had, a solid, committed relationship with a good man. And Tim would have been my choice if he had been available.
TIM:
One morning that week Cedric came to me, all apologetic, and asked if I'd mind if he spent the day with Mark. He said Lori and some friends were going clothes shopping, having lunch, and making girl talk, and that Mark had suggested they get together and get caught up.
"Of course not, babe. You and Mark are overdue for some time together. Go. Have fun. Give Mark my love."
He grinned, put a hand on each of my buns, and pulled me up in to one of those kisses. You know, one of THOSE kisses.
"I'll tell Mark you said hello. I'm keeping the love for myself."
I popped him on the shoulder. "There's love, and then there's LOVE, Ced. You know what I meant."
He grinned again and said, "Yeah, Timmy, I know."
Later that morning, I called Max.
"Yo, Tim. What's up?"
"How about if I go past Fein's, pick up some lunch, and bring it to your office?"
"Where's the ineffable Cedric today?"
"'Ineffable?' I don't know about that, but he's spending the day with Mark. I thought, if he can spend some time with an old friend, why can't I do the same? So, how's about lunch?"
"Well, I'm pretty much on duty here today, but even curates are allowed lunch. Come on over, Tim. I'll be glad to see you."
I spent the morning working on my manuscript, left the house at 11:30, stopped by Fein's for two of their marvelous reuben subs. Of course I got pickles. And two large iced teas. Max's eyes lit up when I got there.
After we had hugged, he said, "I've quickly come to appreciate Fein's as a local treasure. What did you bring?"
He took me to a table in the empty parish hall, where we spread out our little feast. As he took his first bite of the reuben, he moaned appreciatively.
"Oh, man, Tim, that's good!"
My mouth was too full to answer.
When we had finished the sandwiches and pickles and disposed of the paper trash, he said, "It's been really quiet today. Why don't we take our tea back into the parlor where we can talk awhile? I'll just let Cindy know where I am."
He showed me to the parlor, left to find the secretary, and was back in a couple of minutes. We sat facing each other in wingback chairs covered in burgundy velvet. Seemed very ecclesiastical to me, but then, what do I know about such things?
"Tim, you haven't mentioned your folks lately. How are they doing?"
"I just got an email from Mom this morning. They're both well. She said they were planning to spend the week before Labor Day in Asheville with my Aunt Sue and Uncle Bill. That's kind of a tradition with them. They'll be back Labor Day evening because Dad has to work the next day."
"So you're on your own for the holiday weekend?"
"Well, not exactly. I'll be with Ced. He says we'll have to spend one of the days of that weekend with his folks in Shaker. What about you, Max?"
"Well, I've been invited to that party at Trey and Chaz's on Saturday night. I have to be here for two services Sunday. But I've nothing happening on Monday."
"Not going to see your folks?"
"No, they'll be away, too."
"Well, plan to spend it with Ced and me. Even if we go to his folks', I'm sure you'd be welcome."
"I don't know about that, Tim. In view of Ced's recent -- discomfort -- I think I'd not be too welcome."
I smiled. "Yeah, you may be right. Let me sound him out. If he and I go to Shaker on Sunday, maybe we can get together on Labor Day. Ced's relaxed a lot since I straightened him out."
When he chuckled, I realized I'd done it again and laughed, too.
"Now, Tim. I have a question for you."
"And that would be . . . ?"
"Do your folks know about you and Ced?"
"They know when I moved to the new place I got a roommate. They don't know he's a student, much less that he's my lover."
"Are you planning to tell them?"
"Oh, I know I should. But I've dreaded doing that because it means coming out to them."
"And yet you talk about coming out on campus?"
"Yep."
"Sounds like you have a problem."
"You know it. Any advice?"
"Since you asked, yes. I see no reason why you should come out on campus."
I was surprised at that but didn't say anything.
"Tim, sexual orientation is a personal matter. It's really nobody's business but yours. Well, and Cedric's," he said, grinning at me. "If you come out on campus, you may be creating all sorts of problems for yourself and for Ced. Maybe for the rest of your `brotherhood' as well. Why stir all that up?"
"I suppose that's true. I hadn't thought of it that way. I just keep thinking that I'm being dishonest."
"Well, remember what I said. It's nobody's business. Besides, think what will happen to your parents if word gets around Belpre that you're gay and have a live-in lover."
"Believe me, Max, I have thought of that."
"On the other hand, the longer you wait to tell them about you and Ced, the more hurt they will be. Don't you think?"
"Max, you're right. My folks need to know, but the community of Belpre certainly doesn't. Obviously I need to get down there and let them know what's going on with me. And I don't think I'd better take Ced."
He grinned at me. "No, not the first time. Besides, I need him here to fix my breakfast."
I laughed out loud. "Max, you have always been my conscience, my friend. What would I do without you?"
"Timmy, we've always been able to be honest with each other, always kept each other on track. I hope we'll always be able to do that."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Max."
"Any other news from home?"
"Oh, nothing else except that Amy and her new boyfriend broke up." I had told Max soon after he arrived in town about my engagement to Amy and my subsequent breaking it off after Ced came into my life.
He offered a noncommittal "Really?"
"Uh huh, she's back in Belpre for the summer. She teaches in Indianapolis, you know. So, Mom heard it from mutual friends that Amy's taking it pretty hard."
"We can't know what happened between them, but it must be difficult for her having two relationships come to an end in a few months."
"Yeah, and except for a tendency to be jealous, Amy's a sweet girl." I took a swallow of my tea. "And the sex wasn't bad, either -- when I could get it."
"You horndawg!" he said.
Cindy came in and said there was a phone call Max needed to take, so I hugged him, said I'd be in touch, and thanked him for the advice.
He thanked me for the lunch, and I went home.
TREY:
After we promised Steve we'd be back the next day to take him to his apartment to pick up clothes and whatever else he needed and then on to our place, Chaz and I stopped for dinner at Damon's. He ordered ribs, and I asked for a steak.
As we were having our beer and waiting for our food, I decided to confront him about something that had been on my mind for weeks.
"Don't you think it's about time you let me read your summer journal?"
A worried look came across his face. "Damn, Tiger, I was hoping you wouldn't ask."
"Hey, Chaz, what the fuck could be so terrible? I already know about David. Do you confess to anything really gross or embarrassing in the diary?"
"Well, babe, it's pretty graphic. I'm just afraid when you read it, you'll get mad at me."
I sighed. "Look, hunk, you know all about Raul. You know we had all kinds of sex in all kinds of places. But I've explained to you that Raul never gave me what I needed. I didn't and don't love him. I love this big lout of a basketball player. You know what Tim likes to say, `Sex is good, but love is better.'"
"When did Tim say that?"
"Oh, I don't know, but I'm sure he's said it. But that's not the point. Because I love you, I want to know all about you. And I want to know about your summer. You've told me some of it. Now won't you let me see what you put in your journal?"
"Well, OK, but you have to promise not to shit a brick when you read it."
I grinned. "I think I can safely promise that."
As we ate, we talked about other things, mostly about what it would be like to have Steve living with us.
When we got home, Chaz went into his room, soon to be temporary quarters for Steve. I could hear his printer going.
He came back with a bunch of computer paper stapled together, about fifteen or sixteen pages, it looked like. (See chapter 16.)
"OK, Trey, here it is. I'm going to go take a walk. I can't stand to be here while you read it. If you aren't here when I get back, I'll take off for Cincinnati and see if I can find out where David went."
I nearly choked when he said that. When I looked up, ready to call him on that remark, he was standing there grinning at me. I relaxed.
"You'll do no such thing, `cause I'm going to be right here. Whatever is in this damned journal, one of us is going to get fucked tonight."
"OK, Tiger," he said. "I'll see ya in a while. He leaned over and kissed the top of my head and left.
I poured myself a glass of cabernet before flopping into an easy chair with his manuscript.
I loved what I read. First of all, I thought I could see Chaz becoming a better writer as the journal progressed. I don't think he'd ever had to write much before, and you could just see him learning by doing.
The parts about him and Dawn were funny. I was touched by what he had written about Sammy, Dawn's little brother. And when I got to his dream, I sprang a hard on that got steelier as I read about his actual sex with David. And then there were the things he'd said about me. That was just at the time when I was here realizing I wanted and needed to be with Chaz. I got a big lump in my throat.
He hadn't come home when I finished the journal, so I hurriedly took a shower, cleaned myself up (and out) thoroughly. Then I turned down my bed, lighted a few candles, spread a bath sheet over the regular sheet, and lay down on the bed, naked.
Before long, he came in. There were no lights on anywhere in the apartment. "Trey, where are you?" Then a note of concern. "Tiger, you'd better be here. No games!"
"It's OK, babe. I'm in the bedroom."
When he came into the room, my face was in a pillow, and my rear was in the air. "Fuck me, you handsome brute," I said.
I thought he was going to collapse, he laughed so hard.
"Well, Charles," I said, "you surely know how to spoil a sexy moment."
And still he laughed, so I rolled over onto my back, sat up, and put my arms around my knees.
Finally, I asked, "What's so damned funny?"
"Trey, babe, it's mostly just relief. For a moment there I was afraid you really HAD left me. Then, when I walked in and saw that fine ass up in the air, I couldn't help thinking what some of our jock friends would think if they ever saw the great Henry Lee in that position. It was just priceless!"
"Well," I said grinning, "at least you are laughing."
"And you are still here. So I guess you aren't too mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you at all, dufus. Maybe I envy you a little. That David sure must be a hot guy. I'd like to meet him sometime."
"Not if I can help it," he said, beginning to take off his clothes. He went into the bathroom where I could hear him taking a leak. When he got back, he was naked.
"Is yoah offuh still open, suh," he asked in a terrible attempt at a southern accent.
"The offer is open, stud. Now you just have to get my hole open. Any ideas?"
"Oh, yeah, babe. I got ideas. Resume the position!"
Wasting no time, I resumed the position in which he'd found me.
He didn't go for the lube immediately, though I had left it on the bedside table. Instead, he crawled up behind me and I could feel his breath on my exposed hole.
"Ya know, Trey, this ought to be gross, but it isn't. I guess I always looked at guys' peckers in the shower, but I don't think I ever paid much attention to their asses. But, man, this is one fine ass, and I love it."
"Thank you, kind sir. Now, will you just quit talking and DO something!"
What he did was spit on my hole. I jumped because I hadn't been expecting that. Then he took his finger and spread it around my pucker. When he blew on it, I actually banged my head against the headboard.
"Hey, babe, you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't talk, please, just get on with it."
So he began to lick my rosebud, and I could still feel his breath in my crack. I'd been hard ever since I'd read the sexy parts of his journal, and I was achingly ready for him to enter me.
He entered me with his tongue, and he spent a while probing. As he did so, he was sort of massaging my ass cheeks. When he began to suck, I came all over the towel under me.
He quit sucking and asked, "Aww babe! So soon? Do I gotta stop now?"
"Ohmygodno, don't stop."
"'K."
After a few more minutes of that, during which I got hard again, he said, "Hand me the lube, please, Tiger." I did as he asked.
Even though I had just come, I was so hot, so needy, I was almost panicked when he pulled away.
"My tongue ain't big enough to get you ready for this fucker. Got to do a little prep here."
So he went through the one, two, three-finger routine, very gently, using one big hand to keep my cheeks spread as he did so.
"That is one fine ass, Withers. To think, I've been living with that ass for three years and never got to get acquainted with it real well until just a few weeks ago. Lordy, what I've been missing!"
I didn't want to seem bitchy, but I really wanted him to quit talking and get inside me. On the other hand, I got to the point with Raul where he could enter me relatively painlessly. I wasn't at that point yet with Chaz, whose cock was so much bigger than Raul's. So much bigger than anybody's I'd seen, actually.
When Chaz and I have had sex, I've always been surprised by how gentle he is. He comes across as an untamed colt sometimes, but he's always been very concerned not to hurt me. He used lots of lube and entered very slowly, checking with me after each stage to see that I was all right. It hurt, but he let me wait a bit each time until the pain subsided. And it hurt a lot less than it had in some of our other sessions. But when that thing was finally in me and the pain diminished, it was like no other feeling. He really filled my gut, but it was so great to have him inside me. And with that big thing, he couldn't help hitting my nut whenever he moved!
And so we fucked into the night. He came eventually but stayed hard, and, after resting a minute, he kept on going. When I came some time later, he came a second time. And then there was this feeling of his dick gradually deflating. Big as his tool was, my ass seemed to be forcing it out -- quite against my will.
He put out all the candles and jumped back into bed with me, spooning up behind me with his cum-covered dick against my ass crack.
I lay awake for a while. I always feel so sad when he takes his big tool out of me. Am I becoming a bottom? Maybe. But he likes me to do him, too, and I'm not going to give that up. I think we've just got a good thing going here.
I needed a shower, but I didn't want to get up, so I went to sleep in Chaz's arms.
The next morning at breakfast, I thanked Chaz for letting me read the journal and for the long, tender sex. He didn't say anything, but he reached over and squeezed my knee and smiled at me.
"Now, stud," I said, "don't you think you should let Tim read about your summer? After all, he's the one who suggested we should all do that. And you're the only one who did."
"You really think I should?"
"It seems to me that's what I just said, Greeley!"
"It's pretty personal, you know. And pretty detailed."
"Because it's a very personal thing, by letting him see it, you'd be showing him that you trust him as a friend, and your friendship is something you CAN give Tim."
He thought about that for a minute and smiled. "Hey, Tiger, I like that!"
Then we both had to get busy straightening things up before we went to the hospital to get Steve.
GEOFF:
Having my lunch at the union cafeteria one day, I was reading through a score as I chomped on a burger and fries. I heard a guy clear his throat and looked up. He was about my height, say six feet even, a little thinner than me, maybe. He had black hair, a trim mustache and goatee, and gorgeous brown eyes. Oh, and tight, faded jeans that showed off a substantial package. I also didn't fail to note that he had a small stud, an opal, I think, in his right ear.
"You're Geoff Benton, aren't you?"
I was about to stand up, but he put his hand on my shoulder, squeezed it firmly, and said, "Don't get up. You don't mind if I sit and chat with you while we eat, do you? Oh, I'm Philip Halifax, by the way."
"No, of course not. Sit down, Phil." We shook hands. "And, yeah, I'm Geoff. How do you know me?"
"Uh, I prefer Philip."
"Oh, sorry, Philip."
He grinned at me. "Now, how do I know you? Man, I've seen you do some pretty impressive diving, and I heard your group play here on campus last spring. You guys are fantastic!"
"Thanks. Are you a jazz fan?"
"Sure am, and I especially like the piano trio medium."
Well, he knew the way to get me talking, and talk we did. He wanted to know what I thought of the piano, bass, and guitar variant on the standard piano, bass, and drums configuration. We sat and talked about that and then about various trios we admired for half an hour. Finally I was able to ask him about himself. He never said what his major was, but he told me he was the incoming president of the campus SGA (Straight/Gay Alliance).
He looked me in the eye. "Geoff, it'd be great if you would come to one of our meetings. There's a lot of work to do on this campus, a lot of stereotypes to break through, a lot of bigotry to expose and overcome. We've got to shake the goddammed homophobes up, let `em know that decent people, straight or gay, aren't going to tolerate their shit."
I noticed about Philip that he was very intense when he talked about jazz groups he liked and that he was even more intense when he talked about the Alliance. There was always a fire in those dark eyes of his. Then he looked at me and smiled, and my cock got hard.
"Tell me more," I sort of squeaked.
He told me about some of his plans for the upcoming year, still with that gleam in his eye. I found his enthusiasm, his intensity appealing as a personal trait -- and also very sexy.
My mind began to wander, though, as I continued to look at him. He was simply so great looking, so magnetic. I think I would have done almost anything he asked me to at that point. I know my cock was beginning to ooze.
" --and by the way, did you hear about the university guy who got beaten up the other night?"
"No. Has it been in the paper?"
"Fuck no! That's not news to the Beacon-Journal, and I haven't been able to get it into the campus paper, either. So far as they're concerned, it's just some guy who got mugged."
"Was he being robbed?"
"No. I've just been talking with Sergeant Ibrahim of the city police. At first It was like pulling teeth to get any information out of him, but I showed him my credentials as a staffer on the university newspaper. Then he seemed to size me up and decided he would talk to me. According to Metz, the victim, he had been threatened a couple of times by three townies who hang out at the city swimming pool. Metz had saved a little girl's life. Got to her before the lifeguard did. After that, he sort of attracted a crowd of kids her age who looked up to him. He was nice to them, so every day, according to the lifeguard, Metz was surrounded by this bunch of kids. The town guys assumed Metz was a pedophile. They put a threatening note on his car, and later they threw a rock through his apartment window with another note on it. And he swears it was them that attacked him."
"So, have they arrested the guys that did it?"
"No, and that's the shitty thing, see. Those three alibi each other, so the cops only have Metz's word against theirs."
"And Metz is telling the truth?"
"Ibrahim seems to think he is. He's interviewed the life guard at the pool and some university students who know Metz. Also, one of the faculty has vouched for Metz as well, some guy in the English Department."
"Oh? Do you know his name?"
"Let's see." He pulled a note pad out of his bag and riffled through it. "It was a guy named Mead. The only thing I know about him is that around the English Department he's called `The Iceman.'"
"Hey, I know him! He's a friend of a friend of mine, and a group of them came to hear us play not long ago."
"Your friends aren't a bunch of varsity jocks, are they?"
"Yeah, Trey Withers is on the tennis team, and Chaz Greeley is on the basketball team."
"OK, I know Withers casually. Those are the guys who told the police they knew about the notes and the rock. Oh, and there was another one. Baseball player, Cedric Jones."
"Yep, they're all friends. I don't know Dr. Mead or Ced Jones well, but if Trey and Chaz say Metz is telling the truth, I'd bank on it."
"Look, Geoff. If the police haven't done anything more by the time classes begin, I'm going to stir up this shit. It's something the SGA can get into. Why don't you start coming to our meetings? There are both straight and gay people involved, and we do a lot to help break down misunderstanding and stereotypes. We're always looking for new members, especially someone as `visible' as you. Think you might come?" He grinned at me, and I had to take a deep breath.
Yeah,' I thought, I might just come.'
About then I remembered something. "Philip, weren't you called on the carpet last winter about something you wrote?"
He grinned. "Yeah, I wrote an editorial about the hidden homophobia in the administration and faculty. Had to appear at the Chancellor's Office to explain myself.' But I had chapter and verse, you know, documented cases, so there wasn't much of anything he could do except suggest that I be more moderate' in what I wrote and said."
"I don't imagine you let that remark go by, did you?"
He grinned again. "Hell, no! I reminded him of the first amendment, and said that it's hard to be moderate when you're trying to expose hypocrisy and bigotry. You do know, don't you, that it is harder for gay and lesbian faculty members to get tenure or promotion on most campuses than it is for the straight ones? This place is no exception, dammit. It's just that this university is so damned big, all kinds of things go on without anyone knowing much about it. So, while I'm president of the SGA this year, I'm going to use what little bit of limelight that gives me to rattle the branches and see what falls out! Care to join me?"
"Well, er, shit, I don't know, Philip. I've never been much of an activist. And I'm pretty busy with my master's work and my music."
"Come on, Benton, that's a cop-out, and you know it!" Then he looked at me with this sort of challenging look, smiled, and asked, "What do you say, man?"
That's about when I decided I'd go to any meeting this guy was at! "You know," I said, "I've even been thinking about coming anyway. A friend of mine suggested the other day that he and I might attend one of your meetings together. Maybe I can get him to come with me." Then I did something that surprised the hell out of me. "And, for what it's worth, I'm gay, though I haven't come out to most of my friends yet."
He flashed me a smile that made me melt and said, "Cool! Let's trade emails, and I'll let you know when the first meeting of the Alliance is. And I'll expect you to be there and bring your friend. Right?"
We traded email addresses. We shook hands, he gave me another smile, and walked away. As I watched his ass sway in those tight jeans, I was about ready to come in my pants.
STEVE:
On Monday night and Tuesday morning they let me -- no, they MADE me -- use the john connected to my room. It hurt like hell even to get out of bed. Any movement of my upper body was agony. I don't know what I would have done if Chaz and Trey weren't going to take me home with them. Well, actually, Tim and Ced offered, too, but their place has stairs, and I sure wasn't up for that.
Dr. Martin had said that bending over would hurt a lot for a while. He didn't tell me that almost any motion would hurt. I could stand in front of the toilet and pee, but the act of sitting down or standing from a sitting position hurt.
I am not sure what happened to the clothes I had on when they brought me to the hospital, but they weren't available to me when I was allowed to check out. Apparently all that had survived the attack were my shoes. Fortunately, we knew that the night before, so Chaz and Trey promised they'd bring me something to wear. When they showed up, they had boxers, a tee shirt, some cargoes, and a pair of socks. The next problem was how to get them on.
A problem for me, too, was that I just couldn't do any of that without help. Getting the gown off wasn't too hard. But there I stood, stark naked with these two guys I knew were gay standing there, too. I have to give them credit, though, they didn't say or do anything suggestive. They helped me get the tee shirt on, and that hurt like hell because I had to put my arms over my head. Then I stepped into the boxers and the cargoes, and that was no picnic either.
When It came to the socks and shoes, I had to sit on the edge of the bed while Trey did that for me. It was really embarrassing, but he didn't seem to mind. When he tied the second shoe, he smiled up at me with that sleepy smile of his and said, "I think you're ready to travel, Steve."
Tim showed up about that time to make sure there was no problem about my checking out or anything. When he saw that the guys had things under control, he shook my hand, said to call him if I needed anything, that he would check on me regularly, and left.
They put me in a wheel chair to go to the car. That's standard procedure, I know, but I was really glad. I could walk, but it hurt a lot. Chaz brought his big SUV up to the door while Trey stayed with me. Getting up into that damned big Tahoe was another painful moment.
The problem was, I couldn't use my arms to pull myself up into the Tahoe. So we decided I needed to back in. That would have been easy enough in a sedan, but this monster was way high off the ground. As Trey said, we let Tim and his Camry get away too soon.
What I had to do was stand with my back to the car, put one foot behind me on the running board and then have Chaz hoist me up. If you'll think about it for a moment, you'll realize that the only way he could hoist me was to put his hand under my crotch and lift. Chaz is a strong guy, and it worked, with me using the strength of the one leg to push against the door sill, but I got my balls mashed in the process, and my ego bruised a bit, too.
I begged Chaz not to put the seat belt on me, and he agreed. Trey hopped in the back seat, and we were off to my apartment. Whatever happened to my clothes, the police had at least returned my wallet, change, and keys. When we got to my apartment, I decided not to get out of the car. Steve offered to go in, so I told him where to find my clothes. I reminded him to get my shaver, deodorant, and toothbrush from the bathroom. He was back in five or ten minutes, and we went on to their place.
There was, of course, no wheelchair at their apartment building. Fortunately, though, there was an elevator, because I don't think I could have managed stairs. It was still a tedious process getting from the car up to their place.
They took me to what was normally Chaz's room, or had been. His computer was still there, and he kept his clothes in the closet. There were a few books, but not too many, in a small bookcase. And there was a dresser. He had cleared out a couple of drawers for my things, and that was plenty. I figured I'd only be needing shorts, underwear, tee shirts, and socks for the week I'd be there.
They asked if I wanted to go in the living room or if I needed to use the bathroom. I said that I needed to lie down for a while, and they helped me do that. I really was pretty tired out, weaker than I had thought I'd be.
When lunch time came, they asked if I wanted them to bring it to me. When I said that I'd rather eat with them, Trey brought me a disinfectant towelette for my hands. Then they helped me to the kitchen, and we ate roast beef sandwiches, cole slaw, and potato salad at the kitchen table, with iced tea. I never ate that well for lunch in my apartment, and I told them so.
So it went for the rest of the day. They didn't exactly hover, but they kept checking on me until I finally had to tell them that I was OK and that I'd be sure to let them know if I needed anything. Of course, the problem was that I even needed help getting up out of a chair in the living room when I had to go to the bathroom. I had no privacy that way for over a week.
A minor crisis came the next morning when I said I wanted to take a shower. They offered to help, and I firmly refused, saying I could manage. I didn't quite manage, though. I was doing fine, even if it was slow and painful. I figured I could wash my pits, chest, even my ass and crotch, though the ass part might hurt some. I figured if I just let the soapy water run off my body, that would take care of my legs and feet. What went wrong was that I dropped the soap first thing. So, of course, I had to yell for help. Chaz came in a hurry, all concerned, and asked what was wrong. I explained the problem. He pulled back the shower curtain, grinned at me, picked up the soap and handed it to me, pulled the shower curtain back into place and left. I don't think he even looked at my package. What I was expecting, I don't know, but my respect for him went up a notch just then.
Maybe I worried too much about all of this. I hadn't had any experience having gay guys as friends, and I didn't know what to expect. But, hell, I grew up male in a homophobic society, OK? I had come to know that Trey and Chaz and their buddies were decent guys. But, except for Mark, whom I still didn't know well, they were gay. And, you know, you've heard the stories. So, yeah, I was surprised that neither of them made any jokes when Chaz had to help me into the car or come and pick up the soap for me.
The big test, though, came a couple of days later. By Thursday, the pain was worse instead of better, maybe because I had tried to do too much. I could walk, but I didn't think I could wash my chest, much less anything else, and I hadn't properly washed my feet since I'd been there. I was embarrassed to death, but I told them at breakfast that I thought I'd need some help in the shower.
Trey grinned at Chaz and said, "Finally! I thought he'd never ask."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I exploded.
"Hey, chill, Steve. We just figured you might need some help, but we weren't about to suggest it until you asked because we were afraid you'd get the wrong idea."
Oh, shit. I'd gone and been a bastard to these guys who were trying so hard to be good friends. I really felt terrible.
"Look, guy," Chaz said, "we'll give you just as much help as you ask for. But you obviously need some help, and you shouldn't be too proud to ask. No one is going to put any moves on you, either, so get that fear out of your mind."
"OK," I said, trying to match their grins, "I'm sorry. I was a jerk. I do need help. I hate not being clean, and I can't do it right by myself."
So, after breakfast, Trey stripped to his boxers and came into the bathroom with me. I was naked, of course. He turned on the shower, reached through the curtain to adjust the temperature, and gestured for me to get in. When I had, it was obvious that he couldn't stand outside the shower and wash me without getting the whole area wet.
"Shit, Steve," he said, "there's no other way to do this." Shucking off the boxers, he got into the shower with me, pulled the curtain closed, picked up the soap, and told me to face the wall while he washed my back. I let him alone until he got down below my waist. I told him I thought I could manage that part, so he handed me the soap. I did my ass, including the crack, though even that hurt.
Taking a deep breath, I turned around. I handed him back the soap. He washed my chest, neck, and pits (carefully because it hurt to lift my arms very far). Then I again asked for and got the soap while I washed my crotch area.
Then Trey held out his hand for the soap again. I gave it to him and took a deep breath. It was then I realized Chaz was standing in the bathroom. When he asked how things were going, I jumped.
"We are doing just fine, thank you, Charles," Trey said. "And I think our patient would be happier if you weren't standing there."
"Aww!" Chaz replied, "I just wanted to make sure everything was OK in there."
I laughed. "It's OK, Chaz. Trey is behaving himself."
"He'd better!" Chaz said, also laughing.
At that point, Trey took the soap and knelt in front of me with a wash cloth. He was obviously about to wash my legs and feet. The problem was that his face was right in front of my dick. I think we both realized that at the same time. And you KNOW what happened. I began to throw wood. Don't ask me why. I had been too embarrassed to be very aware of how Withers looked naked. Honest. I've showered with other guys all my life and never paid all that much attention. Well, you know, every guy checks out other guys' packages just to see how big they are, but that's all.
I think it must have been the embarrassment of being like a little child, unable to do for myself what I needed to, along with the fact that his face was right there, inches from my gradually swelling cock.
Trey actually blushed. That's when I began to feel sorry for him instead of worrying about how embarrassed I was, especially when I noticed that his cock was growing. I stared involuntarily for a moment as he sprang a full boner.
"Trey, I'm sorry man. You can quit now if you want. It's not that important to wash my legs."
"Steve, it's cool," Trey laughed. "Now that I'm here I may as well. And don't worry about the boner. You know how it is. Every guy gets `em at the most inopportune times, whether he's straight or gay."
And that's all there was to that. He washed my thighs and calves, then, as I leaned against the shower wall, each foot in turn. He was thorough and gentle, not like he wanted to get the job over and get the hell out of there, but there was also no suggestiveness or anything.
It took a while, though, for my cock to get back to being soft.
Chaz came back and asked if things were still OK. "Go away, you lunk!" Trey said. "Steve and I are doing fine!"
"Maybe that's what I should be worried about," Chaz responded, chuckling. A wet washcloth barely missed his ear and splatted loudly against the doorjamb, so he beat a hasty retreat down the hall.
When Trey and I stepped out of the shower, he dried me off. Then he called Chaz, who came and helped me back to my (his) room to get dressed. Trey stayed in the bathroom and had his own shower.
Every morning for over a week, we went through that routine. It was always Trey who helped me bathe, Chaz who helped me dress. Trey and I got hard in the shower every day, but we just laughed it off. I mean, look, these were guys, and they told off-color stories. But they couldn't have been nicer about making me feel comfortable. There was never any teasing about me being the straight guy, helpless in their gay lair, or anything like that.
And I came to understand that I had been guilty of bigoted thinking to suspect that there might have been.
I just realized more and more clearly that I had two great new friends, but I worried that I'd never be able to pay them back.
MAX:
Tim and I continued to run together every morning except Sunday. Ced's idea about my keeping clothes at their place and showering there hadn't proved very workable, but they invited me to have breakfast with them anyway and just put up with me sweaty. Tim didn't shower before eating either, so as not to keep me waiting for breakfast. Ced, patient (and contrite) man that he is, tolerated us as we were.
I began to see what Cedric was really like, sunny, bright, and fun, rather than the unpleasant guy I had seen at the party. He was a good cook, too, and I really enjoyed those breakfasts he fixed for us.
One morning nearly a week after the infamous party, Tim told me as we walked up the street towards his house that he would like me to look over a chapter of his book that wasn't working out right. I protested that I knew little about Dos Passos, and he said, with a crinkle around his eyes, "That's the point. I just want an intelligent reader to be able to understand me, and I think you might qualify."
So, after breakfast, he scooped some papers off his desk, put them in a big manila envelope, and handed them to me. I put them on my desk when I got home and didn't look at them until Saturday morning.
I was pretty much free on Saturday since I was taking the early service on Sunday and already had my homily prepared. Accordingly, after I got back from Tim and Ced's and had taken my shower, I pulled on a tee and a pair of shorts, made myself some coffee, and opened the envelope Tim had given me.
I sat in my favorite reading chair and began to go through the papers. In addition to Tim's chapter, there was something else. Done in a different font than Tim was using, on paper a little lighter in weight, was a document with the following title:
Journal of Chaz Greeley, Summer, 2002
How did that get there? Surely Tim didn't intend me to read it. Clipped to the first page was a handwritten note that said, "Tim, you `assigned' this project. I am glad I'm not getting an English grade on this, but since you asked for it, I figure I may as well let you see it. Tiger has read it and isn't mad at me, thank God. Oh, and you can let Ced read it too, if you think he'd be interested. Chaz."
The thing to do was to return it to Tim at once. Since he lived only a few doors down the street, I slipped into some Topsiders and went back over there. No one answered the door, however, so I figured he and Ced must be doing some grocery shopping or something. I didn't want to leave Chaz's thing lying around, so I took it back home with me.
I put it back in the envelope and took up Tim's chapter, which I studied carefully. I didn't see a problem with it. Tim writes with such clarity that even without a deep knowledge of Dos Passos, I was able to understand his chapter thesis. I made a few marginal notes and added a few questions, as he had asked me to. And then I sat there, faced with that thing by Greeley.
I confess, since it's mea culpa time anyway, I was intrigued by the group that called themselves their "Brotherhood." I had come to like them all. Yeah, I envied Ced, wishing that maybe there could have been something between Tim and me. But I would never intentionally do anything to come between them.
I had also noticed that Tim and Trey seemed to have some sort of special thing between them. It was almost as if they could communicate without talking. Then there was Mark, the straight one of the bunch, who somehow managed to be friends with three gay guys. What a group! I reasoned that no one could blame me for being curious. Or rather, I rationalized that. Even though he came from Cincinnati, Chaz looked and sometimes acted like a raw country boy. I knew the others loved him, however, and here was a chance to learn some more about this odd grouping of men. I further rationalized that, since Chaz had given Cedric permission to read the journal as well, it wouldn't be so terrible if I read it, too.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and started in. It was only fifteen pages long, so I got through it pretty quickly. I loved the way Chaz had handled little Sammy and his problem, but I was set on fire by his account first of his dream and then of his sex with the incredible David. Lord, that was hot! I read that description of David and Chaz having sex a second time. I took off my clothes and jacked off with images of the guy with the flaming long red hair and a nipple ring and big old Chaz Greeley getting it on with surprising tenderness:
"Wanna make me beg for it?" David had asked.
"I could," Chaz had answered.
"Yeah," David had said, licking his lips over and over, "you could."
Man! Then they shower and David takes Chaz.
I came so much I didn't manage to catch it all in my hand. I licked what was running over, imagining it was David's cum. When the high from my orgasm subsided, I began to realize what I had done. I went to the bathroom to clean up. While washing my hands, I scrutinized my face in the mirror. It looked guilty, and I felt guilty! What to do now?
I went and called Tim.
He wasn't home. I kept trying every half an hour until, close to noon, I got an answer.
"Tim, this is Max. Could you come over here for a few minutes?"
I didn't want to make my confession in front of Cedric. OK, I'm chicken, but I didn't feel like humiliating myself in front of him. Whatever Tim chose to tell Ced later was OK, but I just wasn't up to it.
"Max, I'll be right over. Is something the matter?" he asked, alarm in his voice.
"There's no emergency, but I really need to talk with you privately if you have a few minutes."
"I'll be right there."
And he was.
I offered him some coffee, which he accepted. As we sat facing each other in my living room, I could still see the concern on his face.
I drew a deep breath and said, "Tim, I've done something that violates my own ethics, and I need to tell you about it."
"OK."
I told him what I had done. When I finished my narrative, he was quiet for a few moments.
"First of all, Max, I'm as much to blame as you are. I don't know how I could have been so careless, but if I had handled Chaz's manuscript with adequate care, it wouldn't even have been in the envelope with my chapter." Then he looked at me and gave me a little smile. "So I'm the one who put the temptation in your path."
"Well, Tim," I said, "let's look at degrees of guilt here."
"This is beginning to sound like one of our Kenyon bull sessions, Max."
"I'm serious here, Tim."
"Yeah, Max. I know you are. Sorry I interrupted."
"Where was I? Yeah, degrees of guilt. Yes, you are to blame for being careless. Chaz trusted you with the manuscript, and no one was to see it but you and Cedric. But that's what might be called a sin of omission. In my case, it was clearly a sin of commission. I looked at that diary, knew I shouldn't read it, put it aside, and then came back and read it anyway."
"I see your point. But now I have a question. Why did you read the journal? That just doesn't seem like something you'd do."
"I've been thinking a lot about that. And I think I know why."
"Do you feel like telling me?"
I couldn't have told anyone else, but this was Tim. And I found I really wanted to tell him. "You understand, I don't offer this as an excuse for what I did? I'll just try to explain what impelled me to do it, OK?"
He smiled, raised his eyebrows, and nodded.
"Since I arrived here, you guys have more or less gathered me in. You've been wonderful, all of you. And this `Brotherhood' of yours is amazing. Each individual is a guy I would want for a friend."
"Don't you think they are becoming your friends, Max?"
"Yeah, I do. And I love that! But, see, Tim, here's the point. You are all couples, each of you in a loving, committed relationship. You and Cedric, Mark and Lori, and the most unlikely pair, Trey and Chaz."
Tim chuckled. "You don't know the half of it, Max. You are right on when you say they are unlikely."
"Well, Tim, I did read the journal, so I think I have an idea what you are talking about."
He smiled. "Well, yes, partly."
"Anyway," I continued, "I read that journal because I thought it might give me some clue as to how you all do it."
He looked puzzled. "Do what?"
"Find someone to love, to love you. You're one of my oldest friends, certainly my best friend, and the other guys have, as I said, made me feel a part of the group. But it's different. You know! Each of you has his partner. That's what I need, man! I'm like so many unattached gay men. I just feel so -- alone."
He came over, pulled me up, and gave me a hug. Then he kissed me. It wasn't an open-mouth, sexual kiss. He just brushed his lips over mine. Still, I felt dizzy for a moment.
"Max, I'm sorry! I should have realized that. You seem so self-contained, I guess it just never occurred to me that you were lonely. Some friend I am, huh?"
I pushed him away so I could look him in the eye. "Tim Mead, you have a tendency to take the blame for everything. This is my problem. No way is it anything to reproach yourself about!"
"Well," he said, grinning, "is it all right if I mention your problem to Ced?"
"I know you and he don't have secrets. Thanks for asking, though. But why do you want to tell him?"
"Oh, Cedric has a sense about these things. He may be able to help."
"You're being mysterious, Timmy. What gives?"
"Never mind. Just don't give up hope. I'm sure there's a guy out there for you, and he may not be too far over the horizon."
I laughed. "That's what I've been praying for, you know. I don't imagine you are going to join me in prayer."
"No," he chuckled. "I suspect I'd be in danger of lightning bolts from on high if I started praying all of a sudden. But, Max, I know how you feel. I understand your need. And I hope you'll find the guy soon. After all, he doesn't know what he's missing."
"Thanks, Tim."
"So what are we going to do? About Chaz and the journal?"
"I'm going to tell Chaz what I've done and apologize to him."
Tim smiled. "This does remind me of our Kenyon days, Max. You and I were always so concerned about ethics, about trying to figure out what was right and then doing it. It's really great having you back in my life, old friend."
"It's great to hear you say that, Timmy. But right now I'm feeling pretty guilty. I mean, I'm not your college buddy any more. I'm a priest! I'm supposed to behave honorably all the time, not succumb to what must look like sheer nosiness!"
"Relax, Max!" Tim said. He used to say that to me a lot at Kenyon, though this was the first time he'd said it since I came back to Ohio. I had to laugh.
"Chaz won't bite. He may look intimidating, but he's really a pussycat. Why don't you call him and get this all over with?"
"I'll do that right now. Tim, I am sorry. Thanks for coming over and, uh, hearing my confession."
He smiled at that. "Well, Max, I have to make my own apologies to Chaz, you know. I'll talk to him soon."
He gave me another hug. I would have liked to prolong the hug, but knew not to.
After lunch, I called Chaz at home and apologized for interrupting his Saturday. I explained that I needed to see him alone, and I knew he and Trey had Steve there.
"Could you either come here or meet me somewhere for a few minutes? I promise not to take long."
"That's OK, Max," he said. "Trey and Steve are about to watch an Indians game, and I'm a Reds fan, so I wouldn't mind coming over to your place. See ya in, say, half an hour?"
"Thanks, Chaz. That would be great."
He made it in 35 minutes. We shook hands when he came in, I offered him a beer, which he accepted, and I had one with him.
He sat on the sofa in the living room, looking at me, waiting for me to explain why I had more or less summoned him.
So I blurted it all out. I told him how I had happened to come across his journal, that I knew I shouldn't have read it, that I had read it anyway, and that I knew it was wrong. "I know nothing I can say will justify my reading your diary, Chaz. I just hope you can forgive me and not think too badly of me. I do apologize."
He took a last swig of his beer and set down the can, looking at me thoughtfully.
"Yeah, you're right. You shouldn't have read it without my permission. But you know, Max, your collar doesn't make you perfect. You're allowed to screw up once in a while."
I took in the honesty of the big guy's face, noting the playfulness of his eyes, and said, "I'm grateful for your forgiveness, Chaz. I hope you know I will keep everything in the journal confidential."
Then he smiled. "What the fuck, you're Tim's friend. I know he loves you. Not like he loves Ced, of course, but he loves you. And if Tim loves you, that's cool."
"Tim has always held me to high standards," I said, "and I see that applies to you guys as well, now that I'm coming to know you."
Chaz chuckled. "Well, now you know just about ALL about me." He stood up. "Welcome to the group, Max."
I smiled and said, "I really like the guy who wrote that journal, as well as his very interesting friends."
He held his arms out for a hug.
It was a bonecracking hug. When he let me go, he looked down at me and smiled. "I wouldn't say this in front of Trey, `cause he might misunderstand, but David was really hot. I wish you could meet him sometime."
[There will be a new chapter of "Out of the Night" in a week or so in the Adult Friends section and another chapter of this series a week or so after that. --T.M.]