Finding a Home

Finding a Home By: Moore

Chapter 1

The man's arms and legs were hairy, the color of corn silk, which briefly reminded the boy of home; the endless rows of corn spreading away from his house as far as the eye could see. Fields he'd played in as a small child and labored in with his stepfather when old enough to drive the tractor. Fields and a man he'd likely never see again, never wanted to see again. The boy would call his mother though, when he got settled. Let her know he was okay, but that he wasn't ever coming back to Kansas.

The man paused when he saw the boy sitting alone, smiled knowingly, then walked slowly all the way to the back of the bus, passing rows of empty seats, any one of which he could have taken.

"This seat taken?" The man asked, tossing his canvas bag in the overhead rack like he already knew...had no doubt what the answer would be.

The boy shook his head no and the man promptly sat down, pressing his hairy thigh against the boy's smooth leg which made the boy shiver and made the man think that maybe taking the bus this week to Provincetown wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"You cold or just glad to see me?" The man chuckled, casually resting his left hand on the boy's trembling knee and extending his right. "Marty Franklin. You got a name, gorgeous?"

"Steven Marsh," the boy mumbled, blushing slightly as Marty took his hand, held it for a moment then set it down near his crotch. The bare skin was smooth, Steven noted immediately, the hair silky soft under his fingers. He also noted that the man wasn't wearing any underwear, the outline of a large cock clearly visible through the thin nylon jogging shorts.

Steven could have easily lifted his hand from the man's thigh, nothing but his own desires held it there. He didn't. A fact that brought a smile to Marty's face and made him forget all about his boyfriend Peter. Steven felt the familiar stirring in his crotch even before Marty's hand meandered up from his knee, along the inside of his trembling leg to the frayed hem of his worn denim cut-offs and beneath.

Marty Franklin had unusually soft hands and long thin fingers with perfectly manicured nails. Hands that had never worked on a farm or wielded a hammer or lifted anything heavier than a double martini. Experienced hands that made quick work with the button fly of Steven's Levis.

Steven shifted slightly in his seat giving Marty better access, forgetting that he was on a public bus...forgetting everything except the feeling in his groin as Marty lightly rubbed his belly then worked those long fingers under the loose band of his underwear and into his pubic hair. Steven had masturbated in the bus station bathroom some thirty minutes earlier. Might well have been thirty years earlier for the way his dick was responding to Marty's touch.

"Ahhhh, what have we here?" Marty whispered in Steven's ear, wrapping his hand around the boy's thickening shaft. "Why it's Mr. Cock and he's rising up to say hello. I'm pleased to meet you too, Mr. Cock."

For as long as he could remember Steven Marsh had thought about moments like this; dreamed about it at night, fantasized during the day. Wondering when, not if, but when he'd meet someone who felt the same way he did...had the same feelings. Steven always thought it would happen with a close friend or at least someone he knew, a boy around his own age. He had looked it up, there were 7,611 people living in Cornstalk County and 582 boys attending Cornstalk High. Surely, Steven thought each and every day, surely there had to be one boy other than himself, one more frustrated boy with demons in his head. Surely there had to be one more boy who was a homosexual.

The realization that he was different from other boys came first with his love for music and dance. Not the music his friends listened and danced to, but the classics, opera and ballet. He didn't dare ask his parents about taking ballet lessons as some of the girls did; where would the money come from? But dreamed about performing, dancing on a stage, about playing the prince in Swan Lake after seeing a performance on a class trip to Wichita.

The other 13 year old boys thought the show was "faggy" and said so repeatedly for the duration of the three day trip. Steven, wise beyond his years, kept silent. He kept this dream, like all his other dreams, hopes and aspirations, all of his innermost feelings ...his homosexuality to himself.

Chapter 2

Wet dreams, nocturnal emission, masturbation. Steven had laughed nervously along with the other boys when the topics were discussed in health class. Allan Crosby, the teacher that all the boys looked up to for his athletic skills and no bull shit way of talking to them...all the girls swooned over his hunky body and movie star good looks, had laughed along with them.

"Wet dreams are perfectly normal," Crosby continued when the boys had settled down. "Your body is maturing, changing, and the release of sperm is one way of letting you know it. A show of hands, don't be shy. How many of you have had a wet dream?"

Not one teacher in a thousand would have had the courage to ask such a question. But Allan Crosby wasn't like most teachers. Born and raised in New York City, a working class family with more love than money, he'd seen it all and heard it all on the streets of Manhattan. Boston College on a full athletic scholarship, NYU for a masters degree in psychology and education, Allan was dedicated to teaching young people with honesty and candor. He'd seen his twin brother Robert's life almost destroyed by timid teachers afraid to deal with real life issues and quack psychologists with useless, harmful even, outdated theories and fat bank accounts.

Robert was okay now, terrific really, but for years he'd been tormented. He had suffered needlessly during his teens before he was able to come to grips with who and what he was.

"How many of you have had a wet dream?" Crosby asked again. One by one, slowly, every boy in the class of 15 raised his hand. Steven raised his hand too, the last boy to do so, after a quick check to make sure that his erection wasn't too obvious.

"Okay, good. Now, what's another way for the body to release sperm? C'mon. Anybody?"

"Jerking off?" A high pitched voice offered from the back of the room.

Crosby waited for the laughter to subside. "Yes, jerking off, masturbation. I'll let you boys in on a little secret about masturbation." Crosby let the silence linger on as the wide eyed boys leaned forward in their seats. "Everybody does it," he said, voice barely above a conspiratorial whisper. "Every teenage boy masturbates. You know why? Who can tell me why?"

Silence, a few nervous giggles, then, "Because it...because it feels good?"

"Right on!!" Crosby shouted, thrilled at the honestly given answer and at the rapport he was building with the class. "Boys masturbate because it feels good."

"Mr. Crosby?"

"Yes?"

"Do men do it too? I mean like grown ups, adults, men like our fathers? You?"

Crosby answered the question honestly. "I can't speak for other men, but I do masturbate once in a while...in the shower."

He answered a lot more of the boy's questions about erections, what caused them to happen, and sperm, ejaculation...encouraging a wide ranging, open and honest discussion about sex and relationships. Steven Marsh, he noticed, was the only boy who seemed disinterested, did not ask a question, offer a personal thought, or participate at all in the discussion. The boy was reluctant to make eye contact too, looking away or closing his eyes when Crosby looked at him. Crosby made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Steven, in fact, was extremely interested and had a million questions he would have liked to ask Mr. Crosby. He was listening very closely to what his classmates said, particularly what they said about the girls they liked.

John Larson, Steven's best friend since they were little, awed the class with the bold admission that he had kissed a girl. "Sue Ellen Lynch," he said, "on the lips. I think she's hot. I get a boner whenever I see her, even sometimes when I just think about her. How come that happens, Mr. Crosby?"

I get a boner when I think about you, John, Steven thought.

"One of life's great mysteries," Crosby answered as the bell rang signaling the end of class. "Chemistry, biology, I really don't know. Human sexuality, love, physical attraction...why one person is attracted to another is a good discussion for our next class. We'll continue this next time, boys. Have a good weekend."

The boys followed Crosby out of the classroom like he was the Pied Piper. Except for Stephan Marsh who remained in his seat with a far away look in his eyes and an embarrassingly obvious bulge in his shorts. He jumped when John touched his shoulder and asked if he was coming. "What? Oh, yeah. Go on ahead, John, I'll meet you in the cafeteria in a minute."

"You okay? You look kind of strange?"

"I'm fine, really. Just thinking about somethig that Mr. Crosby said in class."

"Who isn't, the guy is unreal. Man, you gotta love a teacher who admits to jerking off in the shower."

"I do," Steven said under his breath to his friend's back as John left the classroom. "I do love him. I love you both."

Chapter 3

Marty Franklin continued to fondle Steven's cock and balls as the bus, passengers on board; thirty four homosexual men of various ages, one homosexual teenager about to cream his shorts, and two lesbians sitting behind the driver, pulled out of the station for the non-stop run from Boston to the gayest summer community on the eastern seaboard. Provincetown, the regulars joked, made Fire Island look like a day camp for celibate priests with a few fag kids thrown in to keep them happy and occupied.

"Your balls smell great, kid," Marty said, sniffing his fingers. "I wonder how they taste. Take off the shorts, huh."

Steven was embarrassed, he hadn't bathed in days. Neither had he changed his jockey shorts which were pretty rank after travelling half way across the country. Running away had been a hasty, spur of the moment decision and he'd only stuffed his backpack with the bare essentials: A picture of his mom, $188 in small bills, CD player and his favorite CD's, a few clothes and his toothbrush. The last thing he packed, retrieved from its secret hiding place was an old jock strap. Not just any old jock strap...Allan Crosby's jock strap.

"Sue Ellen is fixing you up with Grace Warren," John had said while reaching across Steven for another beer. "It's all arranged."

"What's arranged?" Steven had asked, his attention focused on the black hairs surrounding each of John's nipples.

"Your date for the senior prom, asshole. You are going?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? Fuck it man, Grace Warren is hot and she's got great tits. Couple of beers in her and who knows what might happen to the angle of the dangle."

Not a thing, Steven thought as John broke up in laughter. Girls had absolutely no affect on the angle of his dangle or any other part of his anatomy. John, on the other hand, shirtless and sweating lightly in the late afternoon heat, had Steven's cock throbbing.

"I think Sue Ellen's ready to do it," John said.

"Do what?"

"It. You know, go all the way. We're practically engaged and we'll probably get married next year anyway. She's ready to fuck, I just know it."

"What if she gets pregnant?"

"I'll use a rubber when I fuck her, idiot," John replied grabbing his crotch and another beer. "Make her put it on me after she gives me a blow job. It'll be great, man, if only she'll do it."

Steven, heart and crotch beating madly with long suppressed desire for his slightly inebriated best friend said nothing for a long moment. Then, in a breathy high pitched voice that was a fair imitation of Sue Ellen's voice, he said. "Oh, John darling, I love you so much. I'd love to give you a blow job, honey. I'd love to suck your beautiful cock."

The voice was Sue Ellen's but the words, spoken sincerely from the bottom of his heart were all Steven's. He loved his friend, had for years. More so even after Allan Crosby's class on the history of homosexuality. Learning about all the famous men who were homosexuals made him feel more normal about his romantic love and physical attraction for another male.

The school library had none of the books Crosby suggested they read. Steven found a few in the Wichita public library during his frequent hitchhiking trips to town. James Baldwin and other serious gay authors wrote about homosexuals and a homosexual world that was far different from the world described in the books and magazines he read in the adult book store.

"Shit, man, I mean Sue Ellen, I mean you sound just like her," John said. "If I closed my eyes..."

"Then close your eyes," Steven interrupted. "Pretend, imagine all the things you'd like me, uh, Sue Ellen to do."

John, with four beers in him, went along with the joke. He grabbed Steven's head playfully and pulled him down to his lap. "Gimme a blow job, honey. C'mon, Sue Ellen, suck my dick."

Steven didn't really know what he was going to do or how long John would allow the joke, this little game to continue before pushing him away, laughing. One minute, maybe two and they'd go back to being regular guys just horsing around like always. The minutes stretched on though and John, rather than pushing him away, pushed down on the back of Steven's head, holding it firmly against his crotch.

He felt the softness of the thin, well-worn denim against his cheek and the stirring beneath as his best friend became aroused. It was John who actually opened the top button of his Levis...Steven did all the others and spread the fabric apart. Steven breathed deeply, inhaling the musky aroma that rose from John's groin which reminded him of Allan Crosby's sweaty jock strap. The smell was even better, stronger, because a cock and balls lay hidden inside the white cotton of John's BVD's.

Highly aroused, but still thinking clearly, Steven paused to weigh his options. He could still back off, roll away from John with a forced laugh and pretend that it was all a joke. Or he could cross the line right now, take John in his mouth, not knowing when or if ever he'd get another opportunity to make his dreams come true. His trembling hands moved slowly, but with determination and the instant John's bare cock grazed his quivering lips Steven Marsh knew he had made the right decision.

John thrust up instinctively, but Steven would not be rushed. He wanted to savor this long awaited moment, nine years in the making. He wanted to examine and explore every inch of the organ that had taken psychological possession of his daily thoughts and nightly dreams...before it took physical possession of his mouth.

John would not long be denied, however, and could hardly be faulted for his lack of patience. The warm, wet tongue swirling around the engorged head, sliding up and down along the entire length of his shaft, lapping at his drawn up testicles was more than he could bear. Not one, but two long sighs of mutual satisfaction filled the air when Steven lovingly kissed the very tip of John's penis, tasting the shiny drop of precum that had formed.

Their eyes met briefly, "Suck it," John whispered then closed his.

Steven, shivering violently now, kissed the tip again. With his eyes wide open he parted his lips to receive John's turgid flesh.

As blow jobs go, well, he gagged when John unexpectedly thrust the majority of his 7" erection up into Steven's mouth. Tears formed in his eyes and his nose began to run. He backed off slightly, clamped his hand firmly around the mid point of the shaft, his lips firmly around the head. With joy in his heart and a hard dick in his mouth...Steven began to suck.

"Oh, shit, this feels so good," John gasped, which encouraged Steven, who was thinking the very same thing, to go down a bit further, take more of his friend's dick and to suck even harder.

Nothing he had read, serious literature or pornography, had adequately prepared Steven for the overwhelming feelings of joy and excitement he felt at this moment. John's warm velvety flesh between his ovaled lips, sliding smoothly across his wet tongue, pulsing with life in his mouth was better than he had ever imagined or dreamed it would be. When John roughly took hold of his ears and thrust up hard, the dark image of a cocksucker briefly invaded his thoughts...only to be cleansed away by the waves of love that surged throughout his being as he happily serviced his friend.

This was a beautiful act, a physical demonstration of his love for John, Steven truly wanted to believe as he struggled to take John's rapid thrusts. Not, as unbiased observers would suggest had they witnessed the scene, the act of a homosexual teenager, an inexperienced cocksucker to be sure, his mouth being used solely for another's pleasure.

John was close and Steven knew it. He also knew that John was a virgin like himself so the well known dangers of unprotected oral sex, swallowing John's sperm should be okay. John was going to cum very soon, ejaculate warm, cream-like semen into his mouth and Steven wanted him to do it.

He felt John's body stiffen beneath him, his incredibly hard cock grow harder and thicker with impending orgasm. Steven thought he was prepared, but the explosive force of John's release and the quantity of warm sticky semen that so quickly flooded his mouth came as a surprise. He lost the third expulsion of sperm, which hit him right between the eyes, but caught all the rest, swallowing furiously to avoid being overwhelmed.

The deed was done, Steven's first blow job and he felt absolutely wonderful as John oozed the last of his sperm and began to soften in his mouth. A bit guilty perhaps and the tiniest bit worried...not for having done it, but for having enjoyed the blow job so much. He'd been so absorbed in the act that he had no recollection of opening his pants and pushing them and his underwear down past his knees.

This was John's cock after all. John's cock that he had sucked to climax and John's sperm that he had swallowed and could still taste on his tongue.

Steven rationalized away his concerns as John lingered in his mouth. It's not like I'm a cocksucker, a fag who's going to suck off any guy who wants head, he assured himself. Mr. Crosby, sure. I'd suck Mr. Crosby's dick if he'd let me, but that's okay because I love him too.

"Nooooo," John cried out when Steven licked his nuts and tried to stuff them into his mouth. John shoved him away roughly and quickly scrambled to his feet, buttoning his Levis while starring down in shock at his very surprised friend. The look on John's face said it all.

"Wait, let's talk," Steven called out to John's fleeing back.

John stopped and turned, took a step towards Steven who was crawling towards him on his hands and knees. John's heart softened for a moment. Then he saw Steven's erection and the sperm, his sperm, that was on Steven's face and the moment passed. "Cocksucker," he hissed. "Faggot cocksucker." And then he was gone.

Steven cried for an hour, thinking, not for the first time in his life, that he should have been born female. The comment made last week at the Wichita book store said it all,

"GIRLS WHO SUCK DICK ARE POPULAR...BOYS WHO DO IT ARE FAGS."

He hadn't seen the man who'd said it or the men who had laughed in agreement. Not their faces anyway, nor they his, which was the way it was meant to be. The half glass walls separating the spaces were thin, however, so Steven heard everything that was said as he performed his familiar routine.

Chapter Five

"How much for a ticket to Provincetown, Massachusetts?"

"One way or round trip?"

"One way, please."

Steven looked around the Wichita bus station while the ticket clerk calculated the fare, praying that he wouldn't see anybody he knew. He was running away, never coming back to Kansas, and Provincetown seemed to be a good place to start a new life.

"Comes to three hundred and six dollars."

Steven's jaw dropped. "Three hundred dollars?"

"Yup. And six."

Steven was short by more than a hundred dollars. He was about to turn away from the ticket window when an idea popped into his head. "What time does the bus leave?"

"Seven o'clock sharp."

"I'll be back," Steven said, looking at his watch. He had two hours to get the money he needed and he knew a place close by where he could get it.

"Hi, Max," Steven said, slightly winded from having run the few blocks from the bus station. He waited impatiently while Max bagged one customer's tapes and sold a roll of tokens to another, eyeballing the men in the shop for potential customers of his own.

"I didn't know you were coming in today," Max called out. "You here to work?"

Several heads turned knowingly towards Steven. Not so very long ago he would have cringed to be made the center of attention, now he just smiled. "I'm leaving, Max, heading east. My bus leaves in a few hours and I need some money."

Max nodded and reached under the counter. The traffic light next to the cash register changed from red to green, the Pleasure Dome's signal that the live show was now open for business. Steven headed towards the rear, through a door marked Lincoln Center to prepare for his performance. That men would actually pay five dollars for ten minutes, thirty bucks an hour to sit in a room and watch him take off his clothes, among other things, still boggled his mind.

Max had brought him around to the idea slowly. In New York where gay kids were a dime a dozen he wouldn't have taken the time. Too many damn fags is the problem, he angrily told his incredulous friends when they asked why he was leaving New York. Can't do business here anymore he ranted to anyone who'd listen. The politicians are passing laws, Times Square is a joke, stores like mine will soon be extinct in the Big Apple.

"Think of it as a performance," Max suggested. "You like to dance, right, ballet?"

He showed him the space where he would perform, referring to the one-way mirrored room as Lincoln Center, and demonstrating how no one in the audience would be able to see his face. Max didn't push Steven for an answer. "Think about," he said. "I'll have some CD's here next time you come, Swan Lake if you like, and you can try it out."

Steven was intrigued by the idea. Male ballet dancers, he reasoned, were practically naked on stage anyway. When Max told him how much money he could make he agreed to do a dress rehearsal. He did several rehearsals under Max's direction, gaining more confidence and skill each time. Steven Marsh's "Live at Lincoln Center" debut at Max's Pleasure Dome was an artistic and financial success.

His one third share of the box office alone eased the guilt and the shame he felt at taking off all his clothes and dancing in the nude before an unseen audience. When this money was added to the tips, the quarter sized tokens that cost one dollar each, Steven had $85.00 in his hand, more cash than he'd ever held before. He was already planning on how he would spend his new found wealth, a CD player, new clothes, ballet lessons...maybe even save up for a computer. "Sure, Max," he responded eagerly to Max's inquiry. "I can come back next week."

After several encore performances before ever larger groups, Steven learned, with a few suggestions from Max and from the amount of tips he got, what his male audiences wanted to see. They wanted to watch him strip, see him totally naked, yes, but that was just for starters. They also wanted to see the more outrageous stuff they saw in the gay magazines, tapes and DVD's in the front of the store. They wanted to see it up close and they wanted to see it live.

Steven came around slowly, motivated by the sound of dollar tokens dropping into the tip box. Tips increased significantly when he took Max's advice and switched from his plain white BVD's to sexy black bikinis.

"Play with your dick," Max encouraged his star performer. "Get it hard first and then peel off the underwear nice and slow. Time's money, boy, give'em some pubic hair, but make'em wait to see your cock and balls."

Steven gave them what they wanted up to a point. Slave collars and cock rings, temporary decals on his butt and clamps on his nipples became a standard part of the act. He drew the line at masturbating to orgasm, then his mother got sick and the line, though it didn't disappear altogether, got decidedly dimmer.

The Marsh family had no medical insurance, no drug plan to pay for her costly medications. Steven took it upon himself to fill her bi-weekly prescriptions which ate up his current earnings and more, but also justified his frequent trips to Wichita.

"Fifty bucks to suck my cock? You're kidding, right?"

"That's what it says. Here, read it for yourself."

Steven took the paper from Max. Men stuffed the suggestion box with all kinds of requests, including oral sex, but no one had ever offered to pay him for a blow job. "Fifty dollars, jeez. Do you know the guy?"

"Yeah, I know him. He's a travelling salesman, comes through once a month or so. You've seen him. Short, fat, middle aged guy....bald, sweats a lot and wears thick glasses."

Steven let out a sigh. "The pig?"

Max laughed. "I've heard him called that, yeah. Name kinda fits."

Steven was about to decline the offer when he remembered the past due pharmacist's bill and prescription refill in his pocket."Okay, set it up, Max. The pig can suck me off, but I don't want to see him and I don't want his hands touching anything but my dick."

The Pleasure Dome had one small space that served as a glory hole. Max had had six active ones in New York and no shortage of volunteers to deal with the various body fluids left behind by his customers.

"Goddamn fags got no respect for property," he'd complain when the smell of spent semen got so bad that the plywood walls had to be scrubbed down with bleach. "Why can't they use a friggin' rubber if they gotta jerk off while suckin' a guy's dick?"

Steven kept his eyes fixed on the fifty dollar bill he'd tacked to his side of the wall as the pig settled in on the other. He could smell the man's body odor, hear his labored breath and little grunts, and the jingle of his belt and the zip of his zipper.

"Put it through, kid. Gimme your cock."

Steven felt sick to his stomach as he dropped his pants and delivered half the goods.

"Balls too, kid. For fifty bucks I want the whole package."

The pig lived up to his name, making a slob of himself over Steven's cock and balls. Despite his disgust, Steven was aroused. I'll cum quick and get this over with, Steven thought, pushing deeper into the slobbering, sucking and talented mouth on the other side of the wall.

Pig or not, the queer man was an experienced cocksucker with time on his hands and the foresight to have brought a cushion for his knees. He knew and employed all the moves to prevent ejaculation before he'd played out whatever fantasy lived in his mind.

Steven earned that fifty bucks and all the fifties that followed. He could have earned more, a lot more if he'd been willing to return the favor, as it were, become the "ER" rather than the "EE". If by some miracle John or Mr. Crosby were on the other side of the wall...but that would be different because that would be for love.

He did allow Max to enlarge the hole to accommodate the ass kissers and those who wanted to lick his asshole. "Tongues only, Max," he made it clear. "First guy who tries stick a finger or his cock up my butt and I'm outta here."

Steven Marsh's final Lincoln Center performance at the Pleasure Dome in Wichita, Kansas was shorter than usual because he had a bus to catch. "How much in the box?" he asked Max while removing the cock ring and checking his pubic hair for any last bits of sperm.

"Seventy five," Max replied, handing over a wad of bills.

"Not enough, shit. I need a hundred more for the bus ticket and some for expenses along the way. I gotta eat, you know."

"Henry's out front, Steven. You wanna finally take him up on his standing offer?"

One hundred dollars for a blow job, twice the going rate was mild mannered Henry's offer. Steven had rejected it numerous times because unlike his other glory hole experiences with the pig and men like him, Henry's generous offer had Henry on his feet and Steven on his knees; Henry's cock coming through the glory hole and Steven's mouth open to receive it.

"I can't do it, Max. I mean I can, I did it once and liked it. I want to do it again but I just can't do it this way. I know it sounds crazy to you but I'm not like the men who come in here. Well, I guess I am sort of, I'm a homosexual...gay, I admit it. But love...I gotta love, at least like the person."

"Wait here, Steven, I'll be right back."

Max took five twenty dollar bills from the cash register, laughing at himself for being such a fool. Back on the Deuce as New York's as Forty Second Street was called, he'd be the laughing stock of the industry for giving money to a hustler. For that's what Steven Marsh had become whether or not he realized it himself. A boy who sold his body to queers.

As a kid, Max Farber had worked the Deuce for a while in the 1950's. All of his Hell's Kitchen friends did it as a source of easy money, and sometimes, when the mood struck, just for the fun of it. Taunting a queer, seeing how far one of these men would go, what outrageous things he would do for a cock was a great way to spend an otherwise dull evening. Watching a grown man take off all his clothes and beg, literally sink to his knees and quietly beg for a cock to suck was simply great fun.

"Whadya say, faggot?" That was Shorty Harrison's line in the little play Max's friends had worked out. "They didn't hear you on Eighth."

"Please, boys," the queer would mutter as though he too had read the script. Shorty would make the man beg for a while, admit he was a fag, call himself a worthless cocksucker before he'd shove his dick into the guy's mouth and the game was on.

Max was in it for the money and had little interest in watching his friends get blow jobs or jerk off onto some poor slob. His job was to go through the man's pants. Local queers knew better than to carry much cash or other valuables. Queers from out of town were a goldmine. A hotel room key was worth five bucks, more if the key was from a classy hotel like the Waldorf Astoria. He'd toss it to another boy who'd quickly run it over to the pawn shop on Forty Third. The queer would be in for one hell of a surprise when he returned to his hotel room and found his suitcase, clothes, camera, everything gone.

"The wallets," Max would always answer when asked what got him started in the porn business. "As a kid, I'd find all kinds of stuff in the queer's wallet which said to me that catering to homosexuals was a growth business. Pictures of the wife and kids, maybe a nice house or a car in the background. Library card, Elks club, church, country club...the guy suckin' dick while I rifled through his pants was a normal guy back home. In New York, he's a queer and willing to pay."

Two strict rules applied when working on the Deuce, which every boy quickly learned for himself. Get the money first, and never, ever touch the queer back at the risk of being branded a queer yourself...a fate worse than death.

The rest was easy. Stand on the corner with your shirt open and wait to be approached. Five bucks for an alley-way or front seat blow job was the going rate, ten if the guy was from out of town and didn't know any better. Max was a smart kid, always scheming for ways to make a buck. An entrepreneur who saw a fortune to be made from the needs of these men. He couldn't give a damn why a man who looked normal would pay five bucks to slobber all over a cock or why a man would humiliate himself, degrade himself on the whims of a teenage hustler.

"Watch out for yourself, Steven," Max said, handing him the money.

"I will, Max, and thanks. Thanks for everything."

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Love, Max. I'm looking for love."

Chapter 5

Steven walked aimlessly through the streets of Provincetown, taking in the sights and sounds of the quaint little town by the sea. Food, a place to sleep and a shower occupied his thoughts. Sex occupied the thoughts of the men who nodded, waved, winked or said hello to him as he passed. Teenage boys flocked to Ptown for the summer season to work, jobs were plentiful, and to have fun. Fun in Ptown meant the beach of course, a summer romance if you found Mr. Right and casual sex with whomever you found. Casual gay sex for the most part in a town where homosexuality was the norm and straight men were a distinct minority. A teenage boy out alone on a warm spring night was like tossing red meat into a den of hungry lions.

Steven took a seat by the window in the cheapest coffee shop he could find. Everything was expensive in Ptown. He knew he had to get a job and fast. It was a small place, six tables and a counter. He glanced over at the two guys at the only other occupied table, then turned away towards the window.

"Hi, I'm Kirk. I'll be your waiter...or anything else you'd like me to be, sweetheart."

Steven jumped, startled and turned towards the voice which didn't match up with the bare chested young man in a short white apron standing by his table. The voice was soft and breathy while the guy, in his early 20's, was well muscled and breathlessly handsome. His dark, deepset eyes sparkled and his smooth cheeks glowed. The touch of glitter on his lashes and eyelids, and blush on his cheeks, the pink gloss on his full thick lips so artfully applied as to be practically invisible.

The slave collar around Kirk's neck was part of a set that Steven recognized immediately. Collar and cock ring, $21.99 at the Pleasure Dome. The rhinestone nipple rings and belly button stud were familiar too, though he couldn't remember the price.

"Sorry 'bout that," Kirk apologized as he placed a cloth covered basket and a glass of water on the table. Would you like to see a menu...or maybe something else?" Kirk said, smoothing the apron tight across his hips and crotch. He wore nothing underneath.

A fact confirmed for Steven when Kirk turned his back for a moment to the fellows at the other table. "Hey, Kirk baby, my creamer's full up, Gary's too, but we've got no coffee. How about some service."

"Here's a menu, darling. I'll be back in a sexy sec."

Steven chuckled at the sight of Kirk's bare butt, adorned with a butterfly on each cheek, as he picked up the menu and quickly put it down. He knew what he was having, burger, fries and a coke, just like he always had, with mustard on the burger.

John used to laugh at that, Steven remembered. Mustard? He could almost hear his voice. I wonder what he's doing now. What he thinks about my leaving. He's probably glad that I'm gone so he doesn't have to think about what I did to him or maybe he'll tell the others that I blew him and that's why I left.

Kirk's distinctive voice cut through Steven's musings. "Oooh, yes, I'd love to. Let me take this kid's order and I'll be back."

Kirk rushed over to Steven, took his order and rushed into the kitchen. Steven was famished. He took a sip of water and reached for the basket, thinking it contained rolls or breadsticks, something to nibble on while he waited for his food.

Condoms, flavored condoms lay under the cloth. A note which read, Help Yourself By Helping Yourself, Compliments of AIDS Prevention Society of Provincetown, rested atop the colorful foil packets. Steven poked around in the basket looking for one particular flavor. Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, cherry, licorice and others were there, but not the one that had caused such a stir at the Pleasure Dome.

"Natural Semen! Gimme a fuckin' break," Max roared when Steven unpacked the shipment and showed it to him. "I stock fruit flavors for the fruits and now we got cum flavored condoms for the cocksuckers. Queers oughta turn the damn rubber inside out after the blow job if they like the taste of cum so much."

Steven tried the semen flavored condom and was disappointed. The taste was nothing at all like the faintly remembered taste of John's semen or his own semen which he still ejaculated into his mouth several times a week. As part of his act Steven got to try all the flavors by rolling the condom onto a top of the line anatomically correct reproduction of an erect circumcised penis. Cocksuckers Dream was the model Steven used. An 8 x 3 inch caucasian penis, testicles sold separately, that Max persuaded him to use in his act.

"The customers will love it," Max said. "Watching you suck that condom covered cock, wait'll you see how the tips increase."

The customers had enjoyed the latest addition to his act which had evolved from a simple, almost innocent strip tease into a New York quality one man sex show. The glory hole wall became riddled with tack marks from all the $50 bills Steven stuck on the wall while some guy on the other side got happy on his cock.

Two a day was Steven's limit. Not because he couldn't get an erection, but because he couldn't produce enough sperm quickly enough to meet the demand.

"Haven't they heard about AIDS and STD?" Steven thought to himself each time, which was all the time, a customer declined to use one of the free condoms on his side of the wall. "What if I was sick?" He commented to Max.

"Are you?" Max answered back.

"No. Not that I know of, anyway."

"Was John Larson sick? Was he clean, Steven, when you gave him head?"

Steven could only shrug his shoulders as Max continued to challenge him with probing questions.

"Did you even have a condom with you? And if you did, would you have stopped to suit him up in the heat of the moment...in the middle of a blow job?"

Max put an end to the discussion with a thought provoking question. "Be honest with yourself, huh Steven? Once his dick was between your lips, once you started sucking his cock... you wanted John Larson to cum in your mouth?"

Steven walked back to the farm on deserted country roads, rather than hitching a ride on the interstate. He needed the time alone to think, to plan, to be honest with himself as Max had suggested. Graduation was not far off and he needed to make some decisions.

Steven knew that his homosexuality had been decided for him at birth. He also knew that he had to leave Cornstalk, Kansas if he wanted to live a normal life among gay people like himself...a normal life which included love and sex. Not the kind of loveless sex that took place at the Pleasure Dome, though the urge to participate more fully was growing harder to resist. Not every man was like the pig and it was only a matter of time before the urge to have sex with a man...to suck a dick and more, the desire to repeat what he had done with John would overwhelm him.

Knee cushions and condoms were on both sides of the wall now and more than once Steven had been tempted to slide one onto a good looking cock and slip the suited beauty into his mouth. He had resisted so far, but the, "C'mon kid, suck it for me," from the other side of the wall was chipping away at his resolve.

"Yes, Max," he shouted to the deaf ears of corn that lined the dusty road, "I wanted to suck John's cock...I wanted John to cum in my mouth. I want to do it again."

Steven promised himself that day to always carry a condom and never to have unprotected sex.

"Every time we make love it's like discovering sex all over again," Crosby said as Troy lifted off his spent body and knelt at his feet. "I love you so much, Troy, I can't imagine living...you don't have to do that, there's towels in the bathroom."

"Oh, but I want to," Troy said as he lifted Crosby's flaccid cock and brought it to his lips. "I love you too, Bob, and..." He paused, searching for the words, then. "I want to come out. Tell the world I'm gay."

Crosby stroked Troy's cheek, sticky with the aftermath of their love, well aware of the frustration and anguish that Troy was feeling. "Wait a while longer, until after Oscar night. If you win it wont matter as much that you're gay."

Troy looked up, Crosby's cock slipping from his mouth. "I'll win and that's when I'll do it. With you by my side and the Oscar in my hand I'll tell the world that I'm gay and that I'm in love with a wonderful man. Piss everybody off."

Crosby had to laugh. "That'll piss them off alright. Speaking of which, I've got to use the john."

Troy cocked his head, a wicked little grin creased the corners of his mouth. "Why?"

"Because I....oh no, forget it."

"C'mon, Bob, I want you to do it. Didn't you ever..."

"On, not in."

Troy rose from his knees and took Crosby's hand. "There a shower in the john?"

Chapter 8

Steven felt the warm stream against his backside while waiting in line for his turn to use the shower. He turned around expecting an argument and got an apology instead. The guys behind him were having a pissing contest, distance and accuracy, pissing into paper cups half buried in the sand about five feet away. One participant had lost control of his partner's dick.

"Ooops, sorry. My boyfriend Lou here slipped out of my hand when he got hard."

Steven smiled back at the errant marksman, a thin, blond boy in his late teens with rings in his nipples and ears, a leather collar snug around his neck. "No problem, forget it."

The boyfriend, Lou, a big beefy guy, was scowling at his very substantial erection.

"Daniel Fisher."

"Steven Marsh."

"Nice to meet you, Steven. Hey, would you like to play?"

Lou came over before Steven could decline the invitation. He took Daniel's shoulder, rather roughly Steven thought, and spun him around. "There's a hundred bucks in the goddamn pot, Danny boy. I can't piss with the fuckin' hard-on you gave me."

"I'm sorry, Lou, real sorry."

"Sorry won't make it go down, Danny boy." Lou tapped his foot impatiently and scratched his balls, clearly waiting for Danny to come up with a solution to his problem.

Steven saw a touch of fear, then shame in Danny's face before he turned to Lou and said. "Would you like me to suck your dick? Make your hard-on disappear?"

"Yeah, take care of it, Danny boy."

Danny leaned over and put his hands on Lou's hips. He wet his lips with his tongue, then slurped Lou's prick into his mouth.

What astounded Steven even more then watching Danny suck was the fact that no one else was astounded. One guy was blowing another and the line for the shower just moved around them. A few paused to pat Danny's smooth ass, run a finger through the crack or jiggle his balls before moving on, but no one seemed surprised at the blatantly homosexual act.

Ptown is something else, Steven thought as he gave in to the urge and put his index finger on Danny's ass, tracing the distinctive tan line of a 2(x)ist thong. Kirk had all but drawn the life out of him not twenty minutes ago, his fourth orgasm of the day, but Steven was aroused. Danny wriggled his ass invitingly and Steven responded by placing his cock between two very plump buns.

"You gonna hump it all night?"

"What? Huh?" Steven said, startled.

"That ass? You gonna hump it or fuck it?"

Steven took a step back, mumbling an explanation, and the new man swiftly took his place. "Hey, Lou, how are you man? What are you doing in Provincetown? I heard you went to LA after Ohio State."

"Frank," Lou said, extending his hand. "It's good to see you. I'm still doing public relations in LA, came east for the summer."

The men were friends, fraternity brothers from college. They spent a few minutes catching up over Danny's back.

"Whose the cocksucker? Anybody I know?"

"Hitch hiker. Picked him up on the Mass Pike last week. He's from Idaho or Iowa, some shit hole place like that. His old man caught him making nice with a ranch hand...called him a queer and threw him out of the house."

Danny mumbled something which Steven didn't understand. It must have been something funny because Lou and Frank laughed as they rocked the boy between them, Lou in his mouth and Frank hunched against his ass.

"This is just like old times at the frat house. He any good?" Frank asked, reaching around to feel Danny's genitals. "Hmmm, kid's got a hard-on, tight nuts...and one great looking ass."

Lou gave Danny several quick thrusts, several slow, lengthy slides until only the head of his cock was in Danny's mouth, then slid back in until his balls came close to Danny's chin. Danny sucked and slurped, gagged when Lou went too deep, and purred like a kitten all the while Lou was assaulting his mouth.

"Not bad," Lou answered when he'd finished the demonstration and settled Danny back into an easy paced blow job. "You can use him when I'm done."

"Rather have his ass right now if you don't mind."

"Sure, go ahead. We'll double dick him like we used to do to the jock sniffers in the locker room and the sorority sisters when they were ready to lose their virginity."

"He cherry?" Frank asked. A hopeful note in his voice.

"You're kidding, right? I popped his cherry, made him pussy the day after I picked him up. Been fucking him two, three a day since." As an afterthought he added, "I'm sure Danny wont mind another cock up his ass while mine's busy in his mouth."

Lou took Danny's head firmly in his hands. "My pal Frank is going to fuck you, Danny boy. That's okay with you, right, Danny boy?"

He couldn't answer of course, not with Lou's cock pressing down on his tongue. He signaled his approval, however reluctantly, by moving his hands from Lou's hips to his own ass...spreading the cheeks wide apart to expose his slightly bruised rectum. He wasn't too sure about this or about a stranger fucking him, on a public beach no less. But Lou had asked and Danny wouldn't think of refusing and possibly upsetting the only person who had shown him any kindness at all in a very long time.

Double dicking would be yet another in a host of new experiences Danny had both enjoyed and endured since Lou had picked him up, exhausted and penniless, and given him a place to stay. Lou was a top who swung both ways, Danny a bottom, effeminate and exclusively homosexual. For Danny, the relationship was like a marriage and he willingly fulfilled all of the marital obligations of a dutiful and obedient wife.

He enjoyed the sex immensely. The oral sex, Lou ejaculating in his mouth, and once he'd learned to properly lubricate his ass and relax, the anal sex as well. Lou used him like a whore and treated him like a slave. Danny adored him for it because it made him feel needed. He did the cooking, cleaning, laundry, waited on his man with slavish devotion.

He endured the body piercings, the collar and the thong Lou had him wear all the time even though it irritated his anus. He endured the public sex and the nights at the club, the little humiliations inflicted on him when Lou had had a couple of drinks. Danny believed he was in love and he thought, like a child might think to win a parents favor, that if he was a very good boy that Lou would love him in return. Poor Danny was not alone. Like many other misguided teens who flocked to Ptown in the summer, Danny confused dependency and submission with love.

Steven had company now as Frank prepared to penetrate the boy. Oral sex among the young gays in Ptown, it may be said with only slight exaggeration, was akin to a handshake. A way of greeting old friends...making new ones; no one stopped to watch two men shaking hands. Referring to someone as a cocksucker hardly raised an eyebrow in a community where just about everyone was a cocksucker. Like jive-talking blacks referring to each other as nigger, cocksucker had a different meaning when used by like minded males in conversation. No, Steven had company, Danny had drawn an audience because double dicking a guy was fun to watch and any two-on-one scene could escalate into a spontaneous orgy.

"Anybody got a rubber?" Frank asked, turning to the small crowd that had assembled to watch and wait in anticipation.

One was produced and its owner did the honors, expertly using his mouth to roll the latex sheath down the length of Frank's generous endowment. Scattered applause followed the virtuoso performance, then a collective gasp as Frank speared into the upturned ass with a single thrust. Danny gagged as the force of the thrust sent him forward and sent Lou's cock into his throat.

"Easy, Danny boy," Lou instructed. "Don't fight it, cocksucker, breathe through your nose like I taught you."

He struggled, turning blue in the face, until Lou gave up "going for the gold" and released the hold on his head. When he could breathe again Danny kissed Lou's cock and apologized. "I'm trying, Lou, really I am."

"Well, be like the cocksuckers at Avis and try harder, Danny boy. Now open up and I'll feed my prick in slowly."

Danny settled down on a manageable amount of Lou's cock. His erection returned as he sucked and began to jump when Frank, thrusting into him with long easy strokes, stimulated his prostate. All doubts about being doubled dick faded as his orgasm approached.

Steven felt the hands crawling up his legs and the wet tongues in his ears as the guys on either side of him moved closer. Aroused by the sex taking place in front of him, he let his hands wander too, searching for and finding the pair of cocks that quickly grew hard in his grasp. Steven hadn't touched a cock since leaving Kansas; not Marty's on the bus or Kirk's in the coffee shop. The two cocks pulsing with life in his hands sent shivers up and down his spine.

Steven's sighs, his little moans and squeals of pleasure joined with those of his two partners. All around them the sounds of sexual pleasure filled the night air. The smell of semen soon followed, as the crowd of gay young men gave in to their instincts and let nature take its course. Steven was ready to give in as well when after a passionate round of kissing he found himself on his back with an erect penis hovering above him.

"Suck it for me, buddy. My nuts are killing me, gonna bust wide open if I don't get off a load."

Steven considered the request, studied the face of the clean cut guy who had made it and studied the cock in question. Driven by hormones, lust and suppressed desire, he grasped the hard shaft at the midpoint and brought the head to his lips.

"Oh shit that feels good. Suck it now, man. Oh god, please suck my cock."

Steven closed his eyes and imagined that it was John Larson or Allan Crosby in his hand, rubbing against his lips. John or Allan about to slip into his mouth for a blow job. He remembered the thrill of John between his lips, the feel of him in his mouth, and the explosion of sperm that had made his head spin. He also remembered his vow to practice safe sex. "Have you got a condom?"

"Shit, no. Hey, anybody got a rubber I can have?"

New or used? What size? What color? What flavor?

Steven thought the remarks from the crowd were pretty funny. The fellow straddling his chest expecting a blow job didn't quite agree. "Fuck you all!" He shouted back in frustration, then looked down at Steven who, having made one decision had yet another to make.

"Please suck my dick. I promise, swear to god I'll pull out. I promise not to cum in your mouth."

Steven had condoms in his back pack. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."

It took him a while to pick his way through the mass of naked bodies sprawled in the sand around the shower and beyond. Danny was sitting on Frank's cock now, Lou was still pumping away in his mouth. His hands were busy with two other guys who were busily sucking each others tongues. Guys were joined in every conceivable fashion; no dick long left uncared for, no mouth and anus long left unfilled. Used condoms squished under Steven's feet like slimy slugs in a summer corn field. He watched as a condom soared up into the stars like a rocket, then fall back to earth, nose cone filled with semen, to land with a splat on a bare back.

Steven found his pack buried underneath a pile of clothes that others who came to shower had left behind. He quickly retrieved one condom, paused for a moment, then took another. In case he wants to fuck me, Steven said to Crosby's jock strap, after I suck his cock. He hurried back, declining several invitations to join one group or another, only to find his would be partner happily thrusting away in Danny's mouth without a condom.

"You're next with the cocksucker," Lou called out to him. "Danny boy is just getting started."

He shook his head, declining the offer. "Thanks anyway."

Steven let the condoms fall from his hand. He didn't want a blow job from a boy who had no respect for himself or to blow a guy who would stick his cock in any available mouth. He could have stayed in Kansas working at the Pleasure Dome for that. He wanted a friend, a companion, a lover, a relationship.

He took the shower he came for, the water cold as Kirk had warned, which cooled him down if only temporarily. His erection returned with a vengeance as he picked his way through the mass of gyrating naked bodies to retrieve his backpack. He walked down to the water's edge, careful not to step on or trip over anybody. The sound of the surf drowned out the sounds of people making love on the beach behind him and too, the sound of his lonely sobs. He waded in up to his knees, stroked his throbbing erection and released his semen into the sea.

Chapter 9

"I spoke to Allan last night," Robert Crosby said as Steven joined him at the breakfast table. "A July is out of the question, but the last two weeks of August is still a possibility. He said to say hi."

Steven poured himself a glass of juice, disappointed at the news yet happy as a clam to be working for Allan's twin brother. Robert had hired him on the spot, after they had stopped laughing over the remarkable coincidence. Steven told him he was gay. Robert told him it didn't matter, but said nothing about his own sexual orientation.

"It's not much of a job," Crosby had warned him. "Six guest cottages, including mine. Make the beds, change the linens and towels, clean the pool, weed the garden, chores like that. There's a room with a bath over the garage that comes with the job."

When he took the job Steven had no idea that Robert Crosby was anything other than Allan Crosby's twin brother, a friendly rich guy who owned a small resort hotel. He had no idea that he was gay or that the handsome young man who came to visit once was a movie star. He worked hard and Crosby, who was lonely without Troy, took a fatherly interest in the boy's welfare.

They ate their meals together, took long walks on the beach; laughed at the antics of the more outrageous gays in their string bikinis, and Steven unburdened himself. Crosby, who had been down that road, offered an understanding ear. "You'll find somebody to love, who will love you back," he counseled repeatedly. "Just be patient and you will meet a great guy."

After two weeks on the job Steven realized that he wasn't going to meet any guys his age, great or otherwise, by hanging out at the hotel on his day off or by jerking off into his mouth alone in his room at night. The beach was loaded with gay boys his age so that's where he needed to be if he wanted to meet one. He used his first paycheck to go shopping, to buy a few things for the beach: T-shirts, flip-flops and a bathing suit. Nothing too expensive and the unexpected blow job in the dressing room was free.

"Strings are no good if you plan on going into the water," Bruce, the helpful clerk said when he came into the dressing room while Steven was trying on a string bikini. "Too flimsy. First wave'll leave you butt naked."

"Be hard to tell it was missing," Steven joked as he tried to untie the single string that held the tiny suit together.

"A thong is much better and you can wear it all the time, not just on the beach." Bruce unzipped his baggy shorts and let them drop to his feet. "See, I'm wearing one now."

At one time the town council had tried to pass an ordinance banning thong wearers from the city's streets. "It's indecent, they might as well walk around naked," one councilman was quoted as saying in the local newspaper.

The gays organized a protest rally and the council relented when 2,000 angry men, 2,000 naked angry men marched on city hall.

"Wait up, you got a knot," Bruce said when he saw that Steven was having a problem. "Let me give you a hand."

Bruce took his time with the knot and liberties with Steven's ass. The first kiss was so light and fleeting that Steven didn't realize he'd been kissed at all. "Hey, what are you doing back there?" He shouted when Bruce followed up with a lip smacker.

"Kissing your ass, man. Anybody ever tell you that you've got a gorgeous ass? Smells damn good too."

"Yeah, well, stop it," Steven said without much conviction. "You're giving me a hard-on."

Bruce finished with the string bikini and crawled through Steven's legs. "Good looking hard-on too," he said, kissing the moist tip. "Mmmm, mmmm, good. Okay if I suck it?"

"You're nuts. What if somebody comes in?" Steven felt vulnerable with nothing on except his new flip-flops.

"Not my nuts...your nuts. I'll suck them too if you want, along with your prick."

Steven laughed and reached down to his pants for a condom. He laughed again when Bruce shook his head and asked if he had any other flavor. "I'm allergic to stuff, strawberry makes me break out in a rash."

"I only brought one."

"Forget it then."

"The blow job?"

"No, not the blow, the condom. I'd rather suck your dick without a rubber, I'm not allergic to cum. Keep it handy though, you can use it if you want when you do me."

Steven might well have returned the favor, given Bruce the blow job he expected if the store hadn't suddenly gotten mobbed with a bus load of tourists. Bruce was still licking up the semen off Steven's balls when the door chimes sounded. "Shit," Bruce said, rising to his feet and peeking out front. "The fag watchers have arrived. I gotta go."

Bruce returned a second later. "You owe me one."

They made a date to meet at a club that night. Steven arrived early with a pocketful of condoms. He had given it a lot of thought and had decided that he would do it with Bruce. John Larson, his best friend and the only boy he had ever done it to had called him a faggot cocksucker. Harsh words, but John had been right and the passage of time had eased the pain of rejection.

I am what I am, Steven thought as he waited at the bar for Bruce to arrive. Two beers later he was still waiting. He left at midnight when the music slowed, the mood lights came on, the street clothes came off and couples began to dance. Bruce had stood him up.

Chapter 10

The Robert Crosby blockbuster film staring Troy Lancaster opened nationwide on the Fourth of July. The critics raved, calling it the best picture of the decade and Troy's performance nothing short of miraculous. "Everyone else can stay home on Oscar night," one critic said on the Leno show. "Lancaster's a shoo in for the Academy Award."

Where was Troy Lancaster? Nobody had seen him. Not even Mona Wexler, his agent, had seen him or spoken to him in the weeks since the movie had been released.

Steven Marsh wasn't saying, but he knew exactly where Troy was. In Robert Crosby's bedroom this early in the morning and judging by the sounds coming through the door he was having sex.

"You're still number one at the box office," Steven said looking up from the newspaper as Troy and Bob, naked and sweaty from their lovemaking, came into the kitchen for a cold drink. "Five weeks in a row and it says here that Troy fan clubs have sprung up all over the country."

Troy poured himself a glass of juice and one for Bob. "We'll see how much they love me after I announce that I'm gay. After I announce that I'm married to the most wonderful man in the world."

"You're still going to wait until you win the Oscar, aren't you?" Crosby asked quickly. "You don't want to blow your chances of winning?"

"Maybe," Troy said. "Maybe I'll blow off old Oscar and stop living a lie for the sake of fame and fortune. Are you afraid the Academy wont give the best actor award to a faggot cocksucker who's married to a faggot cocksucker?"

"Who lives in a house with another faggot cocksucker," Steven piped up and joined in their laughter. He'd been astounded to discover, quite by accident, that Robert Crosby was gay and that the fellow who came to visit was his life partner. Steven swore to keep the secret that wild horses couldn't drag out of him.

Their relationship, so easy and loving made him rethink what he'd been doing for the past month. Maybe he'd be better off looking for an older man. The young guys he'd met so far only wanted to have sex with as many partners as possible, without protection, like they were immune from HIV. Long-term relationships lasted about as long as a decent blow job or until another cock got shoved up their ass. An older man was definitely the way to go.

Troy announced that he was going to the beach to work on his tan, inviting Steven to join him.

"Don't forget your sunglasses, and wear a hat," Crosby reminded him. "I don't want you to be recognized."

"I'll meet you there later, Steven said. "I have work to do and, oh shit, Rainbow cottage called for more towels ten minutes ago. Can I borrow one of your thongs, Troy? Mine are all in the wash."

"Help yourself, anything you want. I owe you big time for agreeing to share your room with my brother Todd.

Todd Lancaster moved in with Steven Marsh and it was love at first sight. They made love three days later when Steven's blood test came back negative and got married in late August when Allan Crosby came to visit.

Steven Marsh had found a home.