Four Becomes Two

Dear Readers:

Thanks again for all the wonderful words you write to me. Once more, I am floored that so many of you enjoy what I write, and I will do my best to keep you entertained.

As always, I want to remind you that even though Dave and Greg are not practicing safety in their sexual escapades, remember you must. We're dealing with some serious stuff out there, and if, God forbid, the world will lose some of its brightness and glitter without you.

This part is for all you guys and gals who are too young to be reading this material. LEAVE NOW! (Yeah, like what am I going to do if you don't)? If you find this subject objectionable, LEAVE NOW! And remember, this story is a creation of my overworked imagination and belongs to me. If you'd like to reproduce this in any form, please contact the author (me) for permission.

Also, any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is a compliment and should be taken as such.

Thank you,

Jay

As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to hearing from you.

Four Become Two: Chapter 20

Greg and I exit our room the next morning singing the tune of "Deep In The Heart of Texas", all to the amusement of the few other guests that we encountered on our journey to the elevator. We even had a few who helped us with a couple of the lines. We were definitely a sight as we waited for the elevator car to arrive.

We had quieted down somewhat when we slid into the booth next to Bryan and Rob. "Well, you two look as if you didn't get any rest at all last night," Bryan says, his implication obvious.

"We had a hard time ourselves what with all the noise on our end of the floor," Simms adds.

"Were we that loud?" I ask, as Greg turns several deep shades of purple.

"Nah!" Simms laughs. "We just wanted to bust your chops a bit." We all get a hearty laugh from that as Greg finally loses some color to his face. "I thought Greg was going to blow, he got so deep red."

"I'll get you back," Greg promises, "when you least expect it. I'll get you, and your pretty dog, too!" he continues, echoing the line from the Wizard of Oz.

"So, you want to meet with Shelia before I? What time did you want to go there?"

"We've scheduled an eleven o'clock. Hopefully, we'll rattle her cage a bit before you see her. We want you to take this," Bryan says, handing me a voice-activated tape recorder. "With any luck, you might be able to get a confession from her. By the way, does she know that she'll be meeting with you this afternoon?"

"No," I answer. "I made the appointment under the name of Jesse Sprague. He is the Product Developer for PCL. I don't think he'll object to me using his name in this circumstance."

"PCL?" Rob asks. "You said that last night. What is PCL?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you don't know."

"Wait until you hear this, guys," Greg comments.

"PCL is Paradise Cruise Lines, Ltd. It is my family's company. I am on the board, although I rarely get to a board meeting, as well as being an heir."

"Roughly translated, here sits before you a little more than $230 million," Greg adds.

"Then he can pay for breakfast. I was wondering how you could afford that plane. Now it all makes sense."

"So you're going in as this... Jesse Sprague?"

"Yeah. She thinks I'm here scouting for an attorney to represent the cruise line that will soon be departing from the Galveston piers. I appealed to her sense of greed, and to her ego." We then settle down with our breakfast, fine-tuning our plans for Miss Shelia Daniels.

"Well, gentlemen," I say, as I nudge Greg from the table, "if you'll excuse us, we have some shopping to do. We'll see you guys in a couple of hours. I'm going to be interested in what Shelia has to say." Greg and I make our way to an upscale men's boutique in the hotel, where we are each fitted for a suit. Of course, we purchased shoes, socks, etc. to complete the outfits. An extra hundred assured us that the items would be ready shortly.

"Well, don't the two of you look--distinguish," Simms says as we meet them in the hotel bar.

"Thank you," Greg says. I must admit, he does clean up pretty well. Just as he did when I first saw him in the restaurant that evening when Annette introduced us. Annette. I wonder how involved she is in this mess. She and Shelia are as thick as thieves."

I order an iced tea as we settle in a booth in the back of the bar. "How did things go, guys? Were you able to get a confession out of her making our visit a mute point?"

"Unfortunately, no," Bryan says. "She's pretty smart, that Miss Daniels. If I were in trouble, I'd want her defending me."

"She almost slipped up once when we told her that we knew of her connection to Reynolds; and he implicated her in the assault upon you last year. She did manage to squeeze a few tears when we told her of your death. Said she had to call your mother to give her condolences. After all, and I quote, 'they both lost something special in you.' Hah! What a load of crap that was!"

"What did she say about Reynolds?"

"She said that she had defended Reynolds about the time you and she were parting, and he may have overheard some conversations that she might have had with her partner, a Miss Annette Johnson, but she had not discussed you with him. Miss Johnson is currently not here in Houston. She's on some island in the Caribbean--vacationing. But we will contact her when she returns."

"But that's going to give them the chance to get their stories in sync," Greg chimes in.

"Do you know what island Miss Johnson is on?" I inquire.

"Miss Daniels said that she had taken her daughter..."

"Her daughter?" Greg asks, an obvious lump in his throat.

"She has taken her daughter and her daughters friend on vacation to Aruba. That was an obvious lie."

Greg excuses himself, pulling his cell phone from his inside pocket, he dials a few numbers. He is on there quite a while, and only finishes as I take my leave from the detectives to go to my meeting with Shelia.

"So, what are you two going to do while we're away?" he inquires of the detectives.

"We're uhm..." Simms says

"We're uhm.." repeats Lane.

"I'm going to take a nap, I don't know about Bryan," Simms rushes.

Greg and I look at each other before giving them a wondering glance as they seem flustered. When we look back at them, they both have this funny grin on their faces.

"O-kay," I say, drawing out the last syllable. "We'll see you when we get back." I pick up my black, Italian leather briefcase that I bought, handing it to Greg (he is playing the part of my assistant), don my sunglasses, and walk out to the waiting limo.

Our nerves are definitely on edge as the limo comes to a stop in front of Shelia's office building.

"Are you okay?" Greg whispers.

I nod my head in assent. There are so many emotions building in me at this moment. Greg reaches over, taking my right hand in his left, as his right encircles my body, pulling me towards him. He kisses me gently on the lips. "I'm here with you. It's going to be alright. Together, we can accomplish anything."

We make our way into the foyer of the building with its three-story foyer. Shelia's office is on the 32nd floor, and we are directed to take the express elevator at the end of the bank.

"Yes. This is Mr. Jesse Sprague and I'm Herman Wilson. I think Miss Davis is awaiting us," Greg announces to the receptionist. He is playing the part of my personal assistant very well. The receptionist forwards news of our arrival to someone, and moments later, this striking young man appears.

"Gentlemen, I am so sorry, Miss Reynolds is going to be about ten minutes late. She was involved with a very difficult case at the courts this morning, and is running a few minutes late." True Shelia. Never be prompt to a meeting. Makes the client see how hard you're working for them. I had told the everyone of this antic earlier. I could still read her like a book. "If you'll follow me, I take you to the conference room. May I get you some refreshments?" he asks, ogling our attire and the expensive jewelry that I am wearing. Greg is also wearing expensive jewelry, items that a man in his position as my personal assistant could easily afford.

"Thank you. We'll have a Scotch, and don't be stingy with the booze," I say, falling into the character as a forceful director. As planned, Greg gives him a sly signal to go easy on his drink. "Do you think Miss Davis is going to be much longer? I have other things I have to do today..."

"Oh, she should be here any minute."

"Well, see if you can hurry her along. I am always on time, and I expect the same thing in the people who I work with."

"Uh, yes Sir," he says, as he scurries to meet my demands.

"Gregory!? What are you doing here? I'm meeting with a potential new client, and I don't have time..."

"Hi Shelia," I say, spinning her around as I am behind her. "You look well."

"David! I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were dead. Two detectives said that you were dead! What are you doing here?"

"I'm your appointment, Jesse Sprague. I hope you will forgive my deception, but I knew if I put my name on your appointment schedule, you'd be suddenly busy," I continue, ignoring her comment.

"I have nothing to say to you, or your faggot boyfriend here."

"That a new record, Shelia. Congratulations! You've gone from zero to bitch in fifteen seconds. And I see that you are aware that Greg and I are a couple."

"Fuck you. Oh sorry, that's Greg's job."

"And I must admit, he's much better at it than you ever were."

"What do you want David?" she ask, emitting a heavy sigh. She could never best me in a verbal war.

"Just two things. Well actually...three. First, I want to know why you sent that psycho Reynolds after me? Did you miss my dick so much that if you couldn't have it, no one could?" I ask, grabbing my crotch.

"Don't flatter yourself. Your fucking wasn't really that good. `S matter of fact, it was kind of boring." She yawns.

"Is that why you get wet every time you're near me? Look at you, I bet you're getting wet now just thinking about my hard, fat dick stretching your tired pussy...aren't you?"

"I didn't send that Reynolds person after you. I wanted nothing, and I mean nothing, more to do with you. You were the last thing on my mind."

"That's hard to believe. After all, it was two years we were together."

"Get out!"

"Not yet, Shelia. We aren't through." Greg pulls some papers from the briefcase. "Shelia? I want you to sign these papers."

"What is this?" she asks, seizing the papers Greg hands me.

"These papers give me full custody of our son."

"What? You know about my, emphasize my, son."

"Shelia, I know he's mine."

"No he's not."

"Well, in that case, here is an order to produce him for a DNA test."

"Do you really think a court would give my son to his faggot father? You know, I only wanted Reynolds to beat you, that's all I asked him to do. To make you feel as much pain as I was feeling. I should have told him to kill you. I wished I had. The few dollars I gave him were nothing."

"And how much did that beating cost you, Shelia?"

"A mere thousand bucks, and he wanted to fuck Annette and me. He probably would have done it for the fuck. I'm not signing anything. Now get out!"

"Shelia, wouldn't you rather have our son," I say, sitting in one of the leather chairs, "live with someone who can give him the world, give him the love you can't? That you don't know how to give? Anyone who would hire someone to hurt his or her child's parent...."

"I love my son, make no mistake about that. Even if he does look like you."

"But Shelia, what kind of life can you give him? You're going to be locked away!"

"I'll make sure he doesn't grow up to be a faggot like you."

"Shelia, stupid Shelia. You're not as smart as I thought you were. You just admitted that you paid someone to attack me. Someone who is now facing serious charges of kidnapping, extortion, attempted murder, and numerous minor offenses, all at your request."

"So? It can't be used in court. It's your word, and your boy-toy's, against mine, the poor betrayed woman who was forced to bring your bastard child..." She doesn't finish the sentence as I lunge at her. Fortunately, Greg catches me before I can get to her.

"Bitch," I say, holding up the tape recorder that Lane had given me. "Don't you ever refer to my child as a bastard! You're on tape, and I'm wired. You're going to jail, you fucking cunt! I'm taking my son, and you'll end up being a bitch to Big Bertha. Better get your tongue ready, or is Annette giving you plenty of practice."

"You fucking bastard..." she says, as she lunges at me. I grab her wrist, and easily subdue her. At that moment, the detectives enter the room followed by two of Houston's finest.

"Miss Daniels, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit assault, conspiracy to commit murder, complicity to kidnapping, kidnapping in the second degree, and solicitation to commit bodily harm against ones David Welsh and Gregory Jefferson.

Also, what can you tell us about the four kilos of cocaine and $16K cash we found this morning when we executed a search warrant at your home?"

"What?"

"We found it in a sliding panel of your master bedroom closet."

"You have the right to remain silent..."

"Wait a minute. I don't know anything about any cocaine or money."

"You have the right to an attorney before answering any questions."

"Can't you see? Somebody has set me up! David! He did this..."

"If you can't afford an attorney, the courts will appoint one for you."

"Will you wait just a minute," she begs as they put the handcuffs on her.

"Do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?" one of the Houston police officers recites.

"Officer, I am an attorney?"

"Ma'am, do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?"

"Yeah, yeah. But you're not going to get my son, Dave. I'll see you in hell first. I know you did this to me, and you're not going to get away with it."

"Shelia, don't add any more charges to those you already face," I say, as they lead her out to the amazement of her staff.

"Young man," Simms says to the Shelia's assistant. "Do you have an itinerary for Miss Johnson?"

"I don't know if I can give you that information," says the cocky assistant.

"Fella, if you don't give me the answers that I want to know, and right now, you'll be joining your boss this evening in lock up."

It only took a few moments for the bravado to wear off. "Miss Johnson is vacationing with her daughter outside the country."

"Son, don't play with my patience," growls Simms.

"She's in St. Thomas, staying at the Sapphire Beach Resort and Marina. She has the two children with her. Your son, Mr. Welsh, and your daughter, I assume you are Mr. Jefferson. She's just on a little vacation."

"Dave, it's true. We're fathers. You have a boy, and I have a girl," Greg says as the reality of what has been said sinks in. "We can't let them stay with her. We just can't."

"Then it looks like we're going to St. Thomas." I call the airport and charter a plane. My credit card is really getting a workout. "Detectives? I thought you were going to take a nap?"

"What? And miss all the fun? We can have you sign the paperwork later. Go get your children."

"But we want you to come with us. We've traveled this far together. We might as well go all the way." After a little convincing, and a promise to return within 72 hours, we are off to the airport. Bryan did have the frame of mind to remind me to call the hotel, and have them extend our stay.

It is almost 10 p.m. when our plane lands at Charlotte Amalie Airport. All of us are exhausted as we exit the plane.

"We don't have a place to stay," remarks Bob, as we enter the airport lobby. "We can't do anything tonight, anyhow.

"Let me make a phone call," Greg says. He moves over to the phone bank, and dial a few numbers. Returning shortly, he tells us that he has found us a place to stay. "What? You think you're the only one with connections?" he says to a surprised me.

We find a cab outside the door. The driver gives us a strange look as he sees we have no luggage. Greg gives him the address, and soon we are driving the winding roads of St. Thomas towards the shore. We end up on Solberg Road at this beautiful house.

"Greg, who lives here?" I ask.

"This place belongs to a friend of my parents. I called him back in New York, and he invited us to stay here. He had read about our troubles, and was more that willing to help us." Simms pays the cabbie, giving him a generous tip. "He said there was a spare key hidden...Yes, here it is," he says, moving a secret panel that's on the siding.

He opens the door, and a sweep of the harbor is before us as this house is obviously on an overlooking cliff. "Wow!" Bryan says. I thought that that place you guys were staying in Jersey was beautiful, but this is gorgeous."

"You know, I was thinking, since the Virgin Islands is a territory of the United States, we're only going to face territorial jurisdiction obstacles, instead of international," Simms says. "Seems Miss Johnson did us a favor by coming to this piece of paradise."

"Was that your stomach, Bryan?" We all laugh at his apparent embarrassment.

"Well, I'm hungry. We should have gotten something to eat before we came here."

"I don't know what's in the frig," Bryan says.

"I wonder if they have pizza here?" Rob says. "Where's the phone book?" He finds the phone book, and pursues the pages. "Hey, here's one that boasts of New York style pizza. Do you want to give it a try?"

Everyone agrees, and we call and order to large pies with pepperoni and sausage on one, and a vegetarian pie for Greg and Bryan.

The pizza turned out to be delicious. Now it was time to start thinking of bed. There were only two bedrooms, and I knew whom I was going to be sleeping with tonight.

"What are we going to do about clothes?" Greg asks.

"Tomorrow, we'll do a little shopping before we confront Annette," I say. "We can't very well meet out children looking like bagmen, now can we? Besides, I don't think these suits are going to be too comfortable in the heat."

"Don't do anything that we wouldn't do, you too," Greg jokes, as we head into one of the bedrooms.

Bryan and Ron give each other this sheepish look. It's the second time that I have noticed that. "Tomorrow, gentlemen, you're going to have to explain that look, and that's a promise."

We climbed into bed, and hold each other tightly until sleep overcomes us. We talk about our suspicions regarding Ron and Bryan, but even our curiosity about them isn't enough to overpower the activities of the day. "We're going to get our children tomorrow," Greg says hopefully.

"Yes, Daddy, we are!"

"Yes, Daddy, we are!" he responds.

Daylight quickly comes, and we marvel at the beauty of our surroundings, with the vibrant greens, yellows, purple, and pinks of the foliage about the property to the blueness of the bright sky. We head into St. Thomas proper, and find this quaint men's shop, where we are able to find appropriate attire for the area.

After a light lunch, and a few drinks, Greg and I muster up enough courage to confront Annette. Detective Simms had spoken with the local police, and they had agreed to keep her under surveillance.

We arrive at the resort, and are met at a distance by the two undercover officers. I can't help but notice Bryan's eyes linger a little long at the bulge in the male officer's swimsuit. He was cute.

"Which one of you is Detective Simms?" the female officer asks.

"That would be me," Simms answers.

"I'm Officer Angela Schafer, and this is Officer Tony Dennis. We have kept Miss Johnson under surveillance, and this is actually a very good time to surprise the suspect. She is having a massage, and the children are being watched by their nanny at the pool."

"Good, then let's go." We exit our vehicle and approach the hotel. We follow the two officers to the gym, and down a corridor to the massage areas.

"Hi, can I..." the attendant greets us. She quiets as the police officers show their badges. We motion to the masseuse as we enter to keep quiet. Annette is laying there, on her stomach, a towel draped around he middle. Her long, black hair is wrapped in a towel.

Greg moves up, and begins to massage her as the masseuse is escorted out.

"Ouch!" she says, as Greg applies a little pressure. "Ouch!" she repeats, this time raising her head and facing Greg.

"Greg? What are you...Dave? And who are you?" Her eyes move from Greg, to me, and then to the rest as she spins around, clutching the towel to her body.

"Why Annette? Why did you do this?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and get the fuck out!"

We all ignore her last statement as Greg continues. "Why? Why did you help Shelia do what she did? Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant, and that you had my daughter? Are you really that cold and manipulative? Are you really that much of a bitch?"

She slaps his face. "Don't you dare call me a bitch, you faggot. Yeah, I know. I know how you and your boyfriend there made fools of Shelia and I. You, the both of you, pretended like you were men when all the time you were pawing each other. I saw it when Dave was in the hospital, but I didn't want to believe it. That's what really convinced me. You...you sitting by his bed. Taking vigil. Holding his hand as you talked to him. I even caught you. You didn't see me. I interrupted one of your little sessions. You were crying your eyes out like the bitch you became, over your hurt man. How sickening.

You don't know how many times I thought about getting rid of that baby. Everyday, I really thought of aborting. I should have. But, I felt her move, and I couldn't. But tell you about her? Please!

Do you think I want my child near some faggots? Do you think any courts are going to blame us? Not when they hear our story. You'll be lucky if you don't get time for destroying our lives.

Why a man? And why him?" she says, pointing at me. "You know I can't stand him. But you couldn't stay away.

Tell me, how long was it before he fucked you? Huh? Had he dicked you when Shelia and I came to visit? Answer me, you wuss."

"Yeah, we had done it. And you know what, it was with more love, affection, and satisfaction than anything you and I had ever done. He filled me..."

"Oh, shut up. You're sickening. Just know, you'll never get to see your child. I will never let her know how low her mother sunk. You're just her sperm donor."

"I'm her father! And I am here to take her--home!"

"Over my dead body..."

"If that's what it takes..." Greg answers. I step between them, pushing Greg away.

"Greg, calm down. Annette's going to jail. Remember? You don't have to deal with her ever again. By the time she gets out, your daughter will be an adult, in college."

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to jail."

"Oh, yes you are!" We all finally focus on the police officers in the room. "Annette Johnson, you are under arrest!"

"Your children are out by the pool," the female officer says as she places Annette into the hands of some other officers on the scene.

"I'm scared, Dave," Greg says.

"Me too, baby, me too." We follow the police officers out onto the terrace. There are a few guests about as most of the hotel's clientele is either on the white, sandy beach or elsewhere in paradise.

There is a kiddy-pool off to one side, and I notice two beautiful children at play with an attractive young woman. The woman looks up as we approach.

"Miss? May we speak to you for a few moments," Simms says, producing his badge. The woman arises, taking the children by the hand. "Okay, go grab your towels," she says, as the toddlers scramble towards the lounge chair.

"Yes, Officer, what can I do for you?"

"Are these children you're charged with watching belonging to a Miss Annette Johnson?"

"Yes, is there a problem? Did something happen to Miss Johnson?"

"Yes, and no. Miss Johnson was taken into police custody this afternoon."

"What happened?"

"These children are now wards of the state, and will be taken by these people," he says pointing in the direction of two women that are approaching.

"Simms, what are you talking about?" I ask. "No one is going to take our children but us!"

"These are our children!" Greg exclaims.

"We know that, guys, but you know how the system works. You're lawyers, for Christ's sake. They are going to have to be placed in a group home until you are able to get to court."

"But...but."

"I understand what you're feeling, but we have to do this according to the books so that things will work out in the long-run."

"He's right, Dave--Greg," Bryan interjects. "It's only going to be for a little while. You'll have them back soon."

Two matronly women take the children. "Where are they going?" we both ask.

"They be fine," one of the ladies say. "The detective right. Won't be long, and you'll have your babies back." They get into a car and drive away.

"Simms...?"

"There's nothing I can do fellas. You know how the law works."

Despondently, we move into the lobby and out the door, heading to the police station. There, Greg and I file charges against Annette. Papers are also faxed from the Houston PD, and we sign them, filing formal charges against Shelia.

"We're going to have to get back to the states," Bryan says.

"Do you have to leave now?" Greg asks.

"No, we can leave tomorrow. Probably can't get a flight out until then anyway."

"Nonsense, I'll call for my jet. The pilot can take you back to Houston, and then back to New York. Will you do me a favor, and check Greg and I out of our suite. We're not leaving without our children."

"Sure Dave, no problem."

We get back to the house, stopping by a grocer along the way to grab food. We figure that we'll be here for a few days. I make a phone call to Scott in Virginia, surprising him by telling him to file a flight plan to St. Thomas. I also inform him of the itinerary of the two detectives. He tells me that he will be here by 10 a.m.

"Why don't you two go have a nap or a walk or something," Simms says. "You two are depressing us." He tries to smile, and we return it--weakly.

"Come on Dave. Let's go for a walk." We head out the door and up the incline of the drive. It's beautiful here, and despite our depression about the children, we can't help but notice that we have found a little bit of paradise.

It is a rather warm day, the air is humid, but we trek along. "Dave? I've been thinking."

"That's dangerous," I quip.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later." Greg pulls me into a nearby park that I hadn't noticed, and onto a bench.

"I've been thinking Dave--about us. If we hadn't, you know, started..."

"Greg, nothing, and I repeat nothing that we have done warrants the things that have been heaped upon us in the past year."

"But if we hadn't hurt Shelia and Annette..."

"What? We were suppose to deny something that we found? We didn't ask to fall in love. I think that there is a greater Providence who controls our life. He, she, it helped us to realize just what had to have been true all along."

"But if we hadn't become gay..."

"Greg! Do you honestly believe we became gay? Do you think that we chose to fall in love with someone of the same sex? Look at how many years we denied that. At least I did.

Sure, if I were to be perfectly honest, I have to admit that I really only conformed. Know what I mean? We live in a world where you're expected, if you're a guy, to find that perfect girl one day and marry and have children who will repeat the cycle. That's acceptable, quote, unquote." I make the sign of the hash marks."

"But isn't that normal?" Greg questions.

"Who says it's normal? It felt so right for me to fall in love with you. I tried to fight it, really I did. But the more I saw you and got to know you, the more I wanted to see you and get to know you. Being with you became the highlight of my life."

"Me, too," he admits. "I knew it the first moment that I saw you that night in the restaurant. Do you know the reason I sat down so quickly? You were making me hard. I didn't understand it; really didn't want to understand it. I took Annette home that night and fucked her brains out. But I was fantazing about you."

"You see Greg? That's exactly what happened between Shelia and I that night. I had the best orgasm in my life that night. But, I wasn't fucking Shelia. I was making love with you--in my mind's eye." Greg blushes.

"You're so cute when you blush."

"You just enjoy making me blush."

"Yeah, I do."

"Then, why did the girls feel as if they had to hurt us--Dave? You almost died."

"I don't think they meant for Reynolds to go as far as he did. That was him. His hatred. Shelia and Annette are still dealing with the hurt. That's why they lashed out at us the way they did. They wanted us to hurt as much as they. I can see that now. They just went about it the wrong way."

"You sound as if you've forgiven them."

"I guess I do. Don't get me wrong. They need to be punished for what they did, and they will. I'll make sure of that. But I can't hate the woman who gave me such a precious gift."

"They are beautiful, aren't they? He looks just like you, you know. Shelia was right about that."

"And she has your eyes, those beautiful eyes," I say.

"Are we going to be good parents?"

"Of course we are."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure because when it comes to being loving and caring, that's you. When it comes to being selfless, that's you. When it comes to being an anchor, a rock; someone that can be depended upon, that's you."

"How can you say that I'm not selfish, after what I did to us?"

"That was then, this is now! Let's make a pact, okay baby? Those awful weeks will be stricken from memory. How did Yul Brenner put it in that movie, The Ten Commandments? So it shall be written, so it shall be done!" I smile.

"You see, this is why I love you," he smiles, looking around to see if we are being watched. Then, he reaches over and pulls me to him, giving me a big kiss. We have been so wrapped up in our conversation, we hadn't even noticed the shift in the wind or the approaching summer rain.

It startles us as it begins to fall, torrentially, at first. We are soon soaked, but, as we make our way back towards the house, we are in no hurry. We are dripping as we come through the door. Ron hurries us to get out of our wet things so that we can eat.

Bryan has fixed us a delicious meal, and they have set a lovely table in the dining room, which overlooks the harbor. Candles and all. There is a different mood in the air, one between Greg and I as we deal with the not so nearness of the children, and a different energy between Ron and Bryan.

The ringing of the telephone snaps all our heads. "I'll get it," Greg says. He goes into the other room to answer the phone. I can't see his face or actually hear the gist of the conversation, but he is very annimated with it. I'm about to get up and go in when I see Greg terminate the call.

"Dave! Dave! You're never going to believe this," he says excitedly coming back into the room.

"What?"

"That was Anderson Hayes."

"And who is Anderson Hayes?"

"He's a lawyer in charge of the children's case in family court. He says he understands our pain, and has made some arrangements and called in a few favors." He takes a deep breath. "Anyway, we have a trial date tomorrow. Tomorrow, Dave! We might be able to get our children tomorrow!"

"Greg, you're kidding me. That soon?"

"Yeah, baby, isn't that great?!"

I give him a hug and a kiss, not mindful of the presence of the other two gentlemen.

"Ah, that's really great news, guys, but you might want to get a room?" Simms chuckles. He gives Bryan a sly smile. "Brian and I are still here."

"Sorry guys," we apologize. "But, now that I think of it, is there something you want to tell Greg and I?"

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb with us, detective," Greg says. "Ever since Houston there has been something different about the two of you. If I didn't know better, I'd say that there is some chemistry between the two of you. Are you two joining our team?"

Bob's face turns a deep shade of crimson visible even in this light."

"You have!" Greg exclaims. "That's wonderful."

"So, give us all the steamy details," I encourage.

"Wait! Let me freshen our drinks," Greg coos. "We do have a reason to celebrate. The two of you, and the fact that we're gonna get our children," he sings.

"Let's clear the table, and take this into the other room," I add. We grab our plates, taking them into the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher with the other things.

"Okay, now talk!" Greg says, as we all sit down.

"Well, there really isn't anything to tell," Simms begins. "Last night, I was still acting like a jerk about you two, and I want to apologize right now for that. My only defense is that I guess I was jealous at what you two have, that you were brave enough to have it, and I was a coward." He has his head bowed as he speaks, and we can hear the sincerity of his words.

"At least that's what I told him," Bryan interjects.

"Yeah. So, we got into an argument," Bob continues. I'm surprised you didn't hear us. It got pretty heated there for a while."

"Until I asked him what he was afraid of?" Bryan interjects. "And he said, `this', and then he kissed me. It was a short kiss, but it was oh so sweet. It shocked me at first, but I quickly recovered. I grabbed him and really kissed him. I confessed that I had wanted to do that for a long time. He's really sexy, isn't he?"

"We ended up talking into the night," Rob continues, "and that night, we slept together. It was the most glorious night of my life. My world had suddenly opened up, and I was happy. Happy for the first time in my adult life."

"I'm so happy for the two of you," Greg says. "My favorite saying now is `a nice stiff dick does the trick!'" We all get a good laugh from that. "But on a serious note, how is this going to affect your working relationship? Have you thought that far?"

"No, we haven't, but I guess we'll have to now," Bryan says.

A temporary silence falls over the room. "What time do we have to be in court?" I ask Greg.

"9 a.m."

"Then we'd better get to bed. As it is, I don't think I'm going to sleep a wink tonight."

"Me either"

"You two may stay up as long as you like. And remember, young man," I say looking at Bryan, "be a gentleman in public, and a lion in the bed." It's Bryan's turn to blush deeply as Greg drags me off to bed.

Morning came all to quickly for us as Greg and I didn't get much sleep. Anxiousness and nerves kept us talking into the early morning.

Nine o'clock found us at family court. We were not allowed into the proceedings, but were seated in the corridor outside. Thirty minutes turned into an hour, which turned into two hours. It might have been two years for all it mattered to us. Time just seemed to drag. Finally, the doors opened, and out walked Attorney Hayes. Surprisingly, he was a man in his late fifties to early sixties, not at all what I'd expected from the conversation that Greg had relayed to me.

After formally introducing ourselves, he faced us. And with the most sincere pain I've ever heard in a person's voice, he informed us that the court would not release the children now into our custody.

Even though we claimed to be the biological parents, and they had the admission from both mothers, we, and the children, would still have to have a genetics test, and we must undergo visits from Social Services before they can be placed with us.

Naturally, we were both upset, but due to the support of Lane and Simms, we were assured that we had nothing to worry about.

Anderson told us that Social Services would be calling to make appointments and that we should also expect surprise visits from them.

"Greg, that means we have to get home immediately. We have a condo under construction, with no furnishings."

"Yeah, we don't have a home right now. And we'll need to hire staff; start conducting a search for a nanny...there's just so much we have to do. But, I don't want to leave the children."

"Greg, we have too. Social Services will want to interview us both, and we have to be in New York," I tell him, trying to remain objective. "But, that doesn't stop us from coming here on the weekend to see them. Remember, we have our own jet. We can come whenever we want."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Mr. Hayes?" I say turning towards the him, "may we see the children? For just a minute?"

"I'm sorry. They've already been moved to an approved foster family. But don't worry. I have been assured that these people are the best. And, they're together. That's the important thing. They have a familiar face."

"How were they last night?" Greg asks. "Were they okay?"

"To be honest, they were a little restless. They don't understand what's happening, but they're resilient. They will bounce back!" Hayes says.

We both acknowledge sadly, and we, along with our friends, leave for the airport. The jet is waiting, and Scott files a plan to take us back to Houston. We have to check out of the hotel, and they have to make arrangements for Shelia's transport back to New York. Annette, we learn, is already in route, being escorted by two local police officers.

Once the plane has leveled off, I call my architect and ask her if she can download the plans to the apartment onto PCL's FTP site, so we can view them. It doesn't present a problem, and soon after giving her the IP address, we are viewing the plans to the new apartment.

"The upper floor has this bedroom," I say to Greg as we huddle over the computer, "right next to ours. If we move this wall back, say ten feet, that will be the perfect nursery. The room has great natural light, and pleasant views of the southern end of the river."

"Yeah, I see what you mean. But that's going to make your office smaller, and what about the time factor. Isn't it too late? I mean, that room was already framed when we were up there last week."

"So, for our children, I'd be willing to hire an extra crew and give each man a bonus if they finish this within the next few days."

"But we don't even know the outcome of the investigation. Suppose we don't..."

"DON'T is a word that doesn't exist in our vocabulary," I say. "This will happen. Look, let's do this for now. Then, once the children are with us, we'll look for a better space, or redesign this apartment, or whatever you want. Okay?" Greg nods his assent.

We finally landed at Teterboro at nine, and got back into the city an hour later. Traffic was really a bitch trying to get into the Lincoln Tunnel, which is normally a fifteen-minute ride. And by ten the next morning, we had all the things in place. I had e-mailed Sydney, my architect, with the changes that we wanted.

Working all night, she delivered bright and early the changes the next day. And the CWA (Construction Workers Association) was on board, provided their workers were justly compensated, to increase the shift and manpower on the building.

Greg and I met with a designer and went furniture shopping, and seven days later, we were able to move into our newly furnished apartment.

"It's inauguration day," Greg says as I walk out of the shower that evening. "Come here," he says huskily, pushing the covers back and patting the bed.

"Why Mr. Jefferson, I think you're trying to seduce me!" Greg is lying there, naked. My eyes drink in his beauty, and that's what it is; Greg is beautiful.

His rich mane is delicately caressing his right shoulder as he props himself on his right arm, the hard ball of his bicep flexing. That magnificently sculpted chest, with that soft, scratchy hair that blankets his chest and rolls over his flat, hard stomach is such a turn on.

That scepter of his, so strong and proud, is lying lazily across his right thigh, semi-erect. It swells to full blossom before my hungry stare.

"Care for a protein shake?" Greg whispers. "Only you know how to flip the correct switches."

I stare at that appendage, my mouth watering at the sight of him. "Dave? Dave?" he says a little louder.

I shake the fog from my brain, and with a leap, land in the arms of my confident, surprised lover and friend. I am enveloped in his strong arms as my lips meet his, his cock, now a full-blown erection, pressed into my side.

"I love you so much, Greg," I say to him. "I would have been so lost if Reynolds..." I choke.

"That's behind us now, baby. We survived! We can't let Reynolds' sickness affect us."

"The one great thing about the whole mess is our children."

"I can `t believe those two bitches, keeping our children away from us all these months. I miss them. They should be here with us, safe and warm and happy."

"They will be. Shelia and Annette are real winners," I say sarcastically. But you know? There are two things that I will always be grateful to them for though, our beautiful angels, and for introducing us. I may never have met you had you not been stupid enough to mess with Annette."

"Hey, I'm not stupid," he says, sounding like Goofy. "I planned the whole thing."

"Well, I don't know about that plan," I laugh, but wasn't seduction in your plan tonight? He parts my lips with his tongue as his lips find mine.

Our lovemaking was slow and sensuous, giving and sharing. It culminated by each us feeding to each other our nectar. Then, we basked in the feel of each other as we talked into the night, saying those things that lovers say. Finally, sleep overtook us.

Social Services inspected us regularly, often dropping by unannounced and at times, at inopportune moments. They even interrupted a romantic dinner that Greg and I had planned. They had some reservations about a gay couple with the children. Homophobia is still alive and kicking.

It didn't matter that we had the means to adequately support the children. It didn't matter that there was nothing but love for our children. It didn't matter that they were our own biological children. What mattered was that we were gay.

And while all of this was going on, we were being drilled by the DA regarding their case against Reynolds, Shelia, and Annette. Bail for Reynolds was denied, but Shelia and Annette were out, but there was a restraining order keeping them one thousand feet from either Greg, I, or the children. And their license to practice had been suspended pending the outcome and review.

After enduring this for about six months, the interviews, the psychological testing, the inspections, the investigation into our backgrounds, and interviews with friends and associates, we were surprised when we received a visit from our attorney.

"Evan," I say as he enters the den where Greg and I are relaxing. "A little late for a house call, isn't it?"

Evan Grant is a fast rising attorney here in New York, garnishing some very high profiled clients. Greg and I were very fortunate in having him take our case. His objectivity and uncanny ability to foresee the obvious had made him an admirable foe for many attorneys who were unfortunately on the other side of the issue.

Standing six-three, and only weighing 140 pounds, if that, this tall lanky man didn't give the appearance of being the lion that he most truly is. What he didn't have in bulk, he had in brains.

"Evan," Greg says, "it's good to see you again. What brings you by at this hour?"

"Well, I have a few papers for you guys to sign," he says, sporting a Cheshire grin.

"What are these?" I ask

"Well, once I file these papers with the courts tomorrow, it will just be a matter of a day or so before you can go to St. Thomas and bring your children home."

"Evan, you're kidding? No?" Greg says, his voice caught in his throat.

"No, I'm not," Evan beams. "These papers will give you sole custody."

"How? When?" I ask, quickly grabbing the pen he offered.

"There was a hearing earlier today--you weren't needed since it was supposed to be a preliminary hearing--where we presented to the court all of the evidence and reports. When the judge learned of the circumstances of the children's births, and the subsequent arrests of the mother's and their duplicity in the crimes perpetrated against the two of you, and also taking into account the fiscal situation, as well as the family name, she granted immediate custody to their natural fathers--the two of you. You'll receive my bill later," he smiles.

Greg drops the pen after signing, and at once falls into my arms, tears of joy on his face as his smile matches my own. "We're getting our children, after all this time, we're getting our children."

"Evan, we don't know how to thank you. Words are so inadequate," I say, as Greg and I stand before him. "Please, won't you join us in a celebration drink?"

"Thought you'd never offer," he responds.

I go into the wine cooler and bring back a bottle of vintage champagne, and after cheers to the popping of the cork, pour three flutes of the wonderful tasting elixir.

"Too the both of you, strong, intelligent, capable young men who are going to be blessed with God's most precious gift, one that I'm sure you'll cherish and love. And if they turn out to be half the people you two are, the world will be a much better place. To Micah and Robin, two very lucky children."

"Thank you, Evan," we both say in unison. We take a sip of the champagne, then sit and chat a bit. As well as being our attorney, he is also a trusted friend.

Three days later, armed with court orders, birth certificates, passports, shot records, and everything else that Evan thought we needed, and after a brief hearing in St. Thomas, we carry one dark-haired toddler boy and one golden-haired toddler girl aboard our private jet, and secure their sleeping forms into the child-safety seats. Soon Captain Scott Harding lifts the metal bird into the air.

"I really am glad to be going home," Greg muses, "but it is so beautiful down here, one could really get used to this."

"Yeah, fresh air, beautiful skies, really paradise..." my voice trails.

The plane banks to the right as it turns to head north. Looking out the window, Greg notices a little island nestled just south of what appears to be the country of Jamaica as we continue to cruise. We have been in the air now for about an hour.

"Look!" he says, nudging me. "Look at how green and lush that island is. It doesn't even look like it's inhabited, but there seems to be some type of construction going on." True enough, from what we can see, it does look uninhabited. About five miles in diameter and ten miles in length, one could even see the barrier reef surrounding it. It's highest point only seemed mere feet from the belly of the plane.

"Yeah, it is beautiful," I agree as I peer out of the small window. Just then, Scott buzzes from the cockpit.

"Dave, there's a call for you. Shall I patch it through?"

"Do you know who's calling, Scott?"

"Your father, Dave."

"Hello Dad," I say, picking up the phone. After a lengthy conversation, I say, "Well, we'll be there in a couple of hours," I say. I then buzz Scott. "Scott, instead of going straight to New York, we'll be stopping in Chicago for a little while."

"What's the matter," Greg asks.

"My father wants to see me--right away, as he put it. Hope you don't mind, but he sounded kind of urgent. He said he hoped you would forgive him for taking me away. I don't think he knew I was in the plane. This will give us a chance to introduce the folks to their grandchildren."

"I don't know. I've only met your parents that one time. When you were hospitalized."

"Yeah, I know. But you have spoken with them on the phone."

"Yeah...but..."

"No buts, Greg. My parents love you. And they respect my decisions. Now that they know who I am, they just want me to be happy. Sure, I think they were a little disappointed at the prospect of not having grandchildren, especially since Jeff has joined the corps. But, my brother, Rich, has children. Two. So they'll just have to be content that one of their sons turned out normal. Besides, we will be taking them two more grandchildren. Watch out for grandmother spoilage. Major spoilage at that."

"Rich? Who's Rich?"

"Rich is my oldest brother, by ten years. I don't really think about him too much because he is so much older than Jeff and I. He and his family live in Amsterdam, and he oversees the cruise ship productions, the building of. He's an architect by trade, and has designed many of the ships that occupy our fleet."

I give Scott the instructions, and within three hours, we are setting down at Midway Airport, Chicago. Scott had called ahead, and we lead two rambunctious little ones through the airport. A driver is standing in the lobby with a sign with my name on it.

We take the little ones to the stretch limo, and sit ourselves in the cool comfort while we wait for the driver as he waits for our luggage to be wheeled out. Once settled, we are on our way to my parent's apartment building.

"I hope you don't think this is too ostentatious," I say to Greg as we pull up in front of the building. "My father built this building twenty years ago. I grew up here. Our home occupies the top two floors, and PCL Corporate Headquarters occupy the fifteenth through twentieth floors. The twenty-first through twenty-eighth floors are residential, and floors four through fourteen are commercial space."

"Wow," Greg says, as he looks up into the Chicago sky. "This is really some place. I thought I had some pretty fancy digs in Maryland, but this..."

"Greg, I told you I was filthy, I just didn't go into much detail about this. I hope I'm not turning you off. I would give up all of this just to have you and the children." I give him a kiss.

"Dave!" he exclaims, embarrassed that we are so in public.

"Greg, listen. I will never be ashamed of the way I feel about you. Shame is an emotion for those who can't afford to really be themselves. Fortunately, we have the luxury not to care. Now, come on. Let's take the children to meet their grandparents."

I lead my family to the express elevator that is a direct link to the penthouse. It is only accessed with a special key and a pass code, and there is a special code that you must punch in the elevator to be taken to the floor. There is a similar elevator that leads from the executive floor of PCL that my father uses to go to and from work.

As the doors to the elevator open, Sadie, the housekeeper, meets us. "Greg, this is Sadie. My second mother and dearest friend. Sadie, this is my partner, Greg. Gregory Jefferson."

"Please to meet you, Mr. Jefferson. Now, come here you. Let me look at you. I've been so worried even though your mother said you were okay." She spins me around, inspecting every inch of me that she could. "Well, looks like you're no worse for ware, just too skinny." This causes a laugh from Greg, and I give him a stern look.

"And just who might these two adorable people be?"

"Sadie, this beautiful angel here is Robin, and this is Micah. Robin is Greg's daughter, and Micah is my son."

"Your what?"

"My son. It's a long story, and believe me, you will hear about it. I promise. Now, are Mom and Dad at home."

"Your Dad is in the library, and your Mom is at a committee meeting. She should be back in about an hour. Did they know you were coming?"

"Dad did. He called a couple hours ago, and told me to get here, pronto!" I say, mimicking my father's voice.

"Does he know about the children?"

"No, they are going to be a surprise for him." We walk to the study door. Greg is a little apprehensive, gulping deep breaths as he goes. Just as we are entering the door, Robin breaks free, and runs to Dad. Startled, he just looks at her just as Micah joins her at his knee."

"Well, who are you?" he asks.

"That is Robin and Micah, Dad. Your grandchildren." He turns his head quickly, and I can see the questions in his eyes. "It's a long story Dad, and I wouldn't even begin to tell you, or Sadie, about it until Mom was home, but these are our children. Our real children."

I can see the tears in his eyes as he beholds the two children. He picks them up, and placing them on his knee, engulfs them in his warmth.

Tears have formed in Greg's eyes, as well as my own as we behold the sight. Sadie is simply sobbing.

"Let me have the babies. I'll get them something to eat," she says as the children follow her out of the room. They seemed to have taken to everyone so well. The caseworker said that they were very affectionate, intelligent children, and could recognize people quickly as friend or foe.

"Son, it's so good to see you," Dad says, standing and walking over to embrace me. "And Greg, it's so good to see you again. I can never thank you enough for what you have done for Dave. You make him happy. I can see that."

"Thank you, Mr. Welsh..."

"None of that Mr. Welsh stuff, I'm Robert, but I prefer Dad. It was easy for Dave's Mom and I to see how deeply you love our son. And if you have any trouble with him, just let me know. He's not to old to be put over my knee." We all chuckle at that.

"I might have to take you up on that."

"Gregory!" I warn.

"Now, come on in and sit. Let's visit for a while until Mavis comes back and dominates the conversation." We sit and have a good talk with my father. I had just freshened our drinks when my mother arrived.

"David!" she exclaims, grabbing me in a hug. "And Gregory!" Another hug. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"That's because they didn't know," my father interjects. "I called them and asked Dave to come for a quick visit, but now, I'm hoping he can extend it a couple of days."

"Of course they can," my mother says.

"Well, Mom, it might be a little noisy around here."

"What do you mean?" I point towards the door. Sadie is standing there with the children.

"Mom, this is Robin and Micah. Our children."

"Your what?"

"Robin is Greg's biological daughter, and Micah is my biological son."

"What?" both she and my father say.

Robin and Micah both gravitate towards my parents as we all, including Sadie, settle down as Greg and I begin the tale of what has happened since the beating. Everyone was shocked to learn of the bombing, the knife attack, Greg's kidnapping, and the realization that Shelia and Annette were behind the whole thing. My parents had really liked Shelia, and had one day hoped that we would have married.

"Well, I'm really surprised about Shelia," my Mom says as we finished the tale. "I'm just glad you boys are alright. And I'm thrilled about the babies. Micah looks just like you as a baby, Dave. Doesn't he dear?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it."

"Huh! I never did trust that Miss Shelia myself. Always trying to hard," Sadie says.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow we are going to hit the stores. I feel a good shopping spree coming on."

"You'll have to do it without the boys, dear. I have some very important business to discuss with them. Take Sadie along. You two can shop to your heart's content."

"Mom, don't go overboard. The children have enough of everything. Greg and I have gone a little crazy ourselves."

"Nonsense. You can never have too much, when you're their age. Besides, your father and I have some serious spoiling to do," she says, hugging the children, "and we're already a year behind."

"It's going to take us at least two weeks to open up all the presents," I whisper to Greg. The rest of the evening was spent in good conversation and fun as I saw my parents get with Greg and I on the floor to play with the children. It was two tired children that we put to bed that evening.

"Good morning, baby," I say as a sleepy Greg shakes the cobwebs from his head. We are in my room. It hasn't changed since I was in prep school.

"Hi. How long have you been awake? And what time is it?" he asks, opening those beautiful pools of blue to my vision.

"About an hour, and it's ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock? Why didn't you wake me? The children?"

"They are fine. They woke up about two hours ago, have been dressed and fed, and are now out on the town with Mom and Sadie. Dad asked us to have lunch with him. He went down to the office, so, it's just you and me home alone." I slap my hands to my face and scream just like Macaulay Culkin did in the Home Alone movies.

"So, do you want to play?" I ask, in my best Russian accent.

"I thought you'd never ask. Just let me quickly run to the bathroom"

Jumping back on the bed, he rolls over on top of me, his lips firmly pressed against mine. I can taste the fresh flavor of his morning gargle. It's sweet, just as he.

My dick starts to react immediately, growing and swelling to match is own. There is an urgency building in our lovemaking as our chest, hips, and sex touch, finding that perfect space along our bodies to slide against each other.

I can feel his flow mix with my own as we dance close together, our lips not parting, massive amounts of air being funneled through our nostrils, as we struggle to get closer, to dispel any micron of space that exists.

I wrap my legs around his slim waist, crushing him to me.

"I want you Greg. I want you inside of me," I pant, extended by the effort thus far.

Greg rises on his knees, hooking my legs over his shoulders. I can feel his large, round knob at my entrance, wet and eager, and a tingle races up my spine. I shudder from the exquisite feel of him there.

He presses forward, his head breaching the opening without further need for lubrication. He waits, giving me time to adjust. I wrap my legs once again around his waist as the passion in me begins to build as my own moisture seeps onto my body.

With a mighty thrust of my hips, I trap him deep inside. I feel wonderful, complete, protected, and loved as he now completes the puzzle that is I. His dick is the missing part of me, I know, for it fits the slot so perfectly.

Greg begins to move his hips, and I tighten my grip, squeezing on the outward motion; relaxing on his return. Soon the rhythm develops, and we mimic the age-old dance.

"Oh yes, Greg," I moan. "Give it to me. Make love to me baby!"

"You're so hot baby. I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."

His hips continue at a steady pace despite my urging him to speed up. He is taking his time, giving me a Royal fucking. He is stretching his strokes long and deep, grazing his mushroom head against my joy button every time he passes it.

"Oh Greg," I moan, my voice sounding like one of those distorted sitcom voices, "I'm cumming." My nuts are no longer visible. They have decided to try to work their way from my ball sack, which is lying flat against my body, into my stomach.

"I'm almost there too," Greg gasps, and with one final plunge, he arches his back and buries himself completely, his pubic hair scratching my tender rosebud, as he pours himself deep within my body.

I can feel him coating my insides and my own orgasm, triggered by his release, pouring from my dick like a loose fire hose, spewing hot liquid in every direction.

I am too raw to move, every fiber of my body reacting to aftershocks as volts radiate from my groin. I can feel his viper, having lost its rage begin to soften within me, becoming meek and mild as it leaves my ass with a `pop'.

"Damn, Dave, what are you trying to do? Kill me?" Greg manages through breaths.

"Mercy! I could be very happy dying from something like that."

"Come on, your father, Dad, said that he wanted to have lunch with us," he pants, as we continue to recover. "We can't very well go like this."

"But I just want to languor in the afterglow."

"Come on," he says, pulling me from the bed, "you can languor in the shower."

Four Become Two: Chapter 21

"Son," my father began. We had just enjoyed a wonderful lunch with him in the Executive Dining Room, and had returned to his office, "the reason I asked you to come here, was because I have a proposition for you. And I want you Greg to consider also what I am about to ask because this will definitely affect you, and my beautiful grandchildren.

I am getting old, fellas, which is no surprise to either of you, I'm sure. And I hope to retire soon, within the next two years, leaving the future of PCL in the hands of my three sons: you Dave, and your brothers Rich and Jeff.

Last year, I went to London, where I purchased, on behalf of PCL, an island. This island is located a little less than 150 miles west of the island of Jamaica, just before you get to the Cayman Island chain. It is five miles in width, and ten miles in length.

"I think that might be the island we saw, Dave," Greg interjects.

"The island is uninhabited, right now," Dad continues, "perfect for what we have planned. We are going to turn it into a luxury resort. And I got the board's approval to have the four of you oversee the project."

"What? Dad we don't know anything about building a resort."

"I know that son, but I have complete faith in you that you'll do a marvelous job. Rich has already come up with plans, utilizing the natural beauty of the island. So, you will be working closely with him.

Jeff will be developing the harbor, as well as the landscape of the island. This way, all three, correction, all four of you, will get your hands dirty in the company.

Follow me in here," he says, going through a door that we had not noticed was there. "This is the island, complete with the renovations. Jeff designed this model and had it sent here. As you can see, there will be two major constructions on the east and west ends of the island, with private cottages and bungalows between. The harbor is also in the middle of the island. This natural cove area will serve as the island's port. It is already being dredged, and temporary housing has already been delivered.

This side of the island," he continues, referring to the west side of the island, "will be an adult resort where nudity will be an option on the beaches. PCL has had solid bookings when it came to our adults only cruises, so there is a big market, especially amongst the Europeans, who are less prudish than the Americans. The east side will be developed as a family oriented establishment.

Centered around the harbor will be shops, apartments, restaurants, and government. American laws will apply.

This is a big project, and we already have a top-notched team to assist you. The cost is estimated to be $30.5 billion.

Of course, each of you will be paid handsomely. How does $385K a year, plus benefits sound?"

"Dad, you've got to be kidding?"

"Not enough?"

"No, that's more than generous. But, why? Why do you have so much confidence in us?"

"Because you're my sons, I'm proud of you, and neither of you have ever disappointed me."

"I don't know what to say," Greg says, obviously flabbergasted by this proposal.

"I don't want an answer now. Talk it over between you. Weigh each thing carefully, and consider the children. We would like to open in two years, so that is going to mean some drastic changes in your living arrangements. Can you handle that with the changes that have been made to your lifestyle? These are some of the things that you must consider. But, I'm hoping you'll say yes to the idea."

"How soon will you need an answer, Dad?"

"You've got two days. I need to tell the board what your decision is. I know two days is not much time, but since this is going to be a hasty project, we need a hasty decision."

"Okay. We'll see you when you get home. Thanks, Dad. Thanks for your faith."

"Yes, thanks, D-Dad," Greg stumbles. "I don't know what to say."

"Just make an old man happy and say yes. But don't consider this pressure," he chuckles.

"Wanna go for a drive?" I ask Greg as we wait for the elevator.

"Sure." We head downstairs to the private garage. It is really a walled-off section of the upper level of the employee garage that holds what I always called the family fleet of ten cars: two late modeled Mercedes Limos, a car for the five of us, one for Sadie, one for Herbert, the houseman, and a seven-passenger van. The van is missing, so I assumed that my Mom or Sadie is driving it for their shopping. I can see it coming back filled to the brim with toys, clothes, or whatever else Mom feels the children just have to have!

I lead Greg over to a 2000 silver Porsche Boxer, a Christmas gift from my parents, and we are soon cruising through the streets of Chicago. I head over to Lake Shore Drive, and we head up the strip.

It travels along Lake Michigan, and on a day as beautiful as this, the water is in grand splendor, a radiant shade of blue, reminding me of Greg's eyes. The main topic of conversation, of course, was the job offer. We see a TCBY, and stop off for a cup.

We both concluded that this was a grand offer, and that the timing was perfect. The children are small, and can be with us without the restraints of school. We also discuss our qualifications, considering we are both lawyers. But we also realize that the PCL Board would not be so enthusiastic if they didn't respect our credentials. Besides, our main focus was to hire competent people to do the job while we coordinated the project. We could do that. So, it was with great delight that Greg and I announced our commitment to PCL and the project, which we learned would be called Paradise Retreat.

Dad was thrilled, because Rich and Jeff had both agreed to work on the project, and would be in by Thursday's press conference. So on Thursday, the five of us, along with the ten-member team chosen by the board, stood proudly as Dad made the announcement that PCL would be launching a new project--Paradise Retreat, and that the fourteen member team that he sees with him will head said project. There was an audible gasp from the throng of reporters as the $30.5 billion price tag was revealed, along with the model of the island. Also the fact that the island was to be considered under U.S. government law.

"It's a shame that your brother couldn't stay a little longer. I would have loved to hear some really embarrassing stories about you. I bet he has a lot." Greg grins as we head back upstairs after the press conference.

"They would all probably be exaggerated far beyond their truth, if I know Rich. It's amazing he came at all, what with Bessie being pregnant. He did have some good things to say about you, although I told you he was prone to exaggeration. Ouch!" I say, as Greg slugs me in the arm.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much. Just that you seemed like a nice fellow, and that I had better be good to you because he could see that you made me happy. Crap like that."

"Crap, huh? I'll show you crap," he says, as he grabs me and hugs me. At that moment, two high-pitched squeals pierce the air as two pair of little feet comes rushing towards us. We scoop down and grab our bundles; Greg had Micah, and I had Robin. We move over to the seat facing the lake, and sit, watching the sun set over the lake. Life couldn't get much better than this.

One thing about living in a high rise is that the sun has a way of bringing you out of a deep sleep very rudely. That, and a ringing phone will do the trick every time as Greg's phone was playing the musical version of Hey Ya! by Outkast.

He unwraps himself from me as he reaches out on the nightstand to retrieve it. "Hel-hello?" he says, sleep still in his voice. After we had put the kids to bed last night, he and I enjoyed a long soak in the hot tub, followed by a torturous sixty-nine, bringing each other to the peak so many times before we finally, out of sheer exhaustion, fell over the cliff.

"Hi, mom," I hear him say. "Sorry I haven't called recently. Been kind of busy. How are you?..And Dad and Joey?..Everyone is okay, but I do have a surprise for you. When are you and Dad coming home?...Okay, I'll see." After another few minutes of conversation, "I love you too, Mom. I'll call you back and let you know. Bye."

"What's that look?" I ask, as he settles back in bed.

"My parents want me to come for a visit."

"So?" I ask.

"They don't know about--us, or the children. How am I suppose to tell them that their son is gay, and the father of two children?"

"Just like you just did." I answer. "I know it's hard, baby. It's hard to disappoint your parents, and this is a major disappointment. It's almost like death when they realize that the dream they had for you isn't what they are going to get. But, children disappoint parents each and every day. By not choosing the careers, mates, or lifestyles that they dream from the moment of conception. I am sure that one day Micah and Robin will disappoint us."

"Never!" Greg teases.

"Yes--they will," I play along. "But that doesn't mean that we won't embrace whatever decision they make. We can't live their lives for them, and our only real desire is that they are happy, healthy, and productive adults. Right?" He nods his assent. "And that's all your parents really want for you, to be happy. I do make you happy, don't I?"

"That's the dumbest question you ever asked of me," he retorts. "My life begins and ends with you and the children." He searches my face for understanding. "So, when can we go? I have to call Mom back and let her know."

"This weekend? We'll just fly to Baltimore, and then drive back to the city from there. Okay?"

Greg reaches over and picks up his phone. "Hi, mom, how's this weekend?...It's going to be good to see you, too. Will Joey be there? Oh, well, maybe next time. I have a surprise for you, anyway. No, I'm not going to tell you over the phone. You'll just have to wait. Okay, see you then. I love you...Bye"

"I know how you felt."

"Huh?" Greg asks as he settles back in my arms.

"I now know how you felt. Meeting the parents. But at least my parents had met you before."

"Don't worry. My parents will love you, almost as much as I do."

We took a commercial flight out of Chicago, and landed at BWI early on Friday morning. We secured a van, with car seats, and drove from Baltimore to Greg's hometown on the Delaware River.

It was really beautiful country, and the children were thrilled to see the variety of birds that graced the countryside.

"Greg? I think we should find hotel rooms before we descend upon your parents."

"Why?"

"Well, this is going to be a shock for them. First, they have to deal with the fact that they are now grandparents, and the unusual circumstances of the children's birth. Secondly, they have to deal with the fact that the son they thought was a normal heterosexual, is now involved in a homosexual relationship. And third, they have to face your partner--me--who I am sure they are going to blame for turning their son gay."

"That's unfair, babe. You don't even know my parents, and yet you have prejudged them on this. I'm confident that everything will be alright."

"You're right, you know your parents. But, do me a favor, put yourself in their position. Your handsome, lawyer son is coming home for a visit. He hasn't given you a clue as to what has been going on in his life for over a year and a half. He shows up, not only with a child he claims is his own, but also his lover, his male lover, and that lover's child. Would you not be shocked? Thrown for a loop? Or would you just open your arms and say `well, done'. I don't think so, I wouldn't expect less."

"You're expecting some kind of confrontation?"

"Honestly, yes."

"But your parents were cool about the whole thing. What makes you think less of mine?"

"It's not that I think less of your parents. On the contrary, I regard them in the highest esteem, and I love them sight unseen because they have reared a wonderful man who is my life. But, remember my parents were privy to some of the details of the past year and a half, yours were not. My parents had the opportunity to meet you while I was hospitalized, yours did not. My parents at least had some history. What kind of history do your parents have? And my parents knew of Shelia. Did your parents know you had a serious relationship with Annette?"

"Okay," he says, "I'll concede, Counselor. Maybe you're right. This is a lot to spring on them at one time. There is a Sheraton near the beach. What do you say if we see if they have room for us?"

"Sounds good. And hopefully we can find someone to stay with the children while we get in a preliminary visit this afternoon. We need to tell them about us without the children clouding the scene."

We find our way to the hotel, and fortunately, they had a large suite available that could accommodate our large family. After getting settled, we ask the Concierge if he can recommend a good daycare provider. He explained that the hotel offered such a service, and pointed in the direction we needed to go.

After questioning the staff, we were confident that the children would be in good hands, and departed to meet Greg's parents.

"The house is over behind those trees," Greg says, pulling over to the side of the road. "Are you ready?"

"I'm as nervous as bird with a wounded wing in a closed room with hungry cats."

Greg starts to laugh, and his laughter becomes infectious. He starts up the van, gives me a kiss, and we pull off. Soon we are driving up a circular drive to his parents home.

"It is beautiful here, Greg," I remark. The house is situated right at the mouth of the Delaware River, where it dumps into Delaware Bay. If you squinted, as Greg pointed out, you could make out the tip of the lighthouse way off in the distance. There looks to be two or three acres of well manicured lawn that slopes gently to the sandy beach below.

"Greg!" this stunning woman proclaims coming out of the house. "You're finally here!"

"Hi, Mom!" Greg returns, as he hugs her. "Mom, I want you to meet David Welsh. Dave, my mom, Penelope Jefferson."

"Hello, Mrs. Jefferson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Greg has told me much about you."

"Well, David, it's nice to meet you also. But I'm afraid you have the advantage. Greg has not mentioned much about you, but then again he has to call in order to mention his friends."

"Then it's a good thing that Dave came with me, isn't it?"

"Come on in the house." She takes us both by the arm, propelling us toward the entrance. "We can get your bags later." I give Greg a sideways glance.

"Your father is out on the patio. We were just about to have lunch. Are you boys hungry?" she asks. "Of course you are. Boys are always hungry," she answers, before we can respond.

"Gregory, my boy!" a distinguished looking man says. "Welcome home. And who might you be?"

"David Welsh, Sir! Pleased to meet you."

"None of that `sir' stuff. Call me Dean. Come, sit, and eat. We were just about to have lunch." Greg's mom had prepared some Rubens on rye with the most delicious Cole Slaw on the side. She topped it off with cool, refreshing glasses of lemonade. We got to know a little of each other as we sat sharing a meal.

"So, tell us," his mother prompts, "how did the two of you meet? Do you work together?"

"Yes...and no!" Greg answers. He goes on to explain how we were introduced through Annette and Shelia, and how we became fast friends. They were disturbed to learn of our battle with Reynolds, but happy, of course, with the outcome.

"Well, I guess we had better get going," Greg says, causing confusion to come on his parent's faces.

"What are you talking about? Going where?"

"Mom, we have accommodations at the Sheraton."

"Well, Gregory, why did you do that?" his father asks.

"Oh--they aren't alone, dear," Greg mom interjects. "You should have brought them along. Well, promise that they'll come tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, I promise." We get into the van and head back to the Sheraton. "We didn't tell them." Leave it to me to state the obvious.

"Tomorrow. I just wanted to spend one day of peace before the storm." I take his right hand in mine, and we drive in silence all the way back.

After retrieving the children, we had dinner brought to the room, gave the children their baths, and all four of us climbed into bed. Tomorrow was going to be a big day, and we need our rest.

Not since the kidnapping had I awaken without Greg being in my arms, or visa versa. But that is how I found myself this morning. Sometime during the night, we had drifted apart. I don't know if this is an omen foretelling things to come, or just a magnification of the worry over today's events. I know that the reaction of Greg's parents to our overwhelming news weighs heavily on both our minds, and I'm not sure which one of us pulled away during the night, but we lay apart.

I ease out of bed, trying not to disturb Greg, slip on my boxers, and go into the bath to take care of my morning ritual of relieving the pressure of yesterday's liquids that want to escape, brushing my teeth, and washing my face. I then go into the children's room and check up on them. They are sleeping like the angels they are. Micah is definitely my child. His covers have been kicked off, and in his sleep, he repeats the action the minute I cover him again.

I decide that it's a losing battle. I didn't like cover when I was a child either, so I head over to the mini-bar and make some coffee. I pour myself a cup, and gently ease open the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. The balcony is pretty much private since we are on the top floor, and I stand there looking out over the bay as I have my coffee.

The day is gray and ominous, could it be another omen? Lost in thought, I didn't hear Greg open the door behind me.

"Good morning, hon," he says, gripping me from behind and planting a kiss against my neck. "You're up kind of early."

"Yeah, had a Mother Nature visit, and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, no," I lied. It's the first lie I ever told him other than when I told him that he meant nothing to me when we were separated.

"So, what were you thinking about? You aren't worried still about telling my parents, are you?"

"No, I trust your judgment. If you say things are going to be fine with them, then I believe it." My second lie.

"Good! I thought we'd go out after lunch. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. It'll give us a chance to get the children settled." It's at that moment, we hear the wail of one of the children. Rushing inside, we see a bright little blonde head peering over the edge of the crib railing.

"Good morning, sweetheart," I say, as I scoop Robin up in my arms. She settles immediately as she lays her head against my shoulder. "Did you have good dreams last night?"

"Oh, hey, big guy," I hear Greg says, as he picks up an awake, but calm Micah. "Uh oh, guess who's soaked?" Greg begins to strip Micah of his wet things, and of course, just as he removes the diaper, Micah lets loose with another offering, catching Greg across the arm. "Ugh," he moans, causing me to bust with laughter. Soon, all of us, including the kids, are giggling. This little episode relieves a lot of the tension that had been building.

After getting the children dressed, we all had a nice breakfast. After which, Greg and I got on the floor and let the children jump and crawl over us.

About noon, we prepared the children, and packing their diaper bags with diapers, water, milk, powder, wipes, food, toys, and changes of clothing, we grab the portable playpen and head down to the van.

The same clerk that checked us in was behind the counter as the elevator doors opened. "You're not checking out, are you sirs?" he asks.

"No, not just yet," Greg returns. "Just going for an outing."

"You didn't forget the kitchen sink, did you?" he smiles.

"No, I'm sure that's in one of these bags," I laugh.

"Thank God all those days are behind me. I remember them well. Have a good day, sirs."

"Thank you. We will." We get the van all loaded, and the children secured in their seats, and Greg jumps behind the wheel, and we're off.

We both emit a heavy sigh as we exit the van. "Here goes everything," Greg quips. His parents have come onto the porch to greet us.

"We were expecting you earlier," Dean begins.

"Well, we thought we'd give you a chance to get ready for us," Greg says. "Mom, Dad, I want you to meet three very special people in my life. This is Micah," Greg says, taking him from the car seat, "and that's Robin. These are our children."

"Your what?"

"Your grandchildren," he croaks. "And you met Dave. But you should know that Dave is more than a friend, he's my partner, my domestic partner. I'm gay."

"I think I need to sit," Dave's father says, as he sits on the steps.

"Gregory! What are you talking about?"

"May we come in? We will explain everything." We grab the items from the van, and the six of us move into the house, going into the family room. We set up the playpen, but the children rebel, so Greg's mom insists that they be set free--so to speak.

"Okay. Start at the beginning son. We need to hear everything," Dean says.

"Well, at least you called me son."

"Why shouldn't I? You are my son, and you always will be."

"Greg, nothing you can ever do will make us love you less. You have to know that," his mother adds.

Encouraged by those words, we begin to tell them the whole story. When we get to the part about our breakup, Greg mom punches him in the shoulder. Robin moves into her grandfather's lap, and we can't help but notice the interaction between them. Micah instinctively moves to sit between Greg and his mom, and she places an affectionate arm around him.

They are horrified to learn the extent of the torture that we endured at the hands of Reynolds, and rightfully questioned as to the safety of the children.

"We didn't know about either then," I say. Greg goes on to explain about the kidnapping, and the ransom. They were surprised to learn that I am an heir of the PCL dynasty.

"I would have given all that I own to save Greg."

Greg then goes on to say how it was I, not the police, who really rescued us, and how we learned from Reynolds about the children.

He told them how we flew to Houston, and then onto the Caribbean, where Annette was arrested. How we had to agonize months of interviews and inspections, go through financial revues, psychological tests, and parenting classes in an effort to prove to the courts that we were acceptable parents, but how last week, we were told by our lawyers that we could bring our children home.

"It was the best moment in our lives," he says, taking my hand and looking into my eyes. "So, you see, biologically, Micah is Dave's son, and Robin is my daughter. But emotionally, each child is interchangeable. We are blest to love them both."

"Are you happy son?"

"Dad, the word happy doesn't begin to describe how I feel. I am in love, I am loved, I have two wonderful children--this is what life is all about."

"You know you two are going to face a lot of challenges being a gay couple in this world, don't you?" Penelope asks.

"Yeah, Penelope, we do. But with the love that we have, those obstacles are non-existent. Fortunately, we have more than enough money not to care what others think of our personal life. We are both damn good attorneys, who give 150% to every client we represent, but if they want to settle for less, that's okay by us."

"Besides," Greg says, "PCL has offered each of us, along with Dave's brothers, the opportunity to develop a new resort, and we accepted. The salary for both of us combined is over $1 million a year, if you include the benefits."

Dean whistles at the figure. "What will you be doing."

"PCL," I begin, purchased an island..."

"An island?" Greg's mom interjects.

"Yes ma'am, about 150 miles south east of Jamaica. They want to develop it into a sort of Sandals for families; private resort for couples or a resort for the not so private, if you get my meaning. Anyway, we are scheduled to open in the spring of '06. Of course, you'll be coming?"

"We'll be living down there through the construction. Dave's brother will manage thing stateside. We figure the timing couldn't be more perfect since the children are little. As we speak, living quarters are being shipped to the island. We will be leaving in a couple of months ourselves."

"But how are we going to get to know these precious angels if you take them so far away."

"Penelope, Dean, you may come to visit as often as you wish, and of course, we'll be flying back and forth."

"Thank you, Dave. And call us Mom and Dad. But, to be honest, we cannot afford to travel as often as we'd like."

"Say no more. My jet just happens to berth in Manassas, Virginia, and whenever you want to come, just let me know. My pilot, Scott, will be more than happy to serve you."

"That's too much."

"Nonsense, we wouldn't have it any other way. So that's settled."

"Okay, then, not another word about it," Dean says. "So, why don't you two go somewhere, shopping or something, and grandma and I will get to know our grandchildren."

"You sure? Toddlers can be a handful, and you're not as young as you used to be."

"I can still bend you over my knee..."

"Greg, we'd better go. I think they're serious," I laugh.

"Okay, then, since I'm out manned, everything is in the diaper bags..."

"Greg, we know how to handle children. We do have two of our own, you know," his mom interrupts. "Now, go!"

I pull Greg by the hand, and we head off. We take his Mom's suggestion and head out to an area mall. We buy lots of things for the children, from clothing to toys, and a few pieces for ourselves. We round one corner, and there before us is a fine jewelry store.

Greg takes me by the hand and we wait to be buzzed inside. "Oh, Dave, what a beautiful ring," Greg exclaims. I look to where he is pointing, and there is this medium-width, banded ring with two rows of diamonds surrounding a row of emeralds on platinum setting.

"May we see this ring?" I ask of the salesperson.

"This is a fine piece. There are only two like them in the world. The clarity of the diamonds and the emeralds are flawless. Would you care to look," she asks, drying an eyepiece she has removed from some antiseptic solution.

We peer through the eyepiece, seeing that indeed the color and the clarity are superb. "You said that there are two rings? Do you have them both?" I ask.

"Yes sir, we do," the salesperson responds, nervousness in her voice.

"How much for the pair?" I ask.

"They are a little pricey. Each ring is $95K," she says, matter-of-factly.

"Debra?", I say, reading her nametag, I'll give you $175K, right now, for the pair."

"Dave? That's too much money!" Greg says.

"Greg, I know what you're thinking. But I love them too. They are perfect for us."

"I don't know sir," the salesperson says, interrupting our debate.

"That's a generous offer, and you'll make a great commission. Is there someone you can call?"

"I can page my boss. He's just in the food court upstairs."

"Then I suggest you do that." She goes to do so while Greg and I continue to browse. I notice that she is keeping her eye on us, but instead of being bothered by this fact, it amuses me.

"He'll be right here, sirs. Would you care to see anything else while we wait?"

Soon, a little man appears at the door, with an armed security guard at his side. In a way, this is unsettling, especially to Greg, but I manage to keep him calm.

"This is our store manager, Mr. Robert Whitehouse," the salesperson says. "Mr. Whitehouse, this is Misters..."

"Gregory Jefferson, and I'm David Welsh. Our pleasure, Mr. Whitehouse," I say.

"Please to meet you gentlemen. Now, how may I be of service?"

"Well, your learned salesperson showed us this ring," I say, pointing out the ring..."

"It's one of the Catherine Ann Collections," she says.

"Yes. And she mentioned that there was a matching piece. We examined both pieces and are interested in purchasing them. She quoted a price of $95K each, and I countered with $175K. So, I guess the ball is your court."

"That's a lot of money," he says.

"I assure you that that amount is comfortable for me. Here is my credit card. You can call the number for approval."

He takes the card, and goes into his office to make the call in private.

"Gentlemen, if you are still interested, Debra will write you up. You have indeed purchased two of the finest pieces that we have. I am honored to be of service to you."

We see this exquisite strand of pearls with diamond connections, and I add that to the bill. "For Mom," I tell Greg. "She can wear it opening night." And I grab a pair of diamond studs for Dean.

"How soon can the rings be sized?" Greg asks.

"For such valued customers, a half hour?" Mr. Whitehouse asks.

"That's perfect." We have our rings sized, and I sign the credit slip.

"I can't believe you just did that," Greg says.

"I didn't do it. We did." We are on our way back to the van. "Now I guess that means that you have to marry me." Greg stops dead in his tracks.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"I said I guess that means that you have to marry me."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Did I stutter?" I ask coyly. "Will you make an honest man of me, and become my partner for life. I am incomplete without you Greg. You are the better half of me. I can't imagine a day when you're not with me, together raising our children, loving me, and growing old with me. Will you complete me by pledging to be mine?"

We are standing beside the van at this point. Greg places the packages in the back before he turns to me. "Dave, I fell in love with you that very first night I saw you. For me, it was only natural the way things turned out at the lake. That was what freaked me out. I had never experienced anything like that before. When we were apart, I was miserable. Then I thought that I had lost you.

How you ever forgave a fool and a coward like me, I'll never understand, but you did. And you never once had a second thought to loving my child as I love yours. We have been blessed.

Therefore, there is nothing that would make me happier than to formally be your life-partner. I'd be happy to wear your ring." We kiss each other, right there in the parking lot, to the surprise of many of the people passing by.

"That's disgusting!" some idiot yells from a passing car. We laugh, and climb back into the van. Just as we reach the highway, Greg's cell phone rings. It's Mom. She wants us to have a night to ourselves, and offers to keep the children, thereby, as she rations, giving her a chance to know them. They are doing fine, and are just about ready to go to bed.

"If you're sure, thanks, Mom," I say.

"Thanks Mom!" Greg echoes, as we disconnect the speakerphone.

"Well, it looks like we have the evening to ourselves. What do you want to do?" I ask Greg.

He raises his eyebrows. "Why don't we go back to the hotel, and celebrate our engagement?"

I just smile. "Just one more stop, then," I say. Over there." I point to this tuxedo rental store in this strip mall we were passing. We go in, and get fitted in two stunning tuxedos, and with a little prompting, have them prepared while we wait. Both of us had purchased pairs of black dress shoes while at the mall.

We were amazed when we got back to the hotel. We had so many purchases that it took a bell captain with a luggage cart to assist us.

"Why don't you go on up," Greg says to me as I eye him suspiciously.

"Why? What are you up too?"

"Me? Nothing," he says all too innocently. "I just want to pre-order dinner. I get the feeling that we are going to need our strength tonight." I blush, and so does the bellman. Fifteen minutes later, he rejoins me in our suite.

"What did you order for dinner?"

"Lots and lots of aphrodisiacs," he teases.

"I wouldn't put it past you," I come back. "Trying to take advantage of an innocent like me."

"Innocent, my ass!" Greg counters. "Dinner will be at seven in Walrus Room."

"What?"

"A special dinner requires a special place. So, hurry and get dressed." He takes his tux, and heads into the adjoining room, shutting the door.

The ringing of the telephone startles me. "Are you almost ready?" Greg asks.

"All I have to do is tie my shoes."

"Okay. I'll be there in a sec." Moments later, the bell rings on the front door of the suite. I open it to a vision.

"My...my...my," is all I can utter as Greg stands before me. He looks so handsome standing before me in his tuxedo. "Greg, you, you take my breath away!"

"I must say, Mr. Welsh, you do look rather dashing in a tuxedo yourself. Makes me yearn to see you out of your tuxedo," he smiles, showing me a brilliant smile. "If you're ready?"

He helps me with my jacket, and we head down to the lobby. To my surprise, he ushers me out the front door and into a waiting limo. "Greg, where are we going?"

"I told you we would be dining in the Walrus Room tonight."

"I know, but I thought the Walrus Room was in the hotel."

"Just sit back and enjoy the ride. I'm in control tonight." He hands me a glass of champagne as we settle back for the ride. Fifteen minutes later, we pull up into the parking lot of a restaurant, The Walrus Room. We get out of the car to the curiosity of a few patrons entering. Upon identifying ourselves, we are led into a private room elegantly dressed in white linens, bone china, sparkling silver and crystal, and bathed with the fragrant scent of dozens of white roses.

"This is absolutely beautiful," I say to Greg as I squeeze his hand. Soft, contemporary music is being filtered through hidden speakers, and I notice that they are our favorites.

Greg leads me over to the table, as a waiter approaches. "Good evening, gentlemen. I am Colin, and I'll be your host this evening. We hope that we meet your standards, and whatever you wish is our command.

Your dinner has been pre-selected, so we'll begin with a host of aperitifs: oysters in white wine sauce, beluga caviar and water-crackers, shrimp cocktail, fruits, and of course, cheeses. Please help yourselves."

We fix ourselves a small sampling of the items. Greg starts feeding me oysters, causing me to laugh. "What's so funny," he asks.

"You."

"What?" he asks innocently.

"I don't need stimuli to get me in the mood. Just a glance of you starts my libido reacting," I giggle. Soon the salads arrive. Caesar, and they are delicious. We enjoy a little of the clam chowder, but as we are eating, a favorite song begins playing, Rod Stewart's version of Someone To Watch Over Me.

"Come on, let's dance," I say, grabbing Greg by the hand. He melts into my arms as we begin to move to the music. He feels so wonderful in my arms.

There's a somebody I'm longing to see I hope that she turns out to be Someone who'll watch over me

"This is the first time we've ever danced," I remark.

I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood I know I could always be good To one who'll watch over me

Although I may not be the man some Girls think of as handsome But to her heart I'll carry the key

Won't you tell her please to put on some speed Follow my lead, oh, how I need Someone to watch over me

"Too much wasted time," Greg responds. I can feel him begin to swell against me as I begin to match his ardor. Thankfully, the song ends before we get too aroused.

"Ahem, excuse me sirs. I hate to interrupt, but dinner is served." We had almost forgotten we weren't alone. We take our seats, and Colin removes the covers revealing the main course: salmon steaks with Teriyaki sauce, baked potato, and steamed spinach.

We finish the meal, dining with intimate conversation. Dessert was a chocolate soufflé and coffee, followed by a sifter of brandy.

"Greg?" I begin. "This has been the most fantastic day of my life; meeting your parents for who we really are and being accepted by them; this wonderfully romantic dinner with the man I love--how can we ever top this?"

"We are not having a competition."

"I know. But there is something that I want to do."

"Oh?"

"Yes." I say, getting on one knee. I can see Colin look towards us as I get down and take Greg's hand in mine."

"Dave--you don't have to do this."

"Just be quiet and let me have my say. This afternoon, when we bought the bands, I had thought to use them at our wedding/commitment ceremony. But the more I thought of it, I realized it only appropriate that we tell the world of our feelings by wearing them now.

Before I ask you to wear this ring, I just want you to know how I feel about you. I've told you that I love you, but that seems so--inadequate. Every breath I take is because of you. You are my reason for getting up to face a new day.

Each time that I look at you, I am in awe. I can't believe that you choose to spend time with me, and to profess your love for me. I have to often pinch myself just to assure myself that I am not dreaming. I can't imagine a time without you. I can't imagine a moment when I cannot think of you, or a night when I can't hold you.

So," I say, pulling the ring from my pocket, and slipping it on the third finger of his left hand, "say you'll be mine. That you'll allow me to protect you, to love you, to comfort you, to cheer for you, to champion your causes, and to cry with you--always?"

"Dave," he says, after a long pause, "oh Dave. I want nothing more than to be with you until eternity, loving you and protecting you, crying with you and laughing with you. I want to cheer for you, and champion your causes, because I love you--I always have, and I always will." I give him my ring from my other pocket, and he places it on my finger. He stands, pulling me up with him, and we kiss.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you," Colin says, coming to our side. He has a bottle of champagne in his hand, and two fluted glasses. "Compliments of the house," he says.

"Thank you Colin," we say. He pours us a glass, and we toast each other.

"Colin!" Greg says, turning towards him. "Tell Andre that you were an excellent host, and that everything was superb. This is for you," Greg says as he presses two one hundred dollar bills in his hand.

"This is too generous," he exclaims.

"Nonsense. You helped to make a glorious evening more glorious."

We walk back to the waiting limo, and are soon on our way back to the hotel. We can't help but grin every time we cast our gaze at the rings on each other's hand.

We somehow manage to restrain ourselves on the ride to the floor, but the minute the door to our suite closes, Greg pulls me into his arms. His soft, moist lips find mine, and I begin my journey towards heaven. I could kiss this man forever.

We're almost desperate to free ourselves of our clothing, and soon meet naked in the center of the bed. Once again, we connect, our tongues battling as the heat in our loins rise. My whole body becomes flushed, as passion and lust combine to increase the urgency of our coupling.

I break from Greg. "I want to make love to you, Greg. Will you let me?" He nods his head, and I lay him down on the bed. I start at his forehead, kissing every square inch of his face, alighting on his lips, those wonderful, soft, luxurious lips. Again, our tongues begin to battle.

And again I break free, continuing my journey over his neck and across his shoulders and down his right arm, nipping at the taut flesh covering his biceps. I lick the crease of his elbow, feeling his pulse beat against my tongue.

I rub my cheek against his forearm, feeling the hairs scratch against my face. Greg gasps as I run a wet tongue over the back of his wrist.

I kiss the tips of each finger, before I pull them into the wet confines of my mouth. Greg groans, and his hand reaches for his dick with his left hand, pulling on the shaft.

I release his right hand, and pry the left from his dick, where I repeat the same action, only in reverse as to what I did before. I kiss my way across his chest until I reach a nipple, pulling it into my mouth for a thorough washing. It reaches hardness under my ministrations, and Greg compliments my actions by groaning, so deeply I can feel the vibrations against my lips.

When I leave, the nipple is standing hard and proud, offering itself to the world above the thick forest of hair where it resides. I move across to the other side, bringing the other nipple above the forest as well.

"Oh, God," Greg moans, as I begin to nibble my way over the ridges of his stomach. I part the hairs surround his navel, and dive into his inny. The head of his thick cock is sending it fragrance towards my nostrils, beckoning me to taste. Copious fluid is leaking from the eye, and I slurp up the pools that have collected on his stomach.

"Suck my dick, baby. Please suck my dick." I open my mouth, and begin to inhale Greg's nine inches of thick flesh. I don't stop until he is firmly nestled in my throat, his pubes tickling my nose.

"Oh--my--God!" Greg exclaims. I begin to bob up and down on his shaft, and his hip begin to react, forcing more of himself into me. My hands seize his balls, rolling them between my fingers, tugging them, egging them to produce more of his creamy milk for me.

Greg instinctively spreads his legs as my fingers travel further towards his asshole. I wet a finger, and slip it inside, seeking out that special button. I find it with my finger, and with my thumb, I seek out the same position at the base of his dick, thereby stimulating it from both sides.

Greg is going wild as his dick thrusts harder and more quickly into my sucking mouth. His fingers are playing lightly in my hair. I can feel him begin to swell, but I'm not ready for him to cum just yet.

I pull off his dick, much to his horror. I grab the lube off of the bed stand. I lube myself up, and then move onto Greg. "Easy," he warns, "you have me so hot." I reach back, and grab his balls, violently tugging them away from his body. He yelps, but it does the trick.

I stand above him, and slowly lower myself down. Greg lines himself perfectly, and we both moan from the sensation as he is planted firmly in me.

"Oh, yeah," I moan.

"Do me baby," he answers. I begin to slowly rise up and down, clinging to every inch of him as we are joined in my most intimate spot.

Soon we develop a rhythm, and we start to match each other stroke for stroke. Greg grabs my bobbing dick, and begins to stroke it as he thrusts into me.

"Oh sweet Jesus," Greg says, "this is so good." I bend down, giving him a kiss. His arms encircle my sweat soaked body. Finding his nipples, I pull them as if they were the reigns holding a bucking bronco as I ride the horse-cock embedded deep in my body.

"I'm going to cum," I warn Greg, as the rhythm of our motion changes.

"Me, too!" he returns, thrusting harder into my body. I can feel him swell, stretching me open even more.

One final thrust, forcing the air from both our bodies as my tortured prostate gland is abused one final time. Greg cock starts to spew as my own dick erupts, scalding his chest, neck, and face with my essence.

Each of us is catapulted into our own worlds, together and separate, we collide over and over again as the shock of our simultaneous explosions rockets our bodies.

Greg reaches for me, pulling me against his chest, gluing us together with the paste that I've deposited on him. His lips find mine, and we share a part of me that has landed close by and gets caught between us, giving us a new flavor to enjoy.

I lift off of him and roll to his side, feeling his abundant flow oozing from my ass.

"That was so incredible," Greg says, folding his arm around me.

"It does get better every time, doesn't it?" I answer, snuggling close.

"Come on, husband-to-be. I think we need a bath."

"Does that mean you're the wife."

"You just got fucked," Greg says, "but I must admit, there's nothing like having this," he continues, holding my dick, "at home deep inside of me."

"You keep that up, and you're going to make me hard again."

"Like me?" Soon, I have him spread open in the shower as we go for round number two.

Someone To Watch Over Me, Rod Stewart As Time Goes By: The Great American Songbook, Volume II, Words and Music by George & Ira Gershwin; Richard Perry, Producer