Good Neighbor

GOOD NEIGHBOR, Part I by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2000 by the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to an earlier story, "Construction Worker." There are references to that tale in the text as well as another, "Blue Collar, White Collar." Both are available in the Nifty Archives, Gay Male/Beginnings section.

CHAPTER ONE: MARSH MOVES IN

There are people who have always been a part of your life. You can't remember the exact moment you got to know them, or how--and it doesn't matter. Others enter and exit in ways that are forever etched in your mind, as if they were actors in a play: an aged parent slipping quietly away after a long illness; or a newborn baby, tiny bundle of life, squalling its head off in the delivery room. I wouldn't know about that baby firsthand--I've never been lucky enough to have a kid of my own.

I have, however, been lucky enough to love and to have lovers, and I remember the first time I saw each of them as plain as if it were yesterday. Marsh Atkins, for example--it's been years now, but I can still close my eyes and see him clearly, getting out of his sport utility vehicle in the driveway of his house: my new neighbor.

The house next door had started going up just a few months before. They get built amazingly fast when the economy is good, and the local economy had been more than good--it had been exploding. Frankly, I wasn't all that enthralled. The most relevant indicators for me were the spiraling appraisals and property tax bills, and the fact that the undeveloped lots in the neighborhood, which had provided some pleasant greenspace, were fast disappearing.

It was particularly painful to see the multiacre wooded lot next door subdivided, and four large, ostentatious houses go up on it. The nearest one was right up against our shared property line, so close that from my bedroom window upstairs I could peer right into my neighbor's second story. That had resulted in an interesting encounter with one of the crew while the house was being constructed. Stan and me, even now we sometimes laugh about the way we met. If those walls could talk, he still says. But that's another story, one that's been told.

The thing between us had begun to cool off a bit when Marsh and his family moved into that house. I had sort of figured it would when my construction man wasn't around every day, strutting his stuff. In a way, it was okay. As nice and hot a guy as he was, Stan wasn't someone with whom I had a great deal in common. Still, I noticed his absence, particularly as I was pretty much on my own otherwise.

When the "For Sale" sign disappeared from the front yard next door I began to wonder what my new neighbors would be like. I hoped they would be quiet, at least. Some of our windows were so close that sound traveled easily between them, and I dreaded the thought of loud weekend parties on their back deck. I'd settle for a dull yuppie family, I thought: husband in khakis starting to lose his hair, smart blond wife in shorts and perfect makeup, carting the two-point-one children off to school (private, no doubt), soccer or ballet in their gas-guzzling sport utility vehicle.

As it turned out, some of my predictions were on the money. Marsh did wear khakis a lot, snug ones that showed off his tight butt. The family owned a Chevy Blazer. His wife Audrey was blond and pretty, and a good mother to their four-year old son, Jonah.

I found out about his wife and son later, of course. The first time I saw Marsh he was by himself, getting out of the oversize vehicle in his driveway just as I drove in, finally coming home myself after a late day at the office. He had apparently been to the local supermarket, and was unloading his car.

Looking at him from behind, I saw a man, about six feet tall and perfectly proportioned, with a full head of dark brown hair, dressed in dark blue nylon running shorts and white t-shirt. He had long runner's legs, and a back that rose in a perfect V-shape from narrow hips to broad shoulders. His arms were corded with muscle, and ended in large hands that, even at a distance, I thought were beautiful--I have a thing about men's hands. He bent to retrieve a grocery bag from the back seat, and the sight of his butt cheeks straining against the thin fabric of his shorts made my heart--and cock--leap. My eyes locked onto his form and stayed there, forcing my head to swivel backward as I passed by.

Believe it or not, it's not my style to pant over a guy, no matter how hunky. A part of my mind was busily trying to deflate my excitement. So he's great-looking from behind, a little voice said, he'll probably be a troll from the front. Then I got a glimpse of his face as I passed his driveway: strong and symmetrical, square jaw dusted with a modest five o'clock shadow. His nose was absolutely straight, and just a shade long--it gave his face character, as they say, and kept it from being vapidly pretty. He moved away from the car, and I saw the swell of his pectoral muscles against the cotton of his shirt. Lower down, toward his waist, the fabric hung down limply--I could imagine the flat hardness of his stomach. Unfortunately, the SUV hid the rest.

I took this all in just before I drove my own modest vehicle's right front wheel over the high curb at my driveway entrance, tipping the car abruptly and causing me to crack my head hard against the driver's side window.

The impact hurt enough to make me yell "Ow!" and brought me out of my lustful reverie with a vengeance. My neighbor hadn't seen my inept maneuver. He disappeared into his house without looking back, carrying his purchases. I sat for a moment, my car still riding over the curb, rubbing my bruised temple. For the moment, at least, I was in love.

I wanted to go next door, knock, introduce myself, shake hands and invite him over for a beer, but I didn't do any of that. After backing up and parking the car properly, now that I had no distractions, I simply walked into my own house, cool and dark after the warm spring afternoon outside, still nursing the bump on my head. I sat in my living room, wishing there were some way I could meet and talk to him.

A few days later, I was backing out of my driveway, ready to engage in my five-times-weekly battle with the freeway traffic, when I saw a woman loading a little boy into the SUV next door. My heart sank, but I wasn't surprised. After all, what were the odds that a specimen like my neighbor would have been one, gay, two, unattached, and three, interested in me? Practically nil. Even so, I moped around at the office that day. One of the bolder members of my staff remarked to my face that I seemed to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

So he was married and had a kid. I could still fantasize, and I did. I got into the habit of checking his driveway every evening when I came home. I did the same thing every morning. Gardening is really not my thing, but I started poking around my yard on the weekends, hoping I might catch him out doing something similar.

I did get tantalizing glimpses of him, but always with his wife and son. It was getting hot in the way Texas springs always do, but the evenings were still bearable. Sometimes after dinnertime I would see them sitting on their front lawn together, him in a collapsible chair reading the paper, his long legs out stretched in front of him, while his wife played with the little boy, or vice versa. They were the very picture of old-fashioned family values. Damn.

Finally, after several weeks, I got my chance. It was a Saturday in late May, and the days were really scorching by now. I still went out to do some gardening, digging and weeding now and then, but only in the morning--by midday it was too hot outside to work.

I had started this outdoor stuff only to run into my neighbor, and had been singularly unsuccessful at that purpose. But I had actually gotten interested in this particular project, which involved building a stone wall around a flowerbed I had planted by the fence that separated my property from his. I had been working industriously for a good while when I heard a slamming door, the clattering of footsteps on wood, and the sound of voices, one high and piping, the other deep and mellow. Father and son had come out of the house next door and were tossing a ball in the back yard.

My plotting and planning had finally worked, but now that my neighbor was actually within earshot, I was too shy to say anything. I confined myself to occasional quick glances upward as I continued to stack rocks and they played their game, the little boy laughing and squealing with excitement. Once, the father caught my eye and raised his hand in a friendly wave. I nodded and ducked my head down, blushing. What the hell was the matter with me?

Suddenly I felt a blow to the top of my head. Crying out more in surprise than in actual pain, I put my hand up to where I had been hit. I heard something land on the ground near me, and turned to see the brightly colored ball that my neighbor and his little boy had been throwing lying in the grass nearby.

"Sorry, buddy! Jonah got a little carried away there."

He was standing at the chain link fence that separated our back yards, as close to me as he had ever been. I stood up, wobbling, my legs half asleep from squatting, my heart thudding so loudly I thought surely he could hear it.

"Are you okay?"

I managed a short laugh. "Sure, just surprised. Here," and I picked up the ball and handed it back to him. I dared to look into my neighbor's face, and saw that his friendly eyes were hazel. His teeth were perfectly straight, and dazzlingly white against his tanned face. I thought he was probably a bit younger than me, still on the good side of thirty. He took the ball and gave it to his son, who had come running up to stand beside him and was looking curiously at me.

My neighbor extended his hand again. "We haven't met yet, have we? Marshall Atkins. Everyone calls me Marsh, though."

I stuck mine out in response and felt it enveloped in a strong, positive grip--exactly the way I had imagined his handshake would feel. "Rob Templer. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"This is Jonah," Marsh said, patting the little boy's head. "Say hi to Mr. Rob."

"Hi," Jonah said obediently. His eyes were brown, huge and, at the moment, mistrustful.

"How old are you, Jonah?"

"Four." His supply of social conversation exhausted, Jonah turned to his father and asked, "Daddy, can we go back in and watch TV now?"

Marsh looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Had to get the kid out for some exercise, or he would have sat there till suppertime. Okay, big guy, one more cartoon, then your mom's going to be home, okay?" He turned back to me and said, "Want to come by and have a Coke, or some iced tea? Looks like you need it, you've been working pretty hard."

The object of my dreams was inviting me into his home. With an effort I kept my voice casual. "Sure, thanks, that would be great."

He met me at the front door with his son. Marsh settled Jonah in front of the TV, then led the way to the kitchen, where he fished some Diet Cokes out of the refrigerator. "I'd offer you a beer, but Audrey would kill me if she came home and saw me drinking this early," he grinned. "Especially while I was supposed to be watching the kid."

Marsh invited me to sit. I deliberately chose a seat that allowed me a full view of my neighbor's body. This turned out to be a mixed blessing, as Marsh sat back casually with his legs apart. After a few minutes, I was in agony, trying not to stare too obviously at the discreet but significant bulge in the neat khaki shorts he wore. I managed to keep my end of the conversation going, as we chatted about the things new acquaintances talk about, our jobs, the neighborhood, his family. Like so many people new to town, Marsh worked for one of the high-tech firms that had expanded to this area. He was intrigued to find out that I headed my own Internet-based business. I shrugged.

"We're doing okay, but I'm not one of those twenty-something millionaires you read about," I said. "For one thing, I'm past thirty."

"Really? Still knocking around all by yourself in that big house?" Marsh grinned. I stiffened slightly, not yet ready to address my social life. This was one thing we definitely did not have in common. I changed the subject.

"Nice boy you have there."

"Thanks. He's Audrey's pride and joy. Well, mine too, but she feels specially bonded to him. She had a hard time during the delivery--we nearly lost the little guy. And her too," Marsh said, his voice suddenly breaking. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so personal."

I was embarrassed at seeing his emotion, but also touched. Here was a man who was sensitive and caring, as well as gorgeous. He was everything I wanted, and totally out of reach. I silently cursed my existence.

We heard the front door open and Jonah's voice cry out excitedly, "Mom!" A moment later Marsh's wife bustled into the kitchen carrying her son, a slightly reproving look on her face.

"Marsh, have you been letting him watch TV the whole time I was gone?"

"Rob, my wife Audrey," Marsh said. "This is Rob from next door. I swear to you we went out to play. Bonked our neighbor on the head with Jonah's ball, and invited him in to recover."

"It's all true," I volunteered.

"Well, I'm glad he has a witness," Audrey said, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Rob. We've been admiring your gardening. You're so industrious."

I thanked her, wondering wryly what she would say if she knew just why I had been so diligent in my yard work lately.

Audrey shifted Jonah's weight in her arms. "Honey, do you mind if I turn on the air-conditioning? It's awfully hot in here."

Marsh grinned at me. "You can tell we're new to Texas--we still try and do without. I'd much rather sleep with a window open, listen to the crickets."

I looked at the three of them, a storybook family, and suddenly felt out of place. "Well, nice to have met you all. Marsh, thanks for the Coke."

"We'll have you over for dinner sometime," Audrey said as I let myself out the back. I stood a moment on their back deck, and silently decided it was hopeless. Even if my mission in life were bringing married men out of the closet, as seemed to be the case with some of my friends, I didn't have it in me to break up such a nice and obviously happy family.

Despite my success in finally meeting Marsh, I was downcast as I walked home.

CHAPTER TWO: A VISIT WITH STAN

Later that afternoon, I called Stan for the first time in several weeks.

"Hey, how's my yuppie stud?" he boomed. "So, you finally horny again?"

Next to his seemingly unshakable good humor, I found Stan's bluntness to be his most endearing trait. "Yeah," I replied, equally without ceremony. "Can I come by?"

"I'll be here, guy."

I drove across town to Stan's duplex in a rather barren subdivision just east of the interstate. His battered pickup was parked in the driveway. Despite my recent distractions, I felt the familiar swell in my groin as I got out of my own car in front of the house and walked toward his front door. If anyone had told me a few months ago that I'd be carrying on with a roughhewn contractor I'd have laughed. But here I was.

I rang the front doorbell and heard footsteps approach. Then the door swung slowly partway open behind the screen, but no one was there.

"Stan?" I called. No reply.

I said his name again, then pulled the screen door open. A big hand appeared, grasping the edge of the door, and widened the opening a bit further to admit me. I stepped forward, wondering what was going on.

As I entered the house, I turned to where I knew he must be, behind the door. "Stan, what are you doing..." I began, then let my words dissolve into appreciative laughter as I finally saw him. He was naked, his eyes mischievous, one hand holding the doorknob, the other hiding his privates in mock modesty.

"You are such a slut," I said.

"And you love it," he replied, shutting the door quickly and coming toward me. In a moment his mouth was on mine and his hand was groping my responsive cock through my jeans. I reached out and grasped his own thick tool, jutting upward from the hair on his lower body now that it was free.

After a few moments of tongue wrestling he went to his knees, practically popping my fly buttons in his eagerness to get my pants down. He looked up and grinned. "No underwear--look who's talking," he said, just before he surrounded my cock with the warm, moist heat of his mouth.

As he continued to suck me I pulled my polo shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground, then let my hands rove through his hair and over his face, feeling the rough stubble on his cheeks. Stan paused in his labors just long enough to strip the rest of my clothes off of me, then resumed with renewed vigor. Pretty soon I had to back away to keep from blowing my load.

"Hold on a minute, unless you want it in your face."

Stan looked up and grinned. "That'd be hot--but you know how I like it even better."

He got up and moved away from me into the living room. I watched the muscles working in his hairy butt. He sat on the couch, stretched his arms over the back, spread his legs and looked at me in his inimitable way, his blue eyes steely with sexual challenge but also containing a hint of a twinkle. "Come and get it--if you can."

I looked at his long, defined arms and hairy legs, then at the swell of his pectoral muscles lightly furred with more of the same. My gaze traveled down his stomach to the cock, partly erect, rising above the large heavy balls, the foreskin still hooding the purple head. At that moment it was as if Marsh had never existed. I was totally in Stan's spell again. I moved toward him, first taking a side trip to the cheap end table that stood to one side of the sofa to retrieve the rubbers and lube that he kept in the drawer. Dropping them on the carpet for later use, I knelt between his legs and took his meat down my throat, peeling back the foreskin with my tightened lips as I descended toward his pubes, in a way I knew he liked. I was rewarded with a long sigh and a strong hand caressing the back of my neck. "Nice," Stan breathed. "It's been too long, buddy."

"Mm hmm," I agreed as I continued to slide up and down on his cock. After a while I released it and took care of his balls, rolling and washing each one thoroughly in my mouth as I kept his dick alive with my hand. Soon we were ready for what we both knew was the main event.

The first time Stan and I had met--well, spoken, anyway--it was on my front doorstep, during the construction next door. I had answered the door early on a Saturday afternoon to find him standing with a big grin under his bushy mustache, his cock hanging out of his jeans. I had assumed that anyone that imposing in appearance and equipment had to be a top. Stan, being not only a stud and exhibitionist but a nice guy, had been more than happy to oblige me.

It wasn't until we had gotten together a few times that he had confessed, almost shyly, his preference. He must have thought I'd lose interest in him--as it happened, finding out that this big man with the firehose dick was a bottom by preference was an intriguing turn-on for me. We still switched off now and then, but I knew that today, after my recent neglect, Stan deserved to have what he liked best.

So I grabbed his ankles and lifted his legs upward. Stan shifted forward on the couch until his butt was in the air, his cheeks fully spread. I made my way down with my tongue from his balls, further and further until I felt it make contact with the soft puckered flesh of his asshole. My nostrils caught a faint whiff of his personal odor combined with the scent of freshly washed skin. Having reached my target, I began by flicking my tongue gently against the hole until Stan began to moan faintly. Finally I burrowed inside, pushing my lips hard against his bottom, giving him a wet, sloppy anal kiss along with my tongue insertion. With one free hand I grabbed his cock and began to stroke it.

"Oh man, that's so fucking hot. Do it to me."

My own cock stood out stiffly-Stan's audible response to my efforts was inflaming my own lust. Wanting to get him as hot as I could, I kept up my rimming until he was pleading with me to fuck him. Finally, I raised my head and grinned, licking my swollen lips.

"Now just what is it that you want again?" I asked.

Stan growled playfully. "You cockteasing bastard. If you don't shove it up there right now, someone's going to get hurt."

In answer, I picked up the condom and lube off the floor, tore open the wrapper and quickly got myself ready. After I had sheathed and greased up my shaft I took another fingerful of the gel and applied it to his ass, letting first one finger, then two slip inside the opening. I watched the smile on my man's face, the play of lustful emotion in his eyes as I crooked my fingers upward, pressing against the firm nub of his prostate.

I withdrew and rose to my feet. Stan turned to the side so that he was lying sideways on the couch, raising his legs once more. I mounted the cushions next to him and positioned my dick against his asshole, then slowly pushed forward, breaking through easily and sinking into the smooth heat of his gut. Stan sighed again and let his head fall back, his mouth opening slightly. His eyes had lost their focus. "Rob," was all he said, but I knew I had him exactly where he wanted to be.

I bent down until my face was next to his and whispered, "How are you doing?"

Stan shook his head, bewildered, no longer smiling. "How the fuck do you it? Make me feel like this?"

"I could say the same, buddy," I said, just before I put my lips to his. As we kissed, I began to move my hips, thrusting in and out of him. After weeks of doing without, it felt damn good.

I drew back and grasped his ankles, varying the angle of entry, looking down at my latex-covered pole sliding in and out of the opening between his legs, a sight that never lost its erotic fascination for me. Above it I saw Stan's ballsac flopping around as he grasped his own cock with one big paw and jacked it in rhythm with my thrusts. His other hand braced himself against the arm of the couch. I shifted my gaze to his face, still dreamy with lust. He caught my eye and gave me another smile, no longer challenging, acknowledging my mastery of him.

"Fuck me."

"You got it." I bent forward, stretching out as best I could on the narrow piece of furniture, and began to drill my cock into him in earnest. Stan's legs were over my shoulders, his body bent double under mine, his face now fierce with encouragement, willing me toward my climax. I wasn't going to need much pushing to get there.

"C'mon Rob, shoot that fucking load, give it to me, man."

"Oh god, here it comes," I said through gritted teeth as I felt myself go over the edge. "Take it, fucker--" and then I was shouting and grunting incoherently, my eyes squeezed shut as I felt my cock unload in hard spurts into the rubber buried inside him.

"Don't stop," Stan hissed, the hand on his cock moving frantically. "Here I come, man. Here I cum. Aw, shit," he groaned, and I felt the space between our heaving stomachs suddenly fill with something warm and sticky. I raised myself, and looked down in time to see two or three good spurts of thick white fluid jet from his organ and fall on his hairy chest.

I finally stopped moving and let my full weight rest on him. Stan wrapped one arm around me, his cum gluing our bodies together, as our breathing returned to normal. After a while he moved, and I realized that his body was still folded underneath me. I withdrew, releasing him, and headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up.

"Run the shower, would you, guy?" Stan called.

"Only if you let me join you," I said, turning around.

We soaped and rinsed each other at a leisurely pace under the steamy spray. Often when I was over at his place this led to another bout of sex, but somehow today was different. Stan merely smiled at me, as I watched the soapy water wash over and temporarily smooth down the hair on his head and body.

Eventually the hot water ran out. After getting out and drying each other off, we headed to his bedroom and stretched out on the bed. Stan laid his head on my chest, kissing it several times. He looked up at me, and though he was smiling, the challenge in his eyes had returned.

"So where the fuck have you been?"

"Busy," I replied carefully.

"You get yourself another boyfriend or what?"

"No. But," I continued, deciding to be honest with him, "There's someone I'm kind of interested in."

"Who?"

"He's moved into the house you were working on."

Stan grinned, but there was a wistful look in his eye. "Another yuppie stud right next door. Damn."

"Well, it's not the ideal match. He's married and has a kid."

He rolled his eyes. "You going after a straight guy? Christ, Rob."

"I know, I know. Stupid, huh?"

"Looks like it just might be curtains for old Stan. Well, it was nice while it lasted." Stan's tone was still lighthearted, but the resigned way he shook his head made guilt well up in me. I tried to make amends.

"It's not like anything's happened, Stan."

"It will, though. I know you."

I started to say I hoped he was right, and stopped myself just in time. Not knowing what else to do, I reached out and touched his face. Stan took my hand with his own, turned his head and kissed my palm. His unexpected tenderness made me feel worse, as if he'd slapped me instead.

"What can I say?"

"Nothing, man. Don't worry, I'll get over it. It's not like I'm in love with you or anything," he said, a bit defiantly. "Not like Gary."

"Who's Gary?"

"Buddy of mine. We worked on some projects together. He picked up a guy in Bull Creek Park, some college professor. Fell head over heels for him. The guy drove Gary crazy, whining about his partner, his job, not calling for months. Finally Gary couldn't stand any more and took a job in Florida. That stupid shit ran him out of town. Not me."

"Not you."

"I knew I'd never make it to any of your fancy office parties."

"Jesus, make me feel like a total worm, why don't you?" I protested.

Stan grinned. "Just giving you a hard time, Rob. Think I need a beer. Want one?"

We sat in the living room with our beers. I pulled my jeans back on, but Stan sprawled naked on the couch. Looking at him, I wondered why I couldn't be satisfied with what I had. He saw me checking him out.

"You look just like you did that first time I saw you through the window."

"I probably do."

"Hope it goes okay with your next-door neighbor."

"Stan, I want us to stay friends," I said. Suddenly that was very important to me.

He shrugged, not giving anything away. "Sure, man. Whatever you want."

I left Stan's duplex feeling as if I'd broken up with a lover over someone else. Only Stan wasn't my lover, and there wasn't a someone else, except in my mind. Whatever you want, he had said--the problem was, what I wanted most, I couldn't have. Or maybe the problem was, I didn't know what I wanted. I'd met someone I'd been longing to get to know for weeks, I'd had great sex with a good buddy--and still this was turning out to be a lousy weekend. What a malcontent, I thought morosely as I drove home.

CHAPTER THREE: HUSBAND AND WIFE

As it turned out, things were just beginning to get interesting. One day about a week later I noticed that the house was getting hot and uncomfortable. Something was wrong with the central air-conditioning unit. Not only was there no cooling, the blowers didn't seem to be working well, so there was very little air circulation.

Fortunately, my house had ceiling fans installed in the largest rooms, and I'd put in screen doors. So I turned every fan on high speed, threw open the doors, and tried to get a breeze going. Soon the ground floor was bearable, though hardly cool. The upstairs, though, was impossibly hot--no way would I be able to sleep up there tonight.

It really wasn't too bad, though. As night fell, I stripped down to my underwear (after carefully closing the blinds), made up the couch with sheets and pillows, turned off every light I could to make the house seem cooler, and settled down in the recliner with my laptop, a pitcher of ice water and a glass by my side. The soft whir of the ceiling fans mingled with, and didn't quite obscure the sounds of the night outside--the soft chirruping of crickets, the occasional distant bark of some neighbor dog, the whoosh of a car passing down the street. All of this was quite novel--I felt absurdly like a pioneer, roughing it in my temporarily un-air-conditioned home.

Around eleven o'clock I began to yawn, and found it hard to keep my eyes open. Making a mental note to call the central air maintenance guys in the morning, I got ready to hit the sack. My stuff was all in the bathroom nearest the master bedroom, so I headed up the stairs, wincing a bit at the heat still hanging up on the second story.

After washing up and cleaning my teeth I decided to fetch tomorrow's clothes from my closet, so I headed into the master bedroom. I could see a dim light coming in through the side window. One of the upstairs lights in Marsh's house must be on.

I don't know what exactly prompted me to move across the stifling, darkened bedroom, without turning on the light, to look out my window. I told myself afterward that it was just simple curiosity about what room in their house might be across from mine. But really I was hoping to see Marsh again--after all, isn't that what I'd been doing for weeks, trying to catch glimpses of him?

I got to the window and looked out through the partly open slats of the venetian blind covering it. Directly across from me was a second-story window on Marsh's house, which was open, the white curtains framing it drawn aside. The room I was looking into was clearly a bedroom. In the dim light I could see the bed, placed against the opposite wall directly facing the window. Marsh was stretched out on top of the comforter, dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts, reading a magazine.

At the first sight of him I quickly drew back. After a moment's thought I realized this was an unbelievable stroke of luck. Since my bedroom was completely dark and theirs was lit, there was little chance I would be noticed, unless Marsh or his wife came to the window and looked straight out. I felt a thrill of excitement run through me that all voyeurs must feel. There was guilt, too--but not nearly enough to stop me from going back to the window, slowly raising the blind, then carefully, noiselessly lifting the sash.

After a moment, Marsh laid the magazine aside, yawned and stretched. What I could see of his body was as beautiful as I thought it would be--he obviously worked out regularly. The defined ridges of his pecs and abs were visible even from this distance. They rivaled those of any exercise magazine cover model. I became aware that my stiffening dick was pressing painfully against the front of my briefs, and pulled them down to free it from its confines. Not taking my eyes off the window across the fence for one instant, I began to stroke myself slowly.

I saw Marsh turn his head, smile and speak to someone else in the room. Audrey must be coming to bed. I felt an irrational jealousy that she had the privilege of being close to this man, sharing his room and his bed, while I was confined to spying on them in the dark. I watched raptly as she came into view, wearing a black shorty nightgown, sheer enough so that I could see matching black panties underneath--on her slim, but surprisingly full-breasted figure the skimpy garments looked good. Marsh smiled as she got on the bed and gathered her into his arms. I heard the murmur of their voices, too far away for any words to emerge, as they cuddled affectionately. Seeing them together reminded me acutely of my own current state of aloneness--I felt sad, jealous, and intensely, urgently horny, all at the same time. My hand moved faster on my cock, by now slippery with the juices of my arousal.

The happy couple in the other house began to kiss, at first gently and tenderly, then with increasing urgency. My heart raced as I realized that Marsh and Audrey were starting to make love before my eyes. His hands cupped her breasts through the nightgown. She reached down and fumbled with his boxer shorts, drawing them downward. Frustratingly, he rolled on top of her at that moment and all I could see was his shapely butt, above the boxers now halfway down his legs. Her slim arms grasped his back, white against his tanned musculature.

Then, to my delight, Marsh turned over and stripped his shorts completely off. Even across the distance between our houses I could see the heavy length of his cock pointing stiffly upward on his lower belly, above his balls. He rose to his feet and stood sideways in front of the bed, his organ now jutting outward, silhouetted against the dim light of the bedroom. Audrey got down off the bed and knelt in front of him. I saw her head move toward his crotch, and a moment later Marsh's cock disappeared into her mouth.

A strangled groan escaped from my throat. I would have killed to be in Audrey's place at that moment--giving head to a man the likes of whom I'd rarely seen, and never possessed. I saw him caress her head gently with one big hand, and imagined him doing the same to me. I realized that I was dangerously close to shooting myself and forced my hand to slow its frantic pace.

Audrey didn't suck Marsh for very long. I thought to myself that most women really didn't like giving head, they only did it to please their men. As she released his cock, Marsh unfastened something at her throat and the garment fell away from her, exposing her breasts. He sat his wife on the edge of the bed and drew down the panties she was still wearing, going to his knees as he did so. I caught a glimpse of the neat triangle of Audrey's pubic mound just before Marsh's head closed in on it. He was returning the favor his wife had done him. Audrey's head snapped back, her blond hair spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes closed, her mouth opened, and though I couldn't hear it I knew she was moaning with pleasure. One of Marsh's hands reached up and caressed her breast again.

I couldn't take my eyes off of them. Watching the man I desired actually performing the act of love, even with a woman, was an experience beyond compare. I wanted to savor every moment of it--I had taken my hand completely off my own cock, which stayed rock hard even so. I wanted to ride vicariously with Audrey and Marsh to the climax of their lovemaking.

They were now on the bed again, Audrey on her back with her legs spread. Marsh positioned himself over her, his back to the window, and lowered his body onto hers. Her arms went around him, her mouth opened in another gasp and I knew that his cock had penetrated her. Marsh's butt began to contract rhythmically as he began to thrust, at first slowly, then with increasing speed and strength until I could see the bed shaking with the force of his fucking. I heard faint cries from both of them carry across the air, and thought the end must be near. I began to stroke myself again, this time not trying to hold back. Soft grunts began to emerge from my own throat.

Just then, Audrey's head, visible over one broad male shoulder, rolled from side to side, and I heard a single clear, almost musical cry of ecstasy. She clapped one hand abruptly over her mouth, her eyes bulging comically. It wouldn't do to wake Jonah now! Marsh's thrusts increased to a frantic pace, and I heard his voice shout wordlessly. Audrey was still the mother--I saw a warning finger come up to her lips. They had obviously reached the ideal completion--a mind-blowing orgasm for her, timed to perfection with the planting of his seed inside her.

They didn't know it, but it had been a triple play--a few seconds after Marsh came, my eyes closed involuntarily as an explosion rocked my own body. I groaned loud enough that I was afraid they would hear. I felt the hot jets spurting out of my cock and dimly wondered where they were going. Rocking onto my knees, I grasped the window sill with my free hand to keep from falling over, my head down, my breath coming in harsh gasps.

After I had regained some semblance of equilibrium I opened my eyes. Fortunately, it appeared I hadn't made enough noise to be heard across the way. Marsh and Audrey were now lying next to each other, still naked, their bodies still loosely entwined. After a while Marsh got up and moved toward the window, and I quickly retreated into the shadows. When I felt it was safe to look out again, a small fan was whirring in the window and the lights were off.

I realized that my legs and feet were tingling from crouching down so long, my hand was sticky with cum, and there was a mess on the bedroom floor, and probably on the wall underneath the window as well. I rose stiffly, pulling up my briefs, and went to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up. I wiped everything up as best I could in the dim light from the hallway, still thinking it prudent not to turn on the light in the bedroom. When I was done I padded downstairs, locked up, stretched out on the couch, and at last, fell into an deep, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR: FATHER AND SON

I awoke the next morning and didn't know where I was. There was an unfamiliar light all around me, and an odd whirring noise. After a moment I realized I was lying on my living room couch. I had left the ceiling fans on to keep some air moving, but with the doors and windows closed the house nevertheless was stuffy.

Thoughts of last night came into my mind. The window through which I had witnessed Marsh making passionate love to his wife was the same one behind which Stan had stood one rainy morning before the house was finished, staring into my eyes as he jacked himself off. Boldly he had let me know that he was on to me--he had seen me eyeing his body while he labored on the construction crew. Then, the next day, he had knocked on my door and made what had been fantasy hot and sweet reality.

The odds that this present story would have a similar end were zero, I reflected sourly. Obviously Marsh and Audrey had a healthy relationship, to say the least. The house next door had provided me with one companion--it was too much to think it would give me two. With that pessimistic thought, I hauled myself off the couch to get ready for the day.

One afternoon later that week I walked into my favorite local coffee house. Inside there was a woman, with a little boy next to her, speaking to the cashier. She turned her head--I saw that it was Audrey and Jonah. As I approached she caught sight of me and her face brightened in recognition. "Hello," she called. "We're on our way home from preschool." She looked down at her son. "Jonah, remember Mr. Rob? Say hello."

"Hi," Jonah said. He gave me a shy smile, and I felt unaccountably pleased.

We chatted idly for a few moments while we waited for our lattes to come up.

"You're doing a good job with him," I observed.

"Thanks," Audrey replied, patting her son on the head. "Though it hasn't been hard. Jonah's never been any trouble--well, except when he came into the world."

I was silent, not wanting to say that Marsh had already revealed that personal detail. Come to think of it, I knew quite a few personal details about Mr. and Mrs. Atkins. Though there was no way she could know what I had seen a few days before, I felt my face reddening.

"We still haven't had you over for dinner," she continued, not noticing my discomfort. "I'm afraid it may be a while. I'm going out of town tomorrow and I'm not exactly sure when I'll be back."

"Hope it's nothing serious."

"Actually, it is. My father's been ill a long time, and he's getting worse. He may not live much longer."

"I'm very sorry."

She nodded as she picked up her coffee. Unlike Marsh, Audrey seemed able to keep her private pain hidden. "Thanks. Anyway, if he does--pass away, I'll have to stay and help take care of things. I'm going to have to leave Jonah with his dad. A hospital's no place for a small child, and I don't want him to miss that much school."

"I'm sure your husband will take good care of him," I said absently.

Audrey started talking about the arrangements that had been made for her son, how another mother from his school was going to look after him until Marsh got home from work, but I barely heard her. My mind insisted that my handsome neighbor was out of reach--but from the way my heart was beating, it obviously thought otherwise.

"Well, Rob, I may ask you to check up on that workaholic," she laughed as she turned to go. "Come on, sport. Let's go home and eat your cookie."

I wished her a safe journey and watched them go. I took my own drink and sat down at one of the tables, sipping it pensively.

As I was hand-watering some of the flowers in the back yard early that evening I heard my name called. I looked toward the fence and saw Marsh striding toward me.

"Hey, buddy. Audrey says she saw you today. You know she's going away for a while?"

I nodded. "That's tough luck. Anything I can do to help?"

"Truth is," Marsh said, scratching his head in embarrassment, "I'm a little nervous about being alone with Jonah that long. I mean, I can dress him, feed him, get him off to preschool and put him to bed, but that leaves a lot of hours in the day. Audrey's already grumbling about his eyes getting weak from too much TV."

Marsh, the perfect father, was asking his single, childless, gay neighbor for advice about parenting. I stifled a laugh and tried to reassure him.

"You'll be fine."

"Jonah does like the water," Marsh continued, thinking out loud. "Maybe I'll take him to Deep Eddy this weekend. Not exactly my idea of fun, sitting in the middle of all those screaming kids, but the little guy'd have a blast."

Deep Eddy was a park that had both a outdoor lap pool for adult swimmers, and a shallow wading pool for the kids. Marsh had told me during our kitchen conversation that one of the ways he worked out was by swimming laps. I knew he'd much rather be stroking his way up and down one of the lanes in the lap pool. The words came out of my mouth with hardly a thought.

"I could go too. You could do laps while I keep an eye on Jonah."

Marsh's eyes widened in surprise. "You'd really do that?"

"Sure I would." Some devil in me had seen that the Atkins' son might, just might be the way to get a little closer to the father. Even if nothing came of it, I still would have gotten to spend time with Marsh, who would, and this was not an insignificant detail, be in swim trunks a lot of the time.

"Well, I'll have to ask Audrey. She's very protective of Jonah--I didn't mean it that way, Rob," Marsh said, looking abashed as he realized the import of his words.

"It's okay." It's not her son she should be worried about, I thought.

Marsh looked at me closely and there was something indefinable in his eyes. "I guess it's true we haven't known you very long. Funny, I keep forgetting that." He turned to go, saying, "She's leaving on Friday. Let's plan on Saturday morning bright and early, before it gets too crowded."

The next couple of days were agonizingly suspenseful, waiting to see if Audrey would actually leave--somehow I thought she might change her mind and stay--and hoping that the weather would be good that weekend. I needn't have worried on the latter score--each day loomed hot and sunny, and the television newscasts were talking about an incipient drought. On Friday evening, my cell phone rang while I was on my way home.

"You still on for tomorrow morning?" asked Marsh's voice.

My heart leaped. "Sure," I said, trying my best to sound casual.

"Okay then. Come by around eight-thirty. You sure you can get up that early?"

"For you I will," I said, hastily adding, "And Jonah."

Marsh laughed. "Good man. He's really looking forward to this."

So it was that the next morning the three of us piled into the Blazer, equipped with sunscreen, cooler, duffel bags, and Jonah's water toys. Marsh carefully belted his son into the back seat, but trouble began brewing when he and I got in the front.

"Want to ride in front," Jonah protested.

"Got to stay in back, buddy," Marsh replied. "It's only for a little while."

Logic and reason had little meaning for poor Jonah, obviously missing Audrey. He repeated his request more insistently, his lower lip beginning to puff out, a warning sign. Before he could erupt into a full-blown wail, I decided to try my hand at smoothing things over.

"I'll get in back with you, Jonah," I said, opening the front door and suiting the action to the words. As I climbed into the rear seat, Jonah glared at me suspiciously. I was not, after all, his mother. Still hoping to stave off his tears, I thought of something I had brought along with me. "Here," I said, reaching into my front pocket and giving it to him. "Ever seen anything like this?"

It was a little gadget that I had received as a gift at some Christmas party, the kind of thing that everyone exclaims over for five minutes and then forgets about. It was a hand-held, battery operated fan with soft rubber blades, that you could turn on by twisting the little head on which it was mounted. This one had a gimmick, though. It sat in a carrying case, equipped with a little spray bottle that sat behind the blades. You could fill the bottle with water, turn the fan on, push the plunger, and spritz yourself with a cool mist as well as enjoy the breeze. When I'd received it, in a clear plastic and cardboard package emblazoned with the legend "REVOLUTIONARY MISTING HAND FAN," I'd thought to myself that a kid would like this thing. Now I was about to give my theory a field test.

Jonah took the fan curiously, his mind momentarily diverted, at least. I showed him how to turn the thing on and off and he very quickly got the hang of it. I pointed the fan toward him so that the breeze stirred his soft brown hair. I gave him an experimental spritz and he giggled with delight. I looked up to see Marsh grinning back at me.

"Thanks, Uncle," he said, and started the car.

Fortunately the trip to the park was a short one. On the way Jonah discovered that the fan blades would stop instantly at the slightest touch, a built-in safety feature. This, together with spraying the back of his dad's head, kept him happily occupied until we got to the parking lot, which despite our strategy was already half full. We found a spot and unloaded. Weighted down with our equipment and a small boy, Marsh and I made our way toward the pool.

The park was laid out to have as much natural land as possible. The two pools had concrete decks, but there was plenty of grassy lawn all around, shaded with trees. It took much longer than I would have imagined to get ourselves to a shaded, comfortable spot not too far from the water, spread a towel on the ground, unpack our stuff and settle down. But at last, the three of us were ready to have fun.

"Daddy, can we go swimming?" Jonah said plaintively. He was still holding the toy I had given him.

"Yes we can, if you'll put the fan down and let me take off your clothes," his father answered. Catching me completely by surprise, Marsh stood and slipped his T-shirt off over his head, then unfastened his shorts and let them drop to the ground. I was slightly disappointed at the fashionably baggy, patterned boxer-style trunks that appeared underneath, but Marsh dressed only in swimsuit and flip-flops was nevertheless a breathtaking sight up close. I felt downright intimidated following suit, but nevertheless peeled down to my own, conservative, Speedos. I looked up to find Marsh's eyes on me.

"You white man," he said.

"Huh?" I asked stupidly, not understanding.

"Pale."

"Oh--well, yeah, I haven't had much chance to get out in the sun yet this summer."

"You know what they say," Marsh smiled, "All work and no trips to the lake make Rob a dull boy."

"You know about the lake?" I asked, surprised. Everyone who lived in town for any length of time knew which lake "the lake" was--the one that allowed nude sunbathing on its shores.

"Sure I do," he replied. Before I could follow this up, he turned to Jonah. "Okay, Jonah, help Daddy take your shirt off." Jonah obediently raised his arms.

He quickly helped Jonah out of his outer clothing, then picked up an inflatable float shaped like a sea monster. "Time to get wet, buddy."

"Yay!" Jonah began to toddle off toward the water.

"Whoa boy! Got to put on your sunscreen." Marsh turned to me and said, "I'll stay with him for a while, then we can switch, okay?" Without waiting for a reply he hurried after his son.

I watch him stride off. Heads turned as he passed, both female and male. I felt absurdly proud that I was with him, even if it was only as baby-sitter.

It was a pleasant morning, sunny and not yet stiflingly hot. After a while, I relieved Marsh at the side of the shallow pool while he went off to swim his laps. I watched Jonah splash and play in the water, not letting him out of my sight. Marsh's son had decided at some point that I was all right, apparently, for he dropped his guard and chatted freely about what little kids talk about: his toys, his favorite videos and TV shows, school, Mommy and Daddy.

"Do you know where your Mommy is right now?"

Jonah frowned. "She's with Paw Paw. He's sick."

I wondered how much Audrey had told him about the big questions in life. Deciding not to go there, I changed the subject. "Want to show me how you can paddle?"

"Yeah!" shouted Jonah, and happily began propelling himself on his float. Unfortunately he got too close to some roughhousing bigger kids and, before I could shout a warning, accidentally got swamped by a body falling on top of him. I was holding him in my lap at the edge of the pool, trying to console him, when I felt a tall presence next to me.

"What happened?" Marsh asked, his face grim.

I tried to make light of the situation, hoping he wouldn't blame me. "Somebody fell on him, pushed him off his float. I think he was more scared than anything."

Jonah unexpectedly came to my rescue. "Daddy," he said, hiccuping from his recent bout of crying, "I fell in the water, but Uncle Rob saved me."

Jonah's dad shrugged. "It happens. Maybe it's time to get out for a while anyway. C'mon, Jonah, time for lunch. Don't you have to go potty too?" I relinquished Jonah to his father's charge. As Marsh took his crestfallen son's hand, he turned, and to my relief, gave me a wink. "Get the sea monster, will you, Uncle Rob?"

Jonah's enthusiasm for aquatic adventure squelched for the moment, the three of us returned to our towel and Marsh unpacked the sandwiches he had brought. Jonah ate a half of his peanut butter and jelly, then began playing with the electric hand fan again.

"He really likes that thing," Marsh observed. "You're a genius."

I shrugged. "Lucky I happened to have it. Have a good swim?"

"Yeah. Thanks to you, buddy. Feel bad that you had sit with him, though."

"It was fun." I was surprised to realize that I meant it. The little boy was sweet, and I had forgotten my ulterior purpose in coming along. For the moment, we were some sort of family, if not the traditional one. At that moment, I caught sight of an older, solitary, and obviously gay man, lounging on a towel some distance away, unabashedly giving us the eye. His gaze was at once lustful and quizzical. I thought he probably had us pegged as a gay couple, but was having a devil of a time figuring out how Jonah fit into the equation. Marsh's son had tired of play and was lying curled up next to his father, his eyes falling shut.

"Looks like we have an admirer," my friend observed at that moment, and I realized Marsh had seen him too. I looked sharply at him, but could read neither his tone nor his face.

"Is he bothering you?"

Marsh gave me a sidelong glance, smiling slightly. "Nope. I think he's looking at you."

I sputtered. "No--"

"You're the one in the International Male outfit."

Now I was completely speechless. Marsh was grinning broadly. What was going on? I opened my mouth to utter some protest, I didn't know what, but he silenced me by raising a finger to his lips.

"Shh. Jonah's asleep."

Indeed he was, the fan lying next to his still hand. Marsh looked at me. "I can carry him and the float, if you can get the rest of this stuff. This is probably going to be his afternoon nap."

As quietly as we could, we stowed our gear, pulled on our clothes, and walked slowly toward the exit with our respective burdens. We had to pass near the man who had been staring at us, and I couldn't resist--I turned toward him with a deadpan face and gave him a deliberate, unmistakable wink. He blushed and averted his eyes.

Jonah was still out when Marsh pulled into his driveway. Hoisting his son onto one shoulder, Marsh whispered to me, "I'm going to put him to bed upstairs. Want to stay and have a beer?"

We entered the house, which felt stale and hot. Marsh flipped a switch in the front hallway and the air conditioning started to blow. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a minute," he said as he started up the stairs with Jonah. In the spacious living room, I sat on a plush, leather-upholstered sofa and leaned back, closing my eyes and enjoying the cool breeze of the air conditioning.

Marsh came in after a minute. "He's out like a light," he reported. "You guys must have played hard. Listen, I'm going to take a shower and wash all this gunk off. You want to take one too?"

If it's with you, I wanted to say, but shook my head. "If I can just change out of my suit. I didn't really get wet."

Marsh nodded. "Use the guest room down the hall. The beer's in the fridge--you know where the kitchen is. See you in a bit."

I quickly slipped out of my trunks in the guest room, having a bit of difficulty getting them past my half-erect cock. I put my shorts back on and headed into the kitchen. Reaching into the fridge, I selected a couple of bottles and took them back to the living room, placing them carefully on two of the coasters sitting in a pile on the coffee table. After a few minutes I heard a door open and close, then footsteps coming toward the living room.

Marsh appeared, his hair damp, dressed in the dark blue running shorts he had been wearing the first time I had seen him, and nothing else. I must have stared, because he grinned. "Too casual?" he asked.

I shrugged, though my heart was thumping again. "It's your house."

"It's so nice and cool in here after that hot sun," he said, picking up one of the bottles and opening it. I followed suit, hoping he wouldn't see my hand trembling.

Marsh settled himself in a nearby armchair. "Cheers," he said, raising the bottle before he drank. I answered in kind, hoping the drink would calm me down.

We sat silent for a moment, then Marsh said, "Hey, thanks again for coming along with us today."

"My pleasure."

"Jonah really had a good time. When I was putting him to bed just now he asked where Uncle Rob was." Marsh smiled. "By the way, I tucked him in with that little gadget of yours. He squawked when he saw me holding it."

"It's his. Tell him it's a present."

"He's really taken a shine to you." Marsh took another swallow of beer, then asked, "So how does a guy like you get to be so good with kids?"

The beer-induced buzz that was beginning to descend on me cleared abruptly. I was alert and on the defensive. "What do you mean?" I countered, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Well--you are gay, right?" Marsh asked. When I scrutinized his face it was as it had been back at the pool, totally unreadable. What was this, a trial? Anger rose in me and I decided not to hold it back.

"What's it to you?" I said flatly.

"Hey, buddy, did I say something wrong?" Marsh seemed genuinely surprised at my reaction.

I sighed. "Yeah, so I'm gay. There were witnesses, Marsh. I didn't lay a hand on Jonah."

"Oh, cut the shit!" Marsh barked, now angry himself. "I know that. That's not what I meant at all," he continued, lowering his voice as he remembered Jonah asleep upstairs. "Jonah likes you."

I was still steamed, and not sure exactly why. "Well, I like him. And until a minute ago, I liked you too, Marsh. Thanks for the beer." I got up, picked up my duffel bag which I had brought in, and started toward the front door.

"What's with you, guy? Hey, don't go." There was a note of genuine entreaty in Marsh's voice, and my footsteps slowed. The next thing he said made me stop dead in my tracks. "I'm--curious."

I turned slowly. Marsh was looking up at me, his face no longer guarded but hesitant, not yet sure of my reaction. "Curious?" I said, neutrally.

"About the gay thing." I noticed that one of Marsh's finely shaped hands was resting on his thigh, the thumb pointing to the crotch of his shorts. The swelling there was larger than it had been a few moments ago, I was sure of it.

"Keep talking," I said.

"I will if you'll sit down," he said, his smile flashing for a moment. After a further hesitation, I put down my bag and obeyed.

Marsh leaned forward in my direction, elbows on his knees, an earnest expression on his face. "I've had these--feelings for a while."

"About other guys?"

He nodded. "Audrey and I have been married seven years. I love her, but there's something missing."

"Have you done anything about it?"

After a moment, Marsh shook his head. "Not really. I don't know what to do. I mean, I'm too busy most of the time, and I can't imagine going to one of those--bars, you know..."

I smiled slightly. "Those awful bars, full of smoke and human beings."

"You know what I mean," Marsh said, but his lowered eyes acknowledged the hit.

"I do know what you mean," I said, deciding to cut him a break. "Tell the truth, they aren't my favorite either."

"Anyway, you're the first gay guy I've ever--gotten to know."

I couldn't suppress a snort. "I don't believe that."

Marsh went on as if I hadn't spoken, the words spilling out now in a rush, as if he had been gathering his courage to say them for a long while. "I like you, and I thought I saw you looking at me, and I thought--I thought maybe--"

He stopped, but I didn't need to hear the rest. Marsh was coming on to me, but not in quite the way I had fantasized. Here was where the cock-crazed, self-hating gay man was supposed to step in and "help out" his straight buddy. I'd listened to some of my friends tell such stories, shaking my head incredulously. What fun was it, doing someone who was just using you to get his rocks off, who wouldn't even acknowledge the truth of what was happening?

Now I knew. I wanted Marsh Atkins badly enough that I didn't care how I got him.

I heard myself say the words.

"You want it--taken care of, is that it, Marsh?"

He nodded eagerly, grateful not to have to say it. I continued the ritual.

"Okay. Just kick back and relax, guy. You don't have to do anything."

I walked over to the armchair in which Marsh was sitting. He looked up at me, still leaning forward, an anxious expression on his face. I felt a jumble of emotions coursing through me--self-disgust at my weakness, contempt at what I thought was Marsh's self-deception, a fleeting sympathy for his nervousness, but above all, hot, raging desire. My own erection pressed hard and painfully against the thin fabric of my shorts. I managed a smile, and gently pushed on his bare shoulder.

"Relax," I said again. He obediently leaned back and closed his eyes, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. I saw his chest rising and falling with his quickened breathing. I knelt down in front of him, pushing his knees apart. I placed my hand on the bulge and gently massaged it, feeling the hard flesh through the silky fabric. Then I lowered my head toward the front of Marsh's shorts, reaching up with my hands and gently pulling the elastic waistband. As I drew them down, his cock sprang free--long and circumcised, surrounded with just enough hair to set it off. I lifted my eyebrows, surprised at what I saw below.

"You shave your balls?"

I looked up at Marsh, who smiled, embarrassed. "Yeah. My wife likes it. She says it makes my cock look bigger."

"It doesn't need the help." I took it gently in my hand, as if it were a rare and fragile object. I caught a whiff of masculine body odor, mixed with chlorine and soap--an intoxicating combination, as I kissed the smooth purple head gently, then extended my tongue and licked up the clear fluid that was leaking out of the tip. I heard Marsh draw in his breath.

Preliminaries done, I let my lips surround the head and closed on it slowly, letting him gradually feel the heat of my mouth. I wet it thoroughly with my tongue, making sure it flickered over all the sensitive places more than once. I heard a faint groan from my friend. Then, all of a sudden, I tightened my lips and descended quickly until my nose was buried in his pubic bush, the head of his cock against the back my throat. Marsh grunted with pleasure.

"Mm, yeah," he breathed.

I began to blow him in earnest then, at first sliding up and down slowly with lots of tongue work, then as his excitement increased, stepping up the pace, keeping my lips as tight as possible around his shaft, even though my mouth was beginning to get sore. My hand was busy too, tugging at his balls, feeling his hard stomach muscles, then joining with my mouth on his cock to bring him to release. Faster and harder I worked, as his breathing deepened and began to be mixed with inarticulate noises from his throat.

"Aww, shit," Marsh finally groaned, and lifted his lower body completely off the armchair in a spasmodic thrust. I grabbed his butt with both hands as his cock began to throb against my lips, drawing him as far as I could into me. Abruptly my mouth filled with hot, salty liquid. I swallowed it as best I could, but some overflowed and ran down my chin, as I kept the convulsing cock in my mouth, staying with him as he came back to earth.

At last he began to soften and I released him, wiping my mouth off on the back of my hand. I was afraid to look at him, but did. Marsh's eyes were not on me, but focused on the ceiling. He was still breathing rapidly and the expression on his face was one of amazement--not, I thought, of pleasure.

I'd just done a guy for trade while his young son was sleeping upstairs. Suddenly my emotions were no longer mixed. I was appalled at myself, and all I wanted was to make a quick exit. Not saying anything, I picked up my stuff again and headed toward the door.

As I opened it, I heard Marsh call, "Rob, where are you going?" but I didn't wait to hear the rest. I shut the door behind me and walked rapidly back to my house. In the living room, I threw the bag down, flung myself on my own couch and gave it a good whack or two with my fist. "Asshole!" I shouted. I meant me, of course.

The doorbell rang. I thought about not answering, then reluctantly rose and went to the door. Marsh was standing there, of course. He had put on a T-shirt. He looked at me, seemingly genuinely puzzled. Come to think of it, my behavior wasn't making a great deal of sense.

"Was it something I said? Sorry, bad joke," he offered, looking at what must have been a pretty stony expression on my face. "Seriously, Rob, why'd you run away?"

I didn't know what to say, so I said something stupid. "I thought you were going to kick me out."

Marsh shook his head, smiling, still puzzled. "Why the hell would I do that? Oh, I get it," he said, his tone changing. "You think I'm one of those closet cases, is that it? Racked with guilt and self-hatred?"

Unwillingly, I said, "Well, maybe that's part of it."

Suddenly Marsh stepped forward, taking me by surprise. I moved back, and before I could utter a word or protest he was inside and my door was closed.

"Let me show you how racked with guilt I am," he said. He placed his huge, surprisingly gentle hands on either side of my face and kissed me once, tenderly, then again, much harder and longer. When he finally released me, I stood speechless, my mouth hanging open. Finally I found my voice. "I am so fucking stupid."

Marsh laughed. "Well, kind of weird. But awfully nice." His voice dropped a notch and became husky. "And damn hot in those Speedos."

My brain had finally begun to recover from the agreeable shock of being kissed by Marsh Atkins and was working furiously. I finally said something halfway intelligent, if a bit impolite.

"So you were coming on to me this morning."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a grin. "Yeah, I was. You were driving me crazy, not taking me up on any of the hints I was dropping."

I remembered the comments he had made about the lake, and the man who was staring at us. How could I have been so dumb?

"We get home, and I put Jonah to bed. I figure I'll try the direct approach. Then you get all huffy. I was desperate. I finally thought, maybe he really wants to believe I'm straight."

"So that was all an act?"

He looked sheepish. "Yes and no. I mean, obviously I live a straight life most of the time. But I've had a couple of--experiences. Weird things at work, things I really didn't go looking for."

"Of course not, someone like you wouldn't have to go looking," I retorted.

Marsh said, earnestly, "Rob, I'm not one of these guys who are stuck on themselves. I don't just sit and let myself get done. I like to play," he said, an impish grin suddenly appearing on his face. His full charm was turned on me, and it was potent. "C'mon back over and play, neighbor."

He reached out and began to stroke my arm, gently. I was weakening fast. Nevertheless, I tried to act like a sane human being.

"I can't. It's--too weird with your son in the house."

Marsh's face fell, but he nodded. "You're right. I've got to get back--he'll be scared if he wakes up and no one's around." He gripped my shoulder. "I'll think of something, and call you, okay?" When I said nothing, he began to massage me with his thumb, looking at me with an expression of appeal that could have stopped an armed conflict. I gave in, and nodded. He beamed.

"Great!" he exclaimed, and kissed me once more, hugging me to him. My arms encircled his hard body for the first time. It felt good, and I knew I had to do it again. And again.

"Got to go. Talk to you soon, hot man." He patted me on the cheek, then was gone. I heard his footsteps fading away outside.

I leaned my forehead against the door, still feeling him warm and close against me, imagining that a faint scent of him still hung in the air. What was it they said, be careful of what you wish for, you might get it? Too late now--I'd wished for Marsh Atkins and now, for the moment, it seemed I had him.

"Show time," I said.

TO BE CONTINUED...