The Secret

Four -The Key-

It was Sunday evening--the Sunday after Balan's revealing visit. The phone rang.

Phil answered it in his normal, military manner, "Hello, Lt. Beyer here."

"Phil, it's Balan. How are you doing?"

"Fine . . . . . just fine. I've done a lot of thinking . . . everything's fine, Balan. Thanks, thanks a lot."

"Good. . . . Just checking. . . . Hope you don't mind. Raji and I have been concerned."

"No, I'm fine, really."

"Good, See you tomorrow then."

"Okay, bye."

Monday, when he returned to work, everyone noticed that Phil was back--that is, back to his old self. Many commented and Phil merely smiled in acknowledgement.

Wednesday, as they were finishing lunch, Balan asked, "Have you got any plans for this weekend?"

"No, other than I have 'C.Q.' duty Friday night, Why?"

"Good. Well, Raji and I were wondering if you'd like to come to dinner Saturday. It's Dipavali and we're having some friends over--Lt. Anderson and his wife, a few locals and my cousin from Johor Bahru. Would you like to come? We would really like to have you there. It's a holiday of celebration and we Indians like to share . . . . our holidays," he quickly added

Phil's eyebrow arched, "Sure, that'd be nice. Can I bring anything?"

"No, nothing. Seven o'clock then?"

"Okay."

"Good, 'til then. Bye," Balan got up, cleared his dishes on to a tray and left the Cafeteria.

Phil felt a little nervous about seeing Raji, but knew that he had to. . . it would be all right.

Saturday evening, at precisely seven o'clock Phil arrived outside Balan and Raji's door. He had chosen light-weight, natural linen trousers, a short sleeved, Solo-batik shirt and woven natural-leather sandals. He knocked. A moment later the door opened to Balan's smiling face. He was wearing a baju Bengali, a traditional outfit--long, mid-thigh, loose, lightweight cotton shirt over matching narrow-legged pants.

"Come in, come in," he greeted Phil. "Only you Americans are ever on time," he laughed.

Phil removed his sandals and handed Balan a gift boxed bottle of Chivas. "Happy Dipavali."

Balan's eyes narrowed, an impish grin formed, "You're giving us scotch?"

"Yes," he replied and added, "a gift . . . . . nothing more." The last was said with a wink.

"Thank you, Lt. Beyer," he said in mock seriousness, flashing his famous, brilliant white smile.

Raji entered the foyer from the kitchen. She was wearing a beautiful deep purple Benares silk sari with tiny blue, lime-green and yellow flowers sprinkled over its surface. Her hair in a single braid adorned with ribbon and yellow flowers, fell down her back. Her eyes were made up in a traditional manner, emphasizing their natural almond shape, and she wore a red velvet-like tilak on her forehead.

"Raji, each time I see you, you're more smashing than before," Phil said. Then he flushed slightly as he realized the possible implication of his honest statement.

"Thank you, Phil," so saying she bowed her head slightly, bring her hands, prayerfully up to her chin in the traditional Indian form of greeting. "And, you to look handsome in that beautiful batik," she added without the slightest misinterpretation of his compliment.

"Please," she said as he motioned him into the sitting room.

He felt relieved. She had a way of making everyone she met at ease.

"Something to drink?" Balan asked, "cane or pineapple juice? Or . . . . something else?"

The answer was, "Pineapple juice."

Dipavali was a holy day and although Balan and Raji were 'modernized' they, nonetheless, voluntarily observed certain Hindu traditions. Holy days were, at least for Balan and Raji, alcohol free. There was nothing hypocritical about this in their observance. "Certain things must be honored," Balan said.

So, Phil had no qualms about not accepting 'something else.' Balan handed Phil a cool glass of juice.

A few moments latter a tall Indian walked into the sitting room from the back of the apartment. Balan turned to Phil.

"Phil, I'd like you to meet my cousin, Shiwa Lachari. Shiwa, this is Lt. Phil Beyer." Balan was always formal in his introductions. Phil quickly stood up and the two shook hands. Nodding his head toward Shiwa, Balan continued, "He's the modern one of the family," with good humor.

"Obviously," Phil thought, "'cause he's wearing 'western-style' clothes," Impeccably tailored pale blue shirt and blue trousers, also obviously tailored. They shook hands, western-style. Phil noted the familial resemblance between Balan and Shiwa. Shiwa was older--maybe early thirties. Shiwa was a bit taller, and a bit heavier than his cousin. His smile was equally as brilliant as Balan's, and he was just as handsome.

There was a knock on the door. Additional guests arrived.

By eight o'clock Balan and Raji's apartment was filled with the warmth of laughter and animated conversation. A number of the women wore beautiful flowing saris filling the room with brilliant, dazzling color.

Several of the ladies were helping Raji bring the festive food to the dining room buffet. Wonderful food--dhal, mee rebus, pakoras, mint chutney, uppuma, nasi Biryani, bhendi bhaji, samosas, khir and suji halva1 --all wonderfully presented with various fresh vegetable garnish and silver-leaf covering the elegant nasi Biryani.

In the only break with tradition, the ladies ate with the men. It was a festive, happy time.

By ten o'clock every one had finished eating. Raji and Balan brought out a tray of small clay lamps with tiny floating wicks in salad oil. They gave each guest one which they lit from a larger, silver lamp that acted as the centerpiece for the buffet. Then the lamps were placed on the window ledges and along the balcony railing. It was the "Festival of Lights."

At eleven o'clock only Phil and the Andersons were left talking with Raji, Balan and Shiwa.

Shiwa said. "Let's all go out for a drink."

Balan glanced at Raji. A non-verbal message was communicated to him. He replied, "Raji's tired, and I've got a little cleaning to do, but you folks go."

Bill Anderson said, "Yeah, that sounds like fun. You'll come, won't you Phil?"

He hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Sure, I'll go for a couple of drinks."

"Good, is the 'Scots Bar' at the Merlin, all right?" Shiwa asked.

They nodded, "Yes."

Shiwa asked Phil, "Did you drive?"

"No, I came by cab, I don't have a car."

"You can ride with me. Is that all right with you?"

"Sure. That's great."

Sometime later the four were sitting around a table in the bar of the Merlin. Their conversation was animated, wide-ranging and sprinkled with laughter. Shiwa was sophisticated, urbane, well educated (Cambridge) and entertaining. A bit more outgoing than Balan. Phil noted: his aquiline nose, a bit bigger than average, over a heavy, well-trimmed mustache, his chiseled lips, the bottom one a slightly fuller than the top and his strong chin and jaw-line. His eyes were hypnotic, dark, no, black with thick lashes and animated eyebrows that nearly met in the center. His voice was deep, resonant and his Indian-cum-English accent was likewise appealing. He was handsome, in his own way.

Bill Anderson glanced at his watch. "It's late, we've got to get going," he said as he stood. His wife followed suit. The shook hands around the table and the Andersons left.

"We've been abandoned," Shiwa quipped.

"I guess it is getting late."

"A bit late. . . . but do you turn into a pumpkin or a rat?"

Phil laughed, "I don't think so."

"Good," and he ordered another round. It was their third.

"This has got to be our last. Scotch does strange things to me."

"Oh?" Shiwa replied with an arch of an eyebrow.

Their conversation ranged over Singapore, Phil's assignment, Shiwa's job in Johor Bahru, the usual things that are discussed as two people began to know each other. They finished their drinks.

Shiwa asked, "Shall we go?"

"Yeah, I think it's time." It was two o'clock in the morning.

They stood up, Shiwa reached into his pocket for his keys. Pulling them out a look of concern crossed his face.

"Something wrong?" Phil queried.

Shiwa again reached into his pockets, searching. "Not really, I must of left the key to Balan's apartment, on my bed. Doubtless they'll be asleep. No problem. I'll get a room at the Raffles. Your apartment is near there, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you can stay at my place. I've got a comfortable sofa."

"I can't impose upon you. The Raffles will be quite all right."

"Nonsense! You stay at my place. Sleep as long as you want. I'm a late riser."

"Well . . . . . If you don't mind."

"Of course not. It's settled."

They arrived at the apartment. Efficiently, Phil quickly removed the back pillows and covered the seat cushions with a crisp white sheet, provided a pillow, a thin coverlet and a fresh bath towel and wash cloth.

"There, all ready. Sleep well," Phil said. Then he added, "You have the bath room first. When you're finished, leave the light on."

"Thanks, this is swell of you."

"No problem." Phil went down the hall to his bedroom, closed the door and began to undress. He heard Shiwa through the adjoining wall, pissing, flushing and running water in the shower. After a minute or two there was silence.

"Guess he's finished," Phil said to himself. He grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his waist, lightly held it in place with his left hand and open his bed room door. The bathroom door was ajar, the light was on, he pushed it open and stopped suddenly.

In front of the mirror, running his fingers through his hair, stood Shiwa. He was nude except for the towel around his neck.

"Sorry . . . I thought . . . you were finished," stammered Phil in embarrassment.

"That's quite all right," Shiwa said as he turned to face Phil.

Phil fumbled for the door, to leave, and in his consternation he lost the grasp on one corner of his towel-wrap. It fell away, momentarily revealing his form. Quickly, he brought his corner-grasping hand to his stomach, attempting to cover his nakedness.

"Ssss...orry, " he blurted out, blushing, unable to move, riveted to the spot in deep, embarrassed confusion.

Shiwa looked deep into Phil's eyes, stepped forward placed his hand on Phil's shoulder and stated, "You needn't be sorry. I'm not." Then he slowly moved his hand down to Phil's chest and began to lightly massage the nipple with his thumb. Almost instantly, the nipple became erect.

Phil gasped and stepped backward, away from Shiwa's touch. "Sorry," Shiwa dropped his hand and looked questioningly at Phil. Phil returned the gaze, then broke eye contact and slowly lowered his field of vision.

What Phil saw was almost a duplicate of Balan: muscular arms, wide shoulders, small purple aureoles, a dusting of flat-laying hair across his broad chest, flat stomach, muscular, hair-covered thighs and calves. Then he raised his eyes back to to the heavy ball-sack, the hooded, bluish-purple cock surrounded by thick, glistening black hair. As he did so he could not but become aware of the lengthening arching movement of that marvelous cock-muscle. He looked back up into Shiwa's eyes. They were no longer questioning.

Slowly, Phil's left hand fell to his side, and along with it the towel. The towel's removal revealed his own cock. Now it was Shiwa's turn to gaze downward, and he did just that. Again Shiwa reached out and this time he lightly held Phil's growing cock in the palm of his hand.

"Beautiful," he murmured, "simply beautiful." And saying that his fingers gently closed around the growing muscle.

Phil grasped Shiwa's shoulder, drawing him forward. Admiring his full, chisel-edged mouth, he covered it with his own. Tongues searched, probed. As the kiss continued. Phil released his grip on Shiwa's shoulders, one encircling them, the other slowly descending the muscled back and onto the flare of his firm, muscular ass. He hand-cupped one ass-cheek and pressured it, forcing a closer embrace. Shiwa did likewise with his free hand. After a few moments, Phil whispered, "Let's go to the bedroom."

He led Shiwa into his room and motioned him onto the bed. Phil flicked off the overhead light and turned on the less bright bedside lamp. He walked to the bed and looked down at Shiwa, saying, "You're one sexy dude."

Shiwa smiled, lifted his arms for Phil.

But, he shook his head and said, "In a minute, I just want to look at you for a while."

"What's the matter," Shiwa asked with mocked sarcasm, "haven't you ever seen a guy like this before?"

"No . . . . . actually . . . I . . . haven't," came Phil's quiet reply.

Shiwa, dropped his arms and forced himself to refocus on Phil. "Am I the first?" he asked.

"Almost," Phil, said with a smile and continued, "you're the second . . . . actually the second-and-a-half."

"Second-and-a-half???"

"I'll explain . . . later . . . maybe." Slowly he lowered himself to the bed, on his side, parallel to Shiwa.

Shiwa's left arm under Phil curled to touch his lower back. He rolled towards Phil and began to encircle him with his right arm. Gently, Phil pushed him to a back-laying position, saying, or pleading, "Please."

Shiwa, acknowledging Phil's need, acquiesced. He quietly watched Phil's visual and manual exploration, taking immense pleasure in this.

Phil delicately traced two fingers of his left hand over the sculptured edge of Shiwa's lips, across the strong arch of his jaw, down his neck and on to his hair-covered chest. He marveled at the flat laying hair of Shiwa's chest.

His finger lightly circled the dark purplish aureole, and in smaller circles, the little puckered nipples. Again, he marveled as the nipples, as if endowed with a will of their own, became hard and erect.

"Like little cocks," he commented, half to himself. As Shiwa watched and felt, a sensuous, knowing smile spread across his face.

He flattened his hand out, palm and fingers now making contact, their increased area adding to Phil's pleasure and knowledge--the knowledge of a man-body. He moved his hand over the lower arch of the rib-cage and on to the flat-muscled stomach, then back up to the chest again. With braille-like accuracy he memorized the feeling of skin over muscle over bone, and the feeling of just skin over muscle. Shiwa watched and felt.

He moved his hands to the side and then down to that reverse arch that presaged the source of concentrated interest. He splayed his fingers, pointing them towards that thick patch of tight-curled, black cock-hairs. As they entered this region both men quickened their breathing. Still, Shiwa watched and felt.

The spread fingers bracketed the base of Shiwa's rigid cock, between the third and forth fingers. They pulled back and slowly Phil curled his fingers around that thick shaft. He moved his hand up the length of Shiwa's cock, stopping just below the flare of the hooded cock-head. He increased his grip slightly and slowly retraced his hand's direction, downward. Slowly, the foreskin rolled back, revealing its glistening reddish-purple treasure. Shiwa gasped and closed his eyes and felt.

Again, Phil reversed direction and marveled as the loose, inward-rolling, clinging skin enveloped and encased the cock-head. Another downward motion revealed the plum-shaped form. Fascinated, Phil sat up still encasing the velvety soft yet rigid cock in his left hand. Shiwa again watched.

With his right, Phil grasped the exposed, glistening head between the thumb and finger of his right hand. Then ever so slowly he watched with increasing erotic delight as the rolling skin covered the finger-and-thumb-grasped cock-head. Shiwa watched and smiled. Repeating the downward motion he released his thumb and forefinger from their velvet sheath.

Phil removed his right hand, lowered his cock-shaft-encasing hand to the base. Shiwa's cock bobbed in rhythm with his heart. The foreskin-freed cock-head seemed to glow, to beckon with an inner light, an energy of indescribable power. Phil was mesmerized. Then he lowered his face and tentatively licked the the tip of Shiwa's cock. Again, Shiwa closed his eyes and felt.

Phil licked it again, and again--tasting and feeling. He parted his lips further and the lustrous knob disappeared into his mouth. He savored the throbbing thing--tongue memorized its surface. He took Shiwa's pulsing cock to its half-length, retreated and again took it to its half length. He felt the beginning of a gag reflex and withdrew completely. He gazed with rapt attention at the saliva covered dick.

As he took deep breaths, his fingers began to manipulate Shiwa's ball-sack. It was darker than the up-standing cock, nearly black. Phil marveled at its puckered, seersucker surface, hair-covered, matte black and tightly up-drawn in erotic anticipation. He cupped the heavy balls in his hand, hefted them and then lightly tickled the surface with his short nails. This brought an audible groan from Shiwa. As he cupped them, one finger meandered to the back-base of the ball-sack, that area of electric sensitivity. Involuntarily, Shiwa spread his legs. Spread them in primal anticipation.

The spreading thighs focused Phil's attention on their hard muscularity. His spread hand moved down one thigh's length. Unable to span its girth he was obliged only to explore its surface. As his hands retreated back up the inner surface, he found a marvelous area, the width of his palm and the length of his hand, just below Shiwa's balls. This area was smooth, satiny smooth and completely hairless. He marveled at this smooth place. He traced its area with his fingertips. This touch was too much for Shiwa.

"Aaarrhhh," exploded from Shiwa's throat as he jackknifed into a seated position. His hands bracketed Phil's face and he pulled it to him, planting a wet kiss with his covering mouth.

In one complete motion, Shiwa torqued his body until he lay on top of Phil. His opened mouth covered Phil's, and his tongue explored the inner surface. His body, too, covered Phil's body.

He pulled back, panting. Looking deep into Phil's flushed face, he smiled

"For two-and-a-half times, you're fantastic," he smiled, then added, "but, now it's my turn." He lowered his head and crab-crawled down Phil's body and dropped his mouth over one ruddy tit. He marveled at its size--the aureole was twice as big as his and the nipple, also as big, quickly swelled, hard and erect.

Without preamble--his erotic core was at the point of melt-down--he ceased the suck-tonguing of Phil's nipple and moved even further down. Centering his face over Phil's steeled cock. It stood straight up from the hair-covered crotch. It was thick--he could not completely encircle it with his fingers and thumb. The cock-head was plum-shaped and ruddy and the shaft was crossed by pulsing blue veins. Down its underside was a heavy ridge. Shiwa thought it indescribably beautiful. He went down on it, completely, locking his lips around its base and burying his nose the the opulent cock-hairs. He vacuum-sucked Phil's cock, its heavy cock-head being massaged by constricting throat muscles.

"Aaahhh," escaped from Phil's throat.

Again, without preamble, Shiwa's lip-throat pistoned up and down the full length of the turgid, ruddy-headed, vein-tracked shaft. Phil could not help his head from whipping back and forth as that white-hot, moist lip-throat slid up and down his shaft. The sensations that flooded his being stripped him of all conscious volition. He sank into that warm velvet region of erotic surrender. His body muscles began to tense, presaging imminent release.

Shiwa was instantly aware of the approaching plateau and pulled off of the pulsing cock with a moist popping sound. He looked around. Phil opened his eyes, asking, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing . . . . nothing at all," came the answered as he spied what he was looking for on the bed-side table. He reached for the bottle of Johnson's Baby Lotion, squeezed and glob into his palm and slathered it on Phil's cock.

Again, "Aaahhh," escaped from Phil's throat as the combination of the cool, slippery lotion and Shiwa's hot hand massaged the thick, hard shaft. And, again Phil's head began whipping back and forth, eyes tightly closed.

He felt Shiwa's straddling legs move up on either-side of his thighs--hand still clasped the cock-shaft. Phil opened his eyes and looked downward in time to see his plum-sized cock-head disappear behind Shiwa's balls. He looked up questioningly at Shiwa. Glistening, deep-concentrating, black eyes met his hazel eyes. A knowing smile stretched the purplish lips, deep breathing expanded the flat-hair-sprinkled chest.

Phil felt pressure on his cock-head, the pressure of Shiwa's lowering, weighted body. He closed his eyes. The pressure increased. Phil held his breath in sensual anticipation. The pressure continued . . . . suddenly there was a galvanic release. He felt his cock-head pop into an indescribably hot, sphincter-muscled sheath.

He gasped, as did Shiwa. Phil's eyes snapped open as he realized that his hard, relentless cock was in Shiwa's ass. Shiwa's eyes were closed as if in deep concentration, deep breathing. Then his eyes opened and gazed down at Phil. He took another deep breath and lowered himself further, another breath, further still until Phil's impaling cock was buried deep in Shiwa's ass. Only then did Shiwa speak.

His voice was deep throated, primal, "Ohhh, your cock feels . . . sooo . . . gooood."

"Hmm . . . aaahhh," was the only answer that could be given. The feeling of his cock embedded in Shiwa's hot gut, the delicious sensation of that love tube surrounding his turgid member, his sensitive shaft being inwardly massaged turned Phil into a non-verbal, super sensitized, erotically charged being. He turned his open mouth to his up-flung arm, clamped and sucked his biceps in an attempt to neutralize this overwhelming erotic sensation. Multi-colored sparks flew across the blue black sky of Phil's closed eyes, mirroring the galvanic, sexual sensations that his encased cock shot through his whole being.

The feeling of Phil's lubricated dick deep inside him energized Shiwa's whole being. Slowly he began moving up and down, luxuriating in the feeling of entry, withdrawal, entry, withdrawal. His hands clasped his knees forming a torso-arm-thigh triangle, knee-hinged. This energized fucking-machine began to move, to flex in a primordial dance. A dance with audio punctuations:

"Geese . . . ."

"Aaahhh . . . ."

"Ohhh . . . ."

Then Shiwa released his knees--broke the triangle--leaned back, bracing his hands behind him and planted his feet on either side of Phil's upper chest. Crab-like he elevated and lowered his ass-cheeks with their cock-pierced, puckered hole sensitized by the thick heavily veined, lubricated pole. Slowly at first then more quickly. Without control, Phil's hips flexed upward to meet the downward thrusting ass-hole and muscle contracting ass cheeks. The movement became ever-quickening, totally autonomic.

Then Phil's hips thrust upward five or six inches and held. Shiwa was lifted, suspended.

"Aaarrhhh!" One, long, loud, guttural explosion followed by quickening, lessening parallel sounds. Phil collapsed. . . .spent, following the atomic release.

Shiwa reassumed his kneeling, being careful not dislodge the sweet feeling cock and watched Phil's detumescent twitching, then stillness. Slowly as he watched the relaxing face he moved his clenched fist up and down his hard needing cock, slowly, slowly.

Phil's breath resumed its natural rhythm. He slowly opened his eyes, turned towards Shiwa and focused on his smiling face. A smile slowly formed on his lips.

"Oh, God, that was wonderful . . . . fantastic!"

Shiwa continued to smile, continued to slowly stroke his swollen dick--ass still impaled.

"Never felt anything like it. . . ."

The smile continued, the slow stroking continued.

Phil glanced at the hand-stroked-cock. Slowly, gaining control over his conscious movements, he replaced Shiwa's stroking hand with his encasing fist. The cock was hard, unbelievably hard. Hot, white hot. Within two or three strokes, Shiwa tensed, arched his back, groaned and Phil could feel galvanic spasms as spurt after spurt of cum shot from the cock-tip. They arched high and splattered on Phil's chest, creating viscous, lustral pools. The spasms lessened and ceased as did Phil's hand movement.

Shiwa let out a deep sigh and fell forward over Phil's cum-spattered chest, releasing Phil's softening dick from its comfortable confinement. Phil reached to switch off the lamp then wrapped his arms around Shiwa, happily accepting, even reveling in his body weight.

Shiwa made a little animal noise and nuzzled Phil's neck. Phil lightly placed a little kiss on the sweat-beaded forehead.

"Thanks," Shiwa murmured.

They quickly sank into a comfortable, mutual sleep--thus embraced. Each mirroring the other's breathing. And so they slept.

Phil slowly awoke, luxuriating in the last moments of near-sleep and the the memories of the night before. He stretched out his arm to an empty bed.

He sat up, looked at the clock--eight o'clock. "Where's Shiwa," he thought. He jumped out of bed, ran nude down the hall into the sitting-room.

Shiwa was dressed and was slipping his stockinged feet into his loafers.

"What are you doing?"

"I've got to get back to Balan and Raji's. They might get worried," Shiwa said glancing at Phil's nude form.

"Oh. . . . Why didn't you wake me?" Phil replied.

"Because you were sleeping so peacefully. And, I thought that if I did wake you, I might not get out of here until noon."

"What's wrong with that."

"You know Balan . . . he's a worrier . . . . He'd probably call the police . . . . Besides I've got to get back to Bahru early."

"Oh. Okay. I understand," he said, a little disappointed.

Sensing Phil's mood, Shiwa stepped over to Phil and grasped his shoulders, "Phil, last night was special for me, really special."

Phil flashed a warm smile, "It was special for me, too, Shiwa."

They kissed lightly and broke apart.

"I'll call, I promise," he said as he walked to the door. Then he turned and said to Phil, standing in the middle of the sitting-room, "You'd better get dressed, you don't know how dangerous you are standing there like that."

"Yeah, " he said, grabbing the sofa-throw and wrapping it around his waist. He went to the door, opened it for Shiwa, saying, "Please, call."

"I will," and he was gone.

By 1:00 Phil's telephone had not rung. He had been waiting. "I guess it was too much to hope for," he thought as he slipped on his t-shirt and tucked it into his running shorts. Phil had decided that if he had not heard from Shiwa by one, it would mean that he would probably not call, so he'd go running.

His mind wasn't really in it. After forty-five minutes of running he returned to his flat and showered. As he was toweling off he heard a knock. He quickly donned his robe, padded down the hall and opened the door.

"Hello, Phil." It was Shiwa.

"Hi, Come on in. I thought you were going to call?"

"I was, but, I felt that I needed to talk to you. And, I wanted to 'in person.'" He said as he sat in the chair. "I probably should have called. I thought that I'd take the chance that you'd be here when I came by. I wanted to talk to you . . . . I had the feeling, when I left this morning, that you were upset."

"I wasn't upset . . . . well, maybe a little," he said as he sat on the sofa. "Anyway, I'm glad you dropped by . . . . I waited 'til one, and when you hadn't called, I thought you weren't going to. . . So, I went running. Just got back."

Shiwa flashed a warm smile. "Good. You know, Phil, last night was special. . . . really special."

"Yeah, it was for me too."

"I'm glad, really glad . . . . This morning, after I got back to Balan's, we talked a lot. They told me about . . . . about Ed. We talked a lot . . . . . They really think a lot of you."

Phil smiled, "Yeah, I think a lot of them too. They're really great."

"Yes, they are." He paused a moment, "Phil, I really wanted to talk about last night."

"Ohhh?"

With a nervous grin, "Yes, I have a bit of a confession to make?"

"Confession?"

"Yes . . . . When I met you yesterday, I was really impressed."

"Yeah, really?"

"Yes, I really was. Well, anyway, it was after the Anderson's left that I thought that I'd like to be with you. I didn't know how you'd feel. I didn't know that you'd even consider it, otherwise I would have told you outright . . . at the Merlin. Sooo . . . ." He stopped a moment, took a deep breath an stated, "I faked the key. . . ."

"Faked it?"

"Yes, I had the key in my pocket all the time. And . . . I hoped that you'd ask me to stay at your place."

Phil smiled, "So. . . ! Even the . . . . the bathroom thing was staged?"

"Yes," he stated with a little chuckle.

"You're pretty sneaky for a lawyer."

"Barrister," Shiwa corrected. "But, things worked out easier than I expected," again his bright smile crossed his face. Then seriousness, "Phil you said that I was the second guy . . . that you'd been with. . . actually second and a half, what ever that means. Phil, I don't want to pry . . . but were you and Ed lovers?"

"No . . . no," the color went out of his face. He became saddened.

"Phil, I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"No, it's okay. I still get sad when I think of . . . ."

"I understand. Anyway I needed to know. It would be pretty hard to follow . . . . that kind of . . . . relationship."

Phil's brows knitted, questioning, "I . . . I don't understand?"

"Phil, I said that last night was special. I mean it. I . . . I . . . would like to see you . . . again. I don't want what happened last night to be a one-time-only thing . . . . . I'd like to see you again, Phil."

The sadness disappeared, replaced with a smile, "I'd like to see you again, too."

Simultaneously, they both reached their hands across the coffee table and clasped them together.

"Well, that's settled," Shiwa said standing, still clasping Phil's hand. "Phil I've really got to go. I need to be in Bahru late this afternoon."

"Can't you stay awhile?" he said standing.

"I could, but I don't think it would be 'awhile,' and I really have to get back . . . ."

Phil looked mockingly sad.

". . . But . . . are you going to be free next weekend?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Could you . . . would you like to come to Johor Bahru."

"Yeah, I would . . . . if you'll be there!"

And, they hugged.