This is a work of fiction involving a young teenage boy and an older man. It's a story of love and devotion, not a recitation of gratuitous sex. The characters are all figments of my imagination. None are real people, although minor players in the story are based on experiences I have had or people I have known, and may reflect my bias.

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Chapter Eleven

Eric spent the afternoon helping to get Josh settled into the gatehouse. Carl moved out of the bedroom he never used, and he and Tom squabbled over the smallest nook that could be used for storage. It was all good natured, and by seven o'clock the move was complete. Josh had his own bedroom, and Tom had a happy roommate. Tom invited me and Eric to stay for a late supper, and the mood was lighthearted. Josh was so happy, I thought he would burst.

I took Carl aside and told him to take Josh to town and get him a new wardrobe, and a few things to make his room look more like a teenager's bedroom than a Queen's boudoir. He withered me with a mock "death-ray" look, and said, "I thought I'd do that tomorrow. He needs a lot of things, not the least of which is an electric keyboard."

"Great idea. Use the household account, and keep track of how much you spend," I said. "It's going to be a major one-time outlay, and I'm sure you don't have that much in your savings. You can pay it back a little at a time."

He thanked me, and we rejoined the party. Carl had made nachos and Buffalo wings, followed by the requisite ice cream for the kids. I ate a little, but gooey cheese was not the best thing for an old man's waistline, and the chicken was spicier than I like it. Eric and Josh made my portion disappear though, and the mood was as festive as Mardi Gras.

Eric and I drove back up the hill to our house about ten, and sat in the family room for an hour or so cuddled in each others arms in front of the fire. We talked about Josh's move, the coast property, and when the lake would be ready for fishing. He finally spoke of what was really on his mind.

"I lied to you," he said sadly.

"When was that," I asked.

"Last week. I didn't have a bad dream. I was coming in to sleep with you, and I heard you talking to Sam."

"Did you hear the whole conversation?" I asked.

"No. I went back to bed and waited an hour to give you time to finish," he sobbed.

My heart cried for him. He had lain there silently imagining all sorts of dire scenarios for a whole hour. "As far as I was concerned, it was finished as soon as I woke up," I told him. "I told Sam he was wrong, and why it was wrong. I doubt the conversation lasted more than five minutes."

"What did you say?"

"Basically, I told him 'No'," I said. "That's the way I'll always handle a situation like that. He was wrong for coming into my room uninvited, and he knows that now."

"I get into your bed without being invited," he sobbed.

"You are always welcome," I told him. "You are my love, and I've told you that before. As for the 'lie', I don't think it was an outright lie. You wanted me to know there was something wrong in your world, but you didn't want to get your friend in trouble."

"Some friend."

"I think he is, despite what he did," I said. "He just didn't think about anything except what he wanted, and that's always wrong when the feelings of other people are involved. I don't think he'll make the same mistake again."

"He asked me to do things with him," he said. "I told him I was waiting for you to do those things with me, and I didn't want to do it with anyone else. He said he understood, but he wasn't too happy about it."

So Sam had checked up on what I told him. I told Eric, "Sam is a very lonely young man, and I think he's a little jealous of the real love we share. He wants the same thing with someone, but he's going about getting it all wrong. He wants to get the sex thing going before he finds out if he really even likes his partner."

Eric nodded sagely and said, "I know he used to go with all those guys who walk around looking for boys. I tried to tell him he was going to get AIDS if he kept it up, but he said it wouldn't happen to him."

"That's a real possibility, and his attitude about it makes it even more possible," I said. "He's been lucky so far, but sooner or later, his luck will run out if he doesn't change his ways."

I was glad the incident with Sam was out in the open between us. Eric was satisfied that nothing had happened, and I was happy he was at last privy to what had been a 'lie of omission' on my part.

Our conversation got me to thinking though, and Monday morning I called Darlene at CSD. After a few niceties, I asked, "What do you think of creating a class on HIV and AIDS at the shelter?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," she said, "but I doubt it will go over very well with the powers that be."

"To Hell with them," I said. "The shelter is a private organization, and they have no say in what we do." I continued, "I'd like to make it mandatory for the boys at the shelter, but also make it available to any kid who is at risk - and that will include any that are on the streets selling their bodies to survive."

She was enthusiastic, and said, "CSD might be interested in co-sponsoring if it doesn't cost them anything."

I said, "Could I impose on you to put together a plan? I have a vision of victims of this terrible epidemic being the instructors - sort of an 'if only I had known' type thing. Giving kids just facts and figures is not going to do the job. We need real people to tell them 'I didn't think it could happen to me.'"

"Great idea," she said. "I'll try to find some HIV positives, and put the plan to them. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. We'll want these people to be as close to the age of the boys as possible," she mused.

"I agree," I said. "They don't put a lot of faith in what adults tell them. They've been lied to too often, or had to pay an exorbitant price for wrong advice they didn't need."

"We could offer testing too," she bubbled, getting into the idea with some excitement.

"Good idea," I said. "You put together a proposal, and submit it to the Jeremy Shaw board. I'll be at the meeting, and ram it through if I have to."

"I'll try to have it ready by the end of the week," she said.

We said our goodbyes, and hung up.

Josh came up around nine, and I set him and Eric to work on five more words. Eric showed him what had to be done, and they did their work separately. I'd been sneaky, and given them different sets of words. I was pleased when I found they had collaborated their efforts, and both had done all ten words. I gave them each a book to read, and told them I wanted a report of at least five hundred words, which would include a synopsis of the plot and their ideas on why the author had chosen to tell his story in the way he had. I put a due date on the assignment of March 20th, and left them to their own devices.

Tuesday's mail held the results of Eric's placement test. I was pleasantly surprised to find he was accredited with part of the seventh grade, and ordered the textbooks recommended by the Department of Education. I also administered the placement test to Josh, and sent it off to be graded. He hadn't been in a classroom since he was twelve, and I didn't expect his results to be as advanced as Eric's.

Wednesday's mail brought my Home Teaching Certification. I was pleased that the Certificate included riders for all classes through twelfth grade. I had Carl come up and sign an application to have Josh included in my classes. I put it into an envelope, and gave it to him to put in the mailbox in the morning.

 By Friday afternoon I was wondering if Darlene was having problems with the HIV class proposal. I was about to call her when the phone rang. It was John informing me of a special board meeting the following Tuesday evening at seven.  I told him I'd be there, and got all my ideas on subjects to be discussed together. Any opposition didn't stand a chance.

The textbooks for Eric came in the mail Saturday, and I looked through them. I wasn't too thrilled with the methods espoused in the math text, but figured I could muddle through. If necessary, I would teach him the method I had been taught. It had gotten me through a rigorous Math minor college career, I thought.

Monday was one of those days that comes unexpectedly - a bright, sunny interlude in the drab, gray scheme of an Oregon winter. On the spur of the moment, I gathered up the boys, called Carl to inform him of my plans, and drove to the coast. Eric and Josh were happy for the unexpected holiday, and chattered continuously. Eric pointed out all the places of interest on the way, and sounded for all the world like a tour guide.

George greeted us with enthusiasm, sticking his hand out and saying, "I was wondering when you'd get down to check on me."

"I'm not checking on you," I said while shaking his hand. "I was just curious to see how far you had gotten, and it was such a nice day, I decided to bring the boys on a mini holiday."

Eric pulled my sleeve so I would bend over, and whispered in my ear, "Can Josh and I go down on the beach?" It was interesting how his grammar improved when he wanted something.

It was low tide, and I said, "OK, but stay within sight of the house, and be careful. The ocean can be very unpredictable, especially in the winter."

The boys ran off toward the water, and I turned my attention to George, who was saying, "Everything is going well. As you can see, we've taken the odd cabins out, and moved the north walls of the others out twelve feet. "

"Yes," I said. "That makes them big enough to be classified as bedrooms." We both chuckled, and I walked behind the closest cabin. "I see you have the footings for the common areas poured already."

"We got a few days of warmer weather, and decided to put them in," he said. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to ask you if you want to put in a pool."

"I hadn't thought about it," I said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Norman and I talked about an indoor pool so you could use it in the winter," he told me. "The city codes would allow one up to a thousand square feet if it doesn't go deeper than the high tide water table."

"You're talking about a lap pool, then," I said.

"Not really, although we can do it if that's what you want, " he answered. "The excavation would be shallow. That's true. But we could build the pool above ground level by raising the floor of the common area eight or ten feet, and using some of the space underneath it for the mechanicals, and storage. It wouldn't change the footprint at all, and you'd have a twenty or thirty thousand dollar increase in the value for less than eight thousand additional cost."

This guy was a real businessman. "How much time would that add to the completion date?" I asked.

"About a week or ten days," he said. "It depends on how quickly we can get the pumps, filters, and other mechanicals. Definitely before Memorial Day."

"Wouldn't it take up most of the common space?" I asked.

"Not if we put it in this way," he said pointing to the blueprints, and indicating what he wanted to do with his finger. "It would be forty by twenty-five - plenty big enough for the size of the building = and the east end will be deep enough for a low board. It does make the common area bi-level, but here's the proposal Norman drew up."

He rolled out a two story blueprint of the proposal. It showed a comfortable space on the bedroom level complete with a full kitchen. The upper level was a large space for a game room with a patio indicated on the south wall  next to the pool with a retractable glass enclosure.

"There's one more thing you might like," he smiled at me. "If we take this," he pointed at the plan, "and swing it this way," he indicated with his hand, "we could have a retractable roof over the pool for nice days in the summer."

"Sounds expensive," I said.

"That depends on what you want," he said. "I can bring it in under ten thousand, and," he preempted my question, "it wouldn't add an hour to the completion date."

"Go for it," I said, "but be advised that I will be very unhappy if I have to call off my plans for that weekend."

"Not a problem," he said. "The only thing that might interfere is an act of God like a tsunami or an earthquake." He smiled and said, "If something like that happens, I won't be around to be sued anyway."

I chuckled and said, "I wouldn't try to kick a dead horse. Maybe we should talk to God about making it a nice summer."

"We do that every morning," he said. "The economic health of the City depends on it."

I turned my attention to the beach where I saw the boys running back and forth, having a wild time of it. I said a silent prayer of my own that they would be protected from any further trials. They had paid their dues, and deserved some happiness.

I continued my tour of the remodeling project, and George explained where the walls would be, the basic layout of the common areas, and showed me the colors he had picked for the exterior. "You should probably get a decorator to go over the interior," he said. "I recommend 'The Beach House' here in town. Dixie Ballard is very good, and not all that expensive. Some people find him a little hard to take, but he knows his job."

"Hard to take, how?" I asked.

George blushed, and said, "Well, there's no easy way to tell it, and you'll notice it right away. He's a screaming queen."

I had sort of expected his answer, and said, "Different strokes for different folks. I don't have a problem with other people's private peccadilloes as long as it doesn't interfere with what they are doing for me. If he does a good job, that's all I ask of him."

There was something else on George's mind, and I thought I knew what it was. I pulled out my checkbook and wrote him a check for thirty thousand dollars. "I like what you're doing," I said as I handed it to him. "If you need more, don't hesitate to ask."

He almost cried along with his thanks. I turned my attention to the boys, and saw them running up the beach toward us. I figured it must be near lunchtime. I was right, so we got into the truck, drove up to the same restaurant (where we were becoming known), and had a scrumptious meal.

I found the small shop occupied by Dixie Ballard, and went in to talk to him. He was, indeed, very effeminate, but I saw immediately he knew his job. I had copies of the new drawings of the project with me, and watched with wonder as his hands quickly sketched out a few ideas. He was into ultra-modern decor, but quickly toned down the wilder parts of his sketch, and presented a much more conservative view, which I was happier with. I asked him if he thought there would be a problem with the completion date, and he told me "Not unless I have to wait for the contractor to clean up and get out of the building."

"The contractor is George Appleby," I told him. "He has promised to be finished by May 20. Will that give you enough time?"

"Oh, yes," he gushed. "George will let me get some of it done as soon as he can. I've worked with him before, and he's my favorite."

I wasn't sure George would be happy with that designation, but ignored the innuendo and made some specific proposals. I made it clear that what I wanted was closer to an old English summer house than a rapping surfer's paradise. He smiled and said, "I guarantee my work. If you don't like it, I'll do it over free."

We decided on some color schemes - bright, but not psychedelic - and then the boys and I drove home. I was content that I had done as much as I could to ensure the beach house would be to my liking. The boys asked some questions about Dixie's demeanor, and I tried to explain his "in-your-face" approach to life, although I was not all that certain I knew any better than they did.  One thing the boys agreed on was Josh's remark that "he must be a real good fighter." I asked him why he thought that. As though the reason should be obvious to everyone, he said simply, "He's still alive."

Tuesday evening, I arrived for the meeting around six-thirty. I had brought Eric and Josh with me so they could visit with Bobby and Sam. Eric had become their D'artagnan, and they enjoyed the notoriety. I had no worries that they would fail to keep themselves occupied for the hour or so my meeting would take.

I brought the meeting to order precisely at seven. John and Janet sat opposite each other, while the other members sat in little cliques around the big table. The minutes of the previous meeting were read and accepted, and Darlene was asked to come in.

She read her proposal, a twenty-six page document that covered every possible problem. I was astonished she had been so thorough. She had even found three HIV positives who were willing to come in and speak on how they had contracted the disease, and what it was like to live with it. The oldest of these was twenty-nine, but he had found he was infected when he was nineteen. He would also speak on the drug cocktails he was required to take for the rest of his life. The youngest was sixteen. Darlene said he was the most anxious to have the opportunity to speak to the class. The third proposed speaker was a girl of twenty-two who had also been a drug addict. According to Darlene's paper, she wasn't even sure when or where she got the virus. She had just assumed it only happened to other people.

The addition of the girl had been a stroke of genius. The two board members who had been leaning toward opposition, changed their minds when they realized this was not just a ploy to help homosexuals. The vote was unanimous to fund the class, and to site it in the commons lounge, which was really the only public space on the campus. We agreed that advertising would be necessary, and testing supplies should be ordered. We proposed a starting date of February 15th, and a frequency of once a month after that. I suggested we contact all the TV stations with free "Community Service" announcements. Newspaper ad space would have to be paid for, but Darlene thought some of the papers would pick up the story and run it as a news item.

I proposed (and John seconded) that Darlene be added to the board, and placed in charge of the project, a motion that was also passed unanimously.

I asked for old business, and Paul Wilson, the treasurer, mentioned that the shelter was costing more than anticipated. He suggested that we solicit funding from businesses to ameliorate the drain on my bank account. "After all," he said, "the businesses are the beneficiaries of getting the kids off the streets. Their customers are no longer being buttonholed for spare change, and I've heard positive comments from some of my clients." Paul was a CPA.

"Anything that will help," I said, "but I don't want it to sound like it's a requirement. How much will the budget be this year?" I asked.

"A conservative estimate is around six million," said Paul. "We are already nearing capacity, and the food bill alone is approaching six figures per month."

"Well, that rate of outlay will drain my resources in about twelve years," I said. "I guess I had better start buying lottery tickets again." Everyone laughed at that, and we authorized the solicitation of funds. "I'd like you all to consider another source of funds," I said. "We have ninety some young men here who are all unemployed, and have little to occupy their time. Why not ask them what they would like to do to help out?"

"That's an untapped resource," said John. "I think it's a good idea."

Janet put in her two cents worth. "I think if it was put to them as a challenge, it would work. Most of them come from homes that, although abusive in many cases, are founded in good principles. I think they will be anxious to help out."

"Let's just put out a feeler or two," I said. "It wouldn't serve our mission to cause them to think they are going to be out on their ass next month. If we put it to them as a challenge to extend the time we can stay open beyond a ten year window, they may respond to help those coming behind them."

Janet smiled. "If nothing else, it will be an interesting experiment into their acceptance of responsibility."

There was nothing else, so we adjourned the meeting at eight-thirty with a feeling of accomplishment. Darlene thanked me for getting her on the board, and promised she would serve as an advocate for the residents, not the CSD.

I rounded up the boys, and we returned to the estate. Carl was happy to see Josh return alive and unblemished - just like any new mother. Eric and I drove up the driveway, and put the truck away.

Sunday brought the Super Bowl, which we watched with the whole estate community on the big TV in the family room. I made a shrimp bisque recipe that I had found in "Sunset" magazine thirty years before. I had made it every year for as long as I could remember (except for the time in prison), and had changed it very little. Basically, it was a potato soup with the addition of a mirepoix and herbs flavored with shrimp meat toward the end of the cooking. The whole thing was pureed after it was cooked, and some medium sized whole shrimp added just before serving. I also had Biscotti with freshly made pesto and a  cheese dip,  a salad, and some hors d'oeuvre that Eric insisted on making himself. He was quite proud of the results, and I had to admit I couldn't have done better. He had a talent for the tasty little tidbits.

Eric and I exchanged Valentines (and a passionate kiss) on the day set aside for lovers. We spent the day trying to keep Josh's mind off Jeremy, but it was a losing battle. That was their special day since it was also Jeremy's birthday - a fact we only learned late in the day when Josh finally gave up trying to be brave and collapsed in tears. I called Carl, and he and Tom came up to help console him. Tom carried him out in his arms whispering gently to him. Carl was in tears too. He felt the pain, but there was nothing he could do to make it go away. Josh would suffer with his memories for many years.

  The next day brought us to the class on HIV. The staff had changed the entire commons over into auditorium seating, and the ninety or more residents were there. What amazed me was the attendance beyond that. At least thirty other boys, several teenage girls, and about sixty adults came to see the program. The staff had to find some extra chairs to seat them all. Darlene was there, and introduced the speakers - six of them. She had found three more in the interim since the board meeting - another female prostitute/drug addict, a housewife who had gotten it from her promiscuous husband, and a fifteen-year-old boy from an upper class home who had "only done it once with a friend." I was happy to see he was accompanied by both parents.

There were, of course, some curiosity seekers, but by and large, the majority of the crowd was seriously interested in learning more about this dreaded disease. When the tests were offered, a large compliment of the crowd lined up, and Pat and his nurse were kept busy for more than two hours.

I sought out Darlene to congratulate her after the main program was over, and found her talking to the speakers, who were also answering questions from some of the audience. The program had started at three in the afternoon, and by the time the last non-resident had left, it was after nine.

"Quite a turnout," I said to Darlene when I finally got a chance to talk to her alone.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she gushed. "It really fills a need in the community. We'll have to move the date from Wednesday to Saturday in the future. My boss at CSD came looking for me."

"What did she say?" I asked.

"That I should pay more attention to the job I was being paid for," she said. "I told her I had been approved for a personal day, and she had to shut up."

"Well, I'd hate to lose our liaison with CSD," I told her, "but if push comes to shove, you will always have a job here."

She thanked me, and we said our goodbyes. The kitchen staff had made snacks for the residents since they had missed supper, and I found Eric sitting with Bobby and Sam, his mouth full of sandwich. I let him finish, and then got him moving toward the truck. I was hungry too, but didn't want to bite into what could better be given to a hungry boy.

Carl had driven Josh down to the gathering, but they left soon after the program was over Josh wasn't yet up to public social events.

Eric was thoughtful on the way home. Finally, he said, "I'm sure glad I found you that night. I could have been one of those guys up on the stage."

"I'm glad you found me too," I said. "You might have been buried next to Jeremy if you hadn't."

He leaned over and squeezed my arm. "It all worked out for me. I wish Jeremy had found someone too."

"So do I, Son,, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

He lapsed back into silence. We spent some quality time on the sofa after we got home, and went to bed a little before eleven.

Eric was wrapped around me when I woke around four. I knew he was awake. I felt the warm, wet sensation of his tears on my neck and shoulder. I asked him gently, "What's the problem, Son?"

He was silent for a few moments, and then said sadly, "I figured out why you don't want to do things with me."

"And what did you conclude?"

"My dick isn't big enough," he sobbed.

If he hadn't been so deadly serious, I'd have laughed. Instead, I said, "Eric, that has nothing at all to do with it. You are perfect in every way. I love you just the way you are - every part of you - completely and without reservations."

"I love you too, but I want to be a part of you. I want to do things with you, but you make me think there's something wrong with me for wanting that."

"What's wrong has nothing to do with you. It's just that you are thirteen, and I'm over seventy. I could easily be your great-grandfather."

"I don't care about that," he said sliding his hand down to grasp my rapidly hardening manhood. "Yours is just right too - at least I think it is."

 I sighed, wondering if I was causing him to develop inhibitions. "You always said you wanted me to be your Dad, too," I said. "Do you think it's right for a father to have sex with his son?"

"I want you to be my Dad in the daytime, but I want you do sex with me at night," he said with a teenagers logic. "We love each other so it's not wrong." He paused a moment or two. "At least I don't think it is."

"The law thinks it's wrong," I pointed out. "If anyone even thought we were having a sexual relationship, I would be put in prison for the rest of my life, and you would have to go to the shelter or a group home until you're eighteen."

"Well, you wouldn't tell anyone, and neither will I."

He had not released his hold on my genitals, and now started to slowly stroke and squeeze them. I moaned, "I know that, but there are subtle things that other people will notice - changes that would make them suspicious."

He continued to stroke my manhood, increasing the rate, and started kissing my neck just below the ear. "Please, Bob," he murmured, "let me make you feel good."

My silence was consent enough for him. He massaged my neck with his lips moving slowly toward my right nipple. His stroking hand had me transfixed as his magical lips continued down past my stomach to my pubic hair and when he engulfed my cock, I could do no more that moan. His ministrations were gentle but insistent, and I heard him begin to moan with pleasure as well.

I slid my hand down to grasp his rigid member, and massage his testes. He wriggled around to bring his genitals closer to my shoulder, and I helped him by lifting him by the hips and placing him so his knees were astraddle my head.

I now looked up at his throbbing ramrod,  kissed the tip of it, and allowed it to slide between my lips as I pulled his ass cheeks further toward my head. He spread his knees outward with an "Oooooh, Bob," and buried his length fully. I savored the tactile feeling on my tongue while inhaling the long forgotten, wonderful scent of aroused teenage hormones. The taste of a few drops of seminal fluid attested to his readiness, and I pushed him away until his cock sprang from my mouth and slapped his hairless tummy.

I rubbed his melon-like globes, and spread them as I gently lowered him onto my lips. I used my tongue to massage his anal ring, while stroking his flanks with my hands. He groaned with pleasure, and reached back to spread his cheeks wider, screwing his rosebud onto my tongue as far as he could.

He then collapsed his full weight on my chest and engulfed my cock with a moan, bobbing his head up and down with evident gusto while coddling a ball in each hand.. Suddenly, he stopped, took a deep breath, and plunged my full length deep into his throat causing me to gasp.  He had swallowed the whole thing! He lifted his head every five seconds or so to take a breath, and then dove down again. I lifted his lovely butt, and took his cock into my mouth, then  used my middle finger to stimulate his anus. He gave a little push to open himself to me, and my finger slipped into a tight, warm tunnel where I sought out the little nut that would give him the release he so desperately wanted. I was rewarded for my efforts with a mouthful of his sweet nectar, and exulted as I felt my own spunk gush down his throat.

Knowing how sensitive he would be, I released his cock and kissed his anus gently. He quivered, and sighed as he reluctantly released my deflating member from his throat. We laid that way until we both recovered somewhat.

I lifted him and turned him around so I could hold him in a gentle embrace. Words were not necessary. He laid on top of me with his eyes closed, and his breathing slowly returned to normal. I waited while his erection faded, and finally he whispered, "Awesome. Nobody ever did that for me."

"We shouldn't have done it, but I'm glad we did," I smiled at him while gently stroking his hair.

"Nobody ever made me feel that good before," he squawked, still not in full control of his vocal cords. We stayed in bed like that until almost six, but there was nothing scheduled for the morning until school at nine, so we just started our routine a bit late.

I was not altogether happy with the turn of events, but I finally realized Eric had planned and initiated the lovemaking. I wondered if he had considered the risks he was taking, and decided he had. He had come to the conclusion that our relationship had to change, and had taken the steps to make it move in the direction he wanted. For all my age and experience, I had always known I was putty in his hands. The down side of that, if there was one, was that now he knew it too.

As I knew it would, our relationship changed after that, but not in the way I had dreaded. Eric was much more self assured, and I stopped worrying about having caused him emotional harm. To the contrary, he seemed to become more emotionally stable. His mood swings almost entirely disappeared and we became closer in that all his needs were now met. He no longer had any qualms about discussing any subject, and we also slowly became able to communicate without the spoken word under some circumstances. No longer was he uncertain about his status in the community, and his demeanor was much less tentative. He kept his room for the sake of appearances, but he now slept with me every night, although we had sex only occasionally.

Carl  noticed the subtle changes, and remarked that he was pleased with the new, more mature Eric, as well as the fact that I seemed much more relaxed. "It must be the contentment," I told him. "I've never felt so wanted and needed."

The following week, I went to the doctor's office for my annual checkup. He was astounded that my blood pressure had dropped so drastically, and lowered the dose of the medication I had been taking for it. He told me my heart was in better shape than he had seen it in several years. Little did he know.


Apologies to those who didn't want a sexual relationship. It will become apparent in the next few weeks and months why it was necessary to the flow of the story.  

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