This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.



Chapter 70

By: Tim Keppler

 Edited by: Bob Leahy

Every now and then, Kenny and I sneak away right after dinner to make out, and tonight is one of those times. Rather than sneaking into the bedroom, we change the venue and sneak into the office. The office isn't very big. It has a desk at one end, the end by the door, a couple of large leather chairs facing the desk, book shelves against the wall to the left of the desk, and a couch against the wall at the far end. To the right of the desk are windows looking out onto the back garden. It's a very airy room, with a lot of light, and very romantic at dusk, which is what it is now.

Both Kenny and I are naked, and are on the couch. He's lying on top of me. We're kissing passionately, and are both hard. We haven't made love yet, and might not, ultimately. Maybe we'll save making love for tonight, when the four of us -- Kenny, Dinh, Jason, and I -- go to bed. But we are seriously into each other right now. We've sort of merged. The boundary between Kenny's psyche and my own is no longer clear. We are completely consumed by each other. Have you even been in that place where your consciousness just shuts down? It's sort of a languid reality. You're so turned on that ejaculation would be a distraction. We've been kissing for probably twenty minutes, and I just can't imagine what it would be like not to be kissing him. I can't remember what it was like not having my lips sealed to his, my tongue probing his mouth. It would probably be awful, but I really can't seem to remember the last time I wasn't kissing him. I am just so in love with him, just so turned on by him. He is so beautiful, and feels so good on top of me as I run my fingers through his hair and stroke his back, the silky skin that...

And then there's a tiny knock on the door. The door opens, and in walks Kai.

I'm not particularly concerned that Kai sees us like this. He's seen us in a lot more explicit situations before. Nakedness in the house is no big deal. He sees us naked probably every day as we shower and prepare for work. He knows that Jason, Kenny, Dinh and I love each other, and he knows how we express that love. He's caught us at it more than once. It's not like we've been explicit about it. It's just that, when you live with someone, you find out a lot about them, regardless of how they may try to hide it from you. So, he's not particularly surprised to find us lying on the couch naked and intertwined. It strikes him as pretty normal, I think.

"Can I come in, Daddy?"

"You are in, sweetie," I say, smiling. "What's up?"

"I got a question," he says, sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

Kai and Kevin were quick to figure out what each of us is good at. If they want something good to eat, they go find Jason. If they want to giggle and play, they go find Dinh or Evan. If they need something done, like their toenails clipped or their shoes tied, they look for Kenny. And, if they need advise, guidance, or a hug, they come and find me. Not that Dinh wouldn't hug them. He usually can't keep his hands off of them, but they seem to draw security from me. I've no idea why. I mean, I'm not especially patient. Certainly not as patient as Kenny. Yet it's to me they come when they're upset or afraid, when they need advice, or, like today, when they have questions.

"What does death mean?" Kai asks.

I give him a long look, trying to gauge his mood. This sounds like an academic question rather than an emotional one, but I honestly can't tell. You don't usually ask someone what death means unemotionally, do you? And, how do you answer that unemotionally? In fact, how do you answer that at all?

"Umm...death means that someone stops living. They stop breathing, and talking, and...being. You can't be with them anymore. They can be in your memory and in your heart, but you can't...umm...play with them. Remember your Mommy? She died. We can't see her anymore."

Kai nods, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" I ask, as Kenny rolls to the side and I reach out and take Kai's hand, pulling him toward us.

"Julie died," he says, softly.


"Yeah, Julie. My friend Julie."

"You mean Julie Kaplan?"

He nods.

"How do you know that, Kai?"

"My teacher told me. She told the class. Judy hasn't been to class for a few days, and Ricky asked Mrs. Paulson where she was, and Mrs. Paulson said that Julie died and went to heaven, and... Where's heaven, Daddy?"

Oh, shit. More mythology to deal with. First, I'm peeved that Mrs. Paulson would tell the kids that Julie is dead without alerting us so we can run interference. There's bound to be grieving. Hell, Kai is grieving. It would have been easier to help him through this if I'd known about Julie's death before he did. Second, this heaven bullshit pisses me off. Heaven is the nice little fraud that we pawn off on children so they won't grieve. "She's gone to a better place" is what my grandmother would have said to me in all her christian piety. It's what she told my father at three years old when his father died. It made him neurotic. He wondered why his father would want to leave him. What "better place" could there be than here with him? Kids should grieve. You want them to. Grief is a part of life. "Keiner ist weise der nicht das Dunkel kennt." I think it was Hermann Hesse that said that: "No one is wise who doesn't know the darkness." Life is made up of contrasts. How can you know joy, and know that it's joy, if you don't know sadness?

"Heaven is another way of saying that Julie will live in your heart, in your memory. Heaven isn't a place, Kai. Heaven is in you. Julie lives in you now, and in the memories of your classmates. Does that make sense?"

He nods slowly. "Sorta. So heaven's not in the sky? Randy asked Mrs. Paulson where heaven was, and she said it was in the sky."

Grrrrr! "No, baby. Some people think heaven's in the sky. Some people think it's a physical place. It makes them feel better to think that their loved one has gone to some place really pretty, really special, some place far, far away. That's not what happens, Kai. They don't actually go anywhere. They live in your heart. And that's a pretty special place, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But...they can't play with me no more?"

"That's true. They can't play with you anymore. It's sort of sad, hunh?"

He nods, hopping into my lap, hugging me. "Yeeaaahhhh," he whines. "I liked Julie."

"I know, sweetie. Sometimes bad things happen to people we like." Kai drapes himself over my shoulder and just keeps hugging me. He's not crying. He's just clingy, just really sad. I stroke his back, and after fifteen minutes or so, he leans back and looks me in the eyes with a long and pensive look. I know exactly what he's thinking because I've been through this with Kevin. "Anyone can die, sweetie. You could, I could, even Kenny could. That's why it's good that you have Jason, Kenny, Dinh and me to take care of you. If one of us were to die, it would be really sad, but you'd be okay because there'd be three more of us to look out for you. Right?" Kai nods, a tear coursing its way down his cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb. "It'll be okay. Would you like to send a card and some flowers to Julie's mommy and daddy?"

Kai nods.

"Why don't you make a card? Maybe Kenny will help you."

Kai looks at Kenny, and Kenny nods. "Let me get dressed, okay?" Kenny says, still naked. "Then we'll make a card."

Kai runs off to the dining room to wait for Kenny. Kenny dresses quickly, and follows him. I take this opportunity to call Julie's mom and confirm that Julie did, in fact die. "Yes," she says, sounding very glum and maybe cried out. "It was leukemia, so her death was no surprise. We'd been expecting it, and praying for it. Julie suffered a lot toward the end, but she insisted on going to school so she could be with her friends. She was very brave about it all, but I don't think she told any of her classmates that she was sick. She just wanted to be a normal kid. I think she knew that if she told them about her illness, things would change. We're going to... I'm going to miss her terribly." That change of pronoun, I learn later, is the result of separation and impending divorce. The illness of their child has torn the Kaplan's apart. Herman, her husband, has already moved out, and Ruth is truly alone. How sad. There will be a funeral, she tells me. The service will be held at the Unitarian Church on Wednesday afternoon. Julie will be cremated prior to that, but the service will allow her friends, many of whom are very young, to share their emotions, and grieve. I confirm our attendance, and we end the call. I feel very sad for Ruth. She must be very lonely.

Kai's card is cute, very cute. He draws a picture of Julie with crayons. Her red hair is very red -- cherry red. Inside, he writes: "Julie was a vey gud friend. I miss her. Love, Kai Jensen." It's very sweet. This I take to Bunches in Los Gatos, where I let Kai pick out the flowers. He's seriously in love with carnations, so they make us a bouquet of pink and red carnations that they'll deliver. I've also made a hefty contribution to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, which Ruth specified in lieu of flowers. From us, she'll get both a donation and a bouquet.

When Wednesday rolls around, I ask Kai what he's wearing to the funeral. I want to know whether he's wearing his jeans, or a pair of khakis. To my utter surprise, he has his outfit laid out on a chair. He wants to wear the tuxedo he wears to the Symphony, a pink shirt, a red tie, and his loafers. This stops me in my tracks. I'd planned to go semi-casual. I'd planned to wear a pair of khaki pants, and a polo shirt. Kenny and Jason, who are also coming, had planned to be equally casual. Should we change our plans? I decide that we shouldn't. If we do, it'll look like I dressed Kai, like I told him what to wear. As it is, it looks like he's truly paying his respects. Julie was his friend. He should dress however he wants to without being upstaged by his faggot fathers.

And, my god does he look cute. He is just fucking adorable. The shirt is something he's never worn before. It has French cuffs. Jason found it at Ross. I have to loan him a pair of cufflinks (that were my grandfather's) so he can wear it. And Kenny has to tie his tie for him -- standing him on a stool in the bathroom so he can get behind him to tie the double-Windsor. When he walks into the chapel, he is completely out of place, but he just doesn't care. Ruth is in tears the moment she lays eyes on him.

"Did you...?" she asks, looking at me.

I shake my head. "His idea."

She hugs him. "You are so handsome," she gushes, and he really is. He is just cute beyond words, especially among all his classmates, who are dressed in jeans and t-shirts.

The service is blessedly brief, and then there's a reception that Ruth has had catered. There's lots of food, juice for the kids, and wine for the adults. It's very tasteful. I feel so bad for her. Julie was such a sweet little girl. This really is a tragedy, the more so because Ruth is now so alone. We're going to have to keep in touch, to help her weather this awful tragedy.


When Leslie and I first met, there was sort of an instant attraction. Who knows how these things work? Is it chemistry -- pheromones -- or destiny, or something else? It was like that Savage Garden song, "I knew I loved you before I met you / I think I dreamed you into life." That's really how it felt. He introduced himself to me, and I sort of melted. "Hi. I'm Ian," I think I said. "I'm Tim's son," and then I quipped that Jason was my mother, or something like that. It got a laugh. After Alejandro's death I needed something...different. I needed someone who would...cherish me...but, someone who would also ...manage me. Tim told me once that he felt that Jason was never meant to live on his own...unsupervised. He needs someone to help him with day-to-day activities -- a chief operating officer. Leslie does that for me. He's very...controlling. I know that word's usually supposed to be bad, but for me...well...it's what I longed for. I'm not sure why Alejandro couldn't do that for me, why I never thought of him as that kind of a dominant partner. I guess he just wasn't very...dominant. He'd try, but I could always tell it was a role. It didn't come naturally to him. With Leslie, it does. It's who he is. I remember when he first told me that he'd spanked a previous boyfriend. There was a twinge of fear that crossed his face, like he'd blown our relationship before it'd even gotten started. It was so cute. We were sitting at a table in a San Francisco diner. He couldn't tell that my dick was hard and had been since he told me about the spankings. This was the man of my dreams.

And that's what he's turned out to be. I love him to distraction. He's beautiful, talented, and smart. And, he has a newly-minted PhD in English, and is an assistant professor here at Stanford. Most universities don't like to hire their own. They value intellectual diversity, they'll tell you, and so they remove their own graduates from the hiring pool. Stanford really is diverse, though, and therefore has no such rule. If you're interesting, they're interested. Leslie's dissertation was on death motifs in the 19th century novel, and I guess that was sufficiently different to get him a nod from the head of the department. Thank god, because otherwise we'd have been separated, maybe for quite a long time. I'm just about to finish my masters in psychology, but I'd like to continue into Stanford's doctoral program. I'd like to become a therapist. If Leslie hadn't found a job here, god knows what that would have meant for us. Yeah, I know, there are lots of couples who have sustained long-distance relationships, and I'm pretty confident that we would have, too. But, as I said, I like to be guided in life, and you really can't do that from a distance. And, there are other things...

As a couple, we're not exactly...traditional. Yeah, we're gay, but that's not what I mean. We...umm...like to...play. No, that's not exactly what I mean, either. We're...sexually adventurous. Tim told me about this straight couple he knew years ago who actually introduced him to the Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. They were into S/M, bondage, and that kind of thing. He said that when they told him this, he'd assumed that their roles were "traditional," or at least what he thought of as traditional. He thought that the guy was the dominant partner, and that it was his role to inflict pain upon his wife. His wife was 5'5" or something, and her husband was, like, 6'1". In fact, their roles were just the reverse. In their sex play, it was the wife who dominated the husband. You really never can tell about these things. You think you know a couple, but in fact, you don't know anything about them -- unless they tell you.

Leslie and I have similar...tastes. I like to be dominated and he likes to dominate. Not all the time. Sometimes. Sometimes I like him to be romantic. Sometimes I like soft music and tender caresses. Sometimes I like him to kiss me for hours and take me slowly, sliding into me gently as we continue to kiss and fondle. Sometimes.

But, sometimes I just want him to fuck me. Sometimes I like it to hurt. Sometimes I like to be...restrained...while my nipples are clamped, my balls are squeezed, and my ass is paddled. And, then I want him to drive his dick up my ass in one ferocious thrust, and not wait for me to relax. Sometimes I want to scream and cry as he literally "has his way with me". Sometimes, when it's all about him, about his pleasure, about his urgent animal urges, sometimes that's when it's the most pleasurable for me.

It depends on our moods, I guess. Last Tuesday was a romantic evening, and we try to make sure that we have those regularly. Jason had asked me if I'd be able to pick up their two kids from school that afternoon and babysit them that night until about midnight. He was playing an evening of Shostakovich at the Symphony, but hadn't been able to get enough tickets for the whole family. Mrs. Leong, his mom, is typically their babysitter of choice, but she was visiting her sister, Kenny's mother, and Kenny won't let the boys be with his mother if he's not there. She's pretty bitchy, and Kenny doesn't want the boys exposed to that. "No problem," I'd told him. "Leslie and I will stay with them."

When we arrived, I found a note from Jason taped to the front door. "Set the microwave to six minutes," it read, "and then enjoy the meal." The dining table was set for four with a bottle of wine on ice waiting for us. The meal was clearly a Kenny creation -- Veal Picatta, Broccoli in what tasted like a sherry sauce, and fingerling potatoes. It was absolutely delicious, and then there was the fresh mango for dessert, Kevin's favorite. We got the boys bathed and into bed long about 9 pm, and then Leslie and I planted ourselves in the living room with tea. We'd taken the candles from the dining room for ambiance. We began to kiss, and soon our clothes were off and we were rubbing affectionately together, nuzzling each other. Then, suddenly, he was inside me, and god he felt good. I was so incredibly turned on as he bit my earlobe, pinched my nipples and fucked me, all at the same time. It didn't take either of us very long, unfortunately. We came in gushes. Three hours later, when Tim slapped me on the ass, we woke up, still naked and by now stuck together.

"It was a pleasant evening, I guess," Tim said with a smile.

"Umm...yeah," Leslie replied, embarrassed, when he realized that Jason, Dinh and Kenny were all sitting in the living room watching us. Evan, their eldest now that I was out of the house, had apparently taken his hunky Mexican boyfriend to bed.

"Don't mind us," Kenny giggled. "We've been here for twenty minutes or so. We just couldn't bear to wake you. You both looked so...peaceful."

"Yeah, right!" Jason responded, giggling. "If you'd been peaceful and ugly, you'd be gone by now. Tim wouldn't let us wake you because you're so...well...you know."

Sometimes, though, romantic isn't what I want. Sometimes I want it...rough. Years ago, back in the 1970s, Ike and Tina Turner did a live performance of Proud Mary that Tina introduced by saying that, while the audience might like to hear something "nice and easy" from them, they "never did nuthin' nice an easy." They did it "nice and rough." The first half would be easy, and the second half would be rough. The song was a study in contrasts, something Ike Turner's mellow bass voice almost guaranteed. (Take a look at: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54XRNQ2C2x0.) Tim seriously loves this performance, and I never really realized why until I met Leslie. Leslie, too, likes it "nice and rough" sometimes, and often those are the times when sex is the most fun.

Take last Monday for example. At about 4 pm, I handcuffed myself to the bed. We have two sets of ankle cuffs and two sets of handcuffs. I spread myself out in the middle of our queen-sized bed attaching my limbs to the four corners, and waited for Leslie to get home. This is married-student housing. Stanford, thankfully, doesn't distinguish between married straight people, and "partnered" gay people. Couples who enter into Domestic Partnerships count, so we live comfortably among the straights. We're just a bit notorious, though, which is to say we often make a lot of...noise when we have sex. Today is no exception.

When Leslie gets home, he finds me in the bedroom spread out for him. I have no idea what he'll do to me, and that fact alone is...erotic. What he does is unlock the ankle cuffs from the bedposts at the foot of the bed. Bending me at the waist, he attaches those cuffs to the bedposts at the head of the bed, where my wrists are bound. So now my ass and genitals are fully exposed, and I'm harder than maybe I've ever been before. I'm so excited. Next, Leslie takes off his clothes in perhaps the sexiest strip-tease I've ever seen, and when he shucks his underwear, his dick pops up in a monumental erection. He is bronze and stunning, and his dick is really dark. The thing I want most right now is to suck that dick, but I don't think that's an option. I think he has something else in mind. Sure enough, he moves to the dresser and returns with a pair of tit clamps and a belt, the twin to Tim's razor strop. The tit clamps he attaches to my nipples, allowing them to snap shut rather than easing them closed, drawing a healthy scream from me as each is applied. As I mentioned, sex for us is often noisy. Once the tit clamps are in place, he starts the spanking, and he isn't kidding. He's putting a lot of force into every stroke, so much, in fact, that he has me screaming and crying after only ten strokes. Then he penetrates me with an inflatable butt plug. If you've never tried one of these, they're pretty amazing. The butt plug itself isn't particularly interesting, but when he pumps it up, the feeling is indescribable. It has a vibrator, and I guess as the balloon expands inside you, it presses against your prostate. It's both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and Leslie doesn't mess around. By the time he stops pumping, I'm screaming, begging him to...what? I have no idea. He can't touch me because if he does I'll cum. If he touches me anywhere, even on the nose, I'll explode. I guess I sort of want him to deflate the plug, but that's the last thing I really want. It just feels so...terribly...good. I really want to cum, but I can't yet.

After maybe ten minutes with that plug up my ass, he deflates it, but doesn't remove it...yet. He can't. I'm still too keyed up. If he touches it or me, it's all over. So, he leaves the room, returning in maybe five minutes. Then he works the dildo out of my ass, lubes his dick, and enters me quickly, immediately beginning to pound in and out of me, ensuring that he hits my "hot spot" with every thrust. His mouth is sealed to mine in a long kiss. You just can't know how good this feels, and when he senses I'm close, he does something so evil I just can't believe it. He removes the tit clamps and massages my nipples, restarting the blood flow. The pain is massive. I scream and cum at the same moment, and he's right behind me. This is the longest, most satisfying orgasm I can remember. I'm in tears at the end of it, but still we kiss. Leslie knows just how to hurt me in the most erotic and satisfying ways. I just adore him. Finally he releases my ankles and wrists so that I can touch him, and stroke him.

I'm a little like Tim. I'm very touchy-feely. Jason told me that Tim can absolutely not cum if he can't touch the person or persons he's with. If he can't stroke their skin, he can't get hard. I'm sort of like that. I mean, I can get hard, but I can't always reach climax. Now that I'm touching Leslie, running my hands over his silky skin, tracing the contours of his abs, I am as hard as I've ever been. Leslie just feels so good. He's lithe and muscular. He's a former swimmer and model, and is really built. I don't know what he sees in me. I'm pretty skinny, blond, and short. Opposites attract, I guess.

As I continue to stroke him, he begins to recharge, getting another spectacular erection. I flip over and take him in my mouth while continuing to run my hands over his body, stroking his thighs and playing with his balls. He begins to pant softly, and then to moan. As I continue to suck him, I begin softly stroking his pucker. He responds with a jolt. "Oh," he groans, and as he does, I suck on my finger briefly and then penetrate him with it. He begins to squirm. He doesn't always like this, but today he does. Today he just can't stay still. Finally, after several minutes of playing with him, gently stroking his prostate, he begins a long, steady moan, stroking my dick gently. Then, abruptly, he blows, and so do I. This is our second orgasm of the evening. I'm exhausted. I cling to his leg, holding his now-deflated dick in my mouth. I can't quite bring myself to let him go. His dick just feels too natural where it is. I am so in love with him!

Finally, after several minutes of clinging to him, I readjust so I'm lying next to him, my face on the pillow, our lips touching. We begin to kiss. "That was amazing, baby. You're such an incredible lover," he whispers to me.

"You, too," I whisper. We kiss a bit more, and then fall asleep, utterly sated and satisfied. I'm not sure how you find someone you're sexually compatible with. Is it always just luck? Maybe. Or, maybe you grow together over time, although I don't think we were ever very far apart. I think early on that I was a little kinkier than he was, but if that's true, it didn't last long. I sort of had to convince him to spank me the first time, but once we'd broken the ice, so to speak, we just kept exploring, just kept expanding our repertoire of erotic play. Now we sort of take turns coming up with new things to do. I'd never handcuffed myself to the bed before, and it actually worried me a little at first. I mean, what if he hadn't come home on time? I'd have been a prisoner in my bedroom until he got here. That's not a big deal, I guess. At least that's what I concluded. And, frankly, waiting for him, wondering what he'd do to me when he found me, made me...anxious. The anticipation was exciting.

The most memorable kinky sex we've had was a couple of months ago, and that time the idea for spicing up our sex life was his. Our rule is that we have to try whatever it is either of us comes up with at least once. Several months ago I decided that I wanted to penetrate him with one of those smooth Pyrex dildos. I'd never penetrated him with anything before. I'm a confirmed bottom. I'm not versatile. The thought of fucking him, or anyone else for that matter, makes my dick wilt. But the idea of sliding a glass dildo into him was a serious turn-on. I don't know why. He did not want to do that. He hadn't been penetrated by anyone or anything since he was a teenager. "But, you might like it," I said. "It always feels good to me." He'd looked at me very skeptically, almost fearfully, but he stripped and lay down on the bed. I went slowly, and used a lot of lube, and by the time I had that glass rod inside him, he was moaning -- good moaning. It turns out, he loved it, and we've done it since. Not all the time, but sometimes. It worked.

A couple of months ago, he brought home something very different, and I need to digress a bit to explain it.

Stanford has an active gay and lesbian community, especially for a university its size. The university as a whole -- administrators, professors, students -- are all very supportive, and so a lot of people who might not be out on other campuses are out at Stanford. Consequently, as you'd expect, we have some really-good parties throughout the year where gay kids come to hang out and dance. There's usually a small cover charge to help pay for the soda and munchies, but the facilities are free, part of the campus buildings. A couple of months ago, we went to one of these dances. It was May 1st, I remember, May Day. It was unusually warm for May, a really beautiful evening, and the party was held in a building just behind Lake Lagunita. It's picturesque and very pretty. The party started early, at about 8pm, and because the evening was so warm, a lot of the guys had their shirts off pretty quickly, including me, I should confess. Both Leslie and I love to dance, and Leslie's actually pretty good at it. He studied dance when he was a kid, and the lessons really paid off. He's got a natural grace despite his height. The DJ was playing Madonna, and the Scissor Sisters, some Cindi Lauper and Natasha Bedingfield, Lily Allen, and a bunch of other stuff that was all very danceable. It was a blast.

About half way through the evening, I realized that this one really-attractive guy had been dancing next to us for a while. He was maybe 5'10" -- shorter than Leslie but taller than me. He was very slender though not skinny. He reminded me a lot of Leslie, actually, although less toned. He had brown hair that was heavily highlighted -- either done professionally or from swimming and sun. He had a very cool haircut, almost like a `70s shag, but shorter. He had very pouty lips, a really adorable smile, and very green eyes that were piercing when they caught the light just right. Dressed in a short pair of cutoffs, he was seriously cute, and when Leslie and I left the dance floor to go get a coke and rest, he followed us, grabbing a Seven-Up from the ice bucket. Then, looking up, he smiled. "Hi," he said. "I'm Shawn. I don't think we've met."

Leslie and I introduced ourselves, and then started to talk about the music. But, as it is at most parties, talking was nearly impossible, so we decided to go out on the deck and chat. It was quieter out there, and still about 75. And the lighting was better -- no disco ball and no colored spotlights. It was here I realized just how good looking this guy was.

We talked about the music, about the party, and about ourselves. It turned out that Shawn wasn't a Stanford student. He was going to San Jose State, where Kenny and Dinh used to teach before they came here. He didn't like it much, he said, but couldn't afford to transfer here, even if he could get in. It was too expensive. He had a partial scholarship at SJSU, he said, but no support from his parents. That last statement sort of hung in the air for several seconds, and then he clarified. "I'm from Michigan originally. People are a little closed-minded there. My parents weren't real happy when I told them what I thought they already knew, that I'm gay. They made it clear that I wasn't welcome in their house if I stayed gay. How do you not stay gay? They wanted me to go to one of those treatment centers. I refused, so they told me I'd have to leave. I came to California about two years ago. I established residency, got a job, and enrolled at San Jose. I'm working my way through school." He's a math major, he tells us. I'm not sure how anyone who looks this good can be a math major, but there you go. Different strokes...

"What do you do?" Leslie asks. "I mean, to make money, what do you do?"

"I'm a waiter at Chilis, and I've been doing some modeling." He seems a little...reluctant to talk about his jobs, a little evasive.

"Oh, commercial?" Leslie responds. Leslie was a fashion model for several years. He wasn't a big name like Marcus Schenkenberg or Tyson Beckford, but pretty-well known in Asia. There's little work for a fashion model in this area, so Leslie concluded that he's a commercial model working for retailers like Nordstrom's and Macy's.

"Umm...no," he says, more reluctant now than he was before to talk about his work. Finally, Leslie gets it, though I don't. He smiles reassuringly. "What studio?" he asks.

"Falcon," Shawn responds, softly. I'm still lost. "I...umm...star in art films...in adult videos," he says to me, staring at his feet. Suddenly I understand what he's saying. It's like the fog has lifted, but I haven't betrayed anything. We're still okay.

"Oh, that Falcon," I say, bubbly, skirting the edge of judgment. "Got it. Are you guys hungry?" I ask "I'm hungry again. Can we go somewhere for a bite? How about Chef Chu's, or Luu Noodle, or that Phở place in downtown Mountain View?" All of these are Leslie's favorites, and I like them too. Shawn looks up happily and nods, and Leslie agrees. "How'd you get here?" I ask Shawn.


"I came with a friend, but I'm betting he's gone by now. Let me grab my shirt inside."


We go for Phở, Vietnamese noodle soup. Tim is addicted to this stuff, and knows every Vietnamese noodle shop within a fifty-mile radius. I love it, too. This is not one of his favorites, but there really isn't much good Asian food between San Francisco and San Jose, not even in Mountain View, which used to be largely made up of Asian restaurants. Now that the town has been "redeveloped," the good restaurants have all moved out, replaced by Italian and fusion restaurants of one kind or another at six times the price. This little noodle shop has managed to hold on, but for how much longer?


We stay at the restaurant until it closes at 11 pm, and then drive back to our place for dessert and coffee. Long about 1 am, Leslie and I drive Shawn home to San Jose. He lives on 11th and San Fernando, not far from campus. It's a studio apartment -- nothing spectacular, but livable. We exchange phone numbers and promise to keep in touch, but you know how that goes. Who knows?

"That guy is very cute," I say to Leslie. "I'm not sure I want you anywhere near him."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not sure where this sense of inferiority comes from. You're way better looking than he is. I mean, you're not as cute as I am, but you'll do in a pinch," he chides with a snort. I cuff him, giggling, and we head home to make love. This will not be an evening of kink. This will be an evening of love, and I can't wait.

So, maybe a week after we met Shawn, what Leslie brings home to spice up our sex life is...Shawn. It turns out Leslie's been emailing Shawn throughout that week, just chatting, looking for an opportunity to ask what he wants to know. Finally, Shawn volunteers it...sort of. "Ur BF is really, really hot," he said. "Shame he's taken. J Don't worry! I'm not a home wrecker. BTW: Ur cute too!"

That's what Leslie has been fishing for. He sends back an email asking Shawn if he's ever done a three-way. Shawn responds that he's done it "professionally". He did it for a video, but never for pleasure. Leslie asks him if he's interested, and Shawn jumps in head first. "With you guys? Oh, yes!" Two days later, in he walks with Leslie right behind him.

"Hey, Shawn!" I say, giving Leslie a quizzical look. "How're you?"

He looks at Leslie, realizing that I know nothing about this. "Cool," he says, waiting for Leslie to finish this open-ended sentence.

"So," Leslie begins, "our rule is that you have to try anything I come up with at least once, and vice versa. Shawn is what I've come up with."

Does my face give it away? I'm not sure. Shawn looks suddenly really concerned.

"Can I ask you to go watch a little TV?" Leslie asks, motioning him toward the TV room. "I've sort of sprung this on Ian, and that's not really fair. We need to talk."

Shawn nods, and moves into the TV room, closing the door behind him.

Once he's ensconced, Leslie cocks his head, asking me silently what's wrong. "I didn't think about another guy," I respond, a little defensively.

Leslie looks at me quizzically. "Your Dad has three partners, and you never thought about this?"

I nod. "It's a new idea. I'm not sure..."

"I thought you were into him."

"Well...yeah...he's attractive, but..."

"You're satisfied with me?"

"Yeeaaahhhh," I whine.

"Does that mean I'm your everything? Does that mean there's no room for anything else?"

I look at him for a long, long moment. "No."

"He's more into you than into me. He told me."

"Do you still love me?" I ask, ignoring this new piece of information.

"Baby, I adore you!" Leslie says, moving in and hugging me. "I don't think that'll ever change. Does Tim love Jason less because he also loves Dinh?"

I've heard this argument before -- from Tim. It's a good argument. Trouble is, when Leslie makes it, it troubles me. "I love you so much," I respond, "maybe too much. I'm not sure I can share you."

"Well, here's where we find out. I told Shawn that this needed to not mean anything. I told him that this was just sex, just good fun. I'm telling you the same thing. We need to do this once, and figure out what it means. If we don't like it, we don't have to do it again. He understands that. Let's see what it feels like to us. Let's try it."

I nod. "Okay. But, you still love me? You don't think I'm...inadequate?"

"I love you more than you will ever know. `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways?'" I don't think Elizabeth Barrett Browning was talking about gay couples, but it works.. We hug, and Leslie moves to the TV room to collect Shawn. Then we move to the bedroom collectively and begin to undress. Shawn truly is stunning, but he's nothing compared to Leslie. Is Leslie attracted to Shawn, I wonder? Is he more attracted to Shawn than to me? And, what about Shawn? Leslie says he's into me more than he's into him. How's that possible? Leslie is an Asian Adonis, but it's me Shawn stares at as we strip. By the time I'm naked, I'm really embarrassed, and close to tears. Shawn recognizes this, and is very comforting.

"I'm sorry," he says, coming to me and hugging me. "I'm sorry you're uncomfortable. I'll leave if you want, but please believe that I don't want to steal your guy, the love of your life. It's actually...you I'm more attracted to." He glances back at Leslie, who has a tiny smile on his face. "I know you love him. It shows in everything you do. But...can we play? Can all three of us...have some fun?" He asks this gently, and I realize that he's no threat to me, and that's when I start to really like him. He's not a threat to me. He really is into me more than Leslie. That's what saves me, at least for the moment. Suddenly I want this, whatever this becomes. Suddenly I'm ravenous. Suddenly it's okay.

"What do you like to do?" I ask, softly.

"I like to do everything," he responds. "Anything and everything. Right at this moment, I think I'd like to kiss you."

Do I look surprised? I don't know. "Can I?" he asks, looking at me and then at Leslie. We both nod. And then he starts to kiss me. His lips are soft and moist. He's a good kisser, and he's really...beautiful. I find I really...want him. But what do I want to do with him? For the moment, that question is moot. I want to kiss him, and that's what we do.

Tim told me years ago that he thought that the most intimate act between two guys wasn't fucking, but kissing. I think he's right, but I suspect this may be specific to gay men. There's a school of thought in psychology that posits a "comfort zone" between people. In the U.S. that comfort zone is thought to be about seven inches. If your body is closer than seven inches to someone you don't know well, you've violated their comfort zone and they get nervous. This is why elevators are often uncomfortable for many of us. There's a cultural component to this theory, it turns out. Europeans in general, need less space than Americans, and southern Europeans less still. Spanish people, for example, appear to be comfortable having others as close as four inches away, while Europeans in general are okay with others five inches from them. I personally believe that there's a sexual component to this theory. Americans don't like to be any closer than seven inches from someone else, but what if you're talking about two men? Two American men, I'd argue, need a lot more space. If you get two American men any closer than about a foot apart, they're uncomfortable. This is why kissing is so intimate, and especially for gay guys. Not only does a kiss shatter your partner's comfort zone, but it's face to face. This is why kissing is so erotic.

Shawn and I kiss for a minute or so, and then Leslie joins us. We have a kissing free-for-all. I kiss Shawn, who then moves to Leslie. They kiss. And then Leslie starts to kiss me. This goes on for several minutes as we stroke and pet each other. I'm very tactile, as I've said, very touchy-feely, but I don't always know that I'm touching you. It's something that just happens as I start to get aroused. It's part of the arousal. After a while, I realize that I'm sucking on Shawn's neck, and then that I'm licking his chest. After a while, we move to the bed, and I begin licking Shawn's torso, and nibbling on his nipples. I finally moving down to his dick, which is rampant. I take him in my mouth, and begin sucking him as Leslie continues to kiss him. Finally, Shawn breaks that kiss, panting. "Please, can I watch you fuck him?" Shawn asks. Leslie smiles and rearranges himself on the bed. He slicks up his dick with lotion, and moves in behind me as I continue to suck Shawn. He enters me in one slow thrust, and I don't think I've ever felt this good. Honestly, this feels so...natural...so... I can't describe it. I want to give these guys pleasure more than I want to breathe. They are more important to me right at this moment than life. They are my everything. (How can a guy I've known for little more than five hours be "my everything"?)

Our respective orgasms are amazing. Leslie grunts, I scream (as I normally do -- which is why we're semi-notorious in married-student housing), and Shawn screams and cries. He's in tears as we wind down from our climaxes. I hug him, and giggle. "Isn't this just `another day at the office' for you? Don't you get to do this every day?"

"No," he says, still choking back tears. "No. This is real. It isn't...a video. I wish..." And, then that thought is overtaken by sobs until we finally fall asleep, our limbs intertwined.

All that happened a couple of months ago. Shawn has been back since. In fact, Shawn now lives with us. Tim was right. My love for Leslie didn't preclude my love for Shawn, and I do love him. I also find that I love Leslie more now than I did before. Why? The main reason, I guess, is that when there are three of you in a relationship you have to think more about how to make that relationship work. When it was just Leslie and me, there was a tendency to take each other for granted. With Shawn added to the mix, I'm always thinking about how to make them both happy. I know, deep inside, that if I don't work at this, it could end in disaster, and not just for Shawn and me. It could end in disaster for Leslie and me as well. I'm vigilant about my relationships, and so are they, trying to find ways to better satisfy me. And I am...better satisfied.

It turns out that Shawn is also...sexually adventurous. He'd have to be, wouldn't he? He's a fucking porn star. (Maybe not. Dinh did porn, and he's never struck me as being particularly adventurous -- although, if he was, Tim would never tell me.) Shawn, too, likes a bit of pain. I don't know that he knew that about himself. I mean, sure, he knew that he liked "the road less traveled," but I don't think he knew that he'd be into being hurt. The first time Leslie spanked him, he had an absolutely Vesuvian orgasm. He erupted on the eighth stroke without ever touching himself, screaming so that the entire housing complex could hear. He just came...and came...and came. He had a similar response to nipple clamps. I don't think he'd ever seen them before, but when Leslie first attached them, he went nuts, squirming all over the place. I started to kiss him, and that was it. A three-minute kiss, and he came with no volition, no control. He absolutely lost it. You could hear his shrieks for miles. (Yes, we've continued to be quite the item of conversation in the married student housing complex.) So, our sex life has been reinvigorated, and our love for each other has been deepened. And, oh by the way, Tim and his coterie all love Shawn.

It was initially a challenge for me to explain Tim's household to Shawn. When I thought back, I couldn't figure out what to say. Do I tell him about Tim hiring Jason as a houseboy? Do I tell him about the spankings? Ultimately, I just told him that Tim, my adoptive father, has three partners and three other children, besides me. I decided to let life play itself out, to let him discover what he needed to know. The first time we took him to Tim's for dinner was hysterical. It was a Jason evening. We were having Asian food -- Hot and Sour Soup, Shrimp in Lobster Sauce, Clay Pot Eggplant, Stir Fried Long Beans, and Beef and Scallions. The moment we got there, Leslie was rolling his eyes. He'd returned to the aromas of his childhood and disappeared into the kitchen. Kenny greeted us, followed by Dinh. Then the boys appeared out of the living room, chasing each other, literally running circles around us. They were chasing that silly Thumper-Cat. Suddenly, Kai launches himself into the air. Shawn looks alarmed, and catches him in mid-flight. "Oh, you are such an idiot, Kai," Kenny says playfully, reaching over and tickling him. Kai dissolves into laughter, and slides out of Shawn's grasp, onto the floor, and is gone. He's out the door and into the back garden with Kevin and the cat.

"Welcome to the family," Dinh giggles. "And, yes, it's mostly always like this."

Shawn looks...surprised, but he gets over it. He and the boys spend the evening giggling together and, as we leave, Kai asks Tim, "Will we get to see Ian and his husbands again?"

"Would you like that?" Tim asks, smiling, ruffling his hair.

"Yeah!" Kai avers. "Shawn likes to paint. I want to paint with him."

Both Leslie and I look surprised, and Shawn looks embarrassed. "It's true. I do like to paint." Little Kai has managed to unearth a fact about Shawn that we hadn't. Something new to explore. We've fucked him, but we haven't painted with him.


"God, I love you two!" Leslie chokes, very close to orgasm.

I'm standing at the end of the bed, bent over so my chest is on the mattress. Shawn is inside me for the first time. I'm impaled. Leslie is inside him. This is a sandwich with Shawn in the middle. Leslie is controlling the rhythm. Every time he withdraws from Shawn, Shawn withdraws from me, and then we slam into each other all at once. Leslie has reached around Shawn and is stroking my dick. Shawn is bent over me, licking my back.

I am in heaven! This is what I've wanted all my life. I've wanted a family, something bigger than just Leslie and me. Something more substantial, more enduring. And, I realize at this moment, that I want children. I want to be a mommy -- like Jason and Kenny. Then Shawn slams his dick into me and I nearly pass out from the indescribable pleasure. I scream and cum at the same moment, dissolving into tears.

What can I say?

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/