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 73

By: Tim Keppler (nemoami@yahoo.com)

 Edited by: Bob Leahy

There are advantages to living next door to Tim. The first, of course, is babysitting. Between Kenny, Jason, Dinh, Tim, Evan, and Joaquin (Evan's Mexican musician boyfriend), it's usually not a problem finding someone to watch our boys, and Kevin and Kai are crazy about them. They're a handful when you get them all in one place at the same time, but they have a great time. And, of course, Kev and Kai can now come to our place to swim. Swimming pools, it turns out, are a mixed blessing in a house with small children. Leslie put locks on all the doors into the back garden so the boys can't get out there by themselves, and Ian lectured them about unsupervised swimming. Still, they love to splash around, so it's worthwhile. I found a local swim club for lessons. None of them is very good yet, but they won't drown. They can all dog paddle to the side of the pool and climb out, and that's all we really care about.

Another advantage of living here is the food. Jason is a serious chef, and so is Kenny. So is Dinh, for that matter. They're all so much better than Leslie, Ian and I are that there's just no comparison. We've taken to eating with them most nights. It's like having a fine restaurant right next door, isn't it? Between Jason's Chinese, Dinh's Vietnamese, and Kenny's everything else, you really couldn't ask for better. Last night we had cannelloni stuffed with mashed fava beans, spinach, and Chinese sausage in a Asiago cream sauce. Kenny is getting pretty eclectic. It was unbelievably delicious, but it's not something I would ever have thought up. And when does he have time to come up with recipes like that? Between teaching at Stanford, writing books on game theory, developing computer games, and writing song lyrics for Jason's musical creations, you'd think he'd be out of time. Right now he and Jason are working on an opera. I've no idea how he pulls all this off.

The third advantage to living next door to Tim is the one I didn't expect, or at least I didn't think of when Tim told us he'd bought this house. It's sex.

So, I have to confess to a serious attraction to...Dinh. Dinh is the youngest among his partners, and I'm the youngest among mine. I'm nearly 23, three years younger than Ian, and five years younger than Leslie. Dinh is 24, six years younger than Jason, and twelve years younger than Kenny. I'm not sure how old Tim is, but I'm pretty sure he's older than Kenny, though I don't think by much. But my attraction doesn't really have anything to do with our respective ages. Dinh is just really...well...pretty. He's one of the most beautiful guys I've ever met. He's petit, a little shorter than Jason, but also very slender. He's got this really-pale skin, which is highlighted by almost-black hair and dark eyes. I know. I could be describing almost any Asian guy, but he's not `almost any Asian guy'. He's like no Asian guy I've ever seen. I'm usually turned on by facial features first, and he has a really-pretty face. His features are very...fine – small nose, and thin lips. I've really wanted to kiss him. Oh, yeah, and he's wicked smart. He and Kenny work together, and Kenny is a genius. I guess he's sort of got it all. He's gorgeous and he's smart. And I'm a little intimidated. But...

...but, I have the sense that he's sort of attracted to me, too. I almost kissed him one time. Almost. At the very last moment he pushed me away. "We can't...umm...do this unless we ask Tim." I nodded. I understood. Relationships like ours are pretty complicated. I mean, when you're with one other guy, you can pretty well anticipate the consequences of your actions. But, when you're with two others, or, in Dinh's case, three others, things are a lot more...well...complex.

So, I decided to raise the issue after dinner one evening. "Can we...umm...stay for a bit? After we get the boys to bed?" I'd asked this of Tim at dinner with Leslie and Ian in the room. I'd sort of confided in Ian. I think he knew what was on my mind. Tim nodded.

"Sure. Let's have some tea."

Once the boys are down, we adjourn to the living room. Everyone is quiet. Waiting. "Umm...I'm wondering..." I pause. "I'm wondering...if we can...'comingle'." Jason and I had just watched Harold and Maude, that seventies movie about a teenage boy who falls for an 80-year-old woman. I got the word "comingle" from there. Jason nearly spits his tea into the air, and then starts to laugh himself silly. He knows where that word came from, and he knows what it means, what I mean, but no one else does – well, probably Ian does. Finally, Tim sort of gets it, though not specifically. He gets it generally. He nods, smiling.

"Years ago, when my best friend Gary was still alive, Gary, his partner Nathan, Jason, Kenny and I would...umm...have a five-way. We called it a `Santa Cruz' because that's where we first did it. Is that what you have in mind?"

"Sort of," I reply.

"Or do you have someone specific in mind?"

Now I'm a little embarrassed. I begin to stare at the rug.

"Shawn," Tim asks with a grin, "which of us do you want to fuck?"

When he says "fuck" I cringe. I hadn't exactly thought of it as fucking. Mostly, I though of it as touching Dinh, as kissing him. But, Tim knows. He knows where this is going. "I'd...umm...really like to...be with...Dinh." And then I look at Dinh, hoping that he wants to be with me, hoping that he'll nod, affirming my desire, but he's impassive.

There's dead silence in the room. No one makes a sound. Finally, Tim looks around at all of us. "I hadn't exactly thought about this, and I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it. No, that's not true. I am sure how I feel about it. It's just that how I feel about it says more about me than I necessarily want to share. It says...stuff...I haven't...wanted to admit...to...myself. I can't..." Tim winds down. He's very close to tears, which is something I've never seen before, something that surprises me.

Dinh smiles. "Let me try," he says. "If Shawn had said that he wanted to `be with' Kenny or Jason, you'd have said `no' flat out. But, he wants to be with me, and with me you're not so jealous."

Tim tears up instantly, and stares at the carpet. Dinh gets out of his seat, crosses to Tim and sits on his lap. He hugs Tim. "It's okay, baby. I don't think this means that you love them more than me. I think it means that you've been with them a lot longer. Your relationships are established. You don't want them to change. With me you can be more...fluid."

Tim nods. "That's about it," he chokes. "I do love you as passionately as I love Kenny and Jason, but, we...umm...have less history." Then Tim wipes his eyes, while still hugging Dinh. "If Dinh wants to be with you, it's okay with me if it's okay with Jason and Kenny." Jason and Kenny both nod. "Now all you have to do is get it past Leslie and Ian." We all laugh. Polyamorous relationships (this is a Tim word, by the way) are really, really complicated. Where does the "poly" part stop, and how much license do you give yourself? I don't know if I want to fuck Dinh, but I do want to touch him. I want to kiss him and stroke him, and is there really any difference between that and fucking him? Probably not. But do I love him? I don't think I know. I long for him, but is longing love? Not always.

Ultimately what we do is `bunk'. This is another Tim word. It's the word he uses to describe what cats do when they rub their cheek against your leg. We kiss, and I stroke him, but that's all he'll let me do. Dinh finally smiles at me wanly, and kisses me on the cheek. "I'm not in love with you, Shawn. You're really sweet, and I like you a lot, but I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with Jason, and with Kenny, and with Tim, and I have to make this up to them, because in kissing you, I disconnected from them. They won't hold it against me, but our relationships won't be the same for a while – and I want them to be the same. I need them to be the same." I nod. I agree. And I now have a similar problem. I have Leslie and Ian to reconnect with, and to some extent our boys. I'm not sure what I was thinking.

Tonight we have dinner on our own. It's my night to cook, and so we have Mac and Cheese, one of my standards. Now you know why most nights we eat with Tim and the guys. "How was it?" Ian asks with a smile.

I stare at him blankly. I know what he's asking, I just don't know how to respond. I tear up, staring into my plate, pushing the macaroni around aimlessly. "We didn't do anything," I finally respond.

"Is that why you're sad?" Ian asks.

"No. I'm sad because I feel like I betrayed you. I'm sad because I thought you weren't enough for me. I'm sad because I love you both more than anything, but I haven't shown it very well. I'm so sorry!" I say, looking from Ian to Leslie. I'm teary-eyed. "I didn't cheat on you, but I thought about it, and I feel so bad."

Ian comes to my side and kneels on the floor. "It wasn't cheating, baby. We all knew what you wanted. We told you that it was alright."

"No," I wail. "It wasn't alright! It was cheating. I don't want anyone else but you guys," I choke. "I love you both so much. Dinh saved me. It was Dinh. If he hadn't been so strong, I would have done something I'd have regretted for the rest of my life." I'm crying now. I'm just beside myself with regret. How could I have done that? How could I even have thought about doing that? How could I...? The boys are freaked, but Leslie explains that I did something I'm unhappy about, something I'm not proud of. Feng nods. He understands. Tan and Quan aren't sure what's going on, but Quan comes, sits on my lap, and hugs me. "I'm so sorry," I say, draping myself over Quan's shoulder.

"'S all right, Daddy," he says in English, making me smile. He is so damned adorable!

After dinner, once the boys are in bed, Ian, Leslie and I decide to go for a swim. It's a really-beautiful evening. It's warm, about 75º, and the sky is a rose color. There's a slight breeze. The fence around the pool is a full eight feet high. I think the previous owners, the Sphinctermanns, were concerned about kids sneaking in and drowning, so they purposely built it higher than the six-foot fences that surround most houses. This also affords an added level of privacy. When Tim bought the house, he assumed that we'd be living in it, so he had a gate between our yard and theirs installed, but that's the only external entrance to the pool area. If you want to come out here, you have to come through the house, and that's good for a number of reasons. For one thing, it makes it easy to prevent munchkins from getting out here without permission. We just lock the doors leading to the back garden. And, it adds to the privacy. Tim told me told me this hysterical story about an incident years ago when he was sunning himself on his back patio. He was naked, apparently, lying on a chaise lounge. One of those people who comes to read your electric meter came by, and made her way into the back garden. She screamed at the sight of him, which I find odd because Tim is pretty good looking. As a result of that...confrontation, he decided to move his electric meter to the front of the house, and to remove the gate that she had used to get to the back garden.

The long and the short of it is that our pool is secure and very private. So, when we swim, we usually skinny-dip, as we do tonight. I'm still pretty upset about my almost-infidelity, and Leslie and Ian are working hard (so to speak) to get me past my guilt. That hard work begins with a really-sloppy kiss from Ian at the far end of the pool. Ian is a really-good kisser. His lips are soft and warm, and it's delicious standing here kissing, with the cool water lapping around our naked bodies. Soon Leslie is with us, and we're all kissing at once, and someone is...pinching my nipples. I'm moaning, and so is Ian, and then someone starts to stoke my dick. At this rate, it's not going to take me long but...I want it to take long, and...I...umm...really want to fuck Ian...if he'll have me. "I...want...to...fuck you," I whisper in Ian's ear.

"Mmmmm," he replies

How do we do this? Water isn't going to be a good-enough lube. Ian's thought of this. He passes me a tube of Vaseline, an oil-based lube. I smile, and kiss him. Then I slather some on my fingers and lube my dick – underwater. Then I pass the tube to Leslie, and he does the same, and soon we're all entangled. I slide into Ian, and Leslie slides into me. Soon we're undulating with the waves of the water in the pool, sliding in and out of each other. I'm wrapped around Ian, pulling him toward me, locking him in an embrace, and Leslie is clamped onto my back, nibbling on my neck. I am so turned on...and then...and then...the gate opens, and in walk Tim and Kenny, naked. When they see us, they stop, looking concerned, and when we see them, we stop, our dicks firmly embedded in each other. Then we all start to laugh.

"We were coming for a...swim," Tim says, giggling, and Kenny cuffs him. "Do you mind if we...umm...join you?"

We all shake our heads. Tim and Kenny make their way to us and jump into the pool, and Leslie passes them the tube of Vaseline. There's some soft splashing, and then Leslie groans. "A little slower. Oh, fuck!" Then I hear an "Oh, christ!" from Kenny. Then we all start to move again, back and forth, in and out, writhing and squirming. I think I'm first, and I'm not really sure what happens next. I cum in waves of ecstasy, and maybe Kenny's next. I'm not sure. Then I hear a huge groan from Leslie, and a soft scream from Tim. Then, after several seconds, we sort of come apart. Ian hasn't cum yet, and that's really not fair, is it? We swim down to the other end of the pool, and I push him out of the water and onto the ledge. Leslie is right behind me. I swallow Ian while Leslie begins to kiss him, to kiss him while playing with his nipples. I can feel the head of Ian's dick slide down the back of my throat. It's like the first bite of something really delicious but something...substantial. It feels like one of those beef balls you get in Chinese Hot Pot, but it tastes almost fishy. I begin to gulp, like I'm drinking water really fast. I know this probably doesn't sound all that erotic, but it really, really is. Ian feels so good back there, and tastes so good. After several minutes, he goes absolutely rigid. His stomach tightens, and he starts to gasp. And then my throat fills with his spunk, blast after blast of it, and it's not as if I even have to swallow it. It just runs down my throat. He is so delicious. I know that the tongue is supposed to be the major organ of taste, but I swear I can taste with my throat. God know, I can taste him. I don't think I've ever tasted anything better. When he finally softens up a little, I pull off of him. He is panting, and I am panting. Even Leslie is panting. We're all spent, and Kenny and Tim have gotten quite a show.

Did you know that cum floats? It does, and we have gallons of it floating on the surface of the pool. Thank god for diatomaceous earth, the compound you coat pool filters with. Otherwise, our pool filter would be coated with... Well, you get the idea.


So, the question is, how do you get fifteen seats on a flight to Mexico City? You don't do this with frequent-flyer miles. I have enough of them from all those years when I was a corporate VP for a large software company, but there aren't enough frequent-flyer-designated seats on any given airplane to make this possible. The answer is, unfortunately, that you buy them. That's the bad news. The good news is that Jason is able to find us a really-good rate on Mexicana Airlines. $400 per seat, and the flight is direct – San Jose to Mexico City. Five hours.

My son Evan is marrying his boyfriend, Joaquin. They've decided to do that in Mexico City. Why? Because Mexico City initiated Civil Partnerships in 2007, and because Joaquin is a Mexican national. Because the bigots of California voted to overturn the California Supreme Court's ruling, once again restricting marriage to opposite-sex couples. And, because Joaquin is not especially impressed with...America. "I hear much about the `American Dream,' but I can marry only in five states, I cannot afford to buy a house here, you treat your elderly poorly, and your health care is ridiculously expensive. You have little interest in your children's futures, and you like to involve yourselves in frivolous and expensive wars. Your people are largely unfriendly to each other. They show each other little respect. Greed seems to be what motivates the people here. Greed rather than kindness. Why would I want to be married here?"

Is he wrong? I wonder. I think Joaquin would secretly like to return to Mexico, and I think Evan would secretly like to go with him. Jason has gotten Joaquin an audition with Carlos Miguel Prieto, the Musical Director of the Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional, the most-important classical music and symphonic ensemble in Mexico. Based in Mexico City, the OSN has toured Europe, Asia, and North America, playing in San Francisco, New York, Amsterdam, Berlin, Tokyo, and Shanghai. Joaquin is just so excited. He'll be married on Monday, and he'll audition on Tuesday, and then he and Evan will leave for Oaxaca on Wednesday for a two-week honeymoon. This is the most romantic thing I can recall being involved in since Jason and I got married. I just can't wait.


Actually, none of us can wait. Ian is going to be Joaquin's best man, and Jason will be Evan's best man. Kevin and Kai will be groomsmen for Evan, and Feng and Tan will be groomsmen for Joaquin. Quan, Ian and Leslie's youngest, will be the ring-bearer. He needs a suit seriously quick, and Kenny calls in a favor from a friend he worked with at Nordstrom's all those years ago. By the time Kenny's done with him, Quan is just adorable. He gets him a lavender-colored suit with a white frilly shirt and patent-leather loafers. It matches suits Jason had made for us years ago in Vietnam. Quan is so cute, if a little self-conscious. He keeps staring at himself in the mirror as the suit is fitted and the tailor marks it for alterations. "Look funny, Uncle," he says to Kenny.


"No. You look really nice," Kenny responds, kissing him.


Quan wrinkles his nose, and then starts to giggle. He looks like a junior faggot and, somewhere in the core of his soul, he knows it. But, he doesn't care. Kenny tells him he looks "really nice," and what he knows from that is that Kenny loves him. That's all he cares about. He is completely and utterly adorable, because Kenny told him so, and because his daddies agree. Ian sees him in the suit once it's completed, and swoops down to hug him. "You look soooo good, sweetie!" Quan is just beside himself with pride, as are his brothers. Kenny was able to get Quan's suit for much less because we ordered four of them, one for Quan, one for Tan, one for Feng, and one for Shawn, who didn't own a suit before. So, the whole wedding party – Jason, Kenny, Dinh, our boys, Leslie, Ian, Shawn, their boys, and me – we're all dressed the same, all in lavender. Evan and Joaquin are both dressed in white. We all look stunning.


The ceremony will be held at the Sheraton Hotel in Mexico City, and it's not a minor event. We have thirty-one guests coming from the U.S., twenty-two from Mexico, and six from Europe. Nadia, the Assistant Concertmaster from the San Francisco Symphony will be there, as well as seven of Joaquin's fellow musicians. And, to my utter amazement, five of Evan's fellow students from Lincoln High are coming as well. The officiant will be the Unitarian minister we met in San Miguel on our last vacation, a guy Joaquin apparently knows. It'll be a morning ceremony and then we'll have a catered lunch, all Mexican fare. We have the rings made by a jeweler Joaquin knows in San Miguel using a filigree design that he comes up with. The rings are made of 18-karat white gold and are really beautiful. The jeweler sends them from San Miguel to Mexico City.


And who is the wedding planner? Who is it that coordinates all this? Who finds the venue, orders the flowers, the cake, arranges for delivery of the rings, and the quartet that plays throughout the ceremony? Who finds a caterer for the food? It's Evan! The internet is an amazing thing, but Evan is also an amazing boy. He gets it done, and done very well.


The ceremony is very sweet. The officiant, an expat, speaks English, which is good because everyone in the room speaks English. The vows, which the boys write themselves, are in Spanish. I won't bore you with the content – because if I do I'll probably start to cry. They talk about their relationship, about what they mean to each other, and about where they see themselves moving as a couple. Each ends his vows with "Te amo!" See, I told you I'd probably start to cry. By the end of the ceremony, everyone is crying. We are awash in sniffles as we all try to disguise the fact that we're all crying. The thing about weddings is that they mark the beginning of a relationship. Never mind that the couple may have been together for years – especially gay couples. They represent a public declaration of love, which is the the starting line. You dress up, look into your beloved's eyes, and tell him or her how important they are to you. And these boys are seriously important to each other, believe me. Joaquin dotes on Evan. He's rarely out of Evan's sight. Evan is the same. This is the kind of couple that would never consider taking separate vacations, because they wouldn't have any fun apart. Having found each other, they will never willingly part. They are completely and totally in love. That love shows when they exchange rings and kiss at the end of the ceremony. First off, they, too, are crying, but if you can wipe away the tears long enough, you see a sparkle in their eyes that tells you just how important, just how meaningful this moment is for them. They are connected in a way that they weren't before. Marriage is a public confession of devotion, which is why the good people of California don't want faggots to marry. They don't want it to be public. They want us to download our Domestic Partnership applications, take them to Kinkos to get the notorized, and mail them in, much as we do our taxes. Oh, yeah, and we should wash our hands afterwards.


Once we have them married, we adjourn to the next room for the reception and lunch, which is good because the boys – Kevin, Kai, Feng, Tan, and Quan – are ravenous. And the food is really good. Evan poured through restaurant reviews – restaurant reviews in Spanish – looking for someplace outstanding, and he found it. What we do to ethnic cuisine in the U.S. is pretty disheartening – and by ethnic I mean anything other than McDonalds, which is the only bit of indigenous U.S. "cuisine" I can think of. We McDonald-ize it. We turn it into fast food. We don't like to cook in this country, or, when we do cook, we call it "haute cuisine" and attach a foreign name to it – Wolfgang Puck, Jacques Pépin, or Ramond Blanc. The name must be foreign so potential restaurant patrons believe that an American didn't cook the food. Then, once we have that foreign name attached, we turn that name into a brand so we can charge ten times what the food is actually worth. Ultimately we turn that brand into a chain of fast-food restaurants, like Wolfgang Puck's Spago's. There you know you can always get something predictably mediocre – like Starbucks: not very good, but always the same. Spago's becomes McDonalds – 4 million plates of nasty Spaghetti Bolognese served. This process is much less prevalent in countries like Mexico, Vietnam, China, and India. Why? Because they don't have the money to squander on a $75 meal that should have cost $6.25. What you find in places like these is good country cooking, delicious food prepared by people who can cook but who don't do that in Dior gowns or Manolo Blahnik heels. That's what Evan has managed to find – good country cooking at its best.


What do we eat? We start with a Shrimp Cocktail that's laced with garlic, cilantro, lime juice and avocado, and a bowl of Chile and Mushroom Soup. Then we move to the entrée, a choice of "Poblano, Spinach and Black Bean `Lasagne' with Goat Cheese," or "Teotitlan-Style Black Mole". (I naturally sample both. Both are amazing!) With the meal we have a locally-produced beer, an amber lager that's also pretty spectacular. And for dessert? Wedding cake, of course, a fair quantity of which Evan manages to smear across Joaquin's face as he attempts to feed it to him. It's a really-cute moment, one that draws laughter from both the guests and the waiters who line the walls.

The waiters are all gay, I should probably add, very gay and very young. Evan didn't want his wedding to be a spectacle for a bunch of straight waiters, so he contacted the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Located in Mexico City, it's the largest university in Latin America. They have a gay and lesbian group, of course. That's where he got the waiters, and my god, some of them are really cute! Luis, for example, is just spectacular. He's maybe nineteen, with pouty lips, dark, straight hair, high cheek bones, and creamy-bronze skin. He's very slender and maybe 5'9" tall. How do I know his name? He told me...while he was making a pass at me. It was just after the cake cutting. The waiters were distributing slices of the cake to the guests. Luis brought me my slice, and handed it to me with a smile. He has really-brilliantly-white teeth, and a dazzling smile. He told me his name, and asked if I was doing anything after the reception. "I would like to see you again," he said.


Jason was standing next to me, and giggled. "No!" he said in broken Spanish. "He is happily married – to me."


"That is a pity," Luis replied, flashing another one of his dazzling smiles. "He is very good looking, no?"


"Si," Jason replied with a grin, "but he is mine!"


"Si...si," Luis responded, with a smile, moving off to help serve the rest of the cake. It's been a while since I've been discussed as a...commodity. It was sort of flattering, and Luis, well, I could imagine myself....


"Don't get any ideas," Jason said, cuffing me playfully and pulling me out of my reverie.


"Si...si," I replied with a grin.


Once the cake is served, the waiters clear away the tables, collect plates and forks as the cake is consumed, and bring in a small sound system. We're going to dance. Evan has compiled four CDs of musical favorites, his and Joaquin's, which he plans to distribute to the guest as they leave. First, though, we're all going to dance to it, starting with a waltz for just him and Joaquin. It's Chopin, and as they dance, we circle around them to watch. They've been practicing this dance for weeks. Choreographed by a friend of Jason's, the dance is lithe and intimate, and so romantic. Evan completely disappears. He becomes pure movement, gliding across the dance floor with such grace and abandon that I don't think he even remembers that there's anyone in the room besides himself and his beloved. He gazes into Joaquin's eyes with an expresion of bliss, of adoration. I don't think I've ever seen him this happy, or this peaceful. And, Joaquin, too, is radiant. When the dance ends, there's a pause. They hug, and kiss – really kiss. This is not like the kiss at the end of their wedding ceremony. This is the real deal, and lasts several seconds. Then the music starts again, Natasha Bedingfield's Pocketful of Sunshine, and the room explodes as everyone starts to dance.


"I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine
I got a love an' I know that it's all mine, oh, oh, oh, oh


Take me away

A secret place

A sweet escape

Take me away."

The next two hours are frenetic, to say the least. We dance to Beyoncé's Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It), to the slow and romantic Nora Jones' Come Away with Me, to John Mayer's Your Body is a Wonderland, No Such Thing, and My Stupid Mouth. We dance to just about the entirety of Madonna's Ray of Light album, to old Culture Club songs, to stuff from Matchbox 20, the Mamas and the Papas, and even to the Beatles. Then, after nearly two hours, we hit something that stops all of us in our tracks. We hit flamenco as recorded by...Joaquin, of course. Apparently, he and Evan have been working on flamenco dancing as well, because they're the only ones who can dance to the music with any conviction. And, man can they do it! It is elegant, and powerful. The footwork is intricate and emotive. There is passion and romance. As you'd expect, it has me in tears, but it has Jason and Ian in tears, too, so it must be extraordinary. The room is absolutely rapt as we all watch Evan and Joaquin dance through two flamenco compositions, and when they stop dancing, we all just stare at them. No one can quite believe what we've just seen. Then, one of the waiters starts to clap, and then the rest of the waiters, and then the guests. They were stunning, and bask in their glory, bowing expansively. What an amazing performance!

And then, we're done, at least with the formal part of the day. Informally, fifty-two of us have made plans to have dinner at a local restaurant. We make reservations. Evan found stellar reviews for this place, a restaurant that doesn't typically accept reservations. I called ahead, though, and suggested that they make an exception this once, guaranteeing that the place would be packed, and suggesting that they move in additional tables. This they did, and the place is filled to capacity – actually, beyond capacity. If anyone has to pee, we actually have to move tables to give them access to the restroom. The food is delicious, the atmosphere festive, and we introduce Joaquin and Evan to one of the better customs of Chinese wedding banquets. That is, the clinking of the glass. Any time someone clinks their fork against their water glass, the new couple is required to kiss. And it better be a good kiss, or the clinking will continue until the kiss is...satisfactory. When Jason, Kenny and I had our commitment ceremony all those years ago, we did it in a large Chinese restaurant and banquet hall. Our guests filled only about a third of the restaurant. The other two-thirds of the patrons were unrelated to us or our celebration. So, every time a glass was clinked and we kissed, the other two-thirds of the restaurant, consisting primarily of conservative (and sheltered) Chinese families, would stand and gawk. They'd apparently never seen men kiss like this before. We put on quite a show. In this case, given that our party has essentially filled the restaurant, Joaquin and Evan don't have the same kind of audience. And, maybe that's unfortunate. I quite enjoyed the gasps our public displays of affection caused. They added a little...spice to the evening.

After the meal, we return to the Sheraton, where most of the guests are staying. The Sheraton has a disco, like many hotels in Mexico City, and we spend the rest of the night hanging out and dancing. Mrs. Leong, Jason's mother, is one of the guests, and volunteers to stay with the kids, all of whom we house in a single room. This gives us the wherewithal to dance the night away, which we do. We get to our rooms at around 1:30am, and literally collapse. We've done more dancing today than any other I can remember, but tomorrow is going to be absolutely miserable. Tomorrow we fly back to San Jose, starting at 8:35am, along with many of the rest of the U.S. guests. Joaquin and Evan will fly to Oaxaca the day after tomorrow. It's about an hour away from Mexico City. It's an art colony with some really-extraordinary Mexican artists. The thing I love about Mexican art is that it's both colorful and whimsical. At home, we have a whole collection of Mexican carvings. The figures the artist carved are of anthropomorphized versions of animals playing musical instruments, all about five inches tall. They were a gift from Tilson Thomas, the conductor of the San Francisco Symphony, to Jason when he joined the orchestra. We have a lion playing a drum, a goat playing maracas, a donkey playing a saxophone, a bull playing another saxophone, and a fox playing a clarinet. They are very creative, and very colorful. The Mexicans don't seem to like pastel colors, which is good, because I'm not fond of them either. These animals are dressed in primary colors. These figures are quite adorable, and were all made in Oaxaca. This should be a really fun trip for our newlyweds.


Our trip back to San Jose is not really fun for us, though. Again, like returning from San Miguel de Allende, our last vacation spot, it isn't horrific. It's a direct flight from Mexico City to San Jose. It's going to take about five hours. Not having to change planes is a blessing, but it takes its toll on the boys. Kevin and Kai are okay. They're reasonably self-contained. We've packed picture books, and coloring books, we've packed a portable video player and a selection of their favorite DVDs, and we've packed snacks. Leslie and Ian have a bigger challenge. It's hard to hold Quan's interest for very long. At two-years old, he can be a bit squirmy, although he falls asleep pretty fast on this flight. It's Tan, the 3-and-a-half year old who is the challenge. He wakes up grumpy first thing in the morning, and stays grumpy for most of the day and all of the flight. He's not oppressive, but he is pouty, and repeatedly breaks into tears. Surprisingly, Feng is best at managing Tan's moods, far better than any of us adults. He plays with him, hugs him, tickles him, and occasionally scolds him, keeping him in line...more or less. Feng is quite remarkable with him, thank god, because the trip otherwise would have been a real nightmare. Managing his brother gives Feng something to do as well, which is also good. The trip could have been a lot worse.


Which is why, when we get home, Jason sneaks Feng over to our place and gives him a reward – freshly-sliced mango with sticky rice and coconut milk. Feng waits with keen anticipation as Jason cooks the rice, slices the fruit, and toasts the sesame seeds as a garnish, and when the dessert is ready, Jason gives him a hug. "You did really well with Tan today. We were all really proud of you. Thank you!" All this he says in Cantonese, breaking his rule about only speaking Mandarin to the children. Feng smiles and his eyes sparkle. He hugs Jason tight.


"You welcome, Uncwe," he responds in his broken Mandarin. He really is an adorable little boy.


The first order of business when we wake up the next morning, having all collapsed early after the long trip home, is to...umm...get laid. Having munchkins in the hotel room with us sort of put a crimp in our sexual activity. We haven't made love in two days, and are really...anxious. Dinh is the first to wake up – at 7:20am, well before my usual wakeup time. He coughs, and then coughs again, waking Jason, who realizes that Dinh's coughing is intended to wake us. He starts to giggle, and this wakes Kenny, and Kenny...well...he starts to tickle me, which wakes me up pretty quickly. I'm initially a little surly, but get the idea quickly enough, and smile. We discuss in whispers what we're going to do – negotiating. Who will do what to whom? I want Kenny inside me today, but Kenny, it turns out, wants me inside him. Kenny is usually willing to oblige my occasional desire to get fucked, but it's a reversal of roles for both of us. Today, he'd wants to be on the receiving end. When this happens, when we can't come to an agreement, we do one of two things. Either one of us gives in, or...Jason agrees to be a little versatile...sort of.


A couple of years ago, on a lark, Kenny brought home a sex toy I didn't know existed. It was a kit that allows you to create a latex mold of your...dick. He wanted an impression of my dick. He wanted to create a dildo that was exactly the shape of my dick. He'd apparently complained to a close friend about my occasional desire to get fucked, which deprived him of a similar desire given that neither Dinh nor Jason can...deliver. That close friend – and he'd have to be pretty close to have that conversation, wouldn't he? – told him about this kit. With the kit, you get a plastic molding form (it fits around your dick when you snap it shut), a bottle of really-gooey molding solution, and a bottle of latex. If you've ever had dental impressions made, you'll know where this is going. You take the molding solution and spread it evenly in the two sides of the plastic molding form. Then you do whatever you have to do to get hard – jerk off, kiss, whatever. Once you're hard, you snap the plastic form over your dick so that the molding solution oozes out, completely enveloping your dick. The complication is you have to stay hard for at least five minutes. For me, that wasn't a problem. Kenny snapped the molding form shut around my hardon, and then started to kiss me while he fingered my hole. It was all I could do not to cum, which would have spoiled the impression. The other complication is...umm...pubic hair. You can't use this molding solution if you have pubic hair. If you do, when you try to remove the mold, it may be the most-painful experience of your life, worse than waxing. So, to do this, I had to shave down there. I'd never done that before. Dinh, Jason and Kenny shave every day, but I never have. I agreed to it...finally...but only if Kenny would do it for me, which he does.


Have you ever had your crotch shaved? I never had. It was one of the most erotic experiences of my life. I was hard and leaking in only a couple of minutes, and the sensation afterwards, as you rub against someone else...well...it's intense. Kenny shaved me, and made the mold of my dick. Then, using the bottle of latex, he made a dildo that exactly matched the size and shape of my dick. When he doesn't want to top for me, when he wants me to fuck him at the same time I want him to fuck me, this dildo is our solution, and it's Jason who typically...administers it. Why Jason? Because it seriously turns him on!


So, picture the scene: I enter Dihn, and Kenny enters me, and Jason, who is behind Kenny, starts fucking Kenny with this latex model of my dick, plunging it into him, and then pulling it out. I can understand why that might seriously turn Jason on. If I were doing that to Kenny, I think it might seriously turn me on...well, not as seriously as if I were fucking him, which is why I've never done it. But it might be a close second. Kenny is nearly frantic. "Oh, fuck, please Jason, please...faster...please." As Jason fucks Kenny with this dildo, Kenny fucks me, and, god, he feels so good. He's warm, and clinging to me tightly. He's turned his head backwards and is kissing Jason passionately, much as I'm kissing Dinh as I impale him. It takes us about fifteen minutes, and then the first to cum is...Jason. He screams, and cums all over Kenny's back. Then the dominos begin to fall. Kenny is next, followed by me, followed by Dinh, whose dick I've been stroking for several minutes. This is a very-satisfying orgasm, and so are my next two. Kenny and I have changed places, but while I fuck Kenny, I also suck Dinh while pinching his nipples. He screams and sets us all off again. It's a very enjoyable couple of hours.


And then...the phone rings. Jason jumps out of bed to answer it, but I think the Spanish is faster than he can take it. He passes the phone to me. "Ola," I say after a few seconds.


It's Joaquin, and he is speaking faster than the speed of light. "¿Que?" I keep saying, getting him to repeat and trying to get him to slow down. And then I get it. I understand. "İQue bueno!" I finally shriek, realizing what he's telling me. Carlos Miguel Prieto, the Musical Director of the Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional has hired him. He and Evan will be living in Mexico City, and Joaquin will be playing for the most-prestigious orchestra in Latin America as a principal-fucking-musician. He won't be an associate there. Like Tilson Thomas, Prieto hired Joaquin on the spot, within half an hour of hearing him play. And then he called Tilson Thomas to apologize for poaching. "I am so sorry," he apparently said to Tilson Thomas, at least according to what Tilson Thomas later told Jason. "He is very good. He is a real asset to Mexico. I cannot let him...wander."


Tilson Thomas was very cordial. "I knew he would be happier in Mexico," he'd said. "The language and the culture, not to mention the opportunity for solo work. And then, of course, his husband is fluent in Spanish. He will be happier with you." It was a very nice farewell.


Jason is elated, having arranged all this, but Jason would have been happy whatever the outcome. If Prieto had rejected Joaquin, San Francisco would still have had him. If Prieto accepted him, he'd go to a Symphony more suited to his music. It's a win-win situation.


I ask to speak to Evan, finally, and he is so joyous. "Ever since I came to San Miguel, I knew I wanted to live in Mexico. This is a dream come true. I need to figure out how to complete high school, and I need to get into college, but I'm so excited." And he is. He's weeping.


Joaquin will be making about what he was making in San Francisco, despite the promotion from associate to principal musician, but that's in real dollars. In terms of the buying power of those real dollars, they'll go a lot further in Mexico than they did here. They'll be able to purchase a home if they want to, rather than renting, and Evan will be able to comfortably take the time he needs to complete his education, although the trust I set up for him when I adopted him has grown nicely. Education will not be a problem in any case. I'll have to check with Bob Titus, my attorney, to find out what I need to do to assign Evan's guardianship to...someone. Evan is still only seventeen, and they're not, after all, married are they? The age of consent in Mexico is eighteen. So, technically, every time they make love they're committing a felony that's punishable by three to five years in prison. Would they ever be prosecuted for that? Who knows? I can imagine that if they got some asshole politician mad enough at them, he might just use that to railroad Joaquin. My initial thought was to assign Evan's guardianship to Joaquin, but a sexual relationship seriously complicates that scenario. Then a thought comes to me. "Does Prieto know you're gay?" I ask Joaquin when he comes back on the line.


"Si. He knows. Evan was present at the audition. The Maestro asked who he was. I told him."


"Would he consider being Evan's guardian? It would probably require nothing from him, but Evan may need someone to assume legal responsibility for him in an emergency. That someone probably shouldn't be you. In any case, it will only be for a year, until Evan is eighteen."


"Si, I think he would have no problem with that. I will ask him."


We end the call. I am just so excited for them both. Joaquin is an exceptionally-talented musician, and Evan is exceptionally dear to me. We're all very happy for them, so happy, in fact, that we decide to celebrate with a Mexican meal from the exceptionally-talented culinary genius of Mexican cuisine, our own Señor Kenny Hsia. Having told him about the "Beef tongue in Tomato Sauce with Garlic, Olives, and Capers" that I had in San Miguel, he's now confident that he can duplicate it.


Viva la revolutión culinaria!

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