Date: Fri, 6 Jun 2008 06:36:56 -0700 (PDT) From: Ted M Subject: Taking Mark's Virginity: No Place Like It - Part 3 Three months later, I received a Minneapolis postcard that had a single word: SORRY. Then another postcard a few weeks later. And another. Then a mumbling phone message. And then two weeks later, we actually talked. Well, I mostly talked. Mal just mumbled quietly or was silent, which made for a pretty difficult conversation. But it was a start. He even came to visit a month later and he brought me a present, a real gift. A lamp. To replace the one he broke. I asked Mal if had he made friends in Minneapolis and he said, "Yeah. It's totally easy to make friends with people there." Lie. Then he bragged about how great he was doing at a garage that hired him. True. And how he was meeting all kinds of guys to date. Lie. And how glad he was to be away from Chicago. True. And that's how Mal and I became actual friends over time. "You were wrong," Vin interjects. "I was totally dating this one hot guy named Tommy -" "You're lying." I tell him evenly. "Dammit." Vin says laughing. "You always know." Mark smiles weakly and his face is still pale, but he's not dying inside anymore. He's just sad. I pause. I don't love this next part of the story. Vincent, my little brother, got stabbed in the neck in the cafeteria at Joliet State Prison. 200 men watched him die; wriggle away his life, kicking the air while he tried to hold in his blood. But apparently, nobody saw it. Nobody was responsible for it. Nobody came forward. They just watched. They sent us the remains, cremated, but I had a real service anyway in a cemetery. I ordered a coffin with gleaming brass handles. I could not believe that this was for my Vincent, my little brother. I could not breathe well whenever I thought about it. The funeral was a crisp, sunny October afternoon, surprisingly cool for that time of year. All the relatives in my extended family who would not visit Vincent in prison showed up to weep. I was mighty pissed about that, but also glad my family was there. It was confusing. By some instinct, I turned in my front row chair and spotted Mal out of the corner of my eye, shuffling around behind us, kicking tombstones not far away. I had called him the night Vincent died. Mal would not come and sit with the mourners. He just watched out of the corner of his eye, wearing a disheveled black suit and holding a crumpled white bag with grease stains in the bottom. Like maybe he brought his lunch. Although he had made some effort to clean up: he seemed to be sporting a fresh buzz cut and he had shaved. Someone in my family spotted him and put the word out that 'Charity' was here. I had taken Mal to family events and that's what they called him, right to his face: Charity. "Hey Charity, how you doing?" "You sure like Lucille's greens, Charity. You sure eat enough." They were not kind. But Mal never said anything back and just looked down at his feet when anyone in my family talked to him. While the pastor at my Aunt Lucille's church praised our ultimate salvation, the word got passed like a stiff breeze, rousing the rows of family that Charity had brought his lunch to the funeral. The nerve! Outrage! We were looking for a fight, angry mourners that we were, and someone had inadvertently stepped up. The indignity of this white trash showing up at a true family event! Personally, I was glad he had come, but mad about him bringing a lunch, maybe more mad at my family but focusing it all on Mal. So when my Aunt Judy stood up from the folding chair next to mine and took off her black glove, I knew what she was going to do. We all did. She walked right to the back where Mal was standing and everybody heard the sharp crack of her hand slapping his face, it was so hard, so loud. I heard her hissing at him and I could imagine Mal's blue eyes wide in surprise. Everyone could hear the crinkling of the white bag opening and then the noise stopped. Next thing I knew she had dragged him up to the front and put him in the empty chair next to me. She whispered into my ear, 'Tell him I'm sorry.' Mal's right cheek was firey red, blazing heat, and there was a long bloody scratch on it from where she had turned around her ring. He touched it gingerly to see how hard it was bleeding. I was sorry she slapped him, but still mad about him for whatever reason...I think because he was just there in some ways. I hated him a little bit for showing up and loving me while Vincent was dead. "What's in the bag." I said, not bothering to whisper. "Demon dogs." Mal said quietly. "They're for Vincent." And that was the first time I cried since the day I found out Vincent got raped for the third time, the same day I met Mal. At Vincent's funeral, I wept in public. I bawled with my fists over my eyes as Mal sat next to me with his bag of hot dogs not knowing what to do. Nobody in my family ever called him Charity after that. Not to his face, not behind his back. My strange friend Mal was developing his unique gift of being perceptive about people - but he still seemed forever destined to be outside of them. He understood people really well, having watched them be human for all those years. But he still couldn't quite figure out how to walk among them. Mal put me in the car to take me home. When my aunts wanted weepy goodbye hugs from me, Mal looked in my eyes and knew what I wanted, but what I could not do for myself. He'd touch an aunt's hand and whisper softly while leading her away from the black limo and she would touch his face kindly, right where Aunt Judy had slapped him as if to say, 'Never again. We will never question your presence among us again.' One by one, they came to Mal. Even Aunt Judy. Every aunt came away with a little blood on her glove from his face. A single, sticky drop. A permanent red reminder that compassion is what makes us human. Eleven years later almost to the week, Vin came back to say goodbye to Aunt Judy on her death bed. Everyone was in her house, mourning and crying about her imminent demise. Vin walked among us like a ghost, quietly comforting the devastated, cradling the bawling babies until they were silent, and making sandwiches for anyone who wanted something to do other than cry. While she and I were saying goodbye, Aunt Judy asked someone to bring in Vin. "Take care of him." She jerked her head towards me, her voice ragged. "And don't bring any of those nasty-ass hot dogs to my funeral." She paused. "I'm having it catered." Vin knelt and kissed the inside of her hand, just under the thumb. Back home after Vincent's funeral, Mal had to push me up the stairs to my bedroom. He had one hand on my back. I was weary, so weary in my heart as I hollowed out another chamber to hold this new weight. I loved Vincent so much that my heart was full of these pockets of grief, and other pockets too, for other griefs and other loves. I turn and look right at Mark. "It's important that a man make his heart bigger throughout his whole life, to create room for all the love in its many forms. The smell of demon dogs. The death of a dream. A new friendship. Maybe even a new love. If your heart isn't constantly getting bigger, how will you store it all? Turns out that if you can stop your judgment of people and just watch who they really are, that creates more room." Mark nods somberly, eyes wide open. Of course he knows this. Vinsmark understands what makes a man. I stayed in bed for several days. I just couldn't get up. Mal brought me food and always cold water with lemon slices in it. He felt the lemon water was restorative, though he could not explain why. He sat at my bedside for hours and worried over me. And every time he came into the room I felt worse and worse, because his grieving over me was an uncomfortable mirror to my own broken face. So I talked and told him stories. Stories of my close cousins and why Aunt Judy was so afraid of life. I told him about my own father and how he was almost beaten to death in the 1920s. My Kansas relations. Together we wondered about Mal's parents and whether they were alive but Mal was clear that he never wanted to find them. I told him about my second marriage to a woman named Vanessa, and how she did not like being married to a cop, even though she liked the idea of it very much. During those days when my marriage was crumbling and Vanessa was no longer interested in the two of us making a child, I was sitting with my older cousin Andy at his dying bedside in the hospital. Andy was always crumbling dust, his life was a lie. He was supposedly this amazing trombone player, could have been a real name. But he didn't want to be "just another Negro stereotype" in the 1940s, so he became an accountant and shunned his gift. But as he lay dying of cancer, his eyes held the music again and he was bathed in soft brass wails and plinking piano keys, because death had softened him enough to help him remember. His best friend, DuRay, had brought the old trombone to Andy's hospital room and insisted he play it; DuRay wouldn't leave until Andy played. And two songs later, Andrew wept and understood who he truly was. I sat by Andrew's bed, his eager face, shining love despite the miserable machines hooked up to his body. He asked quiet questions about Vanessa and how I loved her. He was so beautiful, this dying trombone player, that I felt compelled to ask him for advice. "Show her your love." Andrew told me, his hand on my arm. His rich brown eyes glowed with love from the other side of this life. "Show her all your love." Mal worried about all the sad stories and that they were making me worse. He didn't understand that grief is good, it's part of the dance. He knew that grief was hard - he knew that lesson well. But he didn't understand that a man has to weep in order to love. It was the third or fourth day and the scratch on his face was lessened. Mal quietly put a fresh glass of lemon water next to my bed and walked to the other side to take away the tray of uneaten food. I sighed heavily, because he was making me feel worse and I was tired of feeling worse. The grief had peaked in its weight and I could bear no more. When Mal heard me sigh he knew I was awake. He froze for a moment and then put down the tray. He put his hand on my back, the back of my lungs, as if he could persuade them to make me breathe normally again. His hand rested on my ugly beige blanket, the one he had used to cover me and then used to fuss over me every few hours. And Mal repeated a variation of the words that Andrew had said to me. "You showed Vincent your love." Mal said softly. "You showed him all your love." He somehow knew my secret grief, the deeply buried shame I harbored in the depths of my heart. Had I shown Vincent all my love? I had been worrying ever since his death. Did I love him enough? That was the question haunting me, incapacitating me in bed. The ghost that would not leave. I could not stop Vincent's life decisions, the ones that got him in Joliet State Prison. That was his life that had unfolded and I didn't have the power to make it mine. But did I show him all my love? I was not sure. What if - what if I did not? What if I could have done more? Without making a decision, without thinking, the words came up through my body, like electricity: 'Not this time.' I silently made the vow. 'Not this time.' All my love. I turned over to face Mal, and pounced upward, surprising him. My hand instinctively went to the back of his head and pulled him into my lips fast. My thick lips engulfed his entirely and he was too shocked to notice, I think. He froze. I kissed him deeply and passionately because while I was not gay, I could not let Mal go through life without receiving this lesson I had to give - how to love. This was not about 'gay.' This was about love. `After all,' my heart whispered quietly, `He is your little brother.' "Oh." I said as soon as I pulled out of our deep, wet embrace. "Is this - " Mal launched himself on my upper lip, kissing me furiously. Well, I that answered THAT. His tongue fought it's way inside my mouth. Damn, the kid was aggressive. "Easy." I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back, massaging him gently. "Easy, Tiger." Mal was panting and his eyes were wide in surprise. "This is just for today." I told him, staring him down. "I need to show you how to love the men you're going to be with." He nodded eagerly and blushed. "Just today." I told him in Cop Voice. "Yeah, no duh." He growled at me. "I get it." I laughed because, wow, the kid had an attitude on him, even during sex. "So take off my boxers." I challenged him. This was going to be interesting. Like I said, I've had a curious life. "Oh my god." Mark exclaims. "You two had sex?" "It was awesome." chirps Vin. "Totally fun." "You should have told me!" Mark cries, punching Vin. "May I?" I ask with faux irritation. "If you two are done, perhaps I might continue." Mark nods eagerly, silently. "It was awesome." Vin whispers to Mark quietly. "He was a total horn dog." "Did Malcolm teach you that thing with your tongue?" Mark asks behind his hand while his eyes are teasing me. "Did you get that from him?" "The thing I do on your balls?" Vin asks innocently. "AHEM." I announce. "I *could* stop right now if you two would rather convene your Testicle Fan Club." "We'll behave." Mark says quickly. "Don't skip any details. Tell everything." "I invented the balls thing." Vin says behind his hand. "That was all me, babe." I laugh at the two of them, their goofy banter and easy manner. Some days, I'm downright jealous. Mal flung back the covers and pounced on my legs, hands grabbing at my boxer's waist band. "Wrong." I told him. "Stop." He looked at me with frustration. "You want to take off my shorts...start at my neck. It's all connected, buddy." I ordered Mal to remove my shorts by stroking along my neck with one hand, the other hand gently caressed the cotton fabric against my thigh. Dual sensation points. It was a start. I talked to Mal in a low voice, gently rasping to him about body sensations and how the act of removing my boxers should almost feel like the orgasm itself because of his ministrations to the rest of my exposed skin. Slowly, I told him. Work the body slowly. Find the spots. It was just like finding the truth and lies in words -- you looked for the truth responses. The body doesn't lie. It doesn't know how. Only the brain lies. He sat up straight on my lower legs. "We're gonna be here all day." He complained. "So?" I countered. "You got somewhere better to be? You wanna get back to making me more lemon water?" Mal looked at me with frowning curiosity. "I thought...maybe you'd want to get off...you know, quickly. Before you changed your mind or something." "I'm not changing my mind." I told him with authority. "Not unless you talk me to death, you little punk." I guided Mal's hands, showed him how to use the weight of his chest to create pressure sensations and how his golden chest fuzz might be used to send prickly ghost sensations up and down my entire body. Mal learned quickly. I knew he was smart; that was not a surprise. But each lesson he soaked up eagerly, hungrily. I spoke with Mal using a low and rumbly voice, telling him how to rub his chin up and down the outside of my thigh, registering the rise and fall of my chest so he would know if this was especially sensitive. "Keep an eye on my breathing," I told him. "So that you'll know what sensations strike best. Pay attention to the breath, the eyes and when they flutter, when I lick my lips...those are a few of the truth centers. It was strange, I will admit that. I used these same techniques on women whom I had loved, even if our love lasted only a night, a weekend, or six months. I loved them. I know all their names to this day, these queens, and I honor them still, the women who gave me their gift. Translating this skill to another man was an odd task. I had never experienced any gay sex. Had never considered gay sex, actually. But I was the teacher and I had to prepare Mal for love so that he would be ready when it came knocking on his door. And yet for me, this experience was already an odd solace. I could not stand to see gloomy Mal cater to me, wearing his sadness like an apron and wiping his hands on it every ten minutes. But Mal grinning and goofy, happy and surprised...this was heart medicine and his blushing smiles and eager slobbering were a tenuous bridge back to a different space in my heart, a place that was not so rich with grief. Mal licked and slobbered where I instructed him and I'll be damned if he didn't find a few places on his own. He gently tugged on my thick, dark nipples and just as I was about to tell him that this was a waste of time, I felt a stirring in my boxers that suggested I might be wrong. It's good to be surprised by something new. My cock was awakening. And this was good, because it meant the grief had spent itself and I was returning to life. And my surprise at a hardening cock fed on itself and pretty soon my boxers were tenting under the weight of my gradually uncrumpling dick. "Damn." Said Mal when he rose from gently chewing my treasure trail. "That is pretty damn big." "It's still bent in half." I chuckled. "It gets bigger. I hate to be a stereotype, you know, the black man with the big dick. Sorry. Sometimes it's true. Mal pawed it with his lips and tongue through my boxers, which still hadn't quite come off. Using his teeth, Mal had pulled the waistband down an inch or two, revealing a thick black thatch of curlies. "This is not enough information." Mark said. "How big is your dick?" "Excuse me?" "A gay man would describe his dick with --" "It was like a fucking beer bottle." Vin interrupts. "A brown bottle. A Summit Pale Ale beer bottle. And just that brown." "Oh, really? That big, huh." says Mark. "Was it all the same color or was part of it like...I dunno...pink. Or whatever." "Guys, I'm right here." I say. "It was fucking huge." says Vin, completely ignoring me. "The head was this brownish-pink. But the rest of it was the color of a Hershey bar. It was really, really pretty." "GUYS!" Mark turns to me. "Look, Malcolm, you're not going to describe it. We all know that. The gays, we need to know these things. We need to know." "You fuckers." I say with frustration. "Can we not discuss -- " "Huge." Vin says and winks at me. I laugh because, I can't stand it. Vin has always known exactly what to do to make me laugh. "Oh." Said Mal, when the thick trunk of my cock was exposed. "It's..." "Wanna back out? Too much?" I teased him. Mal grinned at me. "Oh, please. You flatter yourself." I laughed and Mal went back to work on the boxers, soaking them with his tongue. He teased them off me slowly, making sure to rub the broadside of his tongue across my fat dick if he thought I was losing interest and I have to admit - he learned the lesson well...take it slow, make the entire body work. Mal gently massaged my right nut with gentle strokes from his lone index finger, just this slow repetition, over and over and growing its circle of impact so that after a while, my entire body shivered in response because that single one sensation was maddening. Apparently, he acquired a few more skills since the awkward fumblings I had overheard during the previous year when we were still roommates. But I was still confident that I could teach him a few more things. By the time my boxers were around my ankles, Mal was eyeing my cock like a snake charmer. He followed its lumbering side-to-side sway very carefully, his steely eyes carefully gauging his next move. I couldn't give him any tips on how to suck cock, but I was pretty sure I could educate him on what I liked when getting my cock sucked. I had trained more than one reluctant sweetheart who had looked at my intimidating manhood and pursed her cherry lips communicating 'no way.' That look never lasted long, once I started using my charms. Mal would learn that it didn't tak-- OH! Mal had pounced and attacked! My dick was halfway down his throat before I realized he had moved. Holy crap! His mouth was distended, lips stretched wide around the middle of my fat shaft and I could see my cock stabbing the back of his throat as he inched himself closer and closer to the base. Damn. That *was* impressive! His pink lips were almost in the tight, dark curls at the base of my cock. I couldn't see Mal's eyes, but I could tell his skin was getting redder and redder from not breathing. Down he went,until every fat inch of my cock was wedged into his throat and he stopped moving, he just stayed still as if his python work was done and now he had only to digest his prey. Impressive, yes. But he couldn't keep this up for long, I could tell that. And I intended to last a long time. So if Mal was trying to impress me, he had. But it would take more than a strong first impression to get me off. "How long can you keep this up, Champ?" I asked him. Of course, he couldn't answer. I could see spittle dripping out of his mouth, pooling around the base of my cock. He couldn't even create suction at this point. "'Cause it looks like you're not breathing. And my dick can stay hard for quite a long time." Mal's face was reddish/purple, but he was determined to prove he could do this. "Maybe you want a few pointers, Stubborn Guy, on how to breathe?" I asked casually. Against my cock, I could feel Mal nodding 'yes.' I had been down this path before; after all, I have had a very large penis all my life. I pulled a reluctant Mal off my dick so that he would take a damn breath, the dumb fuck. He panted heavily while a thick strand of mucous linked my quivering dick head to his lower lip. He made eye contact with me and grinned his goofy sideways grin, like a dog that had just been busted chewing up a pillow and figured, 'Aw, what the hell...you got me.' I couldn't help but laugh - he was like that sometimes. While I watched him grinning, I wondered how to give instruction. Sometimes, a woman wants to know that you still think she's gorgeous while you're pounding her throat open, and that her lipstick still looks great. So when I taught a woman to suck my bruiser cock, I would focus at first on teaching her techniques that kept her still feeling like 'a lady,' while she slurped away: frequent breaks to capture her breath, fingernail strokes, ball caressing 101, etc. Early on, I found that some women didn't care for the advice, "breathe through your nose," because, well, that seemed too undignified. What if snot came out? Were men the same way? Were they overly concerned about how they 'looked' to their partner while sucking cock? If the answer was yes, that would guide me on how I taught Mal. So I tested him a bit by thumping my cock against the front of his face. He laughed and tried to catch it in his mouth, seemingly uncaring about spit splatters slapped across his forehead or dripping down the side of his nose. He seemed just EAGER to get it back into his mouth and that informed me Mal was ready for the no-holds-barred kind of cock worship that a woman definitely gets into after sufficient warm-up. "Breathe through your nose." I ordered Mal. "Yeah, yeah." He replied, trying to catch my cock. "I knew that." "Put the head in your mouth." I commanded him and he obeyed. "Look at me." Mal did it. "You have to start breathing with your nose early, Mal. It's hard to switch from mouth breathing to nose breathing when my cock has pressed your throat open - it's hard to switch breathing styles then. So start now. Breathe through your nose while the head's in your mouth. And don't be afraid to let the snot fly. It's sex. It's supposed to be messy." Mal rolled his eyes at me, but started breathing through his nose. It took a while, but Mal got it. Within the hour and a few extra pointers from me, he was deep throating my cock right to the base, and I was fucking it hard into his mouth. Yup, I was really fucking his face, just the way I liked it. And this time, he was actually able to breathe. My cock was sawing between his upper and lower jaw, deeper and deeper into his tight throat and he grooved on it, my little bro, inventing new ways to tongue me, to slip the nub of his pink tongue right into my heavy, smooth ball sack. Or he'd create suction in a way that I hadn't anticipated, something I had not counseled and then I'd remember he was probably pretty good at this before he met me. The extra girth and length were just a chance to sharpen his existing skills. Faster and faster he bobbed on my dick, his pale white skin and blond fuzzy head zipping down to the base and hiding my dark cock and then suddenly revealing the 10+ inches of flesh, like a magic trick. I never really measured my cock, so I wasn't entirely sure, but I had a lover once who assured me that it was 11 inches or so. After a while, I put Mal on his back with his head dangling off the side so I could watch my shaft fill out his throat with every stroke. It was good to see this important part of me inside him. Yeah, it was fun to see my cock getting sucked - I was a big fan of the magic trick. But this still wasn't about sex. It was about my new little brother and somehow, this sex was about us becoming brothers for life. I cannot explain it more than that, Mark. The bond was already there, but this sex was like signing the paperwork or making a pact. You only do it once and it seals the deal for life. But you know, this was better than signing paperwork because we were both going to get to cum really hard. Which just doesn't happen often when you're signing paperwork. However, I should tell you sometime about the first house I bought because oddly enough, that particular signing of paperwork did include cumming very hard, but that story is about a mortgage broker named Marion, and that story is not on today's agenda. After a while, I started getting close, closer at least. We had found a rhythm, me and Mal, and Mal was now naked and on his knees in front of me. My thick hands were wrapped around his skull, guiding him and also massaging the soft vulnerable spot at the base of his skull, which was driving him crazy. I was getting ready to nut. Mal could feel it, feel my thighs tense up. My balls are too damn large to do much more than just lay there; they don't contract and pull up into my body. I don't even think the walls of nut sack tighten - it's just too much damn work. He sucked harder, eager to claim the prize. I pulled my cock out of his mouth and held his head at bay, his lips stretching to reach my fat, glistening head, covered in drool. "No." He protested. "You gotta..." "Gotta what?" I asked him in Cop Voice. "What do I GOTTA do?" He looked up into my eyes pleading. "Right now, you're full of cock lust. And that's a good thing." I told him. "I'm putting it in your mouth, but don't suck." I eased my rubbery dick head against his lips and he glommed on with his lips but did not suck. "Cock lust is good. But you can take it further than this, Mal. You don't have to just stop there. That's physical lust. And physical lust is definitely good enough sometimes. But there ARE other layers, other kinds of lust to grow into your partner. Wanna know more?" Mal was torn. He wanted my nut and wanted it now. He was dripping in sweat and confused. But he liked this idea of more lust than just lone physical level he had known. It's a tribute I think, to the man he was becoming, that he wanted more than just contentment with the physical realm. Mal answered the question by sucking my cock slower, slowing it down, easing me back from the physical brink. He had made his choice. 'Show me more.' He indicated. And while this was definitely about sucking the load out of my dick, it was also about more. He wanted more than just a good job and a big TV. Mal wanted more than to just get off. He wanted to live. Really live. Which was good to know and gave me hope. I spent the next hour guiding him, teaching him about how the brain, body, soul, and spirit are connected. Mal learned eagerly and it dawned on me during this time that perhaps sex was the way he best experienced that elusive quality of compassion, and that what I had done was toss a match into a dark lake of gasoline igniting the largest portion of Mal's passion, his energy. After all, we were well into our second or third hour of cock sucking and he didn't appear to be fatigued in the least. I was truly stunned by this, his energy, his indefatigable spirit. All I could think of was a winter night we cooked lasagna and ate together . He threw down the dishtowel and quit drying dishes midway through because 'it was taking too long and too stupid.' He tried to convince me to get a dishwasher. This was not the same man. This was some serious cock sucking dedication. He had brought me close a half dozen times by now, and two times to the point where it was no longer under my control. He decided when to let me explode those two times, and he chose to take us higher both times. I was recognizing that perhaps already the student had already surpassed the teacher but hell, I didn't mind if Mal took home the gold medal in this event because after today, I had no intention to play the Gay Olympics again. So there was Mal on his knees, his strong mechanic fingers stroking tendons in my outer thigh like a massage specialist, and my knees buckling trying hard to fight him, this tug of war with my sperm, a brotherly competition on which I was fast losing my grip. He milked me. He used his throat to grapple my dick, forcing those big lazy nuts to knock his chin on every deep stroke, which was to say, every stroke. He worked me like a conductor gradually bringing an old elevator from the basement towards its final destination. My hands gripped his thick head, mashing the tiny spikes of his high and tight crew cut. The elevator was climbing, reaching the floor just below the penthouse suite. Mal jerked his head off my cock and looked up at me. "Go for it, big bro." he whispered. He had done it - bound me in the way I had just instructed...energetically tangled everything twisting me with grief, the brain lies, my exhausted and over-tensed body, Vincent's soul, the part a brother leaves inside you. There was a lot in those five words, recognition that Mal and I were journeymen on this path together. For life, it would seem. He had seen it as well. Mal had said, 'go for it, big bro,' and the words ricocheted through me. The explosion was not entirely physical. Oh yes...it was physical enough. I jettisoned the first splatter right into the back of his throat, his mouth open to greet the elevator's exploding doors. The next splash jerked up and painted his eyebrow to his chin with thick, watery pools of my sperm. Two more splashes and his entire face was covered in war paint. I remembered that I came about six spurts, which was quite a lot, perhaps almost twice as much as my normal 2-3 spurt load. There were only a few times I had ejaculated that much, even if what I came all over his face was an average load for another man. But this was not entirely physical. All of me had been involved, the way it has always been when I have been in love. All of my presence, my heart. All of me. Mal grinned and laughed, sitting back on his legs and breathing heavily. I staggered and fell back onto the bed. "Not bad over in Gay World, is it?" he mugged to me from the floor. I groaned. Okay, okay. He had some skills. "Okay. That's it." I growl to the two of them. "Vin get your hand off his fucking cock." I say it loud enough that the next booth can overhear if they're listening. But I think they're busy trying to fake Irish accents, because it's early on St. Patrick's night where the accents still sound mildly Irish and not quite yet the drunken accent everyone shares. Mark's eyes widen in guilty surprise while Vin tries to fake shock and begins a loud protest of how wrong I was. Yeah, right. Like I didn't see the energetic change between the two of them. Mark was sad a while ago, and even angry at the same time. He pushed Vin away during Vin's attempt to comfort him. I caught that. But apparently, the confusing anger had passed. "Geez, you two fucking horn dogs. " I complain. "You got the whole house to your fucking selves, you have every fucking night of the week to play gay reindeer games and tonight, the one night you actually have company in town, you can't keep your cocks in your pants for three fuckin' hours!" "HEY." Vin protests loudly but barely not-grinning. "MY cock is DEFINITELY still in my pants." "This is so embarrassing." Mark laughs. "I swear, we never - " "Yeah, yeah, Dr. Mark. Remember that part of the story I told earlier where I said I can practically see lies, see how they crumble?" Mark nods. "Do you really want to finish that sentence?" Mark pauses and then shakes his head no with a sly grin. "I'd be honored," Mark says with a little exaggerated civility. "If you continued. And we will both keep our hands wrapped around our green beer cups." "Oh, hey!" Vin interrupts. "I forgot to tell you that my dick got hard this morning. No kidding. I actually spurted out a load!" "You are shitting me." I am truly surprised by that one. "What happened? What did Mark do to you?" "I would be honored," Mark says a little more forcefully while blushing, "If you continued, Malcolm." Vin shrugs and grins that sideways grin. So Mal sat there kneeling, grinning his sideways grin. He still had my cum dripping down the side of his face and he was vibrating with energy. "Is that all you got old man?" he demanded. "You suck." I told him flatly. "Oh man, did I suck." He said, with too much emphasis, as if I might not get his joke. Mal had not yet mastered the art of subtlety. To this day, it is often the discussion of some debate between us, whether he ever did. "Get up here." I growled at him. Mal climbed up the bed nervously, unsure of this post-cum familiarity. This was new terrain for both of us, so I'm not sure that I was any more comfortable than he. But I was 20 years his senior and so I decided to be the grown-up first. He crawled up the length of me and hesitated until I guided him next to me putting our faces close together. I threw a leg over him and pulled him close. I kissed him intimately, warmly, and could taste my own salty jizz on his lower lip. That was an interesting sensation. Couldn't say I had ever experienced that before. And then I noticed something I had never seen before: Mal was handsome. Maybe not drop-dead gorgeous, but he was a handsome guy. Smart blue eyes and a serious grin that could laugh right into your eyes. He was strong, solid, and had a scruffy innocent quality that made his confidence and ease somewhat surprising. Innocent...that was not a word I would ever anticipated to describe Mal. Or Melvin the Rat, at least. I had never noticed before today. This amazing perspective, this wonderful side of Mal I would have never seen if I had not acted on instinct. Mal snuggled up into the crook of my thick muscular bicep and blinking his sky blue eyes at me, wondering exactly what to say. "Hey." Mal whispered at me softly. "You eat pussy, right?" Not so subtle. "Yes, Mal." I sighed. "I eat pussy." "No, no, I don't mean metaphorically or you know, once a year." He frowned at me curiously. "I mean, you like eating out a woman's vagina and you're like, good at it, right? With your tongue in her vagina?" "YES, Mal." I growled. "Later, we're going to have a conversation about pillow talk." "Cool, Chief, cool. Don't blow a gasket. You were you know, pretty good at teaching me to suck cock better, so I thought maybe you could give me pointers and stuff on that too." "You lost me." "Eating ass. You know, not that your ass is a pussy, Malcolm. It's um...I was just thinking that maybe you could tell me if I'm any good at it. Again, not that I think of your butt as --" "Will it get you to shut up for 10 minutes?" I snapped at him, grabbing him roughly by the neck. "Let go of me, you mean cop! Cop abuse!" he chortled with glee. I laughed and shoved him down to my ass, which, yes, was pretty spectacular. I was known for my ass. The high and firm ass on a black man is not to be denied. It looked good. Mal dove in like a bulldozer, jamming his whole face into my butt cheeks as if the goal were to crack me open like a nut. Yup. More instruction was required. I could not believe that I had to teach this young homo how to eat butt or that the subject of this demonstration was going to be me. Sometimes life puts you surprising situations. I guided Mal the best I could think that would translate from my kind of sex to his, the truth about supple muscles and their tensing and releasing. How delicate kinesthetic vibrations can be created with the tongue in different lengths of strokes, levels of wetness, how slippery skin can communicate body messages faster, so consider slathering the area well, little bro. Mal didn't answer me with words, but he kept integrating my suggestions, ideas, and I would feel new sensations ripple throughout my ass crack and along my spine. "Honestly, Mark, I think you probably got the jist of it. Seriously. It was a great day - one of good ones, because I got another little brother just about the time I lost one. But can I skip over the ass-eating a little bit? Can I just summarize it by saying, your man did a pretty good job at relaxing a part of me I wasn't really comfortable unclenching?" "No." Mark says his voice firm. "Details. Now." "Marky," Vin leans in a little closer to him. All four hands are still on the table. I chuckle to myself. Those fucking horn dogs. "Relent a little bit, buddy. He's telling everything." Vin breathes a little of his energy into Mark and somehow I think Mark's probably going to get his own retelling some other night and Mark will get a much more explicit version than he'd probably get with me. Mark pushes back to meet Vin's chest a little bit. Mark squints a little at me. "Fine. Go on." So Mal emerges from my ass after a while, quite a while it seemed to me. I was not complaining. His face was smeared and sticky with whatever - ass juice or spittle or both. Big grin. It was startling, but I was pretty relaxed by that point. You know, it was probably a good thing I was only gay for a day. You guys are too in-your-face with raunchy, aggressive sex. This time, maybe a literal 'in-your-face.' Mal was shocking me but at the same time, not really. I could tell that somehow this was all pretty acceptable in Gay Town. "Alright Mal," I said to him in a firm voice. "Let's see what you got." I jerked my thumb back towards my ass and he knew exactly what I meant. His cock bobbed straight out, pointing at me and already leaking precum. Myself, I never leaked a drop so I always regarded the idea of it as sort of urban legend or voodoo, having never really seen another man who did. Not even on the gay porno videos did they leak precum. And here was this Voodoo King Cock spitting out clear goop in long ropey strands and I couldn't help but ask him, "Did you cum? Is that your load?" "Nope." Mal grinned wickedly at me. "Not even close." "So it just...does that?" Mal grimaced in satisfaction. "Yup. A lot. When I'm turned on." I frowned at it with curiosity, this strange liquid I did not understand. Interesting. I turned away and tried not to think about it much more. Didn't matter. I had already made up my mind to get fucked. I had had a few minutes to think while he was eating out my muscular ass. Who would fuck whom? I did not know how gay men decided that. Did they flip a coin? Did they know when they first met or was it an emotional and personality arm-wrestling they figured out as they got to know each other? Can't say that I ever had much cause to consider it fully before, but boy did I ever give it a few thoughts while Mal was lapping up my butt crack in his eager, wet strokes. Who fucked whom? A reference that Mal made earlier - in jest - haunted me. 'Cop abuse.' Could I really fuck him after what I had heard happening in the cell next to me, the day I met Melvin the Rat? Would he want that? Of course not. No, I could not. Would not. But him fuck me? I didn't want that either. Then I thought of Vincent. He had taken a cock in his ass - more than once - and he didn't want it there. Just like Mal. Two of the men in my life had had their asses fucked. My two brothers. Who knows if Mal would have come to like getting fucked on his own...maybe so. But my first encounter with him suggested that he didn't want it that time. Making that connection was it for me. I would do this too. Another strand that united the three of us. Granted I was a willing participant; it was not the same for those two. But I would share this experience on some level my two brothers, even if it wasn't the same circumstances. "Let's go." I said when I didn't feel him immediately pressing his dick head against my hole. "Chill out." He said in reply and I could feel his cock head sliding up and down the crack. Jesus, I could find that damn butt hole and I had never had the luxury of seeing it. "This is foreplay for gays, you dufus." He pushed my back down. I sighed. Mal knew what he was doing, I supposed. "After he was done fucking me, we collaps--" "WHAT?" cries Mark. "Oh no. No, no. Not on this one." Vin is laughing. My brother is laughing on St. Patrick Day. Yeah, it's worth this. "Okay, okay." I gently protest. "But when you see our waitress, get her eye. I want another drink. I didn't realize I'd be talking this much." So Mal finally wedged the head of his dick inside me, which took a bit of work because while my mind and spirit had said yes to this, my body was not entirely convinced on this course of action. This wasn't an easy decision for me, even if it felt like the right one. Vincent endured this. Mal endured it. I could too. And that confidence, that bond among the three of us allowed me to relax just enough so that Mal's wet peckerhead splashed its way inside me. The sensation was...curious. I didn't like it. Didn't hate it either. It was just surprising, like finding a friend standing in your living room when you thought you were alone in the house. What the hell are you doing here? Mal was reading my body carefully, which meant he had learned something throughout our day together. To get both him and me to relax, I talked to him about attunement, the way you read your partner and grow the two of you together into your own special dance, find your own unique rhythm. Vanessa used to do this thing, where - "Hey Malcolm," said Mal in a slightly clenched voice, "since you're being such a good sport on Gay Day and all, maybe you could also not talk about fucking women at this exact moment. Whaddya say, Chief?" "Okay, Sport." I shot back over my shoulder, and it was funny because we snarked at each other like this while hanging out in Chicago bars, but there he was with his cock up my firm ass and I had suggested it. "Well, Mark, he fucked me. And as much as I know you'd like the play by play, I can't really describe it all that much more in detail because it was the only time that had ever happened in my entire life and I am not sure I have all the words to describe it. I loved it because it was Mal, but never considered anything like that again. Although a few years later, I once I thought about buying a vibrator, thought maybe that would be fun to try again, so it's not like I was ass-prejudiced. But honestly, when I stopped and considered it fully, the ass play didn't do anything for me. I only enjoyed that fuck because it was Mal." "Can I ask questions?" Mark asks me. "Sure. Five questions. That's it." "First question. Positions?" "Me on my stomach. Doggie style too. But that was it. We only fucked for about 15 minutes or so. Mal didn't last a whole helluva long time, which was just fine with me. Mal was pretty vigorous and my ass was getting sore." "What was the best part?" I do not hesitate to answer this. "That Mal was so excited. He was like the star of the football team back there, clearly in his element. He was fucking me kinda deep and slow at first, like he was on a float at the homecoming parade and wanted to make sure he drank it all in, remembered every moment of the day, so he fucked me slow and deep, careful to memorize it all." "Worst part?" "Well, that's an odd answer. The sensation up my butt, the dull thudding inside me was...unwelcome. But not entirely unpleasant...I can totally see how a man could enjoy this if his spirit and body leaned that way. Yup. I got it. So the worst part was also realizing that if Mal weren't as gentle as he was, if he wasn't as invested in making me feel pleasure and understand this kind of love, that this could have been rather horrific. The fact that this love was right on the other side of the door from the hate of rape was uncomfortably close. The whole experience brought me closer to Vincent, closer to Mal. The men in my life. We were closer now, the three of us linked another way. " "I somehow understood that this might be a way to say goodbye to Vincent, to let him know how far I was willing to go to understand his life, his experiences. Even those experiences he didn't want for himself. I would go this far, brother, to walk in your shoes. He had all my love." Mark's eyes are wet and shiny. "Do you still think that -that maybe he didn't know about your love?" I laugh. "Are you sure that's how you want to use one of your five questions?" "Yes." Mark says with no hesitation. "Do you still think that Vincent didn't understand how much you loved him?" "No. He knew. Vincent knew." I say softly and something opens in my heart. A new chamber perhaps for this one, this Vinsmark. He wants me to know he is listening to my story, to every word. And now Vincent will live on in the heart of another. See, buddy. You mattered. "Good." Mark says and the shine in his eyes is now love again. "Because you'd be stupid if you thought that, because I didn't know Vincent and even I know that he totally knew. Okay, last question. Where did Vin cum?" "I knew you were going to ask that." I size him up with my eyes. "Inside me. He shot his load up my ass and he bellowed like a fucking bear - a word I did not know about, your special gays who prefer to wear the same shirt ten days in a row. But then again, maybe that's not all gay bears. Maybe that was just Mal. So he bellowed like he was the fucking king of the forest and it was a pretty good roar." Mal had been fucking me deep and hard, increasing the pace and like I said, the sensation was confusing. Unpleasant. But not unwelcome. And then I felt him tense up and jizz out his juice and it felt like my new brother had spent a part of himself. I understood my women a little bit better, too. I got it. Mal collapsed on top of me and he flung his pale white arms across my back so they bounced off my arms. His dick was still in my ass and now that it was over, the ass fucking, I could honestly say that I've experienced much worse. And perhaps it wasn't even on the 'worse' scale, but something in between an getting caught outside in a chilly rainstorm and liverwurst. Somewhere in there. Not bad, Mal. I had no comparison points, but I thought that he probably did pretty good for fucking a straight guy's ass, first time. Mal was gentle. Rough. He had already grasped how to read me. "Oh my god!" he cried loudly into my ear. "That was awesome!" "Inside voice." I told him. "You're gonna puncture my ear like you punctured my butt." "Oh man, did I fuck you good!" he laughed. "Maybe I should fuck your ear next." "I'll pass." I said with a dry voice. "You can save up the kinky stuff for your next boyfriend or play mate. I think I'm a fairly vanilla guy in Gay World." Mal hugged me from behind and kissed behind my ears. We chattered happily for a few minutes until I realized that his cock had slipped out of me, leaving a sticky DNA trail leading right into a part of me that had never seen a man's cum. Vin had taken my virginity, in a way. Interesting. I bounced him off me after a while and we ended up with me laying on top of his stomach, feeling his heavy breaths. I think we may have even drifted off for a while, maybe a half hour. Didn't really know or care. Just kind of awoke when Mal's breathing changed because he had awoken. I crawled up to the bed frame until I collapsed next to him. He slung his arm around my waist. "Food." He whispered, half awake, half asleep. "Foooooooooooood." "Shut up." I said. "You just fucked me. I should get some sort of you know, medal or a free pass for you to buy beer for us whenever we're together for the next six months." "Sandwiches." he said, eyes blinking open for real. "They're on my side of the bed. You don't have to go anywhere. I wasn't asking you to go anywhere, you big baby." I chuckled and a sandwich did sound kinda good. I was remembering to feel hunger. Mal said, "After the sandwiches and maybe some Cokes or something, would you fuck me?" He said it casually, as if asking me to pass the salt. But it was one of those strange true but not the truth moments. True, he wanted it to happen. Absolutely. But there was more to this request than met the eye. "I don't know, Mal." I told him. "I think I gotta draw the line there, buddy. I don't think I could." I did not fuck men. And I did not fuck the barely legal crowd. But honestly, those answers were true but not the truth. I didn't think I could fuck Mal having seen what I had witnessed with Wolchek and Reynolds. Though I did not officially 'see' it, I had heard every wet thrust and sloppy grunt of men's liquids swirling together. The unseen sex acts were recorded in my brain as a visually-imaginative movie I carried secretly in grief to this day. Mal thought about my reply and I could tell he wanted to argue, but what was the point? If I couldn't get my dick hard, what was he going to do - lecture it until it rose like a muddy tower? So he shrugged slowly and reached over his side of my bed to the tray he had set down earlier in the morning. "It's yesterday's lunch." He said in a flat voice. "And dinner, since you didn't eat it. And I figured you might wake up and want a sandwich in the middle of the night, so I just left it. I do sometimes. I'll be like, you know, hungry for some like roast beef or something with like provolone cheese, which by the way, I just discovered. Seriously. I didn't even know there was a cheese called provolone until about two months ago. I was like, what the fuck is this?" "What kind of sandwiches?" I interrupt the cheese monologue because dammit, I was hungry once I realized it and I thought I ought to get one of the sandwiches before it got even more stale. "Roast beef." said Mal and handed me one. Mustard. And provolone cheese. Mal had gone shopping while I had been in bed. "Have you ever had pizza with bacon and onions? A guy at work told me it's really good. But I think it sounds gross." We both ate a half-sandwich and apparently Mal had expected my hunger to return viciously, because the plate had quite a few more than I would have eaten on my own. He peeled a banana and handed me half. "Orange?" I asked. He cocked his eye and me and frowned. "When the fuck have you ever eaten an orange?" I shrugged because, yeah, I didn't really eat them ever but today I felt like an orange. "No oranges." He sighed. "I could go get you one." "Nah. Pass me another sammich." He handed me one and I took a bite. A right-angle yellow paper emerged from the middle of the bread, a triangle really...I chewed slowly and wondered what the hell was in there until I tugged it free with my left hand. It was a post-it note with two words on it: NO MAYO. My head snapped to Mal who was now wearing his best 'Buckwheat face' from the Little Rascals, a TV show tradition whenever the two of us didn't work on Saturday. I roared with laughter and hugged him to me, something between wrestling him and cuddling him, pushing him and him pushing me back. I tried to shove the remainder of the sandwich in his mouth and he fought me shouting, "NO MAYO! NO MAYO!" whenever he would get close to losing, and it always made me laugh again, weakening me. This would revive Mal to fight off the sandwich attack for another twenty or thirty seconds. Yeah, okay. I could see it then. I could appreciate the masculine freedom that comes with two men in bed. Here I was trying to shove a sandwich down my buddy's throat, which was probably still sore from sucking my dick. And neither of us cared about the bread crumbs in the bed, the dried spooge in Mal's hair. Yeah, I could see some advantages that two men had. And on one level, I could even admit that it was damn sexy. I had another realization about the same time: I was going to fuck Mal. Yup. Right then. My cock had been getting harder as we play fought because he had joked about the post-it notes, he understood that this was just for today, he was my little brother, and it was somehow going to be something he wanted. Somehow it was okay. I didn't understand just then that while he never expected this sex to happen, not ever, he also knew that getting fucked by me would allow him to say something that he could never have brought himself to say otherwise. One gift from being with Vin on that day was a clearer understanding of how sex could reveal truths that were hard to reach with clothes on. So my cock got harder and while we wrestled I let him get closer to winning just because I wanted to tire him out a little bit, get the energy between us balanced so that this went down the right way. "How do you want this." I said to him slowly in a low voice. I wondered if it sounded sexy to him. I knew it sometimes worked with women a certain way. Mal jerked his knees up to his chest. "Like this, so I can see you." I nodded at him and said, "As you wish." We were both big fans of the movie, The Princess Bride. He and I would watch it on the VCR over and over, quoting the lines and arguing over who had a more authentic sounding, "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Mal and I had some very good Chicago days. We really did. After that first St. Patrick's Day where he decided to make it his birthday, we laughed together, quite a bit. On that day, Mal smiled and scooted closer, raised his ass, and I spit a giant fat wad of spit onto his hole, and rubbed it over and over with the solid fat head of my thickening dick. Yup. This would be interesting. I spit a few more times, which was oddly arousing and yeah, okay, kinda cool. My cock was getting harder looking at my slobbery mess on Mal's pink little rose atop that pale pink butt. The brown of my skin against his pale ass was beautiful and special because this would only happen once in our lives. I did my 'push-ups,' as I called them, sturdy grazing strokes of my penis against the hole to gently that reinforced a welcome pressure, a steady insistence and also a false sense of 'this won't go any further. Honestly.' I worked his ass and checked his breathing and locked his eyes on mine. When his eyes strayed, I said his name in Cop Voice and he locked onto me again. Whatever this meant to him, he had only this one chance to experience it. So I wanted him both relaxed and filled with energy. "Mal." I said once when his eyes drifted towards my smooth muscular chest. His eyes jerked towards me and I used that moment to pop the head inside. Damn. Tight. I thought it probably would be, but knowing this as a potential fact did nothing to prepare me for the onslaught of sensations. Different, yes. Different. Similar, I suppose, yes. Similar. Oh, different right there, with that extra thrust. These sensations washed over me and possibly over Mal as well, because the two of us would surprise each other with our eyes and shallow breaths, Mal suddenly scooching down and absorbing another chunk of cock inside him and me thinking that surely he couldn't take more, but surprise, there it was. We stared at each other and it was difficult for the last couple inches, I won't lie about that. He had had enough, but there was something at stake, something of his honor to do this that required both of us to see this through, so I kept plunging my cock deeper and deeper, surprising him every now and then that there was a little bit more and then more. And then more. "Don't hold back." He told me. I nodded at him, but I did hold back. I couldn't help it. I felt this protective feeling about Mal. I didn't want him hurt in any way - anymore than I had already witnessed. I just couldn't give him everything. Mal grunted regularly and I don't think this was a bad fuck in his book, because his eyes reflected more wonder than anger, registering new sensations and perhaps new feelings and I thought about how this was probably as peculiar a sensation for him as it was for me. I didn't see Mal getting fucked a lot. I think that's when I started to figure out what this meant to him. What did it mean for him to give me this gift, to let himself get fucked when it wasn't something that was high on his list in the first place? THIS was his gift to me. The only thing he thought that maybe I would find of value. He could see the look on my face and though we were both grunting and lurching forwards and back, both of us puzzling to understand how my enormous dick got stuck in something so muscled tight and contained. "Don't worry," he said eagerly. "I pooped really good this morning. I'm all clean." OH. God. Mr. Subtlety struck again. Fucking a shit hole? Nope. No way. I would not be visiting Gay Town again. "I won't talk about vaginas," I said roughly to him, "but you can't talk about poop." "Deal." He grunted and I fucked him a little bit harder on the next few strokes as an affable punishment. Maybe he could take all of me - all of my love. The rhythm we invented was slow and rocky, we seemed to lumber side to side almost as often as I knocked him straight up and down. My dick would fuck a new angle into his butt and Mal's eyes would fly open wide again. I fucked him and his legs were wrapped around my waist. He and I kept our eye contact, passing moments back and forth, me already sweating onto him and then kissing him every now and then, fucking my tongue deep into his throat while my strong legs jabbed my nightstick deep into his pliant ass. We were both getting close. I could feel it in the palms of his hand. I had clasped them and was holding down his arms wide apart, my cock vibrating differently, different than the normal sensations, a shiver of excitement, a wonder that it might happen again, this mini-miracle of something inside me bursting forth, something that my body no longer needed it to live, and in fact, imbued it with the power to create more life. Our kiss was a mirror of that brutal dance happening below the waist, my tongue deep in his throat until he gradually eased me out and I knew that he needed to breathe. "I can take it." He said in a faltering voice. "You can give me everything." I grunted and fucked him harder...almost with everything I had in me. "I know." He gasped. "It was you in the cell next door." My eyes flew open because we had never - NEVER - "Thank you." He said softly. His eyes were wide open and completely vulnerable. I blew. "Thank you." He whispered again and they were filled with tears. The year and a half of our living together flashed through his eyes: the St. Patrick Days, the food we cooked together, not ever commenting on the chair under the door or the money he took from my wallet. Giving him the dignity of pretending I did not know what had happened to him. All of it passed from his eyes to mine and he could never articulate the things he wanted to say, so he melted completely, baby deer eyes whispering, 'thank you.' He wrenched my left arm to his heart, jerked away one of my two supports. My body crashed on top of him and it acted as a trigger because if there was any part of me holding back while fucking him, that part had vanished emotionally and physically as every last inch was buried in him deeper. My nuts jumped a little, this new way of orgasming shocking them, exciting them to wriggle in their thick hanging sack. So I came again, shaking on top of Mal as my cock spurted a load inside the only male ass it would ever know. Mal had pulled my arm deliberately at the last moment it would seem, sensing somehow to trigger my nut-twisting orgasm and it had worked just as he had planned. I shuddered on top of him, my elbow across his chest and yet the forearm bent backward so somehow my long black fingers pressed against the scratch on his face. The scratch. Every aunt came away with a little blood on her glove from his face. A single, sticky drop. A permanent red reminder that compassion is what makes us human. We lay there, both of us panting and surprised. It sure felt wet down on my stomach and I think that Mal's super-charged cock had unloaded against my chest. Yup. The warm drippings were slippery between us as I panted against him. Mal moved my arm a little and examined my hand, the one that had touched his face. He moved his head back just a little so that he was breathing heavily into my hand, this strange and handsome wolf. He was like a fairy tale creature who had come alive in front of me over the past year and a half. I considered myself extremely lucky to see this side of Vin's love. Oops - I am getting ahead of myself. He was not officially Vin then. Soon, but not just yet. Mal breathed against my hand and kissed it then, the space under the thumb. "My king." He said softly and I have never been so loved by so few words before. I understood from him later, that this was the first time he had ever done that. I felt my heart grow bigger again and with it the immediate understanding that I would survive Vincent's death. Blinding white light had blazed through the chambers of my heart. I could bear this weight. I could bear Vincent's death. New love, in many surprising forms, can make existing griefs more bearable. After all, I had a new little brother. We lay together panting like this, leftover sweat jumping from my arms to his, my chest to his fuzzy pecs. I kissed the top of his head and rolled off and he nuzzled into my side. "I broke a promise to you." I said sadly. "I promised you that this would never happen." "You didn't break your promise." he replied cheerily. "You never had sex with him. You had sex with me. I'm not him." What he said was odd, because it was sort of the truth. Sort of. Melvin the Rat was gone. Mostly. I wasn't convinced we wouldn't see him again. St. Patrick's Day was his ghostly holiday to return and haunt Mal, pretend that the truth was Mal was nobody, less than nobody. Maybe he deserved that sort of life and nothing better. One day per year, Mal believed it *might* be true, that crumbling ghost lie of Melvin the Rat. "I'm not him." He repeated when he saw me be quiet. "And sex with me was awesome!" he added enthusiastically. "Mal, you know that...this won't ever happen again." "Yeah." His whole body stiffened next to me. "It's cool." "Relax." I growled into him, a soft lion purr. "Today is the exception. I'm just saying...be with me today, my young king. And tomorrow, little brother, will begin our new family." That was the first time I had called him 'brother' aloud. He cried a little bit because I don't think he had wanted to really think of me as family in case I didn't feel the same way. Or that maybe he just believed he could never be in such a thing. It stung a bit, I think, as sometimes sweetness does. And so I kissed his square blond head and he relaxed again, melted next to me. And it really was cool that he was affectionate with me today. I was very much enjoying kissing him. It was really quite interesting being gay for a day. Like I said, I've had a curious life. We were lying around, just breathing together really, when Mal said he had news. "I don't go by Mal anymore. Not in a while. I don't like that name anymore." I wasn't surprised, but I could hardly think of a name that fit him. In some ways, this little brother had never had his own name. Melvin the Rat. Charity. Even 'Mal.' He was always wearing somebody else's hand-me-downs. The idea of him picking his own name was somewhat comforting. He was no longer just 'on his way' back to being human, he had arrived. "In Minneapolis, I have been going by 'Vin.'" He said with goofy ease. "I like it. Vin. Vin Vanbly is kinda cool too. It sounds made up, like I am dangerous and had to change my own name." "You are dangerous." I told him. "Mostly in the kitchen. And mostly to yourself. But you don't have to do that you know. Take Vincent's name to be my little brother." "I know that." He snapped. Bit of attitude, this little bro. I wondered how he would find a guy with that gotta-be-in-charge attitude blocking his way. But this was his life unfolding and I had no power to make it mine. "I like Vin." He said, looking at the ceiling. "It's half of my name. The first half of my life was the ugly part of Melvin. The second half of my life is going to be the winner part of my name - vin is, like, Latin for victory. I just finished a book on Roman warriors. The Latin word is something like 'vin.' Or you know. Win." "GOT IT." I growled at him. "Geez...what a talker." I felt merry with Vin and he felt it too, our shared jocularity. He giggled quietly. "Also, VIN stands for Vehicle Identification Number, which is pretty funny, since I'm a mechanic." He slipped in quickly. I laughed out loud. We lay there for a while, breathing, talking easily. I told him stories of joy in my family, first meetings of married couples, playful tricks my parents pulled with Vincent and me, for our father was serious with most and playful with us. The family nights you name as special, the inside jokes. I wanted to balance the picture I had given him earlier when I shared some of the family grief stories. I did not want Mal to think I regretted being in one, despite the fact that family was often difficult. I had no idea how long we had been in bed, but I suspected it was late afternoon. Soon it would be night. "Wait," I finally said to him. "You're only 22. If this was half your life, what happens to you around the age of 44? Is your life over?" Vin laughed. Yeah, Vin fit. Fit him perfect. "Dude, I can't even imagine being 40. No offense. I can't think about life that far away. I'll like have a beard down to my toes." I swung an arm across his chest and pounced on him. I was in pretty damn good shape for a 40 year old, you know. Vin was no match for my gigantic biceps so was pinned instantly under me and my dick started getting hard again. Huh. Another surprise on an already surprising day. I decided to let Vin suck my cock again for a few more hours before Gay Day was officially over. I had a few more things to teach him about cocksucking. "Seriously," I said to Vin, searching his eyes and finding an equal. "You're not taking on Vincent's name just to make me happy?" "Nope." Said Vin simply and seriously. Truth. It didn't get cleaner than that. "Too bad." I grinned at him and I started thumping my fattening cock against his chest. "Because Vincent said his biggest regret in life was that he left no mark on this world; nothing was named after him." Vin tugged on my bloated nuts and yup, he wanted to suck me off again. He had skills, I had no trouble admitting that. "What if I named a car after him? Or something big that I own, like a boat." He said to me, his eyes catching this icy blue fire. "Think that would make Vincent happy?" "Yup." I laughed. When I stuck my fat black dick into Vin's mouth and he opened up his throat, I thought about how I wasn't really kidding about Vincent's big regret in life. That's what he told me on my last visit. He wanted his name on something, just to prove that he was here. That he mattered. I was still grieving one brother while welcoming in another. Sometimes grief and love dance together like that. You open your heart to one kind of love and the other slips in at the same time. Years later, Vin told me my King Name. By then, he had begun a warrior's quest to find them. Bring them back. Remember, he would tell them, who you truly are. Taking Melvin the Rat's shithole of a life and using that compost to grow the mightiest sunflowers, so strong and tall. A field of kings with stunning crowns bowing gracefully to each other, joyfully facing the sun. I am King Malcolm the Restorer. I am very strong. And I have wept. I know how to weep. *** Feedback welcome and appreciated. mpls_ted@yahoo.com