Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2005 13:34:37 -0500
From: Jaylovenj@comcast.net
Subject: FOUR BECOMES TWO CHAPS 20 & 21

Dear Readers:

Thanks again for all the wonderful words you write to me. Once more, I am
floored that so many of you enjoy what I write, and I will do my best to
keep you entertained.

As always, I want to remind you that even though Dave and Greg are not
practicing safety in their sexual escapades, remember you must. We're
dealing with some serious stuff out there, and if, God forbid, the world
will lose some of its brightness and glitter without you.

This part is for all you guys and gals who are too young to be reading
this material. LEAVE NOW! (Yeah, like what am I going to do if you
don't)? If you find this subject objectionable, LEAVE NOW! And remember,
this story is a creation of my overworked imagination and belongs to me.
If you'd like to reproduce this in any form, please contact the author
(me) for permission.

Also, any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is a compliment and
should be taken as such.

Thank you,

Jay

As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better
writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to
hearing from you.


Four Become Two: Chapter 20


Greg and I exit our room the next morning singing the tune of "Deep In
The Heart of Texas", all to the amusement of the few other guests that we
encountered on our journey to the elevator. We even had a few who helped
us with a couple of the lines. We were definitely a sight as we waited
for the elevator car to arrive.

We had quieted down somewhat when we slid into the booth next to Bryan
and Rob. "Well, you two look as if you didn't get any rest at all last
night," Bryan says, his implication obvious.

"We had a hard time ourselves what with all the noise on our end of the
floor," Simms adds.

"Were we that loud?" I ask, as Greg turns several deep shades of purple.

"Nah!" Simms laughs. "We just wanted to bust your chops a bit." We all
get a hearty laugh from that as Greg finally loses some color to his
face. "I thought Greg was going to blow, he got so deep red."

"I'll get you back," Greg promises, "when you least expect it. I'll get
you, and your pretty dog, too!" he continues, echoing the line from the
Wizard of Oz.

"So, you want to meet with Shelia before I? What time did you want to go
there?"

"We've scheduled an eleven o'clock. Hopefully, we'll rattle her cage a
bit before you see her. We want you to take this," Bryan says, handing me
a voice-activated tape recorder. "With any luck, you might be able to get
a confession from her. By the way, does she know that she'll be meeting
with you this afternoon?"

"No," I answer. "I made the appointment under the name of Jesse Sprague.
He is the Product Developer for PCL. I don't think he'll object to me
using his name in this circumstance."

"PCL?" Rob asks. "You said that last night. What is PCL?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you don't know."

"Wait until you hear this, guys," Greg comments.

"PCL is Paradise Cruise Lines, Ltd. It is my family's company. I am on
the board, although I rarely get to a board meeting, as well as being an
heir."

"Roughly translated, here sits before you a little more than $230
million," Greg adds.

"Then he can pay for breakfast. I was wondering how you could afford that
plane. Now it all makes sense."

"So you're going in as this... Jesse Sprague?"

"Yeah. She thinks I'm here scouting for an attorney to represent the
cruise line that will soon be departing from the Galveston piers. I
appealed to her sense of greed, and to her ego." We then settle down with
our breakfast, fine-tuning our plans for Miss Shelia Daniels.

"Well, gentlemen," I say, as I nudge Greg from the table, "if you'll
excuse us, we have some shopping to do. We'll see you guys in a couple of
hours. I'm going to be interested in what Shelia has to say." Greg and I
make our way to an upscale men's boutique in the hotel, where we are each
fitted for a suit. Of course, we purchased shoes, socks, etc. to complete
the outfits. An extra hundred assured us that the items would be ready
shortly.

"Well, don't the two of you look--distinguish," Simms says as we meet
them in the hotel bar.

"Thank you," Greg says. I must admit, he does clean up pretty well. Just
as he did when I first saw him in the restaurant that evening when
Annette introduced us. Annette. I wonder how involved she is in this
mess. She and Shelia are as thick as thieves."

I order an iced tea as we settle in a booth in the back of the bar. "How
did things go, guys? Were you able to get a confession out of her making
our visit a mute point?"

"Unfortunately, no," Bryan says. "She's pretty smart, that Miss Daniels.
If I were in trouble, I'd want her defending me."

"She almost slipped up once when we told her that we knew of her
connection to Reynolds; and he implicated her in the assault upon you
last year. She did manage to squeeze a few tears when we told her of your
death. Said she had to call your mother to give her condolences. After
all, and I quote, 'they both lost something special in you.' Hah! What a
load of crap that was!"

"What did she say about Reynolds?"

"She said that she had defended Reynolds about the time you and she were
parting, and he may have overheard some conversations that she might have
had with her partner, a Miss Annette Johnson, but she had not discussed
you with him. Miss Johnson is currently not here in Houston. She's on
some island in the Caribbean--vacationing. But we will contact her when
she returns."

"But that's going to give them the chance to get their stories in sync,"
Greg chimes in.

"Do you know what island Miss Johnson is on?" I inquire.

"Miss Daniels said that she had taken her daughter..."

"Her daughter?" Greg asks, an obvious lump in his throat.

"She has taken her daughter and her daughters friend on vacation to
Aruba. That was an obvious lie."

Greg excuses himself, pulling his cell phone from his inside pocket, he
dials a few numbers. He is on there quite a while, and only finishes as I
take my leave from the detectives to go to my meeting with Shelia.

"So, what are you two going to do while we're away?" he inquires of the
detectives.

"We're uhm..." Simms says

"We're uhm.." repeats Lane.

"I'm going to take a nap, I don't know about Bryan," Simms rushes.

Greg and I look at each other before giving them a wondering glance as
they seem flustered. When we look back at them, they both have this funny
grin on their faces.

"O-kay," I say, drawing out the last syllable. "We'll see you when we get
back." I pick up my black, Italian leather briefcase that I bought,
handing it to Greg (he is playing the part of my assistant), don my
sunglasses, and walk out to the waiting limo.

Our nerves are definitely on edge as the limo comes to a stop in front of
Shelia's office building.

"Are you okay?" Greg whispers.

I nod my head in assent. There are so many emotions building in me at
this moment. Greg reaches over, taking my right hand in his left, as his
right encircles my body, pulling me towards him. He kisses me gently on
the lips. "I'm here with you. It's going to be alright. Together, we can
accomplish anything."

We make our way into the foyer of the building with its three-story
foyer. Shelia's office is on the 32nd floor, and we are directed to take
the express elevator at the end of the bank.

"Yes. This is Mr. Jesse Sprague and I'm Herman Wilson. I think Miss Davis
is awaiting us," Greg announces to the receptionist. He is playing the
part of my personal assistant very well. The receptionist forwards news
of our arrival to someone, and moments later, this striking young man
appears.

"Gentlemen, I am so sorry, Miss Reynolds is going to be about ten minutes
late. She was involved with a very difficult case at the courts this
morning, and is running a few minutes late." True Shelia. Never be prompt
to a meeting. Makes the client see how hard you're working for them. I
had told the everyone of this antic earlier. I could still read her like
a book. "If you'll follow me, I take you to the conference room. May I
get you some refreshments?" he asks, ogling our attire and the expensive
jewelry that I am wearing. Greg is also wearing expensive jewelry, items
that a man in his position as my personal assistant could easily afford.

"Thank you. We'll have a Scotch, and don't be stingy with the booze," I
say, falling into the character as a forceful director. As planned, Greg
gives him a sly signal to go easy on his drink. "Do you think Miss Davis
is going to be much longer? I have other things I have to do today..."

"Oh, she should be here any minute."

"Well, see if you can hurry her along. I am always on time, and I expect
the same thing in the people who I work with."

"Uh, yes Sir," he says, as he scurries to meet my demands.

"Gregory!? What are you doing here? I'm meeting with a potential new
client, and I don't have time..."

"Hi Shelia," I say, spinning her around as I am behind her. "You look
well."

"David! I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were dead. Two
detectives said that you were dead! What are you doing here?"

"I'm your appointment, Jesse Sprague. I hope you will forgive my
deception, but I knew if I put my name on your appointment schedule,
you'd be suddenly busy," I continue, ignoring her comment.

"I have nothing to say to you, or your faggot boyfriend here."

"That a new record, Shelia. Congratulations! You've gone from zero to
bitch in fifteen seconds. And I see that you are aware that Greg and I
are a couple."

"Fuck you. Oh sorry, that's Greg's job."

"And I must admit, he's much better at it than you ever were."

"What do you want David?" she ask, emitting a heavy sigh. She could never
best me in a verbal war.

"Just two things. Well actually...three. First, I want to know why you
sent that psycho Reynolds after me? Did you miss my dick so much that if
you couldn't have it, no one could?" I ask, grabbing my crotch.

"Don't flatter yourself. Your fucking wasn't really that good. `S matter
of fact, it was kind of boring." She yawns.

"Is that why you get wet every time you're near me? Look at you, I bet
you're getting wet now just thinking about my hard, fat dick stretching
your tired pussy...aren't you?"

"I didn't send that Reynolds person after you. I wanted nothing, and I
mean nothing, more to do with you. You were the last thing on my mind."

"That's hard to believe. After all, it was two years we were together."

"Get out!"

"Not yet, Shelia. We aren't through." Greg pulls some papers from the
briefcase. "Shelia? I want you to sign these papers."

"What is this?" she asks, seizing the papers Greg hands me.

"These papers give me full custody of our son."

"What? You know about my, emphasize my, son."

"Shelia, I know he's mine."

"No he's not."

"Well, in that case, here is an order to produce him for a DNA test."

"Do you really think a court would give my son to his faggot father? You
know, I only wanted Reynolds to beat you, that's all I asked him to do.
To make you feel as much pain as I was feeling. I should have told him to
kill you. I wished I had. The few dollars I gave him were nothing."

"And how much did that beating cost you, Shelia?"

"A mere thousand bucks, and he wanted to fuck Annette and me. He probably
would have done it for the fuck. I'm not signing anything. Now get out!"

"Shelia, wouldn't you rather have our son," I say, sitting in one of the
leather chairs, "live with someone who can give him the world, give him
the love you can't? That you don't know how to give? Anyone who would
hire someone to hurt his or her child's parent...."

"I love my son, make no mistake about that. Even if he does look like
you."

"But Shelia, what kind of life can you give him? You're going to be
locked away!"

"I'll make sure he doesn't grow up to be a faggot like you."

"Shelia, stupid Shelia. You're not as smart as I thought you were. You
just admitted that you paid someone to attack me. Someone who is now
facing serious charges of kidnapping, extortion, attempted murder, and
numerous minor offenses, all at your request."

"So? It can't be used in court. It's your word, and your boy-toy's,
against mine, the poor betrayed woman who was forced to bring your
bastard child..." She doesn't finish the sentence as I lunge at her.
Fortunately, Greg catches me before I can get to her.

"Bitch," I say, holding up the tape recorder that Lane had given me.
"Don't you ever refer to my child as a bastard! You're on tape, and I'm
wired. You're going to jail, you fucking cunt! I'm taking my son, and
you'll end up being a bitch to Big Bertha. Better get your tongue ready,
or is Annette giving you plenty of practice."

"You fucking bastard..." she says, as she lunges at me. I grab her wrist,
and easily subdue her. At that moment, the detectives enter the room
followed by two of Houston's finest.

"Miss Daniels, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit assault,
conspiracy to commit murder, complicity to kidnapping, kidnapping in the
second degree, and solicitation to commit bodily harm against ones David
Welsh and Gregory Jefferson.

Also, what can you tell us about the four kilos of cocaine and $16K cash
we found this morning when we executed a search warrant at your home?"

"What?"

"We found it in a sliding panel of your master bedroom closet."

"You have the right to remain silent..."

"Wait a minute. I don't know anything about any cocaine or money."

"You have the right to an attorney before answering any questions."

"Can't you see? Somebody has set me up! David! He did this..."

"If you can't afford an attorney, the courts will appoint one for you."

"Will you wait just a minute," she begs as they put the handcuffs on her.

"Do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?" one of the
Houston police officers recites.

"Officer, I am an attorney?"

"Ma'am, do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?"

"Yeah, yeah. But you're not going to get my son, Dave. I'll see you in
hell first. I know you did this to me, and you're not going to get away
with it."

"Shelia, don't add any more charges to those you already face," I say, as
they lead her out to the amazement of her staff.

"Young man," Simms says to the Shelia's assistant. "Do you have an
itinerary for Miss Johnson?"

"I don't know if I can give you that information," says the cocky
assistant.

"Fella, if you don't give me the answers that I want to know, and right
now, you'll be joining your boss this evening in lock up."

It only took a few moments for the bravado to wear off. "Miss Johnson is
vacationing with her daughter outside the country."

"Son, don't play with my patience," growls Simms.

"She's in St. Thomas, staying at the Sapphire Beach Resort and Marina.
She has the two children with her. Your son, Mr. Welsh, and your
daughter, I assume you are Mr. Jefferson. She's just on a little
vacation."

"Dave, it's true. We're fathers. You have a boy, and I have a girl," Greg
says as the reality of what has been said sinks in. "We can't let them
stay with her. We just can't."

"Then it looks like we're going to St. Thomas." I call the airport and
charter a plane. My credit card is really getting a workout. "Detectives?
I thought you were going to take a nap?"

"What? And miss all the fun? We can have you sign the paperwork later. Go
get your children."

"But we want you to come with us. We've traveled this far together. We
might as well go all the way." After a little convincing, and a promise
to return within 72 hours, we are off to the airport. Bryan did have the
frame of mind to remind me to call the hotel, and have them extend our
stay.

It is almost 10 p.m. when our plane lands at Charlotte Amalie Airport.
All of us are exhausted as we exit the plane.

"We don't have a place to stay," remarks Bob, as we enter the airport
lobby. "We can't do anything tonight, anyhow.

"Let me make a phone call," Greg says. He moves over to the phone bank,
and dial a few numbers. Returning shortly, he tells us that he has found
us a place to stay. "What? You think you're the only one with
connections?" he says to a surprised me.

We find a cab outside the door. The driver gives us a strange look as he
sees we have no luggage. Greg gives him the address, and soon we are
driving the winding roads of St. Thomas towards the shore. We end up on
Solberg Road at this beautiful house.

"Greg, who lives here?" I ask.

"This place belongs to a friend of my parents. I called him back in New
York, and he invited us to stay here. He had read about our troubles, and
was more that willing to help us." Simms pays the cabbie, giving him a
generous tip. "He said there was a spare key hidden...Yes, here it is,"
he says, moving a secret panel that's on the siding.

He opens the door, and a sweep of the harbor is before us as this house
is obviously on an overlooking cliff. "Wow!" Bryan says. I thought that
that place you guys were staying in Jersey was beautiful, but this is
gorgeous."

"You know, I was thinking, since the Virgin Islands is a territory of the
United States, we're only going to face territorial jurisdiction
obstacles, instead of international," Simms says. "Seems Miss Johnson did
us a favor by coming to this piece of paradise."

"Was that your stomach, Bryan?" We all laugh at his apparent
embarrassment.

"Well, I'm hungry. We should have gotten something to eat before we came
here."

"I don't know what's in the frig," Bryan says.

"I wonder if they have pizza here?" Rob says. "Where's the phone book?"
He finds the phone book, and pursues the pages. "Hey, here's one that
boasts of New York style pizza. Do you want to give it a try?"

Everyone agrees, and we call and order to large pies with pepperoni and
sausage on one, and a vegetarian pie for Greg and Bryan.

The pizza turned out to be delicious. Now it was time to start thinking
of bed. There were only two bedrooms, and I knew whom I was going to be
sleeping with tonight.

"What are we going to do about clothes?" Greg asks.

"Tomorrow, we'll do a little shopping before we confront Annette," I say.
"We can't very well meet out children looking like bagmen, now can we?
Besides, I don't think these suits are going to be too comfortable in the
heat."

"Don't do anything that we wouldn't do, you too," Greg jokes, as we head
into one of the bedrooms.

Bryan and Ron give each other this sheepish look. It's the second time
that I have noticed that. "Tomorrow, gentlemen, you're going to have to
explain that look, and that's a promise."

We climbed into bed, and hold each other tightly until sleep overcomes
us. We talk about our suspicions regarding Ron and Bryan, but even our
curiosity about them isn't enough to overpower the activities of the day.
"We're going to get our children tomorrow," Greg says hopefully.

"Yes, Daddy, we are!"

"Yes, Daddy, we are!" he responds.

Daylight quickly comes, and we marvel at the beauty of our surroundings,
with the vibrant greens, yellows, purple, and pinks of the foliage about
the property to the blueness of the bright sky. We head into St. Thomas
proper, and find this quaint men's shop, where we are able to find
appropriate attire for the area.

After a light lunch, and a few drinks, Greg and I muster up enough
courage to confront Annette. Detective Simms had spoken with the local
police, and they had agreed to keep her under surveillance.

We arrive at the resort, and are met at a distance by the two undercover
officers. I can't help but notice Bryan's eyes linger a little long at
the bulge in the male officer's swimsuit. He was cute.

"Which one of you is Detective Simms?" the female officer asks.

"That would be me," Simms answers.

"I'm Officer Angela Schafer, and this is Officer Tony Dennis. We have
kept Miss Johnson under surveillance, and this is actually a very good
time to surprise the suspect. She is having a massage, and the children
are being watched by their nanny at the pool."

"Good, then let's go." We exit our vehicle and approach the hotel. We
follow the two officers to the gym, and down a corridor to the massage
areas.

"Hi, can I..." the attendant greets us. She quiets as the police officers
show their badges. We motion to the masseuse as we enter to keep quiet.
Annette is laying there, on her stomach, a towel draped around he middle.
Her long, black hair is wrapped in a towel.

Greg moves up, and begins to massage her as the masseuse is escorted out.

"Ouch!" she says, as Greg applies a little pressure. "Ouch!" she repeats,
this time raising her head and facing Greg.

"Greg? What are you...Dave? And who are you?" Her eyes move from Greg, to
me, and then to the rest as she spins around, clutching the towel to her
body.

"Why Annette? Why did you do this?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and get the fuck out!"

We all ignore her last statement as Greg continues. "Why? Why did you
help Shelia do what she did? Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant,
and that you had my daughter? Are you really that cold and manipulative?
Are you really that much of a bitch?"

She slaps his face. "Don't you dare call me a bitch, you faggot. Yeah, I
know. I know how you and your boyfriend there made fools of Shelia and I.
You, the both of you, pretended like you were men when all the time you
were pawing each other. I saw it when Dave was in the hospital, but I
didn't want to believe it. That's what really convinced me. You...you
sitting by his bed. Taking vigil. Holding his hand as you talked to him.
I even caught you. You didn't see me. I interrupted one of your little
sessions. You were crying your eyes out like the bitch you became, over
your hurt man. How sickening.

You don't know how many times I thought about getting rid of that baby.
Everyday, I really thought of aborting. I should have. But, I felt her
move, and I couldn't. But tell you about her? Please!

Do you think I want my child near some faggots? Do you think any courts
are going to blame us? Not when they hear our story. You'll be lucky if
you don't get time for destroying our lives.

Why a man? And why him?" she says, pointing at me. "You know I can't
stand him. But you couldn't stay away.

Tell me, how long was it before he fucked you? Huh? Had he dicked you
when Shelia and I came to visit? Answer me, you wuss."

"Yeah, we had done it. And you know what, it was with more love,
affection, and satisfaction than anything you and I had ever done. He
filled me..."

"Oh, shut up. You're sickening. Just know, you'll never get to see your
child. I will never let her know how low her mother sunk. You're just her
sperm donor."

"I'm her father! And I am here to take her--home!"

"Over my dead body..."

"If that's what it takes..." Greg answers. I step between them, pushing
Greg away.

"Greg, calm down. Annette's going to jail. Remember? You don't have to
deal with her ever again. By the time she gets out, your daughter will be
an adult, in college."

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to jail."

"Oh, yes you are!" We all finally focus on the police officers in the
room. "Annette Johnson, you are under arrest!"

"Your children are out by the pool," the female officer says as she
places Annette into the hands of some other officers on the scene.

"I'm scared, Dave," Greg says.

"Me too, baby, me too." We follow the police officers out onto the
terrace. There are a few guests about as most of the hotel's clientele is
either on the white, sandy beach or elsewhere in paradise.

There is a kiddy-pool off to one side, and I notice two beautiful
children at play with an attractive young woman. The woman looks up as we
approach.

"Miss? May we speak to you for a few moments," Simms says, producing his
badge. The woman arises, taking the children by the hand. "Okay, go grab
your towels," she says, as the toddlers scramble towards the lounge
chair.

"Yes, Officer, what can I do for you?"

"Are these children you're charged with watching belonging to a Miss
Annette Johnson?"

"Yes, is there a problem? Did something happen to Miss Johnson?"

"Yes, and no. Miss Johnson was taken into police custody this afternoon."

"What happened?"

"These children are now wards of the state, and will be taken by these
people," he says pointing in the direction of two women that are
approaching.

"Simms, what are you talking about?" I ask. "No one is going to take our
children but us!"

"These are our children!" Greg exclaims.

"We know that, guys, but you know how the system works. You're lawyers,
for Christ's sake. They are going to have to be placed in a group home
until you are able to get to court."

"But...but."

"I understand what you're feeling, but we have to do this according to
the books so that things will work out in the long-run."

"He's right, Dave--Greg," Bryan interjects. "It's only going to be for a
little while. You'll have them back soon."

Two matronly women take the children. "Where are they going?" we both
ask.

"They be fine," one of the ladies say. "The detective right. Won't be
long, and you'll have your babies back." They get into a car and drive
away.

"Simms...?"

"There's nothing I can do fellas. You know how the law works."

Despondently, we move into the lobby and out the door, heading to the
police station. There, Greg and I file charges against Annette. Papers
are also faxed from the Houston PD, and we sign them, filing formal
charges against Shelia.

"We're going to have to get back to the states," Bryan says.

"Do you have to leave now?" Greg asks.

"No, we can leave tomorrow. Probably can't get a flight out until then
anyway."

"Nonsense, I'll call for my jet. The pilot can take you back to Houston,
and then back to New York. Will you do me a favor, and check Greg and I
out of our suite. We're not leaving without our children."

"Sure Dave, no problem."

We get back to the house, stopping by a grocer along the way to grab
food. We figure that we'll be here for a few days. I make a phone call to
Scott in Virginia, surprising him by telling him to file a flight plan to
St. Thomas. I also inform him of the itinerary of the two detectives. He
tells me that he will be here by 10 a.m.

"Why don't you two go have a nap or a walk or something," Simms says.
"You two are depressing us." He tries to smile, and we return it--weakly.

"Come on Dave. Let's go for a walk." We head out the door and up the
incline of the drive. It's beautiful here, and despite our depression
about the children, we can't help but notice that we have found a little
bit of paradise.

It is a rather warm day, the air is humid, but we trek along. "Dave? I've
been thinking."

"That's dangerous," I quip.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later." Greg pulls me into a nearby park that I hadn't noticed,
and onto a bench.

"I've been thinking Dave--about us. If we hadn't, you know, started..."

"Greg, nothing, and I repeat nothing that we have done warrants the
things that have been heaped upon us in the past year."

"But if we hadn't hurt Shelia and Annette..."

"What? We were suppose to deny something that we found? We didn't ask to
fall in love. I think that there is a greater Providence who controls our
life. He, she, it helped us to realize just what had to have been true
all along."

"But if we hadn't become gay..."

"Greg! Do you honestly believe we became gay? Do you think that we chose
to fall in love with someone of the same sex? Look at how many years we
denied that. At least I did.

Sure, if I were to be perfectly honest, I have to admit that I really
only conformed. Know what I mean? We live in a world where you're
expected, if you're a guy, to find that perfect girl one day and marry
and have children who will repeat the cycle. That's acceptable, quote,
unquote." I make the sign of the hash marks."

"But isn't that normal?" Greg questions.

"Who says it's normal? It felt so right for me to fall in love with you.
I tried to fight it, really I did. But the more I saw you and got to know
you, the more I wanted to see you and get to know you. Being with you
became the highlight of my life."

"Me, too," he admits. "I knew it the first moment that I saw you that
night in the restaurant. Do you know the reason I sat down so quickly?
You were making me hard. I didn't understand it; really didn't want to
understand it. I took Annette home that night and fucked her brains out.
But I was fantazing about you."

"You see Greg? That's exactly what happened between Shelia and I that
night. I had the best orgasm in my life that night. But, I wasn't fucking
Shelia. I was making love with you--in my mind's eye." Greg blushes.

"You're so cute when you blush."

"You just enjoy making me blush."

"Yeah, I do."

"Then, why did the girls feel as if they had to hurt us--Dave? You almost
died."

"I don't think they meant for Reynolds to go as far as he did. That was
him. His hatred. Shelia and Annette are still dealing with the hurt.
That's why they lashed out at us the way they did. They wanted us to hurt
as much as they. I can see that now. They just went about it the wrong
way."

"You sound as if you've forgiven them."

"I guess I do. Don't get me wrong. They need to be punished for what they
did, and they will. I'll make sure of that. But I can't hate the woman
who gave me such a precious gift."

"They are beautiful, aren't they? He looks just like you, you know.
Shelia was right about that."

"And she has your eyes, those beautiful eyes," I say.

"Are we going to be good parents?"

"Of course we are."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure because when it comes to being loving and caring, that's you.
When it comes to being selfless, that's you. When it comes to being an
anchor, a rock; someone that can be depended upon, that's you."

"How can you say that I'm not selfish, after what I did to us?"

"That was then, this is now! Let's make a pact, okay baby? Those awful
weeks will be stricken from memory. How did Yul Brenner put it in that
movie, The Ten Commandments? So it shall be written, so it shall be
done!" I smile.

"You see, this is why I love you," he smiles, looking around to see if we
are being watched. Then, he reaches over and pulls me to him, giving me a
big kiss. We have been so wrapped up in our conversation, we hadn't even
noticed the shift in the wind or the approaching summer rain.

It startles us as it begins to fall, torrentially, at first. We are soon
soaked, but, as we make our way back towards the house, we are in no
hurry. We are dripping as we come through the door. Ron hurries us to get
out of our wet things so that we can eat.

Bryan has fixed us a delicious meal, and they have set a lovely table in
the dining room, which overlooks the harbor. Candles and all. There is a
different mood in the air, one between Greg and I as we deal with the not
so nearness of the children, and a different energy between Ron and
Bryan.

The ringing of the telephone snaps all our heads. "I'll get it," Greg
says. He goes into the other room to answer the phone. I can't see his
face or actually hear the gist of the conversation, but he is very
annimated with it. I'm about to get up and go in when I see Greg
terminate the call.

"Dave! Dave! You're never going to believe this," he says excitedly
coming back into the room.

"What?"

"That was Anderson Hayes."

"And who is Anderson Hayes?"

"He's a lawyer in charge of the children's case in family court. He says
he understands our pain, and has made some arrangements and called in a
few favors." He takes a deep breath. "Anyway, we have a trial date
tomorrow. Tomorrow, Dave! We might be able to get our children tomorrow!"

"Greg, you're kidding me. That soon?"

"Yeah, baby, isn't that great?!"

I give him a hug and a kiss, not mindful of the presence of the other two
gentlemen.

"Ah, that's really great news, guys, but you might want to get a room?"
Simms chuckles. He gives Bryan a sly smile. "Brian and I are still here."

"Sorry guys," we apologize. "But, now that I think of it, is there
something you want to tell Greg and I?"

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb with us, detective," Greg says. "Ever since Houston
there has been something different about the two of you. If I didn't know
better, I'd say that there is some chemistry between the two of you. Are
you two joining our team?"

Bob's face turns a deep shade of crimson visible even in this light."

"You have!" Greg exclaims. "That's wonderful."

"So, give us all the steamy details," I encourage.

"Wait! Let me freshen our drinks," Greg coos. "We do have a reason to
celebrate. The two of you, and the fact that we're gonna get our
children," he sings.

"Let's clear the table, and take this into the other room," I add. We
grab our plates, taking them into the kitchen and putting them in the
dishwasher with the other things.

"Okay, now talk!" Greg says, as we all sit down.

"Well, there really isn't anything to tell," Simms begins. "Last night, I
was still acting like a jerk about you two, and I want to apologize right
now for that. My only defense is that I guess I was jealous at what you
two have, that you were brave enough to have it, and I was a coward." He
has his head bowed as he speaks, and we can hear the sincerity of his
words.

"At least that's what I told him," Bryan interjects.

"Yeah. So, we got into an argument," Bob continues. I'm surprised you
didn't hear us. It got pretty heated there for a while."

"Until I asked him what he was afraid of?" Bryan interjects. "And he
said, `this', and then he kissed me. It was a short kiss, but it was oh
so sweet. It shocked me at first, but I quickly recovered. I grabbed him
and really kissed him. I confessed that I had wanted to do that for a
long time. He's really sexy, isn't he?"

"We ended up talking into the night," Rob continues, "and that night, we
slept together. It was the most glorious night of my life. My world had
suddenly opened up, and I was happy. Happy for the first time in my adult
life."

"I'm so happy for the two of you," Greg says. "My favorite saying now is
`a nice stiff dick does the trick!'" We all get a good laugh from that.
"But on a serious note, how is this going to affect your working
relationship? Have you thought that far?"

"No, we haven't, but I guess we'll have to now," Bryan says.

A temporary silence falls over the room. "What time do we have to be in
court?" I ask Greg.

"9 a.m."

"Then we'd better get to bed. As it is, I don't think I'm going to sleep
a wink tonight."

"Me either"

"You two may stay up as long as you like. And remember, young man," I say
looking at Bryan, "be a gentleman in public, and a lion in the bed." It's
Bryan's turn to blush deeply as Greg drags me off to bed.

Morning came all to quickly for us as Greg and I didn't get much sleep.
Anxiousness and nerves kept us talking into the early morning.

Nine o'clock found us at family court. We were not allowed into the
proceedings, but were seated in the corridor outside. Thirty minutes
turned into an hour, which turned into two hours. It might have been two
years for all it mattered to us. Time just seemed to drag. Finally, the
doors opened, and out walked Attorney Hayes. Surprisingly, he was a man
in his late fifties to early sixties, not at all what I'd expected from
the conversation that Greg had relayed to me.

After formally introducing ourselves, he faced us. And with the most
sincere pain I've ever heard in a person's voice, he informed us that the
court would not release the children now into our custody.

Even though we claimed to be the biological parents, and they had the
admission from both mothers, we, and the children, would still have to
have a genetics test, and we must undergo visits from Social Services
before they can be placed with us.

Naturally, we were both upset, but due to the support of Lane and Simms,
we were assured that we had nothing to worry about.

Anderson told us that Social Services would be calling to make
appointments and that we should also expect surprise visits from them.

"Greg, that means we have to get home immediately. We have a condo under
construction, with no furnishings."

"Yeah, we don't have a home right now. And we'll need to hire staff;
start conducting a search for a nanny...there's just so much we have to
do. But, I don't want to leave the children."

"Greg, we have too. Social Services will want to interview us both, and
we have to be in New York," I tell him, trying to remain objective. "But,
that doesn't stop us from coming here on the weekend to see them.
Remember, we have our own jet. We can come whenever we want."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Mr. Hayes?" I say turning towards the him, "may we see the
children? For just a minute?"

"I'm sorry. They've already been moved to an approved foster family. But
don't worry. I have been assured that these people are the best. And,
they're together. That's the important thing. They have a familiar face."

"How were they last night?" Greg asks. "Were they okay?"

"To be honest, they were a little restless. They don't understand what's
happening, but they're resilient. They will bounce back!" Hayes says.

We both acknowledge sadly, and we, along with our friends, leave for the
airport. The jet is waiting, and Scott files a plan to take us back to
Houston. We have to check out of the hotel, and they have to make
arrangements for Shelia's transport back to New York. Annette, we learn,
is already in route, being escorted by two local police officers.

Once the plane has leveled off, I call my architect and ask her if she
can download the plans to the apartment onto PCL's FTP site, so we can
view them. It doesn't present a problem, and soon after giving her the IP
address, we are viewing the plans to the new apartment.

"The upper floor has this bedroom," I say to Greg as we huddle over the
computer, "right next to ours. If we move this wall back, say ten feet,
that will be the perfect nursery. The room has great natural light, and
pleasant views of the southern end of the river."

"Yeah, I see what you mean. But that's going to make your office smaller,
and what about the time factor. Isn't it too late? I mean, that room was
already framed when we were up there last week."

"So, for our children, I'd be willing to hire an extra crew and give each
man a bonus if they finish this within the next few days."

"But we don't even know the outcome of the investigation. Suppose we
don't..."

"DON'T is a word that doesn't exist in our vocabulary," I say. "This will
happen. Look, let's do this for now. Then, once the children are with us,
we'll look for a better space, or redesign this apartment, or whatever
you want. Okay?" Greg nods his assent.

We finally landed at Teterboro at nine, and got back into the city an
hour later. Traffic was really a bitch trying to get into the Lincoln
Tunnel, which is normally a fifteen-minute ride. And by ten the next
morning, we had all the things in place. I had e-mailed Sydney, my
architect, with the changes that we wanted.

Working all night, she delivered bright and early the changes the next
day. And the CWA (Construction Workers Association) was on board,
provided their workers were justly compensated, to increase the shift and
manpower on the building.

Greg and I met with a designer and went furniture shopping, and seven
days later, we were able to move into our newly furnished apartment.

"It's inauguration day," Greg says as I walk out of the shower that
evening. "Come here," he says huskily, pushing the covers back and
patting the bed.

"Why Mr. Jefferson, I think you're trying to seduce me!" Greg is lying
there, naked. My eyes drink in his beauty, and that's what it is; Greg is
beautiful.

His rich mane is delicately caressing his right shoulder as he props
himself on his right arm, the hard ball of his bicep flexing. That
magnificently sculpted chest, with that soft, scratchy hair that blankets
his chest and rolls over his flat, hard stomach is such a turn on.

That scepter of his, so strong and proud, is lying lazily across his
right thigh, semi-erect. It swells to full blossom before my hungry
stare.

"Care for a protein shake?" Greg whispers. "Only you know how to flip the
correct switches."

I stare at that appendage, my mouth watering at the sight of him. "Dave?
Dave?" he says a little louder.

I shake the fog from my brain, and with a leap, land in the arms of my
confident, surprised lover and friend. I am enveloped in his strong arms
as my lips meet his, his cock, now a full-blown erection, pressed into my
side.

"I love you so much, Greg," I say to him. "I would have been so lost if
Reynolds..." I choke.

"That's behind us now, baby. We survived! We can't let Reynolds' sickness
affect us."

"The one great thing about the whole mess is our children."

"I can `t believe those two bitches, keeping our children away from us
all these months. I miss them. They should be here with us, safe and warm
and happy."

"They will be. Shelia and Annette are real winners," I say sarcastically.
But you know? There are two things that I will always be grateful to them
for though, our beautiful angels, and for introducing us. I may never
have met you had you not been stupid enough to mess with Annette."

"Hey, I'm not stupid," he says, sounding like Goofy. "I planned the whole
thing."

"Well, I don't know about that plan," I laugh, but wasn't seduction in
your plan tonight? He parts my lips with his tongue as his lips find
mine.

Our lovemaking was slow and sensuous, giving and sharing. It culminated
by each us feeding to each other our nectar. Then, we basked in the feel
of each other as we talked into the night, saying those things that
lovers say. Finally, sleep overtook us.

Social Services inspected us regularly, often dropping by unannounced and
at times, at inopportune moments. They even interrupted a romantic dinner
that Greg and I had planned. They had some reservations about a gay
couple with the children. Homophobia is still alive and kicking.

It didn't matter that we had the means to adequately support the
children. It didn't matter that there was nothing but love for our
children. It didn't matter that they were our own biological children.
What mattered was that we were gay.

And while all of this was going on, we were being drilled by the DA
regarding their case against Reynolds, Shelia, and Annette. Bail for
Reynolds was denied, but Shelia and Annette were out, but there was a
restraining order keeping them one thousand feet from either Greg, I, or
the children. And their license to practice had been suspended pending
the outcome and review.

After enduring this for about six months, the interviews, the
psychological testing, the inspections, the investigation into our
backgrounds, and interviews with friends and associates, we were
surprised when we received a visit from our attorney.

"Evan," I say as he enters the den where Greg and I are relaxing. "A
little late for a house call, isn't it?"

Evan Grant is a fast rising attorney here in New York, garnishing some
very high profiled clients. Greg and I were very fortunate in having him
take our case. His objectivity and uncanny ability to foresee the obvious
had made him an admirable foe for many attorneys who were unfortunately
on the other side of the issue.

Standing six-three, and only weighing 140 pounds, if that, this tall
lanky man didn't give the appearance of being the lion that he most truly
is. What he didn't have in bulk, he had in brains.

"Evan," Greg says, "it's good to see you again. What brings you by at
this hour?"

"Well, I have a few papers for you guys to sign," he says, sporting a
Cheshire grin.

"What are these?" I ask

"Well, once I file these papers with the courts tomorrow, it will just be
a matter of a day or so before you can go to St. Thomas and bring your
children home."

"Evan, you're kidding? No?" Greg says, his voice caught in his throat.

"No, I'm not," Evan beams. "These papers will give you sole custody."

"How? When?" I ask, quickly grabbing the pen he offered.

"There was a hearing earlier today--you weren't needed since it was
supposed to be a preliminary hearing--where we presented to the court all
of the evidence and reports. When the judge learned of the circumstances
of the children's births, and the subsequent arrests of the mother's and
their duplicity in the crimes perpetrated against the two of you, and
also taking into account the fiscal situation, as well as the family
name, she granted immediate custody to their natural fathers--the two of
you. You'll receive my bill later," he smiles.

Greg drops the pen after signing, and at once falls into my arms, tears
of joy on his face as his smile matches my own. "We're getting our
children, after all this time, we're getting our children."

"Evan, we don't know how to thank you. Words are so inadequate," I say,
as Greg and I stand before him. "Please, won't you join us in a
celebration drink?"

"Thought you'd never offer," he responds.

I go into the wine cooler and bring back a bottle of vintage champagne,
and after cheers to the popping of the cork, pour three flutes of the
wonderful tasting elixir.

"Too the both of you, strong, intelligent, capable young men who are
going to be blessed with God's most precious gift, one that I'm sure
you'll cherish and love. And if they turn out to be half the people you
two are, the world will be a much better place. To Micah and Robin, two
very lucky children."

"Thank you, Evan," we both say in unison. We take a sip of the champagne,
then sit and chat a bit. As well as being our attorney, he is also a
trusted friend.

Three days later, armed with court orders, birth certificates, passports,
shot records, and everything else that Evan thought we needed, and after
a brief hearing in St. Thomas, we carry one dark-haired toddler boy and
one golden-haired toddler girl aboard our private jet, and secure their
sleeping forms into the child-safety seats. Soon Captain Scott Harding
lifts the metal bird into the air.

"I really am glad to be going home," Greg muses, "but it is so beautiful
down here, one could really get used to this."

"Yeah, fresh air, beautiful skies, really paradise..." my voice trails.

The plane banks to the right as it turns to head north. Looking out the
window, Greg notices a little island nestled just south of what appears
to be the country of Jamaica as we continue to cruise. We have been in
the air now for about an hour.

"Look!" he says, nudging me. "Look at how green and lush that island is.
It doesn't even look like it's inhabited, but there seems to be some type
of construction going on." True enough, from what we can see, it does
look uninhabited. About five miles in diameter and ten miles in length,
one could even see the barrier reef surrounding it. It's highest point
only seemed mere feet from the belly of the plane.

"Yeah, it is beautiful," I agree as I peer out of the small window. Just
then, Scott buzzes from the cockpit.

"Dave, there's a call for you. Shall I patch it through?"

"Do you know who's calling, Scott?"

"Your father, Dave."

"Hello Dad," I say, picking up the phone. After a lengthy conversation, I
say, "Well, we'll be there in a couple of hours," I say. I then buzz
Scott. "Scott, instead of going straight to New York, we'll be stopping
in Chicago for a little while."

"What's the matter," Greg asks.

"My father wants to see me--right away, as he put it. Hope you don't
mind, but he sounded kind of urgent. He said he hoped you would forgive
him for taking me away. I don't think he knew I was in the plane. This
will give us a chance to introduce the folks to their grandchildren."

"I don't know. I've only met your parents that one time. When you were
hospitalized."

"Yeah, I know. But you have spoken with them on the phone."

"Yeah...but..."

"No buts, Greg. My parents love you. And they respect my decisions. Now
that they know who I am, they just want me to be happy. Sure, I think
they were a little disappointed at the prospect of not having
grandchildren, especially since Jeff has joined the corps. But, my
brother, Rich, has children. Two. So they'll just have to be content that
one of their sons turned out normal. Besides, we will be taking them two
more grandchildren. Watch out for grandmother spoilage. Major spoilage at
that."

"Rich? Who's Rich?"

"Rich is my oldest brother, by ten years. I don't really think about him
too much because he is so much older than Jeff and I. He and his family
live in Amsterdam, and he oversees the cruise ship productions, the
building of. He's an architect by trade, and has designed many of the
ships that occupy our fleet."

I give Scott the instructions, and within three hours, we are setting
down at Midway Airport, Chicago. Scott had called ahead, and we lead two
rambunctious little ones through the airport. A driver is standing in the
lobby with a sign with my name on it.

We take the little ones to the stretch limo, and sit ourselves in the
cool comfort while we wait for the driver as he waits for our luggage to
be wheeled out. Once settled, we are on our way to my parent's apartment
building.

"I hope you don't think this is too ostentatious," I say to Greg as we
pull up in front of the building. "My father built this building twenty
years ago. I grew up here. Our home occupies the top two floors, and PCL
Corporate Headquarters occupy the fifteenth through twentieth floors. The
twenty-first through twenty-eighth floors are residential, and floors
four through fourteen are commercial space."

"Wow," Greg says, as he looks up into the Chicago sky. "This is really
some place. I thought I had some pretty fancy digs in Maryland, but
this..."

"Greg, I told you I was filthy, I just didn't go into much detail about
this. I hope I'm not turning you off. I would give up all of this just to
have you and the children." I give him a kiss.

"Dave!" he exclaims, embarrassed that we are so in public.

"Greg, listen. I will never be ashamed of the way I feel about you. Shame
is an emotion for those who can't afford to really be themselves.
Fortunately, we have the luxury not to care. Now, come on. Let's take the
children to meet their grandparents."

I lead my family to the express elevator that is a direct link to the
penthouse. It is only accessed with a special key and a pass code, and
there is a special code that you must punch in the elevator to be taken
to the floor. There is a similar elevator that leads from the executive
floor of PCL that my father uses to go to and from work.

As the doors to the elevator open, Sadie, the housekeeper, meets us.
"Greg, this is Sadie. My second mother and dearest friend. Sadie, this is
my partner, Greg. Gregory Jefferson."

"Please to meet you, Mr. Jefferson. Now, come here you. Let me look at
you. I've been so worried even though your mother said you were okay."
She spins me around, inspecting every inch of me that she could. "Well,
looks like you're no worse for ware, just too skinny." This causes a
laugh from Greg, and I give him a stern look.

"And just who might these two adorable people be?"

"Sadie, this beautiful angel here is Robin, and this is Micah. Robin is
Greg's daughter, and Micah is my son."

"Your what?"

"My son. It's a long story, and believe me, you will hear about it. I
promise. Now, are Mom and Dad at home."

"Your Dad is in the library, and your Mom is at a committee meeting. She
should be back in about an hour. Did they know you were coming?"

"Dad did. He called a couple hours ago, and told me to get here, pronto!"
I say, mimicking my father's voice.

"Does he know about the children?"

"No, they are going to be a surprise for him." We walk to the study door.
Greg is a little apprehensive, gulping deep breaths as he goes. Just as
we are entering the door, Robin breaks free, and runs to Dad. Startled,
he just looks at her just as Micah joins her at his knee."

"Well, who are you?" he asks.

"That is Robin and Micah, Dad. Your grandchildren." He turns his head
quickly, and I can see the questions in his eyes. "It's a long story Dad,
and I wouldn't even begin to tell you, or Sadie, about it until Mom was
home, but these are our children. Our real children."

I can see the tears in his eyes as he beholds the two children. He picks
them up, and placing them on his knee, engulfs them in his warmth.

Tears have formed in Greg's eyes, as well as my own as we behold the
sight. Sadie is simply sobbing.

"Let me have the babies. I'll get them something to eat," she says as the
children follow her out of the room. They seemed to have taken to
everyone so well. The caseworker said that they were very affectionate,
intelligent children, and could recognize people quickly as friend or
foe.

"Son, it's so good to see you," Dad says, standing and walking over to
embrace me. "And Greg, it's so good to see you again. I can never thank
you enough for what you have done for Dave. You make him happy. I can see
that."

"Thank you, Mr. Welsh..."

"None of that Mr. Welsh stuff, I'm Robert, but I prefer Dad. It was easy
for Dave's Mom and I to see how deeply you love our son. And if you have
any trouble with him, just let me know. He's not to old to be put over my
knee." We all chuckle at that.

"I might have to take you up on that."

"Gregory!" I warn.

"Now, come on in and sit. Let's visit for a while until Mavis comes back
and dominates the conversation." We sit and have a good talk with my
father. I had just freshened our drinks when my mother arrived.

"David!" she exclaims, grabbing me in a hug. "And Gregory!" Another hug.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"That's because they didn't know," my father interjects. "I called them
and asked Dave to come for a quick visit, but now, I'm hoping he can
extend it a couple of days."

"Of course they can," my mother says.

"Well, Mom, it might be a little noisy around here."

"What do you mean?" I point towards the door. Sadie is standing there
with the children.

"Mom, this is Robin and Micah. Our children."

"Your what?"

"Robin is Greg's biological daughter, and Micah is my biological son."

"What?" both she and my father say.

Robin and Micah both gravitate towards my parents as we all, including
Sadie, settle down as Greg and I begin the tale of what has happened
since the beating. Everyone was shocked to learn of the bombing, the
knife attack, Greg's kidnapping, and the realization that Shelia and
Annette were behind the whole thing. My parents had really liked Shelia,
and had one day hoped that we would have married.

"Well, I'm really surprised about Shelia," my Mom says as we finished the
tale. "I'm just glad you boys are alright. And I'm thrilled about the
babies. Micah looks just like you as a baby, Dave. Doesn't he dear?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it."

"Huh! I never did trust that Miss Shelia myself. Always trying to hard,"
Sadie says.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow we are going to hit the stores. I feel a good
shopping spree coming on."

"You'll have to do it without the boys, dear. I have some very important
business to discuss with them. Take Sadie along. You two can shop to your
heart's content."

"Mom, don't go overboard. The children have enough of everything. Greg
and I have gone a little crazy ourselves."

"Nonsense. You can never have too much, when you're their age. Besides,
your father and I have some serious spoiling to do," she says, hugging
the children, "and we're already a year behind."

"It's going to take us at least two weeks to open up all the presents," I
whisper to Greg. The rest of the evening was spent in good conversation
and fun as I saw my parents get with Greg and I on the floor to play with
the children. It was two tired children that we put to bed that evening.

"Good morning, baby," I say as a sleepy Greg shakes the cobwebs from his
head. We are in my room. It hasn't changed since I was in prep school.

"Hi. How long have you been awake? And what time is it?" he asks, opening
those beautiful pools of blue to my vision.

"About an hour, and it's ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock? Why didn't you wake me? The children?"

"They are fine. They woke up about two hours ago, have been dressed and
fed, and are now out on the town with Mom and Sadie. Dad asked us to have
lunch with him. He went down to the office, so, it's just you and me home
alone." I slap my hands to my face and scream just like Macaulay Culkin
did in the Home Alone movies.

"So, do you want to play?" I ask, in my best Russian accent.

"I thought you'd never ask. Just let me quickly run to the bathroom"

Jumping back on the bed, he rolls over on top of me, his lips firmly
pressed against mine. I can taste the fresh flavor of his morning gargle.
It's sweet, just as he.

My dick starts to react immediately, growing and swelling to match is
own. There is an urgency building in our lovemaking as our chest, hips,
and sex touch, finding that perfect space along our bodies to slide
against each other.

I can feel his flow mix with my own as we dance close together, our lips
not parting, massive amounts of air being funneled through our nostrils,
as we struggle to get closer, to dispel any micron of space that exists.

I wrap my legs around his slim waist, crushing him to me.

"I want you Greg. I want you inside of me," I pant, extended by the
effort thus far.

Greg rises on his knees, hooking my legs over his shoulders. I can feel
his large, round knob at my entrance, wet and eager, and a tingle races
up my spine. I shudder from the exquisite feel of him there.

He presses forward, his head breaching the opening without further need
for lubrication. He waits, giving me time to adjust. I wrap my legs once
again around his waist as the passion in me begins to build as my own
moisture seeps onto my body.

With a mighty thrust of my hips, I trap him deep inside. I feel
wonderful, complete, protected, and loved as he now completes the puzzle
that is I. His dick is the missing part of me, I know, for it fits the
slot so perfectly.

Greg begins to move his hips, and I tighten my grip, squeezing on the
outward motion; relaxing on his return. Soon the rhythm develops, and we
mimic the age-old dance.

"Oh yes, Greg," I moan. "Give it to me. Make love to me baby!"

"You're so hot baby. I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked
before."

His hips continue at a steady pace despite my urging him to speed up. He
is taking his time, giving me a Royal fucking. He is stretching his
strokes long and deep, grazing his mushroom head against my joy button
every time he passes it.

"Oh Greg," I moan, my voice sounding like one of those distorted sitcom
voices, "I'm cumming." My nuts are no longer visible. They have decided
to try to work their way from my ball sack, which is lying flat against
my body, into my stomach.

"I'm almost there too," Greg gasps, and with one final plunge, he arches
his back and buries himself completely, his pubic hair scratching my
tender rosebud, as he pours himself deep within my body.

I can feel him coating my insides and my own orgasm, triggered by his
release, pouring from my dick like a loose fire hose, spewing hot liquid
in every direction.

I am too raw to move, every fiber of my body reacting to aftershocks as
volts radiate from my groin. I can feel his viper, having lost its rage
begin to soften within me, becoming meek and mild as it leaves my ass
with a `pop'.

"Damn, Dave, what are you trying to do? Kill me?" Greg manages through
breaths.

"Mercy! I could be very happy dying from something like that."

"Come on, your father, Dad, said that he wanted to have lunch with us,"
he pants, as we continue to recover. "We can't very well go like this."

"But I just want to languor in the afterglow."

"Come on," he says, pulling me from the bed, "you can languor in the
shower."



Four Become Two: Chapter 21

"Son," my father began. We had just enjoyed a wonderful lunch with him in
the Executive Dining Room, and had returned to his office, "the reason I
asked you to come here, was because I have a proposition for you. And I
want you Greg to consider also what I am about to ask because this will
definitely affect you, and my beautiful grandchildren.

I am getting old, fellas, which is no surprise to either of you, I'm
sure. And I hope to retire soon, within the next two years, leaving the
future of PCL in the hands of my three sons: you Dave, and your brothers
Rich and Jeff.

Last year, I went to London, where I purchased, on behalf of PCL, an
island. This island is located a little less than 150 miles west of the
island of Jamaica, just before you get to the Cayman Island chain. It is
five miles in width, and ten miles in length.

"I think that might be the island we saw, Dave," Greg interjects.

"The island is uninhabited, right now," Dad continues, "perfect for what
we have planned. We are going to turn it into a luxury resort. And I got
the board's approval to have the four of you oversee the project."

"What? Dad we don't know anything about building a resort."

"I know that son, but I have complete faith in you that you'll do a
marvelous job. Rich has already come up with plans, utilizing the natural
beauty of the island. So, you will be working closely with him.

Jeff will be developing the harbor, as well as the landscape of the
island. This way, all three, correction, all four of you, will get your
hands dirty in the company.

Follow me in here," he says, going through a door that we had not noticed
was there. "This is the island, complete with the renovations. Jeff
designed this model and had it sent here. As you can see, there will be
two major constructions on the east and west ends of the island, with
private cottages and bungalows between. The harbor is also in the middle
of the island. This natural cove area will serve as the island's port. It
is already being dredged, and temporary housing has already been
delivered.

This side of the island," he continues, referring to the west side of the
island, "will be an adult resort where nudity will be an option on the
beaches. PCL has had solid bookings when it came to our adults only
cruises, so there is a big market, especially amongst the Europeans, who
are less prudish than the Americans. The east side will be developed as a
family oriented establishment.

Centered around the harbor will be shops, apartments, restaurants, and
government. American laws will apply.

This is a big project, and we already have a top-notched team to assist
you. The cost is estimated to be $30.5 billion.

Of course, each of you will be paid handsomely. How does $385K a year,
plus benefits sound?"

"Dad, you've got to be kidding?"

"Not enough?"

"No, that's more than generous. But, why? Why do you have so much
confidence in us?"

"Because you're my sons, I'm proud of you, and neither of you have ever
disappointed me."

"I don't know what to say," Greg says, obviously flabbergasted by this
proposal.

"I don't want an answer now. Talk it over between you. Weigh each thing
carefully, and consider the children. We would like to open in two years,
so that is going to mean some drastic changes in your living
arrangements. Can you handle that with the changes that have been made to
your lifestyle? These are some of the things that you must consider. But,
I'm hoping you'll say yes to the idea."

"How soon will you need an answer, Dad?"

"You've got two days. I need to tell the board what your decision is. I
know two days is not much time, but since this is going to be a hasty
project, we need a hasty decision."

"Okay. We'll see you when you get home. Thanks, Dad. Thanks for your
faith."

"Yes, thanks, D-Dad," Greg stumbles. "I don't know what to say."

"Just make an old man happy and say yes. But don't consider this
pressure," he chuckles.

************************************************************************

"Wanna go for a drive?" I ask Greg as we wait for the elevator.

"Sure." We head downstairs to the private garage. It is really a
walled-off section of the upper level of the employee garage that holds
what I always called the family fleet of ten cars: two late modeled
Mercedes Limos, a car for the five of us, one for Sadie, one for Herbert,
the houseman, and a seven-passenger van. The van is missing, so I assumed
that my Mom or Sadie is driving it for their shopping. I can see it
coming back filled to the brim with toys, clothes, or whatever else Mom
feels the children just have to have!

I lead Greg over to a 2000 silver Porsche Boxer, a Christmas gift from my
parents, and we are soon cruising through the streets of Chicago. I head
over to Lake Shore Drive, and we head up the strip.

It travels along Lake Michigan, and on a day as beautiful as this, the
water is in grand splendor, a radiant shade of blue, reminding me of
Greg's eyes. The main topic of conversation, of course, was the job
offer. We see a TCBY, and stop off for a cup.

We both concluded that this was a grand offer, and that the timing was
perfect. The children are small, and can be with us without the
restraints of school. We also discuss our qualifications, considering we
are both lawyers. But we also realize that the PCL Board would not be so
enthusiastic if they didn't respect our credentials. Besides, our main
focus was to hire competent people to do the job while we coordinated the
project. We could do that. So, it was with great delight that Greg and I
announced our commitment to PCL and the project, which we learned would
be called Paradise Retreat.

Dad was thrilled, because Rich and Jeff had both agreed to work on the
project, and would be in by Thursday's press conference. So on Thursday,
the five of us, along with the ten-member team chosen by the board, stood
proudly as Dad made the announcement that PCL would be launching a new
project--Paradise Retreat, and that the fourteen member team that he sees
with him will head said project. There was an audible gasp from the
throng of reporters as the $30.5 billion price tag was revealed, along
with the model of the island. Also the fact that the island was to be
considered under U.S. government law.

"It's a shame that your brother couldn't stay a little longer. I would
have loved to hear some really embarrassing stories about you. I bet he
has a lot." Greg grins as we head back upstairs after the press
conference.

"They would all probably be exaggerated far beyond their truth, if I know
Rich. It's amazing he came at all, what with Bessie being pregnant. He
did have some good things to say about you, although I told you he was
prone to exaggeration. Ouch!" I say, as Greg slugs me in the arm.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much. Just that you seemed like a nice fellow, and that I had
better be good to you because he could see that you made me happy. Crap
like that."

"Crap, huh? I'll show you crap," he says, as he grabs me and hugs me. At
that moment, two high-pitched squeals pierce the air as two pair of
little feet comes rushing towards us. We scoop down and grab our bundles;
Greg had Micah, and I had Robin. We move over to the seat facing the
lake, and sit, watching the sun set over the lake. Life couldn't get much
better than this.

***********************************************************************

One thing about living in a high rise is that the sun has a way of
bringing you out of a deep sleep very rudely. That, and a ringing phone
will do the trick every time as Greg's phone was playing the musical
version of Hey Ya! by Outkast.

He unwraps himself from me as he reaches out on the nightstand to
retrieve it. "Hel-hello?" he says, sleep still in his voice. After we had
put the kids to bed last night, he and I enjoyed a long soak in the hot
tub, followed by a torturous sixty-nine, bringing each other to the peak
so many times before we finally, out of sheer exhaustion, fell over the
cliff.

"Hi, mom," I hear him say. "Sorry I haven't called recently. Been kind of
busy. How are you?..And Dad and Joey?..Everyone is okay, but I do have a
surprise for you. When are you and Dad coming home?...Okay, I'll see."
After another few minutes of conversation, "I love you too, Mom. I'll
call you back and let you know. Bye."

"What's that look?" I ask, as he settles back in bed.

"My parents want me to come for a visit."

"So?" I ask.

"They don't know about--us, or the children. How am I suppose to tell
them that their son is gay, and the father of two children?"

"Just like you just did." I answer. "I know it's hard, baby. It's hard to
disappoint your parents, and this is a major disappointment. It's almost
like death when they realize that the dream they had for you isn't what
they are going to get. But, children disappoint parents each and every
day. By not choosing the careers, mates, or lifestyles that they dream
from the moment of conception. I am sure that one day Micah and Robin
will disappoint us."

"Never!" Greg teases.

"Yes--they will," I play along. "But that doesn't mean that we won't
embrace whatever decision they make. We can't live their lives for them,
and our only real desire is that they are happy, healthy, and productive
adults. Right?" He nods his assent. "And that's all your parents really
want for you, to be happy. I do make you happy, don't I?"

"That's the dumbest question you ever asked of me," he retorts. "My life
begins and ends with you and the children." He searches my face for
understanding. "So, when can we go? I have to call Mom back and let her
know."

"This weekend? We'll just fly to Baltimore, and then drive back to the
city from there. Okay?"

Greg reaches over and picks up his phone. "Hi, mom, how's this
weekend?...It's going to be good to see you, too. Will Joey be there? Oh,
well, maybe next time. I have a surprise for you, anyway. No, I'm not
going to tell you over the phone. You'll just have to wait. Okay, see you
then. I love you...Bye"

"I know how you felt."

"Huh?" Greg asks as he settles back in my arms.

"I now know how you felt. Meeting the parents. But at least my parents
had met you before."

"Don't worry. My parents will love you, almost as much as I do."

We took a commercial flight out of Chicago, and landed at BWI early on
Friday morning. We secured a van, with car seats, and drove from
Baltimore to Greg's hometown on the Delaware River.

It was really beautiful country, and the children were thrilled to see
the variety of birds that graced the countryside.

"Greg? I think we should find hotel rooms before we descend upon your
parents."

"Why?"

"Well, this is going to be a shock for them. First, they have to deal
with the fact that they are now grandparents, and the unusual
circumstances of the children's birth. Secondly, they have to deal with
the fact that the son they thought was a normal heterosexual, is now
involved in a homosexual relationship. And third, they have to face your
partner--me--who I am sure they are going to blame for turning their son
gay."

"That's unfair, babe. You don't even know my parents, and yet you have
prejudged them on this. I'm confident that everything will be alright."

"You're right, you know your parents. But, do me a favor, put yourself in
their position. Your handsome, lawyer son is coming home for a visit. He
hasn't given you a clue as to what has been going on in his life for over
a year and a half. He shows up, not only with a child he claims is his
own, but also his lover, his male lover, and that lover's child. Would
you not be shocked? Thrown for a loop? Or would you just open your arms
and say `well, done'. I don't think so, I wouldn't expect less."

"You're expecting some kind of confrontation?"

"Honestly, yes."

"But your parents were cool about the whole thing. What makes you think
less of mine?"

"It's not that I think less of your parents. On the contrary, I regard
them in the highest esteem, and I love them sight unseen because they
have reared a wonderful man who is my life. But, remember my parents were
privy to some of the details of the past year and a half, yours were not.
My parents had the opportunity to meet you while I was hospitalized,
yours did not. My parents at least had some history. What kind of history
do your parents have? And my parents knew of Shelia. Did your parents
know you had a serious relationship with Annette?"

"Okay," he says, "I'll concede, Counselor. Maybe you're right. This is a
lot to spring on them at one time. There is a Sheraton near the beach.
What do you say if we see if they have room for us?"

"Sounds good. And hopefully we can find someone to stay with the children
while we get in a preliminary visit this afternoon. We need to tell them
about us without the children clouding the scene."

We find our way to the hotel, and fortunately, they had a large suite
available that could accommodate our large family. After getting settled,
we ask the Concierge if he can recommend a good daycare provider. He
explained that the hotel offered such a service, and pointed in the
direction we needed to go.

After questioning the staff, we were confident that the children would be
in good hands, and departed to meet Greg's parents.

"The house is over behind those trees," Greg says, pulling over to the
side of the road. "Are you ready?"

"I'm as nervous as bird with a wounded wing in a closed room with hungry
cats."

Greg starts to laugh, and his laughter becomes infectious. He starts up
the van, gives me a kiss, and we pull off. Soon we are driving up a
circular drive to his parents home.

"It is beautiful here, Greg," I remark. The house is situated right at
the mouth of the Delaware River, where it dumps into Delaware Bay. If you
squinted, as Greg pointed out, you could make out the tip of the
lighthouse way off in the distance. There looks to be two or three acres
of well manicured lawn that slopes gently to the sandy beach below.

"Greg!" this stunning woman proclaims coming out of the house. "You're
finally here!"

"Hi, Mom!" Greg returns, as he hugs her. "Mom, I want you to meet David
Welsh. Dave, my mom, Penelope Jefferson."

"Hello, Mrs. Jefferson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Greg has
told me much about you."

"Well, David, it's nice to meet you also. But I'm afraid you have the
advantage. Greg has not mentioned much about you, but then again he has
to call in order to mention his friends."

"Then it's a good thing that Dave came with me, isn't it?"

"Come on in the house." She takes us both by the arm, propelling us
toward the entrance. "We can get your bags later." I give Greg a sideways
glance.

"Your father is out on the patio. We were just about to have lunch. Are
you boys hungry?" she asks. "Of course you are. Boys are always hungry,"
she answers, before we can respond.

"Gregory, my boy!" a distinguished looking man says. "Welcome home. And
who might you be?"

"David Welsh, Sir! Pleased to meet you."

"None of that `sir' stuff. Call me Dean. Come, sit, and eat. We were
just about to have lunch." Greg's mom had prepared some Rubens on rye
with the most delicious Cole Slaw on the side. She topped it off with
cool, refreshing glasses of lemonade. We got to know a little of each
other as we sat sharing a meal.

"So, tell us," his mother prompts, "how did the two of you meet? Do you
work together?"

"Yes...and no!" Greg answers. He goes on to explain how we were
introduced through Annette and Shelia, and how we became fast friends.
They were disturbed to learn of our battle with Reynolds, but happy, of
course, with the outcome.

"Well, I guess we had better get going," Greg says, causing confusion to
come on his parent's faces.

"What are you talking about? Going where?"

"Mom, we have accommodations at the Sheraton."

"Well, Gregory, why did you do that?" his father asks.

"Oh--they aren't alone, dear," Greg mom interjects. "You should have
brought them along. Well, promise that they'll come tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, I promise." We get into the van and head back to the Sheraton. "We
didn't tell them." Leave it to me to state the obvious.

"Tomorrow. I just wanted to spend one day of peace before the storm." I
take his right hand in mine, and we drive in silence all the way back.

After retrieving the children, we had dinner brought to the room, gave
the children their baths, and all four of us climbed into bed. Tomorrow
was going to be a big day, and we need our rest.

************************************************************************

Not since the kidnapping had I awaken without Greg being in my arms, or
visa versa. But that is how I found myself this morning. Sometime during
the night, we had drifted apart. I don't know if this is an omen
foretelling things to come, or just a magnification of the worry over
today's events. I know that the reaction of Greg's parents to our
overwhelming news weighs heavily on both our minds, and I'm not sure
which one of us pulled away during the night, but we lay apart.

I ease out of bed, trying not to disturb Greg, slip on my boxers, and go
into the bath to take care of my morning ritual of relieving the pressure
of yesterday's liquids that want to escape, brushing my teeth, and
washing my face. I then go into the children's room and check up on them.
They are sleeping like the angels they are. Micah is definitely my child.
His covers have been kicked off, and in his sleep, he repeats the action
the minute I cover him again.

I decide that it's a losing battle. I didn't like cover when I was a
child either, so I head over to the mini-bar and make some coffee. I pour
myself a cup, and gently ease open the sliding glass door leading to the
balcony. The balcony is pretty much private since we are on the top
floor, and I stand there looking out over the bay as I have my coffee.

The day is gray and ominous, could it be another omen? Lost in thought, I
didn't hear Greg open the door behind me.

"Good morning, hon," he says, gripping me from behind and planting a kiss
against my neck. "You're up kind of early."

"Yeah, had a Mother Nature visit, and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, no," I lied. It's the first lie I ever told him other than when I
told him that he meant nothing to me when we were separated.

"So, what were you thinking about? You aren't worried still about telling
my parents, are you?"

"No, I trust your judgment. If you say things are going to be fine with
them, then I believe it." My second lie.

"Good! I thought we'd go out after lunch. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. It'll give us a chance to get the children settled." It's
at that moment, we hear the wail of one of the children. Rushing inside,
we see a bright little blonde head peering over the edge of the crib
railing.

"Good morning, sweetheart," I say, as I scoop Robin up in my arms. She
settles immediately as she lays her head against my shoulder. "Did you
have good dreams last night?"

"Oh, hey, big guy," I hear Greg says, as he picks up an awake, but calm
Micah. "Uh oh, guess who's soaked?" Greg begins to strip Micah of his wet
things, and of course, just as he removes the diaper, Micah lets loose
with another offering, catching Greg across the arm. "Ugh," he moans,
causing me to bust with laughter. Soon, all of us, including the kids,
are giggling. This little episode relieves a lot of the tension that had
been building.

After getting the children dressed, we all had a nice breakfast. After
which, Greg and I got on the floor and let the children jump and crawl
over us.

About noon, we prepared the children, and packing their diaper bags with
diapers, water, milk, powder, wipes, food, toys, and changes of clothing,
we grab the portable playpen and head down to the van.

The same clerk that checked us in was behind the counter as the elevator
doors opened. "You're not checking out, are you sirs?" he asks.

"No, not just yet," Greg returns. "Just going for an outing."

"You didn't forget the kitchen sink, did you?" he smiles.

"No, I'm sure that's in one of these bags," I laugh.

"Thank God all those days are behind me. I remember them well. Have a
good day, sirs."

"Thank you. We will." We get the van all loaded, and the children secured
in their seats, and Greg jumps behind the wheel, and we're off.

We both emit a heavy sigh as we exit the van. "Here goes everything,"
Greg quips. His parents have come onto the porch to greet us.

"We were expecting you earlier," Dean begins.

"Well, we thought we'd give you a chance to get ready for us," Greg says.
"Mom, Dad, I want you to meet three very special people in my life. This
is Micah," Greg says, taking him from the car seat, "and that's Robin.
These are our children."

"Your what?"

"Your grandchildren," he croaks. "And you met Dave. But you should know
that Dave is more than a friend, he's my partner, my domestic partner.
I'm gay."

"I think I need to sit," Dave's father says, as he sits on the steps.

"Gregory! What are you talking about?"

"May we come in? We will explain everything." We grab the items from the
van, and the six of us move into the house, going into the family room.
We set up the playpen, but the children rebel, so Greg's mom insists that
they be set free--so to speak.

"Okay. Start at the beginning son. We need to hear everything," Dean
says.

"Well, at least you called me son."

"Why shouldn't I? You are my son, and you always will be."

"Greg, nothing you can ever do will make us love you less. You have to
know that," his mother adds.

Encouraged by those words, we begin to tell them the whole story. When we
get to the part about our breakup, Greg mom punches him in the shoulder.
Robin moves into her grandfather's lap, and we can't help but notice the
interaction between them. Micah instinctively moves to sit between Greg
and his mom, and she places an affectionate arm around him.

They are horrified to learn the extent of the torture that we endured at
the hands of Reynolds, and rightfully questioned as to the safety of the
children.

"We didn't know about either then," I say. Greg goes on to explain about
the kidnapping, and the ransom. They were surprised to learn that I am an
heir of the PCL dynasty.

"I would have given all that I own to save Greg."

Greg then goes on to say how it was I, not the police, who really rescued
us, and how we learned from Reynolds about the children.

He told them how we flew to Houston, and then onto the Caribbean, where
Annette was arrested. How we had to agonize months of interviews and
inspections, go through financial revues, psychological tests, and
parenting classes in an effort to prove to the courts that we were
acceptable parents, but how last week, we were told by our lawyers that
we could bring our children home.

"It was the best moment in our lives," he says, taking my hand and
looking into my eyes. "So, you see, biologically, Micah is Dave's son,
and Robin is my daughter. But emotionally, each child is interchangeable.
We are blest to love them both."

"Are you happy son?"

"Dad, the word happy doesn't begin to describe how I feel. I am in love,
I am loved, I have two wonderful children--this is what life is all
about."

"You know you two are going to face a lot of challenges being a gay
couple in this world, don't you?" Penelope asks.

"Yeah, Penelope, we do. But with the love that we have, those obstacles
are non-existent. Fortunately, we have more than enough money not to care
what others think of our personal life. We are both damn good attorneys,
who give 150% to every client we represent, but if they want to settle
for less, that's okay by us."

"Besides," Greg says, "PCL has offered each of us, along with Dave's
brothers, the opportunity to develop a new resort, and we accepted. The
salary for both of us combined is over $1 million a year, if you include
the benefits."

Dean whistles at the figure. "What will you be doing."

"PCL," I begin, purchased an island..."

"An island?" Greg's mom interjects.

"Yes ma'am, about 150 miles south east of Jamaica. They want to develop
it into a sort of Sandals for families; private resort for couples or a
resort for the not so private, if you get my meaning. Anyway, we are
scheduled to open in the spring of '06. Of course, you'll be coming?"

"We'll be living down there through the construction. Dave's brother will
manage thing stateside. We figure the timing couldn't be more perfect
since the children are little. As we speak, living quarters are being
shipped to the island. We will be leaving in a couple of months
ourselves."

"But how are we going to get to know these precious angels if you take
them so far away."

"Penelope, Dean, you may come to visit as often as you wish, and of
course, we'll be flying back and forth."

"Thank you, Dave. And call us Mom and Dad. But, to be honest, we cannot
afford to travel as often as we'd like."

"Say no more. My jet just happens to berth in Manassas, Virginia, and
whenever you want to come, just let me know. My pilot, Scott, will be
more than happy to serve you."

"That's too much."

"Nonsense, we wouldn't have it any other way. So that's settled."

"Okay, then, not another word about it," Dean says. "So, why don't you
two go somewhere, shopping or something, and grandma and I will get to
know our grandchildren."

"You sure? Toddlers can be a handful, and you're not as young as you used
to be."

"I can still bend you over my knee..."

"Greg, we'd better go. I think they're serious," I laugh.

"Okay, then, since I'm out manned, everything is in the diaper bags..."

"Greg, we know how to handle children. We do have two of our own, you
know," his mom interrupts. "Now, go!"

I pull Greg by the hand, and we head off. We take his Mom's suggestion
and head out to an area mall. We buy lots of things for the children,
from clothing to toys, and a few pieces for ourselves. We round one
corner, and there before us is a fine jewelry store.

Greg takes me by the hand and we wait to be buzzed inside. "Oh, Dave,
what a beautiful ring," Greg exclaims. I look to where he is pointing,
and there is this medium-width, banded ring with two rows of diamonds
surrounding a row of emeralds on platinum setting.

"May we see this ring?" I ask of the salesperson.

"This is a fine piece. There are only two like them in the world. The
clarity of the diamonds and the emeralds are flawless. Would you care to
look," she asks, drying an eyepiece she has removed from some antiseptic
solution.

We peer through the eyepiece, seeing that indeed the color and the
clarity are superb. "You said that there are two rings? Do you have them
both?" I ask.

"Yes sir, we do," the salesperson responds, nervousness in her voice.

"How much for the pair?" I ask.

"They are a little pricey. Each ring is $95K," she says,
matter-of-factly.

"Debra?", I say, reading her nametag, I'll give you $175K, right now, for
the pair."

"Dave? That's too much money!" Greg says.

"Greg, I know what you're thinking. But I love them too. They are perfect
for us."

"I don't know sir," the salesperson says, interrupting our debate.

"That's a generous offer, and you'll make a great commission. Is there
someone you can call?"

"I can page my boss. He's just in the food court upstairs."

"Then I suggest you do that." She goes to do so while Greg and I continue
to browse. I notice that she is keeping her eye on us, but instead of
being bothered by this fact, it amuses me.

"He'll be right here, sirs. Would you care to see anything else while we
wait?"

Soon, a little man appears at the door, with an armed security guard at
his side. In a way, this is unsettling, especially to Greg, but I manage
to keep him calm.

"This is our store manager, Mr. Robert Whitehouse," the salesperson says.
"Mr. Whitehouse, this is Misters..."

"Gregory Jefferson, and I'm David Welsh. Our pleasure, Mr. Whitehouse," I
say.

"Please to meet you gentlemen. Now, how may I be of service?"

"Well, your learned salesperson showed us this ring," I say, pointing out
the ring..."

"It's one of the Catherine Ann Collections," she says.

"Yes. And she mentioned that there was a matching piece. We examined both
pieces and are interested in purchasing them. She quoted a price of $95K
each, and I countered with $175K. So, I guess the ball is your court."

"That's a lot of money," he says.

"I assure you that that amount is comfortable for me. Here is my credit
card. You can call the number for approval."

He takes the card, and goes into his office to make the call in private.

"Gentlemen, if you are still interested, Debra will write you up. You
have indeed purchased two of the finest pieces that we have. I am honored
to be of service to you."

We see this exquisite strand of pearls with diamond connections, and I
add that to the bill. "For Mom," I tell Greg. "She can wear it opening
night." And I grab a pair of diamond studs for Dean.

"How soon can the rings be sized?" Greg asks.

"For such valued customers, a half hour?" Mr. Whitehouse asks.

"That's perfect." We have our rings sized, and I sign the credit slip.

"I can't believe you just did that," Greg says.

"I didn't do it. We did." We are on our way back to the van. "Now I guess
that means that you have to marry me." Greg stops dead in his tracks.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"I said I guess that means that you have to marry me."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Did I stutter?" I ask coyly. "Will you make an honest man of me, and
become my partner for life. I am incomplete without you Greg. You are the
better half of me. I can't imagine a day when you're not with me,
together raising our children, loving me, and growing old with me. Will
you complete me by pledging to be mine?"

We are standing beside the van at this point. Greg places the packages in
the back before he turns to me. "Dave, I fell in love with you that very
first night I saw you. For me, it was only natural the way things turned
out at the lake. That was what freaked me out. I had never experienced
anything like that before. When we were apart, I was miserable. Then I
thought that I had lost you.

How you ever forgave a fool and a coward like me, I'll never understand,
but you did. And you never once had a second thought to loving my child
as I love yours. We have been blessed.

Therefore, there is nothing that would make me happier than to formally
be your life-partner. I'd be happy to wear your ring." We kiss each
other, right there in the parking lot, to the surprise of many of the
people passing by.

"That's disgusting!" some idiot yells from a passing car. We laugh, and
climb back into the van. Just as we reach the highway, Greg's cell phone
rings. It's Mom. She wants us to have a night to ourselves, and offers to
keep the children, thereby, as she rations, giving her a chance to know
them. They are doing fine, and are just about ready to go to bed.

"If you're sure, thanks, Mom," I say.

"Thanks Mom!" Greg echoes, as we disconnect the speakerphone.

"Well, it looks like we have the evening to ourselves. What do you want
to do?" I ask Greg.

He raises his eyebrows. "Why don't we go back to the hotel, and celebrate
our engagement?"

I just smile. "Just one more stop, then," I say. Over there." I point to
this tuxedo rental store in this strip mall we were passing. We go in,
and get fitted in two stunning tuxedos, and with a little prompting, have
them prepared while we wait. Both of us had purchased pairs of black
dress shoes while at the mall.

We were amazed when we got back to the hotel. We had so many purchases
that it took a bell captain with a luggage cart to assist us.

"Why don't you go on up," Greg says to me as I eye him suspiciously.

"Why? What are you up too?"

"Me? Nothing," he says all too innocently. "I just want to pre-order
dinner. I get the feeling that we are going to need our strength
tonight." I blush, and so does the bellman. Fifteen minutes later, he
rejoins me in our suite.

"What did you order for dinner?"

"Lots and lots of aphrodisiacs," he teases.

"I wouldn't put it past you," I come back. "Trying to take advantage of
an innocent like me."

"Innocent, my ass!" Greg counters. "Dinner will be at seven in Walrus
Room."

"What?"

"A special dinner requires a special place. So, hurry and get dressed."
He takes his tux, and heads into the adjoining room, shutting the door.

The ringing of the telephone startles me. "Are you almost ready?" Greg
asks.

"All I have to do is tie my shoes."

"Okay. I'll be there in a sec." Moments later, the bell rings on the
front door of the suite. I open it to a vision.

"My...my...my," is all I can utter as Greg stands before me. He looks so
handsome standing before me in his tuxedo. "Greg, you, you take my breath
away!"

"I must say, Mr. Welsh, you do look rather dashing in a tuxedo yourself.
Makes me yearn to see you out of your tuxedo," he smiles, showing me a
brilliant smile. "If you're ready?"

He helps me with my jacket, and we head down to the lobby. To my
surprise, he ushers me out the front door and into a waiting limo. "Greg,
where are we going?"

"I told you we would be dining in the Walrus Room tonight."

"I know, but I thought the Walrus Room was in the hotel."

"Just sit back and enjoy the ride. I'm in control tonight." He hands me a
glass of champagne as we settle back for the ride. Fifteen minutes later,
we pull up into the parking lot of a restaurant, The Walrus Room. We get
out of the car to the curiosity of a few patrons entering. Upon
identifying ourselves, we are led into a private room elegantly dressed
in white linens, bone china, sparkling silver and crystal, and bathed
with the fragrant scent of dozens of white roses.

"This is absolutely beautiful," I say to Greg as I squeeze his hand.
Soft, contemporary music is being filtered through hidden speakers, and I
notice that they are our favorites.

Greg leads me over to the table, as a waiter approaches. "Good evening,
gentlemen. I am Colin, and I'll be your host this evening. We hope that
we meet your standards, and whatever you wish is our command.

Your dinner has been pre-selected, so we'll begin with a host of
aperitifs: oysters in white wine sauce, beluga caviar and water-crackers,
shrimp cocktail, fruits, and of course, cheeses. Please help yourselves."

We fix ourselves a small sampling of the items. Greg starts feeding me
oysters, causing me to laugh. "What's so funny," he asks.

"You."

"What?" he asks innocently.

"I don't need stimuli to get me in the mood. Just a glance of you starts
my libido reacting," I giggle. Soon the salads arrive. Caesar, and they
are delicious. We enjoy a little of the clam chowder, but as we are
eating, a favorite song begins playing, Rod Stewart's version of Someone
To Watch Over Me.

"Come on, let's dance," I say, grabbing Greg by the hand. He melts into
my arms as we begin to move to the music. He feels so wonderful in my
arms.

There's a somebody I'm longing to see I hope that she turns out to be
Someone who'll watch over me

"This is the first time we've ever danced," I remark.

I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood I know I could always be good To
one who'll watch over me

Although I may not be the man some Girls think of as handsome But to her
heart I'll carry the key

Won't you tell her please to put on some speed Follow my lead, oh, how I
need Someone to watch over me

"Too much wasted time," Greg responds. I can feel him begin to swell
against me as I begin to match his ardor. Thankfully, the song ends
before we get too aroused.

"Ahem, excuse me sirs. I hate to interrupt, but dinner is served." We had
almost forgotten we weren't alone. We take our seats, and Colin removes
the covers revealing the main course: salmon steaks with Teriyaki sauce,
baked potato, and steamed spinach.

We finish the meal, dining with intimate conversation. Dessert was a
chocolate soufflé and coffee, followed by a sifter of brandy.

"Greg?" I begin. "This has been the most fantastic day of my life;
meeting your parents for who we really are and being accepted by them;
this wonderfully romantic dinner with the man I love--how can we ever top
this?"

"We are not having a competition."

"I know. But there is something that I want to do."

"Oh?"

"Yes." I say, getting on one knee. I can see Colin look towards us as I
get down and take Greg's hand in mine."

"Dave--you don't have to do this."

"Just be quiet and let me have my say. This afternoon, when we bought the
bands, I had thought to use them at our wedding/commitment ceremony. But
the more I thought of it, I realized it only appropriate that we tell the
world of our feelings by wearing them now.

Before I ask you to wear this ring, I just want you to know how I feel
about you. I've told you that I love you, but that seems so--inadequate.
Every breath I take is because of you. You are my reason for getting up
to face a new day.

Each time that I look at you, I am in awe. I can't believe that you
choose to spend time with me, and to profess your love for me. I have to
often pinch myself just to assure myself that I am not dreaming. I can't
imagine a time without you. I can't imagine a moment when I cannot think
of you, or a night when I can't hold you.

So," I say, pulling the ring from my pocket, and slipping it on the third
finger of his left hand, "say you'll be mine. That you'll allow me to
protect you, to love you, to comfort you, to cheer for you, to champion
your causes, and to cry with you--always?"

"Dave," he says, after a long pause, "oh Dave. I want nothing more than
to be with you until eternity, loving you and protecting you, crying with
you and laughing with you. I want to cheer for you, and champion your
causes, because I love you--I always have, and I always will." I give him
my ring from my other pocket, and he places it on my finger. He stands,
pulling me up with him, and we kiss.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you," Colin says, coming to our
side. He has a bottle of champagne in his hand, and two fluted glasses.
"Compliments of the house," he says.

"Thank you Colin," we say. He pours us a glass, and we toast each other.

"Colin!" Greg says, turning towards him. "Tell Andre that you were an
excellent host, and that everything was superb. This is for you," Greg
says as he presses two one hundred dollar bills in his hand.

"This is too generous," he exclaims.

"Nonsense. You helped to make a glorious evening more glorious."

We walk back to the waiting limo, and are soon on our way back to the
hotel. We can't help but grin every time we cast our gaze at the rings on
each other's hand.

We somehow manage to restrain ourselves on the ride to the floor, but the
minute the door to our suite closes, Greg pulls me into his arms. His
soft, moist lips find mine, and I begin my journey towards heaven. I
could kiss this man forever.

We're almost desperate to free ourselves of our clothing, and soon meet
naked in the center of the bed. Once again, we connect, our tongues
battling as the heat in our loins rise. My whole body becomes flushed, as
passion and lust combine to increase the urgency of our coupling.

I break from Greg. "I want to make love to you, Greg. Will you let me?"
He nods his head, and I lay him down on the bed. I start at his forehead,
kissing every square inch of his face, alighting on his lips, those
wonderful, soft, luxurious lips. Again, our tongues begin to battle.

And again I break free, continuing my journey over his neck and across
his shoulders and down his right arm, nipping at the taut flesh covering
his biceps. I lick the crease of his elbow, feeling his pulse beat
against my tongue.

I rub my cheek against his forearm, feeling the hairs scratch against my
face. Greg gasps as I run a wet tongue over the back of his wrist.

I kiss the tips of each finger, before I pull them into the wet confines
of my mouth. Greg groans, and his hand reaches for his dick with his left
hand, pulling on the shaft.

I release his right hand, and pry the left from his dick, where I repeat
the same action, only in reverse as to what I did before. I kiss my way
across his chest until I reach a nipple, pulling it into my mouth for a
thorough washing. It reaches hardness under my ministrations, and Greg
compliments my actions by groaning, so deeply I can feel the vibrations
against my lips.

When I leave, the nipple is standing hard and proud, offering itself to
the world above the thick forest of hair where it resides. I move across
to the other side, bringing the other nipple above the forest as well.

"Oh, God," Greg moans, as I begin to nibble my way over the ridges of his
stomach. I part the hairs surround his navel, and dive into his inny. The
head of his thick cock is sending it fragrance towards my nostrils,
beckoning me to taste. Copious fluid is leaking from the eye, and I slurp
up the pools that have collected on his stomach.

"Suck my dick, baby. Please suck my dick." I open my mouth, and begin to
inhale Greg's nine inches of thick flesh. I don't stop until he is firmly
nestled in my throat, his pubes tickling my nose.

"Oh--my--God!" Greg exclaims. I begin to bob up and down on his shaft,
and his hip begin to react, forcing more of himself into me. My hands
seize his balls, rolling them between my fingers, tugging them, egging
them to produce more of his creamy milk for me.

Greg instinctively spreads his legs as my fingers travel further towards
his asshole. I wet a finger, and slip it inside, seeking out that special
button. I find it with my finger, and with my thumb, I seek out the same
position at the base of his dick, thereby stimulating it from both sides.

Greg is going wild as his dick thrusts harder and more quickly into my
sucking mouth. His fingers are playing lightly in my hair. I can feel him
begin to swell, but I'm not ready for him to cum just yet.

I pull off his dick, much to his horror. I grab the lube off of the bed
stand. I lube myself up, and then move onto Greg. "Easy," he warns, "you
have me so hot." I reach back, and grab his balls, violently tugging them
away from his body. He yelps, but it does the trick.

I stand above him, and slowly lower myself down. Greg lines himself
perfectly, and we both moan from the sensation as he is planted firmly in
me.

"Oh, yeah," I moan.

"Do me baby," he answers. I begin to slowly rise up and down, clinging to
every inch of him as we are joined in my most intimate spot.

Soon we develop a rhythm, and we start to match each other stroke for
stroke. Greg grabs my bobbing dick, and begins to stroke it as he thrusts
into me.

"Oh sweet Jesus," Greg says, "this is so good." I bend down, giving him a
kiss. His arms encircle my sweat soaked body. Finding his nipples, I pull
them as if they were the reigns holding a bucking bronco as I ride the
horse-cock embedded deep in my body.

"I'm going to cum," I warn Greg, as the rhythm of our motion changes.

"Me, too!" he returns, thrusting harder into my body. I can feel him
swell, stretching me open even more.

One final thrust, forcing the air from both our bodies as my tortured
prostate gland is abused one final time. Greg cock starts to spew as my
own dick erupts, scalding his chest, neck, and face with my essence.

Each of us is catapulted into our own worlds, together and separate, we
collide over and over again as the shock of our simultaneous explosions
rockets our bodies.

Greg reaches for me, pulling me against his chest, gluing us together
with the paste that I've deposited on him. His lips find mine, and we
share a part of me that has landed close by and gets caught between us,
giving us a new flavor to enjoy.

I lift off of him and roll to his side, feeling his abundant flow oozing
from my ass.

"That was so incredible," Greg says, folding his arm around me.

"It does get better every time, doesn't it?" I answer, snuggling close.

"Come on, husband-to-be. I think we need a bath."

"Does that mean you're the wife."

"You just got fucked," Greg says, "but I must admit, there's nothing like
having this," he continues, holding my dick, "at home deep inside of me."

"You keep that up, and you're going to make me hard again."

"Like me?" Soon, I have him spread open in the shower as we go for round
number two.

Someone To Watch Over Me, Rod Stewart As Time Goes By: The Great American
Songbook, Volume II, Words and Music by George & Ira Gershwin; Richard
Perry, Producer