This week is going a lot better than last, with thoughts of our coffee date on Friday.   Already Thursday!  Time for another workout at the Y on the way home.   Swim a mile (in 37 minutes, still) and a moderate workout. Home to a little reading and early to bed.   Ha!  Friday finally DID get here!   Hoped Greg would call me during the week, but it's OK, cool that he didn't.   His folks don't need to know we're "dating."  Hell, there I go again, rushing into romance!   SLOW down and smell the coffee.  Thanks, Ann Landers, good advice.   - - - - Friday evening and I'm half way through my workout -- a light one, after a mile swim.  Don't want to wear out before our date.

It's 2145, or 9:45 in civilian time, and I'm in Greg's store.   I'm becoming a Friday night habitué, but I guess a lot of people have a schedule, doing the same thing on the same day each week.   I get a few things.  Not really interested in food -- just Greg, so it's time to check out... There he is, working for Marsha, again.   After I put my few items on the moving belt I look up and he's gone!  Where? Is something wrong? Did he leave so he wouldn't have to talk to me?  Have I only imagined all that interaction? Hell, now I feel lower than I've felt in a year!  Ah, well - - another 'short, safe, sexcapade." Not much fun, though.  Is that "safe sex for the 80's?'  With self doubts like these, sure that no nice looking or young guy could be interested in me, much less a guy who is tops both ways, I mentally kick myself   out the door.  BAH!   I round the corner toward  my Bug and stop in shocked delight.  Greg is out here!

"Hi, Greg! I thought you'd gone on break, or might have second thoughts on going out for coffee."

"Oh, no. I've been looking forward to our coffee date.  I want to talk to you alone a little first, and think it's better if we don't always come out together. In case I stay out too long, that is."

"Well, that makes me feel better! I want to talk to you, too. In fact, I was up all week thinking about our coffee date," I pause when I realize the double meaning and glance up at him.  He's cool, so I continue,

"I hope we get to know each other better and become friends.  I think we're a lot alike.  A coffee date sounds just right tonight.   Maybe a flick or kick back around a pizza, some other night.

"Both of those others sound good, but I'm excited to have a coffee date tonight -- with you."  He puts his head down then glances up at me through his eyebrows, timidly, and smiles.   Junior lurches in my pants.

"But first I have to finish cleaning this place up.  It normally takes me an hour but I've already started, so it shouldn't take more than half an hour...." He paused, leaving me an obvious opening.

"Do you have to do some restocking, too?"

"No, it's done. I was so anxious to go on our date I guess I hurried too much and lifted some double boxes I shouldn't have.  I think I pulled a muscle or two in my shoulders and the back of my neck."

I move next to Greg, put my hands on his shoulders and begin massaging his neck and shoulders, digging my thumbs in where I feel some tight muscles.  "There?" I ask, as he winces.

"Ohhh, yeah. That feels good but kind of hurts, too."

"I can feel the tightness in there, Greg. Restocking, lifting boxes, twisting as you put them up on the shelf is the worst thing for your back. Luckily it seems like it's only affected your neck and shoulders."

"Well, my lower back feels a little sore and weak. - - How'd you know? Are you a doctor?"

"Nope, just work in a health related field and picked up some pointers from the OTs and PTs. That's Occupational and Physical Therapists. Hey, I have an idea! -- Why don't you come over to my place as soon as you're off and along with coffee or soda, I'll massage out those kinks and sore spots.  I got some good massage oil from a PT I work with, and you shouldn't go straight to bed or those muscles will tighten up, may even cramp severely and cause you pain and problems for a week."

"But I don't want to take advantage of you or keep you up late."

"Greg, I don't normally go to bed before midnight on Fridays and then I lie there and read until one or two. It would sure be more fun for me to have a handsome young guy come over to visit." {Oh, Hell! If he didn't know that I was gay before, he sure does now!  Will he run like a scalded cat?}

"OK, Bob, I would like very much to come visit you, and a massage would be WONderful! How do I get to your place?" {With his emphasis on that word and quick acceptance, maybe I did good by letting the cat out of the bag.}

"Here, I'll draw you a map. It's not hard {not yet, but it's getting there!} and it's less than two miles." I draw him a map on a big Post-it note. I always keep a pad in the glove box.

"Five turns and you'll be there. The only tricky one to look out for is after you leave Timberlake Road at the light, by the Exxon station and the Spud Nut Shop.  From there you have to count four intersections on the right and take the next road to the right. It curves a little and there's no light at my corner to let you see the name, "Chambers Road." The pavement ends very soon, then it opens out into a big cul-de-sac with four apartment buildings around it. I'm in the first one on the right, first floor, on the right."

"Got it.  I'll be there as soon as I'm done, but I'm sure it'll be before eleven."

"Great! I'll be up, waiting!"

This time I do grin and glance down to his crotch then back up, to see his eyes on my crotch.  I watch as
he looks back up to my eyes, with the biggest smile I've seen on him, yet. {DOWN, COBRA!}

"Oh, and here's my phone number, just in case you get lost or real late."

Now all I have to do is go home and pace the floor, waiting for him to come -- arrive that is!  Hell!! Here I go again, building a wild romance out of a few harmless comments! Am I a Real Romantic or just a Dumb Ass Horn dog? Probably a combination of both. So I drive home slowly, stop at Baskin Robbins for a half gallon of their Peaches and Cream ice cream. They only make it this time of the year, with fresh peaches. Mmmm - - maybe the way to a young man's Hard is through his stomach...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Greg rings my bell at 10:45 and I open it before the sound dies away.

"Were you waiting with your hand on the knob, Bob?" he asks with a shy smile.

"Well, yes.  Come in!   It seems like it's taken three hours for this past 45 minutes to fly by!"

"It seemed awfully long for me, too. And thanks for inviting me over."  He steps in and I close the door.

"Well, we can't have you going home with a knotted up muscles in your neck or other places, can we? Sit down for a minute and have a soda or coffee and chat.  You'll be more relaxed when I start the massage."

"Sounds good, Bob. I'll just have a glass of fruit juice or non caffeine soda, please."

"OK, Greg. I have OJ, ginger ale, root beer or water -- or coffee, since we were going on a coffee date.
I like having you here much better than just sitting in a fast food joint for poor coffee, though!"

"Ginger ale sounds refreshing without any extra zing.   I need to get right to sleep after I get home."

"Bartender!!  A pint of ale for all the gents!  Oh, I forget, I'm the inn keeper and bartender.  I'll get us each one with ice."

Greg follows me into my kitchen as I pour our sodas over ice in tall plastic mugs.

"Do you live here alone, Bob?  How long have you been in Lynchburg?"

"Yes, I'm a bachelor again, and have lived here since I got to town six months ago.  I haven't really made any friends in these apartments. The other tenants are all pleasant but very young, and seem to party every weekend.  They do keep the noise levels down after midnight, though.  More considerate than a lot of the students at the college where I used to teach.  You say you're in college here, so maybe you'd rather be partying, but you seem to be much more mature than them. How old are you?"

We return to my living room sofa -- really a love seat, so we're sitting just a foot apart.

"I'm 26, so I'm trying to get through my next degree as quick as possible."

"Well, I'd have guessed you as 22, tops, you're so physically fit, alert  and enthusiastic. What's your first degree in?"

"Music major, guitar and percussion. I formed a band half way through High School, here, but wanted more depth than just the head bangers with the volume turned up all the way."

"That's exactly  what most of modern Pop and Hard Rock sounds like to me, Greg! I love a lot of the classic Rock, like the Stones, Grateful Dead, the Eagles and the Doors. It has to have rhythm and melody for me to consider it music, no matter what venue. Guess that's why I do not like Rap, Acid Rock or Opera. All of them sound like they're ripping the guts out of their instruments or someone's standing on their foot to make them holler."

Greg chuckles, then laughs harder and harder until he rolls up into a ball laughing.   He takes a few minutes to calm down to a chuckle, then a giggle.  He sounds cute when he giggles.  Looks pretty cute, too!

"Bob, you got it just right! That's the reason I wanted us all to get some real depth in music theory and composition, plus playing some classical. Do you know Mozart was considered a wild kid who was trying to destroy the Noble and Honorable Music of his day?"

I can hear the capital letters when he labels that music.  I pause and reply

"No -- we've all been told what a genius he was.  To me his music is so unfettered but well constructed that I thought he just rose above his contemporaries."

"Not really. Some of the other Masters recognized his genius, but many of the little foppish snobs considered him a radical renegade, unable or unwilling to follow established protocols for classical music."

"Hey, you're great! In two sentences you've given me new insight into one of my favorite composers without knocking him off his pedestal -- and put some of those pedantic posers in their place."

"Mozart couldn't have lived on a pedestal, Bob. He loved to make up variations on any theme and was able to imitate the style of all the other Masters. He most enjoyed playing for the common folks, though. When he played for the Masters, a few of them took offense but the great ones were both amazed and amused, encouraging him to go further."

"That ties in with the movie Amadeus.   I  wondered if Hollywood just ran wild or if there were some historical data.   But fascinating as your music history is, undoing some of the twists and hidden parts I was unsure of, how are your neck and shoulders?"

I put one hand at the base of his neck and gently squeeze then start kneading it.

"Ouch - guess it's tied up more than I thought."

"Vell, yunk man, you haf cum to der rrrright house! Der Doktor iss in! Shell vi prrrroceed to der hexamining room?" I said, with arching and frowning eye brows and my atrocious parody of a German accent.

"Ja, mein Herr Doktor!" he replies, staying in parody as he leaps up at attention and begins a Heil Hitler salute, but stops with his right arm half way up.   A look of pain crosses his handsome face.

"Whoa, enough play-acting. Time for some real hands on relief!" I tell him and lead him into my bedroom.

I had put a clean, fitted bottom sheet over my mattress pad,  but left the rest of the bedding off. On a chair next to the bed I had several large bath towels, and a bottle of Almond Oil on the bedside table.

"Take off everything but your underpants, if you're wearing some."

"Oh, yeah, I always wear Jockeys. Where shall I put my clothes?"

"Right over here on the chair where the towels are. I'll lay two layers of towels on the bed to keep any oil from going through into the mattress. And, since I'll be working on you a lot, I'll slip out of my shower sandals and take off my shirt and undershirt but leave on my workout shorts." (and my jock!!)

"OK. Do you want me on my stomach or on my back?"

"I'll concentrate on working those kinks out of your back, tonight, so lie on your stomach, hands under your head. You can lay your head on the pillow or just on your hands."

Greg stretches out, relaxes, and closes his eyes. What a beauty!  Broad shoulders with nicely developed deltoids and trapezius, or "delts and traps" in the short-hand muscle man parlance.  His waist is narrow but well defined.   All that lifting had really defined his body!   I knew he was trim, but didn't realize he is almost "buff" as a body builder.  No outsize or over exaggerated muscles or mass, just a wonderful body with muscle definition.  His skin is smooth, lustrous, and toned, too.  He does not have a hair or blemish on his neck, back or arms, and only a light dusting of soft brown hair on his legs. Ah, he does have some pale, fine, golden hair on his arms.  It looked like he had none until there was some light behind it, shining through. SO fine!   Lost in rapt attention, more like "Lost in Space" looking at Greg ---

"Are you OK, Bob?  You just stopped and haven't moved or said a word for a couple of minutes.  I'm starting to get a little cool.  Are you going to massage me?"

"Sorry, Greg.  I just got lost in how great a body you have.   Just the right amount of muscle, definition and muscle mass.   Ultimately masculine, but gentle.   Your skin is in fantastic shape, too.  Do you use anything special on it?"

"Nope,  Just use Ivory soap.  We always have at home, and I kept using it all the time I was away.  Our old family Doc told Mom that it's the best soap to keep your skin clean and clear.  Seemed to work.  I never had any zits going through puberty."

"Well, my friend, just keep doing all that you've done so far!  You are a joy to look at, and now I get to rub you all over, too!   Rub and rip and scrape and pull and ---"  I talked faster and faster in a higher and more nasal pitch, like the mad scientist going off.   I kept a slow, deep massage going, though.  Greg began to chuckle, again, enjoying the contrast.

"Don't rearrange or lose any of the parts!   You have to get them all back in the right places before I can go home!"

"Well, I'll try, but I may get distracted.   Ah, well, time to really get to work!" as I finished the preliminary massage on his neck.

"I'm going to kneel between your knees or thighs to give deep massage across your shoulders, then up
your neck. As soon as it's loose, we'll go down." {and maybe I'll go down on you? NO!  I'll go SLOW damn it!}

"OK, Bob, sounds good. You have such a nice bed, I may go to sleep."

"If you do, my Magic Fingers and my massage have done their work. Here we go. First I'll warm up some oil in my hands, rubbing them like this.  Did you say you'd been married?" {He had, but I thought that would divert him from being aware that my hands will caress his entire body.}

"Yeah, for two years. She was my gal through college then when I took the band on the road she went along, but soon wanted to be more than just "The Leader's Chick" and I wanted it, too. It didn't work out, though. She left me for a guy in another band, out in Seattle. HA! She found out that he has a smaller dick than me!"

"Oh, how do you know that?"

"Well, we were all pretty loose, playing music on the road. I'm not proud of using weed and booze, or doing 'the dirty deed' with a lot of the group and the Groupies.  Everybody was doing it with every body else.   I'm not ashamed of it, but that's behind me.  She married one of the guys we'd both done.  Rod was his name, but he couldn't live up to it. Ha ha ha ha ha!"

"So she got the short end of the stick, eh?"

"HA HA HA, he he he he. YEAH! I hadn't thought of it with that phrase!"

By this time I'd rubbed, rolled, pulled and pushed gently on the muscles in the back of his neck and his shoulders, gradually going deeper and harder.  He tenses at first, as I start working out the knots.  Now as I work down to his back and sides,  he relaxes more and more, and seems to be perfectly at ease with both of us on my bed in our Jockeys.  I am having trouble "thinking pure thoughts," though!  Feeling such magnificent skin on such a fine, young body after no contact for over a year.... Got to contain myself, though!  GOOD thing I'd jumped into a jock and sweat pants before he got here.  I will not seduce, rape, push or entice this young man into sex.   Even if he's done it with other guys, it doesn't mean he wants to with me.  Not now -- maybe not ever.  He is  the closest thing to "an innocent" that I've ever run across!

"What a coincidence, Greg. My marriage started out great, thinking I was in love with a girl, forever. She was the only girl who ever turned me on, but we drifted farther & farther apart until we had nothing left in common. Now I'm just a free spirit."

Then he lights up with a 1000 watt smile. "Hey, me, too. Except for my job at the grocery store and school, which keep me pretty busy."

"Great! Maybe we can get together to do something, some time?" I asked as I squeeze his shoulders, massaging in till my hands meet at his spine then back out, all the way to his shoulder ends..squeezing, manipulating, caressing -- oh, I mean massaging.   Yeah, that, too.  I'm a touchy, feely kind of guy with guys who seem open for it. And he surely seems to be!

"Yeah, I'd like that. Most of the kids in college are so immature. And I'm really enjoying this massage!"

"Well I'm enjoying it just as much as you, Greg. You have a great body! And I really like massaging guys with smooth skin who keep themselves in shape. You have. Do you work out?"

"Not except for the store, but moving all those cases to restock, sweeping, mopping and buffing do keep me pretty fit, I guess."

"You're as buff as you keep the floors there."

"What's that mean?"

"Buff means your body looks great, with all the muscles showing clearly, no fat, no sag, no skin problems."

"Guess I'm pretty lucky. I never even had zits going through puberty.  I was horny but never had a girl, so I jacked off two or three times every day. Maybe that prevented them."

"Well, well. Another thing we have in common, and I often wondered if that was how I skipped zits, too. How often do you, nowadays?"

"What? Jack off? Usually only once, but I'd rather not talk about that.  It makes me uncomfortable."

 Extremely open about some things, but embarrassed by something very similar or 'right next door!'   A babe in the woods, so to speak.   Make me even more convinced that if anything will happen between us, I will have to be patient, and let him take the lead!   "Slow down, you move too fast..." would be good for my theme song!

"Sorry.  You were so casual about your rock and roll years and Seattle that -- no, we don't need to go there.  OK, I've loosened up your shoulders and your back muscles weren't tight. I worked them over just to keep it all in balance.  I don't think I have to do your front or your legs tonight, do you?"

"No, man, but I feel so loose and relaxed now that I could just fall asleep here."

"Hey, fine with me!  I  can crash on the sofa."

"No, I can't stay over without setting it up ahead of time or a lot of explanation, and some of those are awfully close to lies -- or are. I don't want to ever lie to my folks. I don't volunteer some information, such as what we did here, tonight, but I'll never make up stuff to them."

"Good for you!   I'm beginning to realize just how good your character is.   I've enjoyed talking with you at the store and really enjoyed having you over this evening.   Hope we can do more of this or go hiking over in the Blue Ridge, some time.   I love the four seasons here, and so much unspoiled country."

"You like to hike?   I'd love to show you some special spots back there during the Spring or Fall.  It's too hot in the Summer and too cold in the Winter for comfort, but perfect during most of the Spring and Fall.  That's a great idea for after finals, before it gets hot!   Until then, we can go have coffee, or even do some more --"

He pauses, reluctant to invite himself back, but eloquent in his body language: a lower tone of voice and shy glance.   He subconsciously (or consciously) squeezes his shoulder that had the tightest knot.

"Some more massage, over here?"

"Yeah, if it's not too much trouble.  I feel really good, and real relaxed about being here with you."

"Of course we can do more, and I am honored and flattered to have a handsome guy over who lets me give him a massage.     But I will not ever cross the line and do anything you don't ask me to.  I won't even suggest some things I'd like to do with you.   I will not ruin the friendship we seem to be starting!"

Greg whips around to face me head on, with wide open eyes.   Not panic, just intense reception mode.   He is listening intently to what I'm saying, listening in between my words, as well as what I am speaking.

"I'm so glad you said that and opened up, to talk about feelings -- and feeling.   I have liked talking to you.  I think we have a lot in common and can become friends, but once in a while I get really up tight -- when I think you're coming on to me.  Like talking about jacking off, or at one point in your massage.   Most of the massage was just that, but a part of it you were caressing me and rubbing me up to get me hot and try to get me interested in you, right?   Are you gay, Bob?"

My mouth pops open and I begin to think a mile a minute: denial, justification, deflection, splutter, bluster -- all the tricks I've used for years when anyone asked me this question.  NO!  This young man may be an innocent but he is the most straight forward, open young man I can remember -- since Kevin!   Both of them share a real true spirit and good character.

"Yes, Greg, I am," I say quietly and directly, and pause to let him continue.   He doesn't in ten or fifteen seconds so I do.

"I have felt an ambivalence in you since I met you, overlaid on your very strong, honest, upright character.  You have casually mentioned some things -- like sex with guys and gals out in Seattle, including with the guy your wife went off with -- that I have never heard many guys talk about, even those I knew well.  I have some things like that in my past that I have never told anyone.  You are a sexy young man, sometimes apparently aware of it and seem to tease me or flirt with me, but other times you turn it off or put it away, probably without realizing it.   I would love to make love with you some day --- in six months or a year, if our friendship develops to the point where you want to and ask me to make love to you.   I will not, ever, make the first move or push you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, and if we ever do anything which makes you uncomfortable, tell me and we'll stop.   What you just said, before you asked me if I'm gay, is the best description of what I do, how I turn mine on and off, usually with full awareness of it, but it has destroyed several close friendships in my life.   If you want to leave now and have nothing more to do with me, I will accept that.  If you want to have specific promises and safeguards on how and where we go from here, I will accept that.   I like you, Greg, and find you refreshing, fun, bright, and very open.  You can talk about many things, and all of them from your fresh perspective.   You sparkle at your best times, and make me glow in your sparkles.   Oh, hell, I'm talking too much.... "

I kept talking because Greg was totally tuned in, giving me "active listening" as Carl Rogers described it: an intent look in the eyes, a nod now and then, a smile or slight frown when appropriate, mouthing some words almost as I said them, for "parallel talk."   It was a heady experience that I'd only had a few times before, from my closest Profs and colleagues -- the very perceptive, very bright ones who could tune in to my mind.

"No, Bob.   I don't want to leave.   Thank you for honestly telling me you're gay -- I knew it deep down and would have slammed out of here in an instant if you'd denied it or gotten all high and mighty about it.   And I think we have something unique.   I think we communicated without words when either of us got close to that edge of "doing it."   We warned the other guy and accepted his feedback to back off.   No!   We're not ready!  Not yet ..."

"Not yet?  Do you mean you might be, some day?  You have had sex with some men, haven't you? and you don't say you never will again.   Just not now?"

"You're reading me that same way, Bob.  Yes, I've had sex, some really wild, wonderful sex -- but some dark, awful sex, too -- with some guys.   Part of the awful sex was always some guy lied to me with his moods, his eyes, his body... so I believed his words were true, that he loved me and would stay with me.   They all left.  Some in an hour, some in a few days, all within a week or two.   That sounds like I was sleeping around all over the country.  I was not.   Probably ten or twelve guys are all I've had sex with -- and fifty or sixty gals.... I wonder now -- especially tonight -- which I like best?  Which do I want more of?   Am I gay, straight, bisexual or just totally fucked up?"

At these last words, his tears start overflowing, quietly.  No embarrassment, sobs or sniffles, no apologies.  I want to lean forward and hug him or at least hold him but I knew that would be the worst way I could react.  He needs acceptance and understanding, not me jumping his bones!  Surprisingly I don't feel lust for him at this time.  I take his hands in mine.

"Greg, I have never heard you curse, so that tells me how intense this is for you... but I feel your tremendous intensity!   You didn't even need to speak for me to hear that entire message.   Thank you for being so open, honest, and willing to share your deep, inner, secret self."

We both sit there, with my tears now silently dripping, too.   It's not pain, it's freedom!   I suddenly realize that this young man has looked deep, deep into my soul, seen all the pain, poisons, problems, joys, fears and all the rest that I've hidden there and accepted them all as part of me.   He knows me more in this moment than anyone ever has, probably more than anyone ever will, and he accepts me as I am!!

"Thank you, Greg, for seeing all of me and accepting me as I am."

"You feel it, too, don't you?   I felt you open up and let me in, standing back, trusting me with your very essence, your being.   I looked and saw all of you, entirely.   I saw pain and darkness, which we both have.  I see joy and great capacity for joy and love.... we both have it.   Your honesty with me allows me in.  I see deep, glowing pools in the far corners that you may not even be aware of.  Now I'm backing out but  I'd like to go there with you, again.   Do you want to go deep into me, too?"

I pause twenty, thirty seconds or more, shaken yet solidified by his acceptance.   I close my eyes and take three deep breaths, holding them, then letting each out slowly, waiting before each inhalation: the way to my deep, secret places.   I find nothing disturbed, nothing missing; rather there's a gentle light, a glow illuminating all my old, dark places.   I feel peace.   I take one more breath and open my eyes to see Greg waiting patiently but intently for me to respond.   Focus, not intensity.

"No, Greg, not tonight.  Some time, but not now.  Thank you for really seeing me and describing me.   I feel something so new, so totally freeing, that I think we should end this for now.  Please come back, when you can!"

"Yes, Bob.  We shared something extremely rare, and possibly unique, tonight.   I feel so comfortable and secure in your promise to let me lead, never to push, that I shall come back.  I have wanted a special friend, and I am finding one, tonight.   No, don't talk.  I'll get dressed and go."

I lie back into the corner of the sofa, drained yet floating, opened up but not torn apart, examined with care and -- love?   Not erotic love, but agape.  I feel no space or weight, but in touch with all space --- and Nature.  I am in limbo outside the cosmos yet totally internalized.   Slowly I realize a point of light is in front of me at a distance, now growing.  Is it getting closer or just bigger?  Taking on a shape?   More than a shape, a spiritual peace -- flowing out/in to touch me, seep into me, surround me.   I feel warm and back in touch with my senses.  I open my eyes and Greg is standing quietly a foot in front of me, dressed, smiling gently.  He reaches out, takes my hands, and gently pulls.

"Want to get up and give me a hug?  I think we both need one, then I've got to go."

"Oh, yes!   We both need one!"  I say as we come together.

We're chest to chest, arms around the other guy's back.   Gentle pressure increases, then fades.  We hold each other for another ten seconds, then we part.  Warmth, a deep connection which is not sex but is a new kind of tender awareness for me.  I'm aware that it's new, warm, and good for Greg, too.  I feel as though he has planted a seed inside me in a place I didn't know I had.  I know it's a place which will nourish growth...  I hope Greg feels my seed of deep friendship in him, too.   We breathe deeply while looking into each other's eyes, then he simply says

"Thank you, and have a good night."

"Thank you, too.  It has been a wonderful night.  Good night."

Without looking back, but which I know is the very opposite of his rejecting me, Greg leaves.  Leaves me feeling stranger, more in touch, more at peace than I have ever felt in my life!   I close my eyes and stand there for a time, reliving and storing away all that happened in these past twenty?, thirty?, forty? minutes.    I walk in and lie down on my bed without taking off the towels, just pull up a spread.   In moments I enter a deep, dreamless, peaceful sleep.

This concludes the rewrites on my first three chapters.   When I began the story I thought it would only last three or four episodes with hot sex then end -- the way so many of my affairs did.   But with feedback from a lot of my new friends and some experienced Nifty authors, I'm letting my characters move slowly -- the way Greg and I really did begin our friendship.   Yes, so far it's as true as I can recall it.   If you'd like to read it and all my other stories, come over to my website: http://communities.msn.com/GayVikings -- and join free.  Send comments to me, Bob Nelson, alias "Nails" at NailsB69@hotmail.com   Thanks!