Date: Sat, 30 Nov 2002 11:50:43 -0500 From: John Windham Subject: Yes, Love is possible, a short story john windham "Yes, Love is possible!" a short story by John Windham This is my second attempt at a story. I would like to again take the opportunity to exhort you as readers of NIFTY to support this wonderful site. I am beginning to sound like a fund raiser for National Public Radio always asking for your financial support. This is not a hollow request because I am proud to say I put my money where my mouth is and I do donate. It is a completely secure transaction through the convenient PayPal site. This effort unfortunately for you does not have the benefit of Peter's editing so forgive my errors. This is dedicated to the memory of a dear sweet boy who worked for me one summer many years ago. He is remembered as a remarkable young man of beauty and intellect who died from that horrible scourge of our time, AIDS. He was lost at a time before the discovery of the wonderful new medicines. It was his image in my memory when I described Kurt in this story. His loss even at this moment brings tears to my eyes. This is a story about two men, love and even a smattering of sex. If you find this abhorrent please do not read any further. How can I put this more bluntly, well it's a homosexual, queer, gay or faggot tale so put it aside if it offends. Your comments will be appreciated: vindskinke@hotmail.com He was happy. The trappings of travel with its wide-ranging manifest no longer encumbered his life. To his surprise its absence was a comfortable cardigan for his routine. An almost lethal epiphany on a lofty plateau in Nepal had altered his life. Now the bit of land in the country was all he needed. Being 60 and alone was not nearly as onerous as had been foretold. Time had never been at contretemps with him. The irrefutable testimony presented by a thousand images traced the evidence. The witnesses were the reflections from years of the ever-changing expanses of airport windows. Now when he shaved or brushed his teeth his companion looking back was of a man with fleeting remnants. A man of tarnished metaphors and diminished beauty accepting his reduced status stared back at him in resignation. He had managed to convince himself that he was reconciled as well as comfortable with his lot in life. He stood on the porch, their porch, looking out over the trees into the distance He had achieved a nest protected by the strictures of routine and resignation. Happy? Well maybe that was just a bit of hyperbole, perhaps content or even better resigned would be more accurate. Yes, he was still missing them even after 3-1/2 years but what could you do? Nothing but accept and plough on. He had managed to maintain the continuity they had established over 4 decades together. First it was Craig and he for years to be joined later by Ken, which seemed to complete their lives. The assumption that this memory would be his protection and facilitator was the comfort forming his stability. A familiar routine must be his barrier as well as insurance from change. Even these boundaries could not diminish his view of the horizon. The flush of bloody bronze that the full harvest moon broadcast still challenged him. It never failed to trap his attention and stop all other activity. He was paralyzed not only by its transforming beauty but its offer of deadly menace and mayhem. As long as they had lived here the ritual rising of a harvest moon of this magnitude always seemed to eclipse those from other seasons. The veil of shadow deepened the ghostly chiaroscuro as the moon inched upward. Fields and trees lost their edges engulfed by the absence of light. With this loss of light his sense of dread swallowed what confidence he had managed to husband for times like this. He was loath to admit this fear to himself much less others. He thought acknowledgment might animate the amorphous slowly shifting shadows. He stood up from the chair on the porch. Trembling from the quickening night's chill and his dread of being alone he tried to reestablish contact with reality. He repeated his mantra, his resolution, he was happy. He was happy. He had long ago accepted that escape was not an option. The wind's suspirations surrounding the house mocked his mantra with their own. With a sharp intake of breath he backed into the hollow refuge of an empty house unwilling to turn his back on the sense of menace. The toneless metallic ring of the antique telephone providing him an escape that did not recognize his growing fear broke the dampened silence. He was shocked to see his hand trembling so badly that it was difficult to grasp the phone. His dour and impatient, yes, masked his relief. The unbelievably enthusiastic voice of his nephew was so unexpected it left him almost speechless. His eyes glistened with brimming tears; unshed but held in abeyance as they talked. His precious boy the veritable apple of his eye, the eldest of his brother' children who despite his "several" misadventures managed to parlay them enough to advance was now on the phone chattering on and on. His mind's eye portrayed him in an amalgam of his father and their recently lost brother. He reveled in these calls, though infrequent they never lacked in enthusiasm and fervor. This boy had come by his smoothness honestly in direct succession of the many "fabricators" that preceded him. His father and grandfather were perfect exemplars of this family tradition of exaggeration, which sometimes shifted to out right lying. As his "apple" rattled on he thought of the friends that had accompanied him on his vacation visits. The sundry `jocks' and `achievers' who seemed to be always in orbit around the star that was his nephew were the ones who demanded the most attention. He suddenly was snapped back into reality when he heard that they yes them, would be arriving day after tomorrow for their 3-week fall break. Had he been so inattentive that he had missed his friend's name? How could he ask without revealing his unforgivable lapse of attention? He continued only asking an occasional question as this bubbling eruption of vigor continued with his tales of school and work. He affirmed his delight that "they" would be arriving in a day or so. Well, it had been worse; he had nearly plunged off the side of a plateau in Nepal to his death 3,000 feet below. Now he was faced with yet another visit, not only from his perfect nephew, but a stranger who was accorded the place of `best friend', a position no other visitor had achieved. He pondered this situation with some ambivalence. The joy he would garner from the company of his pet and the apprehension of meeting his "best friend". He mused how unfortunate that his nephew was not gay because his looks and personality would have ensured a splendid tenure. At least his companion would not be one of those mindless overcooked meringues drooling over his every move. That last one had pushed him over the edge. The ensuing "heart to heart talk" had not fazed his nephew but instead had elicited giggles as he agreed with every point. Well, he was gratified to see that it had been effective. Wondering again at what must it take to be his closest and most trusted friend? Damn but he regretted missing this new boy's name. He started cleaning, relieved to break his preoccupation with his self-pity and doubts. Not just simple cleaning but the deep and serious cleaning that involved his aunt's time honored rituals. He scrubbed, shook, swept and scoured the house. It was no small task when you think in terms of the 13 rooms he no longer needed. Even though the rooms were excessive, they were his hook and anchor. He could not imagine himself anywhere else. He would not give up this one last claim to his memories. It was his lifeline to his past, to his happiness. To hell with his fears and insecurities it was their house and always would be. He sat on the porch almost numb after finishing the rituals of the welcoming cleansing that were the tenants endemic to his southern nomenclature. Now inured to the dark night's scene of shifting mysteries he reflected on today's conflicting events. His Aunt, his Grandmother, their cleanliness and order so inculcated into him were now surfacing in such a way that he feared being a prisoner to their dictates and prohibitions. With a start he realized it was now almost 4:30 AM, he had been unaware of the time. The apprehensions that were integral to his being alone were gradually subsiding assuaged by the happy anticipation of the impending visit. He was enjoying the luxury of relaxation rocking in his grandmother's sturdy, venerable chair. He sipped the delicious warmth blooming in his mouth from the single malt highland scotch whiskey he husbanded so carefully. He had been alone so long now hoping for amelioration from his loss but instead it became more and more illusive. He smiled grimly during the deathly silence that presaged the arrival of dawn. The only time that silence won its war with the chorus of nighttime voices. He realized so few appreciated these moments of peace. The significance of this interlude was lost as the diurnal inhabitants began to awaken and stretch sharpening their senses as the nocturnal predators made their last reconnaissance searching for that last morsel afforded by some foolish unwary animal. He could not help but tighten his grip clenching the chair when some plaintive cry was strangled off as the claws or beak of a rapacious predator took its due. He had to accept this seemingly cruel hegemony grudgingly recognizing the inevitability of nature. He allowed his mind to float to the cadence of these cries and the bugling of predawn songs. He let the last drops of highland elixir warm his throat as he slowly made his way into the house and up to his aerie in the upper reaches of his home. He had cleaned well and when he woke he would go into the town's general store to prepare his larder for the boys' arrival. The opening stanzas of another remarkable dawn's birth bathed his room in the changing glory of colors all thru its golden scrim. It's arresting effect never diminished or failed to make him pause and appreciate its inimitable power. He retreated into what had become his foremost sanctuary, this private aerie, the part of the house he guarded as theirs and theirs alone still reserved and off limits to others. His CD seemed to be waiting his return and when he touched its console the elegiac beauty of Strauss's Four Last Songs slowly but completely flooded his room as he sank into the comfort of his bed. Alone and loosing himself into the habit of routine he unconsciously reached across the bed for the comfort so long absent in his life. He clutched the plumped, unused pillows as he fell asleep. The sheer luxury of indolence was a balm to his loneliness as he lay in the bed looking out over the fields and trees. No longer draped in the sinister cowls of night they were beginning to shimmer with autumn's russet and gold. The staid but tenacious greens of the evergreens were a fitting foil for their ephemeral deciduous exhibitionist kin. He smiled remembering the luxury of coffee being served to him in bed. He glanced at the clock and was startled to see that it was past noon. His excuse was that he was usually getting up at the time he succumbed to sleep last night. Hell's Bells why was he making excuses. No one cared what time he awoke. He was awake and feeling wonderfully refreshed. He brushed his teeth and as he rinsed he glanced at the person returning his scrutiny. He was startled by the incipient grin seldom present. He tried to curtail his enthusiasm as he quickly turned away to get dressed. He failed. Happiness and anticipation matched his every step and move. A blush slowly suffused his face when he accepted his excitement. What time had they said they would arrive? He realized he had no idea. Should he fix lunch or prepare a country supper? Damn, why had he been so distracted and inattentive? He decided an evening of the best he could offer, not the country cooking that was the routine usually expected. He smiled as he checked his inventory sipping the Bokar coffee that was his staple. He always enjoyed a challenge and tonight's meal would be an exceptional effort meant to welcome his guests. As he wound his way into town he drew comfort and solace from the earnest and friendly nods and waves from oncoming vehicles. No one seemed overly hurried and all had the time for a leisurely smile and greeting. The comfort he felt from his friends and neighbors lessened but could not erase last night's doubts and worries. He consciously forced these thoughts back refusing to allow them to interfere. He explained his ideas and needs for the next 3 weeks visit and this wonderful man, his butcher, green grocer, baker and candle stick maker.....oops, he blushed when he realized how far a field his unrestrained his imagination had led him. He was reassured when his ideas were met with approval and a promise to accommodate his ambitious plans. Everyone in the store seemed titillated by the challenge and the idea that he would be happy once again. The paper- thin slices of pale veal were stacked with dividers of waxed paper until a pound was securely wrapped and ready. He found wonderfully fresh shiitake with their veils still intact, small firm and perfect. Tiny perfect asparagus spears to combine with lithe slippers of new onions their green glistening with tiny sparkles of moisture. The unexpected joy of freshly harvested water cress and thumb nail size ruby red radish from a neighbor's cold frame seemed to contradict the expectations of a country store as it produced the finest any big city market could offer. A rasher of home cured bacon and bantam eggs gathered that morning was topped by loaves of bread baked that morning. He could not resist freshly churned sweet butter or a gallon of milk from the cow's morning milking utterly pristine and untainted by the strictures of homogenization. He was bursting with excitement when he headed home to start the evening's preparations. He decided the tart apples from the tree behind the house would be his dessert. His mind was miles away as he returned home. He was gathering bags from the back seat when he was unceremoniously grabbed from behind. Paralyzed by the shock of the assault he shrieked in a most unmanly manner. Batting vainly against his assailant he heard the unbridled laughter he recognized as his recalcitrant nephew. Utterly chagrined by his unseemly reaction he whirled around into a crushing embrace of affection he could not possibly resist. He dissolved into his arms with the pent up emotions of months of isolation. Nothing but warmth, love and concern enveloped him in a cocoon of protection and welcome. Gaining some semblance of control he stepped back and looked into those eyes that were such a joy. "Uncle Johnny, I want you to meet my best friend in the world. This is Kurt. I have told him so much about you that an introduction seems silly. On the way here he mentioned he felt like he was coming back to see you not to meet you." He stumbled back from Phillip's embrace, embarrassed and self-conscious turning to shake Kurt's hand in welcome. He almost recoiled in shock and disbelief when he faced Kurt. The sheer intensity of Kurt's penetrating stare left him stunned and speechless. He haltingly tried to cover his unfortunate lapse but it was glaringly obvious. "Kurt, I told you he was a piece of work, but this reception even surprises me. I think that we were not very nice to startle "Unc". The least we can do is unload his car for him." Phillip could not resist smiling to himself as Kurt and Uncle John took the other's measure. Almost like gamecocks circling. As he watched them he could not help but wonder if this visit might be a monumental blunder. Yet he had never seen Uncle Johnny at such a loss and as for Kurt it did his heart good to see the cocky bastard taken down a notch or two. He had known from day one that this trip could be a wonderful event or a lamentable mistake. He dearly loved them both. His Uncle was perhaps the most important person in his life, the only one he could always rely on to understand and be completely supportive. When Craig and Ken had been killed their loss nearly killed his uncle. Even for Phillip their loss had been enough to wreck havoc in his life. Uncle Johnny had been the fulcrum that balanced the trio's lives. This relationship had not only intimidated their relatives but also scandalized the ever so proper society of their prudish university town. In simple terms, every queen in town was fucking jealous of the menange's success. Everywhere they went it was always the three. They were courteous and pleasant with others but it was inevitable that they always ended up together. Even the most stalwart of hosts failed to separate them for long. It was the three of them being together that made them comfortable. Growing up, he had not thought in terms of an "Uncle Johnny", but rather Craig, Ken and Johnny. He would never forget that summer afternoon when he was 12. He was out in the center of the pond sunning watching the three stroll down from the house toward the pond. They were teasing each other laughing, as always so close their shoulders touched when they walked. They called out to him. He was in the process of answering when he started blushing so furiously they noticed from the bank. He could not give a coherent answer and to cover his embarrassment dove into the water. Uncle Johnny... is queer, Craig and Ken, oh, they've always been and I never noticed. What on earth should I do? How do I act? As he surfaced coughing and sputtering still blushing a scarlet red he was startled to find his uncle in the water next to him with a worried look. Are you ok Phillip it's not like you to lose control in the water? Then it dawned on him that Johnny still had his shirt on. He had dived in clothes and all when it seemed he was in distress. He had apologized profusely as his discomfiture compounded exponentially. As they stood in the shallow water he was engulfed in a powerful hug. Phillip I could not stand it if anything ever happened to you I love you so much. Despite his much vaunted and recently attained macho status he had started to cry holding on to his uncle afraid that he might lose him. I love you, Uncle Johnny, so much. I am sorry to make such a commotion. I have made a fool of myself. He had looked into his eyes when he was asked, what is the matter little man. You know that any topic is fine, so shoot. He was snapped back to reality when Kurt slammed the trunk of the car, "you might help a little Phillip; after all it was your idea to do this," trying hard to scowl as he wrested the last bag from Phillip's arms he could not contain his mirth. "Golly, Kurt," he apologized when it dawned on him that he had been daydreaming about that summer day so long ago, "I had no idea that you had done all the work. I promise to make it up to you." "Sure, I have heard that line before." They both collapsed giggling like high school kids. John watched the two with a bemused smile of indulgence. He realized that this diversion would be a welcome respite from the loneliness that was his life now. It was obvious that Phillip was inordinately close to this striking young man. At first glance they seemed polar opposites. Phillip, tall, athletic with the classic good looks that ran in their family was the classic beauty seen in magazines. Kurt short, lithe with an almost predatory feline grace. His dark curly hair so changeable that it defied easy definition was constantly changing as the light varied. His complexion was just light enough that the sprinkling of freckles were all the more vividly pronounced. You would think that had known each other for decades instead of their 3 years as college roommates. John was relieved that Kurt's attention and careful scrutiny had been interrupted. He had been shocked by Kurt's resemblance to both Craig and Ken. There were aspects and facets of them both seemingly forged from such dissimilar sources yet the amalgam was so unexpected. So like his two lost loves. He was incredulous that Phillip has been so blind as to not see this resemblance. He stiffened, vowing that it would not affect him or interfere with their time together. Both looked up at him in guilty embarrassment as they regained control from their unbridled mirth. Phillip wrapped his arms around his uncle's neck giving him a warm and generous kiss of affection and appreciation. John was startled when he noticed what could only be described as envy in Kurt's eyes and expression. He shook himself realizing it must have been his imagination run amok. "OK boys enough is enough if you want supper get these groceries into the kitchen. Phillip you and Kurt can take the back two rooms looking out over the pond or the other two facing the front, it's entirely up to you. I am going to start supper. I hope you both are hungry if not I can fix the meal tomorrow and have something light tonite." "No, no, tonight please," came the chorus from both. "Phillip has not stopped talking about your cooking and the excellent meals you serve. Please let me help I love to cook but I am a novice to say the least. I can be a good assistant, you give the orders and I will obey." "Only if you promise no insurrections and complete fidelity. What do you think Phillip? Can he be trusted?" "Only if you do not turn your back on him, just joking Kurt he tried pleading for forgiveness. He is the best cook other than you that I know, Unc." "Well," harrumphed Kurt feigning deep hurt. The three of them could not contain the shared joy and happiness of being together as their banter ricocheted from wall to wall. John was both touched as well as unsettled by Kurt's unconscious affection. Phillip smiled to himself watching the interaction between his two favorite people. He allowed himself a modicum of hope that they would realize how well suited they were for each other. He could not remember seeing his uncle this relaxed and cheerful since that horrible day 3 years ago. "Kurt, since you are the honored guest, why don't you pick something to play? Phillip show him the CD's and set up in the library. We have speakers here in the kitchen so you do not have to set the volume too high." Kurt was a bit taken aback by the sound system and extensive collection of CD's, cassettes and even ancient vinyl records. He was surprised to see his favorite recordings and many he had always wanted to hear. The more he looked the bigger his smile and the more difficult the decision with such an enormous selection. He noticed a CD that had not been opened on the console. Renee Fleming's new recording of Bel Canto arias. He had been hoping to buy it when he had some extra money. He could not contain his Cheshire cat grin when he returned to the kitchen as her gloriously dulcet voice poured forth like liquid platinum. John's arched eyebrow and startled half smile spoke for itself, "this is one that I have been saving for a special occasion. And this is about as special as it can get, I applaud your selection. You like vocal music?" "Absolutely, my favorite genre above all else and Fleming is one of if not the best singer these days. I have been dying to get this recording. I have heard an occasional aria on NPR when she has been interviewed." "If you two intellectual snobs are going to jabber about opera I think I will go take a shower and get settled." Alone for the first time both became uneasy with an awkward silence that at least allowed Il Pirata full reign. "I heard her Marschallin last year at the Met opposite Susan Graham's Octavian. I forget the Sophie but those two one could never forget. It was sheer magic for me to sit there as that glorious music engulfed me even in the Met's vast space. Their perfectly matched voices seem created for each other. The voluptuous perfection created by the union of their voices and Strauss' lush orchestration simply has to be experienced in person. Listen to me rattling on like the doddering old man I have become. I apologize but I just get so carried away that I forget myself." "You have got to be kidding this is the most fun I have had in years. I have no friends with which to share my love of opera, this is like manna from heaven. Phillip never objects to my selections and now I know why but it certainly is not his first choice." Relaxed and no longer awkward John starts getting ingredients out for their meal. Without being asked Kurt finds the sieve and rinses the basmati rice. While it is rinsing he finds the rice steamer and sets it all up to be cooked later. He takes the vegetables to the sink and lovingly washes each piece careful to not bruise or damage anything as he puts it on the rack to dry. "Now I am beginning to get an idea what you are going to prepare for our meal. I don't think I have ever seen more beautiful veal and the shiitake mushrooms look like they have just been harvested." "Actually they were raised on some locally harvested white oak logs. Mr. Parker the owner of our local market is a true renaissance man. He impregnates the logs about every 3 years so that there is a continuous supply of perfect mushrooms impossible to purchase anywhere else. They are always absolutely clean as well. If you would slice them about a 1/8 of an inch thick and use the stems as well it will help me a lot. They are so tender the stems are as delectable at the caps." "This is so sensual it gives me goose bumps," quivers Kurt with an infectious smile and dancing eyes as he precisely slices the mushrooms. "Well then you will not mind if I beat my meat," John queries with deadpan seriousness. However he could not contain his giggles at Kurt's shocked incredulity. When he started to pound the veal into uniformly thin slices Kurt joined in laughing at his own gullibility. Blushing furiously Kurt holds his sides as the tears of laughter course down his face. Catching his breath he mused that everything Phillip had said about his uncle was true and if anything an understatement. This wonderful gentle man, this John Heyward, a veritable paragon for all his aspirations and ambition he held dear to his heart. His blush deepened when he realized that John was aware of his scrutiny and interest. How could he possibly explain his attraction to this interesting man without seeming more like a foolish child? He admitted to himself that he had nothing to offer this urbane and dynamic man. God, look at his smile it could melt the shellac off walls. Phillip had not prepared him for this. "Well the mushrooms are ready. I am guessing the watercress and radish will be the salad. OK, but I have not seen any bib lettuce." "It's a bit of a surprise. In mid to late summer I start seeds in flats then the lettuce is ready thru out the fall until we have a hard freeze and I forget to bring it in. Otherwise I have fresh lettuce till Christmas. Take these scissors and cut off enough leaves to toss with the cress and radishes. I always use radish tops when they are as small as these." "Can I sign up for private cooking lessons? I will have to work doing chores to pay for them, I don't have money for extras in my budget." "I think we can work something out. Kurt over beneath that little sink you will find the bar. Would you please fix me a vodka Gibson on the rocks and help yourself to what ever you want. I think your roommate has either drowned or gone to sleep. If you make enough noise with the ice cubes I am sure that will get his attention." "Did I hear someone mention my name?" Phillip asked as he returned his hair still damp from the shower. "I thought the two of you would have our supper ready by now. What on earth have you been doing?" John and Kurt looked at each other raising their glasses in a silent toast of complicit understanding. Phillip looked back and forth between the two perplexed but pleased. He smiled to himself thinking that real progress was being made. The easy interchange just seemed to flow naturally as John and Kurt continued with the meal's preparation. Phillip was nonplussed by their relaxed rapport. He was almost forgotten on the sidelines patiently waiting. He did know to spring into action when John put two bottles of red wine on the counter. Wow, he thought the good stuff tonite as he opened the Spottswoode '99 cabernet an elegant wine with a gorgeous aroma. It dawned on him just how special this meal would be. He set the table in the alcove off from the main kitchen. Not the dining room, it just seemed too formal for the camaraderie they had established. Decades of polishing had given the old round pine table a patina of warmth and dignity. It was nestled in the alcove surrounded by bay windows looking out over the pond and fields beyond. The pale remnants of a shimmering opalescent sunset still refused to yield to the encroaching night's darkness. As the platters of food were laid out the heady aroma of the sauteed shiitakes rose in spell binding patterns of steam from the barely crisp scaloppini heaped on a bed of fragrant rice. Asparagus just warmed enough in a bit of clarified butter to marry the flavors of the new onions and summer savory from the yard. The salad was lightly dressed with olive oil and a few drops of fresh key lime. A loaf of coarse country bread still warm from the oven with the freshly churned butter was waiting to be sliced and enjoyed. As they looked at this perfectly presented meal John reached out clasping their hands and they in turn completed the circle. He smiled looking at each slowly and carefully then with a shy half smile, "no prayer my boys but a simple thank you. My appreciation for the burst of life you have returned to my moribund existence. I am really happy, even content, for the first time since that awful day when Craig and Ken were killed. Phillip you were always the most adept at `reading' my needs. I think this may well be the best coup of your young life." He brought Phillip's hand to his lips with a gentle kiss of gratitude. He then turned to Kurt bringing his hand to his cheek as his silent nearly invisible tears dampened Kurt's hand. They looked into and beyond each other's eyes. He no longer saw the ghost of Craig and Ken but instead a fiercely attentive young man. John leaned over still with Kurt's hand touching his cheek yielding his lips to the control of this mesmerizing young man. Neither closed their eyes as their lips caressed in a kiss so tender and tentative it was like the wisps of a wolf's breath on a winter morning. They both drew back in a measured retreat to resume their places at the table. It felt like hours had passed but in truth it had only been seconds not even a minute. They blinked as reality returned. Phillip had the good grace to not mention anything. Raising his glass of the deep red wine, "here is to the most important people in my life. I have long wanted the two of you to meet. I even dared to hope that against all the odds you would find in each other the same comfort and affection that makes you special to me." No one wanted to break the enchanted spell as they silently savored this perfectly cooked meal. Phillip gloried in the reflected warmth generated by the discreet but affectionate touches being exchanged. John was inordinately pleased as both boys had seconds of everything. He admitted to himself that he was as bad as his grandmother and aunt about his cooking. If you didn't eat heartily you would be branded with the stigmata of not appreciating his food. It was all a matter of the genes and he was not responsible. He ruefully grinned to himself when he realized that they had finished both bottles of wine. He started to take the dishes off the table only to be unceremoniously but gently pushed back into his chair. The boys removed all the dishes loading the dishwasher and putting away the few left over items. "Please allow me a few minutes to prepare our dessert," he murmured not wanting to interrupt their conversation. In the kitchen he uncovered the sliced apples from the back yard. They had been marinating in dark rum. He drained them in a sieve over a saute pan adding a bit of butter and reducing the juice until it was the tacky consistency of syrup. He then dribbled this over the apple slices with a few drops of lemon juice and light dusting of raw sugar. He divided them between 3 bowls ladling a generous helping of whipped cream topped with a sprinkle of crystallized fresh ginger. The unchecked smiles and sighs were the best review ever. He surprised them with new glasses and a beautiful bottle of old port. "Let's go into the library and relax with some port and music." "You and Kurt go on, Unc, I will tend to these last few dishes and join you in a jiffy," giggled Phillip as he finished loading the dishwasher. He found them comfortably settled on the couch watching the flames listening to the quiet flow of a piano concerto. He guessed it might be Mozart but he did not want to interrupt the discreet sense of contentment ruling in the library. He lowered himself to the floor comforted by the touch of Kurt and John's legs on his sides. He pulled their legs in closer reveling in the closeness. This contentment all the more remarkable because it had been absent for the three years since the fatal accident. He was happy that the three of them formed such a natural easy fit. John gently disentangled himself going over to the music station to play a new selection. He had decided that the last act of Ariadne would be perfect for this evening's denouement. Its theme of the redemptive power found in love would let everything end on a high note. He returned to kneel before his beautiful nephew the stalwart joy of his life. He gently took his face in both hands kissing first the tip of his nose then both cheeks. Phillip reciprocated caressing his uncle's face and drawing him close so that their lips touched in a kiss of magic understanding. In an impulsive move that contradicted his life of conformity he not only shocked himself but Phillip as well. He reached out taking Kurt's hand pulling him gently up from the couch into the shelter of his arms. Kurt without a moment's hesitation snuggled into the comfort of his embrace laying his head against his shoulder and neck. Slowly recovering from his Uncles break from the routine he could not contain his smiles watching them. He did not even realize his face was lined with tears brimming from both eyes. John nodded to Phillip recognizing the magnitude of the moment. He slowly guided the dazed unbelieving Kurt out of the library up to the stairway that was the path to John's sacrosanct retreat off limits to everyone since the accident. The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a room of windows unfettered by curtains or shades looking out over the distant hills and forest. Only the faintly warm illumination of a single incandescent lamp softened the colder rays of the silver moon, which pervaded the view. John gently nudged him toward the acres of undulating covers that invited you into the comfort and security of its bounty. Kurt closed his eyes barely daring to breathe as John methodically unbuttoned his shirt removing it from his trembling body. John could not move as he realized for the first time the lovely grace and perfection of the shoulders and neck before him. His hand with its own volition caressed the alabaster smoothness of this remarkable sculpted torso. He allowed himself to be guided; eyes still closed as John sat him on the edge of the bed. John knelt at his feet removing first his shoes then his socks. With an almost violent start Kurt flushed with warmth as he felt John's lips on first this left foot then the right. The sensuous warmth of his tongue as it explored each foots nook and cranny left him faint almost unable to breath. The idea of his lips touching his foot was an anathema yet the electricity could not be ignored. John gently but insistently pushed him back on the bed. The intimate bathe he received from John's tongue left him gasping for breathe unable to think his mind swirling in sensations never imagined much less experienced. He felt the bed shift as John lifted his legs up and more comfortably on the bed. He relaxed settling as his body resumed a more natural composure rather than the stiffened reaction to the foot massage. He felt John's gentle hands and fingers as they undid his belt and jeans he lifted his hips to allow them to slide off. This undressing had never felt so right allowing him to revel in a bath of both tactile feelings and emotions so intense as to be almost painful. His minds eye saw flashes of deep blood red with bolts of violet blue merging into purple vividly excoriated by blasts of bight yellow and burnished gold. He dared not open his eyes and loose his place in this world of Tiffany constructs and Gaudi frames. He sensed John getting up from the bed his task of undressing now completed. The whispers of his clothing being shed became gossamer fingers caressing not only Kurt naked and recumbent on the bed but John standing still his vision suffused with the forest sprite before him. A glowing alabaster specter of such beauty he dared not move afraid to loose this moment captured in the golden amber of time. Emboldened his hand moved in slow motion to gently brush back the burnished curls from his forehead. His fingers encountered the lush fullness of youth and the fine texture of spun silk. Slowly Kurt opened his eyes looking up into John's as they gazed down on him. He could not stop the smile of unencumbered bliss his mind and soul begged to express. The rapturous pleasure he derived from seeing this proud loving man standing naked before him. John stood silently offering him-self without apology but with an aching honesty replete with caring and affection. Kurt reached out taking both of John's hands and inexorably guiding him to lie next to and almost over his own body. John marveled at the curly dark adventure of lush hair surrounding the presentation of his proudly erect dick. Smiling to him-self he gently molded his hands around the velvet firmness of his tight balls. He had never seen a more beautiful dick so straight and perfectly formed. It was crowned with a magnificent head glistening with the pearls of his excitement and anticipation. He was so rapt in his concentration that he was unaware of Kurt's movements. This dick was an idol to be worshipped and adored. John's breathe sputtered and he stiffened in shock as he felt the searing heat of Kurt's mouth slowly engulfing first the head then determinedly swallowing the entire length of his marble hard dick. He felt Kurt's nose as it buried into the surrounding hair. He tried to control and restrain himself but the years of isolation and deprivation took their toll as he erupted into the heat of Kurt's mouth. He was shocked by the geyser force of Kurt's simultaneous eruption which cascaded over both of them. He could not help him-self as he started trembling unable to stop the tears. Clinging to Kurt he kept repeating his name over and over as he buried his head in his arms. He had seemingly relinquished control to this youth who held him so securely. He was shocked when after relaxing he started to sit up but was restrained as Kurt gently but deliberately laid him back on the bed. He felt him get up but refused to open his eyes. He had never been more relaxed but still incredulous at this turn of events. His mind was in a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and fears. It was a welcome interruption when he felt the warmth of a moist towel gently wiping his body and face. The harder he tried the less able he was to stem the flow of tears. After he had been cared for by Kurt's tender ministrations he was relieved to feel him snuggle under the covers drawing him into the release of a loving embrace. Kurt was an angel of mercy never once telling him to stop crying but instead offering compassion and solace. Slowly his tears stopped and he dared to gaze at Kurt. He was surprised to find him looking directly into his eyes. The force of determination he felt in his scrutiny both alarmed and comforted him. This bifurcated reaction defied the seeming contradiction by yielding a distillate forged into trust and nascent love. Kurt's resolve was articulated quietly barely louder than a whisper, "this night can never be taken from me; I want to look at you and memorize every nuance that makes you unique. Your extraordinary beauty with a smile that lights up every place you go. Our consummation tonight is an event of singular and unique significance for me. I have never given or received love like we have shared. I gladly accept that I love you. This may seem precipitous and without foundation but the moment I saw you as you hugged Phillip was the instant it happened. I have not been able to stop staring at you and touching you from then on. As far as I am concerned I have found what I can but hope will be my person, my partner or what ever label needed but mine for life." "Kurt I am at a loss as to what to say or how to say it. I am flabbergasted that at three times your age you still reach out to me with your commitment. I fear seeming inauthentic in flights of hyperbole with what I actually want and need to express. So simply speaking I am the luckiest man alive. I now believe that I have another chance at happiness. I also believe that we have the opportunity to create a life together. If you will permit me to dissemble a bit I am more than a little suspicious that we have been set up by your room mate. He has been altogether too smug and satisfied with him-self this visit. Do you think I might be imagining this?" "I swear he has given me no prior inkling or warning but I do agree he has been awfully self- satisfied tonight. Phillip and I have never discussed my sexual predilection but I have been comfortable that he knew the score. He has talked about you from day one. It frightens me when I think that Phillip and I are together only by the serendipity of the registrar's random assignment. We would not have found each other." "We shall see what he has to say tomorrow or should we confront him tonight. That way he will be easy prey and defenseless," John murmured with conspiratorial glee. Getting out of bed they stretched and could not suppress the enjoyment of being together naked and comfortable. John grabbed two terry cloth robes giving one to Kurt. They did not bother with any other clothes and very quietly tip toed down the stairs. First checking the library they crept down the hall illuminated by the light coming from the bottom of the door. They listened at the door and could only hear the quiet strains of kd Lang and Tony Bennett's new recording. With utmost care and stealth they cracked the door just enough to see that Phillip was propped up on his pillows, asleep with a book still clutched in his hands. They grinned at each other nodding as they separated surrounding the peacefully sleeping "innocent boy". With the precision of a choreographed duet they pounced with banshee like screams on their unsuspecting prey each taking an arm. Phillip reacted as if jolted by a cattle prod screaming trying to escape his mad assailants. He made a grave mistake relaxing when he realized their identity. They seized upon the moment tickling him with merciless abandon until he was writhing inarticulately begging for leniency thru the helpless giggling, tears and shrieks. John looked over at Kurt and they nodded allowing the stunned victim freedom from their attack. "OK, Phillip we are giving you a reprieve so that you can confess how long you have been orchestrating tonight's scenario," queried John valiantly trying to keep a straight face. Pulling the covers up in a futile attempt to regain a semblance of dignity, "what ever are you two talking about? What scenario? Did something happen I do not know about?" "Alright," he shrieked pulling the covers over his head, "the truth, I promise the truth just no more tickling. Please, no more!" With the absolute biggest smile of his life he opened his arms to both of his dearest friends. They snuggled each on opposite sides as he held them in a joyful embrace. "Well, I just knew that, Yes love is possible...." This is my second story. Writing about sex was surprisingly difficult. Not that there is anything wrong with the lusty combustion of raw passionate sex but sometimes it can and must be more. If you have any comments please contact me: John Windham vindskinke@hotmail.com