Date: Fri, 22 Nov 2002 06:44:25 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: rebound - part 10

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

***

I slept like a baby, but woke up in confusion. I wanted to convince myself
that last night hadn't really happened, that I hadn't had a horrible crying
fit and flashback to the night I lost Matthew only to come home and have
sex with a guy I'd just met a few days ago who was an entire half of a
decade younger than me and from a completely different world. As much as I
fervently hoped that hadn't happened, though, there was a warm body next to
me in bed, firm yet soft, and while it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, I was
uncertain of whether or not it was a welcome one. What the hell had I been
thinking?  How could I have allowed this to happen? This was completely not
my style, and I had no business having sex with anyone, anyway. I was still
hung up on my dead lifemate.  Not only that, but what about Justin?

I shifted a little, and Justin clung to me, murmuring in his sleep, hot
breath drifting softly against my skin. Justin was a definite grabber, the
kind of guy who clung to you in bed like a barnacle. One arm was wrapped
around mine, gripping it tightly, and the other was stretched across my
chest, clinging to my side as his head rested against me. His legs were
entwined with mine, my thigh caught between both of his, and his torso was
pressed against my side. As I'd said, it was not an unpleasant feeling. The
problem was that it was quite the opposite sort of feeling, actually. His
cock, half hard as most will be in the morning, was pressed against my hip,
and my own was starting to stir. As I shifted again Justin whimpered in his
sleep and clutched me tighter, rubbing his crotch against my hip.  There
being no further denials, no more insistences that this had all been a
dream or some weird fantasy concocted by my subconscious mind, I opened my
eyes and looked down at him.

I was up before my alarm, as usual, but morning light was filtering in
through the side of the loft, and strips of it were falling across the
bed. One of them, streaking diagonally across the bed, illuminated its way
up Justin's back, over his shoulder, and down the top of his head to fall
on me and continue its path toward the wall. Some of it caught in his hair
from behind, highlighting random strays. Justin had shaved his head a while
ago, amid much publicity and fanfare and chatter, and it was just starting
to grow back in, long enough to give him a little bit of bed head, which
made him look even younger. Any ideas I had that such youth also meant
innocence had been completely banished last night. In sleep, relaxed, his
face was smooth, his lips pink, those blue eyes hidden beneath lids edged
with dark amber lashes. He had a little bit of a five o'clock shadow going,
and I felt it scrape my chest as he moved his head a little. Although
taller than me, he had somehow managed to fold himself against me so that
his head was lower, and I followed the round curve of his shoulder, dusted
with freckles, down his arm, snaking across my chest. I knew he had a
tattoo on his other shoulder, but hadn't really gotten a good look at it
last night, what with my eyes being all wet at first and then spending the
rest of the awake portion of the evening squeezed closed in pleasure.

Justin was muttering to himself, his voice soft, but I couldn't pick out
any words. It was kind of cute, and so was he, and I realized that I needed
to get out of bed right now before I did anything else stupid. As gently as
I could I removed Justin's arms, half doubting that he was still asleep,
since he kept putting them back as soon as I lifted them. Finally I lifted
both arms at once, sliding toward the other side of the bed, and he
murmured again, his face scrunching up a little.

"No," he mumbled, hands reaching out for nothing. I was now out of bed, and
pressed a pillow over into his hands. He grabbed it, squeezing
convulsively. "No.  Cold. Chris?"

Even though he was talking, he still wasn't awake. I made a shushing sound,
and pulled the sheet up over him. Walking quietly through the loft, I
ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I had about an hour to
get ready and get downstairs if I wanted to meet Michelle on time. Glancing
in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, waiting for the shower to warm up, I
saw that there were small red marks along both sides of my neck, and
flushed guiltily as I remembered Justin nipping at me amidst his kisses.
Now that was classy. Those were definitely going to be a problem, although
I was fortunate in that the fall weather was well suited to the kind of
clothing that could cover such things. I hadn't had to pull the turtleneck
trick since college, when I'd gone home for a break and didn't want my
parents to see the enormous hickey on one side of my neck, but I needed to
do something, unless I wanted to give the staff even more fodder for
sarcastic taunting.

Stepping into the shower, I took a last glance at myself in the mirror, and
tried to figure out what I was feeling. I thought I'd look guiltier, more
unfaithful, because that was kind of how I felt. Actually, that wasn't
quite accurate. I felt like I should feel unfaithful, like I should feel as
if I had completely betrayed Matt and everything we had, but I didn't, not
completely. I felt a little bit of it, thinking about this as I washed
myself clean, my hands sliding over all of the same places that remembered
the touch of Justin's hands and mouth only hours before, but I didn't have
that horrible, "Oh my God, I cheated on Matt!" feeling that I'd always had
when I looked at guys before. Then again, I hadn't really looked at a guy,
not in this way, in years. I hadn't allowed myself to, but now I questioned
that as well. Was I worried that I wouldn't feel bad for looking, as I
seemed not to now, or was I worried that maybe I had finally started to
slide past my grief a little?  I'd worn it for so long, almost out of
habit, that it seemed like it was part of me. I still felt it, still felt
loss and pain, but thinking now I had to admit to myself that over time,
the last few months or so, some of the sting had gone out of it. It was
still there, but it no longer felt quite like I was being run through with
a sword.

Even if it didn't feel like cheating, it was still a mistake. Justin was
young and confused, and he'd just broken up with a guy that he lived with,
and worked with, and had shared his life with for six or seven years. Maybe
he thought he could walk away from that, but after all the talking we'd
both done I was sure that he was just reaching out for anything right
now. He needed someone to listen to him, someone who would be his friend,
not someone to have sex with. He might think that was what he wanted, but
last night he'd told me he loved me. After he'd know me for less than a
week. Maybe he'd done more, seen more, been more places than most guys his
age, if not all of them, but he barely knew what love was. He couldn't just
throw it around like that, and, more importantly, he shouldn't. It was a
good way for him to get his heart bruised, and from what I'd heard so far,
it was bruised already. I just had to convince him that wanting me was a
really bad idea.

I had no business getting involved, either. I had enough fucked up mental
issues of my own, and I realized as I shut off the water and reached for
the towel that I was mad at myself. Justin was young and impulsive, but I
wasn't. I should have stopped myself, and I would have, if I wasn't so
upset, and he wasn't right there, and oh, hell.  I was lonely, and horny,
and I had made a stupid mistake. Now I just had to make sure that I didn't
compound it. Drying off, I realized that I hadn't brought any clothes into
the bathroom with me. They were all in the bedroom, with Justin. Naked
Justin. In my bed.  I flushed again, thinking about what we'd done, and
looked down to see the blush spreading across my chest, too. Some friend I
was. April left me in charge of him for the week, and I had done such a
great job of taking care of him that he'd ended up naked in my bed with my
dick in his mouth. I was a bad, bad person, and sometime today, after he
was awake and we were dressed and we had some time alone, I needed to fix
the problem.

It was a great idea, but when I walked into the bedroom, thinking only of
getting dressed, there was Justin, smiling at me, the covers kicked back,
and a hand slowly stroking his hard cock.

"I've been waiting for you," he said, smiling. He patted the bed next to
him with his free hand. The other hand was definitely full, and the pinkish
top of his cock glistened. My mouth was dry.

"Justin," I said, barely getting the words out, shaking my head as I stood
in the doorway.  My heart was pounding, and Jesus, was he beautiful. No,
bad thought.

"Come here," he said, not slowing that hand down. He licked his lips. "Come
on, Chris."

"Justin, we shouldn't do this," I said, shaking my head, unable to move.

"Why not?" he asked, looking pointedly at my crotch. Under the towel I was
hard, and there was no hiding it, but I remembered what I'd thought in the
shower.

"Justin," I began, trying not to see the way he looked, all those tight
muscles shifting, those reddish pink nipples all hard and pointed. Had he
been pinching them as he lay here waiting for me, while he was touching
himself? A shudder went through me as I held the doorframe. "Justin, last
night."

"Was just the warmup," he said, his voice husky, filled with
possibility. He shifted a little, his leg bending, knee lifting off of the
bed, and he leaned forward, finally letting go as he spread his hands out
on either side of him. His cock smacked his abdomen, throbbing visibly even
from the doorway, and he was smiling as his blue eyes bore into me. "Come
here."

"Justin," I said again, weakly, as my feet moved against my will toward the
bed. As I walked over he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine. He
reached up lazily with one hand and caught the edge of my towel. It dropped
to the floor with a light tug, and his eyes dropped deliberately to my cock
before they rolled back up to meet mine.

"Look at that," he whispered. I gasped as he reached up and took my balls
in his hand, lightly hefting them, not really squeezing. "Chris, make love
to me."

"Justin," I said, biting my bottom lip to smother a groan. "We shouldn't,
shouldn't do that."

He had his other hand on my cock now, and all the resolve I'd had in the
shower, all the assurance I gave myself that I'd be able to have a mature,
rational discussion with him and that we'd just be friends, was rapidly
burning away in the fire behind his eyes.

"We shouldn't make love?" Justin whispered, looking up at me, his hands
moving a little faster now. I shook my head, unable to speak. "Then fuck
me. Get down here on the bed and fuck me, Chris."

That was it. My hands were on Justin's shoulders, pushing him back down
onto the bed, and his hands left my cock to slide up my back, pressing me
against him. My mouth crushed against his, more of those hard, almost
bruising kisses from last night, and he jammed his tongue past my lips,
snaking it over my teeth and across mine, the two of them wrestling against
each other. My hands skated up and down him, not really registering which
parts of him I was touching, just greedily soaking in the feeling of that
hot velvet over all those tight, hard muscles. He had a little body hair,
fine and soft, other than the bush around his cock, which I ran my fingers
through on their way to wrapping around him. His hips moved, his back
arching, and he pulled my hair almost painfully as he jerked my head down
again, pressing my face against the side of his neck, silently letting me
know that he wanted my mouth there and then affirming it with his groans.

Justin grabbed one of my hands and brought it down to his ass, pulling it
under him, and I almost jerked back in surprise as I felt that he was
wet. I glanced at the nightstand, not having noticed before, but somewhere
in my dresser he had found one ancient tube of KY. If I wasn't right in the
middle of fingering him, listening to him gasp as I pushed inside his tight
ring and he clenched welcomingly around me, I might have been a little
irked that he'd been in the dresser. It was hard to be too mad, though, as
I shifted, rubbing my cock up and down the crack of his ass as I worked a
second finger in. He might have snooped, but he had the best of
intentions. He was rolling his hips up toward me now, letting out little
groans that probably should have been deep but only came out as high
pitched whimpers, and then I felt his hands on my cock again as he started
rolling a condom down my shaft.

"Where did that come from?" I gasped, watching, still opening him up. It
didn't take much work. Justin was well trained, ready to go, and he knew
how to work everything he had.

"My suitcase," he answered, one of his legs curving around behind me. He
grabbed my shoulders and stared up at me, his face hungry. "Fuck me, Chris,
now. Fuck me hard."

Hearing him say that was all it took. I pushed my head against his hole,
and when it slid inside I slammed forward, spearing him. His hips rolled
up, inviting me, his legs hooking around the backs of mine, and he groaned
loudly. I thought I might be hurting him in my eagerness, that I'd been a
little too rough or that he hadn't been as ready as I thought he was, but
when I tried to pull back his hands dug painfully into my shoulders, and he
caught my mouth with his again. Guided by him, I began to thrust, to push
into him, and he flexed under me, his hard cock running against my abs, his
legs tightening and urging me on as his hands clawed up and down my
back. He was used to this, but God, was he tight, and he clenched around
me, almost pushing me over the edge. It had been a long time since I did
this, too long, and I felt myself going faster than I should have, knowing
that I wouldn't last.

"Justin," I panted urgently, feeling it building already. I was too worked
up, too excited.  Justin seemed to sense it, tightening up a little, and I
felt him shifting under me. "Justin?"

"Shhhh," he whispered, biting at the side of my neck. I trusted him, and
when he started to shift I froze, letting him move me. We rolled, and
suddenly there he was, on top of me, and I was flat on my back. "Better
this way."

"Sorry," I whispered, wanting this to be good for him, too. He flexed a
little, his thighs tightening as he rose up a few inches, and then slowly
sank back down, burying me fully inside him again, and we both sighed.

"Don't," he said, staring down at me. It was the same way he'd looked at me
last night, with pure lust, that fire behind his eyes burning again. I
wondered if he looked like this onstage. They'd sell millions more albums
if they put this face on the cover. "Don't be sorry."

"Justin," I whispered, wanting so much not to do this, not to hurt him, my
mind seizing on the break in our rhythm. He pressed a hand over my mouth.

"Don't," he said, rolling his head back as he began to move again, letting
out a low sigh.  "This is what I want, Chris. Right now, this is what I
want."

We didn't talk after that, not really. Both of us sighed and groaned, and
made little noises when something felt good. Justin stared down at me as he
rode me, his hips flexing, and I let my eyes run up and down his body,
watching, fascinated. He seemed the very definition of lithe, firm and
strong but not bulging or overdone. He didn't have a gym body, but he was
limber as hell, and as he undulated on top of me, rising and falling,
flexing and pulling at me, he began to work up a sweat. I watched it bead
up on his forehead, glistening along his hairline. Droplets ran in tiny
trickles down his neck, through the hollow of his throat, and over his
pecs. They were rounded, defined and definitely present, but not
overinflated bunches of muscle. Instead, like the rest of him, they just
seemed to fit, curving across his chest above a gentle ripple of abs. Below
those, of course, there was the narrow taper of his waist, and that cock,
which was jutting out, droplets of precum spilling from the head and
dripping onto my own torso.  Justin grabbed my hands, holding them tightly.

"Touch me," he whispered, hips rolling.

My own hips were moving beneath him, rising and falling on the mattress,
pushing me into him. Each time I stabbed up he clenched, holding me, and a
little squeal came out of him, matched by a sigh of my own. He pressed my
hands to his chest, and I felt his heart beating, his lungs hitching as he
gasped, and his chest vibrating as he moaned. Matthew had been a little
quieter, more intense, but Justin was vocal. Every movement, every touch,
brought a different sound from him, from gasps to whimpers to whines to
something that even sounded a little bit like purring. I let my hands play
over him, catching the bud of his nipple, running over his shoulder and up
the side of his neck, caressing his flexing thighs, just to hear those
noises. Finally, as he began to speed up and I began tightening again,
feeling myself pushing toward my end, I wrapped my hands around his cock
again, jerking him off with both at once. In answer to my strokes, he began
to slam himself down on me faster, and I began to stroke faster, the two of
us feeding off of each other.

When Justin froze above me it was just like last night, his whole body
tensing, going rigid like he was having a seizure, except this time I was
buried to the hilt inside him, feeling him clamp down tightly on my
cock. We were cumming together, but for me it was almost a defense
mechanism, as he locked up so tightly I thought he might rip my dick
off. Cum shot out of the front of his cock, not in neat ropes but in a wide
whitish splatter, dusting my stomach and chest, some of it even reaching my
chin, and my own hips bucked so hard I almost threw him off. As I continued
to spurt into him, he gasped above me, head thrown back, and then he
finally looked down, grinning. Still astride me, he lazily brought a finger
across my chest, sliding it through his cum, and then brought it up to his
lips, his tongue darting out to caress it.

"Look at you, Chris," he sighed, flashing me those perfectly straight
teeth.  "You need another shower. Come on."

He'd prepared well earlier, making sure there were now tissues by the bed,
so that he could take care of the condom, and I wondered when he'd decided
that this would be the perfect way to start the day. I didn't want to ask,
because I didn't really want to talk to him at all. First I'd decided that
I shouldn't do anything else with him, that it was wrong and inappropriate
and everything else, and then I'd gotten out of the shower, gone to the
bedroom, and fucked him without even really putting up an argument. In the
bathroom, I avoided the mirror, not wanting to see myself, as he dropped
the condom into the toilet and flicked the shower on. He pulled me inside,
and began to lather himself up as I stood dumbly in the spray before
looking at me in that quizzical way of his, with his head cocked to the
side.

"It's good that your shower's so big," Justin said conversationally. I
stared at him, taking the soap as he held it out, knowing that I needed to
take care of the front of me where he'd shot, if nothing else. "Turn
around, and I'll do your back."

I did, trying to figure out what else I could say to him, but nothing
really came to mind. I didn't want to hurt him, and didn't want him to
think that he wasn't important to me, but I couldn't let us keep doing
this. Fortunately Justin took the lead as his hands massaged my shoulders
with the soap and washcloth.

"You're not happy," he said bluntly. "I wasn't any good? Because you seemed
to enjoy it."

His voice was light, but I caught the feeling behind it. Justin was the
kind of person who needed assurance. I'd noticed it yesterday, when he had
beamed and visibly brightened each time Michelle told him he was doing a
good job. He was confident, but his confidence had to be fueled, or he
would falter. Realizing that, I understood how having his boyfriend cheat
on him, especially with an old boyfriend, could be so devastating for him,
and why he was so depressed.

"You were great, Justin," I said, and I was being completely honest. As I'd
thought while I was under him, he knew how to work it. I worried that
wasn't enough of a compliment, especially since I was about to deflate
him. "I mean, look at you. You have a fantastic body, a nice big dick, you
know how to use both of them, and you're a nice guy. You're smart, and
funny, and I'm really glad I've gotten to know you. I'm really happy to be
your friend, Justin, but we shouldn't have done that."

"I know," he said quietly, still rubbing my back. I wasn't sure if he was
washing so much as caressing, but I was enjoying it, and he seemed to
be. "I mean, you have like five more minutes before you have to be at
work. Or you could just be late, and let Michelle bitch at you."

"Justin, you know what I mean," I said, turning around. He looked down at
the floor of the shower, not meeting my eyes.

"I know," he said, still not looking up. The shower was pounding on his
back, and I glanced down at the angry red cut on his hand. The stitchwork
was black, glaring against his fair skin, and I hoped it was ok for him to
get it wet, since he'd shed the bandage somewhere. "Chris, I've never met
someone like you. I feel like, well, I think I love you."

And there it was, the heart of the problem, or, rather, the problem of the
heart.

"Justin, look at me," I said, tilting his head up carefully with a finger
under his chin. The shower spray was hitting his back, so I didn't have to
worry about drowning him. His eyes looked enormous under his wet hair,
which darkly clung to his skull. He was so vulnerable that I almost didn't
want to say anything else, but I couldn't leave this alone.  "Justin, I
care about you. I know we just met, and we don't know each other all that
well, but I care about you a lot, and not just because April told me to. I
want to help you, and I don't want anything to happen to you. Most of all,
though, I don't want to hurt you, and that's why we shouldn't have done
that, and can't do it anymore."

"You're not hurting me," Justin said as I stood with my hands on his
shoulders. "I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't," I said, shaking my head. "Justin, you just broke up with a
boyfriend who's also your best friend and who you also work with. You
already told me that all your friends think you should stay with him, and
that your family has all kind of issues with it, and damn it, Justin, you
just met me. You don't even know me."

"I know enough!" he said, his voice rising. I reached behind him to flick
off the shower, annoyed, and jerked the curtain open. "I know that you're
nice, and cute, and that you do care about me. Maybe that's all I need to
know! Maybe that's all I want right now."

"You don't know what you want, Justin," I said, handing him a towel. He
jerked it out of my hand.

"Oh, like you do," Justin said, drying himself vigorously.

"Justin," I said sharply, drying myself.

"No!" he said, shaking his head. "You're so good at playing the grownup, at
telling me that I don't understand, or that I just don't get it. You're so
good at telling me I don't know what I want, and look at you. 'We shouldn't
do this.' The time for 'we shouldn't do this' was right before you fucked
me, Chris, not right after."

"And what?" I demanded. "What the hell kind of logic is that? We did it
once."

"Twice," Justin interjected.

"Twice," I continued, raising my voice, "so we should just keep going?
Justin, this is stupid. What happened last night, and this morning, was
nice, but it was a mistake, Justin."

I turned away, jerking open the dresser drawers, stepping into boxers and
pulling out socks.

"Why was it a mistake?" he asked quietly, walking into the living room
where his bags were. "Explain it to me, please."

"It meant something to you, Justin," I said, turning, and I saw that he
looked stricken, as if I'd slapped him.

"And it didn't mean anything to you?" he asked, eyes watering. Shit. "You
just thought you'd fuck me, and it didn't mean anything?"

"No, Justin, I didn't mean it like that," I said, walking quickly over to
him. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away, not looking at
me. "Justin, please.  It did mean something to me. It meant a lot,
actually, and I don't even know if I can say it, but I don't want you to
think it was just something casual."

"Then why is this a mistake?" Justin asked, turning. His bottom lip was
quivering, but he wasn't crying, and I smoothed his hair back, my other
hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Because it means something to you that it doesn't mean to me," I said, and
he pulled away again. He certainly was high strung, although I should have
known that by now.

"How do you know what it means to me?" he asked, and I could tell he was
getting upset again. How could anyone deal with mood swings of this
magnitude?

"Justin, I heard you last night," I said, and his face fell a little. "I
know that right now, you're scared, and confused, and you feel kind of
alone, but I think you're just reaching out for anything. You might think
you love me, but."

"But what?" he asked, shoulders down. "I know how I feel."

"Justin, we just had this discussion the other night, when you kissed me,"
I said simply, shaking my head. "You don't even know what love is. You're
twenty years old."

"Why does it always come back to that for you?" he asked, sounding a little
testy, but not shrieking again. "Why is it always this sore point for you?"

"Because you're young, Justin," I said. "You haven't barely had any time to
know yourself, to know what you want or how you feel."

"You don't know that," he said, following me into the bedroom as I pulled
on a shirt.  "You don't know anything about how I feel. You don't even
barely know me."

"That's the same point I was trying to make to you," I said, looking for
pants. "Justin, I can be your friend. I can be your confidante. If you need
a shoulder to cry on, or someone to hug you when you're down, I can do
that, too. I can't be your new boyfriend, though."

"I didn't ask you to," he said, standing in the doorway. I turned back to
him as I reached for my shoes, and his face was serious. He also looked
damned attractive in his tight white briefs and nothing else, his tattoos
kind of sexy in a subdued sort of way. "I never said I wanted a boyfriend."

I stared at him.

"Justin, what are you trying to say?" I asked finally.

"I guess, you know, I want to be your friend," he answered. "I want more
than that, but not if you're not ready. I feel good when I'm around you,
and when I'm with you. I feel like I'm kind of special, and I want to keep
that. I want us to be friends.  I don't want to fight with you."

"I don't want to fight with you, either, Justin," I said, patting the bed
next to me. He came and sat down, and I thought about how odd we must look,
me completely dressed and him almost naked. Then again, who was going to
see it?

"Can we be friends?" he asked, looking thoughtfully into my eyes.

"Yes," I answered, nodding. His eyes were so blue, like the sky, light and
bright as an old comfortable pair of jeans. "Yes, I'd like to be your
friend, very much."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, leaning in closer. "Do you want me to
find somewhere else to go?"

"Where are you going to go, Justin?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable
again. I knew what I was supposed to think, and what I kept trying to
think, but somehow he kept managing to throw me.

"Don't ask me to stay for that reason," he whispered, our faces close now.
"Ask me because you want me here. Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes," I answered finally, wanting to look away. "Yes, I'd like you to
stay.  But as friends, Justin. Just as friends."

"That's fine," he said. I felt frozen, unable to move, and he leaned
forward and kissed me on the forehead. His lips were soft, the kiss a
little dry, but I felt myself shiver. What was happening between us? "I
have to go finish getting dressed and stuff."

Justin got up and walked into the bathroom as I shook my head, trying to
clear it. We'd just agreed that we were friends, just friends, so why was
he kissing me?  And why did I like it? I stood and began walking out
heading for the stairs, knowing that Michelle would probably be on her way
to Bitchville by the time I got there, no matter what excuse I came up
with.

"I'll be down today, if that's ok," Justin said, leaning out the bathroom
door with a mouth full of toothpaste foam.

"That's fine, Justin," I said, nodding. I corrected it a little. "Actually,
that would be really nice, if that's what you want, but you don't have to."

"I'll be down," he said, smiling. My hand was on the doorknob when he spoke
again.  "You know, Chris, sometimes friends have sex. Especially close
friends. Just something to think about."

That was the last thing I needed to think about, sex with Justin. How good
it was, how tight he was, how much I liked hearing the noises he
made. Nope, didn't want to think about that at all.

***

To be continued.