Like most gay males on the planet Earth, I've been watching and enjoying the very talented and gifted performances of one of God's most beautiful creatures for the past few years. I'm speaking, of course, of the teen actor Devon Sawa and the wonderful performances he has given in movies such as "Night of the Twisters", "Robin of Locksley", "Wild America", "Little Giants", "Casper", "Lonesome Dove", and many others. The way I figure it, anyone who does not know who Devon is has definitely been vacationing on the planet Mars for the past three or four years.

While enjoying Devon's performances on both the silver screen as well as the tube, and delighting over the numerous postings I could discover in the newsgroups of the world wide web, I would always wonder what it would be like to meet such a stunningly beautiful young man in person and be able to have a conversation with him. Naturally, my fantasies included a lot more than just conversation, but I'm grounded enough to admit that even in my wildest dreams I never saw that as even a remote possibility.

I had decided to drive up to Los Angeles from my home in San Diego one Friday afternoon so that I would be in town to enjoy the festivities of the Gay Pride Parade and celebrations in West Hollywood. During this annual event, a visit to West Hollywood was more like a trip to the candy store than anything else. You could find a little of everything and a lot of gorgeous young guys running around shirtless and just partying their brains out. Even the trolls usually had some degree of luck at connecting with someone so I figured that I shouldn't have any trouble.

Don't get me wrong. I don't consider myself a Steve Stunning or anything like that. Actually, I think of myself as fairly average in a lot of ways. I'm quite tall, slim and toned with a good tan and I wear clothes well. I keep myself in good shape with my in-home gym and my fairly large swimming pool and I spend a small fortune on my hairdresser (he's gay of course) and a personal nutritionist to make sure that I don't deteriorate as I get older. I've started worrying about that 'older' thing because I'm thirty-one now.

I guess I'm fortunate that I have the time and money to pretty much do as I please because I inherited a little money at twenty-one which I invested in a software development business and I managed to create a couple of software products that sold like wildfire. Anyway, the short of it is that by the time I was twenty-nine, the company was worth close to forty million dollars so I sold it to a larger software company (you'd recognize the name if I told you) and retired. So to speak. Now I spend my days - and nights - spending money and enjoying life and leisure.

I had taken the Interstate 5 up to the East L.A. interchange and jumped onto the 101 (Hollywood Freeway) going through the downtown and up to Sunset Boulevard. Exiting the freeway, I turned left on Sunset and headed West in the direction of West Hollywood and the excitement that was awaiting me. But Los Angeles always has little surprises for those who travel by automobile and today was no exception.

An accident ahead had traffic snarled unbelievably and after sitting, virtually parked, for about ten minutes with absolutely no progress, I wheeled out of my lane and made an illegal U-turn, went back three blocks and turned South on Gower street alongside the studios. Gower is not a pleasant little street to drive down as the side opposite the large beige walls of the studio complex are lined with ramshackle little houses and small apartment buildings with trash strewn virtually everywhere. But it was better than sitting on Sunset Boulevard for a couple of hours waiting for the LAPD to clear up the accident.

I was about three quarters of the distance to Santa Monica Boulevard, which would take me into the heart of West Hollywood and the gay mecca of Southern California when I spotted something that seemed out of place for the neighborhood. A fairly late model Ford Explorer 4X4 was pulled to the side, too far from the curb to really be parked and at an odd angle, and a young, slender boy in a white T-shirt with dark blonde hair stood dejectedly leaning against the front drivers-side fender. Neither the young man nor the vehicle belonged in this neighborhood, particularly at just an hour before sundown, so I slowed and pulled to the curb in front of the jade green Explorer.

This wasn't exactly something that I wanted to do just now either. I was dressed in a brilliant pink polo shirt, khakis slacks and expensive imported shoes, and driving my new little 2-seater Mercedes with the top down. Not quite the appropriate car or attire for this neighborhood. But it was obvious that something was amiss with this boy and I meant to find out what it was before anything happened and I heard about it on the news. That would ruin my weekend and I would suffer the guilt for some time to come. I have a very healthy sense of guilt and yet I'm not even Jewish. But I swear my mother - bless her soul - must have studied motherhood from a group of Jewish mom's because she had it down perfectly.

As I walked up to the young man, he had his arms folded, looking down, hair falling in his face so that I did not get a clear look at his face. As I approached, he looked up, jumped a little as though I had startled him, then visibly relaxed when he saw that I was not one of the typical area denizens. It was then that I got a good look at his face. I must have gasped audibly upon recognizing him and the famous and gorgeous smile that had plagued my dreams and fantasies for the past few years slowly spread across his face. I couldn't believe that I was actually standing right in front of Devon Sawa. In the flesh.

I stammered like a fool. Or at least like a thirteen year old girl. "Hi.....uh.....mmmm.....I was just.......y'know.......driving by and......mmmmm.....I saw you standing there and.....uh.....you looked a little out of place for this area, so......uh.....I thought there might be something wrong and maybe I could help?" Ending my statement as a question was a sheer stroke of stupidity. But Devon didn't appear to notice, or at least didn't let on. Perhaps he had more pressing matters on his mind. Like getting out of this neighborhood before he was murdered.

"Thanks." Just one word from those beautiful lips and I was already feeling faint. Kind of stupid that a man my age swoons so over an 18-year old boy. But Devon was a lot more than your average 18-year old boy. He was......Devon Sawa!

"Really, thanks for stopping. I was getting really nervous here but I didn't know what to do. I was a little afraid to stray away from the car. At least here if someone headed towards me I could jump in the car and lock the doors. If I walked off, I'd be without any protection and the car would probably be gone in 5 minutes."

I was watching Devon intently as he spoke. He always had that soft sweetness to his voice, a special way of forming his words and pursing his lips when he spoke. Very masculine and yet very un-macho. I guess I stood staring a little too long after he finished speaking because when I realized he had stopped and clicked back in, he was staring at me somewhat quizzically. Probably thinking that this pink-shirted weirdo was just as bad as the area residents. And most of them lived in shopping carts.

"Sorry, I guess I'm a little overwhelmed from realizing who you are. Anyway..." I was gaining a little of my composure now....."how can I help?"

"I'd appreciate a ride to a telephone so I can call for help. Do you know of a garage that's open and will come and tow me in?"

"I can do better than that. I have a telephone in the car and we can call my automobile club and get you towed right away."

"That's great. That way the chance of my Explorer still being here when the tow truck arrives is greatly improved."

"Let's do it. By the way, my name is Matt." I stuck my hand out and grasped his soft, firm hand as he returned the gesture. What a wonderful sensation it was to shake his hand.

"Good to meet you. VERY good to meet you, Matt. My name is Devon - but I guess you already know that. My friends just call me Dev."

We walked to my car and climbed into the comfortable leather seats. I opened the dash panel and pulled out the telephone handset and dialed the auto club. Within a few minutes I had given my card number, our location, a description of Devon's Explorer as the disabled vehicle and replaced the phone in the dash compartment.

"So what brought you down this rather treacherous street?"

"The traffic was so backed up on Sunset Boulevard that I was looking for a way around it. I guess my truck must have gotten a little overheated from sitting idling in the traffic jam for half an hour because about a block back the truck just started bucking and rattling and then quit. I tried to get it over to the side as best I could."

"Well, I know about as much about mechanical things as I do about flying a space shuttle to the moon so I guess we'll have to wait for the club to get here to tell you what the problem is. They may be able to just get it started for you. Are you in town for a movie or something?"

"Or something. Just a few days vacation, really. I'm staying at that movie star hotel on the Sunset Strip - the one that they used to say Keanu Reeves lived in. I think all the publicity made him move elsewhere. It's the Sunset something-or-other. I can never remember the name of the place but I've stayed there enough to know where it is. Not that I'm complaining, you understand, but what brought you down this street?"

"The same traffic jam. I figured it would be better to go down here to Santa Monica Boulevard and take it into Boys Town."

"Boys Town?"

I blushed, a little flustered that I had slipped and referred to West Hollywood instinctively the way I usually did. "Uh....yea. West Hollywood, actually. A lot of people just call it boys town."

Devon's eyes seemed to be twinkling as if he knew the subject was unnerving me. It was as if he were reading my mind and acknowledging what he read with a little smirk of a smile. "Why's that? Do only boys live there?"

I hesitated, wondering whether to tell him the truth or make something up. But, since my mind was so rattled, I wasn't having any success at coming up with a plausible explanation so I concluded I would have to tell the truth. "Well, it's an area predominant with males and the postal zip code just seems to be the perfect fit for the area."

"What's the zip code?" I could almost see him chuckling inwardly from my discomfiture at this continuing topic.

"Uh....it's nine zero zero sixty-nine." I tried to say it in a nonchalant tone of voice but I doubt I was very successful. Devon seemed to pause momentarily, mulling it over in his mind.

"Oh, I get it. Sixty-nine. An area full of guys that like to sixty-nine and the zip code says it all. That's kewl."

I leaned back, almost out of breath. Obviously Devon was a kid of the nineties and didn't let such matters faze him. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and noted that he was looking at his watch. I couldn't help taking the opportunity to really look him over closely for the first time while he was unaware.

Devon's arms were silky smooth and very slender. His hands were larger than I would have expected for his overall size and I made a point of studying his thumbs. It's a kind of a fetish of mine, I guess you would call it. You know what they say about boys with large thumbs. His white T-shirt seemed to form to his thin chest, likely due to perspiring in the heat of the early evening as well as his having been worrying about his predicament. His legs seemed longish, almost coltish, and slender even though the denims he was wearing were certainly not tight or form fitting. His shoes were a kind of engineers boots, or hiking boots, black and rising about six or seven inches up his ankles and tied with laces. At the juncture of his legs where I would have hoped to have seen something to have fed my dreams for the next ten years there was nothing but excess folds of denim and I tried to visualize one of the folds as being caused by something hard and protruding underneath the material. But I was obviously out of luck on that point. Or was I?

Devon shifted slightly in his seat, his legs spreading apart slightly as he tried to get comfortable, maybe a little unnerved by the silence and sitting in a strangers car, in a strange town and in a very unpleasant neighborhood. His right hand moved rather surreptitiously and adjusted himself in a way that was clearly intended to be discrete and not obvious to me. But it was that act of making himself a little more comfortable that gave me a jolt of arousal as evidence of a rather substantial protuberance along the inside of his right thigh was revealed under the blue denim. The boy was hung!

I was not about to comment on his boner but I was trying to think of a way to make conversation and bring the topic around to sex. I was wondering if the discussion of boys and sixty-nining had been the cause of Devon's erection. Before I could put my thoughts together into any manner of cohesive sentence, I saw the auto club tow truck coming toward us and opened my door and stepped out to flag the driver down. Devon quickly jumped out as well.

After fifteen minutes of diddling under the hood, the young tow truck driver, not much more than twenty-two years of age, announced that the truck would have to go to the garage and asked what garage I would like it to be towed to. I looked at Devon and he just shrugged, blank-faced, not knowing anything about the area.

"Take it to the West Hollywood Motor Service on Melrose at Robertson." I looked at Devon. "I know the people there and they'll take good care of it for you and not try to pull anything."

The driver began hooking up the Explorer and I watched Devon as he observed the driver's movements. He was not a happy camper. And who could blame him. He was here on vacation and before it even began his truck broke down on him. That could really mess up his whole trip."

"I guess I should have flown down here from Toronto and then rented a car for a few days. But I really wanted to drive across America and see it first hand. A friend came with me as far as Denver and it just seemed like a perfect vacation."

"Do you have credit cards and the like?" I was wondering if he had money available to pay for the repairs if they were costly. Given his success I was sure he had money but whether he could readily draw on it or not I wasn't sure. Most places put young actors earnings into a trust until they were twenty-one and they only received a modest allowance until then.

"No problem. I've got my MasterCard so money isn't a problem for me. It's just the inconvenience. I hope they can fix whatever is wrong in time for me to leave on Tuesday morning."

"Well, the truck's ready to go so we'll just follow him on over to the garage and see what we can do."

As we pulled away from the curb behind the tow truck, I pulled out my 'little black book' from a side pocket in the door and looked up the garage phone number. Retrieving the telephone handset, I dialed the number and waited for five rings before it was answered.

"Is Johnny there? Sure, I'll hold. Tell him it's Matt. Matt Lawson." I waited for about two minutes before hearing Johnny's baritone explosion over the phone. He always acted like he was delighted to hear from me and it came out in a rush of words. "Yeah, Johnny, it's really me. Listen. I'm following behind a tow truck bringing some business to you. No, it's not my car. It's a friend's car. No, not that kind of friend. Listen. Hush a minute and I'll tell you. A young man that's here on vacation just had his Ford Explorer break down on him and I suggested your place as being good and fair. So we're on our way there now. Only one problem, he's due to leave town to head home on Tuesday morning so I'm hoping you can fix whatever is wrong by then. Yes, I know you and the guys are in the parade and you're planning on partying all weekend. But hopefully there will be some time to get some work done?"

I listened as Johnny listed all the reasons why it was impossible for he and his crew to get the truck fixed by Tuesday morning. I waited patiently knowing full well that I still had my trump card that I could play.

"Well, okay. If you're sure you can't I'll stop the driver of the tow truck and have him take it to another garage. Sorry you'll miss out on this customer though. He's someone very special and I know you'll kick yourself over this for years to come." I looked over at Devon and saw the half smile. He was a little nervous about his deadline but also a little amused at the game I was playing. It was obvious to him where I was headed with this conversation. I put my hand over the receiver and whispered to Devon, "You don't mind my playing you up, do you? And I hope you're not uncomfortable with letting a garage full of young gay men work on your car."

Devon smiled slightly, not quite sure now of where this was going but anxious to get a resolution to his problem. "I don't care if they're gay, female or Martians as long as they can fix it right and get it done on time. Are these guys good friends of yours?" Obviously, Devon was now putting two and two together clearly in his mind and perhaps he was wondering if he was all that safe in my car after all.

"Yea. They're good people. And they do excellent work." I took my hand away from the mouthpiece and rejoined the conversation now that Johnny had stopped his sputtering about why this customer was so special. "Well, Johnny, he's a movie star. He's young. He's blonde. He's very cute. And girls all over the world idolize him." I thought it wise not to mention that I, as well as eighty percent of West Hollywood males, did also.

Johnny was in the process of listing out the names of every male star he could think of, trying to guess who it was. Finally, when he stopped listing the names obvious to Southern California, and which included a number of gay porn stars, I let him off the hook. "My friend that needs your help to fix his truck is none other than Devon Sawa!"

There was a very obvious pause. Then a very slow and deliberate voice came back and softly repeated the name I had just spoken. When I confirmed it the explosion on the phone was almost enough to break my ear drums as Johnny shouted first at me and then to everyone within three blocks of the garage that Devon Sawa was on his way to the garage.

"Listen, Matt. I don't care if everyone of us has to work 24-hours a day from now until Tuesday morning. You bring that car and that little stud-muffin here. We'll get that car fixed and fixed right!" His voice lowered again. "You weren't pulling my leg were you? It really is Devon Sawa?"

"It really is, Johnny. We should be there in about ten minutes. And I expect you to be on your best behavior." The meaning was clear to Johnny and I was sure the implication was clear to Devon. I didn't want a bunch of screaming queens scrambling around the boy, touching him, pinching his butt or making suggestive comments that would embarrass or frighten him.

By the time Johnny and his staff had finished politely devouring Devon with their eyes, looking over the Explorer and pronouncing the diagnosis and promising to have the repairs completed by nine a.m. on Tuesday, it was almost nine o'clock and I headed the Mercedes toward Sunset Boulevard and Devon's hotel. The trunk was full of my luggage so what Devon was unable to hold of his luggage on his lap was wedged behind the seats and tied to the deck lid with ropes that Johnny had provided.

I pulled up in front of Devon's hotel and jumped out to help him get the luggage off his lap and climb out.

"Why don't you go in and register while I unload this stuff. You can send the bellman out to get it and take it to your room."

Devon headed in and I proceeded to untie the luggage from the back of the car and place the bags and cases in a row near the walkway to the lobby entrance. I had just finished and was leaning back to catch my breath when Devon came out, looking entirely crestfallen.

"They gave away my room! Can you believe it? Just because I was a few hours late getting here and hadn't guaranteed my reservation - and they had some special guest that unexpectedly needed a room - so they gave him mine!"

"Can't they find something for you?"

"The manager came out and was all apologies and everything. Sure, they would be happy to find something for me, at their expense of course." The sarcasm was dripping in Devon's tone of voice. "But because of a convention as well as this being Gay Pride Weekend, the closest place they'll be able to find anything is freakin' Long Beach. Isn't that like fifty miles or so away? How can a place as huge as L.A. be that freakin' full? Isn't anyone afraid of earthquakes anymore?"

Devon was clearly frustrated but to me he just looked so cute, so vulnerable, so sexy. He was in need and I knew it was time to come to the rescue again. But I had to chuckle at his earthquake comment and that seemed to relax him somewhat.

"Look, Dev. I've got a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel reserved. Perhaps they've got another room available. It's a big place. If not, you're welcome to stay with me."

Devon's face lit up and he nodded consent, almost reluctantly - or at least like he wanted it to appear that way. We loaded the luggage back up, pulled out onto Sunset Boulevard in the opposite direction and headed West toward Beverly Hills and the grand Beverly Hills Hotel.

The strip was alive with activity as we made our way along the winding boulevard, eyeing the people sitting at tables along the sidewalk cafe's and remodeled railroad car diners. I pointed out some of the more popular places as we went by but finally we crossed into Beverly Hills and the tightly squeezed buildings that hugged the sidewalks gave way to wide streets and spacious lawns and gardens leading up to enormous homes and mansions.

Turning up the thin driveway leading to the hotel entrance, I watched as Devon's blonde hair rustled in the slight breeze and felt the tightening in my stomach at the thought that he might be sharing my room. It was almost too much to hope for.

Pulling up to the entrance portico, three pink-shirted attendants quickly rushed up to open our doors and help with the unloading of the luggage. A green-uniformed bellman rushed out with a garment cart and loaded everything and followed us to the registration desk.

Carl was at the desk, a young man that had registered me any number of times before, and he greeted me pleasantly as I approached. Even with his studied calm and practiced control, I noted his eyes widen perceptibly as he saw Devon walk up with me.

"Good evening, Carl. Sorry to be late but a friend had a little trouble and it took some time to help him out."

"Not a problem Mr. Lawson. Your room is ready. When you called a few days ago I tried to reserve your regular suite but it was already taken. I'm certain you will find your suite to your satisfaction, however." He looked pointedly at Devon. "Will you be having a guest stay with you this trip?"

"Unless you have a spare room available?"

"I'm sorry, sir. We're actually overbooked and will likely be canceling some late arrivals in order to accommodate all of our guests. It will likely be a difficult evening."

"Yes, I'm sure. Well, then I guess my friend will be staying with me. You know, of course, who my friend is?"

"Yes, sir." Carl turned to Devon. "Welcome to the Beverly Hills Hotel, Mr. Sawa. I don't believe we have had the privilege of having you as our guest before. I hope you will enjoy our hotel. If there is anything you need, please let me know and it will be provided for you."

Carl looked at me and discreetly motioned me to the side out of earshot of Devon. "Mr. Lawson, I'm afraid that the suite I have available for you only has one bed. It's a very large king sized bed but just the one nonetheless. And I'm afraid also that the sitting room is equipped with just a few overstuffed chairs and not a sofa like your preferred suite. I'm terribly sorry."

I thought for a moment. "What about rollaways?"

Carl shook his head slowly. "At the moment, nothing. Everything has already been distributed and we've got over a dozen requests additionally. The concierge is desperately trying to contact rental companies to locate additional units but it seems that every hotel in the area has been making the same request. We'll keep trying and I'll let you know as soon as any manner of solution is found. Again, I am sorry, Mr. Lawson."

"Please, Carl. Apologies are not necessary. This is as unexpected for me as it is for you and the circumstances are beyond everyone's control. Mr. Sawa had a reservation at the Sunset Hotel but because of car troubles he was late and they gave his reservation away."

"How unfortunate. I guess we will be victimized by the same circumstances tonight and I fear it will infuriate some of our guests. We're trying desperately to locate other lodging and reserve what we can find at our expense for the guests that we must turn away."

We moved back to the center of the counter and Car efficiently swiped my American Express through his computer input card reader and tapped a few keys handing me the print out for signature.

"You will be in suite 312, Mr. Lawson. Bastian will take you to your room. Enjoy your stay with us."

On the way to the room, I explained the sidebar conference but didn't notice any apparent expression of concern on Devon's face upon hearing that we would be forced to share a bed. He was probably just relieved that there was a place to stay. And he looked a little tired, which would be expected after a long drive and the kind of afternoon and evening he had had.

We settled in as quickly as possible, unpacking bags and hanging clothes or placing smaller items in the ample drawer space available. We had agreed to just change and go out and get a bite to eat and then spend some time in the Polo Lounge just chatting and getting to know each other. I had suggested this to put Devon at ease in case he was at all nervous about the prospect of sharing a bed with a stranger.

With everything put away, I called down for my car and we headed for the lobby and front entrance. The Mercedes was waiting, the top already raised against the cool and damp night air, and we motored toward Santa Monica Boulevard.

"This place isn't fancy but it's just good down to earth food and a pleasant atmosphere. I hope you don't mind that it's kind of popular with the gay and elderly retired people who make up most of West Hollywood."

"I don't mind. What's it called?"

"It's the French Market Place. The restaurant is actually built in the center and there are various shops and offices all around the perimeter. The ceiling is painted dark blue to resemble the sky. If we're lucky, though, we can get a patio table right out on the edge of the sidewalk where you can watch the world go by. Just like in Paris."

"You seem to know a lot of places. I've traveled quite a bit because of making films and stuff but it sounds as if you've been everywhere. Pretty good job, huh?"

"Nope. Retired."

"Retired? At your age?"

"Yep. Got tired of working I guess so I RE-tired." I chuckled at my own joke which apparently didn't register with Devon, so I cleared my throat and moved on. "I had a little business and sold it awhile back so now I just dabble in this and that to keep my mind active and I try to enjoy myself."

"That's kewl. If my career goes okay, maybe I'll be able to do that. But I really enjoy acting so I don't know that I could ever give it up voluntarily."

"Well, I would think that as popular as you are that you're going to be in demand for quite awhile. And if the reception you got from Johnny and his crew is an indication of the type of greeting you get elsewhere, I'd say your popularity is tops."

"Yeah, well, I think people get carried away. I'm just another guy for Pete's sake. I'm no one special. Just an actor."

"But a very good one."

"Thanks. Maybe. I'd like to get some parts that are more mature and will allow me to really show what I can do. Maybe I don't really have what it takes to be a serious adult actor but no one will know until I have the chance to try."

"It'll happen."

"Maybe not. That's the problem with being a teen idol. Everyone sees you as an actor that can only handle kid roles that appeal to kids. So when they want someone for a more serious role they give it to some other guy. I just wish people would stop making a big fuss over me all the time and just treat me like one of the guys. The way you have."

"Well, don't put too much emphasis on me. I've had to fight my natural instincts to gush from the moment I saw you. And most of the time since I first recognized you this afternoon my heart has been pounding a hundred miles an hour."

"Oh, c'mon. You're what, twenty-six, twenty-seven? You're as rich as Rockefeller and know people and places all over the world. What's so special about me that I could make you nervous?"

"You're you. You're one of the cutest and sexiest guys on the planet. Wouldn't you feel just a bit intimidated if you were in the presence of, say, Cindy Crawford or Nikki Taylor or some other super model?"

"But that's different."

"What's different about it? You're one of the cutest and most popular guys around. Why should you feel uncomfortable around a super model?"

"Okay. I guess I see your point. But, really. I just want to be treated like everyone else. I don't want people to like me or be my friend because I'm an actor or something. I want people to like me for who I am and not what I am."

"Believe me. In West Hollywood EVERYONE will want you but it won't be because you're an actor. It'll be because you're so damn cute!"

"Stop already. Now I'm the one getting nervous. I'm hoping people won't recognize me so I can just enjoy a few day's vacation."

"Good luck. People are going to recognize you."

"Great. Maybe I should die my hair black tonight at the hotel."

"Don't you dare!" I almost screamed my reply. The thought of covering those golden locks with black die sent a cold shiver down my spine.

"Just kidding."

Before we could continue our conversation, we arrived at the restaurant. As usual the parking area was full and I had to drive around the block a couple of times until finally finding a curbside spot to pull into.

In the restaurant, the host virtually ignored me but obviously recognized Devon and took us to the head of the line and seated us immediately. As we pulled our chairs up to the small table, the host practically glared at me with green eyes while staring and sighing over Devon. I could tell that I was going to be the most hated man in the restaurant tonight.

The meal was quite good. I ordered the tuna salad sandwich and Devon ordered Lasagna. We were both quite sufficiently stuffed by the time the meal was over. We had refrained from much conversation during our time at the restaurant because it seemed every ear was attuned to us and every eye was watching. I began to think it hadn't been a good idea to bring Devon to this place. And then I realized that I had probably brought him here more for my ego than for anything else. It was the equivalent of going to the Mission Impossible premiere with Tom Cruise on your arm.

As we headed back to the Beverly Hills Hotel, I could see that Devon was getting a little tired. It was, after all, after eleven o'clock now and it had been a long day. I was feeling the sandman's efforts a little myself.

"We don't have to stop in the Polo Lounge for a nightcap if you'd rather just turn in. It's been a pretty long day for you with your drive and then the frustrations and problems of your day."

"Thanks. I think I would like to crash."

Devon was chewing on his thumbnail, appearing somewhat nervous. From the looks of his fingers, he was a nail biter just like me and had probably developed the habit from those moments when tensions arose. I wondered if he was now thinking about the same thing I was - sharing a bed. The thought was making my stomach do flip flops. I knew nothing was going to happen but still, just being in the same bed was really going to be torture.

By the time we got to our room, we were both yawning frequently. Devon called dibs on the bathroom, giving me a questioning look to make certain it was really okay with me. I nodded and he grabbed a few articles and closed the door. Sixty seconds later I could hear the water in the shower running. I was devilishly tempted to try opening the door a crack and peeking in to see if I could see anything but then age won out over desire and I decided to act like a man in his thirties and respect Devon's privacy. But those thirteen year old thoughts were still providing me with plenty of temptations.

When the shower finally quit, I could hear movement in the bathroom and the sounds of Devon brushing his teeth and doing all of the normal things that one does before hitting the sack. Then the door opened and a puff of steam emerged surrounding Devon as he came into the main room. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts with the name of some school that I thought might have been his high school in Toronto, and a baggy shirt with arms to his elbows.

"What side of the bed do you like to sleep on, Matt?"

"Doesn't matter to me, Dev. Grab whichever side you like."

I headed into the bathroom and began my own preparations for bed with a quick - cold - shower and some normal hygiene, pulled on some sweat pants and headed for the bedroom. I was shirtless and almost pulled on a T-shirt in case it might make Devon uncomfortable but decided against it. I generally slept in just my briefs and was uncomfortable sleeping with a lot of clothes on.

I needn't have worried. Devon was already sound asleep, his breathing slow and regular, and I climbed into the other side of the enormous bed, pulled the covers up, fluffed the pillow and turned out the bedside lamp. The room was plunged into total darkness and within minutes my mind went blank and I drifted into slumber-land.