Dr. Tim and the Boys

The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men.  If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.

In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms.  In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights.  No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.  

Thanks as always to Tom W., my invaluable editor, and the rest of my Nifty Six colleagues.  


Chapter 46:  Chicago


We got a direct flight from Cleveland to Chicago Midway.  It only took an hour and a half in the air.  Flying from the closer Akron-Canton airport would have taken more than twice that long on Delta with a change at either Cincinnati or Detroit.  Of course, we had to drive a half hour longer each way, to get to Cleveland Hopkins, but it was less hassle to take the direct flight.

It was snowing lightly when we left for the airport, but the roads were salted, so we had no trouble.

Anyway, we got into Chicago about 11:00 on Saturday morning.  It was snowing in Chicago, too, but in late March that wasn't surprising.  We collected our bags, got a cab, and went to Hotel 71.  It was well before check-in time, but we'd made arrangements to leave our luggage there.  From the hotel we hopped another cab and went to the Art Institute of Chicago.  The first thing we did there was have lunch at the Museum's Court Cafe.

We spent all afternoon exploring the amazing collection of art and artifacts that treasure trove has to offer, things like the Impressionist collection, the collection of American painting, including Grant Woods' "American Gothic," and, what I found most fascinating, the furniture and decorative arts exhibits.  

Long before I was ready to leave, Tim reminded me that it was almost the Museum's closing time and that we needed to get back to the hotel, check in, change clothes, and meet Rick for dinner.  We had no trouble finding a cab for the short ride back to the hotel.

Tim and I showered together to save time.  That, and we just liked showering together.  As we were getting into our clothes, Tim called downstairs and asked to have a cab in fifteen minutes.  Rick had suggested where we should eat and said he'd make reservations and meet us there at 7:00.

Again, after a brief ride we arrived at Printer's Row, the restaurant Rick had mentioned.  It was in a gentrified neighborhood of renovated loft buildings and elegant-looking older apartment houses.  We pulled up to the door at 7:05.

Rick was waiting for us inside.  He beamed when he saw us.  He held out his arms as if to hug Tim, but Tim held out his hand for a handshake.  Rick looked puzzled only for a moment, then recovered his poise and shook Tim's hand.  I gave Rick a big hug, feeling embarrassed by Tim's coolness, even though I knew very well why he was holding back.

I don't know why all maitre d's tend to look alike, but the guy who led us to our table could have been Maurice's younger brother.  And he was just as haughty.  Our waiter, typically, looked like a college student.  Cute, too.  Medium height, nicely built, with flaming red curly hair and green eyes.  He told us his name was Sean.  We were all eyeing him appreciatively as he asked for our drink orders.  

Rick had Dry Sack, as he did that evening a month earlier at Stefan's.  I ordered cabernet, since Rick had alerted us that Printer's Row specialized in game.  Tim surprised and worried me a little by asking for Maker's Mark, neat.  I knew that meant he was nervous, and I began to be afraid this might be a really difficult meal.

When Sean came back with our drinks, he asked whether we were ready to order.  Rick told him that we had been too busy talking and hadn't even looked at the menus yet.  He said that was no problem and that we were to take our time.

After studying the menus and getting some advice from Rick, I ordered grilled duck breast with almond raisin couscous.  Rick ordered grilled venison with dried cherries, and Tim asked for seared scallops with truffles.

As we waited for our food and sipped our drinks, Rick wanted to know about our flight and about how we had enjoyed the museum.  He and I did most of the talking.  Tim was uncharacteristically silent.  He was feeling ambivalent about Rick because, though he had liked him initially, now he knew what Rick had done to Doug.  And, obviously, he had forgotten all about Max's and my advice to give Rick the benefit of the doubt.  So, I was left to keep up the conversation.  Rick clearly knew something was wrong with Tim, but he struggled to maintain the flow of talk.  He asked lots of questions about what was going on on campus.  He asked whether I had any news yet about being admitted to law school.  I told him I expected to hear any day.  He said he could imagine that I was on tenterhooks waiting.  I admitted that I was.

I was relieved when Sean came back with our salads, for that at least gave us an excuse not to talk for a while.  When he finished his salad, Tim did ask some perfunctory questions of Rick, who was beginning to look a little nervous himself by this time.  He could clearly sense that something was wrong.  I felt sorry for him, so I once again took the lead in keeping the talk going.

I also kicked Tim under the table.  He twitched visibly, so I must have hit him hard enough in the shin to hurt.  I think he got the message, for he looked at me and nodded.

Just as Sean was bringing our main courses, Tim said, "Rick, I have to apologize.  I've been churlish so far this evening, and I'm sorry.  I've got something on my mind, something that is really bothering me, but that's no excuse for my rudeness."

Rick visibly relaxed.  He took a deep breath.  "Tim, I have to say, you had me pretty worried.  I thought you were going to tell me that the university didn't want me after all or something like that.  Are you sure you're OK?"

Tim managed a smile and said, "Yes, Rick.  I'm OK.  Again, I'm sorry."  Then he asked Rick when he planned to move to Ohio.

"Some time in June, I think.  Dad and I are going to spend a week or ten days in our cabin in West Virginia the first part of June.  After that, I see no point in staying here, so I'll find a place to live and move my stuff there, such as it is.  I'm hoping to use the university and Cleveland Public libraries to do some research during the summer.  Did you know the Cleveland Public's White Collection is a real goldmine of eighteenth century stuff?"

Neither of us had ever heard of the White Collection, as we admitted to our embarrassment.

We ate our entrees with pleasure.  My duck was the best I'd ever had, and the other guys said their meals were great, too.  Conversation flowed much more easily now that Tim was doing his share of the talking.  I wondered when and how he was going to drop the bomb on Rick, and I began to dread the moment.  Rick seemed to be such a nice guy, I could hardly believe what Stan had told us about him.  I was increasingly nervous about having the forthcoming conversation in a restaurant, as I had told Tim when he first suggested this trip.

Sean brought the dessert menus, which were full of enticing things.  Rick suggested that the apple pie, though not particularly exotic, was exceptional, so we all ordered that with coffee.  The pie was, as Rick had said, wonderful, served with wedges of sharp cheddar cheese.

About halfway through his pie, Rick put down his fork.

"OK, you two.  Why are you really here?  I don't think you came just to see the Art Institute, and you've both been acting very strange, especially you, Tim.  Isn't it time you just came out with it?"

I looked at Tim.  I hadn't seen him look so uncomfortable since the morning a year earlier when I appeared at his house to give him the cd with the pictures of him on it.  But I didn't say anything.  He had engineered all of this, and, much as I loved him, I wasn't going to help him here.  It was his show.

*          *         *


I had been looking forward to Tim and Ced's visit, and I think I was actually humming as I made the short drive from my place to Printer's Row.  The valet was a guy I'd seen there often enough, and he grinned as I tossed him the keys.  

"Hey, you're looking happy this evening, Dr. Modarelli."

"Oh, my God, Ron, where did you hear about the doctorate?"

"From management.  They told us you'd gotten it some time back, but they'd just learned about it and wanted us all to be sure to call you by your title."

I laughed.  "Well, do me a favor, please.  Forget the title.  I'm still Rick, OK?"

Ron grinned.  "OK, so long as my boss isn't around.  If he is, I hope you don't mind if I call you `doctor.'"

"Yeah, don't get in any trouble on my account."  I handed him a bill and went on inside.  I was greeted by Larry, the maitre d', who said my friends hadn't arrived yet.  I didn't have long to wait, however, before Tim and Cedric showed up.

It was a difficult, sometimes tense dinner.  I couldn't figure out what was bothering Tim.  He seemed so unlike the friendly guy I remembered from my trip to their campus.  He was quiet, preoccupied, and obviously ill at ease.  Cedric did his best to compensate for his partner's behavior.  I liked and admired Ced a lot that evening.  He's a bright spirit who wants people to be happy, and he made a valiant effort to keep the meal pleasant.  I did what I could, too.

I began to wonder as we ate whether they had really planned the trip to visit the museum, as they claimed, or whether they had actually come to see me for some reason.  To give me bad news?  Could the university have had second thoughts about hiring me?  No, I decided pretty quickly that wasn't it.  If there were a problem over the job, they wouldn't have put what could be a litigious situation in the hands of a junior faculty member.  So it had to be something else.

Finally, half-way through dessert, I put down my fork and said, "OK, you two.  Why are you really here?  I don't think you came just to see the Art Institute, and you've both been acting very strange, especially you, Tim.  Isn't it time you just came out with it?"

Cedric took a sip of coffee and looked at Tim.

Tim glanced at Cedric and then looked steadily, seriously at me.

"Rick, you have to understand how awkward this is for me.  I'm caught between two people I like."

I said nothing, waiting for him to explain.  I couldn't imagine where the conversation was going, but I began to feel less irritated and more sympathetic as I saw that Tim was truly embarrassed.  Then what he said was like a blow to the gut.

"You see, Rick," Tim continued, "we know Doug Curtis."

'Oh, shit,' something inside me screamed.  At that moment, the worst thing I'd ever done caught up with me. Here were two guys I liked.  I expected to be working happily alongside Tim.  And all of that seemed just then to be on the verge of evaporating.

"You . . . you . . . do?" I stammered.  "How . . . ?"

"It doesn't matter how we know him, does it?  What matters is what you did to him."

"Tim, I wasn't about to ask how you know Doug.  I was about to ask how he is."

"If what I've heard is true, Rick, I'm surprised you care."

I gulped for air.  They knew Doug.  And they obviously cared about him.  And Tim was clearly so angry over whatever Doug had told him that he couldn't be comfortable in the same room with me.  That explained his silence and his tension.  What a wretched turn of events!  I had been so happy about the new job.  Now it looked as if there wasn't any way Tim and I could ever be friends, especially after I gave them the confession they had obviously come all the way to Chicago to hear.

And yet, another part of me wanted to tell them.  Ned Branscomb knew all about it, of course.  The only other person I'd ever told was my dad, who, though supportive as usual, had been disappointed that I hadn't come to him at the time I was being blackmailed.  

"I don't know what you've heard, of course, but I'd like to tell you what really happened, since even Doug doesn't know.  And I do want to know how he is.  I really loved him, you know."

"Well, we don't know that, do we?"

`Oh, God!' I thought, `Tim really isn't going to make this easy.'

"Look, I have a suggestion.  This isn't the place to talk about it.  Let me take you back to my place, where we can have more privacy, and I'll tell you the whole miserable story.  Then you can either stay with me, or we'll get you back to your hotel."

"Rick," Tim said apologetically, "I feel bad that we had to do this as we have.  I would feel worse if we confronted you about all of this in your home.  Would you prefer to come back to our hotel?"

"I will, if you insist, but I think we'd be more comfortable at the condo."

"Tim," Cedric, who had finally found his voice, said, "this could be really hard for Rick.  If he wants to be at home, we should at least do what he suggests."

Tim looked at him for a long moment.  "OK, Rick, if you're sure you don't mind."

I gave Sean a nod, and he brought the check.  There was a brief argument about who was paying until I reminded them that I had invited them to this dinner and that I intended to pay for it.  Sean had told Ron to bring my car up, and it was waiting for us when we got to the door.

*       *          *


It was a quiet ride but a brief one to Rick's place.  He parked in an underground parking area, and we took an elevator to the 36th floor.  Rick and his father lived in a big condo on the east side of the building.  It must have had a fantastic view of the lake, but, of course, it was dark, so all we could see were the lights of other buildings, and that was pretty impressive, too.

After he had hung up our coats, he offered us coffee or something to drink.  Ced and I both declined.

Rick took off his jacket and his tie as well.  He invited us to do the same.  Cedric complied immediately, so I did, too.

We were all settled in chairs grouped near a big stone fireplace with a fire burning in it (I wondered who'd lighted that).  To my left was the window wall looking out on Chicago.

I waited for Rick to begin, feeling it would be unkind to push him.  When I looked at him, his naturally dark skin had paled, and he was chewing on his mustache, obviously tense.

"Guys, it's good to be able to tell someone about this, finally.  What I did to Douglas has been eating at me for years, and there's been no way I could make it up to him."

Neither Cedric nor I said anything.  We just waited for him to go on.

"First of all, you've got to know that I was being blackmailed."

[Readers who want a detailed account of what happened between Rick and Doug are invited to read chapter 12 of "Out of the Night" in the Adult Friends section, posted January 16, 2004.]

"Blackmailed?" Ced asked.  He shot me a kind of I-told-you-so look.

"Yeah.  Sure I can't get you guys something to eat or drink?  Coffee?  Brandy?"

"Rick," Cedric said, "I'll have a brandy.  And it might make this all easier if you had one, too."

He seemed grateful for the suggestion and asked me if I wanted one.  I said yes, just to keep things moving along.

When we were settled back down with our brandies, Rick told us his story.  He said that his fraternity president had set him up and had gotten pictures of him having sex with a friend of his.  The friend's face never appeared, but Rick's did.  The fraternity president threatened not only to distribute the pictures around campus and on the web, but to see that the tabloids got them.  He told Rick he'd use them to embarrass Rick's father, a Congressman at the time, who was considering his first run for the Senate.

Rick was taking a course with Doug, and Marcus, the blackmailer, wanted to discredit Doug.  Apparently Doug was known among some of the football team as a tough grader.  They were pretty sure Doug was gay, though Rick insists he didn't have that reputation.  Rick was to have an affair with Doug and then keep detailed notes of what they did when they were having sex.  

Rick was, he said, appalled and at first refused.  But then he thought of what this could do to his father's career.  He spent some time telling us how close he and his father were, how great his dad had been after his mother died.  So, after dithering about it for a while, he couldn't see any alternative to doing what Marcus wanted.

He explained that he did indeed become close with Doug.  He told us his dilemma was made all the worse by the fact that he came first to admire and then to love Doug as their affair continued.  He suffered, he said, from terrible feelings of guilt for betraying this man, but that he simply couldn't think of a way out that didn't involve what he thought would be the ruin of his father's career.  So he was in a bind.  Familial love won out over conscience (though he didn't put it that way), and he began to give Marcus the information he wanted about his sex with Doug.

The results were, as Stan had told me, that Doug was terribly humiliated on his campus.  Some of Marcus and Rick's fraternity brothers began to openly taunt Doug and call him names.  Doug rapidly got the nickname "Brownie" around campus.  That even got into the college newspaper.  From what Rick's friends told him, Doug's whole demeanor changed.  He seemed to retreat inside himself.  By that point, the class Rick was taking had long since ended, and Rick, dreadfully ashamed of what he had done, avoided Doug for the rest of the year.  He said he had heard later that Doug left Cranmer and that he had not taken a job elsewhere.  After he graduated and went to Brown, Rick wanted, he claimed, to get in touch with Doug and confess what he'd done and why, but he was unable to find out what had happened to Doug.

He said that several years later he had confessed to his father what he'd done to Doug.  The Senator had been disappointed with Rick, had said that Rick should have come to him at the time and that they could have figured out something.  He also said he loved Rick for his loyalty, even if he thought he'd used bad judgment at the time of the blackmailing.

*          *          *


When Rick finished his sad tale, he took a swallow of the brandy and set the snifter down.  There were tears in his eyes.  I knew then that he really was a decent guy and that Tim and I had been right when we immediately liked him back on campus.

Tim had become more and more tense as the story unfolded.  He hadn't had any of his brandy, instead merely watching and listening intently to Rick.  

"So even your father agreed that what you did was wrong?"

I was shocked that Tim put it so bluntly.  

"That's right, Tim.  And I know now that I should have talked with him, with Doug, with someone.  I made an awful mistake, and I've been sorry every day since.  I wish there were some way I could make it up to Doug, but there isn't.  I wish more than anything that I could at least apologize to him, to tell him how wrong I was and how sorry I am."  He finished his brandy and continued, tears now streaming down his face.  "Won't you tell me a little about Doug?  Is he well?  Is he happy?"

Tim started to say something, but I cut him off.  "Yeah, Rick, we'll tell you about Doug, but first . . ."  I went over to him, pulled him to his feet, and hugged him.  He rested his head on my chest.  I just held him, rocking him a bit.  Tim sat there quietly, watching us.

After a while, Rick looked up at me and tried to smile.  "I'm sorry for losing control, Ced.  I've not been able to share this with anybody but Dad."  He sighed.  "Now, about Doug?"

I sat next to Rick on the sofa and put my arm around his shoulders.  "Doug is well.  He's found a man his own age, and those two really love each other.  It's fun just to watch them together because they have such a great relationship.  If, as you say, you really loved Doug, I think that should make you happy."

Rick had fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and was mopping the tears from his eyes and face.  "Oh, yes.  More than anything.  Doug's such a sweet man, he deserves to be happy, and I'm so glad he's found someone.  But he was also the best teacher I've ever known.  I hope he's teaching somewhere."

"No, Rick, he's not.  He's writing a novel, I think, but he hasn't taught since he left Cranmer.  He and his partner, a lawyer, are working together.  Doug is helping him with the office work.  Together they've bought an old house which they're fixing up evenings and weekends, and they both seem to be having a lot of fun with that project.  Can you imagine Doug in a white tee, jeans, and work boots, hauling drywall from Home Depot in his red pickup truck?"

Rick grinned.  "That's a sexy picture, but it doesn't sound like the Doug I remember  But if he's happy with this guy, then I'm relieved more than I can say."

"Trust me, Doug's happy."

"Even though the academic world has lost what, by your own admission, was an unusually able teacher," Tim commented.

The tears came back to Rick's eyes, and I gave Tim a reproachful look.

"May I ask how you guys know Doug?"

Tim and I had agreed that we weren't going to give Rick any information on Doug's whereabouts until we had talked with Doug about all of this.  I didn't think it would do any harm, however, to answer Rick's question.  "Doug's partner is a friend of ours, and he's the father of my best friend.  Best friend except for Tim, that is."

Rick looked thoughtful.  "What were the chances . . . ?"

"Yeah, it's strange, isn't it?"  Then, after a pause, I looked at him.  "Rick, are you going to be all right?"

He smiled wanly.  "Yeah, like I said, it's been good to finally share this with somebody.  And I'm so relieved that Doug is all right and happy.  I would really like to talk to him, you know.  Is there any chance of that?"

Tim, who'd been silent for a long time, asked, "If you were Doug, what would you want in these circumstances?"

Rick looked as if he'd been slapped.  "Well, uh, I can't imagine that Doug would ever want to have anything to do with me again."

Tim didn't say anything, but he nodded.

"Look," I offered, "why don't we tell Doug about some of this and sound him out about being in touch with you?  If he says no, are you willing to accept that?"

"Of course.  The last thing I want to do is cause him any more pain.  But I would hope he'd at least be willing to hear my apology."

"Well, like I said, we'll see how he feels about it, okay?"

"Yeah, Ced, thanks."

Tim stood up.  "It's getting late, and we have to get to Midway by 8:00 in the morning to go through all the security for our 10:00 flight back to Cleveland."  He walked over to Rick.  "Thank you for being honest with us.  And thanks for dinner."

"Tim, I'm a little at sea here.  When I came back from my interview, I was really elated because I thought I had made two new friends.  Has this evening ruined everything?"

"I honestly don't know, Rick.  I've got to process all this."  He and Rick shook hands.  "But, again, thanks."

I hugged Rick.  "You made a mistake, Rick.  We've all done that, God knows.  I'm your friend.  When are you coming to campus again?"

"Well, as I said, I had planned to move there just after your commencement, when there should be a lot of apartments coming available.  But now, I think maybe I'd better stay away as long as possible."

"Bullshit, professor.  You first idea was better.  Stay in touch, please?"

He smiled weakly at me.  "Well, if you want me to."

"I do, for sure!"

"Now, excuse me a minute," Rick said.  He picked up the phone, said a few words into it, and put it down.  "There will be a cab at the main entrance to take you to your hotel by the time you can get down there.  Have a safe trip back.  And, Tim, please let me know how you feel after you've `processed all this.'"

"I'll do that, Rick.  Thanks for your hospitality."

"Oh, and I hope you'll let me know one way or the other what Doug says.  If he doesn't ever want to see me, I'll understand, and I promise I'll never bother him."

We said we'd get back to him.

It was very quiet in the cab on our way back to the hotel.  When we got to our room, undressed, and got into bed, I couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Timothy Mead!  In our year together, and we're coming up on our first year anniversary, I've never been ashamed of you before.  But, hon, I have to tell you, I think you were shitty to Rick.  What's with you?"

"What's with YOU?  All that hugging and sympathy?  Where's your loyalty to Doug?  What Rick did was, as he admits, terrible!  As I told him, however, I need time to think about all this.  It's late, and I don't want to talk about it any more tonight, please.  I promise we will when we get home.  OK, sweetheart?"

"I'll let you off the hook for now, Timmy, but when we get home, we WILL talk about this."

He rolled over on his side.  I spooned up behind him and put my arm around him and pulled him close.  We stayed that way for a while, but neither of us went to sleep right away, and neither of us slept well that night.

I think Tim and I tacitly agreed that the plane was not the proper place to continue our talk about Rick and Doug.  We were in Cleveland before noon.  We bailed our car out of the parking facility and were back on campus by one-thirty.  We heated tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches for a late lunch. When we had put the dishes in the machine, I pulled Tim into the living room and made him sit in one of the easy chairs. I took the one facing him.

"Now, lover, what the fuck is with you?  I've never known you to be so cold, so unsympathetic.  Looks to me like `The Iceman' is back, and I'm not sure I understand why."

Tim unlaced and took off his shoes.  Then he looked me in the eye and said, "What Rick did to Doug is so abhorrent to me, I don't see how I can ever be comfortable with him as a colleague.  How could you be so buddy-buddy with him after what he told us?"

"Are you really asking me?  You really want me to tell you how I see it?"

"Of course I do.  Set me straight."

I took a deep breath.  "Come over here on the sofa with me."  We both stood and moved to the sofa.  Then I took off my shoes, pulled one knee up, and swiveled to face Tim.

"First of all, what Rick did was a BIG mistake.  But look, Tim, he was just the age of Markie and Chaz and Trey and me when he did it.  We're all about 21.  We think we're big men of the world, that we can handle anything.  But we make mistakes.  I made one last summer about you and Max when I was so jealous.  Chaz made one that night last fall when he embarrassed Tiger at Stefan's.  Granted, neither of those was a serious as what Rick did, but the point's there, all the same.  It's natural at our age to trust our own judgments, not to feel like we have to run to our daddy or our professor when we have a problem.  What is it Sam Johnson said?"

Tim just shook his head.

"He said, `With our judgments as with our watches, no two go alike, but each man trusts his own.'"

Tim actually grinned.  "I like that.  Maybe I never paid as much attention to Dr. Sam as I should have."

I didn't think it would be politic to mention that Dr. Sam was in Rick's special area of expertise.

"But . . . ," Tim was about to continue.

"Honey, wait a little, please.  There's something else I need to say here."

He scrunched down a little and rested his head on the back of the sofa.  "Go ahead."

"Okay.  I'm honestly surprised at you."

"What have I done now?"

"You don't seem to remember your own experience with blackmail."

That got his attention.  He sat up, turned, and looked at me.  "Go on."

"Baby, do I have to remind you what you did at Trey and Chaz's place on two successive nights last spring?  Did you stop to get advice?  Ask another opinion?  Think whether there were any other options available?  What were you then, 26?  And you did all those humiliating things because you didn't want those pictures of you to be shown around campus.  Seems to me the situations were pretty similar.  And here I'm going to be brutally frank, sweetheart.  What you did was to protect just your sweet little white ass.  Rick thought he was protecting his father."

I was afraid for a minute I'd ruined everything Tim and I had between us.  He turned even paler than usual and then put his head back against the sofa.  His only comment was "Jesus!"

I waited, my heart pounding, as he stared at the ceiling.  He continued to do that, not blinking, not moving, until I was beginning to get antsy.  I was dying to know what was going on in his head, but I was afraid to ask.

Just when I was about to plead with him to say something, he turned, grabbed my head between his hands, and pulled my face to his.  He gave me a long, tonsil-tickling kiss.

When we finished, I was panting.  After I got my breath, I asked, "Does that mean you ain't mad at me, little man?"

"I want you to promise me something, Cedric."  He looked very serious.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Yes. If I ever act like such a bastard again, I want you to promise to do what you just did.  Call me on it.  Set me straight.  OK?"

I grinned.  "I don't imagine you could ever be quite such a bastard again, Tim, but if you do, I'll be sure to bring the matter to your attention."

"You've made me see how my loyalty to Stan, and through him to Doug, blinded me completely to Rick's problems.  Maybe he should have looked for another way out before he caved in to that Marcus creep.  But who am I to cast stones?"

"Hooray!  The Iceman's gone and my Tim is back!"

He grinned.  "Thanks, sweetheart, for making me see reason."

Another long kiss.  Then we separated because we both had school work to do for the next day.  We ordered in pizza for supper and ate separately as we worked.  

About 9:00, Tim suggested we go to bed.

"It's just a little early, don't you think?"

He gave me a sexy leer and said, "Not for what I've got in mind."

"Oh, sounds interesting.  Just what do you have in mind?"

He told me to shut down the computer, which I did.  Then he took my hand.

"Come weeth me across ze hall to ze bedroom."

"Timmy," I laughed, "that's a terrible accent."

"OK, hot stuff, just come on!"

"What are we going to do?  Something involving sex, I hope."

"Oh, yeah.  You remember that Sunday morning last spring when you showed up at my door with a disc and your gorgeous bod?"

"Never forget it.  I was scared shitless."

"So was I. But do you remember what you did?"

I grinned.  "Never forget it."

"Neither will I.  You told me that day was all about me, and you spent just about the entire day doing indescribably wonderful things to my person."

"That investment in time sure paid off."

"Well, your investment has accrued some interest.  Get out of your clothes, hit the john if you need to, and get back to this bed, tout de suite!"

Liking the sound of that, I did as he suggested.  Tout de suite.

Tim did to me just about everything one guy can do to pleasure another.  He nibbled my earlobes and stuck his tongue in my ear until I was wiggling and giggling.  He sucked on my neck and both my nips.  He licked his way to my navel and then did my pits, which he had never done before.  Then he began licking up my leg.  When he got almost to my balls, he licked up the other leg.  By then Sneaky was getting pretty desperate for some attention, but Tim made me roll over.

He licked all over the cheeks of my ass, working from the base of my spine to my perineum, but at first avoiding the crevice.  Then he began lapping me there.  Finally, he gave me a long and lusty rim job, ending with a tongue fucking.

When I was screaming for him to fuck me, he made me turn over again onto my back.  He took Sneaky in his mouth and got him about as hard as he can get and very wet.  Then he straddled me, and squatted on my cock.  He hadn't let me do anything.  I'd been totally passive, except to moan appreciation and encouragement.  And he controlled the pace of the fucking.  And, as with everything else he had done that evening, it was deliciously, maddeningly slow.  

At one point I grabbed Junior and began jacking him in rhythm with Tim's rising and falling on my tool.  He took my hand off.  "No, babe, this party is all for you."

His plans didn't quite work out, though.  Though he has improved tremendously in that department, Timmy has always been an early ejaculator, and, even though Junior had had no external stimulation except for the couple of pumps I got in before he made me stop, he came just before I did, spurting blob after blob of his creamy white semen onto my belly.  

"I always have loved the sight of that," he said, looking down at my jizz-covered abs.  Then he lay on top of me.  As he did, Sneaky pulled out of his ass.  We lay there for a long time.  I thought for the millionth time how lucky I was to have Tim, and I gave thanks that he had accepted my straight talk about his behavior to Rick.

The next afternoon when I got home, Tim was on the phone.  When I figured out he was talking to Rick, I flopped down beside him and listened.

"They're going to be here soon.  They want to see Chaz play one last time before the season's over, so it will be in the next few weeks.  We've asked them to stay with us.  I promise we'll find some way to tell Doug about you and see how he feels about seeing you.  If he agrees, we'll set something up.  It might be good to do it here.  I'm sure you'd be uncomfortable going to his and his partner's house, as he would be coming to Chicago."

Rick apparently responded positively.

"Yeah, great.  Now, Rick, I want to apologize again.  I was such a prick Saturday night, and I'm ashamed of the way I acted.  I was seeing everything from Doug's point of view, not even trying to see it from yours.  Believe me, Cedric yanked a knot in my tail about that when we got home.  He made me see some things in my life that helped me relate to what happened to you."


"Thanks.  You know, what ever happens with you and Doug, Doug will always be my friend.  But I hope you and I can be friends, and not just colleagues, too."

He listened a minute and then beamed.  "Right, Rick.  I'll be in touch when I know anything.  And, listen, DO plan to move to campus right after commencement.  It will be good to have you around this summer."


"Oh, yeah. You, too."

He hung up the phone and came over to me.  He sat next to me and put his arms around me.

"Well, I gather you got the gist of that."

I grinned at him and kissed the top of his head.  "Yep."

"Ced, I love you so much it scares me sometimes.  Don't ever leave me, baby."

"You can count on that, Tim.  `Til death do us part."