Date: Tue, 23 Dec 2008 18:55:53 -0700
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Owen - chapter 19 - Gay College Section

Owen

Chapter nineteen

By Roy Reinikainen


Daniel Johnson slowly drove back to his small apartment, his thoughts
remaining on Bea Carver.  'Why did I have to fall in love with a married
woman?'  He shook his head.  'I never *could* do things in the normal way.
Boy meets girl, marries girl, lives happily ever after.  No, not me.  I
have to do things the difficult . . . if not impossible . . . way.'

He sighed as he pulled into the parking space in front of his combination
office and apartment facing the Riverton town square.  Christmas was only
days away and a few of those living on the square had lights illuminating a
decorated tree in their front windows.  He fancied he could hear laughter
coming from those homes.  The row of storefronts adjacent to his building
were empty though, and had been since he had arrived in town.

'No laughter for me,' he thought.  'Not even a next door neighbor with whom
to share a beer.'  He paused and looked around the dark and empty square,
then across the narrow street to the row of shops.  'This place is well on
its way to becoming a ghost town.'  He shook his head as he dug in his
pocket for his house keys.  'I wonder where we'll all be in a few years.'

His darkened apartment smelled of wood wax, the morning's coffee, and the
faint scent of a stack of pine logs stacked next to the stone fireplace.
He had called this building home since coming to Riverton, and these smells
told his brain that this was a place where he could relax and not worry
about the machinations of someone like Maxine, or the wild swings of temper
exhibited by Jonathan Carver, Bea's husband.  'Bea,' he thought, unable to
take his mind off of the woman who occupied so many of his thoughts.  He
wanted, more than anything, to make her happy, to see her laugh once again.
He had always been something of a loner; that was his nature, but now, the
loner was lonely.  He turned on one of the room's table lamps, its yellow
light turning the room's window into a mirror.

He was a man of average height, who looked more like a lumberjack than a
doctor.  'It's the plaid shirts,' he laughed, whenever someone made the
comparison, which people often did.

"And the jeans and work boots," they would inevitably add.  "As well as the
way you roll up your shirt sleeves," someone sitting next to him in Art's
barbershop had once said.  "And, your hairy chest," one of the men's wife
had added, ignoring her husband's irritated scowl.  He remembered blushing,
and changing the subject when she refused to look away.

A few of the single women in town, as well as a couple of the married ones,
had let it be known that they were available, most notably Maxine, the
town's grocer.  All of the women, with the exception of Maxine, had
gracefully withdrawn after a slight hint from him that he was not
interested.  If anything, Maxine's efforts to attract him had intensified.

"Well, hello, Green Eyes," she cooed, shortly after he had arrived in town
to set up his practice.  She tried to sidle up to him, batting her sparse
eyelashes in a parody of a poor "B" movie.  "Love the wavy hair," she
continued, ignoring his unease, or perhaps, excited by it.  "And the tight
jeans," she added, in what she must have thought was a sexy voice,
pointedly staring at his groin with a hungry look on her thin face.

'Her voice is lower than mine,' he'd thought, quickly paying for his sack
of groceries, then hustling out of the building.  'She must have started
smoking when she was in elementary school to so thoroughly ruin her voice.'

He finally had enough, when she invited him to her house for an intimate
dinner.  "Maxine," he'd said, trying to be gentle.  "I'm flattered that you
seem to be interested in forming a relationship with me, but I must tell
you that my affections lie elsewhere.  I don't want to hurt you, but please
stop trying to entice me into something which I know would not work."

Her eyes had gone steely grey.  "It's Jonathan's wife you're interested in,
isn't it?" she spat, not caring that there were others in the store.
"Y'like married women, do you, doctor?" she hissed, her voice rising as she
turned to someone who stood nearby.  "He's probably diddling Beatrice
Carver.  In fact, I'm sure he must be.  Otherwise, why would the woman look
so haggard all the time."

"Maxine!" he'd almost shouted, outraged by her assumptions.

She sniffed her disdain.  "Married woman excite some men."  Another sniff.
"I've got everything Beatrice Carver has, plus I'm single!  But no, our
goody goody town doctor wants only married women."  She looked to another
customer who had been easing herself toward the store's entrance, hoping to
avoid notice.  The customer stopped, as if pinned to the wall, like an
unfortunate specimen in a biologist's laboratory.  "I wonder what Jonathan
Carver will think about *doctor* Johnson diddling his wife!"  Maxine gave
him a disdainful look, then sniffed, turned up her nose, and left him
standing at the counter.

"Delusional woman," someone close by had muttered.  "Comparin' herself with
Bea!  Hell, Maxine's so ugly her mama took her everywhere she went, just so
she didn't have to kiss her daughter goodbye!"  The comment, and the
chuckles of agreement from others in the store, had made him feel better,
but he knew he had made an enemy that day.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."  The line from William Congreve's
play never seemed more apt.

'She thinks she has everything Beatrice has?'  The idea was ludicrous.  He
shuddered, comparing Maxine with Beatrice Carver, the woman he still
associated with the flowing dark blonde hair, bubbling laughter, and ready
smile.

Daniel's smile faded as he sank into his overstuffed leather easy chair
with a tired grunt and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.  'The woman
I know as Beatrice Carver has faded dramatically since Owen, her oldest
son, left for college.  Her thick, dark blonde hair, now hung about her
shoulders as if it were as exhausted as she.  Her hazel eyes seemed clouded
with worry, sunken, and surrounded by dark circles.  She no longer smiled,
or laughed, and had lost so much weight, she was beginning to resemble the
stick figure he associated with Maxine.

'Still,' Daniel thought, 'I am in love with that woman.  I ache to see her
happy once more, out from under the clutches of the man who's sucking the
life out of her.'

Daniel pulled off his boots and set them next to the armchair.  He wiggled
his toes in his woolen socks, and stretched out his legs, resting his feet
on the ottoman before closing his eyes, visions of the vivacious Beatrice
Carver playing on the inside of his eyelids as he slipped into sleep.


----------


Owen sighed and tightened his embrace as Sam's body seemed to melt against
his own.  "Oh, Sammy," he murmured.  "Tell me I'm not dreamin'."  He took a
shuddering, disbelieving, breath.  "You're really here!"  He inhaled deeply
reveling in the feeling of Sam's strong hands as they moved down his back,
to his buttocks, where they tightened, pulling Owen closer.  Neither man
seemed willing to break their embrace.

"Mmm, you smell so good," he murmured, nibbling on an earlobe.  The close
concentrated aroma of Sam, of . . . home . . . still penetrated the cloth
of Sam's shirt as Owen nuzzled the fabric.  He inhaled, stunned by memories
rekindled.  He and Sam were once again in the meadow on the bank of the
river.  The tiny yellow flowers on their wiry stems still swayed in the
gentle summer breeze, their honey-scent filling the summer air.  He could
almost hear the movement of the water as it made its way through the rocks
at the river's edge, or the birdsong overhead, accompanying the low hum of
dragonflies flitting to and fro.

For all his life, Sam had been with him, holding his hand as he spoke of
his dreams of leaving Riverton.  They had lain side by side, or atop one
another, kissing as they made love.  When he left for school, and Sam was
no longer with him, he realized for the first time, how much his friend's
presence meant.

Now, they were together once again.  Instead of the meadow with its heady
fragrances of flowers and new mown hay, the wind howled, slamming the sleet
and snow against the apartment's windows.  Sam shivered.

"Are you okay?" Owen asked, backing off enough to focus on his friend's
eyes and face.  Sam nodded with a slight upward quirk of the corner of his
lips.

"Yeah."  He seemed to blink through a watery haze.  "It's . . . it's just
that . . ."  He changed his mind.  'I'll talk to him about Jonah, later,'
he promised himself.  "I'm so happy you're the same."

"Same?" asked Owen, studying his friend more closely, feeling the wiry
muscles of Sam's shoulders shift beneath his hands, catching the slight
hesitation and wondering at its origin.

Sam nodded once and compressed his lips before answering.  "I . . . I
thought you . . . since you've been gone n'all . . . I thought you might
have changed, that you might not be the same person I grew up with."  He
took a halting breath and gave Owen a crooked grin before taking another
deep breath and glancing over his shoulder toward the apartment windows,
and the storm raging beyond.

"There's more," Owen coaxed.  Sam shrugged helplessly, not meeting Owen's
worried expression.

He looked up, wearing a twisted smile.  "I don't want to talk; not tonight
at least."  He rested his head on Owen's shoulder.  "All I wanna do is be
with you . . . to feel your warmth.  We can visit later.  Okay?" he asked,
wearing a hopeful expression.

Owen held Sam at arm's length, looking him up and down.  "I happen to know
of a *perfect* spot to . . . not talk."  He grinned.  "Of course, it's
mandatory that both of us be nekkid."

"Ooooo," Sam cooed.  "I think I can manage that."  He glanced around the
living room, avoiding looking at the wildly flailing tree branches and
falling snow outside the apartment.  "Where might that be?  I don't think
I'd like lying on the floor . . ." He grinned, linking fingers with Owen.
"No matter how nice it is."

Owen swiped a hand over the room's light switch, and led Sam toward the
bedroom.  The yellowish light of the streetlights, dimmed due of the
thickly falling snow, lit the room with a subdued light, much like that of
a candle.

'This isn't Owen's room,' Sam thought, as they entered, 'even if some of
his clothes *are* draped over the back of the chair.'  The room smelled, a
spicy aftershave, or soap, not one used by Owen.  The folding closet door
was open, revealing two clothes rods packed closely with hanging clothes
all neatly arranged.  'Nope, definitely not Owen's,' Sam thought with a
grin.  Unlike Jonah, who was painfully tidy, Owen could never be accused of
being a neat-freak.'  An adjacent room was lit by nothing more than a
computer screen, its screensaver program slowly moving a photograph of Owen
and . . . Lucas . . . across the screen.

"Your computer?" Sam asked, nodding toward the darkened room.  Owen glanced
over his shoulder.

"No," his blush was evident, even in the feeble light of the bedroom.
"Lucas'."  He looked worried.  "Does it bother you?  I . . . I'm . . ."
Sam interrupted him with a tightening of his fingers.

"It's not a problem . . . really."  Sam traced a finger over Owen's jaw
line.  "Lucas has as much right to have a photograph of you and him as you
do to have one of you and me."  He grinned.  "Lucas told me how you won't
allow yourself to be separated from the photo of the two of us, that I gave
you."  Owen smiled sheepishly and dug in his back pocket.

"I'd be lost without it," he murmured, glancing first at Sam, then the
photograph, as he lovingly ran a fingertip over the image.  "I . . ."  He
didn't seem to know what to say, so he tenderly pulled Sam close and kissed
him.

"Are we gonna get naked?" Sam teased.  "I mean, I love kissin' when we're
both dressed, but that huge bed is calling our names."

Owen smiled, stepping back and immediately began to strip.  "So that's what
I've been hearing?  I wasn't going to mention it," he chuckled, "but, I
thought maybe I was hearin' your stomach growling, or something."  He
dodged a playful punch, tossing his slacks onto the chair, and stepping out
of his underwear.

"Watch it!" Sam laughed, tossing his shirt in the general direction of
Owen's.  "Though I *am* gonna have to get something to eat before the
night's out.  The friggin' peanuts they served on the airplane were not
enough to keep me in the peak of health."  He flexed his arms, then waved
his hips from side to side, his erection swaying.

"Oooh," Owen smiled, running his fingertips through Sam's pubes.  "I like,"
he murmured, moving on to a caress of Sam's cock.  "I know I told you I
liked your pubes bare, but I'm thinkin' I like em like *this* way more."
He cradled Sam's scrotum, gently shifting the testicles back and forth.
"'Course, the guy they're attached to isn't half-bad."

He wiggled his tongue.  "I'm thinkin' I'd like to swap some spit, before we
move on to . . . other things."  He raised his eyebrows, asking for
agreement at the same time he grasped the base of his own penis.  "Y'know,
I dream about tastin' your jiz," he said, as an aside, climbing onto the
bed, then looked over his shoulder to where Sam stood silently.  "Y'okay?"

Sam nodded.  "You bet.  I'm just gettin' all excited by watching your butt
as you crawled across the bed."  Owen laughed, reaching back and slapping
the bare skin of one butt cheek.  "It's all yours, Sammy.  Any time you
want it."

Sam jumped onto the bed, crawling to Owen's side.  "You always were a
show-off."  He playfully pushed Owen onto his back and chuckled.  "Besides
that, you were always a push-over."

"Hey!" Owen protested, as Sam climbed on top of him.  "Let's not start
callin' people names, okay?"

"Okay, shorty," Sam laughed, flicking a finger at Owen's erection.

Owen covered himself with a hastily placed hand.  "Hey!  I'm not *that*
small!  Just 'cause someone in your family was related to a horse," Owen
laughed, responding to Sam's teasing, easing back into their old
camaraderie.

"Not everyone in my family is hung as good as me," Sam responded smugly,
while Owen rolled his eyes.  "Why," Sam continued, "I understand that an
uncle of mine has the same problem as you."  He winked when Owen turned to
him and stuck out his tongue.  "That uncle I was tellin' you about?
Remember him?"

"Yeah," Owen groused.  "The one with the short pecker."

"Yeah," Sam laughed.  "You didn't tell me you knew him."

"I don't.  You were telling me about him."

"Oh yeah.  I thought maybe all you guys stuck together for support, or
somethin'."

"Sammmm," Owen drawled, as Sam chuckled.

"Well, that uncle.  You know the one?" Sam asked, tweaking one of Owen's
nipples.

"Yessss," Owen answered, jumping at the unexpected pinch.

"Well, he happened to be runnin' around the house one night, naked as a
jay-bird.  It was dark y'see, and he happened to run head-long into the
wall."

"Oooh."

"Well," Sam continued.  "Naturally, everyone thought he most likely did
serious injury to his dick, seein' he was hard n'all.  But nope."  Sam
shook his head, barely able to contain his laughter.  "His willie wasn't
long enough.  He broke his nose!  Get it?" Sam chortled.  "His *nose* was
longer than his dick!"

Owen growled, rolling on top of Sam, who playfully screeched.  "I promise I
won't tell anyone," Sam laughed, reveling in Owen's weight and the tongue,
which demanded entrance to his mouth.  "About your size, I mean.  Besides,"
he added, breathlessly, "I'm sure you're much thicker'n him."

"Thanks, Mister," Owen teased, grinding himself against Sam as their mouths
met.

When his and Owen's kiss ended, Sam added.  "I'm just teasin' about your
dick, y'know?  I think it's perfect."  He kneaded Owen's ass cheeks at the
same time that Owen continued to grind his much-discussed erection against
Sam's.  "In fact," he continued.  "It's . . ."  He paused.  "Owen?"

"Hmmm?" Owen's responded, nuzzling Sam's neck.

"What's better'n perfect?"

"His name is Sam," Owen murmured, nibbling on Sam's earlobe.

"That's sweet."  He nuzzled Owen's ear and hair, then planted a row of
small kisses from his earlobe to his jaw.  When he reached Owen's mouth,
their tongues met in a slow caress, mimicking the unhurried movements of
their hands.

"I've missed you so much," Sam murmured, parting for a brief moment before
returning for another kiss.  He inhaled deeply, immersed in the sensuality
of the moment as he watched Owen's mobile mouth, seemingly on the verge of
a smile.

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, I love you, Sammy," Owen pulled
him close.  "More'n you can imagine.  You'n Lucas are the two most
important people in my life."  He continued to nuzzle the crook of Sam's
neck, inhaling the scent of his hair, kissing across the warmth of Sam's
skin, from his earlobe to his cheek.

"Now that we're together again, I'm never lettin' you go."  The moment of
contentment ended suddenly when Owen stiffened, then rolled away.  He sat
on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

Sam propped himself up on an elbow.  "What's wrong?"  He looked around the
room, but found nothing amiss.  "Owen?" he coaxed.  "What's going on?
What's the problem?"

"It's Lucas!"  Owen stood, walked to the window and looked at the swirling
snow.  "I wonder what's happened to Lucas!"  He turned toward the bedroom
door, as if the man might suddenly appear, then turned back to the window.
"It's dark n' the streets'll be all icy and slick.  He shouldn't be out
driving.  They're expecting lots more snow tonight!"  Owen paced back and
forth across the bedroom, pausing only long enough to look out to the
flurries, a worried look on his face.

'Oh, Owen,' Sam thought to himself, as he watched his friend.  'Lucas means
far more to you than I think even *you* are aware of.'  He thought about
Jonah, wondering what he was doing back in Riverton.  'We've made a
complicated mess of our lives, haven't we, Owen?' he thought.  'You n'
Lucas.  Me and Jonah.  You n' me.'  He sighed, watching Owen aimlessly pace
across the room.  'Quite a tangle.  Us goin' to bed may only make things
worse, not better.'

"Don't wear yourself out pacing and worryin'," he finally said.  "Call him!
He's probably visiting his folks, or a friend, or something."  Sam wiggled
his eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood.  "Leavin' the place to us for the
evening."

"Y'think?" Owen sat on the edge of the bed and dialed Lucas' mobile number.
"I just don't want him to be out in the storm, wanderin' around, afraid to
come home, fearin' he might interrupt us.  No telling what might happen on
those icy streets.  When the weather gets bad here, it gets *really* bad."
Sam watched in silence as Owen waited for an answer.

"Lucas!" Owen almost shouted, standing.  "Where are you?  Are you okay?
Why aren't you home?  You're not out driving around, afraid to come home,
are you?"  He paused, and chuckled.  "Thank you for makin' me the happiest
man on earth."  Another chuckle.  "I guess I shoulda said thank you first,
but I'm worryin' if you're okay.  You never skip-out without lettin' me
know what's happening.  Why'd you do that?"

"Owen," Lucas raised his voice, in an effort to override the string of
questions, touched by his friend's concern.  "I'm okay.  I'm at Mother and
Dad's.  I thought you and Sam would want some privacy.  By the way," he
added, "Sam is as wonderful as you always said he would be."  The words
seemed to catch in his throat.  "You're a lucky man.  Hell," he added, his
throat tightening.  "*He's* a lucky man!

"Now that you know I'm okay, and have said your thanks, why don't you get
back to your lover who is, no doubt, wondering why you're so concerned
about me."  He paused.  "Enjoy yourself, Farm Boy, and don't do anything I
wouldn't do."  Each sentence was becoming more difficult to say.

"I've got to go, Owen," he managed.  "Bye."  He cut the connection with a
trembling finger, then rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his
pillow, surrendering himself to the feelings he had been holding in since
hearing Owen joyously greet Sam.  He cried harder than he could ever
recall, imagining Sam in Owen's arms.  He hurt . . . deeply, yet he knew he
had only himself to blame.  Even so, he could not bring himself to hate Sam
for having Owen's attention.  He hated *himself* for allowing himself to
feel the way he did.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes at the sound of a gentle knock on his bedroom
door.  "Yes?" he called, his voice rough with emotion.  A moment later, the
door cracked open, admitting a shaft of light into the darkened room, and
his mother's concerned face.

"Are you well, dear?" she asked.

He sniffed once more.  "Yes, Mother, I'm well.  I'm just wishing I had a
shoulder to cry on.  That's all."

"Oh, Lucas." Olivia slipped into the darkened bedroom and closed the door,
unerringly walking to the bedside where she sat and gathered her son to her
and let him cry himself out.  "My poor boy," she murmured, as she tenderly
stroked his hair until the sobs subsided.  "Do not despair, sweetheart.
You have only experienced the sadness of being in love.  I'm confident you
will soon experience the joys."

Lucas sniffed.  "I hope so, Mother.  I certainly hope so."  He sniffed,
giving his mother a wavering grin, barely seen in the light reflected off
the snow outside Lucas' bedroom window.  "I can't imagine going on for the
rest of my life, feeling like this."

"This will pass, sweetheart."  Olivia kissed her son on the cheek, then
stood and let herself out of the room as Lucas, not bothering to get
undressed, pulled a blanket over himself.

"Is he all right?" he heard his sister ask in a worried voice during the
brief time the door was open.

'She must have been waiting in the hallway,' he thought, touched by his
sister's concern.

"Yes, Allison.  He's a strong young man.  He'll be fine.  Sometimes, having
a good cry is exactly what a person needs."


----------


"Is he all right?" Sam asked, echoing Allison's words, as Owen set the
mobile phone on the bedside table.  Owen slowly nodded, taking a deep
breath.

"Yeah, he's at his folks' house."  Sam moved to a sitting position in the
middle of the bed and studied Owen, who continued to wander aimlessly about
the bedroom.  "Then, what's the problem?  You know he's okay.  Isn't that
what you were worried about?"

"He's not okay, Sam!"  Owen walked to the window where he bowed his head.
"You didn't hear him try to talk.  He was tryin' not to cry," Owen
finished.  "Since I've known him, he's never cried!  It's always been *me*
who did the cryin', feeling sorry for myself . . . missin' you n'all."

Sam scooted to the edge of the bed then stood, his toes sinking into the
deep carpeting, so unlike the rug in his bedroom, back in Riverton.  He
crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Owen's waist, resting his head
on his friend's shoulder, nuzzling the hair at the back of Owen's head.
'Ummm,' he thought to himself.  'I love the smell of him.'  He tightened
his embrace, soaking in the warmth of Owen's body, conscious of the wind
and blowing snow on the other side of the glass, as well as his and Owen's
reflection and the wall of lights beyond, each a room with its own
occupants.  'So many people, all stacked up on top of one another.'

"What should we do?" he asked, feeling each breath Owen took.  "I feel bad
about being in Lucas' apartment; you feel bad because *he's* feelin' bad."
He tenderly kissed Owen's neck.  "Having us feeling this way isn't why
Lucas brought me out here to see you, y'know?"

Owen made a slight sound, accompanying a half-hearted shrug.

"Was that a random noise, or are you agreeing with me?" Sam teased,
nuzzling the nape of Owen's neck as he felt his friend relax into the
embrace.  Sam continued, "Lucas brought me out here because he felt like
you needed me."  He kissed the warm skin of Owen's neck, intensely aware of
his thickening penis wedged between Owen's ass cheeks.  "He told me he
thought you needed to see me as much as I need to be with you."  He urged
Owen to turn to face him, then circled his waist with his arms, pushing his
groin against his friend's.  "He wants you . . . us . . . to be happy.
He's staying away tonight to give us a little time to ourselves.  He'll be
back tomorrow."  Sam's voice lowered to a disapproving growl.  "Weather
permitting, that is."

Owen softly snorted.  "It's pretty awful, isn't it?  The weather, I mean?"

"That's not the word I'd choose," Sam chuckled, pleased to have diverted
Owen's thoughts.  He felt bad about Lucas' emotional state, but there was
nothing he could do.  After all, Lucas *had* invited him . . . had *paid*
. . . for him to visit!

Sam playfully pushed his groin against Owen's, pleased when he felt Owen's
cock respond to the stimulation.  "When Lucas comes back, we can do our
best to see that he's not feelin' bad.  I'm sorry he's hurting, but right
now, there's nothing the two of us can do for him.  As for us," he added,
casting a brief glance toward the bedroom window.  "If we're gonna continue
standing naked in front of this big window, on display to whoever happens
to be watching in one of those buildings, I want to get some clothes on."
He playfully shuddered, casting a quick glance toward the lighted windows
in the buildings close-by.  "All that wind and snow is making me shiver,
and if I get too cold, I don't think I'll be able to get hard."

This time Owen's snort was of pure amusement.  "I seriously doubt that!
You get hard when you merely *hear* the word 'naked'!"

Sam backed up, holding Owen at arm's length.  "There!" he chuckled.  "Now
you've done it!  You said the magic word.  I'm hard, and I'm seriously
needin' to shoot a load.  I've been building one up since . . . forever,
knowin' that I'd be with you soon."

He slapped Owen's bare butt.  "Now, let's get a move-on."  He guided a
now-smiling Owen to the edge of the bed.  "Why don't you get on your back
and show me what you got?"

"And then, what are you gonna do?" Owen asked, scooting to the edge of the
bed and pulling his legs back until his knees touched his shoulders.  He
could feel the cool air against his exposed asshole as Sam knelt at the
bed's side and began running a thumb over the prominent swell of his
perineum, circling his hairless pucker.

"Y'want me to slide my dick up your asshole?" He asked, licking the tip of
a forefinger and pressing it into the waiting opening.  Owen groaned,
closing his eyes and tried to pull his knees back further in order to give
Sam more access.

"I'm gonna sperm in your hole," Sam continued, in a low voice.  "I've been
savin' it up for a couple days, so I'm gonna fill you till you can't hold
any more."  He plunged his finger to its full length, into Owen and began
massaging the swollen prostate.

"You've never been fucked like I'm gonna fuck you, my friend," Sam
continued, withdrawing his finger and pushing his tongue into the open
hole, spreading it wider with a hand on either ass cheek.

"You're gonna be beggin' me to shoot," he murmured, pausing only long
enough to smack an open hand against the bare skin.  He wiped across his
spit-wet cheeks with the back of a hand, captivated by the whimpering man
in front of him.  Owen's full scrotum bulged at the base of his penis
which, he had to admit, when he wasn't teasing, was much more than adequate
to reach all the important spots.  And it *was* thick, straight, and oozed
huge amounts of pre-cum.  'Perfect,' Sam thought to himself.  'Just
perfect.'

Owen rolled his head from side to side.  "C'mon," he groaned.  "I'm
beggin'.  I've been waitin' for this for months.  I need you in me.  I need
you to shoot in my hole."  He whimpered, completely under Sam's control.
"Do it, Sammy," he begged, followed by a whimpered plea of, "please," as
Sam ran the palms of his hands over the slabs of muscle making up Owen's
chest, pausing briefly to tweak each nipple.  "I had forgotten how sexy you
are."

Sam inhaled the scent of his lover, the scent he remembered as much as his
lover's tender touch, or the sound of his laughter, or the beat of Owen's
heart as he laid his head on his chest, while they sprawled in one
another's arms.  The scent of the man he held so close also rekindled
memories of summer afternoons spent at the river's edge as dappled shadows
draped across both their naked bodies and the fragrant grass and
wildflowers of their meadow.

Owen hissed as his sphincter tightened around the shaft of Sam's cock.
"Holy fuck," he murmured, as Sam buried himself until his pubes brushed
against the skin of Owen's butt.  He began to slowly rock back and forth
while Owen's erection bounced in front of him, releasing a steady stream of
clear pre-cum to form a small puddle on his belly.  His motions were slow
at first but soon the room sounded, not only with the two men's groans, but
with the steady slap-slap-slap of his body against Owen's.  A few times he
would pull back until only the head of his cock remained inside, then bury
himself, amazed, not only by the tightness of Owen's sphincter, but by the
sight of his cock stretching the tight muscle taut.  The feeling of the
head of his cock massaging Owen's prostate was driving both him and Owen
toward orgasm.

"Do it," Owen urged, tightening his sphincter to trap whatever sperm Sam
was about to shoot.  "Fill me up."  Sam's thrusts were becoming faster, his
breathing more labored.  "C'mon, Jo . . ."  Sam caught himself.  "Shoot,
Owen," he almost shouted, in an attempt to cover his slip of the tongue as
he thrust himself against Owen's anus clutch at his cock.

"'Bout there, Owen," he huffed, shaking his head and sending droplets of
perspiration flying.  He braced himself against Owen's flexed legs then
groaned aloud as he made two final thrusts, followed by a series of shorter
jerks, each pumping out his thick sperm deep into Owen's body.

Owen's own orgasm overtook him at the same moment, the first blast of his
own sperm hitting him on the chin.  He jerked as the head of Sam's cock
prodded his prostate, and shot a second and third spray of sperm onto his
chest and belly.

"Oh damn," Sam gasped, attempting to catch his breath.  "That . . . was
. . . so . . . fuckin' good," he managed to say before he leaned forward
and sought out Owen's tongue.

"Oh, Sammy," Owen murmured, his breath hot against Sam's face.  "I'd swear
you've been practicing.  That was the wildest fuck we've ever had."  He
softly snorted.  "Must be because it's the first time we ever done it on a
real bed."

"It's much better n' the grass of our meadow," Sam murmured, vowing to tell
Owen about him and Jonah.  Nothing was to be gained by waiting, and it was
sure to make the final telling more difficult the longer he waited.  'Not
tonight though,' he thought to himself.  'Now that Owen and I have
. . . reconnected . . . all I want to do is cuddle and kiss.'

"Oh geez," Owen said, in a voice somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
"That was so fuckin' wonderful."  He tried to stifle a laugh as he saw
Sam's spit-wet face and disheveled hair.

"Has anyone ever told you Sammy, that you're a very sloppy kisser?"  He
winked as he spoke, inhaling sharply as Sam withdrew, leaving him feeling
empty.  "And," Owen continued.  "There's finally a reason for your hair to
be such a mess."

"I'm gonna tell Al the barber you said that," Sam warned.  He felt so
. . . so satisfied . . . 'and,' he thought, trying to stifle a yawn, 'so
damn tired.'  But not so tired he couldn't clean Owen.  He leaned forward
and began to lap up the sperm from Owen's chest and belly while Owen
reached out and toyed with Sam's soft penis.

"Ummm," Owen cooed, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them.
"You're still drooling."  He made a point of licking each finger while Sam
sat back on his haunches and watched.

"You like?" Sam asked.  In answer, Owen smiled broadly and licked across
his palm.

"I do," he murmured, as Sam lay at his side, pulling the white down
comforter over them.  "Truly."  Sam snuggled close to Owen, draping an arm
over his friend's chest, and quickly falling asleep, his breathing
descending into a soft steady rhythm against Owen's shoulder.  Owen, on the
other hand, tried not to disturb the man at his side as he thought about
their just-completed love-making, missing Lucas, and Sam's slip of the
tongue.


----------


Lucas snorted a soft laugh as he vigorously rubbed his face, still blotchy
from crying, with a warm washcloth, obscurely embarrassed at having cried
on his mother's shoulder.  'I'm glad there's a place for me to stay to be
away from the apartment, but I'm like Owen, always feeling as if the
parents are there to rescue me.  I want to stand on my own.'  He leaned
against the bathroom vanity, the washcloth hanging limply from his
hand. 'It is nice to have them close by, but if I depend on them to always
catch me, I wonder if I'll ever be able to be my own man.'

He hung up the washcloth, stripped out of his rumpled clothing, and turned
out the light as he walked back to his bedroom and climbed into his bed,
shivering as the wind howled outside.

He lay on his back, restless with the certainties of what must surely be
going on back at his apartment.  'Don't get all huffy,' he told himself.
'You invited Sam to visit, precisely because he and Owen need to be
together . . . at least for a while.  It's as simple as that.'

He softly snorted.  "Simple as a Gordian Knot," he said, aloud.  His eyes
traversed the bedroom ceiling, made bright by the city lights reflecting
off the fallen snow.  "Maybe I should be like Alexander the Great," he
continued, muttering to himself, "and make a bold stroke of my own."  He
sighed.

'Simple in theory . . . not so simple in application.'

He rolled onto his stomach, this time propping himself up on his elbows.
'I want to be like Owen and live my own life, independent of my father's
real estate development firm.  I want to do something with the money I
have.  I want to help people.  I feel as if there's a dream *in* me.  I
just don't know yet what it is.

'Owen has a dream.  I have no dream . . . just as I have no one to love.'
He closed his eyes.  'Knowing Owen is nothing more than a pleasant
interlude.'  He grinned, and amended himself.  'A *very* pleasant
interlude.  Still . . . Mother's correct.  I can't base my future happiness
on Owen's continued presence, yet I cannot envision what my life would be
like without him nearby.

'I *know*, deep down, that he's not going to continue being a student here.
He absolutely detests the cold . . . and, he misses Sam.  What am I going
to do when he leaves?  How can I find my dream, achieve my long-term goals,
*and* be near Owen, all at the same time?'  He sighed, turning toward the
window to watch the falling snow.  "Would Owen even *want* me to be near
him and Sam?"  Lucas watched the snow flakes swirl, caught by the wind
outside his bedroom window.  "Would Sam?"

"It's a puzzle.  I should probably find a dream first," he mumbled, as he
fluffed a pillow and closed his eyes, trying not to think about Owen *or*
Sam, *or* what they were surely doing.


----------


"Heavens!" Corey laughed, as Bailey's softening erection slipped free of
his hole.  "I feel like I've been rode hard and put up wet!"

"What?" Bailey raised his head a bit to study the naked man kneeling
astride his groin.  He could feel some of his own sperm escape from Corey's
stretched butt hole and drip onto his leg.

"I'm a Southern boy, remember?" Corey laughed, dismissing Bailey's
confusion with a slight movement of a hand.  "Just call me colorful.  You
can also call me happy."  He squirmed slightly, as he felt some more of
Bailey's sperm escape his hole, and chuckled.  "In fact, if things get any
better around here, I'll have to hire someone to help me enjoy it."

"What about me?" Bailey asked.  "I come free of charge.  I'm enjoying
things too."

"Bail, you do not come free of charge.  Since meeting you, I've been
lookin' for my heart."  He leaned forward and gave Bailey a brief kiss.
"I'm thinking that you've stolen it."  The room was suddenly quiet.

"What are you saying?"  Bailey could scarcely believe he had heard
correctly.  Things were happening so fast!  'Might it be possible Corey
cares about me? . . . That my fantasies might come true?'

"Just wishin', Bail.  No one ever accused me of being the brightest bulb in
the box.  Sometimes, I find I'm imagining things to be something they
aren't.  It's my wishes doing the talking, that's all."  He shrugged.
"Sometimes I feel so dumb!  It's like I could throw myself to the ground
and miss."

Bailey smiled and snuggled closer.  "And, here I was thinking that it was
you who stole *my* heart.  I can assure you that if you throw yourself at
me instead of the ground, I'll be certain to catch you."  Corey raised
himself onto his elbows, his eyes alight.

"Are you serious?  I mean, for real?  We've only known one another for a
couple weeks!  I thought you'd never be able to be interested in a middle
class boy like me.  I mean, won't your parents object, or something?

"Do you think your folks will be okay with me?  I mean, I'm nothing but a
country boy . . . a *working class* country boy.  Given what I am, won't
they think I'm after you for something more than your body, and because I
love your company?"  Corey's flippant attitude poorly concealed his real
concern.  "I'm not, you know."

"My parents are anxious to meet you.  They trust my judgment."  Bailey
chuckled, once again amazed at how fortunate he was to know such a
wonderful person.  "I've never had a boyfriend to introduce them to
before."  He pulled Corey close for another lingering, deep kiss.  "They'll
care for you as much as I do."

"Even though I'm getting their son to perform all sorts of unnatural acts?"

"They'll be pleased you care enough for me to *want* to."  Bailey
hesitated.  "What sort of unnatural acts?"

Corey chuckled.  "Oh, Bail, I thought you'd never ask.  You ever licked a
freshly fucked butt hole before?"

"Um . . ." Bailey paused.  "Hold that thought.  I almost forgot the reason
I originally came over, what with you attacking me the moment I stepped
into your house."  Corey made a hurry-up noise, accompanied by a motion of
his hand.  "I came over to ask if you would join me and my parents for
Christmas dinner.  I would love for them to meet the man I care for."

Corey sat up, thoroughly surprised.  "You're serious, aren't you?  You're
not just tagging me along?"  He chuckled.  "I mean, I know I'm sexy as all
get out, but . . .  for real?" he asked.  "Your parents?"

"We were also talking about unnatural acts," Bailey mentioned.  "Christmas
isn't for a couple days, so I'm thinking we most likely have some time to
perform a couple of them."

"Christmas?" Corey murmured.  "You sure we can't invite your parents here?
I mean it's cold enough outside to freeze the balls off a pool table!  At
least, we've got plenty of food in case we get snowed-in."

Bailey gave him a strange look.

Corey snorted.  "You're not the only one to not understand me.  That's
okay.  I don't understand most of what you Northerner's say, either."  He
shook his head in disbelief.  "Dead dull, that's . . ."

"Unnatural acts first, Country Boy," Bailey interrupted.  "What do you have
in mind?  I'm hard just thinking about whatever it might be."

"Oh.  Oh yeah.  Well, since I'm still feeling all full of your jiz, I was
wondering if you would like for me to squat on your tongue so you can lick
my freshly fucked butt hole as I shoot a load all over your chest?"  He
probed Bailey's open mouth with his tongue, taking the pressure of Bailey's
increased grip on his cock as his answer.  "I can feel your sperm leaking
out of me, Bail," he murmured, close to Bailey's ear.  "With you tonguing
my hole, it won't take long for me to pump out a big ol' load.  Y'game?"

"Damn, yes I'm ready," Bailey answered, surprising himself with his answer.
He'd never even considered licking someone's hole before, but now, he
couldn't wait.

Corey scrambled into position, straddling Bailey's head.  Bailey looked up
the length of Corey's muscular legs to his dangling testicles and his
straight erection with a long strand of glistening pre-cum dangling from
its tip.  He reached up and ran his hands over the twin mounds of Corey's
muscular buttocks while Corey began to squat exposing his wet freshly
fucked asshole.

Bailey felt his cock twitch in anticipation.  He was about to taste his own
sperm, which was leaking out of another man's hole.  Corey pulled his ass
cheeks further apart, and impaled himself on Bailey's waiting tongue.

'Holy fuck,' was Bailey's first thought.  The taste of Corey's hole, and
his own sperm running over his tongue, was about to cause him to shoot a
load without touching himself.  Corey was slowly rocking his hips back and
forth, dragging his hole over Bailey's extended tongue, seemingly
attempting to capture it each time he paused and Bailey pushed inside.

"I'm 'bout there, Bail," he huffed. "Shoot a load with me," he ordered.

Bailey gripped his own cock, and after only a couple of strokes, he pulsed
out a second load of the evening.  At the same time, Corey squatted even
further down, the last sperm escaping onto Bailey's tongue; then blasted
three hot shots of jiz onto Bailey's chest.

"Ohhhh man," he laughed, as he rolled to Bailey's side and began to idly
smear the combined loads over Bailey's body.  "That was absolutely
awesome."

"Y'ever played with dildos before?"

Bailey threw an arm over his eyes.  "Not tonight, Corey.  You've worn me
out.  I'd like to spend some time cuddling."

"Your parents, Bail?  For real?"


----------


Lucas had been back in the apartment for less than an hour when his mother
called, asking to speak to Owen.  He called Owen to the phone, answering
Owen's raised eyebrow question of who was calling, with a quiet, "it's my
mother."

"Mrs. Horton," he answered.  "Did your wonderful son tell you what he did
for me?"  Owen watched Lucas leave the room, then added, taking a ragged
breath, his throat suddenly tight: "His actions are made more wonderful
when I consider how he feels about me . . . and . . . how I feel about
him."  He could go no further.

"Owen," Olivia Horton came to his rescue.  "I must admit, he had a few
rough moments, but not because of anything you've done.  It was one of the
first times in his life he had to face the fact that not every one of his
dreams are destined to come true."  She paused.  "I have the distinct
feeling that you experienced what Lucas was going through last night, long
ago."

Owen nodded, gulping a breath of air.  Was the woman a mind reader?  How
was it possible she could know of his dreams about wanting his father to at
least . . . care . . . for him?  He gulped.  "Yes, ma'am, I've experienced
those feelings, a few times.  They made me miserable.  They still do, in
fact."

"Yes, well, Lucas is no different.  He's in a tender state at the moment.
He loves you, Owen, but I'm sure you already know that.  He also knows that
you love him, but at the same time, are not free *to* love him . . . not
like you love your friend, Sam.  It's a difficult situation . . . for each
of you.  I'm sure that the three of you have all considered the
possibilities of someone ending up hurt."

Owen could think of nothing to say.  "Yes, ma'am, all of us have.  I would
give anything to see that such a thing doesn't happen.  The person most
likely to end up being hurt is Lucas, and if Lucas is hurt, I hurt; and if
I hurt, I know Sam will be hurting.  It's a situation I don't see any way
out of."

Olivia Horton cleared her throat, battling her own emotions.  Holding
Lucas, while he cried on her shoulder, had left her deeply disturbed.  She
had never experienced such feelings as she grew up.  Neither had Allison,
her daughter.  Lucas had always been the tender hearted, sensitive one in
the family.  She knew he was sensitive . . . and lonely, but had never
experienced the depth of his emotions before last night.

"My apologies, Owen," she continued, bringing her thoughts under control.
"I did not call with the intention of speaking about Lucas, though he is a
subject on which I can speak for a very long time."  Owen could tell the
prim woman was smiling with maternal pride as she spoke.  "In fact, she
continued, "I'm calling to invite you and Sam to spend Christmas Day with
Neil, Allison, Lucas, and me.  We've all grown to think of you as family,
and Christmas would not be what it is if the whole family isn't together."

"But . . ."

"Of course," Olivia continued, anticipating Owen's objections, "Since we're
all adults, we no longer exchange gifts like we did when Lucas and Allison
were children.  We don't expect anything from you and Sam, other than the
pleasure of your company, just as we expect nothing in the form of gifts
from either Lucas or Allison."  She paused.

"Say you and Sam will come, Owen.  I would hate to think of the two of you,
both away from those you love, spending the day alone, no matter how much
you care for one another."

Owen squeezed his eyes shut, wishing his mother, brother, and sisters could
expect to have as wonderful a holiday as he was sure Olivia and her husband
would devise.  "Of course, we'll come," he answered.  "Thank you for the
invitation.  We'll be there."  He paused.  "Olivia . . ."

"Yes?"

He swallowed.  "Thank you for . . . everything."


~ to be continued ~


Thank you for taking the time to read my work.  I *always* welcome your
email and enjoy hearing your thoughts.  If you would like me to send you a
pic of the character(s), please ask.

My other stories on Nifty include:
Phalen  (located in the Gay College Section)
Phalen - Finding Happiness   (Gay College Section)
Phalen - Reputation and Honor (upcoming)
Chris   (Gay College Section)
Leith   (Gay College Section)
Owen   (Gay College Section
Wesley   (Adult Relationships Section)
Jess (Gay Incest Section)
Travis (Gay Incest Section)

I hope you enjoy them all.


Roy Reinikainen
roynm@mac.com