Date: Fri, 26 Nov 2004 20:25:43 EST From: Pijito52@aol.com Subject: "Fifteen" - Chapter 7 Good to be back. I've missed my guys and, candidly, I've missed corresponding with readers. Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder, I guess. I'm not sure if this latest installment is worth the wait (it ain't no Halo 2), if you know what I mean), but as always, I've tried to be honest, funny, and at least marginally sexy. Old readers: unless you have one of those photogenic memories, you'll probably need to work your way through the previous chapter to get a fix on things. I don't offer any recap, deleted scenes, or bloopers. New readers: at the risk of alienating you in a big way, I suggest that you read the whole damn thing straight through. Chapter 7 will make a lot more sense this way. As always, let me know what you think - pijito52@aol.com Fifteen XVIII "You've never had a naked dream?" Billy asks. "I only have about four different dreams, and one of them's the Naked Dream." It's 4:30 in the afternoon and we're finishing the world's longest nap. The TV's on with the sound down. Oprah is interviewing a really fat woman who hasn't stopped crying since the first commercial break. The camera keeps cutting to the studio audience, and most of them are crying, too. I've found that I can listen to Billy, even answer him coherently, and follow the silent drama simultaneously. "The Naked Dream is weird, Aidan. I think it's, like, symbolic." "I'm sure it is. All dreams are. At least Freud and Jung told us they were." "Well, I wonder what Freud would make of this one. Check it out. I'm in my bed at home, naked, with a morning woody that needs attention. No news there. Then all of a sudden, these guys from school burst into my room, and without telling me anything, grab the four corners of my bed and pick it up with me in it. I can't find my voice to scream, and I can't seem to move anything except my eyes. They march me in my bed all the way through The Glade, neighbors waving at us as from their front porches as if we were little kids on bikes. They carry the bed all the way to the steps into the Whittier Building at school, and set the bed down between the pillars. Then they pull off the covers and leave me there for all the world to see. I've still got a boner, but I can't even roll over to hide it. But that's not the strange part." "Of course that's not the strange part, Billy. You always have a boner. It's part of your charm. You've always got a boner. I don't think it's symbolic." I lean over to kiss him, but he pushes me away. "Shut up, Aidan. Let me finish," he says, but he's not really angry, just on a roll. "The strange part is that everybody I know, like all my friends and teachers and these freshmen with enormous backpacks, and that Jamaican janitor who sells reefer to the stoners, they're all walking past me like I'm invisible, you know, like there's not this naked kid in his bed with a boner on the school steps. I'm so embarrassed, but they just walk on by. Now what's that shit? It's like a nightmare only I can see. I wish somebody would say something, like, 'nice dick, Nolan,' or even 'Mr. Nolan, I want to see you in the office,' but no, nobody says anything, nobody even gives me a dirty look." "Billy, it's not serious. I promise. It's obvious." "Yeah? So what's it all about?" "Nobody sees you because you're this amazing wizard with magical powers." "Fuck you, Aidan," he says, and he pops me in the stomach through the covers. "No, I mean it. You've got this psychic force field around you. Nobody can see you and nobody can touch you. Except for me." With that, I fling back the covers, and there he is, naked and hard. "You see?" I grab the little soldier and kiss him on the helmet. "It's not a dream. It's not symbolic. At least, not for me." Then the phone rings. "Don't get it," Billy manages to say. It rings two more times, and I think to myself as my heart makes it way back down my throat that I've never heard a more distressing sound in my life. I put my finger to my lips, and warn Billy with my eyes to stay still. "Hello?" "Mr. Granger? This is Mercy at the front desk. Sorry to bother you, but we've got a little problem." "Uh, this isn't Mr. Granger. It's Anthony. His son." Billy is confused. Who the fuck is Anthony? "Oh, I'm sorry. When do you expect him back?" "I don't know. When he gets out of his meeting, probably." "I see. Could you leave him a message, please? Tell him to stop by the front desk when he gets in. We just need to run the credit card through again." She chuckles, the soul of amiability. "The night manager, Hassan, spilled coffee all over the Wednesday receipts." "Okay," I say, wondering if she can hear the grinding of my thoughts. "I'll tell Dad as soon as he gets in." "Thanks so much," she says, still chuckling over spilt coffee, and hangs up. "Anthony? Who the fuck is Anthony?" Billy's boner is long gone. "It's a long story. I was going to tell you, but I guess I got caught up in the moment." "So? You got some 'splainin' to do, Aidan." He's not exactly laughing. "I know. But we gotta get out of here first. They'll be calling again soon." "No. I want to know what's going on. Are we fucked?" "I don't know yet. I just know we can't stay here much longer." XIX We're sitting on a bench by the Aquarium, eating subs. The eight o'clock sun sits like a runny egg yolk on the horizon. Neon from the nearby shops crackles in the stillness. Billy hasn't said much since we slipped out of the Days Inn. I haven't said much either. I need to think again. It's like I forget how to think when I surrender to Billy. And right now, that's not going to cut it. "Billy? Mr. Granger is the man who got us the room." "Yeah, I figured that much. I just don't know if I want to know why." He looks at me with eyes so blue and earnest they'd coax the truth out of the Devil. "Antho-ny." He hangs on the last syllable for effect. "We needed some place to stay. A base of operations. So I did it." "What did you do, Aidan?" "I told him I needed a room. I told him I couldn't pay." "And you just, like, walked up to this stranger and said, 'excuse me, sir, would you get me a room?" "Sort of. Except that I showed him my dick first." "Of course. That'll do it every time." I'm not the only cynic on the bench. "And what else did you do with your dick?" He's not making this easy. Jealousy is alien territory for both of us. "Let him suck it. Which he did badly. I couldn't even get it up, really." "Oh, that's okay, then. Sure. No harm, no foul." "Don't be pissed, Billy. I did it for you. That's what I told him before he left. 'I did it for Billy'." "So I should be grateful. My boy fucks a total stranger the first day of the honeymoon. But he's taking one for the team." "I didn't fuck him. He just wanted to look, I think. He was even more awkward than I was. Once he saw me, all the heat went out of the room. I scared him." "Don't flatter yourself, Aidan." "C'mon, Billy. I need to be honest with you. I'm way past lying at the moment." "So. Go on. Don't spare me. You were about to tell me that some random dude paid $150 to look at your dick for a minute. His fat old body was oiling up the sheets. The sheets we've slept under for two nights. Gross." He stands up all of a sudden, then realizes he has nowhere to go. "He wasn't fat, Billy. He was sad. I felt sorry for him." "Fucking Father Teresa. Great boyfriend I have." "Billy. That's the way I am. I'd make a shitty whore, if you want to know the truth." "You couldn't get it up? Really? That must have been awkward." "He didn't know what to do. I think it was his first time. I think he has a wife and a family and watches CSI." "What did he say when he saw it? Your dick. Your dick that I thought was mine." "He was impressed, I guess. He probably wasn't expecting it. I mean, jeez, I don't even understand it, why I got it and why they want it. But ever since we hooked up and you told me I was beautiful, I've almost started believing it." "Believe it. I'm pretty much hating you at the moment, but believe it. You are beautiful. And you come with benefits. I'm going to be fighting off every size queen on the planet." "It doesn't matter, Billy. I'll give up my dick to get us a room. I'll give up my dick to save us. But I won't give up my heart. That's yours. You know that, don't you?" "I guess. Pretty corny, though." "We've got to get out of Baltimore. We're pretty conspicuous." "I just want to go back to the room. I want to crawl back into bed. I don't care about Mr. Granger, or Anthony, or any of that shit. I sweat you, Aidan Maguire. It's fucking weird. I must be in love because I'm not thinking straight. My fucking brain is fried. It's oatmeal. I'm afraid to close my eyes. I'm afraid this is another Naked Dream, and when I open them, you'll be gone." We're sitting on a bench outside the Baltimore Aquarium. The sun has pretty much set. Ribbons of neon stripe the empty harbor. Billy takes my hand and guides it to his heart, pounding in his chest. It's the most intimate thing either of us has ever done, and the tourists just walk past us, past two boys touching in the twilight. "Look at us, stupid motherfuckers," Billy says. "What now?" "Time to get lost again, I guess." "Where?" Billy wants to know. I'm back in charge. "If I knew, we wouldn't be lost now, would we?" "You've got a point. I'll just shut up and follow. It must be hard being so smart." "It's brutal, believe me. I'm so smart I know that I don't know a goddamn thing." "Far away?" he posits. "How far away is the Middle of Nowhere?" "Pretty far, I think. Is there a bus?" "Yeah, I'm sure there is. Let's go, Billy." "Let's go, Aidan." And suddenly, he starts skipping. "That's subtle, retard!" I shout, but I'm laughing, and for just a second I let myself think that we're okay, and that there's some place out there for two young faggots on the run. XX We're curled up together on a nearly empty Greyhound, two hours out of Baltimore, somewhere in West Virginia. I looked into New York and I looked into Boston thinking that's where runaways always run, where they can disappear on a dime, where there's cheap food and possibilities and crowds of people equally lost. But then I told myself that was too obvious, that our parents would probably think to look for us there, having been urban children once themselves. It's dark back here, just some floor-lights along the aisle. Billy's had my dick in his hand for about 15 minutes, just caressing it, playing with the foreskin he's never had. It's not really intense or anything, more playful than sexy, and unless he decides to go to work with his mouth, I'm probably safe to think. We have tickets to Louisville. I've never been there of course, but it sounds all right. Billy says he thinks it'll be like Asheville, where his cousins live, and I ask him if that's a good thing, and he shakes his head and laughs. "If you like hillbillies," he says, "but it's got mansions and stuff." Louisville might as well be Latvia for all we know, but I'm guessing there's plenty of places to hide. "What day is it?" Billy asks, still clutching my dick. "Saturday night. Why?" "I thought so. It just doesn't feel much like Saturday." I wonder if he's thinking what I'm thinking: that suburban boys can't fathom a life without Saturdays. All of a sudden, here on some anonymous interstate, it occurs to me that we have no training for this. It's like the "Survivor" episode they'll never show, the one in which the rich boys from The Glade have to get by in the big city without cell phones or credit cards. "How big is it, Aidan? I'd really like to know." "Louisville? About half a million, I think." "No, stupid. Your dick. Your pe-nis." The way Billy says it, it sounds like something you wouldn't pick up with a Kleenex. But pick it up he's done, displaying it like an offering at mass. "You're not going to believe this, Billy, but I've never measured. I swear." "Bullshit. You're right. I don't believe it. I measure everything. My biceps are 14". My chest is 38". My room is 12 x 16. My dick, measuring from on top is 6.35", 16 centimeters, totally normal according to stats." "Gosh, Billy, I'm learning so much about you. Like that you're O.C.D. And commendably hung. Well, I guess I already knew that." "So, how big is it? Really. Don't dodge. You can tell me. Inquiring minds want to know." He's stroking and it's growing, and this just isn't the place. "I tell you what. Once we find a place to stay, I'll go to a Wal-Mart or something and buy one of those sewing things, you know like a tape measure. And I'll let you measure me. You can measure to your heart's content. It'll be my Welcome to Louisville present. And if you're really nice, I'll let you make one of those do-it-yourself plaster mold things, like on the porn sites. We can put it on the mantle next to the photo of our retrievers, not that we're going to have a mantle. It'll be a conversation piece. Oh my God!" "What, Aidan?" Billy asks, working in earnest. "You don't like what I'm doing?" "No. I like it. I really like it. But tomorrow's my birthday. I almost forgot my birthday." "Sweet sixteen, eh? It's not all that different. It's not." He abruptly pulls away from me and goes quiet. He does this all the time. Goes into a little room in his head, locks the door behind him. Locks me out for a bit. My mom must be freaking. She's huge on birthdays, a real ceremony junkie. I see Byron standing by her side, massaging her shoulder, reassuring her, but not convincing her that I'm all right, wherever I am. I wish I could call her, tell her I'll be back soon enough, but they've hired a detective, I imagine, and they've tapped the phone, and even if they haven't, I don't think I'm brave enough yet to tell them I'm in love with the neighbor kid on Sunnymeade, the blond boy whose uncle died on 9/11, and it's not just a phase, and I think if I didn't have him, I'd just give up, and all the toys in the world would break. XXI Louisville. Shit. Even at 10 in the morning, the bus station is scary. I can see right away that D.C. hasn't cornered the market on derelicts. A hundred bloodshot eyes staring at Billy and me, hyenas at breakfast waiting to pounce. The waiting room is vast and bright. The residue of detergent can't mask the musk of travelers with nowhere to go. Looking around, I wonder where all the kids are. I'm trying to figure out what to do. Wide-eyed, taking it all in, Billy waits for me to decide. He won't go near the bathroom, won't even test the video arcade. He pulls his knees into his chest, terrified. We have $376, cash. Not a princely sum, but enough to get a clean room for a couple of nights, except that where the clean rooms are, they don't let sixteen year old boys pay cash. I saw a movie on TV once that chronicled the tribulations (I like saying stuff like that, it's so History Channel) of a teenage runaway. At the beginning, she looks like the lost Brady sister, all blond and bubbly. But before the first commercial, she's been mugged and drugged and sold into sex slavery. She bonds with this other runaway, and after they finish with their johns and give the money to the black pimp, they curl up together on a mattress in some abandoned building and read "Little Women" by flashlight. This is supposed to signal that they're not really whores, but lost innocents. I remember that scene really well. It was stupid at the time, but now, surveying the waiting room, looking at all the sketchballs looking at us, I'm longing for my bedroom and my Rolling Stone. Sixteen, I am, but at the moment I feel a little young for my age. "Where do we go now?" Billy ventures. The hum of the place is getting to him. "I'm not sure. It's like I've got a bit part in this movie and I'm trying to remember the script. It's not like I've ever done this before, Billy." "Can we get a room? I'm like a total baby, but I want to sleep." "I don't know. Mr. Granger got us that room in Baltimore. But you know what I did." "You did it for me, Aidan. It's okay. I'm good with it." "You could do it, too, Billy. You could do it for me." "I don't know. I'd do anything for you, I think, but I couldn't do it without you." "Maybe we could tag team. Just kidding." "You really think so?" "Just kidding." "I could get into that - if it was you and me." "Billy. It was just a random thought." "I know, but. It would be pretty awesome, you and me teaming up." "Awesome. Frodo and Sam, only naked. But don't forget the sketchball. Or the camera dude. Or however the thing works." "Right. It was just a random thought." And then it dawns on me that there are no random thoughts when you're running. All is fair. By any means necessary. You're not a maggot if you're trying to survive. Billy doesn't see the eyes all around us, staring. "Do you want to go home, Billy?" I am dead serious. "No. No, no, no." "I don't know if we can get away with this, Billy. I really don't. We can go home and fight things there. What does it matter if they hate us? It's easy and there's food on the table." "No, Aidan. No. Never." "You sure?" "Never. Not yet." XXII It doesn't take long. A man with a ponytail smoking a thin cigar follows us into the Denny's down the road. He's been watching us in the waiting room. But then, so has everybody else. I guess the movie's beginning. I don't say anything to Billy, who's lost in a stack of pancakes. Our little chat seems to have revived him, given him new resolve. Billy is hopeless, I know, and this just makes me want to protect him even more. The man's at the counter, sipping coffee. He's actually pretty cool looking, about 30, handsome in a cowboy kind of way. He's clean, well-nourished, bears no visible scars. If he's a pimp, he's not from central casting. But he's definitely looking at us, and I'm sure as I can be that he wants to say something. A few minutes later, the waitress comes by, coos a little songbird "thank you, boys," and looks over to Ponytail at the counter. "Looks like it's your lucky day, guys. Kenny's picked up the tab." Now Billy's catching on. "Jesus. Did you tell him it's your birthday, Aidan?" "Nope. I think he's an admirer." "You mean a sketch? Fuck, Aidan, that didn't take long." "We don't know. Maybe he's just a Good Samaritan." I hesitate to add that he was at the bus station, and that we never asked for help. Kenny smiles at us, gives us a little thumbs up. We could get up and walk on out of there, but I decide instead to smile back. Billy's just watching me. Then Kenny gets up, sidles over, pulls up a chair next to the booth like he's meeting old friends. "Kenny," he says. "How's breakfast?" He's got all his teeth and he smells clean. "Thanks," I say, aiming for cool and non-committal, not sure that's what I'm getting. No handshake, in any case. "Good," Billy says, not quite looking up. There's still something fascinating about the uneaten orange slice. "Where you guys from?" he asks. "I saw you in the bus station, and you looked a little lost." "Baltimore," I say. "Hagerstown, really, but nobody's ever heard of it." "Well, you got to be from somewhere, I say. I'm from Berea, myself, and that's got to be smaller than Hagersville." "It's Hagerstown. In Maryland." "I see. None of my business, but what brings you to Louisville? I'm guessing it's not grandma. And you're way too big to be jockeys." "We're FBI agents," I tell him, always the wiseass when I'm freeballing. "Tracking a serial killer." I put my index finger to my lips. "That's on the Q.T." "Oh, I see. Nice disguise. The teen thing really threw me off." Kenny's not rattled in the least. He's a smart sketch, I'm thinking. "Does Agent Johnny there talk?" he asks, smiling at Billy. "That would be Bobby," I say. "Be careful. He's lethal." Billy's not smiling, but he's breathing okay. Still not talking, though. "So where do y'all G-Men stay when you're in town? Or is that a secret?" Kenny's hanging in there, no sign of letting us go. "Well, we're not really at liberty to divulge." "I see. Well listen, I'd give you my card, except that I don't really have a card, mostly because the business I'm in, well, we don't carry cards. That's Bobby, right? What's your name?" "Anthony." Billy kicks me under the booth. "Okay, Anthony, so let me be blunt. If you guys wrap up your case and have a little free time, I've got some work for you. Easy, and the pay is, well, GS-14. No taxes, either." "Right. We're Feds, remember. We don't sell drugs. That would be a conflict of interest." "Of course not. Of course not. Neither does Kenny. I'm in the Creative Arts field, actually." "Creative Arts. Whatever. Look," I say, sounding tougher by far than I would have thought possible, "thanks for the breakfast, but this is getting a little awkward. What do you want from us?" "Some light modeling. A couple of hours. Five hundred. No W-2." "And what would we be modeling? It's too early for the Fall Collection." Billy's squirming like a kid who has to pee, but I plant my hand on his thigh and apply just enough pressure to let him know that I'm in control. At least I think. "Well, since you ask, y'all would sorta be modeling yourselves." "I thought so. I thought so." "Listen. It's easy work, Anthony. In and out in an hour and a half. No contact. Bobby can come along, or he can wait here." "Bobby comes along. We work together. We come together." I can't believe what I've said, but Kenny slides right past it. "Cool. Bobby looks great, and we're not sure yet if we're going to be shooting stills or loops." I nod like the Master Negotiator, but I don't have a clue what he's talking about. "I gotta know, though. You're 18, right?" "Right." "We need proof on file." "Proof? I'm afraid we didn't bring along our passports." "Okay, so you're 18. Sometimes you just got to trust a man. Great. First election, right?" "Yeah. So it is. Listen, Kenny. If we do this and it all works out, can you get us a room somewhere? Just a couple of nights. Some place clean is all." "Done." "Thanks." "No problemo, monsieur." Still no handshake, but the deal has been made. I'm feeling kind of sick, actually, a little feverish, my balls shrinking back into the inguinal canal. What in God's good name am I doing? Not that I should ask God at the moment. "Kenny?" It's Billy, and he's staring a hole in our guest. "What do you know? He talks! Must want to discuss the contract." "Please don't hurt us," Billy whispers, just a breath or two short of tears. XXIII Kenny gets us a room at a place called The Shedrow, which he says is some kind of racehorse term. He hands us the keys, and in a gesture of great modesty or supreme confidence, waits outside to let us put away our backpacks and wash up. We take care of business in silence, but there's no question we're going to go through with the deal. The "studio" is about 20 minutes out of town - just a big room in a farmhouse about half a mile from the highway. Two German Shepherds are running loose in the field out back so I know people live here, but I don't see anybody right away. I keep thinking: this place is too pretty for a murder. Kenny tells us to sit tight for a minute, and that he'll be back with the plan. The studio is full of Kliegs, mirrors, backdrop cloths in red and gold - the real deal, as far as I can see. There's a big couch in one corner and a king size bed jutting out from underneath the gold backdrop. Adjacent is a bathroom with a shower, two terrycloth robes hanging on the door. It looks clean. "You okay?" I ask Billy. "Is this too weird?" "It's a little late for those questions, Aidan. And it's Bobby, remember." "It'll be okay, I promise. We'll just do what they ask and Kenny will take us back, and then we can sleep and figure things out." "You're amazing. You're fucking amazing. Just hang on to me, okay?" "Whatever happens, Billy, it happens with both of us. You said it earlier: you'd do anything for me. And you wouldn't do anything without me. The weirder this gets, the more I want you to think of me, think of what we've done, think of those times in the shelter." A man comes in with a couple of high-resolution digitals and a cam. He barely looks at us as he attaches the cam to a boom by the side of the bed. He's about 60, bearded, dressed in a blue jumpsuit. "Where's Kenny?" I venture. "I don't know. I think he went to do some errands. I'm Vernon. You Anthony?" "Yeah. This is Bobby." Billy nods. "You're great looking fellas, but I suppose you already knew that." "Thanks, I think." "Listen, this doesn't have to be awkward, really, though I don't blame you for feelin' that way. This is business, sure, but it can be fun. Just pretend I'm not here and you'll be fine, you know." All the while, he's turning on lights, arranging things, keeping his hands busy. "Anthony, Bobby: I want to take some shots with your clothes on. Just smile, make faces, act natural, you know." Billy starts mugging right away. It comes less easily to me. Vernon isn't exactly spry and graceful, but he fires away indiscriminately, full of complements, full of encouragement, like we're goddamn Tyra and Naomi. Out of nowhere, Billy grabs me and pulls me to him and plants a kiss on my cheek. He's getting into this. "Great," Vernon says for the 20th time. "You boys like each other. That's gonna make this just great. Now, one at a time, take off your shirt and your shorts. Tease the camera, come on. They like attitude." So we do it, and we pause with our t-shirts over our heads, and Billy and I stick our tongues out, then we're standing there in our underwear, me in boxers, Billy in briefs. "Beautiful. Great. You guys are fuckin' beautiful. Anthony, you got to eat a little more, son, but y'all are hotter than hot. They gonna cream their jeans." Cream their jeans? Sounds like something Billy's hillbilly Uncle might say. "Well boys, let's get to the money." Okay. Money time. Billy peels off his briefs, turning his hips away from the camera, feigning modesty by covering up his dick, which as expected, is rock hard. Vernon monkey-jumps a couple of steps to get him from the backside. Billy raises his arms in mock ecstasy, flexing his biceps and crunching his abs, looking straight into the camera. "Bobby, that's just great. Super, really. Come 'on babe, let's get a close up of that cock of yours. Nice. Real nice. Y'all are doing fantastic." Then it's my turn, only I'm not doing so hot. "Come on, boy," Vernon urges. "Nothin' to be ashamed of. We all got 'em." "Come on, Aidan," Billy says, forgetting that I'm Anthony, smiling broadly like this is just exactly what every boy should be doing on his 16th birthday. I slip off my boxers. My dick is hanging limp and innocent. I raise my palms and shrug my shoulders as if to say I'm sorry, it'll get bigger, when Vernon whistles like a sailor and says, "Jesus, Joseph, and Johnny Wadd, whatever do we have here?" "Anthony's huge," Billy offers. "I'll say. This is horse country, but I ain't seen a cock like this on a boy in a coon's age. Lordy! I'm gonna have to get out the wide-angle. Come on, Anthony, skin that bad boy back." This flattery isn't exactly working. I know I'm supposed to flash hard, but the mirrors are everywhere, and I can see my ribs, and there's a pimple on my butt, and my purple eyes are raccoon-ringed. "Yeah, Anthony, that's a great big ol' cock. A Secretariat. Work it now. Great! Supersize it!" So I work it, and I get a little rise from the friction, but it's just not doing what it's supposed to, and the whir of the camera is making me dizzy, and I want to crawl in a hole and die. I close my eyes, jacking furiously, and still nothing, nothing, nothing. Then I feel him take hold. I open my eyes and he's kneeling before me, caressing and kissing my dick, wedging his tongue under my foreskin - the prelude to a blowjob. And at last it grows, bigger and harder than ever. My dickhead emerges from hiding, proud and red and swollen, then Billy engulfs it. Vernon has put down the hand-held and he's on the cam, and I realize before Billy does that we're in a movie now, and somehow the notion amps me like nothing I've ever imagined. We go to the bed. We roll around it, oblivious, delirious, in a country far from Kentucky, beyond consciousness or decency, at the outer limit of desire. Suddenly Vernon's not in the room any more, and we're all alone, and there's no room and no bed any more, there's not even oxygen, just sweat and skin and love past words. I'm licking him all over, my tongue a lapidary polishing onyx. I'm biting his ears and his nipples. I'm burrowing in the smoky gulch between his thighs. Without a care in the world, I'm prying open the little hole and licking it clean, jamming my tongue as far in as I can. My boy is bucking, writhing, burning, his every moan a plea for clemency. But I won't stop, and when I feel the surge, when I feel that he's going to explode, I turn briefly to the camcorder, look blankly at my reflection in the lens, and grab hold of Billy's dick. I only have to kiss it once and it's spurting, a steaming glob splashing my forehead, another my cheek, and four, five, six, seven pearls running down my chest, and when his dick finally stops twitching, it's like Billy's died in my arms from a joy that kills. But he's alive, and he knows what he wants now, and I know what I want and will always want until it's my turn to die. He scooches down to the edge of the bed, eyes still closed, then pulls me briefly on top of him. He whispers to me that he needs me in him, and just loud enough so the cam can hear, he tells me that he loves me more than life itself. There's lube, of course, in a tray on the bed stand. I slather my dick, now engorged beyond recognition, and tell Billy to open his eyes. I want the face he sees before I enter him to be full of love. I want him to feel my dick as a balm, that we are joined at the heart. There is nothing more to say. "You might want a condom," a disembodied voice suggests. Kenny's back. I wonder how long he's been here watching. "No condom. He's the only one." And then they're gone again, and it's just me and Billy. I'm drunk with desire, but I'm not stupid. I know I'm going to hurt him, but I know he'll only love me more thereafter. I place my dick at the doorstep. I push in the head, and Billy winces. I push in deeper, feeling the suction, the paradoxical vacuum, as he tries vainly to expel me. Then it's in all the way, and we stay like that for an eternal instant, waiting for joy to take care of the pain. Then I'm fucking him, slowly, methodically, back and forth, never fully retracting, but neither plunging to the hilt. It's wonderful. I could do it forever, but every time I pull back, the friction on my dickhead makes me shiver a little, and I know it's not going to be long before I cum. So I just decide it's now or never, and I pick up my rhythm and Billy picks up his rhythm and we're moaning in thirds, his tenor and my baritone, and when I'm certain I'm going to blow I think first I'll fill his ass with my love, then I think again, and this time I pull all the way out and I start firing hot bullets onto his chest, then squeezing every little cumdrop out of my raw and beaten dick. Somehow I have the strength to say, "Turn off the goddamn cam, please," before I melt onto the bed and grab Billy and start sobbing. "I've never seen anything like that in my life," Kenny says to Vernon. "Never." "Fuckin' amazing, all right." "You kids were great," Kenny says. "Me and Vern are going to leave you here for a bit. You can get cleaned up. I brought you a couple of beers if you like. Sometimes they like beers. Oh, and there's $600 in twenties in an envelope on the coffee table." "What did we just do?" Billy asks when they've left. "I don't know. I don't know." "We're not right, are we?" "I don't think so. What did we just do?" "It hurt, Aidan." "I know." "But it was great." "Yeah," I say, "it was, how did Vernon put it? 'Fucking amazing'." "Aidan, you love me, don't you." "I love you so much I'm going to start crying again." "Oh, that's okay. We're just big babies, you know." Euro for your thoughts. pijito52@aol.com