They'd managed to find a house in a location which seemed suitable to their needs. Located on a hill up from the main downtown area. Hills, it seemed were the rule in San Francisco. It was a medium sized house, wood frame, nothing at all like Byron was used to, but it was suitable. Since it was the two of them, they didn't need all that much room.

There was a stable for their horses, which now number seven, as they had acquired a matched team for drawing the carriage which was necessary for hauling things up the hills.

The money which was sent from Charlotte arrived shortly after they did, and they were able to buy the house for cash, which was lucky for them, since the interest rates which the bank were charging was extremely high, at 19 percent.

It was a difficult period for Byron, for he was still recovering from the loss of his friend during the crossing. Charles was still very much on his mind. He also was at a lost to find something which interested him by way of employment or business.

Ty, on the other hand was quite content with what he had to do. There were many tasks required of him in setting up a new household. Redecoration and supervising the repainting, gardening, and furnishing all were part of his domain.

As soon as they were settled, and were able to agree on a date, Nathan and James, and their two wives, Julia Johnson and Margaret Brooks were invited for a dinner. Listening to their adventures and stories brightened Byron's outlook. They convinced him that he could do well by investing in some aspect of the entertainment business.

By the end of the year Byron interest in the entertainment business had declined. Everything he put his money into was a disaster. Luckily for him, he had reserves, for in the first two ventures alone, he lost a total of five thousand dollars.

He was at the theater one afternoon in December of 1843, watching a new show rehearsing. He sat in the empty theater about half way back. It was a play which Nathan had suggested he might want to put a little money. Byron had been on the verge of giving up altogether with the theater.

Byron was concentrating on listening to the play, and was ignoring the tall gaunt man who walked passed him several times.

The third time, the man walked up to him. "Excuse me, young man!" the man said in a booming voice.

Byron looked up startled, "Yes, Sir?"

"Can you read?"

"Of course," Byron was indignant.

"Well, then," the man said sharply, "Go up on stage and take the book from that idiot fellow who's reading now."

"What?" Byron asked.

"You heard me," the said, "Read for me."

Byron was too puzzled, and a little more than embarrassed by the tone of the man's voice, and the loudness with which he spoke, do anything but what the man asked.

He walked quickly to the front of the theater and up onto the stage.

"See that man in the back," Byron said to the young man holding the book, "He wants me to read for him. I guess I'd better."

The young man looked puzzled, but looked out to where Byron indicated.

"Go ahead," the booming voice came, "Let him have your book. Now go ahead and read!"

The man shrugged and handed Byron the book.

Byron looked at it, wondering where to begin, and held the book over to the woman standing beside him, she pointed. Byron looked at the place indicated a moment and then began,

"It's none of my business, Madam, but just where are you going?"

"As you said, Sir, it is none of your business. But I'll tell you anyway..." The two, the woman and Byron exchanged lines going on for several pages. Byron was just getting into the rhythm of it when the tall thin man with the booming voice suddenly appeared beside him.

"You got to move around more!" he roared, frightening Byron.

Byron stopped and looked at him, "Just what is it, Sir, that you want me to do?"

"Act! Man! God, can't you act?"

Byron thought a minute and answered, "Of course, Sir, but that's not what I came here for."

"Then what are you doing on my stage?" the man bellowed.

"You asked me to read for you."

"Well, then read! But please, do move about at least a little!"

Byron shook his head. The man must be daft! Byron thought, but he continued. After about a half hour of the back and forth conversation, they came to the end of the act.

"You'll do!" the man said, "But you will have to move more!" Then the man walked over to another man who was standing just off stage and spoke very loudly, "Sign him up, at the usual, and make sure he learns his part!"

And thus it was that Byron, much to Ty's amusement began his career in the theater on stage. Nathan and James were delighted. Byron wasn't so sure. He'd enjoyed it while he was doing it, but to get up in front of an audience every night, he didn't know if he could do that.

But Nathan and James coached him, rehearsed him, until he knew his lines by heart, and had gotten the required movements to go with the lines. Their coaching plus the direction from the man with loud voice, who Byron quickly learned was the director, gave Byron the confidence that he could do it.

And New Year's Eve the play, a farce by a little known playwright, opened to a packed house. New Year's Eve was chosen because everybody was in good humor on that night, and could have cared less if the play were any good, they just wanted to laugh and have a good time.

A couple of lucky fluffs on Byron's part made it all the more amusing and by the end of the play the audience was in an uproar. The play was a hit, and Byron was a star as well. The director was so pleased with his performance that he changed the misspoken lines so that he had to do them that way every performance, and asked to producer to give Byron a raise.

After the first several performances, Byron felt totally relaxed on the stage and began to try different ways of saying the same lines. Some worked well, and some didn't. The director was pleased with his efforts, and gave him several books to begin reading, plays which the he was considering doing.

When the play had run for its scheduled time of three weeks, he was all ready for the next one. And thus the winter passed. By the time that June rolled around, they had done a total of seven different plays. Harry Jensen, the director had signed Byron for the next season which began in September. During the summer, the troupe traveled about, doing the five or the seven plays, one each night at various locations about the northern part of California, two days off for travel. It was a hectic schedule, but with Ty to help him company Byron managed quite well. It was a nice diversion for Ty as well.

When they return at the end of August, they were shocked to learn that James Patrick had been killed in a brawl in one of the taverns early in July. Nathan was devastated and couldn't work. He begun drinking heavily.

Byron and Ty found him at his favorite drinking place the first night that they were back. Margaret had delivered a note to their house while they were gone, and that was the manner that they informed of the tragedy. They carried his drunken form back to their house, where they put him to bed.

The following day, Nathan awakened to find out where he was. He immediately wanted something to drink. Byron gave him a glass of the darkest liquor he could find in the house, and diluted it with cold water. He was ashamed of his condition and became remorseful as he told Byron and Ty how the incident had occurred. He blamed himself for not being with James at the time it happened. He wouldn't tell them where he was, and they couldn't bring themselves to ask.

It took a month of careful watching and consoling before Nathan was able to go back to work. A lucky coincidence put Byron and Nathan in the same play. It provided them both with a chance to which they'd talked about when Byron was first starting out, of working together.

Byron's second season was off to a grand start with the opening play being another smash hit, so much so that the producer was forced to hold it over for an additional two weeks. So successful was the combination of Byron and Nathan, that the director and producer found another play in which they could put these to players, and set the opening date for New Year's Eve.

Holiday time found Byron, Ty, and Nathan celebrating together. Once Nathan had recovered sufficiently, he had moved back to the house that he had shared with James. But with the new play that they were working on together, Byron had insisted that he move back in with them. And so two weeks before Christmas, Nathan moved in.

Sundays and Mondays were Byron's only nights off, and the relationship between Byron and Ty had begun to be strained. Ty was jealous of the closeness with which Byron and Nathan had begun working.

Ty was busily preparing for the holiday rounds of entertaining. There was much to be done. The decorations had to be purchased and arranged. He was delighted to be so busy, as he had become so used to being busy, that when there wasn't something special going on he felt he was useless.

Except for special times, like the holidays, Byron didn't have much time to relaxing or entertaining, save an occasional late evening supper on closing night.

It was the day before Christmas Eve day, which a post came to the house while Byron was at rehearsal. Ty was beside himself waiting to him to return, as the letter was from Charlotte, and he been sent by ship late spring. It was from Templeton, the lawyer they had used before they left the East.

If it had not been that Ty did have other things to keep him occupied he would have hand carried it to Byron. But as it was he couldn't leave the house. When Byron's carriage pulled up outside, Ty hurried to let him in, and handed him the envelope.

Byron was as eager a Ty to see what message had come.

Dear Mister Harper, It is with deepest regrets that I must inform you of the death of your Aunt, Cynthia Harper Perkins and her husband, James on May 30, 1844. An accident or deliberate act, it has not yet been determined which, set their house ablaze, and they died in their sleeping rooms.

In accordance with the provisions of their will, their property was sold, and the proceeds divided between her sister, Ms. Margaret Harper Layton, and yourself. You shall find an amount equal to your share, seventy-five thousand dollars, deposited to your account, on or about the same date as your receive this communications.

I extend to you my deepest sympathy in your loss." It was signed, "J.J. Templeton, ESQ.

Byron was shocked, as was Ty at the news. Although he and Cynthia were never close, he really wished her no harm. Considering how they parted, he was greatly surprised that he would be mentioned in her will to the extent that the attorney indicated. With the money he'd brought with him, not including the amount which was Ty's, his bank account was now over one hundred thousand dollars, in spite of his losses earlier. The producer had allowed him to put fifty percent of the money up on productions this year, and the returns had been good so far.

"I'll have to write to Ms. Margaret," Byron said, more to himself than to Ty, adding. "You will remind me, please, Ty."

"Of course, you must," Ty said.

Byron folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope and laid it on his desk.

The letter continued to cloud Byron's holiday, like some strange foreboding. He didn't brood over it, but it made him aware, once again of how fragile life was. Each time someone close to him died, the message became more clear to him.

It was time for Ty to have help around the house, he was now fifty-six. How long would he have him with him? Byron recognized that he had been neglecting Ty during the past months, and tried to do more to include in him his activities. It took some searching and coaxing, but Byron finally secured the services of a young Black man, who was just arrived on a ship from Mississippi. The family with whom he arrived, decided that they didn't need as much help as they had brought with them, and since he was the youngest, they let him go. The boy was barely sixteen, and he been a slave all his life. Even after he arrived in San Francisco, he remained bound to the family.

Byron purchased him, and set him free, when the boy agreed to work for him for at least one year, with pay. The family had called him Peters, from whom they purchased him, so Byron had his name changed to Peter Harper.

Peter was a tall young man, dark skinned, and strong. He wasn't what could truly be called handsome, but he had an engaging smile and sparkling eyes. Thin lipped and equine nose, not true African stock, were one to look into his family history.

Ty set about to get him into a routine, so that he would be useful and not be a burden to the household. Peter learned fast, and soon understood what it was that was expected of him. But as most servants having come from Mississippi, was inclined to be slow moving, not really lazy, more of a day-dreamer.

He had worked out of doors mostly, and so Ty had him doing a lot of out door work at first.

One evening just before Christmas, as Byron was riding up the drive, Peter was seen leaning on the rake with which he was supposed to be working the lawn.

"Evenin', Mister Harper," Peter greeted him.

"Good evening, Peter," Byron said, "Are you just about finished with the yard?"

"Oh, yes, Sir," he answered, and hurriedly began working in earnest again. Byron smiled. He'd noticed the trait, which Ty called, "dreaming".

"I declare," Ty said as Byron came in, "That boy'll drive me to distraction!"

"It takes time, Ty, just takes time."

"I know," Ty said almost sadly, "I must be getting old. I don't have the patience anymore."

Byron looked at him, smiling, "You're not getting old. It's just that you've got a lot to do, and with the holidays coming up you feel pressured." He put his arm about Ty's shoulder as they walked into the living-room. He tossed his jacket on the sofa and took Ty into his arms and looked into his eyes.

"Have I told you how much I love you?"

Ty's eyes brightened, "I know," he said, "It has been a while, though Master."

Byron hugged him. Whenever Ty was pleased or happy, or just wanted tease him, he would use that phrase, "Master". They kissed a long a tender kiss. It was true, it had been a while since they'd made love. With his busy schedule at the theater, Byron was quite often exhausted when he returned, sometimes in the early hours.

They separated and started for the stairway.

"Mister Tyrone?" It was Peter. He'd come in the back way and was standing in the kitchen door.

Ty turned, "Yes, Peter?"

"I's finished with the yard."

"All right Peter. Put the tools away. And you can wash and set the table for dinner," Ty said softly.

"Okay," Peter looked at the way the two were standing at the stairway and smiled broadly, "Will dinner be late?"

"A little perhaps," Ty said.

"Yes, Sir," Peter said and walked back into the kitchen and began whistling a song.

Byron and Ty looked at each other and smiled. As they started up the stairs Byron asked, "What it that he's whistling?"

"I don't know if'n it has a name," Ty answered, "It's words are rather suggestive though." Ty sang:

I seen the way he looked at you, I know what he's got on his mind. I hope you can bare it, 'cause tonight you're goin' t'get it!

"I didn't think he even knew!" Byron laughed. They continued on up the stairs to the bedroom.

It was true, no one had ever told Peter anything about the relationship between Byron and Ty. But in the short time that he'd been with them, he'd noticed the way they looked at each other. He also knew that in the room in which Ty kept his clothes, the bed was rarely used.

Peter had experienced the attentions of the eldest son of his former master, and had enjoyed the benefits of the attention. He had wondered it would be the same in his new home, but so far he hadn't noticed any sign from Byron that he was interested in him.

Peter had, however, discovered quite by accident, that Byron was more than average in size, and would have accepted an invitation to his bed anytime. He was not so brash as to think that he would be able to manage that with Ty in the house, however.

Dinner was a little late that evening, and when Peter was serving the meal, he unconsciously began whistling the song he'd whistled earlier. Ty cleared his throat and gave him a stern look. The whistling stopped. Byron smiled and winked at Ty sitting across the round table from him, and Ty just frowned a moment and then he smiled.

Christmas was celebrated with more than the usual flair. Beside the family gathering both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, with Nathan, Margaret, and Julia, the day after Christmas the full cast of the current production was invited for a buffet after the performance, with gifts for everyone.

Byron had managed to get two extra people to help that evening from the hotel across from the theater. The two young men he choose, were eager to have the extra money, plus the chance to see his house. Byron was a wealthy man besides being a celebrity. David and Tom worked out well, and Byron paid them a little extra after it was over, thanking them for their good work.

New Year's Eve meant the opening of the new show. It was a smash hit, and it was evident from that first night that it was going to run more than the usual three weeks.

Ty had come down to the theater, as usual to be back stage to watch. And when it was over, he took the carriage and headed home. He knew that Byron would probably be late, he felt tired.

It had begun to rain, and he shivered as he drove up the hill to the house. Peter came out to put the carriage and horses away when Ty drove into the drive.

"Mighty nasty out t'night," Peter said as he climbed up.

"Lock the door good," Ty said.

"Yes, Sir, I will." And he drove off to the stable. He unhitched the team and put them in their stalls next to the others in the stable. Then he rolled the carriage inside and wiped it down to keep the water from ruining the finish. The entire routine took him half an hour because of the rain.

He closed the double doors on the stable and hurried to the house, going in the back door. He was wet from being out in the rain, and went to his room to get out of the wet clothes. He slipped on a dry robe and went to the kitchen to get himself a brandy. He liked to have a brandy when he'd gotten himself chilled. Truth was, he liked brandy.

He sipped the golden liquid and felt its warmth course through his body, giving him a warm glow. He decided that he'd go see in Ty wanted something warm to drink.

Peter climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to Ty's room. He knocked on the door and waited. There was no answer. He turned and walked back to Byron's room where he knocked again. Still there was no answer. He shrugged and walked back down stairs. "Perhaps Ty was in the library", he thought. When Ty was not to be found anywhere down stairs, he ran back up the stairs. He knocked and walked into both rooms, he wasn't there. He went to the bathroom and looked there. Still he didn't find him.

Peter was panicky now, and raced down the stairs, nearly tripping as he neared the bottom. He ran to the front door and peered out into the darkness. A dark form lay out at the bottom of the steps in the pouring rain.

"Mister Ty!" he called and ran out into the night. He scooped up Ty's body in his arms and hurried back into the house. He kicked the door shut with his foot and carried him up to his room. He lay Ty on his bed. Peter listened putting his face close to Ty's mouth to see if he was breathing. He felt a little warmth on his cheek. He sighed with relief and began undressing him throwing the wet clothes into a pile on the floor.

When Ty was completely undressed, he eased him under the covers of the bed. He called Ty's name several times while he worked, but got no response.

Peter stood looking at the unconscious figure before him. He couldn't think of what to do. They hadn't told him what to do if this happened. The only thing he knew to do was to get 'the master'. But also he knew he shouldn't leave him alone, he might wake up and need something.

He ran down stairs and pour a glass of brandy and raced back up to have it ready. He called Ty's name again, and still got no response. Just to be doing something, he picked up the wet clothes and hung them where they could dry. All the while he kept looking at Ty.

"Byron," he heard the soft gasping sound from behind him. He turned and heard Ty call again, "Byron." The voice trailed off soft and he lay still and quiet. Peter rushed to the bed and listened, and felt. Nothing!

"Ty!" he called, "Ty!" and touched his face. Peter began to cry, "Ty!" he called again. He put his ear down to Ty's mouth. He put his head down on Ty's chest to listen. Nothing. He slumped down to the floor and wept.

Byron returned later that evening to find Peter weeping on the floor, Ty's lifeless body in the bed. When he was finally able to get Peter to tell him what happened, sent Peter for the doctor, although from what he was able to tell, it would be a wasted trip.

After Peter was gone, he stood looking and checking the lifeless form before him. Already his face was cold. He stood helpless and his eye clouded over and tears ran down his cheeks.

When the doctor arrived, he confirmed that Ty was dead, and the most likely cause to be a heart attack. He told Byron that he would handle the paperwork and see to the removal of the body, pending burial.

He gave Byron a mild sedative and told him to get some rest. Peter, still fearing he was somehow at fault, helped Byron get ready for bed.

"I just put the carriage away, 'n wiped it down good. When I come inside, I looked for him right away. I don't know what to do, so I just stayed with him. I sorry, Master," his eyes were filled with tears of fear.

"I know, Peter," Byron said sensing the fear in the boy. "It's not your fault, you did what you should have. The doctor said nothing you or anyone else did could have saved him. His heart just stopped working." He repeated what the doctor had told him, just to try to make himself believe it too.

After he was undressed and sitting on the bed in his robe, he just starred off into space. His mind raced back to the first time he saw Ty lying in the meadow grass, his body glistening from the cool water of the stream. He lean body relaxed in the sun.

And now he was gone. "How could it be?" he asked himself, "After all the struggle of getting here!" He put his hands over his face and wept. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

When he heard the knock at the door he looked up. "Come in," he said.

"Kin I git you anythin', Master?" It was Peter.

"No," Byron answered, then seeing the distress in his eyes said, "Just go to bed now and try not to worry. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, Sir," Peter said and closed the door.

When Byron woke the next morning, he found that they had come and removed Ty's body to the doctor's place. Peter had let the men in.

Byron walked through the house in his robe, seemingly not aware of Peter, who trailed after him, standing off watching. Finally he went to the kitchen and looked about.

"You hungry, Master?" Peter asked, adding, "I can't cook much, but I'll try if'n youse hungry."

"Thank you, Peter, just some coffee."

"Yes, Sir. I kin make coffee real good."

Byron walked back to the library and sat down. A few minutes later Peter came in carrying a tray with the server of coffee, sugar and cream. He looked pleased with himself at remembering how Ty used to do it.

He'd just set down the tray when there was an insistent knocking at the door. Peter hurried off to answer it. It was Nathan. He barely waited for Peter to tell him where Byron was before he rushed in.

"I just heard, Byron," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Byron stood up and they embraced.

"The doctor said it was his heart," Byron said calmly.

"Is there anything that I can do?" Nathan asked.

"Nothing just now," Byron replied.

"Will Mister Nathan like some coffee?" Peter asked.

"Yes, please, Peter," Byron said, "Bring in some extra cups." Peter hurried off to get the cups.

"Sit with me a while, Nathan." Byron said.

They said down, and when Peter returned with the cups, had coffee. Peter left them alone and went to the kitchen.

For a long while they just sat, neither one wanting to say anything. Nathan for fear of saying the wrong thing, seeing the hurt in his friend's face. Byron, not wanting to seem less bereaved than he was, his eyes on the brink of filling with tears.

"My friend," Nathan said, "I don't want you to think ill of me." He paused, wanting to phrase what he had to say just right, "But you must change your mood, for tonight."

Byron then too, remembered that he had to be on stage that evening. He took another sip of coffee.

"You're right, Nathan. I've got to get going, and try to be ready. Though, God knows, I don't know how I can go on tonight."

"I know," Nathan said, "But you will."

"Can you do some things for me?" Byron asked. "Anything, Byron, you know I will."

Byron explained the things that he needed someone to do for him, so that he could concentrate on his work.

"It won't be too much for you?" Byron asked when he was finished.

"No, I can manage," Nathan smiled. He knew now that Byron would be up for it that night. They said their goodbyes and Nathan left.

"Peter!" Byron called as he closed the door after Nathan.

"Yes, Sir," Peter was right behind him.

"Would you fill my tub, I need a bath," Byron said, he eyes were dry now, and his voice strong and firm.

"Right away, Sir," Peter hurried and began heating the water for the tub.

After his bath Byron felt much better. With fresh clothes, and a shave, he felt refreshed and alive.

Two months after Ty had been buried in the small cemetery a half mile from the hill where he had died, Byron had begun to regain his old spirit and lively enthusiasm. Peter was learning fast, and even though when Byron entertained, he still had to bring in a chef to prepare the meal, he was able to cook well enough to suit Byron's everyday needs.

Nathan was living in the house now, to keep Byron company. But although, Nathan had hoped that he and Byron would some day become more than just friends, nothing had so far developed between them. He was too afraid to make an overture to him.

Byron had been occupied with his work, both on stage and off. He was now more actively working with the director to find new material to do. He had not given more than a passing thought to anything sexual since Ty had died.

Peter, on the other hand, thought of nothing else.

Unlike Nathan, he'd seen Byron's handsome, well formed body, often in all its glorious aroused state. He was, as Ty had said, a dreamer. He envisioned hundreds of ways to entice Byron to sleep with him. But he, like Nathan, feared to upset his position.

It was late May, and the regular season was drawing to a close. Byron had reluctantly accepted the challenge of once again being the headliner for the summer season. Nathan had also accepted a position in the cast, as he had nothing better to do with his summer. Besides, he could always use the extra money it brought in.

Byron arranged for the house to be closed for the summer, and to take Peter with him. Peter was delighted for the chance to travel with him. He done but little traveling, most of it on the terrible ship that brought him to California, and was even more pleased to learn that they wouldn't be traveling by water.

Sacramento was their first stop this year, and they would be there for three weeks this time, doing their complete repertoire. It is warm in Sacramento, as it usually was in the summer.

Byron, had a room of his own, and Peter and Nathan shared a room down the hall, as they were the only Black men traveling with the group. Both Nathan and Peter would have preferred rooming with Byron, but propriety ruled against it, after all Byron was the star.

The second week they were there, the weather grew even hotter, and sleeping in the hotel was next to impossible, even early in the morning.

Byron lay on his bed dozing. He had thrown off the sheet and was naked, as was his custom. Nathan who had waited until Peter fell asleep, crept down the hall and tapped lightly on Byron's door. He was dressed only in a light weight dressing robe and slippers.

Byron got up from the bed and walked to the door.

"Who is it?" he asked in a low voice.

"It's me, Nathan."

"Come in," Byron said as he unlocked the door and let him in.

"I'm glad I didn't wake you," Nathan said.

"No, it's just now beginning to cool a bit," he said, "At least it is up here in front." He remembered that Nathan's room was at the back, and even less likely to get any breeze.

"It is cooler up here," Nathan said.

Byron sensed the purpose of Nathan's visit, noticing the openness of the robe he wore, and the more than usual fullness of Nathan's penis.

"I just couldn't get to sleep," Nathan said, "I hope you don't mind that I came up."

"No, not at all," Byron said, "In fact I've been meaning to invite you some night." Byron was stunned to hear himself say the words, which popped into his mind, seemingly from no where.

"You have?" Nathan said, even more surprised.

"Yes," Byron whispered. He pulled Nathan close to him and kissed him full on the mouth. "It's been too long," he sighed as they parted.

Nathan's body trembled, "Oh, you can't know how long I've waited for this."

Byron led him to the bed and they lay across it. With tenderness and warmth, they explored each others bodies. Finding joy and passion at every touch. Byron took Nathan's slight body and filled him with his own pulsing mass. Nathan shuddered with delight as Byron moved atop him. It had been so long since either had been with anyone, that it was bare moments before Byron exploded filling Nathan's dark passage with his hot love. Nathan in turn poured out his fluid between them as he felt the surge of Byron's flow.

They lay content, with their passions subsiding, and slept.

In the morning, Nathan crept from Byron's room, and feigned returning from the bathroom, when Peter sat up when he entered their room.

"Yur up early, Mister Nathan," Peter said stretching and yawning.

"I guess," Nathan said.

The hot spell broke that day, and fog filled the valley, cooling the city somewhat. Nathan, not wishing to seen forward, waited for Byron to invite him that night. But no invitation came. Peter told Nathan he was going for a walk, and disappeared down the hall.

Peter did walk out to the street below, and walked around the block, taking in the fresh air, which was damp with fog. He quickly returned to the hotel and up to the third floor where they were staying.

Cautiously he walked down the hallway to Byron's room.

He knocked softly on the door. There was no answered. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Byron lay asleep on the large bed covered by the light sheet which draped across his body. Peter stood for a moment looking at him, his pulse racing in anticipation. Although he was unsure of what he was going to do, he felt confident that tonight would be the night.

Quietly he locked the door, and slipped out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He long slim cock hung heavily between his legs as he moved to Byron's bed. He eased himself onto the bed and slipped slowly under the sheets.

He heart stopped momentarily as Byron groaned in his sleep. Peter lay motionless for a long time. Gradually he moved so that he was able to touch Byron's chest with his fingers.

Slowly and lightly he trailed the tips of his fingers across Byron's cool flesh. He was excited beyond belief when only a slight moaned escaped as Byron moved a bit from the touch. Slowly Peter pushed the sheet from Byron's body, revealing the object of his desire. There it lay, nestled between Byron's golden thighs, full and pulsing, as in a dream.

Peter eased himself into position so that his mouth was just inches away from Byron's legs. He breathed gentle a long slow breath from between his pursed lips. Byron's cock stirred as it felt the tingling sensation, but still he slept. Twice more Peter repeated his blowing on him. Twice more the cock stirred, each time with greater motion, growing further in length and breadth. Now it lay fully straight, barely resting on Byron's leg.

Now Peter leaned closer and with the tip of his dry tongue he traced the length of it slowly and deliberately. The cock straightened and lifted to meet his lips. Byron moaned with pleasure as he dreamed on.

Peter then took as much of Byron's now rock hard cock as he could into his mouth and slowly began moving his head up and down upon it, each time gently forcing more of its length into his throat. He could feel the response from Byron's hips as he nuzzled the soft pubic hair against his nose each time he took it all into his hot throat and made the swallowing motion as much as he could.

Peter paused and breathed, and began again. Byron moaned loudly and filled Peter's throat with his hot white fluid, his hands holding Peter's head firmly in place. He was now awake, startled at first, but too far into his passion to resist. His hips pushed higher and higher, forcing the last inch of his cock deeply into Peter's clenching throat as he sent wave after wave of cum spurting down.

As the pulsing stopped, and the flow reduced to a drop or two, Byron sighed releasing his grasp on Peter's head. He lay contemplating what he should say.

Peter lifted his head slowly washing the long softening shaft with his tongue, until he flicked the tender head slowly with the tip of his hot tongue, sending shivers of delight throughout Byron's body.

"Oh, Master," Peter sighed, "I wait so long to do this for you."

Byron said nothing.

"I hope you not angry," Peter said hopefully.

Byron reached up and pulled searching face to his own. He pushed his tongue between the hot full lips of the young man beside him.

"Now, it is I who will do the giving," he whispered, slowly, gently forcing Peter to lie on his back.

Byron straddled his lean body with his knees and leaned over flicking his tongue across the dark skin before him. Closer and closer he moved to the pulsing cock which stood upright between them.

As he slowly trace the shaft with his tongue he could see the glisten liquid oozing from the foreskin which clung to the glans. At first he bathed the whole cock with his mouth and throat, feeling the strength and vigor of this youth below him, as Peter moaned and moved in delight. The gently he force his tongue inside the foreskin, moving the tip softly across the hot glans, evoking sighs of passion from Peter's throat. He tasted the pungent flavor of the youth's cock, encased in the tight skin, and not easily moved back across the head. He continued forcing his tongue around inside while stroking the staff softly with his fingers.

Now he began a slow up and down motion with his mouth, this time closing his lips tightly each time, forcing the foreskin to slip further and further back. When it would not move further, he flicked tongue against the slit opening which now just peeked out from it hiding place. Peter grabbed his head and pulled it down against his groin shoving the long thin cock into Byron's throat. He exploded in ecstasy sending a river of hot cum up to Byron's throat with such abundance that it over flowed from his lips and ran down the shaft to the black curly mass below.

When at last Peter's shaft stopped flexing, Byron washed it with his tongue, as Peter had done for him, and finally lay quietly beside him.

"You see," Byron said, "I've waited too."

To be continued ---