This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.


Chapter 33

Ultimately, we take a vote on Jason's career direction. A solo career as a musician could potentially bring in $500K or more per year. You can get a lot of nice vacations out of $500K, a lot of christmas gifts and a lot of cat food. On the other hand, earning $500K would mean that he'd be traveling most of the time. He'd be living out of hotels, and we'd be his vacation. The boys would see little of him, and I would miss him terribly. The vote one evening at a family meal is unanimous. None of us, including Jason, wants him to become a solo artist. None of us cares enough about the $500K potential to give up the Jason we all love. The boys want their world-class Chinese meals, and Kenny and I want our world-class Chinese companion. And Jason?

"I'm scared, Tim. I don't want to travel alone anymore. I just feel so vulnerable traveling by myself." He says this one evening, sobbing, after being thoroughly spanked, and seems ashamed. He needs some serious hugs to get past this. The thing about Jason is that he's exceptionally self-aware. He knows himself very, very well, and what he knows is that he's extremely introverted. This is one of the reasons, I think, he likes to lose himself in music, and get naked at N'Touch, and get spanked. He really doesn't like to make independent decisions. He refused a salary when I first hired him as a houseboy, preferring to be provided for rather than earning and spending his own money. He's consistently refused to shop for clothing and luxury items, preferring instead to have these given to him rather than making his own choices. He is very passive, and that's one of the reasons I love him so much, frankly – he makes me want to care for him. But this kind of passivity doesn't equip him for an independent life, which is what he was pursuing as a soloist. He's simply not built for it, and sending him out there on his own amounts to a kind of cruelty. As he told Kenny years ago in Hawaii, life often scares him, and the scary part is being cast adrift on his own, something that would excite another personality type. Kenny is far more able to deal with day-to-day challenges, to unravel them, and to conquer them. He doesn't relish these challenges, as an extrovert might, but he handles them, as I do. Jason much prefers to have someone else handle them. He prefers to be cared for, to have someone else make the decisions. It takes all kinds...

So, the question is, what will Jason do? And the answer comes from his Stanford violin professor. "Why not audition for the San Francisco Symphony?" he asks. It turns out that this professor is a good friend of Michael Tilson Thomas' partner, and knows Tilson Thomas as well. He calls Tilson Thomas and arranges for an audition, an audition on violin, piano, and oboe, an audition that is a stellar success. It leads the way to two other auditions, the first with the existing first violinist, the concert master, and then with the whole of the violin section of the orchestra. And I thought industry interviews were intense. Everyone he meets flips. Of course, his musicianship is extraordinary, but everything they ask him to play he plays from memory, which ultimately comes to worry them. So, they give him a new piece from John Adams (something he can't have seen or heard), asking him to play the violin part – and the piano part. They send him off to a rehearsal room, expecting him to come back after several hours, but he comes back in fifty-five minutes and plays both parts note for note, having abandoned the sheet music. "I'm sorry," he says, "I don't really understand it, yet, but I have it technically." Tilson Thomas and Alexander Barantschik, the reigning concert master, listen and confer, and then offer him a job – as a fucking associate concert master. He was hoping simply to join the violin section as a junior member. He is stunned. He is so stunned that he just stands staring at Tilson Thomas for seconds, close to a full minute, as he tries to understand what's just happened. And then he comes out of his fog, and grins, and shakes Barantschik's hand, and then Tilson Thomas'. And then, I am told, he leaps into the air and whoops like something out of "High School Musical" (very un-Jason), to the delight of the strings section. He's a fucking associate concert master. (I'm actually not sure that's the correct title. It may be "associate fucking concert master.") He calls me on his cell phone to tell me the news. I'm in the living room with Kenny and the boys, and I just scream, to everyone's amazement. No words. I just scream. The boys are frightened. And then I pass the phone to Kenny, and he screams. Jason is not going to be making $500K a year, but he's going to be happy, and he's going to be mine, and he's going to be...here. And...and...I love him so.

"Daddy got a job!" I scream. "Jason got a job he'll really love."

"Will he make us breakfast?" Kevin asks, quietly.

"Umm...yeah," I reply, a little confused. "And probably dinner, too."

"Well...that's okay, then," he says, quietly, with the tiniest smile.

I look at him for a long moment, and then realize that he's pulling my leg, and as this realization hits me, he looks up and beams. "YES!" he shrieks.

We all have our different priorities, I guess. I'm just so glad that he won't be leaving us, at least not often. Kev's requirements are simpler – he wants his banana in the morning and his mango pudding at night. I have to laugh. We have different needs...

One of the things Jason will need is a ride to work. I'm unwilling to let him drive himself day after day, and tell him this when he gets back from his auditions. Round trip, the commute is about 3 hours of freeway driving, and is just too stressful. There are too many cars on that freeway already. I'm not willing to have him do this every day. I call around for executive shuttles, but come to realize that they're traveling the highway as well; not much better than if he were driving himself. Then I remember the train and, poking around on their web sites, am able to cobble together a schedule that will shave about forty minutes off the commute time he'd have if he drove. He'll take the CalTrans express train from San Jose to Colma, switch to BART, and end up within in walking distance from the Symphony Hall. The trouble is on our side. Someone will have to drop him off at the train station, although it is an easily bike-able distance. This'll work, and is a much better solution than having him drive himself. Jason actually likes to drive mostly, unlike me. I don't think he'd mind the commute, certainly not as much as I did when I worked in San Francisco. But, it's just too dangerous, too unpredictable. I don't want him out there every day. No. The train is the better option, and I buy him a monthly pass which reduces the cost somewhat.

They schedule him to start with the symphony the following week, a Monday, with his first performance two weeks later. His role is essentially as a member of the first violin section, unless the concert master is absent, in which case he becomes the first violinist, leading the string section. His first concert will be Mahler's Fifth Symphony, a huge piece requiring a large orchestra and a great deal of management to control the sound. This will be a trial by fire because in this first concert he will be the concert master because Barantschik will be in Europe that week and the one preceding it. Jason will be in charge of the entire string section.

"Are you nervous?" I ask him.

"Not especially," he says, smiling. "When you work with musicians this good, it's not like you have to teach them anything. We'll have to decide on some details about how we'll play the piece, but once that's done, we're basically on auto-pilot. I'll have several solos, but those shouldn't be a problem. I mean, yeah, I'm a little nervous because this'll be my first concert, and I want to make a good impression, but I'll be fine." He is just so confident when it comes to his music, just so self-assured. I'm so looking forward to this. And of course, the perqs for me – for us – are the free tickets to any concert. He's entitled to two tickets to anything, he tells me, and can barter with the other musicians for more. I'm not enormously fond of Brahms, for example, so the upcoming performance of Brahms second symphony isn't something I'm especially interested in seeing. But Saint-Saëns "Carnival of the Animals" is something I want Kenny to see, as well as the boys. So, we'll trade our two Brahms tickets with someone for two additional Saint-Saëns tickets and make an evening of it.

Years ago I had season tickets to the SFSO, but I found the commute sort of took the wind out of my sails. And, of course, that was during the directorial reign of Herbert Blomstedt, and the astringent sounds he produced were pretty horrible anyway. Since Tilson Thomas has taken the helm, I've gone pretty regularly, though not to the extent that I've considered renewing my season tickets. It's just too expensive, and if there aren't enough concerts of real interest, you tend not to go, wasting the expense of the season pass. Free tickets are an absolute gift. They have Schumann on the schedule this season, Berg, Copeland, Wagner, and...and...Shostakovich's Thirteenth Symphony – something I'll have to hide in the back of the concert hall to watch.

And then, of course, they have Lang Lang, the Chinese sensation. Say Lang Lang to Jason and he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. A more over-rated musician I cannot name, but he's become quite the solo act to see. "Yucky," as Kevin would say.

Lang Lang notwithstanding, this will be a banner year for music in our household, and I really want to get Kevin and Kai initiated into the joys of symphonic music. If we can give them anything, a love of great music is it. Between Jason and me, this should be a no-brainer.


A couple weeks after Jason's good news, I get a call from a woman my ex-partner used to work with at IBM. The three of us became quite close. She's straight, about my age, and has a son who must be...what? Fifteen or sixteen at this point. She knew about us and the nature of our relationship. Julian (my ex) had tried to explain it one day. At first she'd been a little...surprised...but ultimately came to understand it better, I think, and simply accepted the fact that Julian needed my...guidance. If I'd been insensitive or mean, she would probably have written us off as perverts, but I was neither. She ultimately concluded that this was simply who we were. We haven't spoken in a couple of years, and the minute we start to chat, I regret that fact. She very bubbly, very sweet. "I'm sorry, Kathy. You fell off my radar screen. I've missed you. How are you?"

"I'm good, mostly. I do have a problem, though, that I think maybe you can help me with."


"My son, Robert. You remember him, right?"


"He's just turned sixteen. He's...umm...driving me a little crazy. He was held back a year, so he's currently a sophomore at Lincoln. He was held back because he was failing pretty much everything. He's not stupid, by any means, but is not...umm...applying himself, and if he doesn't start applying himself, they'll flunk him again. His Dad's not around – wasn't around even when you and I were close – so bringing him up has been on just me, and I'm not the best in the discipline department. He needs some help, Tim, and I was wondering..."

I see where this is going, and work very hard to repress a giggle.

"I was wondering if you could...help me with Robert."

"What would that `help' entail, Kath?"

"Well, Roberts needs someone to get him back on track and keep him there. He needs a male role model. He needs someone to...umm...sort of do what you...umm...did for Julian."

"You mean spank him?" I ask, deciding to be overt.

Screwing up her courage, "Yeah."

Long pause. "And why will he accept spankings from me? Why won't he just cry `child abuse' and be done with both of us?"

"Well, he has a trust fund from his grandparents that I control, and he's very focused on that money. And, I think, because he's as desperate as I am to get his life back on track so he can actually become something. He just doesn't know how, and I don't know how to show him. He's a good kid, but he's...drifting. He doesn't know how to apply himself. That's what Julian got from you. Focus."

It's true. Julian had been a bit of a mess when we first met. He was in the U.S. on a student visa, but was also...drifting. I did help him to focus, to complete his studies, and to get an internship at IBM. His was another story of waste. It just infuriated me.

"Umm...why don't I start by talking to him?"

"Yeah, okay. When'd be good? Would this afternoon work?"

She was clearly anxious. "Yeah. That'd work. How about 4:30?"

"Perfect," she says, and finally asks about me. I tell her about Jason and Kenny, about Kev and Kai, about Hawaii, about games. She's a bit overwhelmed, I think, but takes it all in. I'm a different Tim from the one she knew years ago, but one she's hoping can help solve her dilemma. Finally, we end the call, and I go back to my coding.

At 4:35 the doorbell rings, and Kenny answers, finding Kathy and Robert on our doorstep. I'd warned him that someone would be coming, so he's not surprised. He invites them in, and as he does, Kevin bounces out of the living room to see who's here, followed more slowly by little Kai. Kathy is captivated. Kevin, of course, is the more outgoing, and tries to dominate the interaction, but Kathy is focused on Kai, who is so shy, and just so adorable. There's instant bonding here.

Which is good, because this'll give Kathy something to do while I talk to Robert. Kenny brings them to my office where we all sit for a few minutes, getting our bearings. "Why do you think you're here, Robert? Is that what you go by, by the way? Or do you prefer Bob?"

"Actually, my friends call me Robbie."

Kathy looks shocked.

"Okay. Robbie. Why do you think you're here? What's Kath told you?"

"Umm...that you can help me improve...my grades."

"And, is that something you want to do?"



There's a long, long pause here, as this boy runs the numbers, trying to figure out how he should respond. Should he give me the standard bullshit – the high school counselor answer – or should he come up with something original. The fact that I've asked this stupid question suggests that I'm looking for something real (he's telling himself), but what if he doesn't have something real? What if the only reason he's here is to get his Mom off his back? And that's ultimately the question. Will he treat this (me) as a liability or an opportunity? Or maybe, a little of both, which would be ideal.

Finally he looks up, looks me in the eye. "I'd like to do better," he says. "I don't feel very...good...about where I...umm..."

I shift abruptly. "Kath? Did you meet the boys?"

"I did," she gushes. "And they're adorable. Kevin is such a little player, but Kai is just so cute."

"Why don't you go visit with them. They don't get to meet many new people. They fall in love pretty quickly, so prepare to be captivated. Kenny'll take you to them. You'll probably find him in the kitchen, just to the right as you leave here. Just wander around. Call his name. You'll find him."

She smiles. She's been dismissed, and knows it, and as she opens the door, a small orange streak shoots across the room and out of the office. Kai's kitty, Thumper, has been hiding behind a chair, and is now liberated. We all laugh.

"Sorry, Robbie. You were saying that you don't feel good about...something."

Robbie, too, has been liberated – from his Mom. That was the intent. "It's just that...umm... I'm sort of..."


Long pause. "I mean, I know my grades are crappy. It's not like I work at that. It's not like I work at...anything. I'd like to improve but...." He's sniffing now.


Long pause. "But...I...don't really...umm..." More sniffing, and he's seriously tearing. I have to make this all right for him. He needs to not feel like a wuss. I move from the desk to the chair his mother was sitting in – next to him – and I reach over and hug him, and he latches onto me, his breathing ragged.

"It's okay, Robbie. You're okay."

And then he dissolves, sobbing. "I...want...to...do...better...but..."

Long pause. "But..."

"I'm just not...very...good."

I push him away from me, holding him by his shoulders. "Horseshit." He continues to cry. "You just don't know how to apply yourself, and have been hiding behind that `I'm not very good' mantra to protect yourself from that one essential fact. Not knowing how to apply yourself isn't necessarily the same as being lazy. I'm not saying you're lazy. I'm saying that you haven't developed focus, you haven't been motivated to target your attention. You're not stupid, Robbie. You know that, right?"

He sniffs. "I...don't...know..."

"Oh, Christ! You're not stupid! Misguided? Maybe. Although, it looks more like un-guided to me. No direction. Do you want to learn that?"

He looks at me urgently, looks into my eyes. Something has resonated. "Yes."

I hug him again. "What did your Mom tell you about me?"

"Umm...she told me that you were good at discipline."

I giggle. "What do you think she meant by that?"

"I'm not sure, really. What is discipline?"

"Exactly. Discipline is focus. That's what it means to me. Discipline is reminding you to pay attention to things that are important. Discipline might mean being punished for something you've done wrong, or rewarded for something you've done right. Discipline means being aware of yourself, knowing what you're good at, and what you're not good at, and coming to terms with that. Have you ever been spanked?"

He looks at me a little surprised. "Yeah. A couple of times."

"Did you meet Kenny?"

"The Asian guy?"


"Yeah. I met him when we got here."

"I spank him at least once a week – to keep him focused."

"And, he lets you?"

"It's not that he lets me, Robbie. He craves it. He wants it. It helps him, and he knows it."

"I don't think I want to be spanked. Why would he let you?"

"Let's ask him," I say, pushing myself out of the chair, crossing to the door, opening it, and calling Kenny's name. Kenny is with us in about 15 seconds. "Why do you let me spank you, Kenny?" I ask him.

Kenny looks confused, as you would when you come into a conversation in the middle with no context for a question. "Umm...I don't `let you' spank me. Well, I guess I do. You spank me because it makes me feel better; it keeps me pointed to my goals – targeted. And...umm...because I sort of get grumpy when you don't. It's a little embarrassing the first couple of times," he says, looking at Robbie. "I mean, you're naked and he's not," he says, nodding at me. "It's sort of humiliating. But, ultimately, it just helps you feel better about yourself."

"Why?" Robbie asks.

Kenny thinks. "Well, Jason thinks it's because it helps him atone for things he's done in the past that make him feel bad. I think that's probably true. I haven't thought about it all that much. It's just really... clarifying."

"Who's Jason?" Robbie asks.

"Oh, sorry. Jason's my cousin, Tim's `other husband,'" he quotes, with a giggle. "He lives with us. He's not home right now."

Robbie is wide-eyed, and the way he looks at Kenny changes abruptly. I thank Kenny, and he leaves us, and I return to the chair next to Robbie, who is now very pensive, staring at the rug. "You okay?" I ask.

He nods, and after several minutes of silence, looks up at me. "Are you gay?" he asks.

"Yeah. You?"

He looks at me for a long moment. "Yeah, I think so."

I nod. "Have you told anyone?"

"No," he says.

"How do you feel about it? I mean, are you okay with being gay?"

He pauses. "I'm okay," he says, still staring at the rug.

"You sure?"

Long, long pause. "No," he says, very softly, and starts to cry again.

I reach over and pull him out of his seat and onto my lap, where I hug him, and where he continues to cry, hugging me tightly. Finally, he winds down and realizes that he's sitting on my lap. He starts to get up, but I pull him back down. "Seems like you don't feel all that good about yourself, hunh?" He shakes his head.

"Hmmmm. Your Mom's asked me to help you with that, and I'm willing, but you've got to want to change. Do you?"

He nods.

"How much?"

He looks confused for a moment, and then hangs his head over my shoulder. This is one unhappy boy. "Enough to get spanked?" he asks.

"Is that a question or a statement?"

Pause. "A statement."

"So you're willing to submit to spankings."


"You sure?"

He sits up and looks into my eyes for a long moment. "If they'll help me feel better. I need to feel better." He's on the verge of tears again.

"I know," I say, hugging him. "So, here's the deal. You come here after school on Tuesdays and Fridays. You bring your homework for the week, the stuff you're about to turn in, and the stuff your teachers have returned, and you bring any tests they've returned. When report cards are issued, I'll want to see those as well. Okay?"

He nods.

"If your school work isn't complete, or isn't very good, you'll be spanked. If you need help with any of your work, I'll help you. If you want to talk...about anything at all, we can do that, too. Okay?"

He nods. "Why're you doing this?"

I pause and think. Why AM I doing this? "Because your Mom and I are old friends, and because I remember you when you were essentially a toddler. You were a very cute little boy, very precocious, and that precociousness has apparently disappeared for some reason. That's a shame. That's a great loss. And...and...because you seem like a nice guy – sensitive – and I guess I like you. And, I think I'd like you to like you as much as I like you," a convoluted sentence that confuses and then amuses, drawing a smile from him. "Be ready to work, because this isn't going to be easy. Both Kenny and Jason can tell you what happens when you turn in poor grades." He nods. "To start with, when you come on Friday, I want to see your last report card. That'll give us a benchmark. Okay?" He nods.

"Are you committed to this?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I am." He actually sounds hopeful.

"Good. You'll need to stay committed, because there'll be nothing to stop you from walking away at any time. And the best way to walk away is to tell me that you're not willing to take your punishment for poor performance. When you do that, our relationship will end. That needs to be really clear. I'm going to reward you extravagantly for what you do right, and I'm going to punish you for what you do wrong. I'm making an investment, here, in time, in emotional energy, and in...other things. If you wuss out on me in the punishment department, I'll simply cut my ties. Okay?"

He nods, confidently. This may work.

"Okay," I say, with one last hug. "Let's go find your Mom."

Kathy is in the living room. She's sitting on the floor with Kai in her lap, and Kai is giggling non-stop. He's getting tickled – just a little. Honest to god this kid is more ticklish that anyone I've ever met. Or, maybe he just loves to giggle, because it doesn't take much with him. Kev is sitting on Kenny's knee, bouncing up and down, watching his brother writhe – with a huge grin. When they see us, Kevin launches himself at me, wrapping himself around my leg, and I ruffle his hair. "You go back to Daddy," I tell him. "This nice lady and me gotta talk."

Kevin smiles, running back to Kenny, as Kathy lifts Kai into the air and places him carefully on Kenny's other knee. The three of us, Kathy, Robbie and I, then move into the entry hall. "We have a standing appointment for Tuesday and Friday afternoons. 4:30. Robbie will come over after school and we'll...umm...discuss his progress. He's going to bring me homework from the week and tests from the week for each of his classes, and when he gets his grades, he'll bring me those, too. I'll need you to contact his teachers and ask for progress reports. I'm not just interested in poor performance; I want to hear about improvements as well. If you can get them to send them directly to me, great. Tell them I'm his father, or something. If not, just forward them. You have my e-mail, right?"

She nods.

"As we discussed, I'm going to spank him for poor performance, right?"

She looks at Robbie for a long moment, and then at me, and nods, looking sad.

"And when I spank him, he'll be naked?"

She nods again, looking at Robbie.

"But, we're also going to reward him for stuff he does well, so be ready for some exciting vacations." Kathy giggles, and Robbie looks absolutely radiant, a big smile on his face.

"I'll need his last report card when he comes next. Everything clear?"

There is a single tear dribbling down her left cheek as she nods. She looks relieved and happy. "Okay, guys. You're back here in two days, Robbie. Plan to be here a couple hours each day you come. If it takes more than that, we can give your Mom a call and you can have dinner with us. Jason and Kenny are both ridiculously-talented cooks. Okay?" They both nod, and Kathy hugs me, a huge hug.

And then Robbie hugs me. "Thanks," he whispers, so as not to be overheard by his Mom. This boy is so funny. Sensitive and very self-conscious, like most teenagers. And very gay. If he thinks that his mother doesn't know, he's out of his fucking mind. Get on with it, boy. But he will. WE will.

"What was that all about?" Kenny asks after they've gone, as I come back into the living room where he's still bouncing the boys on his legs.

"Robbie's having some trouble...umm...adjusting to life. I'm going to help him," I say, patting my lap as Kai looks over. He comes at me like a shot, attaching himself to me. I stroke his back, and he giggles, and hugs me tighter. I love this boy more than the earth, and I'm apparently the only one who can resist tickling him. I just like to stroke his back, and he seems to like that, too, sometimes sucking his thumb, sometimes falling asleep on my lap, sometimes asking me endless questions. We're just very comfortable together.

"So, will he be back?" Kenny asks.

"Yeah, he'll be back a couple times a week for help with homework and encouragement. I might ask you to help him with math. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. No problem. He seemed a little...scared."

"Actually, that's very perceptive. He reminds me a little of Jason. He seems a little...overwhelmed. And very sensitive." Kenny nods. "Anyway, he'll be back the day after tomorrow, and then every Tuesday and Friday at 4:30. Don't be surprised."

"Okay." He smiles, and then giggles. "You gonna fuck him?"

"Jesus, Kenny," I laugh. "He's sixteen. No, I'm not gonna fuck him."

"Okay," he laughs. "Just checking."

"And why, in the name of god would I fuck him...when I can fuck...you?"

"Well, that's a good point," he says, tongue firmly in cheek. "When can we explore that option?"

"Umm...now'd be good," I reply with a wink.

We have this worked out. I have a flat-screen monitor in the bedroom, and cameras mounted in the rec-room. We can plant the boys in there with a favorite video, and they'll be self-contained for an hour or so, and we can watch them – glancing at the monitor to make sure they're okay. Right now their favorite video is "Charlotte's Web." They've seen it about a thousand times, but the minute you turn it on, they're rapt, complete engrossed. Kai just loves Wilbur, the pig, and happily rolls around on the carpet much as Wilbur rolls around in the mud. Kev is a little more daring, and is crazy about Templeton the Rat. In this version Templeton played by Steve Buscemi, one of my all-time favorite actors, whom I'd go to see in anything, including "Charlotte's Web." They're hooked before we leave the room.

"What do you want to do?" I ask, as we reach the bedroom, and then I conveniently seal my mouth to Kenny's, preventing him from responding. This is one long kiss as we slowly take off each other's clothes. One very long kiss. By the time we're naked, Kenny is mumbling, and we part.

"I'd like you to fuck me, please, but I'd like to keep kissing while we do that."

Kenny and I share a common trait. We both love to kiss. Not everyone does. A lot of guys find it way too intimate. I mean, after all, you're basically face to face. I personally find fucking a lot less intimate than kissing. I can only get into it, though, if I'm really in love with the person I'm kissing. I can understand why a lot of hustlers won't kiss. It's just about the most personal thing you can do. Kenny is the same way. He's been known to kiss Gary or Nathan in one of our five-ways, but doesn't like it, he's told me later. He'll do it if he has to, but doesn't enjoy it. The only ones he enjoys kissing are Jason and me, and with us he is just voracious, putting his heart and soul into every kiss. "How many people have you kissed?" I asked him once.

"You mean REALLY kissed, right? Not a peck on the cheek."

"Right. Really kissed."

He thinks for several seconds. "Umm...well, aside from you and Jase, Nathan and Gary, there was one other guy, a guy I dated for a while. It sort of creeped me out, though. I wasn't in love enough. I was still feeling self-conscious. You really just can't kiss if you're thinking about the fact that you're kissing. If you're self-conscious at all, it's not really going to work. You have to, sort of, lose yourself." This is an answer that had me grinning, because it reminds me how I feel about getting fucked. I have to be so crazy in love to let somebody fuck me that I'm totally lost in the act of it. My personality just disappears. I'm more or less the same way with kissing. The best kisses you have to replay after the fact, because while you're doing it, you're out to lunch.

And kiss we do, for nearly a full hour. At some point, in the middle of that, I lube him with lotion and enter him slowly, fucking him to the rhythm of our kissing. His moans are an aphrodisiac in their own right, and his tendency to unconsciously clench his sphincter muscles when you're making love to him means this won't last long. This kiss continues, and because I'm lying on top of him, he can't reach his dick to jerk himself off. He's entirely dependent on our fucking and the friction of our bodies together. Yet, he's the first to blast, and his orgasm, both the constrictions of his anus and the joy of knowing the joy I've caused him, sends me over the edge into my own powerful orgasm. Yet, never do we break that kiss. Finally, as we come down from our post-orgasmic high, we part, and Kenny is crying. "I love you, Tim. I love you so..."

"I know, baby. I love you too, more than I can tell you."

My first boyfriend used to tell me that I had to get him in the mood for sex, that he needed to be wooed into it. I'm the opposite. Sex woos me into love; it reminds me how completely I love someone. This isn't to say that I'd ever have sex to feel love. I have to be in love to have sex, totally in love. But sex does reaffirm that bond of love if it's there. I'm totally in love with Kenny, and sex with him leaves me awash in love. It releases the endorphins, or something. I'm just totally and completely head-over-heels. All I want to do is snuggle, but, alas, Charlotte is dying, and we have to get up and shower.

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/