This is the fifth and final chapter of a new Absolute Convergence sequel.

While this story is being added to the existing Absolute Convergence file, it constitutes a self-contained narrative. I've given this sequel the subtitle Tahoe Shores for reasons which will become clear as the story unfolds. While it will be helpful for readers to know the original Absolute Convergence series, in which all the principal characters were introduced, this story should be enjoyable as an independent story.

Absolute Convergence made its first appearance in January, 2001 as a series which eventually ran to a total of eighty chapters, the last of which was posted in January, 2004. I never anticipated the series continuing for so long and I am still amazed by the incredible loyalty of readers who stayed with it, or with me, from the beginning.  In the last two years I have appended several sequels to the original story, this being the fourth such addition.  Each of them has consisted of five chapters.

I am also appreciative of those newer readers who have contacted me from time to time to say that they've discovered the series and worked their way through the collected chapters.

I'm always glad to receive comments, questions, criticism and encouragement and hope to continue hearing from you. I try to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it's only because of the pressures of work.
Andrew continues to give me much needed proofing and editorial help for which I am sincerely grateful.

The author holds exclusive copyright (© 2006) to this story. It may not be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the author. It is placed in the Nifty Archive under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on other site or in any form without the written permission of the author.

All the stories I've assigned to NIFTY Archive can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists. If you'd like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, previews of upcoming stories, and other news and information, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.

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Both William and I returned to LA the following Tuesday.  His flight from London had arrived an hour before mine from Memphis and he was waiting for me at the baggage carousels.

"There's an NSB car and driver waiting to take us home," he said, giving me a hug.  Kisses would wait until we were in the privacy of the limousine's rear seat.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"No, actually, I just got through customs."

We found our way through the crowds to the pick-up area and quickly spotted the stretched Lincoln.

In the back seat, behind deeply tinted windows, William drew me to him and our lips melted together.  It was a wonderful kiss, slow, tender, and reassuring.  I knew I was home.

The driver slowly worked through the bumper to bumper traffic, continuing east out of the airport and onto Sepulveda, avoiding I-401, which didn't seem to be moving.  A little further north, near the Marina, he began angling back west and finally onto Lincoln.  He stayed on it into Santa Monica and then did an odd little jog on Pico and over to Palisades Beach Road and on to the Pacific Coast Highway.  It was an odd route but the driver clearly new LA.  He avoided the worst of the traffic and got us home in record time.

Along the way, however, as we drove by the Santa Monica Beach, I saw a new condo going up where an old apartment building had stood twenty years before.

"See that place over there," I said to William, pointing to the construction site.

"Yes," he responded with little interest.

"The only time I ever had really anonymous sex was there, with a guy who picked me up on the beach."

"When was that?" he asked, now interested.

"Umm . . ." I stalled, trying to remember.  "Twenty odd years ago, I guess."

"So why are you telling me now?" William laughed. "That was before you met me."

"I know," I smiled.

"So?"

"Well, it was before we met, William.  I went through some rather promiscuous times back then, but I've not done anything like that since.  I've not had sex with anyone but you, and that's the way I want to keep it."

"Touché," he said softly, taking my hand.

"It really threw me when you said it wouldn't bother you if I'd wanted to have sex with Rick."

"I know," he whispered, leaning over to gently graze my ear with his lips. "I'm sorry I said it – it was a bad idea."

"Saying it, or having sex with Rick?"

"Both, but I should never have suggested it."

We were silent for a minute as the driver waited for a light to change at Chautauqua.

"In retrospect," he went on, "I didn't say you SHOULD have sex with Rick, I only said if you did, I'd forgive you."

"That's any better?"

"No."

"I've never wanted to make love with anyone but you, not since we first met."

"I know that.  I feel the same way."

"Good." I paused, waiting a moment, then added, "don't ever suggest such a thing again."

"Okay," he said, squeezing my hand.

"Till death us do part?"

"Absolutely," I smiled.

He kissed me again and I hoped the entire incident was truly behind us.

The driver pulled up to our home in the Palisades and helped us carry in our bags. I saw William slip him a twenty as he headed back to the big car.  The man was on company time but good tips never hurt in LA.
 
 

That night William and I made slow, easy love, the kind of sex which only comes when you know your lover's body as well as you know your own.  In some ways, I figured, I knew William's body even better than I knew my own.  I could only see myself from the front, the rest in bits and pieces.  His I had explored a thousand times, tracing the curve of the little indentation on his back above his buttocks, the little valley where opposing muscles meet and form a cleft point down to the deeper, larger cleft below.  I loved that little valley.  I was like a landmark on a well known trail, marking the way to some infinite vista, pointing toward home.

We lay in each other's arms for an hour or more, our lips and tongues exploring, going over every familiar part, our hands roaming without barrier or encumbrance, checking, reclaiming, possessing.

Eventually we began to want more.  Just as I was about to ask William to fuck me, he whispered in my ear, "I want you in me."

Either way, him in me, me in him, it was all the same.  We'd been together so long, knew each other so well, that power and dominance had nothing to do with it. Our joining was about connection, communication, love.

I rolled over to fetch the lubricant from the bedside table and proceeded to gently open and lubricate him for my entry.  I felt his sphincter muscles relax and moved over him, pressing his knees up against his chest.

"Yes," he moaned as my cock slid slowly into him.

Our bodies were such a perfect match.  I felt the heat of his body surround my shaft, as it had done a thousand times before.  I felt the hardness of his belly as my own body pressed against his.

"Yes," he moaned again when I was fully in him.

"Yes," I agreed, smiling down at him.

Our eyes met, full of love, full of joy at being together again, full of the easy comfort of being with the one person in the entire world with whom I knew I belonged, to whom I knew I belonged.

The cadence was established easily. We knew each other, each other's bodies, each other's rhythm.  It was like an old song sung again, every note within an easy range, the melody at once simple and complex, at once joyful and with a power that ravaged our collective soul.

Yes, I thought, I wanted no one other than William.  I wanted no other body, no other passion.  We were a couple, bonded in every way, so easy together, so loving in the comfort of our joining.

The rhythm quickened.  My thrusts into him became more powerful and more urgent.

"Yes," William groaned.

I came suddenly, more quickly than I'd have wished, but with such force that I felt as if my being was flowing into him.  I knew it was.

We rested in each other's arms.  His chest was sticky with his own release.

We dozed, feeling the sudden need for sleep.

Jet lag and physical fatigue, the comfort of being there together in our own big bed, the cool evening with its gentle ocean breeze; they all combined to lull us like some sweet sleeping potion.  We slept deeply, soundly until awakened sometime after dawn.

Camilla, our maid, called to us from the open door.  She had been with us for over ten years and we had watched her grow a little plump, a little settled on her slippered feet.  She knew us too well to be perturbed by the sight of our rumpled bed and our naked bodies tangled together in an impossible knot.

"Good morning, Mister Amstedballinger," she called, her voice warm with affection.
"Welcome home."

"Good morning, Camilla," we responded in unison.  In her mind we were one.

The day began with coffee on the terrace, eggs and toast, fresh orange juice and a bowl of fruit.  The papers, the Los Angles Times, the New York Times, the London Times from the previous Sunday, were all spread around us, fluttering in the easy breeze.

"Friday we should go up to Tahoe and take a look at the progress on the house," William said.

"Sounds good.  When can you get away?"

"Early, I told my crew they'd not see much of me this week.

The new place, begun as a cabin, had grown into a four thousand square foot house and threatened to become something more.  I expected William to start calling it a lodge, our lodge, Tahoe Shores.  I remembered with fondness that embedded in its fabric were bits of that first place we'd shared, the now vanished apartment at Alvarado Court.

"More coffee, Sir," Camilla said, coming from the kitchen with a fresh steaming pot.

She filled both our cups and disappeared into the house as an offshore jet flew north, creating a momentary drone as it headed toward San Francisco or Seattle.

"Happy?" William asked, his voice soft, caring.  He laid aside the newspaper and took my hand across the little table.

"Yes," I smiled, "content, utterly content."

The end