By John Yager
This is the twenty-ninth chapter of an ongoing series. I want to again thank everyone who has written to me about this story. I'm continually surprised and pleased by the response the series has prompted. All your comments are read and I try to respond promptly to each message. If there is a delay in my response it's usually because I'm traveling.
As I have said from the beginning of this series, my intention in writing Absolute Convergence is to deal with issues which have impacted and influenced the lives of gay people in the period between the 1960s and the present time, or put another way, from "Pre-Stonewall" days to the era of "Don't ask, don't tell."
Many of you have asked if this story is, at least in part, autobiographical. I wouldn't be honest if I said it wasn't. I do want to make it clear however that I'm not Rob, Rick, Steve, Sammy, Roger Bardwell, or any of the characters who will enter the story in later chapters. Readers have suggested just about every character in the series as my counterpart. I'm not any other specific character in the story and none of them, individually, is me.
Absolute Convergence has raised many more questions than it's answering and I certainly don't claim to know the answers. It's my hope that by raising questions I may prompt more consideration of issues facing gay people in the USA and throughout the world.
Readers continue to commented on the religious strains in the story and to ask me questions about my own beliefs. As I have said in the introductions to previous chapters, I am a Christian layman, but not a trained theologian. I have asked for advice from several clergy friends, specifically an Episcopalian priest and an Episcopalian deacon, as well as a Roman Catholic priest and a Rabbi. After receiving suggestions and encouragement from all of them, it is important for me to say that the opinions expressed are my own.
Andrew has continued to give much needed proofing and editorial help, for which I am sincerely grateful. I could not post chapters as quickly as I've been doing without his invaluable assistance.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Except for the references to actual historical events, any similarity to actual persons or occurrences is entirely coincidental. This is obviously a work of gay erotic fiction. If you shouldn't be reading such material, or if such material isn't to your liking, please exit now.
This work is copyrighted © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
All the stories I've posted on NIFTY 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, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.
A relationship is very different from casual sex. I guess that's obvious but it's a reality which begins to become clear as you become more and more involved with another person.
There are the big things, of course, and for Steve and me, those weren't overtly sexual. As I became increasingly aware of his own history, as I heard his stories about his family, his childhood and his high school years, I began to see so much which made his personality understandable to me. From the beginning it was clear that Steve was a very competitive guy. He was competitive in sports and games and he was certainly competitive in sex. But behind the seeming aggressiveness was a sensitive and loving guy.
Once, late at night, as we lay in each other's arms after especially energetic sex, he began to tell me about his younger sister and how he'd come to feel very protective of her.
"You know Sharon is two years younger than me, right?"
"Yeah, you've told me that much," I said. I was half asleep and not really listening that carefully at first as I lay on my right side with my head nestled on his chest. I slowly stroked his hard abs, loving the scent of his body. His warm breath ruffled my hair as he spoke.
"When she was fourteen I was out with her once, going for a walk around the neighborhood with our new puppy. The dog, Biscuit, is a light sort of tan poodle, one of the mid-sized ones, not a standard, but not as small as the toys. We still have her, I guess she's about three years old now.
"Anyway, we were walking Biscuit and these three girls from Sharon's grade at the school she'd been in the previous year, came by on bikes. They called to her, some comment about basketball. It sounded like normal kid's stuff to me but Sharon blushed, not just a little, but a bright red flush as if she was really embarrassed. I didn't say anything and the girls just rode on by. A few minutes later they came by again, heading the same direction, so I guess they'd gone around the block.
"The second time they came by they really slowed down, almost to a stop, and one of them said, `How's Miss Loren's sweetie?'
"Another girl said something about loving those long showers and the third one said, `You know there's a name for girls like you.'
"Sharon was bright red again and then, once they'd gone by, she started crying, not a hard, sobbing cry, but a slow trickle of tears down her cheeks.
"I was completely confused. I'd figured out by the time I was the age Sharon was then that I was a lot more interested in guys than I was interested in girls, but it had never once occurred to me that Sharon might be Gay too.
"We just kept walking and after a few minutes I asked her if she was okay. `Yeah, I'm okay, but kids can sure be cruel sometimes.'
"`Do you want to talk about it?'" I asked.
"Sharon was silent for quite a while but then when she did speak all she managed to say was, `Steve, I'm so confused.'"
"Do you think she may be a lesbian?" I asked.
"Who knows. I guess she's just figuring herself out, the way we both had to do."
"Is she really into sports?"
"Yeah, she is. Everyone in my family is big on games and she has a lot of talent. But what's so fucked up is the assumption everybody seems to make that if a girl is an athlete she's probably Gay."
"Or if a guy is into art or music or anything domestic he's probably a fairy."
"I hate that word."
"Fairy?" I asked. I wasn't a word I used often but it was a common term, along with fag and queer, in the late 1960s.
"Yeah," Steve said and then fell into a long silence.
"You sleeping, Steve," I eventually said as I started to move over off him.
"No, just thinking," he whispered as he pulled me back onto him. I relaxed against him again and then he went on. "Do you think of yourself as Gay, Rob? I mean is that how you'd define yourself?"
"Yeah, I guess it is. I've never had sex with a girl, but you know that." When he didn't immediately respond I asked, "What about you?"
"I don't know. I mean I've fucked girls and enjoyed the hell out of it. I guess I could get married and have kids but I could never be happy without what you and I have together."
"You mean you might want to eventually have a wife and family and still have a boyfriend, too?" The idea amazed me.
"Yeah, I guess. My family expect me to have a family, you know, to perpetuate the family name, but I could never do what Rick has done, just abandon a relationship with you." he paused again and then added, "I don't like the labels and don't think they work. There are too many people, men and women, who walk on both sides of the street."
"Bi-sexuals, you mean," tossing out a word I'd just encountered for the first time in a psychology text.
"Yeah, `AC-DC,' `Fruit and Nuts.'"
"I thought you didn't like labels," I said, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs.
"I don't, but they're out there."
"The Bi-sexuals or the labels?"
"Both, you idiot," he answered as we both drifted off to sleep.
Every Sunday, without exception, Steve went to
church with me. We sat side by side in a pew near the back and during the
sermon our hands would move together, first only touching, but then after
a few weeks, his moving over mine, or mine over his. We were never obvious
or intentionally covert about it. We just touched in that easy loving way,
and never once did anyone say a word. One elderly lady who often sat by
us would smile at us as we left in a rather conspiratorial manner. We would
return her smile and say good morning and she'd be on her way
After the second service he'd attended Steve asked the priest if he could take communion.
"Are you baptized?" the old man asked.
"Yes, as an infant, but in the Presbyterian church."
"You are a believer?"
"Yes," Steve said, his voice a little weak. I stood close beside him, surprised that he'd be taking that step, but very pleased that he felt inclined to do so.
"Well, then," the Rector said, "we would welcome you."
The following Sunday Steve walked down the aisle with me, knelt at the altar rail and watched covertly out of the corner of his eye, following my actions as I held my hands out to receive the host and then to gently touch the chalice as it was moved to my lips.
Each Sunday after the service ended we'd walk to lunch, sometimes in silence, sometimes as Steve asked endless questions about the service, the liturgy, the scriptural passages that had been read, the sermon, and I attempted to answer him.
The fall term was winding down and I was having very mixed feelings about the Christmas holidays. By then, of course, Steve and I were having sex on a very regular and very frequent basis. Despite the lack of a room together we were getting together at least two or three times a week and, like most eighteen- or nineteen-year-old guys, we were both always as horny as a pair of monkeys.
I was looking forward to seeing Joyce but I had some concerns about seeing Rick and Deb. I'd had a few letters from Ted Tucker and always answered them promptly and honestly so he knew about Steve but had made no comment about our relationship. The big problem was being away from Steve. The thought of being separated and not having the opportunity for sex with him was driving me a little crazy.
We talked about trying to get together over the holidays but it was clear that it would be very difficult and probably impossible. Both of our families had plans and his was going to be spending a week of the holidays in Florida. In the end we just had to agree we'd "make do" while we were apart.
My last few days in Oxford were spent finishing up some long papers and I spent more time in the library than in my room. The last day of term was the Friday before Christmas but Dave, my roommate, finished early and went home on Wednesday night. Despite the privacy, there was no way Steve and I could get together that night. I was in the library until it closed and then continued working in my room until almost three Thursday morning. I dragged myself out of bed and made it to breakfast, as I'd told Steve I'd do.
"You look like shit," he said as I came into the dining hall.
"Thanks," I said, "as if you looked much better."
"Well, some shit looks better than other shit, Mr. Ballinger, and you look like shit from hell," he grinned as we headed for an empty table with our trays. It was the usual jock breakfast of ham, three eggs, a bowl of oatmeal and five glasses, two of orange juice and three of milk. "Tell me we are getting together tonight."
"We're getting together tonight," I replied as I downed the first glass of juice. "If we don't I'm going to arrive home committably crazy tomorrow afternoon."
"I'll come to your room," Steve said.
"How nearly finished are you?"
"I have a few hours work on my last paper. That's all I have left."
"It will take me several hours in the library and I won't be able to start until after my workout this evening."
"Just get back to your room as early as you can,
Babe," he said, his voice low and sexy. "I'll be waiting for you."
It was after eleven when I left the library. Walking back across the campus I could see no light in my room. Steve had a key and I'd hoped he'd be there as he'd promised. There had been a light snow, not enough to really amount to anything and it was gone by the middle of the day on Friday. But in the middle of that cold December night Ole Miss looked like a Christmas card.
"Don't turn on the light," Steve said softly as I came into my room. He was standing by the window, looking out into the quad. He would have seen me coming from the library. I shut the door quietly and double locked it. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light coming in through the window I saw that Steve was naked, his body illuminated by the cold light reflecting off the white landscape outside.
I walked across to him, leaving my books on a chair as I went by. I ran my cold hands over his hard shoulders and felt him shiver slightly at my touch. I bent forward and kissed his neck, still saying nothing.
"Undress for me," he said as he turned to face me, his back now toward the window. His cock was already partially erect, standing out at a steep angle from his body.
I backed away and hung my parka on the chair with my books. I pulled my wool sweater slowly over my head and tossed it onto the pile. I was unsure what Steve wanted and unsure how to do a real striptease, but slowly, never taking my eyes off him I unbuttoned my shirt and then removed it, sliding one sleeve down over my arm and then doing the same with the other. I wasn't wearing an undershirt so my torso gradually came into view. When my chest was bare I stopped a moment, just looking at him in the dim light. His body was backlit by the glow from the window and seemed to emit its own radiance. He was fully erect, his cock standing out hard and proud from his body, the massive head of it bobbing slightly with his heartbeat.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, just as I had thought to say the same thing to him.
My hands came up from my side to loosen my belt and then to unbutton my slacks. Before I could go further Steve moved across the space between us and knelt in front of me, his face level with my crotch. He reached up and took my hands, gently moving them back to hang loosely at my sides. He fumbled for the tab of the zipper and slowly lowered it, letting my slacks fall down my legs to form a puddle of khaki wrinkles around my feet.
He ran his warm hands over my belly, then up to my chest, stroking, fondling, finding my nipples and gently pinching them, rolling them between fingers and thumbs until my moans were continuous.
He rose up, still in a kneeling position, but with his body raised so his mouth could reach my chest. His hands moved down to my briefs as his lips closed over my left nipple, the one he knew sent signals directly to my cock. As he sucked it, rolling it between his teeth, his hands slid my briefs down, releasing my cock, which sprang up, fully hard, thrusting against his chest. We were both moaning now.
I struggled with my shoes, moving one foot against the other without much success. Steve lowered himself back down until his head was level with my crotch and his lips began to caress the wet, bobbing head of my cock.
"Please, Steve," I moaned, "help me get my shoes and socks off and get rid of my slacks and briefs."
He abandoned my cock long enough to roughly pull my shoes off and then pull my slacks and briefs off as I lifted first one foot and then the other. As soon as I was truly naked, his mouth again attacked my cock, taking it in as far as it would reach, until the head of it was lodged in the tight recesses of his throat. As he worked my cock with his mouth, his hands came up to knead the muscles of my ass, pulling me even deeper into him.
It was over in moments. I hadn't come in several days and there was no way I could last with him on me like that. I groaned deeply and my hips thrust forward, fucking his face as I shot a massive load of my seed deep into his throat. My legs trembled with the strength of my climax and I leaned forward against him, needing his support.
I slid down, kneeling against him, kneeling together, feeling my breath return as he held me.
When I'd rested a little I put my hands on his hips and tried to coax him up into a standing position before me so I could do for him what he'd just done for me.
"No," he whispered.
"Yes, Steve, I want you."
"Not that way."
"Do you want to fuck me?"
"No, I want you to fuck me," he said, his voice little more than a low growl. I was surprised.
"Why'd you blow me first then?"
"So you'll last longer. I want it slow and hard, Rob. Please."
He moved over against my bed, still kneeling, his legs spread, his chest lying across the covers, his hands grasping the other side. I looked at him, his body positioned to take my cock.
"Not like that," I said, grasping his shoulders and lifting him up.
"On the bed, on your back. I want to watch you, I want to see your face."
He complied, gracefully lifting himself onto the bed and positioning himself as I'd asked. He spread his legs and I knelt between them. I leaned over him, my hands splayed on the bed either side of his chest, and lowered myself until my full weight rested on him. My lips found his and he opened to me. My tongue invaded his mouth, darting from one side to the other, then as deep into his throat as it would reach. I caught faint echoes of my own taste, my own seed and was turned on even more by it.
Steve's arms were around me, his legs twining with mine. We were groaning together, gasping, his breath filling my lungs as my breath filled his. I broke away, lifting my lips from his, moving down to kiss his throat, to find the place where the long vain pulses and biting him there. I was enraged with lust, wanting all of him. If I'd been a vampire I'd have sucked his life from him.
I moved down again to attack his right nipple. I bit it cruelly, feeling his body tense and his moans come in short, sharp bursts. I took his lift nipple into my mouth, clamping it between my teeth and making it sting with the force of my bite. He was groaning, wanting more.
I moved down to take his pulsing cock. The huge, swollen head of it still intimidated me but I took it in one swift decent, driving its bulbous knob deep into the tight passage of my throat. I held it there, resisting the instinctive need to gag, forcing myself to relax, to take him, all of him. My eyes were wet but I managed it, swallowing again as I came to terms with his size.
I felt Steve tense, felt his cock pulse, felt the sudden torrent of his seed as it jolted from him, flooding my throat, pouring down into me. His chest lifted off the bed, his arms and legs clamped around me, holding me in willing submission.
Slowly we both relaxed and I pulled off him, finally
able to taste his seed as the oozing head of his cock slid over my waiting
tongue. We were both still fully erect, our cocks, deprived for days, as
hard as velvet covered steel.
I lowered myself to his balls, licking, biting, sucking them. He was trashing on the bed, his body driven by a lust as strong as my own. I lifted his legs, shoving them back cruelly against his shoulders.
"Hold them there," I growled and he complied. I`d upended him, exposing his ass to my sight and touch.
His pale crack was hairless and the bud of his ass pulsed and winked at me like some marine creature responding to the tide. I knew he'd be immaculately clean. Always before sex we showered together or, as that night, before coming to me he would have showered alone, running his soapy fingers deep into himself, preparing himself for me.
I dove into his ass, forcing my open, gaping mouth over his bud, devouring him. His moans were constant now. I rammed my hard, wet tongue into him, feeling him yield to me, open to me. I pulled back a little to run my wet tongue around his pulsing ass, leaving him slick and ready. I jammed my tongue in again, reveling in the sweet salt taste of him, fucking his gaping ass with my tongue.
"Please, Rob, please," I heard him moan. His voice came from a million miles away. I was lost in the wonder of his body.
I pulled back, looking up at him across the landscape of his body, between hard, muscular legs, over rippled abs and his hard, peaked chest.
I rose up, still a little dazed, then regaining my sense of things, and supporting myself with one hand, I reached over him to my bedside table and took a tube of petroleum jelly from the drawer. I repositioned myself, kneeling between his legs and then lifted them onto my shoulders. His eyes were dancing in the soft light.
With one greasy finger I circled his ass, spreading the slick salve along his crack, then gently pressed into him. He opened to me with ease, emitting a long sigh. I pressed my finger further in and twisted it, coating his hot channel with the lube. When I felt him relax I pulled out, added more lube and pressed in again with two fingers, slowly repeating the process until I felt his muscles relax still more. We'd done it often over the last few weeks but the process was always a new adventure.
Steve was moaning, moving his head slowly from side to side. He was beginning to lift his hips off the bed, trying to press himself onto my fingers, to force me deeper into him. By the time I'd worked three fingers into him his thrusting had become continuous. I knew it was time.
I removed my bunched fingers and moved my cock to Steve's ass, pressing firmly and steadily against his pulsing bud. Slowly, easily, I slid full length into him. When I was fully in I leaned over him, again bringing my lips to his and lowering my full weight onto his body. A long, deep sigh came from us, deep from within our chests, a sigh of contentment and fulfilment and love.
Steve and I had learned to make love slowly. It was easier when we'd both already experienced one orgasm. We just lay like that for some time, my weight on him, our bodies locked together. It was Steve who first initiated movement, rocking gently beneath me. I responded slowly, letting him establish the rhythm, letting him lead, in a sense, even though I was fucking him.
He lifted his pelvis and forced my cock still deeper into him. I responded gently at first, loving the way our bodies bonded, the way they moved so naturally, so instinctively, so willingly together. He lifted his powerful body, I would thrust; lifting, thrusting, feeling the waves of pleasure, feeling the universal throbbing, the rhythm of the tide, which is in some way a response to other cosmic rhythms, the movement of planets and the cycles of the moon.
"Oh, Rob," he moaned when I freed his mouth. "Oh, Rob."
His body rose to meet me, I thrust down to meet him, aware of the coordination of our muscles, feeling the heat, the power of his arms around me, his legs drawing me down into him. I felt the majesty of our powerful chests as my body moved over his.
"Oh, yes, Rob, yes."
I moved up a little, forcing his legs back still
more, rocking his body up into a seemingly impossible bend, exposing his
ass to the slowly accelerating speed of my thrusts. I was driving into
him now with a steady, relentless force, a controlled force, the force
of a trained athlete, knowing we could sustain this speed, this strength,
for as long as our needs demanded.
"Oh, god, Steve," I heard myself moaning.
I was as deep in him as my cock could reach. The muscles of his ass were contracting in spasms around me, in the hot, damp confines of his bowels. I was driving into him with as much speed, such force as my own body could generate. There was no way either of us could sustain that degree of effort and pleasure for long. We were both groaning, a constant, deep, animal sound which began in the depth of our bodies and came from our mouths as a pronouncement of our passion and our love.
"Oh, Rob," Steve moaned again as his body convulsed. I felt the hot magma of his climax jolt from him, searing my belly and chest. His orgasm set off my own. I felt my cock erupt deep in him, bombarding him, filling him. There was no barrier to stop it, to hold it, to prevent it, that part of me, from becoming part of him.
I collapsed onto my lover, felt my body meld with his, felt his seed become the glue which made us one.
We dozed. We barely slept. I felt his warmth around
me on that cold night as the world outside turned white and crystal. As
the sky hung gray and dark above us, we lay in each other's arms and celebrated
To be continued.