Date: Sat, 27 Nov 2021 17:53:21 -0500
From: Richard McQueen <mcqueen.richarderic@gmail.com>
Subject: Makarovia? Where the Hell Is That!? Chapter 1 Northeastern University

Story: Makarovia? Where the Hell Is That!?

Chapter 1 The Freshman Year Begins

Author: Eric McQueen (mcqueen.richarderic@gmail.com)

Adult Readers, Sexual Situations, Sex

Freedom of expression is precious. To do that Nifty needs help. Your
donation is greatly desired. Give to https://donate.nifty.org/ or this story
ends and all the others! That would be a crime!

A young Southern man goes to a University in Boston. He meets another
student and together they begin a project for their grade. They fall in
love. The Southern young man finds out a secret about his project partner.

Northeastern University The Freshman Year

I drove up the East Coast, heading for my future. I was tired. I'd driven a
long way and was nearing where I hoped my future would begin. My car was
doing well cruising up Highway 95. Behind me was my home, Charleston, South
Carolina, and I had been through some big cities Washington, DC; New York,
even Providence. Now I was reaching Boston! But more
important...Northeastern University. It was just South of Boston, and the
best school for what I wanted. I wanted to bring industry into the
twenty-first century. I wanted to make them not only successful but
green. Economically sound as well as ecologically sound.

I was 24 and yes, I was late getting my college education, but I had some
setbacks after high school. My father had passed away some ten years
ago. Mom had gotten sick with cancer in my senior year of high school. So,
I stayed and helped her until she lost her battle with cancer. Add a year
to sell the house and close things up. Once that was done, I was told by
Mom before she died to spend the money and get the car and go start my
life. I had been accepted in several Universities, but this one was the
best for what I wanted to do. I was both anxious and nervous about it, but
mostly excited I began my life.

People can say it's what you know rather than who you know, but if I didn't
have Grandma, I would be in much sorrier shape than I was then. Let me
explain. My Grandmother was Katrina Sams. She was a ballet dancer. Not just
any ballet dancer, oh no...she was the Prima Ballerina for the Bolshoi
Ballet in Russia in her late teens and early twenties. She met my
grandfather and he helped her defect. Then she was the Prima Ballerina for
the New York Ballet Company. She was very, very good. When she was in the
New York City Ballet she had a friend, Carla. Carla and Grandma have since
put their ballet slippers up and retired, but Carla owned an apartment
building in the Jamaica Plain area of Boston I needed to be. Carla told
Grandma that normally, she didn't rent to college students, but as they
were friends, she'd bend the rules. See? In this situation, it was who
Grandma knew. That was where I was heading. I loved the new car; it was a
cherry red Cobra! Mustang! It had everything, including GPS. I was directed
to this old building. Old, but very nicely kept up. It was only two blocks
from the Northeastern campus. Surrounded by nice shrubbery and flowers, I
looked at it and loved its appeal. I had been told it had been a hotel at
one time but converted in the 1950s into an apartment building. It was very
nice.

I went in and looked at where I saw the manager's office was. Correction,
it wasn't an office, but an apartment. Carla lived there. I rang the bell
and in a few minutes, the door opened a crack. The chain clinked but
remained hooked to keep anyone from storming in. I saw a part of a woman's
face and one blue eye clearly.

"Hello, Mrs. Bowers," I said. "I'm Eric Richards. Katrina Sams'
grandson...she called..."

I jumped a bit when the door slammed shut and then thrown open wide. "My
god! Eric! It's nice to meet you!" The woman greeted as if I were an old
friend. She wasn't fat, but...pleasingly plump? Her hair was done upon her
head and blonde. Like I wouldn't doubt that was her real color? She was in
her sixties. Grandma was 72, and I remember Grandma saying Carla was ten
years younger. The floral dress wasn't ugly, but.... "Welcome to Boston."

I nodded. "Thanks."

"I haven't seen your grandmother in..." she thought. "Must be fifteen years
now. Does she still run that school?"

I nodded. "Still runs the school." Grandma opened a ballet school when she
and grandpa moved to Asheville, North Carolina, teaching local mountain
children ballet, but unlike Carla, Grandma was still trim and could still
stand on pointe. I will tell you now, I am not...and never would be a
ballet dancer. Not that I thought guys shouldn't dance ballet; that was
fine. All of the guys that did dance ballet were in great shape and do you
want to risk pissing them off? You might want to reconsider calling them
names or anything. They would and probably could kick your ass. Pointe?
That thing ballet dancers do, standing on the toes? I tried it at ten and
gave it up a few minutes later declaring it was just unnatural. Nothing
that odd and hurt so much could be a good thing.

"Okay." Carla reached in a got some keys. "I'll take you up. Now
understand, I don't rent to college students as a rule. Your grandmother
said you were twenty-four, right?"

"I stayed home after high school with a sick mother. I'm starting late." I
explained.

Carla looked with a face of regret and sympathy. "I'm so sorry. You're
grandmother said Betty got cancer."

I nodded. "She did."

Carla nodded. "Well, that says a lot about your character if you stayed
home with a sick mother. I don't rent to college students because I don't
allow those wild parties of any kind in the apartments. College kids can be
so loud and reckless. All of my tenets are young working men and women. A
lot of young lawyers and professional types starting out...most are
graduates from the university right here." She smiled. "Of course, you're
free to have anyone over you want, just remember to keep the noise down."
She led me through a nice lobby. I noted her gait; you could recognize a
ballerina by how she walked, just like Grandmother. The poise and gait were
drilled so deeply you just did it naturally after so many years. The
building's interior had a lot of polished wood and brass. The carpet was a
deep, dark red. There were stairs, also polished wood, but the deep red
carpet in the center where there was traffic. She led me to a little
elevator. "You'll be in 3C." She closed the wooden door and then the metal
gate door and pressed the third floor. "The elevator is old, original to
the buildig when was built in the twenties. I don't have the heart to
replace it. The whole building was done in the Art Deco style, so a lot of
wood and brass. There are times the elevator will stop working. Just be
aware of that."

Once on the floor, it was a short walk and she opened the door. "Here we
are."

It was indeed tiny, but there was only me, so no problem. It was a long
apartment, not that wide. There was only one window to the right in the
kitchenette/dining area. It was a furnished apartment having the small
table and two chairs were there to eat around, a little range/oven and a
refrigerator was there and the whole kitchen area was in the right
corner. There was an iron stove in the middle to the left of the
entrance. I assumed it was for heat. There was a couch/day bed that at the
moment was a couch. She explained it would expand to make a bed if I needed
more room and there was a desk in the middle area but essentially, it was
all just one room. A door that led to a long closet and another door at the
end of the closet to a bathroom. The impression I got was, they had some
room left, decided to add another apartment as an afterthought. Here it
was, the afterthought.

"This will do great, Mrs. Bowers," I said smiling at the room. It was cozy!

"You have a neighbor above, a lawyer, very quiet. A neighbor below, a
secretary. The divisions are sturdy, but noise can penetrate."

I nodded knowing what she was saying over and over. "Got it. No noise."

She smiled patiently. Then her hand stroked my face with loving
familiarity. "You look a lot like your grandfather. He was a very handsome
man. You've got his same black hair and brown eyes."

People often told me that. "I take it as a compliment." Then I smiled. "I'm
here to get a degree. Not to party, so we should have no problem."

Carla laughed as she knew better. "You come from Katrina, I can see that,
too. She had a wild streak, but I'm sure we'll get along fine." She handed
me the key. "There's a parking space labeled with your apartment
number. Don't park in any other space. If anyone is in your space, let me
know. Laundry is on the ground floor and there is another elevator toward
the back to bring your stuff in."

"I have clothes and my computer. That's it."

She nodded. "There is a cable service. I'll give you the number. They
provide internet service and TV."

Moving in was not hard. The elevator toward the back was a little bigger,
but not much. It took five trips to bring everything up, call the Cable
Company and get things in place. It was Friday, orientation was on
Monday. The thing about the Cable was, everything was already there, all
they did was activate it with my name. I had a credit card, so no problem
there either. Other than my car, my computer was the most expensive thing I
owned. It was a laptop with a docking station. I could take the laptop and
go, or when I was home, plug it back in and it expanded the memory, charged
the battery, and had a separate twenty-one-inch monitor. The monitor was
what I used to watch TV. The kitchen had some pots, pans, and limited
plates and silverware. I needed groceries. I searched for the nearest
grocery store and got some provisions. I was not wealthy by any means. The
money from the insurance policy Mom left me with, and the sale of the house
and property made most of my tuition and living expenses, but I would watch
it carefully.

Moving was not hard, but I was tired. So, I chilled out the weekend. Then
Monday came and I went to Orientation. There were those tables set outside
as it was still warm, Fall had not gotten here yet. I stood in line to get
my class schedule and syllabus. As the many students did the new student
thing, excited and making new friends. The campus was nice. There were
different schools for Fine Arts, Engineering, Law, and others, spread
across the few blocks. I did feel a little uneasy. I was a freshman, but
older than some of the juniors and seniors. All it took was one friendly
guy that handed me my schedule. The usual pleasantries and he sat back and
smiled at me.

"You sound a little Southern." He drawled his own unique accent heard
clearly.

I shook my head. "No, that's incorrect." Then I smiled. "I'm not a little
Southern, I'm very Southern. From what I'm hearing from you, you're
Southern, too."

He grinned. "I'm guilty. Where are you from, Eric Richards?"

I nodded. "I'm from Charleston, South Carolina."

He grinned. "Ted Dawe." He stuck his hand out. "Tuscaloosa, Alabama is
where I'm from." His accent was clearly Southern and his size and build
under his t-shirt told me he was a jock. Football would be my guess about
the big blond man.

"Pleased to meet you, Tuscaloosa." I shook his hand.

"The school is having a welcoming party, but we're having a Return Party of
our own on Friday. You should come."

I smiled. "But I'm not returning."

"One party with those..." he did finger quotes, "just out of high school
and on their own...group is more than enough." Ted chuckled. "The students
are older and you might feel more welcome there...come."

I nodded. "Okay. I will." I was thinking he was friendly enough and
likable. There was no better way to get to know people than a party.


But like most Ivy League schools...there was a very little preamble,
classes started immediately almost the moment you sat down the first
minute. I got a glimpse of my classmates. The usual jean clad late teens
and early adults of all kinds, all states, and cultures. My first class was
my Economics class and I was one of eighty students in that morning class
with one of those theater-like seating across the wall, the professor on a
raised section in the front and center behind a desk.

The professor, a balding man in his forties stated with a bang. "Welcome to
class. I've assigned partners for a project due at the end of the
term. That project will be a third of your grade. Let me state, no one is
going to hold your hand here. If the partnership isn't working, let me know
in the beginning and I will reassign you, but do it quickly. Be certain
that's what you want because you don't want to get a bad grade, not because
you don't think they're cute enough. No one will make you come to class or
pay attention. I will present the information. What you do with it is up to
you." He looked at some papers on his desk and held it up putting his
reading glasses on to read the print that was too small without
them. "There is one exception. Mr. Richards." He looked us over to see if I
was there.

I looked up. Why was he calling my name? This was day one and only the
first fifteen minutes into the class. "Yes?"

"It says here you speak Ukrainian?"

"I do."

"Fluently?"

"I have most of my life," I answered wondering why he was asking about
that. "And Russian." Thanks to grandma.

"We have a student, Peter Ivanov who may need help. He is fluent in
English...conversationally, but some terms and translation may be
required. He might do fine without you, you might not know some of the
terms. That's why I assigned you two as partners to help him find out. Do
you object?"

My only problem was...who was he? "No."

"Fine." The professor said. "Peter is there in the back." He pointed to the
back of the class.

I looked back to find out who he was. One person stood out from the
others. He was dressed in black with black hair that could use a comb, not
to mention style. He was pale. The other thing was he was older than the
others, like me. He looked about twenty-five. My heart ached for him...he
had very bad acne. Not just a few zits, but his face was covered in them.

Then the professor went on.

It was after class when I approached Peter. He was talking with another
man. The other man was in his thirties, close-cropped hair that was
thinning at the crown. This man Peter was talking to had a look that said
military kind of. I heard Peter say, "I can go and come on my own to
class." But it wasn't Ukrainian...not exactly. It was a lot like it,
but...for instance, the same sentence. If you heard, a lorry overturned on
the m5 but I had to get petrol to get home versus a truck overturned on
Highway 5 and I needed gas. It's the same language, it was the words and
accents were different. The message was the same. So, he spoke a similar
language as Ukrainian, but different enough not to be, but I understood
him. I approached Peter. He was nearly six feet to my five feet and ten
inches. "Peter?"

Peter turned questioningly.

I greeted him in Ukrainian. "I'm Eric Richards. I was assigned as your
project partner."

Peter nodded. "I told them I can speak English." He said in heavily
accented English.

"I'm sure you can," I said in English. "The professor just wanted to be
sure there were no translation problems." Then I switched back to
Ukrainian. "Personally, I don't get a lot of chances to use Ukrainian. Only
my grandmother and mother spoke it."

Peter smiled a little tightly. "I am not Ukrainian. I am Makarovian."

He wasn't rude, but...there was something else going on. "I'm afraid I
don't know where that is."

"Not surprising. Most people don't." Peter said. "It's a small country. We
are west of Ukraine, east of Hungary, Poland, and Serbia. North of
Romania. Most of the world has forgotten us." He said a little bitterly.

I nodded. "That explains the accent, sort of a mixture of all of those
countries." Then I sighed. "We were assigned a project. Do I go back to the
professor and tell him we're not doing it together?"

Peter closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "I apologize. I shouldn't have
been rude. Demands are..." he was thinking and nodded. "Of course, we'll do
it. No problem."

I felt a little better. "Meet at the library? Say Wednesday? Eleven
o'clock?"

Peter nodded. "I'll be there."

He was interesting. The truth was he was a paradox. What he wore showed no
real style, he wore loose, baggy clothing, mostly black. His eyes were a
grayish green. If it weren't for that acne, he would be very good
looking. There was something about him that told me he was trying to make
himself invisible. We met that Wednesday decided on what we were going to
do. Then Friday came and the party for the returning students.

The party was in a frat house. There were students all over this
house...and of course, flowed with beer. I didn't really drink. There was
nothing wrong with drinking I just didn't care for the taste of beer, but I
took one and that would be the only one I would sip on.

"You came!" I heard Ted's Alabama accent behind me, his arm around a pretty
young brunette, a good foot, and a half shorter than Ted. Ted pointed at
me. "Amanda, this is Eric Richards. Eric, my fiancé, Amanda."

"Hi, Eric." She greeted.

"Gotta be sure all Southerners are welcome," Ted explained.

We exchanged some other topics, where we were from, what we were majoring
in. The party was not much more than a high school party. Only the students
were old enough to legally drink here. They were rowdy and made
messes. That was universal. I met some of the others that were in Ted's
fraternity. All jocks. They were on the football team. Nice guys...with the
exception of one. He might be a nice guy, but tonight, he was drunk. Some
people that drink...they get a little nasty or pushy. A space opened beside
me on the couch and suddenly a guy leaped from behind it and landed next to
me.

"I don't remember you." The guy said.

I sipped on the beer. "That's because this is my first year."

The guy was nice looking enough. Dark brown hair and well built. His
accent, even drunk said he was not too far from home here in
Boston. "Oh. Where'd you transfer from?"

"I'm not a transfer." I shook my head. "I'm a freshman."

"Really?" He asked. "I thought you'd be a junior or senior."

"I started late."

He finished the beer he had. "Better late than never." Then he caught me
completely by surprise. "Ya wanna have some fun?"

I didn't understand, but he was leaning in on me, toward my face. "What?" I
asked backing up a little.

"Are you into girls or boys?" He asked. "Maybe both? I like guys."

I knew I was in a state that was the first to legalize gay marriage. I
appreciated that he felt free to say he liked men. "I don't even know you."
I objected.

He shrugged. "We can solve that problem." He pointed up. "My room's
upstairs."

I nodded. "I appreciate the invitation, but no..."

"No!?" The guy looked incensed! "No?" I swear he looked like he would hit
me. Clearly, he was drunk, but we weren't alone, so I wasn't scared of
him. Everything about him said, how dare I say no!? He was starting to get
up. A large hand came on his shoulder pushing him back down.

"He said no, Brad," Ted said firmly. "Male or female; no means no."

"Get off me!" Brad jerked his shoulder away and got up quickly.

"You're drunk, Brad," Ted said. "Just stop it."

"I am not drunk!" He got up and swung at Ted, who merely dodged the swing
and blocked the other punch.

"You are if you think you have a chance in hell of fighting me and
winning." Ted chuckled; then looked at his friend seriously. "Now, knock it
off."

Brad walked away in a huff.

"I'm sorry, Eric." Ted began embarrassed.

"Don't tell me." I chuckled. "He's a nice guy when he's not drinking. I
wasn't too worried."

Ted chuckled. "No. He's just more tolerable when sober. He's always an
ass."

Ted was bigger than most everyone; including Brad. I liked Ted. He was a
good guy.


The week began again. That Wednesday I met again with Peter. That man was
with him again, but I didn't want to pry. Well, I did want to pry, but I
didn't want to offend him. Peter was always....so formal. He didn't seem to
have a lot of confidence or just had low self-esteem. It was as if he
couldn't allow himself to relax. It seemed a struggle at times to get him
to smile, but he would if I kept trying. Then that afternoon he asked the
first question not related to our project, but personal.

"How is it that you can speak Ukrainian and Russian?"

He was reaching out, I thought. "My grandmother was born and raised in
Kiev." I answered. "She taught my mother and they taught me, thinking it
would pay off one day."

"But your mother was born in America."

I nodded. "Grandmother defected from the USSR fifty years ago."

"So, she was a citizen of the Soviet Union. What was it she did?"

"She was Prima Ballerina with the Bolshoi." I explained. "She, with the
help of my grandfather, defected while they were on tour in New York City."
I watched him nod as he listened. "Tell me. Why are you here?"

That question surprised him. "I wanted to be educated in the West."

Now, most Eastern Europeans lumped all of the Western Countries in one
whole. That includes Great Britain, Germany, France, and the United States
in that same whole. "So why America? There are other good schools in
England, Germany, and other countries. Why here? Why this university?"

Peter almost looked embarrassed. "I see programs from American TV. I see
how they walk, talk....so proud. I think if I can bring just a little of
that back with me." He sighed. "My country has been ignored since the
beginning. Makarovia was independent once; then part of the Soviet Union;
then part of Ukraine. We aren't a very wealthy country. We have iron and
mines. All of which is about to change. My government wants to be sure we
can handle it."

"Okay," I said slowly. "That sounds good, but why here? Why this university
in Boston, Massachusetts, in the United States?"

"I research, it's the best school for what we need." He shrugged. "To
interact with others from the West, I need to know how to be from the
West."

I nodded again. "You want to become like an American."

Peter nodded. "Yes."

"Don't you think you need some help doing that? Like from an American?"

Peter bowed a little ashamed but then nodded. "I suppose I do."

"Could you relax a bit?" I asked smiling at him. "You're a nice
guy. Peter. I like you. Let's start being...I don't know...friends maybe?"

Peter's eyes grew. "You like me?"

"Why shouldn't I? I've seen nothing I don't like. You're a bit reserved,
but you're nice."

He looked very uncomfortable now. "I'm not really here to make friends."

"Then you could study online." I didn't understand that. "Okay. Being here
tells me you want to make friends. Would you like to have one?"

Peter chuckled. "Sure."

I threw my hands out. "Then, I'm your man!"

Now Peter laughed. "I don't know...."

"Oh," I grinned. "You don't like me, is that it?"

Now he was really laughing. "I like you just fine...but..."

"Your boyfriend won't approve?" I dared to traverse the tricky subject.

"My boyfriend?" Peter asked surprised.

"That guy who always escorts you to school and takes you home. I've seen
him every day." I explained. "He drops you off and picks you up..."

"Yuri!?" Peter asked. "He's not my boyfriend...." He seemed to be thinking
what to answer about that, almost guarded. "He was sent by my country...to
protect me."

I nodded. "So, can we go out and do something? As friends?"

"What do you want to do?" Peter asked hesitantly.

"Well, for starters. I'll help with the American part. You gotta ditch the
wardrobe. It's too...Goth. Not that Goth is bad, but..."

Peter looked down at his clothes. "Too Goth? What is that?"

"You look like a vampire, Peter," I said. "But since the sun is out and
you're here out in it, you can't be."

"I'm not." Peter chuckled. "What should I wear?"

"Jeans and a regular shirt?" I stood up. "Tell Yuri we're going
shopping. Can you do that? Then we'll get something to eat."

Peter rose, thinking about something he was working up to say to Yuri. Then
he shrugged. "Okay."

I didn't mean to, but I overheard him talking to Yuri. In Russian, don't
forget I understand that, too.

"Это вся
причина я
здесь." Telling Yuri that was the whole
reason he was here. Peter stressed in Russian. "Now stop it. You are my
guard, yes, but I'm going out with a friend I made here. I will be
fine. You're my guard, not my jailer."

"So where do I pick you up?" Yuri asked.

That's when I turned the corner. "Моя
квартира." I said
in Russian for my apartment. I gave him the address. "Don't tell me...he
has a curfew."

Yuri didn't know I could speak Russian. He was startled. "No, he doesn't,
but I am here to keep him safe."

I nodded. "Okay. I'm taking him to Walmart and the Mall. How is that
dangerous?"

Yuri looked flustered. "I don't know where those are."

"He's free to come and go, right?" I asked.

"Of course, but..."

"You watch him all the time," I said. "Be with him everywhere?"

"No." Yuri sputtered. "He is unfamiliar with this part of the world."

"Well, this is how to be becomes familiar. You've heard of GPS?" I
asked. "I didn't know where they are either, but I found them. He'll be
fine. You've got a cell phone?" I asked Yuri.

"Yes," Yuri answered.

"He'll call when he's ready," I said.

Peter smiled as I pulled on his arm and headed out. As always, I walked to
school. That's why I chose the apartment I had. I didn't have to
drive. Peter was a guy and liked the car I had. They just appeal to our
testosterone. It did mine. So, we drove to Walmart and there I pointed at
many pairs of jeans and shirts.

"You can afford this?" I asked. "Do you want to do this?"

"Sure." Peter nodded.

"How tall are you?" I asked.

"One hundred and eighty-five centimeters," Peter answered.

I looked at him in disbelief. "I forgot. The metric system. Okay." I got a
pair of jeans and held them up to him. "Try these on."

"Where?"

I pointed to the booth.

It took a few tries, but we got the right size. Once that was done and we
knew what size, we got several pairs of jeans and trousers and some shirts.

"What is your budget?" I asked. "Can you afford this?"

"I have the money; I just haven't gone out and bought."

I nodded. "Good. We'll stop at a couple places at the mall, get you some
good clothes. In case you date." Yes, I was testing him.

"Date?"

Now I was really not understanding. "Is there another language I should
use? Date. You know, you see someone you like, ask them on a date to get to
know them better that could lead to more?" I looked at him. It wasn't that
he didn't understand me. It was as if the concept of dating never occurred
to him. "Oh, Peter, haven't you ever been on a date?"

"I haven't been able to," Peter explained. "My life has...other things."

"I'm sorry." I realized I had no business judging him. "I didn't
know. Well, now...if you want to...you can." Then I looked at him again. I
wondered if perhaps he couldn't. "Can't you?"

He shrugged. "Who would date me?" He asked sadly.

I was saddened by this admission. He wasn't a bad looking man. He did have
very bad acne, but he wasn't an ugly man at all. I had begun to like him
very much. "Now, why do you say that?"

"Look at me!" Peter growled pointing to his face.

I sighed sensing it may have played a lot on his self-esteem. "Okay. Let's
talk about that. I am your friend. We agreed. Have you seen a doctor?"

He nodded. "I've done everything. Those creams and watching what I eat."

"Peter, there are many kinds of acne. Yours could be treated."

"I've had them for years. I was about twelve when they first came." Peter
admitted. "I've used many creams and other products."

"It's a medical condition," I said. "I don't know how you're covered,
medically, but can you afford to see a doctor?" Maybe they didn't have
access to good medical care in Makarovia. They send him overseas for a good
education, but no medical? Something wasn't adding up.

Peter shrugged and then nodded.

"Okay, there are a lot of different kinds of acne, the creams may not be
the right medicine," I said slowly. "We'll make an appointment for you."

Peter looked at me doubtfully. "Where?"

"This is Boston. There are medical schools all over. I'm sure someone has
an answer." I assured.

As I said, he was a paradox. He was shy to the point he was nearly
invisible. Yet, when confronted he was well mannered, almost regal. I was
puzzled about his government sending a guard with him. Why? And I didn't
want to admit it yet, but I was beginning to be attracted to him.

At the mall, it was almost like he had never been to one. He was astounded
by the food selection. We ended going to three places! One Cajun, one Asian
and one for dessert, but the longer I spent with him, the more I liked
him. We ended going to a couple of clothiers, Hot Topic, Abercrombie and
Fitch. It was while he was trying on the pants and shirts, I noticed he
wore things loose, giving no clue he was in good shape. Athletic even. Then
we went back to my apartment where he called Yuri. Now, I was curious about
his country. I didn't know it. So, I internet searched it.

Makarovia was a country that was in the Carpathian Mountains. It was a lot
of mineral resources, mostly iron. As he said, it was independent, then
taken by the Ukrainians; then when the Soviet Union liberated Ukraine from
Hitler after World War II, it was used for the iron. When the Soviet Union
dissolved, it was left floundering for a place in the world. It was a
country about the size of New Hampshire. Hitler had promised to free it
from Ukraine, but ended up using the Makarovian people as laborers to get
to the iron. Makarovia was a place that harbored the unwanted in a series
of caves that came about because of the mining. Jews, Gypsies, and
Homosexuals were hidden in these caves. It was a Monarchy. There was a
picture of the royal family, but it was ten years old. The king was Olek
Ivanov and about thirty in the picture. I sat back seeing the name. But
Ivanov was a popular name. Then I looked at the Queen, how she was very
beautiful and about ten years older than the reigning king. She was the
dowager queen. She was the king's widow. Olek was her stepson. She was
Russian. Alla Ivanov. They sat on thrones, beside her was a young man who
was fourteen, maybe, at the time. Now I was a little uneasy. The picture
wasn't the greatest quality, but the teenager had the same black hair as
Peter. And they did look a little alike. Blowing up the image on file
didn't help clear it up. Was the Peter I knew, this Peter in the photo? He
was from Makarovian! It couldn't be.

When Peter and I met again. I didn't say anything then, but looking at this
man, I was more suspicious. He needed to trust me and he would have to tell
me. We went to the doctor, who told him...

"This is one of the worse cases I've seen." The doctor said. "If not
treated, it will scar." The woman smiled. "But we have a treatment. It will
take a few weeks to clear, but it should do the job." The acne spread down
his neck to his chest and back.

I watched as the blemishes began to fade over the next two weeks, but Peter
started to...relax. He liked spending time with me.

"Okay." I grinned. "You're looking so much better. Now, let's get a
haircut."

Peter touched his hair. It was short, but again, no style. "It's not long."

I nodded. "And has no shape. Let's go."

When the girl cutting his hair turned him around, I knew I was in
trouble. He was gorgeous.

"Wow." I managed after seeing the results. Who was that sculptor that fell
in love with his statue? I didn't create Peter, but I got him help. Was I
doing that? Pygmalion?

He looked at his reflection. "Does it look okay?"

"Yes," I answered. "You are a real lady killer," I said in English.

He blushed, and with his pale complexion, it was too easy to see. "I am not
killer of ladies." He said in English with the accent that was
Russian...Ukrainian....Makarovian...whatever! He had an accent!

I gave him a friendly shove. "You know what I'm saying."

Peter liked coming to my apartment. I would often fix dinner and we'd have
a good time. I was wondering if he was Peter from Makarovia...the
prince. He liked what I cooked. Hamburgers! I was liking him more and
more. He liked spending time with me. What's more important, he was
relaxing more and more with me, letting me see the real Peter. Then one
evening, after we were clearing up what we'd eaten. We were relaxing on the
sofa.

"Peter, we could do something at your place," I suggested, and yes, I was
fishing. Was he that Makarovian prince? He had the opportunity to tell me,
but...

He got a little stiff, going back to the Peter I'd first met. "That
wouldn't be....convenient."

"Why?" I looked at him and decided to risk it. He wasn't telling me on his
own. So, I asked. "Because you're royalty?"

Now he sat up straighter. "What?"

"Are you Prince Petro Ivanov?" I asked.

He bowed his head. He didn't want to reply and got up, but didn't leave.

"If you're not, fine," I said. "If you are, how is that a problem?"

"Please don't tell anyone." Peter urged.

I shook my head. "Why? You're a prince!"

Peter shook his head. "I wanted to just be a guy here."

"Why?"

"Everyone expects things from me after they find out. I was raised in a
secured home, taught by tutors. I would like to be just Peter."

I nodded. "I can't understand why, but I didn't live your life. Anyone with
a computer could work it out. I did! It will be found out and broadcast on
the news."

Peter walked over. "But until that happens...when I first met you, you
didn't know who I was, did you?"

"Other than Peter Ivanov, no."

"And you liked me then, right?"

I frowned. "I did. I still do."

"We're not like the royal family in England. I'm no Prince William of
England." Peter said. "I'm more like a poor Prince Harry. My brother is
King. We are a poor country, but now, we have something a lot of countries
will want. The repercussions are hitting us now. The money will be no
problem soon if we can keep our independence. That's the problem."

My eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"That's one of the major reasons my brother wanted me to get an education
in the West. That's why he's negotiating with your President and the Prime
Minister of England now." Peter explained. "If word gets out, Ukraine will
want us back, and we don't want to go back under them again. They didn't
want us before, now that we have something they may want part of...they
will take us back." He shook his head and laughed, but with no humor. "I
mean, take us back or just take what we have and not even ask for it."

I was unsure what to say, but... "So, hiding the fact that you are Petro
Ivanov was for security reasons?"

I saw him look very unsure of what to say. "We have to be careful." He
said. "My brother Olek is king and he couldn't come for the education. So,
he sent me here to be educated here." He sat heavily. "I made friends with
you...you didn't know who I was, I wanted to keep that friendship as
friends between Peter and Eric." He looked at me. "Do you understand?"

"I see." I thought a moment and then shrugged. "Well, nothing's
changed. I'll keep it a secret. You're still Peter, to me."

Peter visibly relaxed and grinned. "Thank you."

I grinned at him. "So, do you want another hamburger?"

He was a prince. Well, that sort of put a damper on my hopes about Peter
and any future with him. He might have been receptive, but there would be
no future. How could there be? I was assuming the same rules I had learned
applied for this situation were just...it wasn't done, but what did I know?
I knew there were plenty of royals that were homosexual...but kept quiet
about it. Usually. What was it they have in Makarovia that was now so
important?

The weeks were passing and I couldn't help it. I liked Peter. What I saw
was even as his face...and I assumed the rest of his body as I hadn't seen
his body...was clearing of that horrible acne he had. I figured with that
one hurdle being taken care of his self-esteem would improve. The others at
Northeastern were noticing Peter's improved appearance. He was a handsome
man, but Peter preferred to spend his time with me. He would come over and
study at my apartment. I didn't mind, but...could I be just a friend to the
man?

He was active. He was doing something...hockey probably. Ice hockey,
thinking where Makarovia was on the map. They had cold, cold
winters. That's what I read.

I was a runner. Track and field were what I preferred and I did run often.

Yuri was still watching Peter carefully but was giving Peter more freedom
and space.

I was curious often, but I really didn't pry. If there was something I
needed to know, I might mention it, but let the other person tell me if
they wanted to. Peter was beginning to drive me crazy. He was only
irritating in that...he liked me, I could tell. Did he make any moves on
me? No. Still...if his time with me said anything to me. He enjoyed my
company. He would help me financially...as in he would bring over groceries
and even cook...only twice. After two meals he cooked...I insisted I
cook. Was he my friend because I knew who he really was? Did he feel safe
with me? Sure. I could accept that.

I was getting frustrated. It was a small apartment and we often would
touch, whether we wanted to or not...it would happen as we passed each
other. He had the nicest smile and my thoughts were telling me to touch him
more! Damn it! Usually, I'd have to take care of it myself to get my
erection down after he left! When he brought some more things I needed to
wash, he brushed my arm. He was sending lightning through me. Did he do it
on purpose? This had to stop one way or the other. I let out a frustrated
groan and turned quickly. "This may end us as being friends, but...I'm gay
and I'm really very attracted to you!"

He wasn't offended. He knew! "I thought you could tell I was attracted to
you. I like you very much." Then he got a little bashful. "My life has been
sort of complicated and...I wasn't kidding about never dating. In a
situation like this, I didn't really know what more I should..."

I nodded, but right then...I didn't really care. I pulled him close and
kissed him pretty intensely, pressing my lips hard against his, which only
took not even a second before he was kissing me back, just as intense! His
arms went around me pulling me even closer to him. I felt his hands travel
over my back as mine was going over his, and I liked what I felt there! He
was warm, solid, and getting warmer as he was breathing harder. There was a
surge I felt. Desire and yes, I was getting light headed. This was
dangerous because now, I didn't want to stop. I pushed him slightly away as
I caught my breath.

"We need to talk." I managed in a croaking voice.

"You want this, don't you? You kissed me." Peter asked and I sensed the
Peter I'd met when we first met come back, the less confident Peter.

"I do!" I almost whined. "Oh god, I really do, but...how will this work?" I
asked. "Are we just fooling around? You may have obligations I wouldn't
know about." I looked in his grey-green eyes as I saw the apprehension
there. "I'm not saying no, Peter, but...if we do this, there will be
emotions involved for me." I sighed. "I'd love to get to know you that
way."

Peter nodded. "Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

I waved at him. "But you're more..." there was no other word,
"complicated."

Peter nodded a little. "You see that." He said sadly. "I would like to have
someone in my life, but it will be complicated." He let me go and started
to walk away. "Being just Peter was great! You and I became friends without
the swinging pendulum. I can't tell you what's ahead because I've never
done this before." He sat on my daybed. "I was hoping the someone in my
life could be you."

"You've never done this before? You've had sex before with a guy."

Peter chuckled. "Not a lot, but there were...a couple in the past, but
nothing serious." He looked at me. "I was hoping...it could be serious with
you." He said hopefully.

I came and sat by him. "So, you weren't planning to just slap a condom on
and just...do it."

Peter looked at me surprised but smiled. "I can..." he chuckled, "just do
it, but...I would welcome the opportunity to find out if there could be
more. I think there could be."

"You think we could get serious?" I asked a little...well...those of us
that are gay is becoming more accepted, but... "What do you think we can be
other than secret lovers? You can't marry me."

Peter nodded. "Not until someone proposes first." He smiled.

"Peter, you are in a royal family!" I said like that would be enough.

"So?"

"So!?" I repeated. "You said that things were about to change in
Makarovia. Why?"

Peter looked now like he was battling something else. "It is going to
change." He turned to me. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone..." he
sighed. "We have uranium; a lot of it."

I gave a shrug. "It's found other places. I can see where this would be
profitable for Makarovia."

Peter held a finger up. "If we are kept independent. That's the problem."

"Let's go back to the whole gay thing before we go to the other problem," I
said. "You can't be out!" I stated.

"Out?" Then he nodded as he thought what that meant. "Oh, yes, out. My
family knows I'm gay. I am out."

"That can't be okay with them!"

Peter looked confused. "It doesn't matter if they are okay with it or
not. It is just the way it is. You said you looked up Makarovia on the
Internet. You saw our history, didn't you?"

"Hey, I read over it, but I don't remember seeing anything about it being
okay for a prince to be gay in Makarovia." I growled. "When you first said
where you were from, my first thought was, Makarovia? Where the hell is
that?"

Peter chuckled again. "You read that we harbored all the unwanted that came
to us, from other parts when Hitler was doing his ethnic cleansing?"

"Yes."

"We hid everyone...including homosexuals." He shrugged. "When the war was
over, if they wanted to, they were welcome to stay."

"You welcomed them."

"Sure." Peter nodded. "Homosexuals, Jews, Gypsies...everyone that wanted to
stay; were welcome to stay. We didn't just tolerate them. They became a
part of Makarovia. Life was hard for a while and many did stay, but it
wasn't easy. The USSR came in and...we were left alone...as long as we kept
the iron coming." He looked at me hopefully. "I don't know what life will
be like with me." He confessed. "But if you're worried about my brother or
mother not accepting you because we're gay...forget that. It is. They know
that. We'll either date...like each other enough to explore the possibility
of something more serious, or go our separate ways." He rolled a little
closer. "To see if it can work..." he hesitated. "How about you attend a
Makarovian function?"

"Like dinner or something?"

Peter nodded. "If you can weather what's happening..."

"I'll go as your date?"

Peter nodded. "Are you willing?"

"Why not?" I threw my hands out. "It must be here; it can't be in
Makarovia."

Peter shook his head. "No, but it won't be here. We're meeting with some
other political heads. It's in Washington, D.C....at the White House."

"The White House." I hated that I kept repeating what he told me, but this
was...blowing my mind! "The President of the United States' White House." I
didn't want to know, but I'm sure my face told him what my mind was going
through. "The President of the United States."

"We've asked for this and some other countries to help us. They would have
access to what we have if they help us keep it!" Peter said. "This dinner
is part of that to get support." He looked at me curiously. "Is that a
problem?"

"It's not a problem, but it's a very big deal!" I said. "There will be
security questions and clearances..."

"You're not a criminal, Eric," Peter said simply. "You're not a
terrorist. You'll pass. Will you come with me? I'd like you to be there."

This was happening so fast. I was getting a bit overwhelmed. "It's formal."

Peter nodded. "It is."

"I don't even have a tux!"

Peter shrugged. "I know there's a place here where they rent them." He
could see I was...in a state of disbelief. "I trust you, Eric. I've told
you things no one knows except for those in government know about." He
moved again close to me. "I like you, Eric. I'm falling in love with you,
but if it's too much..."

This time, I slowly leaned in kissing him gently. I looked at him. "I will
go with you," I said softly. "With you," I said. "I'd love to be with
you. This is just a huge responsibility. Forgive me, I am just having the
issue with that."

"It is." Peter nodded; his face so close I could feel his breath. "I asked
you because of how I feel about you. I think you can handle it, or I
wouldn't have asked."

"You want a relationship with me," I said to be certain.

"I hope we can have one. I believe we will if we both want it." Peter
nodded. "We can try."

"You're willing to move on with this...relationship?"

He shrugged. "We sort of have to." He grinned. "We kissed. It's kind of an
obligation."

I pushed him back on the daybed. "Want to do kiss again..." I smiled, "and
maybe something more?"

"Definitely." Peter kissed me again, slow and with desire again flowing,
not only through me but through him. Due to having gotten him new clothes
that were...tighter fitting, I felt the front of his pants grow
harder. "Touch me," Peter said softly.

I didn't need to be asked again as I was pulling on his shirt to get it
off. I never really got a look at him outside of clothing, but I wasn't
disappointed as I gazed over his bare chest. He worked out or something. He
hadn't spent a lot of time in the sun so his skin was a little pale, but
his chest was lightly covered with very black hairs that showed up in sharp
contrast. I sat up more and pulled my own shirt over my head.

Peter smiled at me. "You're so beautiful." He said as his hand went over my
equally bare chest. "I am feeling...more affection for you." Then he sat up
a little. "You have what we need?"

"Well, I have lube...for..." I said did the motion with my hand indicating
jerking off is what I used it for. "I even have condoms...in the hope I
would find someone to use them with."

Peter chuckled. "I know about..." he did the same motion I had given
him. "I'm clean. No diseases or infections. You don't have sex with anyone
else, you don't sleep around..."

"I don't have any diseases or infections either," I said. "You want to make
love?"

Peter smiled a little softer. "I do." Then...Makarovian was similar to
Ukrainian, but he used a term I had to gather the meaning. "Do you wish to
отримувати
любов or ай
любові?"

"Was that bottoming and topping?" I asked in English to be sure.

Peter's eyes grew humorous as he had to think about what I meant. "Yes."

"With you? Both."

"I do, too," Peter said pulling me down more and kissing me with desire
sending more sensations through me.

"I do have one thing," I said smiling as I unfastened my pants.

"Oh?"

"It's kind of a fetish." I grinned and lowered my head down, raised his arm
and stuck my nose in his armpit and darted my tongue in his hair there
making him yelp a laugh as he was apparently ticklish. "Will you let me do
that?"

Peter chuckled. "You just did!"

"Can I do it again?"

He nodded. "Sure. You're not into pain or anything, are you?"

I frowned. "How could I ever hurt you?" I shook my head. "No, I don't get
any pleasure from pain, giving or receiving."

He nodded, smiling with relief. "It's been a few years since I had sex with
anyone."

"Same with me," I confessed. "We'll take it slow. This will be our first
time together. Not sex. I want to make love with you, Peter. We won't just
be having sex."

"That's what I want."

I got up. "It's getting cold out," I said. "I'll start the heater up and
get the lubrication."

Peter sat up and began unfastening his own pants. "We'll need heat a
little..." he looked at me, "I want us naked a while."

I laughed. "I want to see you, too."

The heat on and lube, I had removed the rest of my clothes as I walked
back. I saw his eyes as he looked at me.

"You're so beautiful," Peter said as he stretched out naked over the top of
my bed which he had pulled out to give us more room. He had a trail of
black hair that seemed to spill out of his naval and trickled down to a
patch of thick black hair at his crotch. I knew he'd be uncircumcised; I
wasn't sure what country did and didn't, but I knew the part of the world
he came from, didn't. What I also saw, was now his penis was more than
ready. He was aroused and so was I. We took it slow, enjoying our bodies
before we began to make love. Using our hands, tongues, and mouths to get
it started. He was going to make love to me first. People who can't see why
or how men make love to each other just don't know. There are sensations
only a man can feel that are so powerful. Without getting too graphic, when
he entered me, I felt every inch of him slide into me and he was not a
small man in height or the size of his penis. Slowly he began pumping and I
felt...we were connecting. When finished, he said he was falling in love
with me, and I felt I was falling in love with him. I felt him cum in a
mighty burst. Then he simply got in position to have me do it to
him. Again, slowly. He was loving what he was feeling, it was on his
face. Our kisses were still consuming, but as I felt my nearing climax, I
told him. "I'm falling in love with you, Peter," I said and came deep
inside him. Nature was finished and things were less urgent now. We had
done one of the most important thing one person could do with another. Our
kiss now was more...letting the other know how important what we'd done was
to each other.

"Can you call Yuri in a minute?" I asked softly. "Tell him you're staying
the night with me? I don't want you to leave."

Peter shook his head as he smiled. "I don't want to leave either."


When Yuri came to the apartment this time, I was waiting with Peter who was
holding my hand as the car stopped.

"Yuri, we need to get a couple of tuxedos. I've found a couple of places
online." Peter instructed. "Let's go."

Yuri just looked back at me questioning.

"He knows, Yuri," Peter said. "He found out by looking up Makarovia on the
internet. He even knows why we're going to the White House. It's fine. He's
my date." He held our joined hands up.

"Why did you let me take you to Walmart?" I asked him as we started off.

Peter smiled a little sheepish. "Because I didn't know where to go or what
I should look like, but as you said; I wanted to be like Americans, now I
do." He sighed again. "This money thing is new."

"Why?"

He looked at me. "When we found a large deposit of uranium. Now all the
countries are going to want in." He explained. "We were offered incentives
to go in particular directions. The United States offered the best."

Now it made sense. "I see." I nodded. "Why the whole man out of sorts
routine at the beginning?"

Peter looked at me questioning. "What are you talking about?"

"Were you always looking and acting like you were out of sorts and had no
esteem."

Peter looked a little embarrassed. "Olek was the one everyone looked to for
answers. He was the playboy. Not me. I was out of sorts. It was no
routine."

"How could anyone stand by and watch you be in misery?" I asked. "You were
miserable."

He chuckled. "I'm not miserable now." He shook his head. "You saw me. I was
pathetic." He grinned. "Until you showed up, I was lost. Our Economics
Professor did me a big favor, pair us up. You just wouldn't give up. You
drew me out. You made me laugh."

"I had to," I said simply. "I couldn't be partnered with you and let you be
miserable! I understand this deposit gives you power and potential money,
but someone had to see how bad it was with you."

"I was nineteen when they found the deposit." He explained. "It's a huge
deposit, bigger than the one in Australia and very powerful. Mining it
won't be a problem; we've mined iron for generations. This is very deep. My
mother was appearing with my brother asking the United States and England
to help protect it. To protect us."

I shook my head. "You're not understanding me. I'm not talking about
Makarovia. I'm talking about you." I sighed. "I hear what you're saying
about what your brother and mother are trying to do and they were busy. I
understand it's important. I'm talking about you." I looked at him. "You
tell me you were lost. You wanted to fit in with the West. Where was your
family? Didn't your brother or mother see this?"

He sighed. "It wasn't all their fault. It was mine, too." Peter said
sadly. "This is new for us. I spent all of my life in Makarovia. In the
palace. I lacked the social exposure and I refused to be with other
people. Being the next in line for the throne of a small kingdom, I was
never made to be out with other people. I just sort of studied and well..."
he looked away. "I was hideous to look at and I felt safe hiding."

"You were not hideous." I was trying to understand. "They had to see you
were not happy. I could see it right after we met."

He shook his head. "Olek was always away, doing something...the same with
my mother. Mother is still very much the Queen. Olek is King and they were
just better at being out with others. That was their job. Not mine."

I decided to drop it. I might never understand. "Look, Peter. I like you,
really, I do." I confessed. "But where will a relationship with me get you?
You're a prince. I'm no one."

"You are not a no one." He shook his head. "When you asked me about being
my friend, you didn't know who I was other than Peter, correct?"

I nodded.

"Why?" He asked.

"I liked you. You are a nice guy."

He nodded. "The fact that I was pretty well covered in acne didn't bother
you."

I nodded again. "That wasn't your fault. It's a medical condition. Which,
by the way, has gone away now." I ran a hand over his unblemished face.

He chuckled. "Again, thanks to you. You saw the problem and made me deal
with it."

"It just bothered me, because it bothered you," I explained.

Peter smiled. "It bothered me. Not you. So, why help me?"

I shrugged. "To give you the means to get out, make friends. I could see it
was holding you back." I grinned. "And I was attracted to you."

"Even with the acne?"

"That's beside the point." I shook my head. "That shouldn't be a hindrance
to who you are. I saw that. I liked the you I saw."

Peter nodded again. "That's why you're here. You liked me before you knew
who I was; you helped me without asking for anything in return, but
friendship." Then he smiled. "And for how a relationship would be if there
is to be one with me. Would you object?"

My head was spinning. We hadn't even dated, not really other than the
student union, Walmart, the mall, and my apartment. "I would be less
interested if you came at me as Prince Petro Ivanov. I'd be fine if it were
just Peter. I'm fine with you." I shook my head again at the unexpected
chain of events. "Pete, I came here for an education, not to enter a
relationship at all." Then I looked again at him. "It's not that I wouldn't
want one with you, I just wasn't looking for one, but this
was...unexpected."

He kissed me gently. "I wasn't expecting a relationship either."

"I don't know," I admitted. I held my hands up. "Let's just....get through
this one date." Then I chuckled, "though it would be hard for anyone to top
a dinner party at the White House for a first major date."

"I need you," Peter said softly. "We've spent several weeks together. I do
like you a lot and we are falling in love. We made love. I would have asked
you out before." He shrugged. "But this isn't my country; I didn't know
where to go at first. My experiences have been limited socially. This isn't
my President, but I have to make a good impression for my family and for
Makarovia. Just help me not make a fool of myself."

"Aw, Peter," I said quietly. "You won't make a fool of yourself. You're
kind and you certainly know what fork to use when." He chuckled at
that. "Why do you think you would make a fool of yourself?"

Peter looked very uncomfortable. "I always fear I will. My mother is
beautiful and been around the world. My brother is a diplomat and is very
handsome. He is King. I was always in the shadows. I just need...a friend
to be with me. I feel different with you. More confident."

I nodded. "I will be. I'm with you."

Peter smiled and rested his head against mine.

He had some things he was dealing with about his family. I didn't know if I
wanted to meet them.


Boston did have some exclusive shops. The one we went that had every major
designer formal wear for men.

"Makarovia is paying for my tux," Peter said. "They will pay for yours,
too. You are going to a function for Makarovia, asked to by me. We have to
pay for yours."

It was fun picking out a tuxedo, but I hated that they were paying for
it. I told you, he was a paradox! It didn't make sense. He was shy to
everyone, except me. He was well mannered but lacked confidence. The truth
was, saying what we did to each other about falling in love, was not just
an utterance in the heat of passion. I was falling in love with him. I
didn't want to hurt him, but I didn't want to be hurt either. We looked and
did decide on a couple of tuxedos though. Sharp looking, too.

We only had a week before the dinner was scheduled. And I had to give some
representative of the U.S. Government my information for security
clearance. The Thursday before we left, I was picked up from my apartment
and got my first look at Peter's home while here. It was a townhouse
downtown. A pretty ritzy neighborhood.

Peter opened the front door for me. "Here's where I live." He said looking
to see what I thought.

Well, it was no embassy, but very tastefully decorated. And while not
sprawling, it was nicely arranged room wise. There was an entrance circular
black and white marble-floored foyer that stood two stories. A chandelier
hung overhead and a staircase spiraled up to a recessed portion above. To
the left was a living room. A hallway at the end of the foyer went to other
rooms. Peter walked with me down the hall to a large kitchen where a man
was busy with gathering some pots and preparing to make a meal.

"Boris?" Peter greeted the man, about forty. "This is..." Peter smiled at
me, "my very special guest. Eric Richards. He will be joining us for dinner
and breakfast." Peter said in Makarovian.  The man didn't even blink. "Very
good, sir." He smiled. "Will there be a change in dinner time?"

Peter shook his head. "No. The same time as usual."

"Welcome, Mr. Richards." The man bowed slightly. "I pretty much take care
of the house. If you need anything, just ask."

I nodded. "Thanks."

The townhouse was three stories, but Peter led me up to the next floor and
into a room. Now, this was a huge bedroom. The center on the far wall was a
king-sized bed.

"Well, this is where I sleep." Peter smiled. "You wanted to see the place
once before. What do you think?"

It looked like it came out of one of those magazines like Architectural
Digest. The only thing that said it was his was his computer at the
desk. "It's nice." I turned to Peter. "I guess this isn't really home, is
it?"

Peter looked surprised. "No...but why do you say that?"

I shrugged. "Nothing here says, Peter. Other than the computer, there are
no pictures of home, family or even a hockey stick in the corner."

Peter chuckled. "A hockey stick? How'd you know I played hockey?"

I grinned. "You come from a mountainous area of some cold mountains. I did
research. Ice Hockey is often played there, what else is there with ice?
You look as if you do something. It gets cold there, so it just made
sense."

Peter nodded. "You're right. This isn't home, it's not even rented. As long
as we pay the bills...utilities...your government allows us to stay here."

I looked at Peter. "Can I ask a personal question?"

Peter's eyes grew. "You're asking that now?"

"You said you've not been able to date," I said quietly. "But you've had
sex."

Peter nodded. "With two people." He walked to the sitting area in front of
a nice fireplace and sat on the sofa. "My first was when I was eighteen. He
was a guard."

I nodded. "Only one for me." I sat in a chair beside him. "Chuck. He was a
football player in high school." I looked at him and asked, "Have you ever
been in love?"

Peter shook his head. "I've been in like, but not in love..." he smiled at
me, "but getting there now. It feels very different with you."

I smiled. "I was," I confessed. "The reason I asked, as I heard you say you
hadn't dated, so I was wondering how you knew you were falling for me?"

"I was drawn to you shortly after we met. I longed to touch you." Then he
looked at me with a leering smile. "You gave me many erections I had to do
something about."

"That's just lust."

"So?" Peter asked. "That's what we're supposed to feel for another human
being."

My eyes widened. "And how do you know that?"

"I read!" Peter shot back. "Knowing what was supposed to happen..." he
kissed me lightly, "and having it happen...is different. So, what happened
to Chuck?"

"In the United States, it is getting easier for gays to live. Things are
more tolerant, but even here....a football player that's gay? They aren't
welcome. That was Chuck's feelings. I loved him, but..."

"And you want to be sure the next time." Peter nodded. "And being what I
am, gives you doubts."

I shook my head quickly. "No, no doubts about you at all. I just don't want
to be a problem with your family...or your country."

Peter nodded. "Makarovia was always repressed. That's why lives were
accepted there more than anywhere else. In fact, Boris and his husband have
been married almost fifteen years."

"He's gay?" I asked surprised.

"And married to Yuri." Peter smiled. "That's why I was surprised when you
asked if Yuri was my boyfriend. Even when the Soviets were in power, we set
policy in Makarovia. Homosexuals have always been welcome. In Boris' and
Yuri's case, they fled Russia to Makarovia for that reason. Jews and others
were also welcome, but few Jews stayed after World War II. Marriage was
never really a question in Makarovia. An adult could marry another adult
and it was legal, in Makarovia."

"But not when it was part of the USSR."

"No." He shrugged. "But we never really were a part of either Russia or
Ukraine as long as we gave them our iron. They left us alone."

I shook my head. "It seems Makarovia is more tolerant than the United
States."

"Maybe." Peter nodded. "But nowhere near as powerful."

I sat forward. "I just don't want there to be a problem when this comes
out." I motioned to him and me. "About us."

Peter got closer to me. "We..." he motioned to include both of us like I
did, "...are fine." He smiled. "You don't believe me when I said Olek and
my mother don't really care." Now he did look confident. "I believe they
will be very happy I've found someone." He pressed his lips to mine again.

He's never been on a date...but he was a damned good kisser!

"All this time, you've worried about my family. What about your family? How
will they feel?" Peter asked.

I waved that off. "Grandma's known I was gay since I was sixteen. My
parents are dead, no siblings. No problem." Looking at him, I felt the
swell in my heart.

Peter nodded. "Good." Then he looked back at the bed. "Do you want to stay
here tonight?"

"Why won't I?"

Peter all but stuck out his bottom lip almost disappointed. "But I like
your apartment." He said in not quite a pout.

"This is nice," I said.

"I just sleep here. I'm more at home at your apartment."

"We'll go back," I promised as I got up and pulled him back toward the
bed. "How long until dinner?"

"A few hours." Peter smiled. "Why?"

I looked around the room. "Do you have lube?"

He nodded as he grinned and did the motion telling me he jerked off with
his lube, too. He opened a cabinet by his bed and pulled the bottle out and
then tackled me and dove his lips into my neck as he began nibbling as his
mouth and lips travel over places on my neck and was pulling my shirt up as
I was pulling on his. Yes, I loved Peter. I had no doubt now.