THE PAIN was really just too much.

Too much.

What had he been thinking?

Had he really thought coming here would help? Taking his vacation here, where he and Gene had been happy for so long? Was it in any way a good idea?

Foolishness. It was complete and utter foolishness.

The world was gray without Gene. Today, it was literally so. The sky was gray, the heavy clouds dark and swollen. The ocean looked like tarnished silver and the beach stretching away to his left and right was the color of ash. There was no one around. It was off-season on Pena Key. The cottages were empty. All save his and Gene’s.

His and Gene’s.

Not anymore.

Now it was just his. Not even his. It was a lease.

For years he’d wanted to buy the lovely little cottage for the two of them, wanted them to move into it and live there year-round. He thought the owner would sell. But Gene wouldn’t have it, of course. Because of her and the kids.

Above, a single bird rode the air currents, a white thing with a long forked tail. Gene would have known what it was.

It’s just you and me, he thought, watching the bird. All alone at the edge of the world. As he sat in the sand, just above the tide line, and stared into the softly rolling waves, he knew what he should do. Leave. Go inside. Pack. Go home.

Except he would be just as alone there as he was here.

He sighed and stared down at the sand between his feet.

And the thought came to him once again.

He had the pills. He had gotten them from his doctor when he’d strained his back pushing his car. He’d been at a red light when the stupid thing had just died on him. Died.

It would be so easy.

He’d only taken one pill that day the doctor had given him the prescription, and it had knocked him out for nearly twelve hours. When he called the doctor’s office the next day, they’d told him he must be really sensitive to them and not to take more than half a pill at a time in the future.

“Whatever you do, don’t take more than one at a time, and do not drink alcohol with them,” the nurse had warned. She didn’t say why, but the implication had been there in her voice.

He’d bought the bottle of Southern Comfort at the liquor store in town on the way to the cottage.

Some pills, some booze, and finally, there was the ocean. All he had to do was go swimming. Swim until he could swim no more and then… go to sleep.

“Will you be waiting for me on the other side, Gene?” he said aloud. “Or will you be waiting for her?”

The wind and the sound of the waves were his only answer.

A sob hitched up Wade’s throat, and before he knew it, he was crying again.

After a while he went inside. It was the cold that drove him in. It got cold even in Florida, after all.

It was too cold to sit on the sand like this.

Time for a drink.

Then it wouldn’t make any difference.

 

 

WHEN WADE Porter stepped out onto the deck that overlooked the deserted beach an hour later, he was already on his fourth cocktail and three sheets to the chilly wind. That’s why—he told himself later—he’d reacted the way he did when he saw the lights glowing through the windows of the house next door.

“Gene?” he cried and, without thinking, bolted down the steps and across the small stretch of sand that separated his cottage from the next. “Gene?” His voice trembled as he climbed the neighboring steps and then rapped on the sliding glass doors.

He had done more than run next door. In his mind he’d run back through more than twenty years. He wasn’t even seeing that the cottage was painted blue now instead of yellow, the curtains midnight instead of sunshine. Through the alcohol-induced fog, there was only the brief, crystal-clear flash of yesteryear. A moment that ended when the dark curtains parted to show a man who didn’t look even vaguely like Gene.

The disappointment so rocked Wade that he staggered back, stumbled over his own drunken feet, and came down hard on his ass. His teeth clicked together, and a bolt of pain seared his tongue. His mouth filled with the taste of copper. His head filled with stars.

Not fair! Not fair.

Behind the glass, the man’s eyes went wide. He slid the door open, and a second later, he was kneeling over Wade. “Are you okay?”

Not okay. So not okay. Wade’s heart and tongue hurt so badly he couldn’t breathe. He tried to look away, embarrassed. Tried to say something, but his tongue was singing in pain and only lay there, curled on the floor of his mouth like some dead thing. He nodded in answer and saw more stars.

The man sat down next to him. “You sure? You looked like you landed pretty bad there.”

Wade nodded again, and this time the sparks were not as bad.

But the pain in his chest was deep and cold, cold, cold. What had he been thinking? Was he going crazy?

“Seriously, man. You okay?”

He had to say something. “Bwit my ton,” he managed.

“You what? Oh! Fuck, that hurts. Let me see.”

Wade shook his head. He was self-conscious enough as it was. He wasn’t going to show this handsome stranger (and he was handsome—shockingly, uncomfortably so) his tongue.

“Come on now. Open up. Let me see.”

Wade sighed. This guy wasn’t going to let up, and Wade was too drunk and hurting too badly to argue. Well, not hurting that much. The pain was sliding away, thank goodness. He opened his mouth.

“Stick out your tongue.”

“Ith okay,” Wade said.

“Out!”

He slumped, defeated. How absurd to be sitting on his ass on this man’s deck, being asked to stick out his tongue. But he did as ordered.

“Hmmmm… I don’t see anything. It doesn’t look that bad. I think you’re going to live.”

“Thath good,” Wade said.

But was it? Hadn’t he just been planning something else?

The man stood up. All he was wearing was a tank top and a pair of boxers, the fly gaping slightly as he stood. Wade tried not to look. Then he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” the man asked, smiling.

That I’m scoping you out. That’s what. He didn’t say it, of course. How insane that he’d almost looked to see if he could spy anything. When had he last looked at a man?

“I must look pretty crazy,” he said and realized he wasn’t lisping anymore. “Banging on your door and then falling on my assth.” Or not much, at least.

The man laughed. “And biting your tongue.” He held out a hand. “Here, let me help you.”

Wade looked up into the man’s face, where intense blue eyes seemed almost to shine down on him. Beautiful. He took the man’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. He staggered, the Southern Comfort returning in a wave. “Whoa….”

“Hey, man, come on in. Let’s make sure you’re really okay.” He pulled at Wade with the hand he had yet to release.

“I… I don’t….”

“Come on. Besides, I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

Once again, Wade let the man take control. He followed him through the doors and into a small living room, not terribly different from his own, although darker and more masculine. Lots of wood. Walls lined with shelves filled with knickknacks, shells, and books. It had changed a lot in the twenty-some years since he’d seen it last. “Sit down,” the man said as he turned to close the door. Then, “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down a hall and came back a few minutes later in a robe. “I wasn’t expecting company,” he said. “If I had known you were a-comin’, I’d have baked a cake. Sit down, okay? Relax.”

Wade swallowed hard, with only a slight taste of copper, and sat at one end of a small but comfortable sofa. Baked a cake? It was almost funny.

“Can I get you a drink?” the man asked.

“I think maybe I’ve already had enough,” Wade said and then really looked at the man, at least as well as he could in the light of the single lamp. Midthirties, probably. Tan, wide-shouldered, what looked like light brown hair cut short, and the stubble of a five-o’clock shadow an almost-goatee on his strong jaw. In the room’s light, those eyes of his nearly glowed. A very handsome man indeed.

“How about some water, then?” the man said. “Help with that nasty taste, huh? I hate blood.”

“Sure,” Wade replied.

The man went through a different door this time; Wade heard what sounded like a refrigerator door opening and then the clinking of ice. A moment later the man was back with a tall glass of ice water.

Wade took a sip and felt only a second of pain, followed by relief. “Thanks, ah…?”

“Kent.” The man laughed cheerfully. “I’m Kent.”

“Wade.” He held out his hand, and Kent took it once more and gave it a strong squeeze and shake.

“Nice to meet you, Wade. Even under these circumstances.”

“Likewise,” Wade said, more out of habit than anything else.

Kent sat down next to him, picked up a beer bottle that had been sitting on the coffee table, and took a drink. “What brought you to my door this evening, Wade?”

Wade blushed. “Ah….” How to explain? That in his drunken stupor, he’d been projected back in time to that day when he’d first met Gene, the love of his life? How he’d stupidly thought Gene was here when he couldn’t be? How could he?

“I thought there was someone here I knew.”

“Friend, I hope.” Kent took another drink.

“Yeah. A friend.” He sighed.

“A good friend?” Kent asked.

Wade felt a sudden sting of tears. “Yes. Very good.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not him, then.”

Wade froze, stared at the man.

“He is a ‘he’?”

“Was,” Wade said. How had this man known? But before he could think about it more, his throat seized up. It came so fast he couldn’t stop it, and to his horror, he was suddenly crying again. Crying! In front of a stranger. Jesus, Gene would’ve hated that.

“Oh God. Shit. Wade.”

To Wade’s surprise, he felt a warm hand on his back. It began to rub, slowly, in a circle.

And….

And.

It felt good.

He rubbed his eyes, appalled. What must this man think?

Then he felt something soft being pressed into his hands. Looked at it through blurry eyes. A Kleenex. He swiped at his face and tried to force the tears to stop. “I am so sorry,” he somehow got out through the humiliation.

“Hey, don’t stop on my account. You cry all you want.” Kent began to rub Wade’s back again in big round motions. “This guy must have been really important.”

Wade nodded. He was afraid to say anything else. He might start again.

“Lover?”

Wade gasped at the word and turned to look at a still slightly out-of-focus Kent. Lover. He’d said it so casually, like it was the most normal word in the world. Wade wiped the rest of the tears from his eyes and, when he could focus, was shocked at the look on Kent’s face.

It was pure grief. And something else. Sympathy?

“I lost my lover last year,” Kent said. “Pancreatic cancer.”

“My God,” Wade whispered. And then he saw tears in Kent’s eyes.

“We were together ten years.”

Wade didn’t know what to say. All he could offer was the ridiculous “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, Wade. How long were you together?”

How did he answer that? Over twenty years? Not at all? That they’d never really been able to be a couple?

He stood.

“I have to go, Kent.”

Kent gave him a look of surprise. “Oh. Okay, sure.”

Wade turned and made his way to the door as quickly as he trusted himself to. “Thanks for the water,” he said over his shoulder as he slid the door open.

“Wade” came Kent’s voice, and then that hand once more, this time on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do,” he said and felt his throat close up again.

The hand went away.

“Then I hope I see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sure.” It was all Wade could trust himself to say.

“Nice meeting you,” Kent said.

Wade didn’t answer. He just plowed out into the evening, a lost ship at night.

 

 

THAT DAY, which seemed now like a thousand years ago, had been gorgeous. Bright and warm and sunny. Wade had been out on his deck, daring to wear nothing but a Speedo. The vacation had been a reward from the company he worked for, a business that sold all kinds of women’s apparel to small clothing shops and boutiques. The thing was, he’d made a sale to a major chain. At twenty-five, he had outsold everyone in the southeast region. Funny that instead of pleasing his supervisor—a man named Stevens—it almost seemed to piss him off. Then a secretary he always exchanged morning pleasantries with as he was getting his first coffee of the day in the breakroom explained it.

“Bob—he don’t like you, Wade.”

“Huh… what?” he asked, blinking. He’d been up late the night before reading Amy Tan’s The Kitchen God’s Wife and wasn’t fully thinking right yet.

“Bob. Mr. Stevens. He don’t like you too much.”

“He doesn’t?” The comment stung. Why wouldn’t it? Who wants to find out the boss doesn’t like you? “Why?”

“He says….” She stopped and looked around her, clearly making sure no one was close enough to hear her. “He says you’re a sissy.”

Wade fell back a step.

You’re a damned sissy. How many times had his father told him that? I’m ashamed of you.

He hadn’t spoken to his father in years.

Wade blinked again. Tried to think of a response. He knows about me. Does everyone?

“He says you don’t have no alpha wolf in you, whatever that means. He says you don’t have no wolf in you at all.”

Why can’t you be a man? came the echoes of his father’s voice. You’re a milksop!

But then the secretary—Shirley—smiled at him, even though it was a small smile, and reached out and touched his arm. “What he don’t understand is that women don’t like that kind of salesman. I’d buy anything from you,” she said and blushed like a schoolgirl, which, come to think of it, she practically was.

So it was with some reluctance—a hesitancy Wade would not have recognized before Shirley told him about the man’s feelings—that Stevens called a little group meeting in the same break room and announced Wade’s accomplishment and that he’d won a Florida beachside vacation.

The applause had taken away some of the sting of Mr. Stevens disliking him.

He says that you’re a sissy.

Wade had been stunned when he saw the cottage and the beauty of the beach when he’d arrived at Pena Key to claim his prize. While it was off-season and the beach all but deserted, he was excited. He was away from home, on his own. What could be better?

Better turned out to be Gene.

Funny that the only other cottage that was occupied for miles was right next door. He’d almost been embarrassed when the man stepped out on his deck and looked over to see him. Wade had only worn the tiny bathing suit because he thought he was alone, and he almost grabbed a towel to cover himself. But the man’s trunks weren’t that much bigger, and he didn’t seem to be upset by Wade’s attire. In fact, he seemed to be giving him a good once- (and twice-) over.

“Well, hello,” the man said in a voice that nearly rumbled. Gooseflesh rippled across Wade’s arms and down his back despite the warmth of the day.

“H-hello,” he responded.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” the man said. He was big, broad-shouldered, with a large chest covered in hair, and stocky but not fat. His hair was cut short, and he had a well-trimmed beard. He was just about the most handsome man Wade had ever seen. The man held up a small glass in salute. “Thank Christ I didn’t walk out here nude. I’d have scared you good, huh?”

The comment surprised Wade to the core. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. Is he flirting with me?

The man looked him over again.

God, he is. And then the thought of this big man naked made him shiver in delight. He realized he would’ve liked the sight. He tried to answer, but his tongue was all tangled. So he smiled. He didn’t want the man to go away.

“Want a Manhattan?”

Wade raised an eyebrow. He’d gotten lost somewhere. “Huh?” was all he said, and he felt stupid for saying so.

The man raised his drink. “A cocktail. I make them with Southern Comfort, though. Just a warning.”

Wade, who had no idea what went into a Manhattan and had never tasted Southern Comfort, just nodded. He’d love to have a drink with the man. He reached for his towel, started to wrap it around his waist, and then for about the first time in his life, decided to be brave and threw it over his shoulders instead. He had no idea how to flirt. He’d never been with anyone except his high school girlfriend in the backseat of his car and once with his dorm mate Trevor the last drunken night before graduating. The next day his friend had been just on the right side of hostile. He’d never seen the boy again.

But that quick exchange of blow jobs had let Wade know everything he needed to know. There was no way he was going to marry that high school girl, or any other girl, for that matter. He’d watched Trevor out of the corner of his eye for two years, carefree about being in nothing but his underwear while in their room. He did his best not to stare. Simple tighty-whities, but excitingly full up front. The sight had fueled many fisted orgasms when he was alone. Oh, how he’d wanted to see Trevor without those damned undies. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had the opportunity, but he wanted to touch that penis.

Finally, a bottle of tequila had given him what Wade had wanted and more. Better, Trevor had initiated it. Said he knew what Wade wanted, had seen him watching. Admitted that it kind of excited him that he was turning Wade on. Then he’d reached right out and grabbed Wade’s crotch. Of course, heart pounding, Wade had returned the favor. Took Trevor’s lead all the way. Trevor had shown him how to suck cock, and fumbling aside, it had been glorious.

At the price that he would never see Trevor again.

But at least he now knew he liked men.

And he wasn’t sure, but it looked like that man on the other deck liked him.

Wade took a deep breath, sucked in a belly that he needn’t have worried about, thrust out his chest, and strolled over to the neighboring cottage. To his excitement, he saw the man was definitely looking at him, and just that little bit was enough to make his penis stir. His heart skipped a beat or two (or maybe three) as he joined him on his deck.

The man held out a huge hand, and when Wade took it, his own practically disappeared. “I’m Gene,” the man said. His eyes seemed to bore into Wade’s own with a deep intensity, then traveled slowly down his chest, his belly, and rested at his crotch, which only made Wade’s cock stir all the more. “And you,” the man said, “are just about the most beautiful young man I have ever seen.”

“R-really?” He felt so young, stuttering that way, but he couldn’t help it. The man was so… manly. He looked at least ten years older than Wade, and it was that thought—the thought that a real man, not just some drunken boy, wanted him—that made his erection fill to completion. His cock was hard enough to lift the waistband of his Speedo just the slightest amount away from his tummy. If the man—Gene—were to look, he couldn’t help but see something. Near everything.

Gene looked. Wade thought his legs would go out from under him.

“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you that drink?”

He almost fell down, is what he did. Lucky there was a chair right there, or he might’ve gone down on his ass.

Gene laughed, and like his voice, it was a rumble.

He returned a moment later and handed Wade a glass filled with dark liquid, then pulled another chair closer and took a seat right beside him.

When Wade took a drink, he took too much too fast, and the strength of it had him coughing. He felt he would die. Could he have been any more mortified?

Gene only laughed and smacked him gently on the back with one of his big hands.

“Go slower next time,” Gene said, and then he spread his fingers and slowly ran them up and down Wade’s back.

“Yeah,” Wade said. Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned into the hand. Gene smiled and continued his massage ever so subtly lower. Wade’s cock throbbed, arched away from him, pulling the suit away even more.

Gene’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

Then, ever so slowly, like something out of a movie, the older man leaned in closer and closer until his lips were just lightly touching Wade’s own. After only a slight pressure, then just the barest touch of the man’s tongue, Wade’s heart started pounding so hard he couldn’t hear the crashing waves. His blood seemed to race through his veins. Kissing that girl had never been like this! When Gene pulled back, his face was flushed.

“My God,” he said with a soft gasp.

Wade nodded. He didn’t dare say anything. He would only have stuttered again. Who knew a kiss could be like this?

“What is your name?” Gene asked him.

For a minute, he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember how to talk. But finally he answered Gene’s question.

Gene’s gaze traveled gently over his face again, and lower. It was so hot, so sexy, but also something else. Dare he say it? Romantic?

“Wade, please forgive me… but may I touch you?”

You’ve just kissed me, and you’re asking to touch me? You can do anything you want! Touch me? Where? Oh God, down there? Touch me down there? But Wade didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t. He just nodded instead.

To his surprise, “down there” was not where Gene’s fingers fell. It was his chest that Gene touched, the back of his fingers running lightly through the hair that grew there, and to Wade’s surprise, Gene gave a quiet moan.

“So silky soft,” Gene whispered. His touch grew more urgent, explored the swell of Wade’s pectorals—“But your muscles are so hard”—and then lingered over his nipples. Wade thought he would come in his swimsuit. He echoed Gene’s moan.

“Wade, I know you aren’t going to believe this,” Gene said, breath gentle and warm against Wade’s ear, “but, well, I’m not usually this fast. But Jesus, I can’t ever remember wanting someone so much in my entire life.”

Wade smiled as he never had before. “Really?”

“Really.” The big man grinned. Then looking down, he said, “And it looks like you want me too.”

Wade’s face heated up, and he wasn’t sure if it was more desire or embarrassment that was the cause. Both?

“Y-yes.” God, Gene was going to think he had a speech impediment.

Gene stood and, with his hand still on Wade’s back, urged him to his feet and guided him into the cool shadows of his cottage.

 

 

SLIGHTLY HUNG over, Wade was just getting ready to grind his morning coffee. It was the New Guinea, of course, the beans Gene had loved so much, and the familiar smell had already eased the niggling headache behind his eyes when there came a knock at the deck doors. “Who the…?”

But then he knew. Kent. Who else could it be? There was no one else for miles. What could he want? Wade thought about ignoring the man—he didn’t want to face someone who’d seen him act like such a fool—but there followed a second, more persistent knock.

“Hey, Wade!” he heard the man call. “I know you’re in there. Open up!”

For God’s sake, go away! Wade ground his teeth instead of his coffee beans. Where the hell had the man come from? Why was he here? No one came to Pena Key this time of year!

Relax, he reminded himself.

“Wade? If you don’t open up….”

The lease is for two weeks. You have plenty of time.

“I’m gonna huff…”

How long can Kent be sticking around?

“…and I’m gonna puff…”

Oh, for God’s sake! Wade strode to the back door and flung it back on its tracks.

“…and I’m gonna blow—” Kent stopped mid nursery rhyme and grinned. “—your house down.”

Wade couldn’t help but laugh. Blow my house down? He shook his head and then noticed Kent was holding two huge steaming mugs.

“I have come bearing joe,” Kent said.

“Who?” Wade asked, then got the reference. “Oh. Well, I was just going to make some myself.”

“Now you don’t have to,” Kent said, raising the mugs. The movement made the muscles of the man’s chest flex under his tight gray sweatshirt. Wade looked up, and in the beautiful morning sunlight, he could see how truly handsome (and young) Kent was. His hair was indeed light brown, with just the slightest curl. If he grew it any longer, it would be a mass of lovely waves. The shadow of his beard was a little darker now across his jaw, and his eyes—his eyes—nearly blazed from his tan face. Wade couldn’t help but notice the man’s beauty, and the noticing surprised him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really looked at a man.

You looked at him last night.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Kent asked abruptly. “Sun’s out, but it’s still cold as shit out here.”

Wade blushed, realizing he’d been staring. “Of course. Please.” He moved aside so Kent could enter.

“Nice,” Kent said, looking around the room.

“Thanks,” Wade replied. “Not as… manly as yours. But I’ve always been fond of it.”

Unlike Kent’s room of dark colors and woods, Wade’s cottage was painted in whites and sky blue, the furniture a pale wicker with cream cushions, the decorations shells and driftwood and kitschy carved sandpipers and seagulls.

“I like it,” Kent said, handing Wade a mug. Wade looked down at the dark liquid dubiously. He was spoiled when it came to coffee. Gene had done that. The very idea of Folgers or Maxwell House was enough to make him shudder. He’d had his taste buds set on the New Guinea.

“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee,” Kent said. “I figured you had fixings.”

“I like it black,” Wade said.

“A man after my own heart,” Kent said and took a sip from his own.

Following Kent’s example (what else was he to do?), Wade took a sip and was pleasantly surprised at the taste. It was excellent. “Very nice,” he admitted.

“You doubted, didn’t you? I saw it on your face.”

Wade acknowledged the comment with a slight nod. “I’m prejudiced. I have a favorite.”

“Maybe I can try it tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Wade said. “But tell me what this is we’re drinking?”

“I roast it myself,” Kent answered, a pleasant smile on his handsome face.

Wade’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

Kent nodded, smiled boyishly.

“Is that what you do? Roast coffee?” Gene would love… would have loved it.

Kent’s smile grew, his already bright eyes glowing all the more. Wade found the look was surprisingly distracting.

“Oh no! Never turn your hobby into your business. I’ve already only barely avoided that mistake. Mind if I sit down?”

Wade felt embarrassed once again. What was wrong with him? “Of course. Forgive me. I don’t know what’s been going on with my manners.”

“Don’t let it bother you.” Kent sat down on the opposite end of the love seat and motioned for Wade to join him.

Wade hesitated for a second but then wondered why. He really was acting a fool. He sat down next to Kent but was careful not to let their thighs touch. It wasn’t easy on the small couch.

“What is it that you do?” he asked.

“What do I do?” Kent winked. “What are you asking me, Wade?” His tone was sultry. Suggestive.

The comment stopped Wade. Was Kent flirting? “For a living,” he replied. “You don’t roast coffee.”

“Oh!” Kent laughed. “I paint.”

“You mean like houses?” It seemed like something the young man would do, something masculine to go with his body.

“Oh no! Book covers, mostly.”

“Book covers?” Wade asked, curious.

“Mostly for gay romances.”

Wade’s eyes widened. Porn? Kent did porn?

“Oh, get that look off your face,” Kent said with a chuckle and elbowed Wade. “Romances. Male-male romances. They’re becoming the thing. Finally we have something to read where we don’t have to imagine ourselves as the heroines.”

“There have been gay romances for years,” Wade said, barely managing not to scoff.

“Ah, yes. But mostly the tragic kind where one or both guys die at the end. Giving the underlying message that they’re getting their just desserts for pursing the love that dare not speak its name. No, the books I’m talking about are wonderfully, sometimes almost sappily, romantic. I love them. A good message for guys just coming out, don’t you think? I would’ve loved to find books like that when I was, like, fourteen.”

“I… I guess,” Wade said.

“I’m working on a cover right now. You should come over and see it later.”

“Ummm, sure. I’ll try.”

“If you can fit it into your busy schedule,” Kent said and grinned all the wider. “So, how long have you been coming here?”

“A little over twenty-five years.”

Kent whistled. “Wow. Were you just a kid back then?”

Wade blushed. “Oh, come on. How old do you think I am?”

Kent shrugged. “Fortysomething? Forty-five, maybe?”

Wade rolled his eyes. “I look every day of my age. Earned every one of these many gray hairs. I’m fifty-one.”

“Silver, not gray,” Kent said. “I like it. And I’m going gray myself.”

“You aren’t,” Wade said.

“No, no. Really! Look.” He leaned closer and dropped his head, ran his fingers through his short waves.

Wade checked. “Maybe.”

Kent looked up. “I’m thirty-five.”

Thirty-five. God. Such a young man. “I figured you were around there,” Wade said. What am I doing?

“You aren’t going to say I look younger? You cut me to the quick, Wade!”

Wade drew back. Had he done it again? Made a bungle? He wasn’t good at this. He had rarely spent time with any gay man besides Gene. His lover had hated that. Forbidden it. But then he saw the ever-present smile on Kent’s face and realized the man was kidding.

“You’re handsome, Kent. You know that.” And then he blushed at his words.

“You are too, Wade. Very.”

Wade was suddenly uncomfortable. If this wasn’t flirting, it was surely something close to it. Men didn’t hit on him. Especially such young (gorgeous) men. (And Kent was gorgeous.)

“Kent, ah….” He stood. “Thanks for the coffee, but I do have some errands to run. I don’t mean to be rude….”

Kent jumped to his feet. “No. It’s okay. I was going to go running before I got back to my painting anyway. We’ll talk later? You can come see what I’m working on.”

“Ah, sure,” Wade said. He started to hand Kent his half-full mug, but Kent waved it off.

“Finish,” he said. “Bring it later.”

“Okay,” Wade replied.

“That way you’ll have no excuse not to come over,” Kent said, eyes twinkling. And with that he turned and was quickly out the door.

 

 

GENE HAD shown Wade the pleasures that men could share in bed that first afternoon. Not drawn out over days. Gene had made love to him with an expertise that was breathtaking. Wade had felt like some heroine out of an old black-and-white movie, as if there were waves crashing around him (he could hear them outside), like volcanoes were going off, like there wasn’t even a bed beneath him. It was nothing like the times with his high school girlfriend or the boy from college. This time he was able to see what he was—they were—doing. Take in everything with all his senses. And when he took Gene into his mouth, he could see the man’s rigid penis in the light that spilled through the bedroom window. So different from the hurried back-and-forth in the dark college dorm room. And unlike that dorm mate, Gene knew what he was doing. Taught him wonders as they rolled together, sucking on each other. Oh, Wade couldn’t have decided which was better, being so masterfully pleased by the man or giving pleasure in return.

The kiss had been a wonderful, lovely shock. But who knew sucking a man’s erection—cock; Gene said to call it cock—would be so amazing? The sight, the scent, the taste, were almost too much. Almost. And when Gene had turned him over, rained kisses down his back, over his buttocks (the man kissed his ass!), and then spread his cheeks and buried his tongue in a place Wade would never have imagined (his hole! The man was kissing and licking and sucking his hole!), Wade thought he might scream.

But it was all nothing compared to when Gene climbed atop him, ran his straining cock in the cleft of Wade’s ass, then found his most private place and slowly and carefully nudged inside him…. It should have been painful. It was, a bit, but mostly it was pleasure beyond imagining.

Despite how strongly Gene had come on to him, he more than made up for it romantically in the two weeks that followed. He did more than teach Wade pleasure. He taught him love, passion, a joining of souls.

They went for long walks, held hands when Gene knew for sure there was no one to witness. Somehow, after that first day, they spent most of their time in Wade’s cottage instead of Gene’s. Wade didn’t know why and didn’t care. They had candlelit dinners. Took turns making breakfast and feeding each other in bed. Took baths together. Made love at any time, at the barest intimation from the other. Wade had fallen completely and totally and deeply in love.

Gene assured him a thousand times that he had as well.

But then the two weeks had come to an end.

And Gene had returned home.

To his wife.

 

 

THAT EVENING there was a knock at Wade’s door. To his surprise, Wade found himself heading to answer it without delay.

Kent. Had to be.

When he pulled the curtain aside, sure enough, Kent was standing there. Wade felt the corners of his mouth wanting to rise. He slid the door aside.

“You’ve eaten?” Kent asked.

Wade nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Want to go somewhere?”

Wade tilted his head. “Where?”

“Let’s go get a drink!” Kent’s face was full of joy.

“I’ve got some Southern Comfort here.”

Kent rolled his eyes. “I need to get away from here. The solitude is great and all, but I need to see people.”

“Ah….” Wade shook his head. Felt a little disappointed. He thought he and Kent might just sit here and talk. On the porch. Or the couch, listening to some music. He hadn’t considered leaving the cottage for a minute.

“Come on. I’ve already googled it. Found a nice little bar about an hour away. We’ll be there before you know it. It’ll be fun. And besides, you’ll keep me from drinking too much. I’ll be the designated driver.”

For some reason the idea made Wade uncomfortable. The cottage was known. Safe. But leaving? Gene had never allowed them to go out in public. “Look, I was just going to settle in. Do a little reading.”

“Please?” Kent said, his voice almost a whine.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” Wade sighed.

Kent gave him a piteous look.

And Wade realized he didn’t want to disappoint the man. “Oh, all right.”

“You don’t even need to change,” Kent said, waving at Wade’s polo shirt and jeans. “You look perfect.”

Perfect? Hardly. He looked like an old man, old before his time. The lines had grown deep around his eyes the last year or so. He was even beginning to see it around his mouth.

But the puppy look on Kent’s face could not be denied.

“Can I shave? Brush my teeth?”

Kent laughed. “If you have to!”

The ride was over before Wade knew it. To his surprise, Wade actually felt himself getting excited. Like he was on an adventure. The conversation had flowed easily. It helped that Kent didn’t ask about Gene. A little over an hour later, after a drive over the Seven Mile Bridge, they found the small Key West bar with no trouble at all. It was dark inside and almost empty. That was probably why it took Wade a while to realize what kind of bar he’d been brought to. Wade looked around the shadowy room. The patrons, only a few besides themselves, were men. All men. Some of them were leaning against each other, and then he spotted two kissing in a corner. His eyes widened. Oh!

Kent sat down across from him and pushed a cocktail over to his side of the table. Wade barely noticed. He could only look at Kent in surprise. “Did you bring me to a gay bar, Kent?” Wade asked in a hushed voice.

“You didn’t think I’d subject us to a straight bar if I could help it, did you?” Kent asked. “We are on vacation.”

“I….” A gay bar? They were in a gay bar!

“Wade? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just never….”

“Never what?”

Wade waved at the room, the men, all of it.

“You’ve never been to a gay bar?” Kent asked, a look of complete surprise on his face.

“No,” Wade all but whispered.

“Why on earth not?”

Wade shook his head. “Gene wouldn’t let us. Me.”

Kent’s mouth fell open. “Wouldn’t let…? Why not?”

“He….” Wade looked out the window. “He couldn’t take a chance he’d be seen.” And here I am, sitting right by a window where any passerby could see me!

When he looked back, Kent was studying him with those intense blue eyes of his.

“He was married, Kent,” he explained and turned away, face red with shame. “I was his secret.” Gene’s dirty little secret. “We never went anywhere.” He picked up his glass—there was something dark in it—and took a drink. Coke and something. Whiskey?

“Just what kind of life did you two have? I don’t understand.”

Wade looked at Kent over the rim of his glass. “For most of it, all we had was two weeks a year.”

“You can’t be serious!”

For a long time, Wade didn’t say anything. He hardly knew where to begin. He’d already shared more about Gene than he had with anyone in his life. But he hadn’t even scratched the surface of what he’d been holding inside for so very long. Things he’d wanted to talk about but couldn’t. But what was stopping him now? What? He took another drink. A big one. Half of his cocktail gone.

“I cried for weeks after returning from that vacation where I first met him.” With that sentence, the dam broke and the words began to spill out. “Those two weeks with him had been paradise, and returning to a world without him had been a cold and awful existence. It was horrible. The days and weeks and months crawled by. Then to my total shock, Gene contacted me and arranged for us to meet back on Pena Key. We stayed at the cottage I was in when we met. We kept it in my name, but he paid. In cash so his wife wouldn’t know. I didn’t care. All that mattered to me was that I was with Gene. And those two weeks were a pure and total joy. And after that, even though it might be months before I saw him again, or worse, sometimes only once a year, I knew all I had to do was wait and I’d see him again.”

“And that was the only time you ever saw him?”

Wade sighed. It came from his bones. “Until about five years ago. He finally let me move to Chicago. That’s where he lived. And once in a while, when his wife thought he was working late or she was visiting family, I would see him. He would sneak in, and we had to be quiet, and then he would sneak away.”

“And the rest of the time? When he wasn’t there?”

Wade shrugged. “I had my work.” He drank again.

“But what do you do for fun? Surely you have friends? Gay friends?”

“No,” he said.

“No, what?” Kent asked. He reached out and placed his hand on Wade’s arm. In the background, “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered” by Ella Fitzgerald began to play on the jukebox. Gene had loved her.

“We didn’t know any gays,” Wade said. “No parties. No bars. Gene wouldn’t let us.”

“Wouldn’t let you? That’s crazy! How could he stop you from having gay friends? He was married, for fuck’s sake. What say did he have in what you did? Who your friends were? Why did you put up with it? Why didn’t you leave his ass? Find someone who wanted to be with you all the time?”

Wade’s mouth nearly fell open. He couldn’t believe what Kent was saying. Leave Gene? Why, Kent might as well ask him why he didn’t show up at one of his mother’s Red Hat Society meetings, dressed for the occasion. Or go to work naked. Jump in a pool with a shark. Drink Drano. “I loved him, Kent!”

“And I loved Seth. We lived together for ten years! But I would not have put up with that shit!”

“You don’t understand,” Wade said. He shook his head. How could this young man understand? “It was different when I met Gene. Times were different.”

“Wade, you aren’t that old. Yeah, it was different. Seth told me that. He was older than me. But gay liberation has been around since 1970. Gays couldn’t get married when you two met, but we weren’t hiding anymore either. There were Pride parades. People knew about Rock Hudson. You were living in Chicago?”

“Well, not when we first met. That took years and—”

“You could have lived in Boystown. Blocks and blocks of gay people, businesses, bars, hangouts. Churches even. You could have had a life.”

I had Gene.

But as he looked into Kent’s eyes, as Kent looked into his (and God, it felt like Kent was looking inside him as well), walls that had been built up around him for years began to crack. Images came to the front of his mind. Images he’d spent a lifetime keeping in the dark.

He trembled.

God.

Took another drink (it was almost gone now) and let the images come.

That gay couple that lived around the block from his apartment building. Walking their dog. Sometimes holding hands. And once, he’d actually seen them kiss, smiling, beneath an umbrella one rainy morning.

The two lesbians that ran the bakery where he got doughnuts for the office on Fridays. Nothing overt about those two women. But sometimes he’d catch the way they looked at each other. The love. Radiating love. Wade’s heart would seize up. To be looked at that way.

To join a world where he could hold hands with the love of his life and walk a dog and kiss under an umbrella. To look at him with love across a crowded room and not mind that anyone could see it. To be a part of that!

Wade looked into the man’s eyes.

“It was hard,” Wade admitted. And immediately began to feel guilty. As if he were betraying Gene. But there was something else too. A part of him he’d denied for so long. Then, before he knew he was even doing it, the words were bursting out. “Oh, Kent! It was so hard. Especially as gays came out more and more. Sometimes I would see two men together—know they were a couple—and the longing, the envy, would just about do me in. I asked him once. I said, ‘Don’t you ever wish we could be together always?’ You know what he did?”

Kent said nothing. Just shook his head.

“He laughed! He said, ‘For God’s sake, Wade! Where did you get such an insane fucking idea? Live together? Like a couple of queers?’ Then he laughed again. But oh, what he said next…. He actually suggested that I get married! ‘Why don’t you find yourself a wife?’ he said. ‘Then you won’t feel like this. You won’t be so lonely in between our vacations together.’”

“He actually wanted you to get married?”

Wade nodded.

Kent sighed. “Wade… do you know what an unhealthy relationship that was? Why did you let him treat you that way? You’re worth so much more.”

Wade shrugged. At that moment he didn’t feel like he was worth anything.

“You let Gene be the boss all those years, doling out the love when he felt like it.” Kent squeezed Wade’s hand. “There is no way I could’ve shared Seth with some woman. No way. Not with anyone.”

Wade looked down at their hands. Touching. In public. He didn’t know if he should run or… or take Kent’s hand in his own. Wouldn’t that be something? To hold a man’s hand? In public? Even if it was in a gay bar?

“I hated sharing him, Kent. I hated it. But Gene was what I lived for. I loved him so much! I needed him.” He turned away, looked back out the tinted window. The streetlights had come on. Cars drove by. People walked. Life was happening out there. The loneliness hit him again. God. “Kent! I need him.”

“Trust me, Wade. I understand. When Seth died, I thought I would too. I miss him every single day. But I have to go on living. You have to go on living. Life is waiting for you.”

What? Just like that? With a snap of his fingers? Wade shook his head. “Kent… it’s so hard. I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can, Wade. Life goes on. Who knows what could happen?”

There was a long silence then, broken only by the song that had replaced Ella’s quiet crooning. “Stormy Weather.” Lena Horne. Which made him think of Gene (he’d loved her as well), and God, the pain suddenly, startlingly, slammed through him once more. Like a freight train going through a tunnel. It was like he was dying. How could you hurt this much and be alive? He downed the last bit of his cocktail.

But through that pain came a different, a new, thought. Just as startling. His mouth opened, but no words came. Why…. God. Why, it was like this time, instead of just letting him sink into a miasma of aching hurt, the train had somehow plowed a path through the stink and refuse, uncovering a fresh series of ideas.

It began with….

Had he really let Gene dole out his love?

And being even only partly honest with himself, he knew that the answer was yes.

A part of him had always known it. He had let Gene treat him like a, well, a convenience. A call boy. He’d been so desperate, he not only allowed it, he’d all but welcomed it. Why?

Nearly everything in their lives—everything—had been on Gene’s terms. Nothing in their lives was the way Wade wanted it. Even when Gene had finally allowed Wade to move to Chicago, it was all on Gene’s terms. He’d even picked out the apartment, the neighborhood. Dictated where Wade could go, and where he couldn’t.

That was another part of their relationship he’d come to resent. He’d buried it. Pretended otherwise. But it had been there. And hidden there in the dark and damp, it had begun to rot.

He could have left.

He’d heard of Boystown. He wasn’t oblivious. He wasn’t stupid. Why, he fantasized about it. Living there. About him and Gene living there, of course. Getting an apartment right there in the gay community. Having gay friends. Getting together for dinner with other male couples. Weekend trips. Vacations.

But imaginings were all they would ever be. Gene laughed at the idea. Living like a couple of queers!

Wade had begun, in the back of his mind, to wonder why he stayed. He’d lied even to himself when he said he never thought about leaving Gene. That the idea was as crazy as jumping in a pool with a shark or drinking drain cleaner.

Sometimes he had wondered what life would be like without Gene. To start over. Find someone else. It was a scary idea, and if he focused on it too long, built up too much of an imaginary world of “what if,” he would panic. Gene was the only man (besides that one silly time in college) he’d ever been with—his constant—and the idea of a world without his lover would turn to dread.

He mentioned leaving Gene only once. It had been more a suggestion than any real threat. Gene knew it too. He’d thrown his head back and laughed. Laughed! And then told Wade that he wasn’t going anywhere. That Wade would be Gene’s boy until the day Gene was cold in the ground.

And that memory quite suddenly allowed him to let all the rest go…. Somehow the words came.

“I didn’t even know he was dead until she came to see me, Kent.”

“Who, Wade?” Kent’s voice sounded like it came from miles away. Wade was in a different place now. A different time.

“I was at my apartment. There was a knock, and I opened the door and there was this woman standing there. She said something like ‘Are you Wade Porter?’”

“Wait. What?”

“And then I knew who she was. She was Gene’s wife.”

“Oh shit,” Kent said.

“She didn’t even come in. She just told me I was not allowed at the funeral. That there would be people there watching for me. That they would keep me away. She said she had lived with Gene’s dirty little secret for far too many years, and she wouldn’t put up with it any longer. She wouldn’t even give me anything that belonged to him. Not even the sweater I gave him from years before. She told me she burned it.”

“Oh God, Wade.”

“I don’t know how I didn’t die right there. I had to find his obituary to know what happened. It was a heart attack.”

“God…. Wade, I am so sorry.”

Sorry. Kent was sorry.

But then: I’m the one who should be sorry. Another sudden realization. What’s wrong with me? Am I that messed up?

He looked around the room again. Two men were leaning against the jukebox, laughing, pointing, pressing buttons. A couple slow-danced to Billie Holiday’s “Come Rain or Come Shine,” kissed. Other men leaned against the bar, sat on stools, chatted, drank. Several were playing pool.

All were men. He was struck by it. Men. It was like he’d woken up in an episode of The Twilight Zone. An alternate world inhabited by people, but not by the kind of people he’d known all his life. These were gay men. And what was happening around him was complete normalcy instead of something strange. Which was what made it strange!

Part of him marveled. Wanted to join in. Place a quarter on the edge of the pool table so that he could play next. Another part wanted to do what he’d done merely contemplating living in such a world. Panic.

Wade turned back to Kent. “Can we go home? Please. Please, take me out of here. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Of course.” Kent squeezed his hand again. “I really am sorry. I had no idea. I’ll take you home.”

 

 

AFTER LETTING himself into his cottage, Wade didn’t know what to do. He and Kent had hardly spoken on the drive back, just a few words. When he got out of the car, turned to go to his own place, there was one minute when he thought (hoped) Kent was going to say something more, but then the moment passed. What had he wanted Kent to say?

A drink. I need a drink. The effect of the one cocktail he’d had at the bar had long since faded. He wanted to get drunk. So he went to the kitchen for his Southern Comfort.

That was when he saw his pills. He took the bottle, hefted it in his hand, listened to the pills rattle within.

So why not take them? Then the pain could stop. The world could stop.

He grabbed the Southern Comfort, unscrewed the bottle, sniffed the contents, and winced. Strong without some kind of mixer! But who cared? He reached for the mug in the kitchen strainer.

The mug.

Kent’s mug.

God.

How would Kent get it back?

How would that be? Retrieving your mug from the house of a man who had killed himself?

Return it. Then take the pills.

In more or less a daze at that point, he slipped the bottle into his shirt pocket and headed for his neighbor’s cottage.

 

 

“WADE!” THE look of relief on Kent’s face was obvious. “Come in. Please. I’ve been worried sick!”

“No,” Wade said quietly. “I just brought your mug back.”

“Mug?” Kent said it as if Wade had spoken a strange word in some ancient language. Like he didn’t even know what the word meant. Then: “Oh. My mug. Who gives a fuck about the mug?”

Fuck. There was that word again. Kent bandied it around as if it were the word “the.”

“For God’s sake,” Kent said. “Get in here.” He reached out, took Wade by the wrist, and pulled him in the door.

And that was when Wade saw the painting.

He froze.

Oh God….

It was breathtaking.

Two men, tangled in each other’s arms, the covers of the bed hiding anything that might have made the art vulgar or pornographic. Wade walked over to it in a trance, still holding the mug.

“Nothing like you’d conjured up, is it?” Kent asked.

“No,” he said, voice a whisper. “I wasn’t expecting something so beautiful.” Once more, Wade felt a flush heat his cheeks.

Kent’s usual smile turned into an expression that blazed from his face. “Men making love is beautiful, don’t you think?”

To his surprise, Wade smiled. It felt weird to smile. Like something foreign on his face. When had he smiled last? But then it slipped away. “I always thought so,” he said. “But Gene—”

“Didn’t,” Kent offered.

“He thought….” Wade searched for the words. “He loved sex. He loved having sex. But it wasn’t something we really… talked about. He would have hated this.” He raised his hand. Held it out before the painting but without touching. Certainly not. “He would have called it porn.”

Wade trembled. Looked at the men. The muscles. The way they touched. The folds of the sheets. Their eyes. The colors. Wade stepped closer. Even the brush strokes. “It’s not, though,” he said. Reverently. “It’s… it’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Wade.”

Wade only nodded.

“Sex between men is gorgeous,” Kent said so softly that Wade could barely hear him.

“I’ve always thought so,” Wade whispered back.

“There’s room for all kinds of sex, don’t you think?” Kent asked. He turned to the painting, moved his hands as if he had a brush in them. “Sometimes beautiful and romantic and full of love.” He turned back to Wade with a lecherous look on his face. “And sometimes good old-fashioned pounding fucking.”

Wade’s face grew fever hot. What color must he be? He turned away, trying to hide his blush.

Kent chuckled quietly. “Oh, Wade. Don’t you think it’s beautiful when men fuck? Didn’t you two just fuck sometimes?”

Fuck! That word. Gene had hated that as well.

“Don’t dirty this! It’s not fucking. You fuck a whore.”

“Then what do I call it?” Wade had asked him one of those very first days. “When I want you to be inside me? When I want to be inside you?”

And hadn’t that shocked Wade? He was sure Gene would only want to be the “man.” But oh, what a surprise. That Gene loved it when Wade did it to him was something Wade couldn’t have expected.

“It’s making love,” Gene had corrected.

“Isn’t it all making love?” Wade had asked. “Everything we do?”

“Don’t make this difficult,” Gene had said. “And don’t ever, ever use that word again.”

He hadn’t.

To Wade’s surprise, he felt Kent step closer to him. He was right there at his back. He could feel Kent’s breath on his neck.

Wade jumped away, spun around. “What are you doing, Kent?”

Kent raised his shoulders and then let them fall slightly. “I don’t know, Wade.”

The two men stood looking at each other. Neither moved.

“You do find me attractive, don’t you?” Kent asked.

Wade’s mouth fell open.

“I certainly find you attractive,” Kent continued. “I just thought—”

“But what about Seth?” Wade cried.

Kent reached out slowly, but Wade still flinched. “He’s dead.”

There was pain in Kent’s eyes. Hurt. Loneliness? But wait. Something more? A question? Or… need?

“Gene is dead too, Wade.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” he shouted, not knowing where any of the words had come from, and using that ugly one.

Kent fell back, and oh no, the look of hurt on his lovely face.

For a long moment neither of them said a word. But finally Kent broke the silence. “Do you think Seth wants me to be celibate for the rest of my life?”

Then a new look came across his face. Understanding.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. It hasn’t been that long for you, has it? You lost him recently, didn’t you?”

Wade looked away. “It’s been two years.”

“Two years? That long?”

For some reason Kent’s tone and words pissed Wade off. He whirled back on Kent, feeling a blaze of anger. “Now you’re telling me how long I’m allowed to grieve?”

Kent started to reach out again, then pulled his hand back. Shook his head. Sadness returned to his features.

“I was just trying…. I don’t know. Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve messed up again.”

Wade shook his head. Yes. Yes, you did. He turned and headed for the door.

“Wade, please! Stop running away.”

He froze.

“Wade, please. Please don’t go. Stay here with me tonight.”

He turned around. Kent was there, mere inches away. So close. He could smell him, the alcohol on his breath, the very musk of him. And those eyes. Those eyes!

“Stay here. Please, Wade.” And then there were tears on Kent’s face. “I am so lonely. I miss him. I am tired of being alone. Please, please stay. We don’t have to do anything. Just be in my bed.”

Wade didn’t move.

Stay? Could he? Could he do it? Could he lie in bed with another man after all these years?

Doling out his love….

The thought made him shake. God. Doling out his love.

And I was happy with that?

Enough is enough!

“All right,” he agreed suddenly, before he could change his mind. And throwing caution to the wind, leaned toward Kent. Asking, but too afraid to ask.

But then, ever so slowly, like something out of a movie, Kent leaned in too, closer and closer until their lips were just lightly touching, only the slightest pressure, then just the barest touch of tongues. They stepped together. Wade felt Kent’s hands at his hips, placed his own on Kent’s.

They opened their mouths to each other.

They kissed.

It made Wade’s heart pound so hard he couldn’t hear the crashing waves outside. His blood seemed to race through his veins. Had kissing Gene been like this? When Kent pulled back, his eyes, those amazing eyes, were wide.

“My God,” Kent said.

Wade nodded. He didn’t dare say anything. He would have only ruined it.

He didn’t resist when Kent took his hand and pulled him gently from the room and down the darkened hall.

 

 

WADE’S HEART was beating so hard he could hear it in his ears as they turned and faced each other in the bedroom. Gene’s bedroom. Gene’s bed.

He glanced at it. Looked back into gorgeous eyes. A face smiling at him. At him.

His heart raced even faster.

He was terrified. Excited. Near panic. Exhilarated. Thoughts raced through his mind too fast to truly register. So beautiful. He’s so beautiful. And young. But—inner laugh—not as young as I was when I met Gene. Now I’m the older one. And not as many years older. Sex! Am I about to have sex? With someone besides Gene? I’ve never….

“I’ve never….”

“Never what?” Kent whispered.

“I’ve never….” His face heated up once more. Embarrassment.

Kent simply waited.

Then, whispering, “I’ve never been with anyone except Gene.” He blushed again. Harder.

Kent’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Really?”

Trevor. There was Trevor. “Trevor,” Wade blurted and turned even redder. “My college roommate. Once. One time, that is.”

“Wow,” Kent said. And “Gene wouldn’t let you?”

Wade shook his head.

“Even though you only saw each other two weeks a year?”

Wade nodded.

Kent pursed his lips. “Then, are you sure you want to…?”

“Yes!” And now Wade was burning, he was so embarrassed.

Kent smiled. It was so sweet. So tender. So damned sexy. “Wade, I really want to kiss you again. Tell me I can.”

“Oh God,” Wade replied in a long-drawn-out sigh.

“Yes?” Kent asked.

“Yes,” Wade replied.

Kent kissed him. It was so soft. So gentle. Almost chaste. And an electric shock zinged through Wade to his fingertips and his toes, and he felt as if he were floating off the floor. He moaned, and Kent put his arms around him and deepened the kiss. Joy radiated out of him in waves. So long. It had been so long.

So long….

He felt like crying and tried to fight it. But they were tears of joy. Wade trembled and… and then, Kent trembled as well. Wade pulled away ever so slightly, opened his eyes. Kent opened his.

“So long,” Kent whispered.

“You too,” Wade said.

Kent looked down. “There were one or two little… hell… I don’t know. Pickups. Disasters. One I couldn’t even—”

“Then,” Wade said, “are you sure you want to…?”

“Yes!” Kent cried quietly.

What followed then was two men exploring—scared, nervous, excited. They took their time. Slowly undressed each other. Kent “ooohed” over Wade’s chest hair, and Wade almost said that Gene always said that real men had chest hair but then decided that Gene had no place here, not anymore (and maybe he never had?). And Gene wasn’t even right. Oh no! Because when Kent stood there, shirt tossed aside, he revealed a powerfully built chest and torso—an eight-pack—all as smooth as marble. Gene had been a big man—muscular—but Kent was like a Greek statue. Wade was breathless at Kent’s beauty.

So they touched and kissed, ran their fingertips and hands over skin, shivered in delight, turned exploration into making love.

Pants fell, followed by underwear, baring straining erections. Wade tried not to compare Kent to Gene, but with only the two men he’d been with, he couldn’t help it. Gene’s had been thick and hooded with a fleshy foreskin. Kent’s was longer, not as thick, and had a circumcision scar so narrow and totally perfect that, at first, Wade wasn’t even sure Kent was cut. That perhaps his foreskin was just folded behind the head of his cock. But no. Touching, pulling carefully, showed Wade that Kent was circumcised like he was. His balls were heavy, drawing tight with his excitement, nearly smooth, while Wade’s were as hairy as the rest of him. Wade paid quite excited compliments to Kent and was thrilled when Kent returned them.

They crawled into the bed—Wade’s bed, it always had been—and furthered their lovemaking. Kissing. Touching. Shifting around so they were head to toe. When Wade took Kent’s beautiful cock into his mouth, he grew faint. Perfect. It was perfect! Alive. Warm. Velvet over stone. The taste sweet and slightly salty.

Gene’s had always been bitter. His fluid had been. Kent’s made Wade hungry.

They noted each other’s smooth asses. Kent teased that it was the only part of Wade that was smooth below his neck.

Kent’s ass was sublime. Wade touched it and kissed it, urged Kent onto his belly and ran his fingers deep into the valley between Kent’s buttocks, was grateful for what Gene had taught him, because Kent cried out and begged for more. Then begged Wade to fuck him.

Wade didn’t have a condom, but he knew he was negative, and he believed Kent when he said the same. When Kent told him that he desperately wanted there to be nothing between them, not even a thin layer of latex.

By then Wade was leaking so profusely that, along with how wet he’d made Kent with his mouth, his entry was startlingly easy, Kent making only one small hiss—

“Do you want me to stop…?”

“No! Please don’t!”

—and then he was fucking him, and Kent soon rose onto his hands and knees and pushed back, and they were rocking, faster, harder, desperately, fucking, crying, shouting, and….

Oh!

Kent shouted, “God! Oh! I’m….”

And his body gripped Wade viselike, and he joined Kent and went into the sweet oblivion of orgasm.

They fell back together on the bed, and when Wade tried to pull out, Kent near begged him not to. So they rolled to their sides, and after that Wade knew no more. He fell deeply into sleep, and his dreams were lovely and filled with hope.

 

 

SUNLIGHT WAS peeking through the window when Wade woke. It took him only an instant to remember where he was, and when he did, he smiled.

He smiled.

He turned his head to see Kent asleep next to him. Only the second man he’d ever slept with, the second he’d awoken to.

But this time it was different.

Wade didn’t know how he knew, but he did. His heart felt lighter. Like it was being touched by the sunlight making its way more and more into the room.

He had no idea what had happened. But something let loose when Kent made love to him, when he made love to Kent.

And they had made love.

Kent sighed in his sleep and shifted, bringing a hand to his face to block the sun. And was that a smile?

Wade slipped naked from the bed. His bladder was full and in need of relief.

That’s when he saw the bottle of pills. They were lying on the floor. Somehow they must have slipped from his pocket. He reached down and picked it up, hefted it in his hand, listened to the pills rattle within.

Then he took them to the bathroom, opened the bottle, and spilled them into the toilet. Peed for good measure. Flushed. And returned to the bedroom.

Kent shifted again and then opened those brilliant eyes. This time it was definitely a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Wade replied and smiled back.

He had no idea where this was going. Whether he would ever see this man again.

But he had two weeks. That’s how long the lease lasted.

One thing he did know.

He wasn’t Kent’s dirty little secret.

Gene was dead.

But Kent was not.

Neither was he.

And what they had done last night was beautiful.

There was a lot to sort out. But somehow he knew for at least the next two weeks Kent would be there to help him.

After that?

Why, life was waiting for him.

Who knew what might happen?