Gay Erotic Stories

Looking back, it wasn’t such a raw deal. I speedily developed great new friends, schoolmates, and within a few short years—an assortment of adolescent crushes. Our family still made at least annual pilgrimages back east, visiting grandparents, aunts, uncles and most of my 14 cousins, so I still kept score with them. I say kept score, because I took a certain amount of razing from them—like “how’s the corn” or “hey, farmboy…makin’ hay?” I took exception to these lame comments, and you can be sure that I threw back a few barbs of my own. Only a couple of my cousins even made it out to KC, so I wrote them off as being homeboys. Predictably, they didn’t like their name tag either. No winners, losers either—just more like a lengthy draw.

Out of these 14 “homeboys”—yes—all my cousins were boys; my two favorites did come to visit! Both Steven and Randall were brothers and lived in Connecticut, just the other side of New York City. Steven was three years older than me, and Randall was just 2 days older. Both of our parents were pretty close, so we saw quite a bit of each other over the years. I’d see “Stevie” and “Randy” as their mother called them (man they hated that), at least a couple times each year, usually around a holiday or during the summer. Thank GOD, with a name like Aaron, there wasn’t much anyone could do with that, so I was just Aaron or “Arie” for short—I could definitely live with that.

“Stevie” (couldn’t resist it), having a 3-year head start, was into girls, dating and eventually everything sexual before Randy or I were. He was ahead of us both with regard to the learning curve as well as physical development. He was very athletic and his body’s growth spurt together with his athletic prowess made him a fine male specimen indeed. His physical attributes had not gone unnoticed by his female schoolmates. Also, since he was on the school’s basketball, tennis and golf teams, he was a prized “catch” to his stable of female friends and admirers. Randy and I had to listen to his goings on (and I’m sure his embellishments) regarding his popularity and his “conquests”.

Now both Randy and I weren’t born yesterday. Our voices had changed and we both were developing respectable amounts of armpit and crotch hair. Randy even had a bit of newly forming hairs on his chest—he was quite proud of this. We’d listen to Steve (okay it sounds better than Stevie) go on and on—believing probably about a quarter of what we heard. But this was quite enough to set our minds in a new direction of sexual interest and intrigue. We’d listen intently and after Steve was out of our immediate range—or better yet out of sight—we’d talk excitedly about what we’d heard. It didn’t take too many of these sessions for us to develop predictable dick hardening reactions.

Now everyone has a “first time” for this, and the great “feeling” that happened from playing with your stretched out penis after some serious stroking. And just about everyone probably can recall the first time that creamy stuffy spilled out. Shit—what’s wrong? Did I break something from too much beating off? Ah yes, you can remember the first time you had “sex”—too bad you were alone!

Well, listening to all of these stories emanating from Steve made us both hot and bothered. I found that the Steve’s commentary about his girlie conquests were having a profound, but unexpected effect. Rather than fantasizing about the girls, their tits, and what it must be like to view the goods, I found myself looking intently at Steve’s muscular arms, what I could see of his chest (he always left his shirt’s top 2 or 3 buttons undone), and the obvious bulge his sported when spinning these tales.

I found myself wondering not only what it was probably like having “sex” or fooling around with a girl, but also considering the option of jerking dicks with Steve. Even though he was increasingly the focus of my male sexual interests, I ruled out ever fooling around with Steve. I was sure he didn’t do this and I’d be the object of his ridicule.

It was then that I turned my attention to Randy. We were the same age, we were much closer friends, and probably had the same level of sexual interest and “Jerkoff 101” going on too. We’d talk about Steve, but that’s where it just ended. Although I had the desire, I just didn’t have the courage to suggest anything Randy and I might do with each other. I’d keep thinking there was really nothing wrong with jacking off—even jacking off together, but when push came to shove—I folded.

I found myself wondering and then fanaticizing that Steve and Randy might be fooling around with each other back home when they were alone. They had the entire third floor of their old house all to themselves. Other than about half of the floor being a closed off attic for storage, the remaining area was one big room. You could lock the door at the bottom of the stairs, so if anyone wanted to invade their privacy, you pretty much had all the time in the world to recover and adjust.

As the months and school years passed, I latched on to various girlie magazines and even found a couple of National Geographic issues that were more than just a little interesting. I found myself looking at the guys—not the girls. These proved great jack off material until the pages got accidentally cemented together. I probably had some of the dirtiest underwear in KC! Mother couldn’t understand what was happening to the amount of underpants I kept somehow loosing. “Sort of like socks—they just sort of disappear and don’t match up.” That seemed to work for the most part, although I think she really knew better—I probably under estimated her.

Soon enough, high school graduation came. Our family had been back east for Steve’s graduation 3 years earlier, but since Randy and I were the same age, it just wasn’t possible. I was fairly popular with the girls during high school. I was on the tennis team (golf seemed to ruin my tennis game), and did pretty well at it—we won the state title in my junior year. My popularity really peaked a few weeks before Prom—wonder why? I was too late to ask the girl I really wanted to, but I reeled in my second choice. This proved to be not necessarily a good thing. I met her parents when I picked her up. I took one look at her father—pot bellied pig in just a ribbed t-shirt tank top. Her mother wasn’t much better either. I made up my mind right then and there—I wasn’t going to ever be related to either.

The Prom went off just fine and I had a great time—even got to dance with Laura (this pissed off Elaine and she made little effort to conceal her contempt). When all was over, Elaine suggested we change clothes and take in a movie. It sounded like a good idea and I agreed; something I regretted when I found out she was referring to a drive-in movie. (These had all but disappeared from the face of the earth—even back then). Now I knew she had a crush on me, so there was not ever a doubt about asking her as a backup to the prom. Long story short—she threw herself at me—and was rather insistent about it. I put in a fair showing, feeling her up and all, but the image of that pot bellied pig kept even my young overcharged dick at bay. We were both 18 and legal, but no way in hell! Nothing happened, I took her home—and never saw her again until some 3 years later. She had a kid and had married her dork boyfriend, Gus. (Gus did have a nice build and probably a good-sized dick from what I could see, but he was dumber than a box of rocks.)

Enough said. Prom over and done with--Thank God! Now it was time to do something constructive—like get a job and earn some spending money for college in the fall. My dad traveled quite a bit since being promoted to KC, so mom was pretty much left at home during most weeks—something she didn’t enjoy. My dad had invested in a small motel chain, and made mother the manager of the one in KC to help keep her occupied. This turned out to be a good thing. I’d committed to working as the night auditor in the motel for the summer, but at the last minute I’d got a better deal giving tennis lessons at the local country club. The little bastards tried my patience, but the money was good!

Randy hadn’t found a summer job yet, so I had the great idea of him coming out to KC and doing the night audit job. Bingo! Everything fell into place, I was off the hook, Randy jumped at the change to get away, and everyone’s problem was solved just like that. Or so I thought.

Since Randy worked nights, and I worked at the country club during the day, sharing the bedroom with him wasn’t much of an issue. I had a king size bed, so even on those odd days that he wasn’t working at night…there was plenty of room, and no questions were asked…either on Randy’s part or my parents. For a good month or so, we pretty much led separate lives, only passing each other going and coming, or on the assorted days when we were off.

We were still great friends and we spent our free time running around together. Most of this was by necessity—as we had to share my car. Randy had grown and developed into a replica of his older brother. I couldn’t help watching him and wondering again about whether or not he and Steve had ever fooled around. During the first couple of weeks we’d seen each other naked on several occasions going to and from the bathroom and shower. Both of us slept just in our briefs (actually I slept naked until Randy came). We’d seen each other with the proverbial morning hardon too. One Saturday morning, it came up for comment. Randy brought it up. “Geeze, it’s just like listening to Mr. Hot Stuff. You don’t know what was like having to listen to that shit head. He’d get me so turned on, I’d have to sneak away and beat off.” He looked at me and then at my problem that was also tenting out my shorts, and then he added, “You have to beat off too?”

We talked and I confessed that even years ago, his brother had caused me to jack off. I was bold enough to ask him if he’d ever seen Steve jack off. Randy confessed he’d seen him several times by sneaking up to their bathroom door. Steve wasn’t too careful—or just didn’t care who saw him—and didn’t latch the door half the time. Randy said that he’d secretly beaten off at the same time from the other side of the doorway, presumably out of sight.

Well, this answered my question as to whether or not Steve and Randy and ever jacked off together. It also answered what had become my fantasy—they’d never fooled around with each other. I was prepared to just drop it, when Randy took up the conversation. “Hey, I’m so hot, I’ve gotta beat off. How ‘bout you?” As he said this, he just dropped his shorts and his boner was standing up at better than a 45 degree angle—throbbing.

I don’t even recall if I said anything. The next thing I knew, I was naked too and we began stroking together. We were pretty much the same size, both in stature, and dick size. Randy was a bit more muscular and I couldn’t help watching him intently. He was watching me too. We agreed that this was really “hot” and was better than just jacking off alone. That said, the next thing I know, Randy’s hand is on my dick helping me out. Damn that felt good, I guess I pulled back a bit—maybe just involuntarily from the shock, but Randy’s hand followed. I stopped jacking--he took over. My hand was now on Randy’s dick. He stopped, I took over.

Randy’s free hand was now exploring the muscles on my chest. I reciprocated. Within seconds I was ready to shoot. I warned him and he stopped, agreeing that he too was close. We stopped jacking, but still kept our free hands on each other’s chest. I could feel Randy’s breath. My cock was still throbbing, so was his. Our cocks rubbed against each other—that was it. I looked at Randy; he nodded his head and said he couldn’t hold out any longer. We grabbed each other’s dicks and both of us shot our wads against each other’s stomach and lower chests.

That was the start of something strangely wonderful. We experimented with each other the remainder of the summer. Randy confessed he was attracted to guys—but stressed he liked girls too. I didn’t argue the point, but we really never did talk about girls. Actually we didn’t do much talking at all—just a lot of fooling around. We rubbed dicks (frottage I guess) and shot loads on each other’s stomachs and chests many times. We accidentally tasted each other’s cum on occasion, and found it was to our mutual liking. This led to our eventually sucking each other’s dicks and cumming in each other’s mouths (I wasn’t too keen on swallowing it all, and had to really work at avoiding my gauge reflex, but enjoyed the precum and the leftover taste).

Then there was the time when each of us had just sucked each other off from a 69 position and I hadn’t emptied Randy’s load from my mouth. Randy hadn’t swallowed mine either, as he raised his index finger in a “just a minute” gesture. He whirled around so we were face to face, then without warning he kissed me. At this point we’d never kissed each other for any reason. He thrust his tongue past my lips and into my mouth. This caused me to involuntarily swallow his load. I sputtered and coughed, and gauging like I do when eating those damn bananas in Jello, so did he. I was initially angry with him, but I saw him recover and he was laughing. I now was defenseless--I began laughing too, his cum remnants dripping down my chin. He kissed me again, driving his tongue inside me. I kissed him back and did the same. Our tongues dueled and we tasted our mixed cum loads, swirling the remnants.

Suddenly, I felt my stomach getting blasted with a second load of cum—Randy was shooting against my stomach. A few strokes later and my prick erupted against him. We were a sticky, gooey mess.

This proved to be the first of several mutual suck sessions. A few torrid couplings later, I felt one of Randy’s fingers slide from one of my butt cheeks right past my ass crack, landing on the tip of my anus. He didn’t move it away, but rather began playing with my hole. Even though I was a bit worried, it felt good and I did likewise. Randy didn’t make any attempt to move away either. We just kicked up our sucking and bucking a notch. We were both a bit sweaty and I felt his finger slid past my sphincter muscle. It didn’t hurt—actually it felt great—what a feeling! Well, I wasn’t going to leave him out of the picture—I increased the pressure and my finger did the same—slipped right in his hole. I think I may have over compensated a bit—because I buried my finger all the way in as far is its length would allow.

Randy’s lips broke their suction momentarily, as he let out a surprised “ooooh” sound. I thought I might have hurt him, so I pulled my finger back out, resting it on his anus. A few seconds later, Randy’s other hand was forcing my finger back inside. His finger was now moving in and out of my hole—and I got the jest of what he wanted from me. I followed his lead. He slipped in a second finger. Initially this was a leap of faith—quite a stretch—but seconds later it just felt better. I did the same to him. A few more intense bucks and—BAM! We came at the same time—filling each other’s mouths again.

By now, I too had learned to swallow—at least most of Randy’s load. We’d agreed that we’d hold back some and do our mutual swapping routine. This typically lead to another orgasm—sometimes two before we’d be shaking too much and too spent and sensitive to continue any longer. On this occasion, after some serious cum swapping, Randy pulled away and asked me point blank, “You ever had anything more than a finger up your ass?”

I truthfully answered “no”. Both of us were aware that there were guys who fucked guys—hence the term “fuck buddies” and I’d heard tell of a guy at school that had supposedly been fucked by half the track team. Well, we decided that since our fingers enhanced the level of our indulgence, it stood to reason that cautious experimentation with our dicks might be in order too. After all, we’d heard of girls getting fucked both in the pussy and their ass. So we figured what’s good for the goose…should work for the gander! Now the question remained—who goes first!

Randy chirped up, “I’ll go first”. I agreed readily, until I realized he meant he’d do the fucking first—with his dick that is. Oh well, someone had to be first, besides I figured I’d get some pointers, not to mention that I’d probably enjoy fucking him better after he’d cum, rather than being fucked after I’d cum and might have sorta lost interested with the whole idea.

We were both sweaty and our dicks were already slicked up with residual cum, so we really didn’t need much in the way of spit or anything else to lubricate dick or hole. Randy suggested he’d like to try it doggie style, so I got on all fours and poked my ass in the air. Randy got around back and climbed on board, the cum from his stomach lubricating my buns. I guess my hole was fairly well relaxed from the fingering, because his dick slid inside me with a minimum of fanfare. Now that’s not to say it didn’t hurt. It felt sort of like I’d been constipated for weeks and just was having a rock hard movement from hell. I don’t recall what—if anything—I said, but Randy just held still for a while, then apparently sensing my ass muscles ease up, he began thrusting slowly in and out.

Well, this was the “piece d’ la resistance” (okay that’s as much French as we’re getting’ into here). In less that a couple of minutes, I went from shear terror and worry to a new level of ecstasy. It didn’t take Randy long to reach the edge…and soon he gave me a couple of extra hard plows and BAM—he shot—and I felt a totally new sensation of warmth and fullness. It felt strange, but as he continued to pump in and out it felt wonderfully slick and sensitive. Randy’s body was quivering against mine and his breath came in labored heaves. His cock began to relax, and on one return, it plopped out. He tired to put it back in, but it was just too sensitive.

Without any further comment, Randy got on all fours and told me to take my best shot. Who was I to deprive him of what I had just experienced! Besides, my cock was so hard; I was worried I’d shoot before I could really get in and up to speed! Fortunately that didn’t happen. Randy too was still pretty relaxed from his earlier fingering, and I didn’t have to press very hard (actually I had no basis of comparison at the time), and my eager boner slipped right in—all the way in—my crotch hair pressing against his butt cheeks. Randy yelled, “Jesus!” and his hands reached behind me and grabbed my butt cheeks. “Don’t fucking move!” he hissed.

I asked, “I didn’t hurt you did it?”

“Hell no—you just drove your fucking truck through my virgin ass!” (Well at least that finalized my secret fantasy—Randy and Steve had never fooled around—or fucked around.) While I was contemplating this revelation, Randy leaned back on all fours and let me know it was safe to proceed by wiggling his impaled asshole against my dick. I began to pull out and then shove it back in—gingerly at first—then I opened up. Randy just began laughing. “What’s so damn funny?” I asked, hoping my masculinity and dick weren’t being challenged.

“No, it feels great—it even sort of tickles! God damn--it feels good. Hit me harder!” I obliged to the best of my abilities. Also to the best of my ability, I couldn’t hold out more than about another thirty seconds of concentrated thrusting. I lost it big time. My knees just about buckled beneath me, and I just arched my back and rammed it home as far as I could go. I continued a few more strokes, but my dick was just too damn sensitive—I pulled out without warning. Randy’s ass made a very audible plopping and shortly afterwards some of my cum was oozing out his hole, dripping onto his hanging ball sacks.

We compared notes with regard to what we’d just felt and reveled in our post colloidal ecstasy. We were covered in sweat, sticky with cum and both an unkept morning mess. We’d lost track of the time and were headed for the shower when my mother yelled upstairs, “It’s Saturday, but you two going to sleep all morning? I want to the laundry.”

I quickly replied that I’d strip the bed and thrown the sheets down, but I was already wet from stepping in the shower, I’d do it as soon as I could. It was then we were aware of the pungent smell of sweat and cum—okay good sex—that permeated my room. Hopefully that smell hadn’t wafted downstairs yet. I opened the windows to air out the room, and we hopped in the shower—together.

Now we might have continued or playing around—but under the circumstances, we had a time line to follow. We hurriedly finished, dried off and threw on a T-shirt and shorts and headed downstairs. I met mother coming up from the basement. I was only too eager to be helpful and take my bed linens directly to the washer, adding them to the partially loaded drum, just before the wash cycle started. Sometimes you’re lucky. I was pleased with myself. Randy and I ate one hell of a breakfast that morning and headed off to play some tennis and hit the pool.

Experimentation had reached a new level and it’s pretty much safe to say we did just about everything we knew was possible. It was a pretty sad day when Randy left for home and I got ready for college. We judiciously guarded our secret sex life, telling no one. At first we’d call each other, talk dirty and beat off if we were hard up—but the phone bills got crazy. We saw each other a couple of times that first year at Christmas and then at Spring Break. Hell yes we did it!

Gradually, we went our separate ways. I became involved in various campus activities and even joined a fraternity. Again, this was a good thing. A couple of years later one of my fraternity brothers became my first lover, that lasted for nearly a decade—until sadly our mutual careers geographically pulled us apart.

By now you might have forgotten the title of this little ditty—okay, okay, I’m getting around to that.

Randy and I, although always remaining close friends gradually grew out of our “fuck buddy” status…being over 1500 miles apart, eventually our separate lives prevailed. I was really surprised when I got a wedding invitation. Of course, our whole family attended, and when the minister reached that interrogatory, “Is there anyone present that knows why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony…” I choked, and coughed, sputtered and coughed—trying to get my breath. I was red faced—but thank god I don’t think Randy figured out who it was. Mother just asked me quietly if I was okay. I just told her I tried to breath and swallow at the same time—it doesn’t work.

Through the years, Randy became the father of two beautiful girls, and settled down into a very happy marriage and both he and his wife Arlene had excellent jobs. They built their dream house and everything was hunky dory. We kept our little secret, and just never brought it up. Of course, during this period I now had a lover of my own and we had a great life too, having moved from KC to Chicago and each having our friends and professional careers.

Time passed and soon I received a notice of our high school reunion. I really didn’t have any particular desire to attend, and certainly didn’t fancy meeting up with the likes of Elaine and her grease bucket mechanic husband Gus, but I guess curiosity got the best of me, and when I received a special telephone invitation from Laura Frost of all people—it didn’t register at first—“You remember Laura Wilkinson”.

“Oh, Laura—it’s you. Sure! Yeah, sure I’ll be going, I wouldn’t want to miss it. You’re the chairperson of the event? Great, send me the details and I’ll send you off a check.” Okay, there it was, I’m hooked now. Laura told me she’d married David Frost and had one son age 5, and was due with their second child. Damn, that figures, David Frost was one hell of a catch, tall, slender, gorgeous, and now a prominent KC attorney. David had also been the star player on our tennis team…and his competitive and abrasive style still irked me.

If David Frost was gorgeous, he was only pre-empted by Brian Hoch. He was handsome, well built, sort of cute, but intelligent and had an absolutely infectious personality, smile, laugh…he could charm anyone’s pants right off ‘em. He had taken the intellectual route, being president of the student council, head of the debate team, co-chair of the Prom, and had been naturally voted “most eligible bachelor” prior to graduation. Between David and Brian, if 10% of the rumors were accurate—they’d probably fucked half the girls in our class (having a class size of over 800, that would be quite an achievement). It’s a wonder they could even walk—yet alone play tennis!

I got to thinking about my high school past, and decided it would really be interesting to see who showed up, how 10 years and affected us, catch up on things, and have a good time. Since I was still “single” as far as most everyone knew, and lived out of town, going stag shouldn’t be a problem, I rationalized. Besides, I’d pretty much lost track of who was where and doing what. Okay, I was sold and I spruced up by wardrobe for the occasion, and flew to KC. I could have driven, I guess, but my dad had just gotten a new car and that would work out best. Since moving to Chicago, Bob and I just had one car and it was beginning to show the ravages of city life--street parking dings and dents, not to mention whole bumpers being over-ridden by over zealous parallel parkers trying to carve out a space when there wasn’t one.

I arrived at the Plaza Hotel, checked in, and got ready for the evening’s festivities. I was rather surprised Laura called me shortly after I’d checked in. I just had to meet David and her daughter before her mother came and got her for the evening. I hurried up and finished, and headed to the hotel bar to meet them.

David and Laura were an easy spot. We chatted briefly, before Laura’s parents presented themselves, picked up little Lisa, and were off. While still seated, I felt a hand on my right shoulder and turned around. There stood David’s still best friend—Brian Hoch! He hadn’t changed but anything for the better. Still had that deep tan and infections smile. He still even had that slightly frumpy, rumpled preppy look about him.

“You alone?” he asked.

“Yes, I was the only one who could get away.” I told a half-truth, then realized I’d just put myself in deeper than I’d intended. I quickly turned the subject, “And where’s your wife?”

Brian only winked, and before he could say anything, David, feeling the first couple martini’s interjected a bit loudly, “Hell, he’s the most eligible bachelor and he’s hell bent on staying that way, right Brian ole boy?”

Brian just shrugged his shoulders and made gestures that he should be moving on, time to fetch his “girl” for the evening. Ahh yes. Still true to form. I was starting to feel uneasy and a bit irritated at the prospect of slogging through this whole dame ordeal. Most likely everyone would be trying to out do and out perform everyone else. Shit, why had I come here anyway?

Again, Brian turned at me and just winked, smiled and left. Okay, that was that. Now on to the rest of the damn evening of fun and games. I wasn’t that bad, if they wanted to pull shit, I could pitch it with the best of ‘em. I was even contemplating letting everything hang out and clue all the pious bastards in.

I came to my senses rather early in the evening when I met greasy Gus. Actually, he looked pretty good still, but he was alone. He recognized me and spoke. I asked him where his wife was. He just about lost it, saying they were divorced and Elaine had their kids, and he was stuck trying to make ends meet with the child support and all. He was never good enough for her father—as if he was something special.

“That ugly pot-bellied pig?” I let loose. Gus looked at me, recalled something Elaine might have recounted, and broke a smile. God, that was a wise decision! I thought and smiled back. We had a drink together and I eased up, thinking my own relationship’s just fine with me—the rest be damned!

The rest of the evening was tolerable and became fun. I met people from Phoenix, Honolulu, and Buddy Fontaine, former editor of the school paper won the prize for coming from the furthest away—he was living in Beirut! (Holy shit—why?)

The next day at the luncheon, I again caught up with David, Laura, Brian, and his “date” Martha in tow. She was soon out of the conversation, and was visibly bored. Laura picked up on this and scooped Martha up and they headed for the terrace, leaving “us boys” to talk.

It was then I’d learned that Brian was actually David’s law firm partner, and got an earful of how wonderful they were both doing. It turned out that Martha was a legal assistant working for their firm a couple of months. I drew my own conclusions from there. Brian didn’t say much more, David as usual, was insistent on doing the talking for all of us. God some things just never change. He’s probably a good mouthpiece in court too. Brian just nodded and occasionally winked and smiled. David drank steadily and became unsteady. He recognized his situation and decided he’d better head off and find his wife.

This left Brian and I alone. It was now that Brian came to life. “Hey, man did you get a load of all that?”

“Oh you can speak! For someone on the debate team, I’d thought you’d lost your touch! So you’re a lawyer and partner too? Congratulations!”

“Save it!” I’m sick of it. He’s just never changed. He carves out the best for himself and I get what’s left. They he bitches at me for my income to the partnership. He can just kiss my ass! Besides it’d probably feel really good!” Brian winked again.

“Yeah, I bet—if you’re into that?” I quipped.

“Hell yes, I’m into that!” Brian fired back.

Now I was at a loss. Okay, so Brian’s got some kinky girlfriends…not my problem or concern. I let it drop.

“So how’s live in Chicago?” I hear you’ve got a great job and get to travel quite a lot. I hear you’ve got a great high-rise apartment on Lake Shore Drive! Brian chatted on.

Whoa there, I thought, I never told anyone, and I sure didn’t tell Laura on the phone. Ah, but she had the address, perhaps she’s familiar with the neighborhood. I was in the midst of sorting these possibilities out when Brian spoke again.

“And how’s Bob?”

I must have turned two shades of pale! I’d told no one about Bob. Only my parents knew of the situation, but didn’t like to talk about it. They were okay with it, but still weren’t going to be activists in any way shape or form.

Brian sensed my panic, and took me by the arm. “Let’s step outside and get some air.”

I just let him lead me outside, still trying to comprehend what the hell was happening. Then it hit me, shit I almost blew my position, “Oh, you mean Bob Barnett! He’s my team assistant! He’s great! He’s just about due to get my position.” I was growing confident and pleased if not proud of my outstanding recovery.

“No, I mean Bob. You know—your other half!”

There it was—unmistakable. I’m caught dead. Nothing to do but come clean I guess. Besides it was bound to happen sooner or later. Also, shit, I live in Chicago—what’s the big deal anyway.

“Alright, you’ve got me. Bob and I have been together for nearly 8 years now. And you know what? It’s probably just as great as what David and Laura have—except no kids!” I countered.

“I’m not so sure! Brian said, then seeing an argumentative look on my face he added, “No, I mean I’m NOT SO SURE. David’s kind of a bastard to Laura too. She tried to keep a good face on it, and she does enjoy the social benefits, but I’m not so sure she’s happy.”

“Really, I can just imagine what you mean.” I relaxed. But, how in blue blazes did you find out about me and Bob?” Now I wanted—no demanded an answer.

“Your cousin Randy told me!” Brian smiled.

“How in the hell did you ever meet him?” I asked purely astonished. Then the wheels began to turn—back.

“I met Randy just after high school. He was working at your parents’ motel at night. I’d come there with a “date” – I know what you’re thinking—no my date’s name was Arthur. You know him, you know—Casey!”

I was dumbfounded. Jesus—Casey and Brian were the close. Casey the class clown and jokester and Brian his flamboyant mouthpiece!

“Anyway, Casey and I got into a fight, and I got locked out of our room. I had nowhere to go but the front desk to call a taxi, but then I didn’t have my wallet with me either. Randy was a big help and keyed in on exactly what was going on. I told him I knew you and your folks, and he gave me a room for the rest of the night, saying he’d fetch me in the morning if I needed and get me and my stuff home, just a soon as he got off duty.”

Bob suddenly realizing where we were, suggested that we’d best go off somewhere quiet and talk. I was mesmerized and agreed. This whole thing was just too surreal for words. We got in my father’s car and headed to the nearest bar—Brian’s choice. It of course was a gay bar—one of the city’s flagships—or as we used to call it—the fagship! Yeah, I knew it!

We sat and talked over several cocktails… Bob poured out his soul. That morning Randy had come to collect him, and wound up consoling him. One thing leads to another, and they made out…not just that morning, but many times throughout the rest of the summer. “That’s one wild child! Your cousin’s really something special! And I hear you’re pretty good yourself!”

“Okay, my reputation precedes me, I guess.” I said nervously, being quite thankful the liquor was being quite helpful.

Brian went on to say that it really wasn’t Randy’s fault, but he kind of made enough difference to allow him to break free of Casey’s clutches, so to speak. I was flabbergasted—Brian beholden to Casey? He went on to say that shortly thereafter, Arthur ie. Casey put his sports car under the backend of a semi-trailer truck while in a drunken stupor—beheading himself. This was just all too much to take at one sitting, but he went on.

“Aaron, I’ve always liked you and I was always hoping you’d beat the pants off David on the tennis team. I always kinda had a thing for you, but was just too afraid to say anything. I just couldn’t tell—I just assumed you were straight as an arrow.”

Jesus God—was this guy’s gaydar out and trashed to boot! Since it was confession time, I decided I’d also come clean and also take the opportunity to build him up a bit too. If that happened—so be it—a bonus of sorts! Besides I still genuinely liked him.

I told him of my “crush” and envy, fascination, etc. which Brian found amazing. I told him he had me fooled due to the number of girls constantly hanging around he and David, and then being Prom co-chairman, most eligible—the whole thing.

Brian confessed the girls were really swarming around David—and he took full advantage. Brian tried, felt them up, but just never went through with it. Of course the girls would never admit it to their friends, so he remained safe. In fact, David was still screwing around on Laura.

Brian continued to open up, indicating that he’d probably be breaking out on his own if necessary pretty soon, but not to divulge anything to Brian. Curiously, Brian was a complete dupe and didn’t even catch on to his sexual preferences—even to date!

We had a thoroughly great time the rest of the weekend (no we didn’t fool around), and it was just too soon when it came time to fly back home to Chicago Monday afternoon. When I got home, I recounted the story to Bob, who to my surprise did not at all find it amusing—even accusing me indirectly of course of my probably indiscretion in a moment of weakness. This I did not take sitting down. This was what I consider now to be the beginning of a growing friction between us. Since we both traveled, Bob would continually ask leading questions, with regard to my activities on the road. Since this obviously was a bother to him, I purposely did NOT inquire of him.

As it turned out, still water runs deep. Bob was actually fooling around while out of town. He’d be gone 1-2 weeks at a stretch, and would usually be successful in hooking up with someone during that period. If he had to return to that city, it was a bonus.

Shortly after the proverbial shit hit the fan, Bob took a promotional transfer and moved to San Diego. I kept the apartment, after receiving a great promotion within the company, and could afford to life alone—even comfortably. That’s comfortably spelled financially.

One Tuesday after work, I’d had a pretty challenging day and decided I’d head over to Rush Street and hang out for a while at Gentry’s Piano & Bar. This little jewel (which has since moved) was a favorite hangout for the Michigan Avenue professional types, and I always felt pretty much at home with friends there—together but still alone.

I was well into my third Dewars & Water when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around, and lo and behold…an angel appeared. Brian leaned over and gave me a kiss. I asked him the obvious—what in the hell are you doing here in Chicago? He winked, smiled and told me he’d accepted a new corporate legal counsel position with the ADA. He’d left David’s firm—or walked away from it before it crumbled. Laura had caught David and was in the process of hanging him out to dry.

Then it registered—the ADA? Jesus my offices were in the same building, 14th Floor! “You’ve got to be kidding! The ADA?” I told Brian of the extreme oddity of his choice. Then I asked him where he was staying and if he’d found an apartment yet. He indicated they had put him up at the Hyatt, but that was just temporary until he got settled in.

I started to tell him about Bob’s recent departure…and my keeping the place, but Brian cut me off…

“Yeah, I already know…I was just waiting for you to tell me.”

The look on my face must have said it all…

Brian just said quietly, “I think I’m already home.”

Now I don’t necessarily want to clutter up a beautiful romantic ending…but I must tell you the god’s truth. That little episode was 19 years ago. Happy? What do you think! And yes, Brian beats Bob AND Randy any day!