Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

"Well, this guy," one thumbs to the other, "Had a modeling gig last weekend that required him to be tan. So in order to match I had to do it too. For the costume, you know."

"Yes, for the costume," I agree, somewhat absentmindedly. I'm taking advantage of this opportunity to survey the area that would normally be pale and flawless. Now it's just flawless. Yum.

The party is now in full swing--the middle of the room is full of dancing devils and angels and a superhero or two. In the corner there's a Batman and Robin who are getting up to things that I doubt the comic books ever intended. I'm seriously considering asking Socrates in the go-go toga to dance when the mummy hands me another drink.

"Thanks. This is some party you're throwing here."

"Glad you're enjoying it. We do love to see the guys here having fun--they work so hard for the team. We're so proud of them."

"Plus they're not bad to look at," I agree.

"No kidding. I thought I was going to bust out of my bandages when the Twins showed up. Those two have been a special joy to us the last couple of years."

"They've livened up my year too--they're my roommates."

The mummy grins broadly. "You are the luckiest guy in the world," he says, raising a bloody drink of his own in salute. "I'd never get anything done with those two around."

I laugh. "It can be hard. In a lot of ways." Wink.

The mummy chuckles, nods knowingly, and turns to serve more drinks.

The crowd here seems to have taken the twins' outfits as a challenge--several of the costumes seem to have fallen apart in the last little while. There's a zombie in front of me who is showing more pink, healthy skin than gray, necrotic flesh--his pants have disappeared completely, and only his ragged shirt is keeping him from flashing the room. Emboldened by the first few partygoers who have shaken off some clothing, more of them do so during each of the next few songs. It's like strip poker, and everyone's losing. Well, everyone except me--I'm definitely winning.

There's one costume that catches my eye, though. Across the room stands a very convincing grim reaper with a long robe and a shiny scythe. His face is completely hooded, so I can't see who's in the costume. Which is a little creepy, I have to say. I'm actually considering asking the mummy if he can see Death too, just to be sure that the bloody martinis haven't completely clouded my mind, when there's a dignified clinking of silver on crystal. The vampire and the mummy stand at the edge of the room, waiting for the attention of the crowd. The group quickly settles down.

"We are so pleased that you could join us for our annual Halloween festivities," the vampire intones, his voice silky and low.

"The costumes were particularly inspired this year," adds the mummy. "We noticed, however, that most of you are wearing somewhat less than when you arrived, and for that we would like to thank the Twins, who by their very presence both raised the bar and lowered it."

Both hosts raise their glasses to the twins, who blush modestly. Which makes them cuter. Damn it.

"And now, we invite you to partake of another Halloween tradition," concludes the vampire, and with a sweep of his cloak he stands aside while the large sliding doors behind him whoosh silently out of sight. Behind him is an enormous swimming pool, lit from above by three enormous cauldron light fixtures from which artificial flames lick toward the ceiling. Along one side of the pool are arranged long tables heavy with more food and drink, and along the other side are chaise lounges and an assortment of pool floats.

"All right!" someone in the crowd calls, and the entire group begins to move en masse toward the pool. I'm swept along, down the steps and onto the marble floor at which the water laps. Everywhere partiers are shucking off the remains of their costumes, and with a whoop and a splash the first naked body hits the water. He's followed by a dozen more in short order.

The twins materialize at my side as the party sweeps by us.

"This is amazing," I murmur, to both of them.

"It is," the one closest to me agrees. "Didn't I tell you?" says the other, who must be Porter.

"But doesn't the team spend a lot of time in the water as it is? Why are they so excited about this?"

"It's a salt-water pool, so there's no chlorine. Makes a huge difference."

Porter looks at his brother, eyebrows up.

"Yeah, it has nothing to do with everyone being naked, or that they brought dates or anything. Nope, it's the pool chemistry that's so exciting."

Dexter rolls his eyes and strips off his jockstrap, throws it and his hat over to an empty chair, and strides into the water. Porter follows suit. Damn, their asses even clench and relax the same way.

At the far end of the pool there's a whirlpool that is at the moment stuffed full of steaming lovelies, while opposite that there's a shower where the zombies and a superman whose costume was painted on are scrubbing down before getting into the pool. It's kind of sexy flesh overload, and I'm not sure where to look next.

Then I see him again. It's Death, standing between the shower and the whirlpool. I get the feeling that he's looking at me. Chills, again. Weird.

Everyone's in the pool now, so I whip off my costume and jump in as well. The water is warm (the better to avoid male shrinkage due to cold--the hosts have thought of everything!) and I paddle around a bit. I catch sight of Socrates throwing his toga aside, but as he enters the pool he is immediately besieged by a woman whose attentions he returns with vigor. Damn.

The pool, large as it is, is positively churning with people. I don't skinny dip very often--it's really only when I'm with Calvin and Reese at Aunt Emily's cabin that I get a chance to--and the rush and wiggle of warm water over my body is wonderful. That, and the occasional brush against a slippery water polo player gliding past, is enough to get me boned up. I'm worried that this is completely inappropriate, but a quick glance around me confirms that I'm not the only one thus afflicted. Of course, most of those bobbing boners belong to guys who brought a date, so their stiffness will not be in vain. Mine will be. Again.

How does a person get depressed in the middle of a roiling stew of beautiful bodies? I've somehow found a way. I paddle over to the edge of the pool and haul my naked self out onto the deck. I'm near the whirlpool, so I drip my way over to it. It's empty now, which will be perfect for me--I can soak, relax, and watch the team cavort like otters. That may raise my spirits.

I'm about to step in when I see him, in the corner by the shower. It's Death. And he's crooking a skeletal finger at me.

An absurd notion flashes through my mind--that this really is the moment of my death, and this is how it will be. I'm naked, alone, wet--pretty much how I came into the world is how I'm going to leave it. I consider ignoring Death, but something impels me to find out what the hell is going on. I walk over to the other side of the pool, grabbing a towel along the way. I wrap it around my waist, securing it with a little tuck-and-twist that I learned by watching the members of a swim team on exchange from Turkey. Had to study them--their sleek caramel bodies--for several days to get it right.

Death, having seen me coming, turns and walks through a door that I hadn't noticed before. I look around to see if anyone will see me leave, but they only have eyes for each other. When they find my body they'll tell the news cameras that I must have slipped away at some point--you know, a loner at the cool kids' party.

I follow the faint swishing sound of the black robes of Death, around a corner and through another door. Then I emerge into a small conservatory--small for the scale of this house, but larger than my living room at home--where a fire crackles in the stone hearth and the moon shimmers through the windows that make up two of the walls and nearly the entire ceiling. Death stands next to the fireplace, and that ghostly hand points to the low leather sofa that faces it.

Again, that small voice in my head tells me to get the hell out, but mostly I want to solve this Halloween mystery and find out who this is and what he wants. I sit on the sofa, and look up expectantly. Death approaches me, and his hands--his real hands, not the fake skeleton thing that he had been gesturing with--reach up. He unfastens the clasp at his throat, and the robe begins to open. It's immediately clear that he's naked under the black drapery.

My Halloween is looking up.

He pulls open the robe, and I scan down his body. Muscly chest, ridged abs--so far so good! The dark golden hair starts just below his belly button, and then I'm to the good stuff. His cock--well, his cock is the longest I've seen since--

I jerk up to look at his face as the hood slides back. Death is...

Diggler.

# 14 #

"What the fucking fuck are you doing here?"

Having asked this, I will freely admit that I don't care about the answer. I just want to get out of here, away from him.

I'm halfway to the door when he grabs me by the hand. He spins me around, grabs my other hand, and holds me in place. He's panting, eyes wild, and he opens his mouth to say something but then swallows hard instead. I try to shake loose of his grip, but he's got me tight.

"Diggler, if you don't fucking--"

"Wait! Josh, wait. Please. Why won't you talk to me?"

"Last time you talked to me all you told me were lies. I don't need any more of those, thanks."

The look on his face is one of transparent shock.

"What? What did I lie about?"

"About not doing what you said you would--what you promised you would."

He shakes his head, still wide-eyed with dismay.

"You told me that you couldn't bring yourself to go on a date with a woman."

His sharp intake of breath and slow nod tell me that he's finally catching on.

"I know I said I would do it, but I honestly couldn't--I was thinking about you, not about women, and I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"But, then, you did." Snap.

His expression is a complete blank.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I saw you. I was out that Friday night at that new place over on Tenth. I saw you--I saw you with her. And it looked to me like you could, in fact, bring yourself to do it, right there in the back seat of that taxi."

The realization creeps across his face, like sunrise at the town dump. Yes, now he knows he's been caught. Finally this can be over.

"So, I'm going to go now, and leave you to play the Grim Reaper with other people's hearts, okay? Thanks, this has been fun." I get arch when I'm really pissed.

"Wait, wait! You don't know--that wasn't a date!"

I stop on my way to the door, and turn on my heel.

"Oh, this should be good. Please tell me how I was completely mistaken, and that the woman who was all over you, and whom you practically mounted in the taxi, was not your date. Tell me that you didn't call me to be your Plan B, your fallback fuck when the woman you're dating won't put out. Go on, clear it all up for me."

"That was Gretchen, one my best friends when we were growing up. She'd just found out that her mom has cancer, and she asked if we could go someplace noisy and have a drink. Just to get away from thinking about her mom for a while. Well, she ended up getting pretty well wasted, and I was trying to get her out before she did something stupid. So, yeah, she was leaning on me."

"She was doing more than leaning by the time you got to the sidewalk." His story is creative, I'll give him that. But it doesn't explain what happened.

He blushes, caught in his lie.

"Oh, that," he says in an awkward tone. "Look, Gretchen and I went out a couple of times in high school, just to see what would happen. Well, what happened is that she discovered she's a lesbian, and I discovered I don't enjoy dating women who spend our dates looking at other women, so we called it quits after a couple of tries. But when she drinks--which isn't often, but, you know, mom getting cancer and all--she kind of gets sloppy drunk and she kissed on me a bit. It was awkward and dumb and I practically shoved her into the taxi to get her off me. Then her bracelet caught on the zipper of my jacket, and I fell in on top of her. I just wanted to get her home, so we got the hell out of there and untangled ourselves on the way to her place."

I raise a critical eyebrow.

"Where I handed her over to her partner of three years and said goodnight. Then I came home. That's it."

"Wow. You managed to make that up right quick, being on the spot and all. My compliments. Can I go now?"

"No! You have to believe me. It's all true."

The look on his face is what stops me from turning and walking out of the room. He's pale, and his eyes are welling up. Damn it! I'm sure a memo has gone out to every fucking confused boy in the state--tear up at Josh and he'll do whatever you want. I'm the Pirates of Penzance and everyone's an orphan.

Diggler takes a deep breath.

"I--I'm so sorry that you thought I was lying. That must have felt awful--I can't imagine it. But that wasn't me, Josh--I didn't lie to you." He takes another deep breath. "Well, I didn't lie about the important stuff." He looks ashamed.

"You know, when you are trying to get someone to believe that you didn't lie to him, it's best not to fuck it up at the last second by admitting that you actually did lie."

"But it wasn't really a lie. I just didn't tell you--I didn't have a chance to tell you--that...that.."

"What, Dig? Come clean right now if you are ever going to, because you will never get me to listen to you again after this moment."

"What I didn't tell you is that when Gretchen kissed me I felt something."

Fuck. This just gets worse and worse. I'm leaving. Again.

"Wait! What I felt was that kissing a woman was nothing--nothing--after kissing you. I realized right then that if I never kiss another woman I'll be just fine. That's why I told you that you are all I need. Because I know that now."

I turn slowly back to him. He's standing in the middle of the room, draped in the robes that hang off his broad shoulders, the light of the fire dancing all around his body. He turns back and sits slowly on the sofa, and then slumps over to lean on the armrest.

What I may have doubted in his words is proven by his body. Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, the life fades from him, and he sobs quietly, alone. Seeing him I know that every word he said is true.

Fuck.

I walk over to him, and sit on the couch. He seems not to be aware that I'm there, so complete is his despair. I slide over to his side of the couch, put my arm around his shoulders.

"It's okay, Clark. I'm here."

I hear him take a long, deep breath, and he turns to me. The tracks of his tears glisten in the firelight; he blinks hard, his eyelashes glittering--ust like I had imagined mine doing when Porter came to comfort me because my potential boyfriend had turned out to be an utter cad. I see that's what I have been to Diggler, now that I know the whole story.

"I am so sorry. I guess I was fearing the worst, and so that's what I saw. I should have talked to you about--"

He reaches out his hand and puts two fingers on my lips, stopping my rambling apology. He shakes his head slowly.

"Shh. I don't care what happened before this moment. We're here now, and that's all that matters to me. You're all I've thought about for weeks, every single day--every single minute. When Porter told me that you were coming to the party, I knew I had to try to talk to you, to find out what happened. And now we're here."

He looks at me, firelight dancing on his cheek, and a slight smile warms its way across his face--the first I've seen.

"I...I think I love you, Josh."

I sure hope that he finds tear-glittered eyelashes as attractive as I do.

"I think I must love you too, because I've been calling out your name in my sleep, I think about you pretty much every seven seconds day and night, and I'm about to tear a hole right through my towel."

He reaches over and places a warm hand on the front of my towel, and strokes gently from my balls up to the tip of my rock-hard cock, and then back down. The motion surprises me with its subtle frankness.

"For a straight guy you have a pretty sure hand," I murmur, my eyes closing involuntarily as I surrender to his touch.

"I don't actually think I qualify as a straight guy anymore," he replies, continuing his caress.

"Why is that, do you think?"

"Couple of reasons." He takes my hand and guides it into the folds of his robe. I think for a moment that I must be feeling the handle of his scythe, but it's too warm for that. It's his cock, which has reached monumental size and is harder than I've ever felt it.

"Oh, god, Clark," I whisper.

"And then there's this," he murmurs, and he lets go of my hand--I don't let go of his cock, don't ever plan to--and his hands wrap around my neck. He pulls me into him, slowly, slowly, until I feel that I'm going to explode before our lips ever touch. And then, once my eyes are closed because I can't stand the suspense any longer, we meet. Those lips, the tongue that took my breath away, that strong jaw's scratchy tickly stubble, it's all there just where I left it so reluctantly at his apartment, so long ago. A warmth radiates out from the place where my body has joined his, and suddenly the air itself seems purified. We were made for this, built for it, headed to it all our lives.

He moves toward me, his entire sleek body rising up, the black robe sliding down his arms. He pushes me back not with his touch but with the force of his radiant, hungry heat. He is on top of me, covering me entirely, his arms wrapping around me like the wings of a descending angel, his hips grinding into mine. He holds me, looks deep into my eyes, and that grin breaks out into an open smile, a joyous giggle in his throat. His hand reaches down and with a flick my towel releases, and with a yank he sends it flying over the back of the couch.

I wrap my legs around his slim hips, and hook them together atop the globes of his clenching ass. Our bodies are in contact along their full length--nipples, cocks, balls--and he holds my head in his hands and looks into my eyes. He gives a little shiver and a giggle, as if he cannot believe that we are finally here, and I clamp my legs down tighter, pressing us together, forcing us into a single body. He kisses me, his tongue greeting mine, stroking it, delicately frigging it. Can tongues have orgasms? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that just happened to me.

We kiss in the crackling firelight until I hear the clock on the mantle chime the hour.

"We should probably pull ourselves together and rejoin the party before someone comes looking for us," I whisper when he finally surrenders his hold on my lips.

"They won't," he replies with a sigh and starts kissing me again.

"How do you know that?" I pull off his mouth to ask.

"Because Porter arranged it. He helped me plan the whole thing. The door is locked, and no one's going to come looking for us. We have the whole night."

I look at him, stunned.

"If you want to spend the night with me, that is," he says, surprised at my reaction.

"Of course I do. It's just that I'm going to have to have a talk about secrets with our dear friend Porter."

Clark chuckles. "Oh, go easy on him. He was only helping me out."

"So you told him the whole story?"

"No, of course not. I just told him enough to get him to help me get you here."

"Which was totally worth it, I have to say," as I kiss him again. I have forgiven him, and Porter, and everyone who's ever done anything because it all led to this, and I wouldn't change that for anything.