Safe

"Oh, God, Michael. I had no idea. I thought I'd had sex before, but I was wrong. THAT was beyond anything I've even dreamed of," he gasped.

I was so thrilled that I'd given him such pleasure. But as the joy of it filled me, I could feel the panic coming on. I didn't deserve this! I didn't deserve his love and I would lose it. I couldn't become dependant on it. My mind was trying to poison what was happening, but Justin took my prick into his mouth and my mind shut up. I let myself go into a world of only my senses and let the waves of pleasure wash over me. He wasn't as experienced as I was, but his lovemaking technique was as matched to my needs as his music was to mine. He made love to my cock. There is just no other word for it. His lips and tongue didn't fail to explore a millimeter of it. I couldn't have sorted out the pieces of what he was doing for anything. It was just all perfect and he drew an orgasm out of me that reached to the bottom of my soul.

Afterwards we wrapped our arms around each other and, for a while, I was the most content I had ever been in my life. I was so close to peace and joy I could taste it. That's when I had to fuck it up.

It was the panic, of course, and the negative thoughts. I was afraid of trusting in his love, afraid of needing it, terrified that I was unable to give back what he needed. When I should have looked him in his kind eyes and told him I loved him, instead I got up and said, "That was hot. Thanks." I put my clothes on and went home, without a backward glance. Justin never said a word.

By all rights he should have refused to ever look at me again, or maybe beat the shit out of me. I deserved it and I knew it. I've never been a drinker, because of my father, but I got plastered that night and I stayed plastered for three days. My mother had no clue what had happened, but she called the symphony and told them I was sick and then she told me, "I don't know what brought this about, but I didn't get us away from your father to have you end up in the gutter. Get yourself together, son. I won't cover for you again." Then she put her arms around me and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Oh, Mom! I had real honest-to-God love in the palm of my hand and I pissed it away. I must be the biggest jerk in the world."

"Have you told him you regret whatever you did, son? Asked for forgiveness?"

It took a second for the pronoun to register. I just looked at her and said, "Him?"

"Michael, even if I hadn't figured out years ago that you're gay, seeing you and Justin on stage together would have made it obvious. The two of you are so aware of each other that I expected to see lightening arc between you. He seems like a really good man. Why don't you try apologizing? This hyper macho act you put on isn't working for you anymore. Let down your guard, dear."

I promised I'd think about what she said, but I felt so unworthy of being forgiven.

I continued to wallow in my agony, but I gave up the anesthetic of booze. Finally the fifth day of my self-made hell, I struggled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and took a shower. I was just finishing putting my clothes on when the doorbell rang. Mom was at work so I answered it. There was Justin on my doorstep, looking just about as ragged as I did.

My first impulse was to say something cold and stupid again, but I held it back. My second impulse was to throw myself in his arms and beg for forgiveness. A true coward, I held that back, too. I just stood there and stared at him and finally he pushed me aside and came into the house. I think I was preparing for a well-deserved punch in the nose, but what I got was a hot, angry kiss.

"This is too stupid for words, Michael. I'm not putting up with it another minute! What in the HELL is wrong with you? And don't even try to tell me what happened didn't shatter your world the way it did mine. I know it did. I could feel it."

I have no idea where the words came from, but I poured out my whole life story. I told him about my father and Mr. X and how the way they treated me made me feel. I told him about how I had had sex many times, but never made love until I was with him. I told him about "the wall" and how afraid I was that it could never be breached. He listened without a word. On his face where I was afraid I'd see rejection I saw only compassion and kindness. He wept unashamedly at what had happened to me, something I had never let myself do. When I was done he took me in his arms and held me solidly against him. Strength and gentleness: Isn't that what all of us dream of?

"We've got a challenge ahead of us, Michael, but we're going to take it on. I'm not letting you back away from me out of fear. If you decide you don't love me, so be it, but you are going to risk it and I'm going to stay for the duration."

The next few weeks were painful, but necessary. I started sessions with a psychologist who specialized in helping adults who had been sexually abused in childhood. She was very wise and she helped me see a lot of things more clearly. She showed me that I had become an abuser to myself by refusing to let my real feelings out.

I told myself I should stay out of Justin's bed until I got my head straight, but, of course, I couldn't. I went to him every night. I loved how it felt to feel him cum in my mouth. His whole body would vibrate with passion just before and then he would cry out my name with his release. Afterwards he always told me he loved me. I know it hurt him that I wasn't ready to say it back, but he didn't withhold any part of himself from me while I worked out my demons. I just couldn't let myself spend the whole night with him, though. It seemed more intimate than I thought I could be.

In spite of that, our lovemaking was amazing. One day after I had orally satisfied him and was expecting him to give me the same pleasure, as he always did, he handed me a tube of lubricant and said, in a husky whisper, "I need you inside me, Michael. Please fuck me."

It was so easy for him to ask for what he wanted. Why was it so hard for me? Of course I did what he asked, and it was beautiful. He hadn't done it very often and he was so tight. The physical pleasure for me was better than anything I had ever experienced before. His body welcomed me with the same warmth and love he'd showed me in a thousand ways. I've pounded lots of assholes, but I became part of Justin. We moved together in perfect sync and I stroked his beautiful cock as we did it so we came at almost the same moment. Again, he said he loved me.

I'd told him how hard it was for me to make myself sexually vulnerable; to offer my full trust and show any neediness. So he knew what it meant to me when I rolled on my back and said, "Justin, I'm asking you - no, BEGGING you, to show me what it feels like to have a man inside me who truly loves me." Tears came to his eyes as they did so easily. I silently prayed for the day I could let my own emotions out the way he did.

He held me and kissed me for a long time before he put on the lube and put his cock inside my body. We did it with me on my back so I could look at him. I'd never in my life done that before. He stood beside the bed and watched me as he pushed himself inside me, then drew back his shaft to the head. Each forward plunge filled me with his heat and his passion. He was slow at first, but he sensed the rhythm I needed, as he always did, and soon we were pounding our bodies together as if we could become one flesh. He didn't touch my cock and neither did I, but for the first time, I realized I was going to climax without that. When I splashed my cum all over him and my own belly, Justin cried out and I could feel his release filling me up. Afterward I rolled to my side and he lay down behind me and spooned against me. I fell into a deep sleep immediately.

I had fallen asleep in such a perfect state of contentment that I was shocked when the nightmare came. I'd had them most of my life, but this one caught me by surprise. I couldn't remember most of it afterwards, thank God, but my father was there and so was Mr. X and they were hurting me. They were telling me I deserved to be hurt. I was trying to run. I was sweating and running and getting nowhere when suddenly I was awake and Justin was holding me and saying over and over again, "You're safe, Michael! You're safe in my arms! They can't hurt you anymore. You AREN'T worthless! You're worth anything. Everything! Your mother was willing to die for you when she would step between you and your father. I'd die for you, too, and if you'll have me I'll live for you. Along with my kids, you'll be the center of my life."

I turned and looked at him and I knew right down to the bottom of my soul that every word of it was true.

"Michael," he told me, "it's safe to love me, because I'm going to love YOU until my dying breath."

I don't know what words I babbled then, other than the longest string of "I love you, I love you, I love you ..." that anyone ever said. When I was sure I had gotten my message across, I rolled on top of Justin, buried my face in his chest and cried my heart out. I cried for every miserable moment of my childhood and adolescence and as I did I could feel the memories losing their power over me. "The wall" splintered in a million pieces inside me and I was flooded with a joy I hadn't known existed. He held me through it all and supported me with his remarkable strength and gentle heart.

Today is our first anniversary. Not of the first time we made love, but of the night I surrendered my heart without reservation. Our lives are often complicated these days with performance schedules and the kids coming and going. They call their stepfather Daddy George and they just naturally started calling me Daddy Michael. I don't have the words to say how much it means to me.

Because I knew that most abusers have been abused themselves, I talked to my psychologist about the kids. I would rather cut off my dick than hurt them! She gave me some tests and she told me they confirmed her instincts.

"You're missing a key part of the abuser profile, Michael. They always have a sense of entitlement. 'I was used so I have a right to use others.' You have none of that in you at all. Not to mention you show no signs of being sexually attracted to kids. Those boys are totally safe with you."

Once I felt secure about that, I asked Justin and the kids to move into my house. We have plenty of room because Mom had recently surprised me with the happy news that she was in love and planning to marry again. My new stepfather is a great guy and he adores Mom. Now that I know what it means to be loved, I am so happy she's found someone to give her that wonderful feeling.

For Justin and me, our commitment is total. A few months ago the symphony asked everyone to write new biographies for the concert programs. After all the listings of where we'd studied and where we'd performed, we have a little space for personal information. Justin wrote, "Mr. Lawrence shares his life with his two children and the love of his life, guitarist Michael Malone." No closets for us anymore! After I read his bio I wrote, "Mr. Malone would not have a life without his beloved partner, conductor and pianist Justin Lawrence."

I hear the symphony got a few calls of protest when the programs were handed out the first time, but we got far more support than I would have dreamed. Donations went up immediately and the next time Justin conducted he got a standing ovation before he even started. After another concert two of the horn players came up to me and one who is known as Jolly, a plump fellow in his fifties, told me, "Don't think you boys are alone. Pete and I have been blowing each others' horns for years. All of us in the orchestra, straight and gay, are proud of you two for claiming your right to love each other."

I appreciate the support, but even if the whole world were against us, I'd stay right where I am: Safe in his arms.