Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

"Oh, god, you are such a romantic."

"And I'm also totally horned up. Now back to the work at hand."

"Heh. It's in my hand, all right. And it's starting to drip. It wants you as much as I do."

"I want that cock in my mouth! But first I would turn you around, press you up against the wall and kiss my way down your back. When I got to your tight butt, I would push your legs apart, and get on my knees behind you."

"God I love it when you do that!"

"Then I would kiss your sweet ass, and lick you all up and down until you were dripping wet. My tongue would slip inside so that I could taste you. Then I would shove my whole hand in there, really open it up, and stuff it as full as possible without packing it."

I have no response to that.

"Then take any stuffing that's left over, put it in a greased pan, and bake it separately."

Oh. "Great tip. And my ass thanks you as well."

"Sorry! My aunt walked through, looking for grandpa."

"Maybe we should just hold off on this..."

"No, I really need this right now. Please!"

"Okay. I've never done Food Network porn, but I'm game if you are."

"Awesome. Now, I want you to stroke your cock for me."

"Consider it stroked."

"Is the skin gathering at the tip? Is the head wet?"

"Oh, fuck yeah." I'm surprised how much I'm getting into this. "I'm not going to last long."

"I hope not. If I were there, I would get you done in about twelve seconds. I miss your cock so bad."

"Clark, I'm gonna--"

"Wait! When you come I want you to catch it in your hand."

Well, I wasn't about to spew all over Aunt Emily's desk, but I figured a couple of tissues would work just fine.

"Come for me, Josh. Stroke your cock for me and make it shoot, like I want to so badly. I want to taste you, feel your hot come in my mouth."

"Oh, fuck, I'm--" I grunt as the orgasm washes over me, I manage to get my other hand down in front of my dick just in time by cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder (not the most comfortable posture for ejaculation, but so worth it) and I catch six great globs of cum in my cupped palm.

"Now, I want you to lick it for me. I love the taste of your cum, and I need you to lick it up for me. Tell me how it feels on your tongue."

"It's so hot, dude."

"Ohhhhh," he groans into the phone. "Now's the time to check for lumps. If you find any, you have to keep beating it."

"Oh, I plan to," I laugh into the phone. "Let me guess, you had another visitor?"

"Uh, yeah. My brother this time. And me with my shorts full of cum. Awkward."

"Wait, you came too?"

"Didn't mean to, but yeah, it kind of happened when yours did."

"That's about the most romantic thing I've ever heard," I sigh into the phone. "I used to have to tie you up and wring it out of you, and now you're shooting off just from phone sex. That's fucking awesome is what that is."

"I love you, you perv. No matter what happens, you make me feel like it's okay."

"That's my job. Now, we need to clean up a bit, and you should probably get back to your family before they get suspicious. Call me when you're ready to talk me through mashing some hot, sexy potatoes, okay?"

He laughs. "It's a date. And Josh? I really do love you, you know."

"Not as much as I love you. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"If I can wait that long. No guarantees."

I hang up and blot as best I can. This is maybe the best thing about being in love--even the stuff that would be awkward with anyone else is okay with him because it's with him.

I have a moment--after getting my pants back on--to catch my breath and contemplate Aunt Emily's carefully manicured Zen rock garden outside the window of her office, and then I hear voices in the kitchen. The guys must be up, so it's time for me to rejoin the party.

"Everything okay with your new beau?" Aunt Emily asks as I walk in. Calvin and Reese turn, concerned that something might have happened.

"He's fine. He's just in a house full of family and couldn't really talk."

Calvin chuckles. "Well, he may not have been able to talk, but judging from the glow on your face he was able to do something--I know that look."

Reese studies me face, and nods. "Yep, he's showing all the classic signs. Definitely a phone-sex situation we got here."

"Now boys, stop badgering. Not everyone is as lucky as you are, getting to live together and be naughty whenever they like," scolds Aunt Emily. "Everyone take a dish to the table before it gets stone cold."

After dinner, we bask in the fire's glow and talk about nothing very important. I keep waiting for Calvin and Reese to mention their families, but they seem perfectly content to spend the holiday with just us. I try to imagine how I would feel in their place, but what they've been through is just too much for me to get my head around.

"Well, boys, I'm off to bed," announces Aunt Emily as the clock strikes midnight. "Both guest bedrooms are made up. You may distribute yourselves as you see fit." She winks broadly at us and hums merrily as she sweeps out of the room.

"Well, I say we take the bedroom furthest from Aunt Emily's," suggests Reese. "We wouldn't want to wake her if we get a little noisy." He grins at Calvin, who responds with a broad smile and a bit of a leer.

"Okay, then, I'll take the middle room," I say as I stand.

"But when I said 'us' I meant all of us," replies Reese, a slight pout in his voice.

"Yeah, holidays are when people should come together," agrees Calvin. "Don't you want to come together with us?" He deploys those fucking dimples to chip away at my virtue.

"I would love to, guys, but I'm kind of serious with Clark now, and I don't think it would be right."

"So, this is the real deal, then?" asks Reese.

"I think it might be," I answer, with giggle that sounds entirely too high school.

"But it's not like you're cheating or anything. I mean, it's just us!" Calvin exclaims, a note of indignation in his voice. "We've been doing this since...well, forever. It's like we have an exemption for each other. You're the only one that Reese and I do this with, because you were there at the beginning. C'mon, Clark would understand."

"He might. But I need to tell him about it first, and make sure he's okay with it. I'm not saying we won't ever do it again, because I would really miss the way that you and Reese...well, I would miss it. So, not this time, but maybe in the future, depending on what he and I work out."

"Ask him to join us," suggests Reese.

Calvin turns on him, eyes flashing. "Wait, what? You just decided that we have an open relationship now?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I just think that if this guy is to Josh what we are to each other, and we don't want to lose him, we should welcome his boyfriend."

Calvin ponders this for a moment.

"Plus," Reese continues, "Josh says his dick is as long as your arm."

Calvin turns back to me, eyes wide.

"No shit?" he asks me. Apparently the appropriateness of a foursome hinges on genital size. Who knew.

"No shit. I've measured it, and it's precisely 29 centimeters."

"And for the non-mathematicians among us?" Calvin asks testily.

"About 11 and a half," Reese replies. "Told you."

Calvin looks from Reese to me, and back again. Reese nods.

"So," Calvin says, turning back to me, "You'll ask him?"

I laugh. Calvin is always like this--honest to the point of transparency. You never have to wonder what he's thinking.

"If it comes up in casual conversation, we'll see what happens. No guarantees. He's pretty new at this."

"Well, so were we just last year, and look at us now," Reese laughs. He kisses Calvin, and they're off to the races, hands grasping and hips grinding.

"Yeah, look at you," I sigh. I kiss them each goodnight (Reese slips me a little tongue, the bastard), and head to bed. Clark and I wish each other goodnight by text, and I drift off, hearing only the occasional slurping noise from the guys next door.

Thanksgiving day at Aunt Emily's is much like I imagine it was at the Kennedys' place--touch football on the lawn, witty repartee over old-fashioneds as the daylight fades, and a kitchen so full of wonderful aromas that you can practically take a bite of the air. Aunt Emily is clearly working overtime to be sure that Calvin and Reese want for nothing on this first Thanksgiving without the rest of their families.

I'm helping out in the kitchen, ignoring Calvin and Reese as they tease me for talking or texting with Clark about once an hour.

"Here, make yourselves useful," she orders them, handing out huge steaming platters of potatoes and brussels sprouts. She winks at me and then turns back to the stove.

Shortly we're gathered around the table, which is piled high. Aunt Emily has cooked enough to feed several additional guests, plus a rugby team, but there are just the four place settings. I raise my glass.

"Here's to family we choose, and to the holiday that has brought us together. I am thankful that all of you are in my life." We touch our glasses, and Aunt Emily starts to stand so that she can carve the turkey.

Reese clears his throat.

"Can we say grace?" he asks, in a voice far more meek and tentative than I've heard before.

"Of course, darling. Please, go ahead," Aunt Emily replies, sitting back down and smiling at him. This puzzles me a bit, because I've never known her to show any patience for religious ceremony. It's no wonder, given what it's done to Calvin and Reese.

Reese holds out his hands, and Calvin and I take them. We both reach out to Aunt Emily, who grasps ours, and we are joined.

"Thank you, God, for the loved ones we have to share this feast. We are truly thankful that you have given us Aunt Emily, who has been the greatest blessing in our lives. We are thankful too for Josh, who helped us see ourselves clearly. And, God, we ask you to watch over our families who are distant from us today," he says, his voice faltering. He takes a deep breath. "And we ask for your help that they may be brought back to us. Amen."

"Amen," Calvin whispers, and I see a tear on his cheek.

"That was beautiful, Reese," Aunt Emily says, as she rises to carve the turkey. And we eat.

Now, had I been thrown out by my family because their religion teaches that I am a degenerate who needs to be punished, I would have a hard time even thinking about praying to the same god that they do. But Reese seems to have found his way to being able to do that. It's kind of a mystery to me.

Later, we gather again before the fire, fighting off that final Thanksgiving tradition--the food coma. I study Calvin and Reese as they slouch on the sofa, Reese drawing intricate patterns with his fingertips on his partner's broad arm, Calvin's face that of a slumbering angel. They are so happy. I just have to ask.

"So, Reese?" I venture.

"Yeah?" he says in a sleepy happy voice.

"Before, at dinner?"

"Yeah?" he says again, no trace of impatience in his voice.

"When you said grace?"

At this he opens his eyes, and looks at me with a half-smile. "Yes? What about it?"

"I was just kind of surprised by that, is all," I manage, awkwardly. I'm not really sure how you're supposed to talk to people about their religion, since I've always been told that you're not supposed to talk to people about their religion.

He nods, still smiling.

"Well, you know that Cal and I were raised as Christians," he says, as if I could somehow have missed this along the way.

"But that hasn't worked out so well, right? That's kind of why you're here instead of with the rest of your family."

He takes a deep breath.

"Cal and I didn't stop being Christians when we found out that we loved each other," he says, his voice calm and even.

"But why? Why would you keep being part of something that doesn't want you?"

"It's not Christ who doesn't want us," he explains. "There are some Christians who are intolerant, but there are many more who have no problem at all with gays and lesbians. Just because someone has faith doesn't mean that they hate the gays."

"I kind of assumed that because right-wing assholes are always going on about family values that everyone thought that way."

Reese laughs. "Those guys would be the first ones Jesus would bitch-slap if he came back today. I'm not sure what part of his teachings aren't clear to them--they have pretty much fucked it all up. But you know that little church on the west side of campus? The brick one with all the windows? That's where Cal and I go, and they're awesome. They get all of the Christ stuff right--love each other, care for the young and the old and the sick--and they leave aside all of the hellfire and damnation. You should come sometime."

"Oh, now you're going to try to convert me?" I laugh.

"Turnabout is fair play, my friend," Reese laughs in response. "You turned us into cocksuckers, so you have to give our thing a try too."

The only answer I have to this is a pillow that I launch into his face. I think it makes my point. He lobs it back to me, laughing, and then snuggles into the crook of Calvin's arm, a smile of perfect peace on his face.

The rest of the weekend is spent lounging and laughing, and when Sunday morning rolls around the only thing that makes me want to pack up and head back is knowing that Clark will be there. I hope we'll be able to get a little naughty time in before Sunday dinner with my suitemates.

In this I am not disappointed.

# 17 #

Around the first week of December Clark and I find ourselves with some extra time on a Sunday morning.

"What do you want to do?" he asks me, as we sit on his tweed couch, the newspaper strewn about; I'm dabbing up the crumbly remains of his unspeakably delicious scones from my plate and trying to imagine how I got so lucky.

"What I always want to do--you," I smile at him, crooking my eyebrow up.

"But we've already done that today--twice--and it's not even noon! Plus, I think I might be getting a little sore. What else ya got?"

I ponder this for a moment.

"What are you in the mood for?" I ask, returning to my important work of scarfing up crumbs. Every once in a while I get a little flaked coconut. Yum.

"I don't know. Something that involves actually getting dressed." He looks at me, a little squint in his eye.

"What? When did I say you couldn't get dressed?"

"You didn't say anything. But every time I try to put pants on you keep tearing them off, so I'm starting to wonder if you are ever going to let me out of the apartment."

"Totally not my fault. Diggler's gotta be free." His nickname has transformed over the past few weeks; now it refers only to his penis. It's big enough for its own postal code, so it makes sense that it has its own name. Plus, it makes me laugh every time someone from the water polo team calls him that. Totally mature, I know.

"So, what'll it be?" he asks again, undeterred.

"Got it. Alta Avenue," I say, snapping my section of the newspaper shut.

"What's that?" he asks.

Alta Avenue is the upscale gay district downtown. I forget that Clark would have no reason to know about it, since he wasn't gay until all of a month and a half ago.

"Just a place downtown. We'll walk, window shop, have lunch. It'll be very grown up. You can even wear pants."

"Can't turn down an offer like that. C'mon, let's shower up and get going."

It's two hours later that we finally set out. The delay is my fault--I'm a complete sucker for wet and slippery bits, and Clark's are now positively aglow with cleanliness. I did apply lotion afterward to ensure that he's not suffering from the effects of friction. I'd hate to have Diggler out of commission, even for a day.

I navigate while Clark drives, and we're shortly swinging into parking spot near the heart of Alta Avenue. We walk along the line of precious little shops and restaurants, pausing occasionally to ponder the advisability of adding this or that objet to Clark's decor.

"So, I'm getting the sense," Clark says as we walk, "That this isn't just a place downtown."

"What ever do you mean?" I reply, in my shocked--shocked!--voice.

"I may be naive, but I can see what this place is."

"What gave it away?" I ask.

"Well, I was suspicious when that shoe store had a sign in the window saying that they stocked pumps in sizes up to 15EEE. But what sealed the deal was that last place--Cabana Boy? Yeah, when that living mannequin wearing the mesh speedo winked at me, I kind of figured what was up."

"It's not like I was trying to trick you or anything. I just wanted you to discover it for yourself. We are among our people now."

Clark stops dead in his tracks.

"Our people? I'm don't know about you, but my people don't wear mesh swimwear and wink at strangers."

"Not what I meant. It's just that this is a place where we don't have to worry about anyone giving us shit for being together. It's safe."

"I hadn't realized that the world was so dangerous," he muses, walking along again.

"Let's just say that I've run into people who thought that fags shouldn't be allowed to walk the streets unbashed."

He stops again.

"Josh, are you--" he stops, aghast. "You mean that someone--"

"Beat the shit out of me for being gay? Yeah, that happened. Last year, actually. It wasn't just someone, either--it was three of them, and it would have been a lot worse if my friend Pete hadn't happened along."

"Oh my god...oh, oh my god," he says, his voice no more than a husky whisper. He grabs me to him, holds me tight, presses me as if he could squeeze the history of that night right out of me.

"It's okay, honey," I murmur into his shoulder, from which I cannot lift my face due to his protective embrace. "Pete broke the ringleader's arm, and the other guys split. My wrists were sprained, but there wasn't anything worse than that. I'm fine, really."

He relents in his grip, enough for me to look him in the eye. Tears are streaming down his pale cheeks.

"Clark, it's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Oh my god, Josh. I don't know what I would--" Words fail him again, and he yanks me back to him. I can feel him shaking. Finally he relaxes a little, only to grip my face in his hands and kiss me with every ounce of vigor his lips can muster. It's kind of overwhelming.

"Never, never again," he says, shaking his head.

The romantic masculinity of his reaction makes me blush all the way to my ankles. In this moment I realize that someone can tell you he loves you until he's blue in the face, but it's nothing compared to how he responds at a moment like this. I feel so loved and so safe, but I also feel kind of awful for telling him this way. I'd been meaning to find a way to tell him what had happened last year, but I certainly didn't intend to blurt it out like that.

"Come on, let's sit and get some lunch," I suggest, steering him into Cafe Narcisse, the closest establishment offering the distraction of food.

Sunday at mid-afternoon finds the lunch spots on Alta Avenue buzzing at capacity. Everyone has now slept off his Saturday night, emerged groggily into the daylight, and is seeking crepes with the ferocity of a newly-undead zombie. Luckily there's a table for us, and a nice one at that. It's near the fountain at the center of the restaurant, into which water plashes playfully; with Narcissus as the theme, it makes sense to have a reflecting pool available. There are certainly some fine specimens lunching around us, but I only have eyes for my guy. Who is still a bit shaken by our conversation on the sidewalk.

"Here, drink some water," I offer, holding out the glass that has just been delivered by our toga-clad waitstud.

He takes it and drinks, and then rubs his eyes and shakes his head.

"Sorry," he says. "I just never imagined that something like that could happen." He takes my hands in his. "I've never wanted to kill anyone in my life, but..."