Lucky Stars

The memories flooded in again. When I started dating Toby, he had never had egg salad, tuna salad, chicken salad, or any other kind of mayo based salad you can put in a sandwich. He also never ate pickles, dill or otherwise. All this stuff was in his house, three years after we had separated. They were my foods, but he still ate them without me. It made me happy and sad. Everything felt mixed and melancholy.

He finally asked. "Will you stay for the service tomorrow?" It was less than twenty four hours from now, so it seemed obvious to me that I was staying, in my mind, anyway.

"Yes, of course." I said before I took another big bite of the soft sandwich he'd made me. "There's a flight out tomorrow night or one the next afternoon." I wanted to ask him when I should leave, but I left it at that.

I knew I had to leave. I didn't want to. Every hour that I was with him made it that much harder to think about leaving. I had no idea if he was feeling all these conflicting things too, but I imagined he was.

I wanted him to ask me to stay. That was my heart's deepest desire I admitted to myself. Would I stay if he asked me? I still didn't have an answer to that. And he hadn't asked. I needed to leave, as planned, until he did ask. I looked at him and he looked lost.

"I'm glad you'll be with me at the cemetery. Thank you. It means more than you can ever know." But I think I did know. I knew him so well, even now. He didn't bring up my leaving after though, so I didn't either. I hated the awkwardness.

That night we ordered my favorite sushi and we talked about his good childhood memories. I'd heard so much about the bad memories when we were together, this was a nice change.

I was glad he could remember the good stuff. He had grown up in the last few years in some ways. He never used to be able to see clear of the bad stuff to remember the good times. I don't think this happened just since his dad passed. I think this came along during the last three years of regrets and loneliness. I know I viewed my distant past differently through my present eyes these days.

We slept exactly how we had the night before. On separate sides of his bed, facing away from each other. We both got ready in silence the next morning. We stopped and got coffee and a pastry without discussing it. We arrived at the cemetery ten minutes before eleven. As I expected, it was just the two of us.

His father's coffin was already sitting above the open grave, on a set of straps. A generic pastor, provided by the funeral home, came and said a few words. We watched as the cemetery worker lowered the coffin and closed the concrete vault over it. There was a shovel for us to use, if we choose to. We did not. I stood next to Toby as he said his silent goodbyes.

We walked back to the car as the maintenance guy brought the backhoe closer to move the dirt. Before he could start, we pulled away and left the cemetery in silence.

He drove us to our favorite boardwalk. We got out and walked up the pier and out to the end. We both stood and stared out across the water like we had many times before.

After ten minutes or so, he turned to look at me. I shifted to face him as well. "Thank you for being here today. Whatever stars aligned to bring you back into my life at this very moment, when I was going to need you most, I thank them. They are my lucky stars. You're my lucky star, Oliver." He smiled such a sad smile, my heart lurched in my chest.

"I'm glad I was here for you, Toby. I really am." As hard as this had been, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

"My dad used to take me to In-N-Out when I was a kid. Can we go get some and take it home?" He asked me. We didn't like their food, so we didn't ever eat there unless we had to, but I understood why he wanted to so I quickly agreed.

The food was as expected and that was fine with both of us. He talked about going there with his dad, while we ate. I wondered if that was really why he didn't like to go when we were together. He seemed to be enjoying the food, so maybe his aversion had been because of these memories instead.

After we ate and he cleaned up our garbage, he asked me something that surprised me, pleasantly. "Can I play you some stuff I've been working on?" My heart stuttered as I looked at my favorite song writer for the first time in years.

"I'd love that. I always love listening to you play and sing." I said it so honestly I shocked myself with the admission. His smile was my instant reward. He ran into his den and grabbed his old black guitar. It was an extension of his body. They fit together perfectly. Like he and I used to. My chest tightened at the thought.

He babbled about his ideas, classically stalling before playing me the new songs he was nervous about. The sense of déjà vu hit me hard again. This was my favorite lazy Sunday activity in the past. I wanted to cry.

He finally calmed and settled into his comfort zone. His eyes searched mine as he played some song I'd never heard. It was beautiful and sad sounding. The melody floated off of his fingertips. He hummed along with it, a counter melody. I loved watching him create like this. I couldn't help it, I started crying.

He closed his eyes and started singing a sad ballad that fit the music perfectly. I tried to watch his face as he sang but my tears blurred my eyes. I fought to focus on the words. I had fallen in love with him because of his words. His songs had changed me. He always moved me when he sang to me.

And then I realized he was singing to me. The song was about me. It was about us. He sang about his mistakes and his self inflicted ruin. He sang about the heart he had broken and the two lives he'd destroyed. He sang about losing his one true love.

I cried as I listened to him. He was singing it to me. He wanted me to hear his words. It was the best way he could communicate his feelings. It always had been. He spilled his heart out through his lyrics and through his music. My heart heard his words. I knew right then that if he asked me to stay, I would. I hoped desperately that he would ask.

He sang me another song. This one was about me, too. It was the story of how we fell in love after being friends. It was about his best friend who was also his lover, his destiny. In the lyrics he sang about thanking his lucky stars. He had said those words to me at the boardwalk. He had already been planning on singing these songs to me then. My heart felt like it might explode.

After that he paused for a second and took my hand. I smiled at him through my tears. He gently took his hand away and he started to play the first song he wrote for me, eight years ago. It was about being surprised about falling in love with me. It was peppy and fun and I sang along with him. I loved singing this song with him. My heart was racing when we finished. I felt breathless.

He set the guitar aside, took both of my hands and pulled me close, all in one swift move. I leaned into him and our lips met lightly. He touched his lips to mine gently, not wanting to assume, leaving it to me to react. I reacted the way I had always wanted to if I got the chance. I wrapped my arms around his neck tightly and I kissed him as passionately as I could. He kissed me back in kind.

I pulled back slightly and put my face into his neck. We clung to each other like we were going to drown if we didn't. He smelled like home to me. I wanted to be with Toby again. More than anything.

"Can I hold you tonight?" Toby asked me.

"Yes." I whispered against his neck. I wanted to sleep in his arms like I used to. It was where I felt safest.

That night, I lay right beside him with my face near his collar bone. He held me close, his lips resting on the top of my head. I fell asleep like that and dreamt of the past.

I woke up just before dawn and snuggled in closer. He murmured to me in the dark. "I love you." I loved him, too.

"Kiss me." I said it quietly but he heard me clearly. He pulled me up and pressed his mouth to mine. He kissed me like I hoped he would. His hands ran along my body, sending goosebumps down all my limbs.

He reached inside the back of the sweatpants I wore and cupped my ass in his big hand. He pulled me closer, pushing our dicks together. I ground against him. I heard him groan.

"Toby." It was all I could say before he gripped me tighter and kissed me deeper. It was all he needed to hear. We used to have the best sex in the mornings. I always felt so close to him and he was so passionate.

"I want you, baby." He stated it but I knew he was asking my permission. It was a given in the past that I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and we just did it, no permissions needed. But he was cautious.

"I want you. Love me, please." It was what I wanted more than anything. I wanted to make love with Toby. My Toby. I wanted to be with him in every way.

"I do love you, Oliver. I love you so much, babe. So fucking much." He said it as he pushed my sweatpants down past my hips and down my thighs.

I pushed my pants the rest of the way off and pulled my shirt over my head. I was naked in his bed. A week ago, this wasn't even a possibility in my mind. He undressed and his impressive manhood lay between us.

I stroked him and he felt as familiar as my own cock in my hand. He had gotten lube from the nightstand when he stripped and he had his fingers slippery and running along my seam.

He kissed me deeply, lovingly as we touched each other intimately for the first time in over three years.

"Toby, I need you. I can't wait much longer, please." I couldn't stand to be teased. I had waited far too long for this.

He understood my need. I'm sure his was as acute as mine. He rolled me and I shifted until I was in the little spoon position. He pressed his erection into my backside as he reached around and stroked mine.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, baby." He whispered it into my ear as he pumped his hand around my cock. I moaned and pushed back into him harder.

He released me and took himself in hand. He guided his head to my tight hole. He rubbed it over my pucker several times. I was nearly ready to go wild.

He finally pushed inside me. At first it pinched and burned. I had used a toy in the past three years, but I hadn't had any real sex with anyone. He pushed deeper and my toes curled.

"Yes, god yes." I said through my clenched teeth. It felt amazing.

"You feel so good, Oliver. God, I love you." He thrust deeply then and I gasped at the pressure and the blooming pleasure.

He slowly pumped himself into me, being gentle, taking his time. I felt loved. He turned my face to him and kissed me as he pressed into me from behind, repeatedly. I pushed my hips back, tilting them to give him the best angle possible.

The feeling of our bodies fitting together perfectly, like they always had, made me so content in that moment. This was home. Connecting to Toby in the most primal way felt right.

"Faster, love please!" I begged. I was trying to move my hips against him faster. He knew what I needed. He rolled me forward until I was face down underneath him.

He shifted his hips and repositioned his legs, all while keeping his body engaged with mine. He started driving into me harder than before. This position gave him more control and he used it to give me what I wanted.

His hips bucked into mine and I pushed my ass up and further open to him. I strained to take everything he had. He delivered his nearly nine inches over and over.

I heard myself making crazy gasping sounds and I screamed into the pillows as the pleasure kept building. It felt perfect. It was perfect.

I heard him saying that he loved me and how much he missed me as he slammed into me, but I couldn't focus. My body was starting to spasm from his perfect fucking.

I couldn't control my thrashing, but he pushed me down into the bed harder and kept thrusting even as my body shook with my building climax.

"That's it, baby. I'm going to make you cum so fucking hard!" He kept his punishing pace steady even as my body started to erupt.

I screamed as my balls pulled tight and my whole cock throbbed with intense pleasure, radiating out to every part of my body. Every nerve was on fire as I ejaculated harder than I could ever remember.

He kept thrusting, out of control now, seeking his own release wildly. I felt his head grow and pulse inside me and then he was roaring as he filled me with his hot juice. His hips locked with him buried as deeply as possible inside me.

His body released all it's tension and he collapsed onto me, both of us panting and sweating. After just a few seconds he rolled over and off of me. He grabbed me and pulled me tightly to his chest.

After we mostly caught our breath he kissed me deeply. "I love you, Oliver. I want you to come back, baby. Please give us, give me another chance." He pleaded.

"I love you, too. I want to be with you, more than anything." I started to cry as he kissed me. He'd asked me to stay. I would rather forgive him and have a chance at happiness then be miserable and alone for even one more day.

"Oh, Oliver, baby. You won't regret it, I promise you." He kissed me slowly and deeply. It felt like a promise, just like he said.

The next few weeks were kind of crazy. I flew back to New York with Toby by my side. I packed up my apartment, which was nearly all clothing. I quit my job, with the designer's blessing and a promise to give me a good word with my next employer.

Toby was on his best behavior, making sure I knew how much he wanted me back and how he would do everything to make it work. We had a lot of emotional sex.

We kept our reunion a secret from our old friends. We wanted to figure everything out ourselves before getting all their unsolicited opinions about it. I did look forward to brunch with my man next to me and my old crew, in the near future. I had missed so much more than just Toby. I missed my whole old life.

At first I planned on getting my own place, so we'd have a safety net and space to be apart to avoid getting overwhelmed. But during the first few weeks, when we were getting me moved back to LA, Toby pleaded his case.

"Babe, you know you're going to be here all the time. Do you really need your own place? Do you want time apart?"

He was right. I would spend every night in his arms and in his bed. I didn't really want my own place the more I thought about it. It just seemed like a good precaution. I didn't want any more time apart from him. Three years was already way too much.

"No, I don't want time apart. I've had my fill of time apart. But don't you think we should have a safety net, just in case?" I replied honestly.

"You don't need to rent a place as a safety net. First of all, I don't think we'll need it. Second, a hotel for a night or two is way more realistic if we need a break. Don't you think?" He tried to persuade me without being pushy. I could tell he was trying so hard, which made my heart soar.

"Okay. I guess a hotel, if needed, would be less expensive than renting a place I will never spend time in. When did you get so practical and responsible?" I joked, but we were both different people now. That unknown still scared me.

Toby's rental felt tiny once my stuff was moved in. He gladly surrendered the whole closet to me. If that isn't a man you marry, then I don't know what is. But I was in no rush to get engaged. I still wanted to be careful, not reckless and presumptuous.

I didn't complain about the space. I was so happy to not be alone. And not only not alone, but I was with Toby. He suggested we see a couples therapist, just to make sure we weren't sweeping something under the rug and ignoring it. I agreed right away.

The therapist was an older gay man, who had been with his partner for over thirty years. He admitted, without getting specific, that they had had their own bumps in the road, and those bumps had made them stronger. I hoped our three year road bump made us stronger.

We met with him weekly for two months. We found several issues that were difficult to get over. We'd probably have ignored them if not for our therapist guiding us through them.

During our final session, he was very pleased with the progress we had made. He told us we had the one thing that made couples succeed. We genuinely wanted to fix it and be together. We both put in the work because we wanted it to work.

At home, Toby and I were cautious about not falling into old habits. We didn't want to pretend it was just business as usual. We acknowledged that there was three years of hurt between the old us and the new us.

We couldn't pretend we had just hit pause. We were different people and our relationship was different. It felt new and exciting as well as old and comfy.

I was glad I hadn't rented my own place. I found out during our sessions that Toby had felt, deep inside, that me wanting my own place felt like a lack of trust. He never said it at the time because he didn't want to project his fears into the situation. I was glad I had stayed for many reasons, including that. I did trust him.

Sometimes I would drift into my thoughts when he was at the studio. I wondered if I would have been able to trust him or forgive him if he had cheated. He had ended our relationship before he had done anything else with anyone else. I didn't think I could have taken back someone who had actually cheated on me. I think that hurt would have been too great. Insurmountable, really.

Whether he did it subconsciously or just to be less of a dick, that one move on his part, is the one thing that made a future for us possible. On the days my thoughts steered in that direction, I would feel extra needy for passionate, emotional love making as soon as he got home.

After our two months of therapy, we contacted our old friends, a few at a time. I contacted Ruby and they were ecstatic that I was home and back with Toby. They knew we were destined for each other, or so they said. I felt it too.

I found work designing for a huge fashion house and it was my actual dream job. I shopped so much those first few weeks at that job. I needed LA clothes. I needed fresh, new, vibrant things to reflect how I felt. I was making enough money to buy whatever I wanted.

Since Toby walked to work, I used his car at first. But once I'd had the new job for a bit, I was ready to buy a car and settle into life. I bought a brand new Porsche 911 convertible. It was so LA.

I felt amazing. I was back home in Los Angeles. I was driving a convertible, in my designer clothing. And back at home, in our tiny one bedroom rental, I had a rockstar with a huge cock that loved me.

As we hit six months of being back together, we talked about how we felt we were doing. We didn't want to just give up trying because it seemed easy most of the time.

"How are you feeling about everything?" He asked kind of generically.

"Honestly, I'm surprised it's been this easy. I'm giving you all the credit on that one. If we hadn't preemptively seen the therapist, I don't think this would have been as smooth."

"I agree, though I'll give you half the credit. You needed to agree to go, so we both did that. Not just me." He smiled at me.

"What do you think we should do next? Should we just continue on for now or do we make a change, like moving to a new place?" We had tossed the idea around for months, so this wasn't something out of the blue.

"I don't want to sign another lease here. Another year and you'll have turned this whole place into a closet." He joked with me. I had an insane amount of clothes, that was fair.

"Good. I don't want to stay here either. It's been fine, but this was your depression nest, like my place in NYC was for me. It's time for a fresh start. So we either need to rent or buy. Opinions?"