Appearances, copyright 2006, by Etienne. All rights reserved.

-8-

Visitors at the Beach

"I certainly hope not," he said, pulling me to him. He embraced me eagerly and whispered into my ear:

“Let’s take a shower.”

“Fine with me,” I said.

We got into the large stall shower together and began to soap each other’s bodies. He turned me so my back was to him.

“Did I ever tell you that you have the best ass I have ever seen?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Well, you certainly do.” With which he got down on his knees and started kissing it. His kisses worked their way to the crevice between my checks and suddenly he was soaping my anus. I felt a slippery finger slide in and out a few times and then he moved me around so that the spray of water would carry the soap off.

After that, his tongue found my rosebud and began to explore, tentatively at first and then more aggressively. Finally the tongue was replaced with a finger which seemed to home in on my prostate almost immediately. The sensations were wonderful.

After a few minutes he stopped. “Ever had a prostate massage?”

“No.”

“Well it so happens that I know how to give one. Let’s get dried off and back in the bed.”

We dried each other thoroughly and playfully, and he led me to the bed, our erections pointing ahead of us. He brought a clean dry towel with us and spread it on the bed.

“Get on the bed face down,” he instructed.

I did as he asked and turned my head to see him reach into the night stand and retrieve a tube of KY Jelly. He then straddled me and inserted a lubricated finger into my anus. I jumped a bit because the KY was cold.

“Sorry, I should have blown on my finger to warm up the KY,” he said.

“Its okay, I replied.”

His finger quickly found my prostate again and began to tease it. I became as hard as I can ever remember being.

“Feels good, doesn’t it.”

“You know it does.”

“Get up on your hands and knees so I have better access and it will feel a lot better.”

I followed his instructions and he began to work on my sensitive insides with a vengeance. He stopped for a moment and I felt a little more pressure.

“I’m using two fingers now,” he said.

The pleasure continued, and then there was more pressure and I correctly guessed that he had gone to three fingers.

“Ready for something more substantial than a finger,” he asked.

“Yes,” I managed to gasp. I was so close to orgasm that I could barely contain myself.

He rolled me over on my back, quickly rolled a condom onto his erection, and raised my legs in the air, resting them on his shoulders.

He inserted himself into me slowly and steadily, watching me intently for any sign of discomfort. Seeing none, he kept pushing until he hit bottom.

“You really know how to fill a man up,” I said. “Now fuck me, please.”

He leaned down and began to kiss me while simultaneously he began to piston his erection in and out of my ass. After a time, he broke the kiss and bent down just enough to take my erection in his mouth. He began to suck lustily on it.

The combination of his erection pummeling my prostate and his mouth teasing my erection was too much and I began to spasm, filling his mouth almost to overflowing. He gave a couple of moans and the pounding stopped and I felt his erection twitch a few times deep inside of me.

He let my erection go and once again kissed me, sharing some of my semen with me. Then he withdrew from me and laid my legs down. I watched him remove the condom and toss it aside, but he was not done with me, yet.

He knelt down and took my penis, which had deflated somewhat, in his mouth and brought it to a full erection again. Then he produced another condom and proceeded to roll it down the length of my shaft.

He spread some KY on his fingers, lubed his anus, and promptly impaled himself on my erection. This was done so quickly I hardly had time to grasp what was happening. He gave a sharp gasp of pain.

“Shouldn’t you have gone a little more slowly,” I asked.

“Perhaps, but this always works better for me in the long run,” he replied.

The pain must have subsided because he began to lower himself up and down on my erection, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. Finally, he managed to roll us over, without breaking contact, until he was on his back with his legs over my shoulder.

“Now show me you know what to do with that thing,” he said.

I was happy to oblige him, and because I had only just had an orgasm it took a while before I came again. I was sucking on his erection when I felt him tense a bit and then he filled my mouth with delicious fluid, and then I lost track of that sensation as my own orgasm hit me.

I finally withdrew, removed the condom, and snuggled up beside him. Neither of us seemed to have much to say at that point, out bodies having said it all, and neither of us seemed to be willing to admit that we couldn't stay in bed any longer.

I finally broke the silence. "Didn't you tell me that you run regularly?"

"I probably did, and I certainly do. As a matter of fact, I run early every morning, weather permitting, and when it doesn't permit, I try to make it up in the evening."

"Great," I said, "because so do I. Do you suppose you could find us some suitable shorts?"

He thought a minute, and said "I usually bring that sort of thing with me, but I think this time I forgot. However, there ought to be some around here, somewhere. If not, the Speedos will certainly do. However, we lack the proper shoes."

"Can we run barefoot on the beach? We ought to be able to log a few miles."

He could see that I was serious. "I'm certainly game." He got up, rummaged around in the closet, and managed to produce suitable running shorts for both of us.

After we were outside, I said "Do you have any particular route that you use when you are here?"

"Well," He replied, "it is about five miles down to where the strip of motels begins. We could run down and walk back."

"It's ten o'clock now," I said, "so that will get us back here in time for lunch."

"Which we ought to enjoy since we skipped breakfast," He added.

“Is that a complaint?"

"No, just a passing comment. I'll certainly take a morning in bed with you in lieu of breakfast any time."

With that, we were off, Lance bounding ahead of us.

Charles and I ran at a steady but not tiring pace, about ten minutes to the mile I guessed. We ran in silence, each lost in his own thoughts, until we reached the first of the motels, turned and started back. A few minutes after the turn, I said "My feet are telling me that it is time to stop and walk. I’m not used to this kind of uneven surface, not to mention running barefoot."

"Mine, too," he replied.

"How far do you usually run?" I asked.

"I try to get in six or eight miles, and once in a while I bump it up to ten. It really depends on how early I get up, and how I feel on any given day. How about you?"

"Six miles is about my usual limit, although I've never really pushed myself to see how much more I could achieve."

We lapsed into small talk for the rest of our walk back to the house. When we got there, we went up a side stairway to a door that opened directly to the small shower. By this time we were pretty much cooled down from our run. After we had washed the sand and salt out of Lance’s fur, we dried him off and let him into the kitchen. Then we got a little playful in the shower, while washing the sand off of each other. So much so, in fact, that when we dried off, threw our towels over our shoulders, and stepped naked into the kitchen, we were both partially, well on the way to becoming fully, tumescent. We walked hand in hand around the counter and into the living area. Before we reached the stairs, we came face to face with a man and woman sitting on the sofa. Lance had his head in her lap and she was petting him. The woman appeared to be in her late twenties, had red hair, and was quite pretty. Her companion, whom I judged to be a little older than she, was not unattractive. They both stood up when they saw us. I dropped Charles' hand as though it were scalding hot, grabbed the towel from my shoulder, and frantically wrapped it around my waist. He didn't even break his stride, but walked straight over to the woman and gave her a long hug and a brief kiss.

"Lydia," he said, "what a pleasant surprise. It is so good to see you - it has been much too long."

She laughed and said, "Well, it's always good to see you, too, although I certainly didn't expect to see quite so much of you. In fact, I really didn't expect to see you at all. I thought you were not coming down this weekend."

Charles, not in the least nonplused at having been reminded of his nudity (his semi-erection mercifully having subsided), wrapped his towel around himself. He seemed not to have heard her last remark. "Well, we’ve just been on a run down the beach, walked back, and were heading upstairs to dress." He continued, "Lydia, I want you to meet my friend Philip d'Autremont." He looked at me. "Philip, this is Lydia, Robert's sister."

We shook hands, and she finally remembered her companion, who seemed to be trying to make himself invisible. "Charles and Philip," she said, “this is Harry Bronson," completing the introductions.

Charles took charge of the situation, looking at Lydia. "We have a great deal to catch up on, but first, Philip and I should go up and get dressed. I trust you and Harry haven't had lunch."

"No, we just got in from Tallahassee," she said.

"Good, then I'll impose on you. How about going in the kitchen and getting creative. We went shopping yesterday afternoon, so there is plenty of everything." Without waiting for her to reply, he took my hand and led me upstairs. Which was probably a good idea, because my feet seemed to have become rooted to the floor.

When we were back in the bedroom, he said "Come on in the bathroom and talk to me while I shave. You look as though you are in shock."

"Well," I said, "I'm not used to parading in front of a pair of total strangers of either sex while sporting what amounts to a half erection, although it didn't seem to bother you particularly."

"Lydia has seen me naked before. She frequently joined Robert and me down here with a date, and the four of us would invariably skinny dip in the gulf. It's no big deal."

I didn't have an answer for that. By this time I was perched on the bathroom counter and he was busy shaving. "It's too bad she got mixed up about the weekend," I said, quickly adding "But, it won't bother me if she and her boyfriend want to share the house with us until Tuesday.”

"He's not her boyfriend, and she certainly did not get mixed up about the dates."

"Why do you say that?"

He put the razor down, and started counting his fingers beginning with the little one "1, he's not her type; 2, Lydia never forgot anything in her life; 3, least of all our respective schedules concerning use of this house; and 4, Harry is as queer as a three-dollar bill."

"Are you sure?" it all sounded strange to me.

He finished shaving and washed the dregs of lather from his face, and resumed the count. "5, in case you didn't notice anything else about him, you must have noticed that he was practically salivating at the sight of our naked bodies."

"I was too busy covering up my own naked body to pay much attention."

"Well, I noticed the signals loud and clear, which leads me to conclude that; 6, it would seem that Lydia has decided that it is her turn to play Yenta. My guess is that Harry is a sacrificial lamb enticed down here to seduce me." He pulled me off the counter and kissed me. "They are forty eight hours too late, so Harry will have to learn to live with disappointment - not that he would have been successful."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Better men than he have tried and failed. You can't imagine the number and variety of eligible studs that well-meaning friends have thrown at me over the past three years. None of them had what it took."

"And what, pray tell, was that?"

"Your eyes."

"Is that all?" I was fishing for more, and not ashamed to let it be known.

"No, but I don't want you getting all smug on me." He grazed my cheek with his lips. "Now, get rid of that stubble, and let's go down and visit."

I quickly completed my ablutions and returned to the bedroom, to find him already dressed in shorts and a polo shirt. Taking a cue from Charles, I dressed similarly, and we descended the stairs as we had ascended them - hand in hand.

We found Harry sitting at one of the bar stools, chatting across the counter with Lydia, who appeared to be nearly finished with her assigned task of laying out lunch. The counter already held a platter of cold cuts, cheese, and other condiments very prettily arranged, as well as a large bowl filled with potato chips. An opened loaf of multi-grain bread was beside the patter. Lance was sitting next to the counter in his begging pose, waiting for a handout. Charles walked around the counter and gave her another hug and kiss. "It really is good to see you, even if we had to fly down here to do it."

"Well," she replied, "you know what my schedule is like in Atlanta - it's probably as bad as yours, or perhaps even worse."

He gave her an easy grin, "Maybe our respective secretaries should pencil some visits into our calendars."

She gave him a somewhat stern look. "I have called you any number of times in the last six months, but you never seem to be at home."

"I'm sorry about that," he answered, giving her a mock 'hangdog' look, "I'm nearly always home these days, but I have been such a moody bitch lately that I simply haven't answered the telephone very often."

The stern look dissolved into one of concern. "Charles, you must get out of your shell. You can't keep up this self-imposed exile from life forever."

He looked pointedly at me, and said "That's very good advice, and it has already been taken. I rejoined the world Thursday evening."

She saw the look he gave me, and her expression became temporarily unreadable, then she said "It is about time." Before he could say anything else, she looked at her handiwork on the counter and announced "Lunch, I think, is ready. Where shall we take it?"

He thought about it for half a second. "It is so nice outside, why don't we move the table out onto the deck. Philip, come give me a hand, please."

I followed him to a corner of the living area, and helped him move a small table out to the deck. Harry, unbidden, started bringing the matching chairs out as well. Lydia brought up the rear, her arms laden with the tray of food, bowl of chips, and another tray containing bread, small plates, and utensils. I was sent back in to round up glasses, ice, and beverages, and in short order we were all busy assembling sandwiches.

Conversation over lunch was mostly trivial. Charles and Lydia obviously had a lot to catch up on, but they managed rather deftly to involve both Harry and myself in the conversation. I learned during lunch, that Lydia was a Clinical Psychologist working mostly with outpatients at one of the Atlanta hospitals. One of her specialties was working with abused children. Her parents lived in Tallahassee, and she had spent the previous day and night visiting them. Harry, it seemed, also resided in Tallahassee, and had known Lydia for some time, although in what capacity was left unsaid. Now that I was over the shock of them catching us naked, my gaydar had started working again and I recognized Harry as family. She apologized for having "forgotten" that Charles was going to be at the beach this weekend.

He made no reference to the conclusions that he had already drawn concerning her presence, and simply said "Now that you are here, there is no reason for you not to stay. Philip and I are in my usual bedroom. The rest of upstairs is up for grabs."

They accepted as gracefully as possible, under the circumstances. Lydia asked about our plans for dinner. Charles replied that we had purchased steaks the evening before, were planning to grill them this evening, and he and I could run to the market for a couple more.

She would have none of that. "Nonsense. Harry and I can run down to the store and take care of that. I need to pick up a couple of things anyhow." We had, by this time, cleared the table and carried the remains of lunch back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, they were in her car and on their way to the store.

Charles walked over to the stool I was sitting on, and kissed me thoroughly. "Want to go upstairs and pick up where we left off earlier in the shower, big boy?"

"That's the best offer I've had all day," I replied, and this time I took him by the

hand and led the way upstairs. We spent a leisurely half hour in bed, and had just gotten dressed and walked downstairs when we heard Lydia's car pull up.

The four of us spent a pleasant afternoon on the beach, alternately swimming and lying in the sun. By seven, Charles had set up the grill on the deck and was overseeing the steaks. Lydia had bought baking potatoes, which had been in the oven for some time, and she had taken charge in the kitchen. Harry and I tried to make ourselves useful, but finally wound up in deck chairs making small talk with Charles while he watched the grill.

By the time we were at the table, attacking the steaks, we had all managed to consume two or three drinks apiece and were beginning to feel them. That, coming after an afternoon of sun and surf and generally getting acquainted, had dissolved the tension which had been almost palpable before and during lunch.

All of which may account for Charles looking at me and saying. "Did I tell you that Lydia was an absolute rock of Gibraltar for me after Robert died?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Well, by way of background, their parents are dyed in the wool Southern Baptists, and literally cut off all contact with Robert after he came out to them. By the time he died, they had neither seen him nor attempted to establish any form of contact with him for six or seven years. Lydia, of course, saw the both of us two or three times a week." He paused for a moment.

"The morning after Robert died, I asked her to notify their parents at least as a courtesy, which was something that neither she nor Robert had wanted to happen. He had known for some time that his tumor was terminal, and we had talked about his wishes at length. He was adamant that since they had cut him off in life, they did not deserve any consideration afterward, and she tended to more or less agree. My grandmother raised me to 'do the right thing always,' so I talked Lydia into notifying them." He stopped for another minute, apparently lost in recollection.

Finally, he continued. "She brought them by the townhouse late in the afternoon the day before the funeral. Gran had unexpectedly dropped by about a half hour earlier, and was still there. It was a very awkward moment for all of us. They were not there very long before Mr. Brannon made it clear that he and his wife intended to, as he put it 'take their boy home for burial in the family plot.' Somehow I summoned up the courage to tell him that they would do no such thing. Mr. Brannon informed me that they were his parents, blood kin if you will, and since I was a total stranger I had no say in the matter.

This time he paused for a very long time. I decided to prompt him "What did you say to that?"

This got him started again. "I told him that they were very wrong. Robert and I had executed mutual Wills, including powers-of-attorney and other legal documents giving each other the absolute right to act if something should happen to one of us. We had by then lost a great many friends to Aids, and at least twice had seen families of deceased friends barge onto the scene and take charge, totally and legally excluding the lover of the deceased from any say in either the funeral arrangements or the disposition of effects. One of them had even been barred from attending the funeral services. I believe I said something like ‘Robert really did not want you to be here, considering your treatment of him over these last years, and Lydia was also reluctant to call you, but I insisted that you should, as a matter of common courtesy, be told. Understand however, that you are here on sufferance, and I will not allow you to interfere. The funeral and burial will take place according to Robert's wishes, and I am well equipped to go to court to see to it that those wishes are adhered to. Period.'"

"That must have been quite a scene," I interjected, before he could continue. "What happened, then?"

"Well, Mr. Brannon seemed to think I was bluffing, and I suspect he thought that he could bulldoze his way past any of my objections, saying they would be glad to settle things in court. When he ran out of steam for a moment, I reminded him of the publicity that any legal action would produce, pointing out that the papers in his hometown would have a field day. I further reminded him that any legal proceedings would be a matter of public record, and there would be absolutely no way to prevent all of their friends from knowing about their fight with a gay man in Atlanta over their deceased son's body. I don't think he believed me, and he made a comment to the effect that publicity would cut both ways. I told him that was fine with me, because everyone in my law firm had both known and approved of Robert, and all of them would be at the funeral the next day."

"I'll bet that stopped him cold."

"Not quite. He started to make noises again, and that is when Gran entered the fray, so to speak. She had just turned eighty at the time, and then as now cut quite an imposing figure. Robert used to refer to her privately as 'the dowager duchess.' She got our attention by rapping her cane loudly on the hardwood floor, and said something like 'be quiet, you silly little man.' I don't think Lydia's father had ever been spoken to in quite that manner, but he was smart enough to know when he was both outranked and outclassed. She made quite an impromptu speech, reminding Mr. and Mrs. Brannon that Robert had lived in her home for several summers, and that in later years she had been a frequent visitor in our home. The gist of her remarks was that in eighty years of living, she had never observed two people more suited to each other than Robert and me."

"Mrs. Brannon then asked Gran point blank if she would not have preferred that I had married and had children. Her answer took them both off guard, I think, for she said that she would have much preferred me married and producing great-grandchildren. Furthermore, she said that she knew that both Robert and I would have preferred that kind of life as well. Then she reminded them that though she was old and from a different generation, she was also extremely well educated, and well informed enough to know that these things are not matters of individual choice. She even reminded them that experts now agree that sexual identity is established well before the onset of puberty. As I said, it was not an answer that they had expected."

"She subsided for a moment, and before anything else could be said, Lydia jumped in. She said to her parents 'You have no idea what Robert's life was like, and I think it is time that you found out.' She asked me to find a videotape that she had taken two summers before down here at the beach. There was only one tape to which she could have been referring, and I went to the study and found the copy she had made for Robert and me. I brought it to her, and she asked me to play it for them. We all went upstairs to my study, and watched the tape." He stopped again.

"What was on the tape?" I asked.

He had lapsed into silence, so Lydia replied. "About forty-five minutes of Charles, Robert, and me, at the beach. I had just gotten a new camcorder and was trying it out down here, one weekend. I managed to catch a number of candid shots of the two of them at odd moments, both separately and together. I had brought a date that weekend, and he took a number of shots of the three of us. Even the most hardened cynic would have known, seeing them together on that tape, just what they meant to each other, but the final scene was the clincher. It was a close-up of Robert, asleep on one of the chaise lounges. Somehow, I managed to get Charles in the shot as he slipped up behind Robert, and bent down and kissed him on the forehead. That caused Robert to wake up and he looked around - you know, to see what had disturbed his sleep. When he saw Charles, who had knelt down beside the lounge, he smiled at him with a look of absolute serenity and happiness. The last shot shows both of them, lost in each other. I froze the tape on that final image. By that time, Mama was crying, both Charles and I were on the brink, and Daddy looked very embarrassed."

"I was also angry as hell, and said 'Mama, you saw that tape. It should be perfectly obvious to you that Robert was happy with this man, happier than any human being has any right to expect to be. You and Daddy lost Robert years ago by your own choice, although you could have made up for that at any time, had you chosen to do so. Now, you've lost your son permanently, and if you make trouble at this late date, you'll lose a daughter as well.' Mama wanted to know what I meant by that. I told her that I would never speak to either of them again if they tried in any way to prevent Charles from carrying out Robert's last wishes. She looked at Daddy, who had once again started to make angry noises, and said, 'William, shut up. She's right. Even you must have seen that he was happy. She also means what she says, I can see that, too.' Then she looked at Charles and said simply 'Thank you for asking us to come, we are grateful, and there will be no trouble.' Somehow, we got through that evening, although things were a little tense when we went to the funeral home to receive visitors. The casket was closed, and Charles was adamant that it remain so. Viewing the remains is a strong tradition in the deep South, but I have always found it barbaric. Robert had shared that view, as did Charles, and that was that as far as I was concerned. They were very quiet at the funeral mass the next day, which was held at St. Phillip's Cathedral. Neither of them had ever, to my knowledge, been to an Episcopal service of any kind, and were a little uneasy in those surroundings. They were quite taken aback when I went to the altar rail with Charles to receive communion, as I had never told them that I had converted.”

“They went with us to Mrs. Barnett’s home after the services, and I could see that mama was grappling with her inner conflicts. Both she and daddy were a bit overwhelmed at the surroundings (I don’t know if you have seen her home, but it is in Buckhead and positively reeks of both class and old money), and were smart enough to know when they were out of their solid middle class element, so to speak. Later that day, I drove them back to Tallahassee. Mama only asked me for one thing - she wanted a photo made from the last scene on the videotape."

She paused, before continuing “There is an epilogue to the story, as well. "A few months later, Mama withdrew from the Baptist church, and started attending a little Episcopal church near where they live. She is really quite bitter about her upbringing, and blames the Baptists for her having missed out on any part of the last seven years of her son's life."

I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I said, "That must have been some videotape. I'd certainly like to see it sometime."

She smiled. "You can see it right now, if you like. I was feeling kind of blue last spring and needed to be reminded of happier times, so I brought a copy of it down here over the Easter holiday and watched it myself for the first time since the funeral. It is upstairs in my bedroom." She looked at Charles. "Do you mind?"

"No," he said, slowly, "I don't think so."

He sounded reluctant, so I said "Are you sure?"

"Yes, it’s all right. I haven't looked at my copy of that tape since the funeral, perhaps it is time."

Charles, Harry, and I cleared the remains of dinner and put things away while Lydia went to her room and retrieved the tape. When we were finished, we went to the living area and sat down, Charles and I side by side on the sofa, the two of them in opposite chairs. The only light in the room was coming from the kitchen, the sun having long since gone down, and we didn't turn on any more lights. She took the tape over to where the television and VCR were, inserted it in the latter, and turned both devices on.

It was a typical home video. Shots of Robert on the beach, Charles on the beach, Robert and Charles on the beach, etc., pretty much as Lydia had described it. I had not yet seen a picture of Robert other than a studio portrait in Charles’s study, so was interested to see that he was my physical type, but with brown hair. He obviously was not into running or weight lifting, for he was not particularly well developed in the muscle department, although he certainly filled his speedos impressively. Having had that thought, I immediately wondered if I was feeling smug because I had a better build than my predecessor. I had put my arm around Charles when the tape started, and he had snuggled up against me, intent on the film and his thoughts. The final scene was indeed, a long lingering shot of Robert, asleep on a chaise lounge on the deck. The camera panned back for a moment to focus on Charles, who was walking up behind the chaise lounge with a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence. He bent over Robert, and kissed him on the forehead. Robert stirred, and Charles kissed him again. Robert woke up, stretched his arms and looked around. When he saw that it was Charles kneeling beside him, his face lit up with an expression I will never forget. Lydia's description of that look was absolutely on target, perhaps even a little understated. My concentration on the television screen was broken by Charles, stirring to life beside me.

"Excuse me," he said, and he went hurriedly out to the deck.

Harry broke the spell. "Jesus. No living creature has ever looked at me like that, excepting perhaps, my dog. My mother wouldn't even be a distant second." Having said that, he excused himself and went upstairs, presumably to the bathroom.

I ignored him, and looked at Lydia. "Will Charles be all right?"

"He will, if you go out there and give him a hug," she said. I started to get up, but she stopped me with a gesture. "Charles is the most controlled person I have ever known. To my knowledge, he has never been able to allow his grief to properly vent itself. As far as I know, that episode with my parents was the only time that he ever even came close to losing his composure over Robert's death. I am also fairly certain that he has never been able to properly let out his grief. Maybe you can help him with that, as he is obviously in love with you, and if I'm any judge it is mutual."

"You're very observant," I replied.

"It's my profession," she said, with a smile. "Besides, I have known him for over ten years, and he looks at you the same way he used to look at my brother. On the other hand, I don't know you at all, but it is plain to see that the feelings are mutual. So go out there and tell him how you feel. Just be warned that he has been wound up tight for three years and when the dam bursts there is likely to be a flood."

I took her advice, and got up and walked out to the deck. Charles was sitting upright on one of the chaise lounges, straddling it like a horse. I walked over and sat down on it facing him, straddling his legs. "Are you all right?"

"No," he said, tears flowing freely but quietly, "but I will be."

I put my arms around him. "If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask. I know it has only been a couple of days, but there is no doubt in my mind." I paused.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked.

"Only that I love you."

"That's okay, I love you, too. You may not have guessed it, but I fell in love with you the minute I saw you."

"I had sort of figured that out, especially after your conversation with Andrew the other morning."

He was still trying to control the silent tears. Finally he said "Take me upstairs, please, I need to get in the shower."

We got up, and I put my arm around his shoulders and we walked back into the house, up the stairs, and to the bedroom without a word to Lydia or Harry, who had come back downstairs. They politely pretended not to notice us. As soon as we were in the bedroom with the door closed, Charles threw his clothes off, went into the bathroom, and turned the shower on. While he waited for the water to get hot, he came back to the open door and said "Join me." It was neither request nor command, more like a plea born of desperation.

I got undressed, turned the covers down on the bed, and went into the bathroom. The shower was a built-in tile affair, as wide as a bathtub, with sliding doors. There was a tile bench built into one end of it. I stepped inside and found Charles standing under the water, still crying silently. I pulled him to me, and held him while the crying changed to great racking sobs. He held onto me so tightly that it was at times difficult to breathe. It went on for a very long time, finally subsiding about the same time that the hot water began to become exhausted. I managed somehow, to get him to sit down on the bench, then I turned off the water which was getting colder by the second. He sat there, helplessly while I toweled myself dry, then dried as much of him as I could reach. I pulled him to his feet, finished the task, and he allowed himself to be led to the bed.

We lay in bed a long time, face to face, with our arms around each other. Finally, he said "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Subjecting you to that."

"It was something that you obviously needed to get out of your system," I responded. "Who better to help you through it than someone who loves you?"

"You are right, of course," he replied, "I know that at an intellectual level. Understanding and dealing with it at an emotional level, however, is another matter." He squeezed me. "I really thought that I would never be able to feel anything for anyone again." He smiled, and said "I still don't know where I found the guts to make that silly bargain with you Thursday night."

"Yes you do," I responded. "You even alluded to it earlier."

"Oh yes," he said, remembering, "I found it in your eyes, didn't I?"

We talked about nothing for a while, and he finally dozed off, eventually showing all signs of being in a deep sleep. I was more or less still wired from the experiences of the evening, so I carefully untangled myself from him and the bedclothes and got up. I found a robe, put it on, and slipped downstairs. As it was, by then, well past midnight, I had expected to be alone. When I walked into the kitchen area, I surprised and was surprised by, Lydia, who was sitting at the counter with a cup of tea.

I spoke first. "Sorry to startle you, I didn't think anyone would still be up."

"I couldn't sleep," she said, "so came down for a cup of tea. Please, join me."

"I had been thinking in terms of a nightcap, but tea sounds even better," I said, as I walked over to the cabinet where I knew the cups and saucers to be stored and retrieved one of each. I went back around the counter and sat down beside her.

She poured me a cup from the pot she had made, and said "Is everything under control?"

"I think so. To borrow your metaphor, the dam burst. Big time. I think he achieved some sort of emotional catharsis." I remembered her profession, and quickly added "although from your professional point of view, that is probably a very imprecise way of putting it."

She smiled. "Actually, that says it very well." She thought a moment, and continued "He has been building up to something like this for three years. I'm just glad he didn't have to go through it by himself."

"You were right about him being in love with me. I only hope he can come to feel half as much for me as he clearly felt for your brother."

"If you are worthy of it, he will do more than that," she said. "Charles has never done anything halfway in his entire life."

"If you don't mind talking about it," I said, "tell me about the two of them."

She said that she didn't mind, and spent more than an hour describing what she knew of how they met, and what she had later observed of their relationship and life together. Finally she realized that we were both yawning. "I think it is time we both went to bed," she said.

Stifling a yawn, I agreed with her. "It has been an exhausting day, hasn't it?"

She agreed with me, and then did something very strange. We were at the foot of the stairs, and she turned and gave me a hug. "I think you are going to be very good for him?"

"Thank you," I said, "I certainly hope so."

She continued, "In a way, I'm glad I got my weekends mixed up."

I couldn't resist an opening like that. "Charles says that you did no such thing."

"What do you mean," she asked, affecting an air of innocence.

"When we went upstairs this morning after encountering you and Harry, I told him that it wouldn't bother me if you and your boyfriend stayed the whole weekend."

"What did he say?"

I demonstrated for her "He said '1, Harry was not her boyfriend, he's not her type; 2, Lydia never forgets anything, least of all, weekends; 3, Harry is obviously queer; 4, Lydia is surely playing Yenta; and 5, She is two days late and the wrong man short.' That's the short version," I said.

She laughed. "I can just picture it. That counting routine is one of his more frequent mannerisms. Of course, he is absolutely right, I'm guilty on all counts."

We said good night, and walked up the stairs without another word. I took off my robe, and slipped into the bed carefully so as not to disturb Charles, but I need not have worried. He was dead to the world, lying on his side facing out, and barely stirred as I snuggled up behind him, wrapped one arm around him, and closed my eyes. I think I went to sleep almost instantly, which is most unusual for me.

When I began to wake up, I was in the same position on my side, but when I became fully awake, I realized that he had turned over to face me, and was wide awake. "How long have you been awake?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, "I woke up, rolled over, and have been lying here, watching you sleep."

"You should have wakened me," I said.

"Why? You were sleeping soundly and obviously needed it. It was nice to lie here and watch over you." He paused, then continued "I also want to thank you for last night."

"It really isn't necessary, but you're welcome," was all I said.

"Oh yes it was," he said, "and so is this." With that, he started kissing me, at first innocently, and then with increasing passion. This time however, there was less urgency in our lovemaking.