But when I dropped my gaze, I stopped short. In looking down, away from his face, my gaze had inadvertently landed on his crotch. And I was surprised to see that he was fully erect. I could see the telling bulge inside his jeans. Knowing I was possibly making a huge mistake, hands shaking in both fear and anticipation, I reached out—he still had my arms pinned to the wall, and I could barely reach—and started to unbutton his pants.

He went completely still. I don’t think he was even breathing. Then, “What are you doing?” I didn’t look at his face. His hands were still on my biceps. He could easily stop me if he chose to.

“Taking a chance.” My hands were shaking a little less now, but I was waiting for him to step away, to yell, maybe even to punch me. The last buttons came undone and his erection, covered in the smooth black of his briefs, was pushing through the flaps of denim.

“I don’t think you should be doing that.” But his voice had gone low and husky.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I replied, and I brushed my fingertips lightly over the fabric that still covered him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t move. I flattened my hand against him, felt the whole length of him against my palm, and squeezed a little. He gasped a little, then gave a small sigh of surrender, and took a last tiny step towards me, his forehead hitting the wall above my shoulder. His hands slid down from my arms to rest on my waistband. I rubbed him harder, pushing my fingers down inside of his jeans. I could tell by his breathing that he was becoming more aroused. Was he even leaning into my hand, or was that my imagination? I didn’t want to push him too far, and yet, maybe….

I stopped, wondering what exactly I was expecting. And then, barely a whisper, I heard in my ear: “Jared, please don’t stop.”

I didn’t hesitate. With one hand, I pulled the waistband of his briefs down out of the way. When my right hand closed around him, he groaned low in his throat. I started to stroke him, softly at first but then harder as his breathing quickened. His fingers were gripping my sides so hard I was sure I would have bruises. His head was resting against the wall next to mine, his face in my hair. Soft lips and sandpaper stubble both brushed my skin. He wasn’t kissing me. He wasn’t even moving, but I could feel his breath hot against my neck, and it felt wonderful.

I grabbed his shirt with my free hand, turned, and pushed him against the wall. I dropped to my knees in front of him and took him into my mouth, as deep as I could. He actually stopped breathing, held his breath for a few seconds, and I thought he was going to stop me. But then it all came out in a low moan, and he relaxed against the wall behind him.

I had my hand around the base of his cock, and I worked my mouth up and down, trailing my tongue in a circle around his head every time I reached the top. I couldn’t remember ever being more turned on in my life. I was dying to kiss him and pull all his clothes off him and fuck him—or have him fuck me, I didn’t care which. But he certainly wasn’t ready for that yet. So I just kept sucking and licking and pumping a little on the bottom of his shaft with my fist. He was definitely responding, pushing into me and moaning. I noticed that his hands kept reaching for me, but then he would pull them back and clench them at his sides again. Finally one landed on my shoulder and touched my hair a little. I remembered my birthday, the way he had held me against the counter with both of his hands in my hair, and I knew what he wanted.

I stopped just long enough to say, “You can grab. Just don’t push,” before returning to sucking him.

He actually gasped out, “Oh Jesus, thank you,” and his hands both gripped tight into my hair. He didn’t push. Actually, he didn’t have time. As soon as he grabbed me like that, he groaned, and he started to come. Despite being caught off guard, I managed to swallow fast without choking and kept sucking until the tremors had stopped.

Only then did it occur to me that I didn’t really know where to go from here. My own erection was begging for some attention, and I tried to talk it down. What had happened felt less like sex and more like stress release, like letting steam out of a pressure cooker. I knew I couldn’t expect any kind of return.

His fingers pulled out of my hair, but before I could stand up, he slid down the wall to sit in front of me with his face buried in his hands. He leaned into me, just barely. I started to put my arms around him, but that made him tense up immediately, so I settled for one on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck.

I felt like I had to say something, but had no idea what. “Matt?” And then I heard his breath catch again. Not like before. A torn, shuddering breath—and I realized he was crying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

“I’m so ashamed.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.

My heart fell a little. My intention had certainly not been to shame him in any way. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“No.” He took a deep breath and then said in a rush, “I’m ashamed of how much I liked it. How good it felt. How much I wanted it. How I want it to happen again already. Nothing, with any girl, has ever felt as good as that. It was….” His arms slid around my waist and held me tight. “Oh God, Jared….” The despair in his voice was enough to break my heart. But there was something else in his voice too. Something that sounded like awe.

“We don’t need to talk about that right now. You’re exhausted. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I think what you really need is some sleep. What do you think?”

I was talking to him like I might talk to a scared child, but it seemed to work. He took another deep, shaking breath, let go of me, and stood up, turning away from me while he got his pants back in place. He wouldn’t look at me, but there was no anger in his face, only sadness and confusion… and just maybe relief. “Yeah, I think I could sleep now.” But he wasn’t moving.

I stood up too and gently turned him around and pushed him toward the bedroom. He went, but then he stood there looking at the bed with something like terror in his eyes.

“Take the bed,” I said gently. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

I tried not to feel hurt at how relieved he looked. He stripped down to his shorts and climbed into the bed. Once again, I felt like I should say something, but I had no idea what he needed to hear right now. That I loved him? That my heart was breaking for the pain he was in? That I was sorry for pushing him, or that I wanted nothing more than to climb in beside him and make love to him all night? What I settled for was, “Well, goodnight.”

I was at the door headed for the couch when I heard him quietly say my name. “Jared? Will you lay here with me? I don’t want you to go.” He was facing away from me, still not able to turn around and look at me.

“I’ll do anything you need me to do. But….” I hesitated. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” I hardly dared to hope.

“I’m sure. Just lay here with me. Nothing else. I really just want you close. That’s all.”

“Of course.” That did leave me with a quandary of what to do about my clothes. To undress first felt like it would be adding a level of pressure I was sure he didn’t need right now. On the other hand, I didn’t really want to sleep fully clothed. I stood there for a second, telling myself I was a fool for worrying about it. I finally pulled off my shoes and socks and T-shirt but decided to keep my pants on and climbed in beside him. I lay facing his back. We would have been spooning except for the foot of empty space between us. He sighed. Even from where I was, a foot away, I could feel some of the tension leaving him.

“Just a little closer, okay? I want… I just want to know you’re here.”

I moved a little closer, so that I was almost against his back, our skin barely touching. My own body was responding to the nearness of his smooth back. I made sure that part of me wasn’t against him. He didn’t need that right now. I put one arm over him. “Sleep now, okay? We can worry about everything else later.”

His breathing was already slowing down, and I thought he might already be asleep when he said quietly, “Thank you.”

What I thought was, I hope you still feel that way in the morning. What I said was, “Anytime.” And then he was asleep. I was awake for a long time after that, wondering what was going to happen when he woke up. Then, in his sleep, he shifted closer, leaning back against me, and made a contented sigh that made my heart break all over again. I wrapped my arm tightly around him and told myself to take my own advice. We could worry about everything else later.


I AWOKE once in the night and got up long enough to use the john, brush my teeth, and take off my damn jeans. When I got back into bed, he immediately moved back into my arms, although he didn’t say a word. When I woke in the morning, I was surprised to see that he was still there. He was normally such an early riser that I had fully expected him to be gone by the time I woke up. The slight tension in his back and the sound of his breathing told me that he was awake. He had to be able to feel my morning erection pressing against his back side, but he didn’t move away.

“You were talking again.”

I laughed. “What did I say this time?”

He hesitated for a minute and then said quietly, “You said my name.”

Still he hadn’t moved. I asked, “How do you feel?”

A deep sigh, and then: “A lot better.”

“And how do you feel about this?” I tightened my arm around him a little to let him know what I meant.