May 1, 1998

Michael's Story

I could feel the headache starting, right behind my eyes.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, but it didn't help. The damn thing was growing, and I knew it wouldn't be long before the pain would spread down my neck and into my shoulders, a full-blown tension headache, strong enough to be almost crippling. Well. At least it was an excuse to get out of this waste of my time. I hated these parties, the meet-and-greet; making the rounds, glad-handing, pretending to like those I could scarcely bear to set eyes upon. Odious.

A hand touched my arm, and I looked over. Erich held out a glass of mineral water in one hand, and in the other, three ibuprofen. I couldn't help the slow smile of gratitude--after ten years as my personal assistant, he knew me almost as well as I knew myself. I took the medication, and drank down half the water in a single pass.

"Do you wish me to make your excuses?" Wannemacher's slightly formal English, still heavy with the sound of his native Germany, was soft, pitched so as not to make my head hurt more. As if it could; I shuddered when a peal of feminine laughter, shrill enough to shatter glass, pierced through me. "I can have your car brought about...."

I sighed. "Not quite yet. Pierson Pharmaceuticals hasn't made the complete round yet, and besides, I've only been here about an hour and a half. Another half an hour, for the sake of propriety, and then we can leave." I glanced over at his smooth, pale face, and felt the corner of my mouth crook up into a half-smile. "If you're tired, or more likely, bored, please--don't feel you must stay on my behalf."

Erich gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "It matters little. Now, or in half an hour--I'll stay until you are ready to leave."

I patted his arm. "You're a good man, Erich. What would I do without you?"

"Your business and your personal life would go to hell," he replied, and the answer was so honest, so straight-forward, that it startled a laugh out of me. What made it more amusing was that he truly meant it; Erich didn't have a single humorous bone in his body.

"You're absolutely right, of course. You earn every shilling of the exorbitant salary I pay you. I'm going to make the rounds again--rescue me in about thirty minutes, or so?"

Erich's blue eyes flicked to the watch I'd given him for his birthday. "Business matters to attend to, I assume."

"As always." I flashed him a tired smile, and he nodded sharply as he turned away, slipping easily into the milling mass of expensively-clad bodies, evidently in search of the hors d'oeuvers.

Actually, I'd had all the chatting with business associates, wives, and mistresses I'd cared to do for the evening. I raised my glass and sipped at my water. At one point during the evening, I'd seen someone who looked very...interesting. I hadn't seen much--Crandall, the administrative head of the research division of Pierson Pharmaceuticals, had ambushed me before I could introduce myself--all I'd glimpsed was a flash of the greenest eyes I'd ever seen, enhanced, not diminished by gold-framed glasses, and all topped by thick, shiny black hair. By the time I'd extracted myself from Crandall's unctuous attention, the owner of those green eyes was nowhere to be seen. I'd sworn silently in frustration, and looked about a bit, but to no avail. Gone. I never came to these wretched events with the purpose of picking someone up--it seemed vaguely incestuous to sleep with those I had business dealings with. So I didn't. But still yet--what a pity.

The noise was hammering into my head, and the medication hadn't had a chance to work yet. I slipped along the periphery of the room, speaking when addressed, but otherwise, trying to get to the relative quiet of one of the smaller conference rooms I knew to be adjacent to this one. A moment or two spent alone, and I'd be refreshed, and ready to get back. A sense of rebellion washed over me. Perhaps I'd not leave it, after all, and hide until it was time for Erich to call for the car. That definitely sounded more appealing than making small talk, and decided it was the new plan of the day.

I escaped out the big teak double doors, and the main hallway opened up, the smaller rooms off to either side. The ones to the west had huge windows, and spectacular views of the Bay; that sounded appealing, so I simply tried doorhandles until I came to one that opened silently for me. I stepped in quickly, and shut the door again. The sounds of the party--the hum of conversation, the polite laughter, and the atrocious music--were muffled, scarcely audible, and I almost sighed; blessed quiet.

No lights on in the room; it was filled with the muted glory of the sunset, all golden and rosy. The entire wall was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Bay. A huge, highly-polished conference table, edged with comfortable chairs took up most of the available floor space. The walls were ringed with a huge variety of lush green plants, and the carpeting was a calm, deep grey, plush enough to completely muffle my steps as I moved toward the windows.

I had almost reached my destination when I realized abruptly that I wasn't alone.

Standing off to the side, almost hidden in the verdant, arching branches of a potted palm, was the owner of those very green eyes I'd spotted earlier. I didn't need to see the face to know; he was as obvious as a cat at a kennel club show. A rough tweed sportscoat stretched across very broad shoulders, at odds with the fine cashmere and silk everyone else wore. Denim covered the long, strong-looking legs, and the narrow feet were encased in, of all things, cowboy boots. Nicely-polished, yes, but cowboy boots, nonetheless. Over the top of the collar I could see the cream-colored turtleneck, and the short, shiny black hair on a well-shaped head.

I stepped up to the window, took a sip of water, and let my gaze rest on the view in front of me, not the one at my side, though I could see him in my peripheral vision. I was acutely aware of him; it was as if he gave off some sort of low-energy field that I could almost feel prickling over my skin, drawing me to him. As the thought arose, I chided myself for it--it was ridiculous. I was almost forty, and most definitely knew there was no such thing as that between people.

It took a moment for him to notice me; his attention was completely captivated by the Bay. I was aware the moment his eyes turned to me, though I kept my gaze fixed on the blue, blue water. I gave him credit for not starting in surprise, though he'd been completely unaware of my presence a moment ago. I let him look for a span of heartbeats, then turned my head toward him.

He was handsome; not movie-star gorgeous, though San Francisco, and California in general had those in abundance. I'd never gotten accustomed to the perfect plasticity of the people in California--one never saw such cookie-cutter regularity in England, and I'd often wondered if there were some sort of human assembly line cranking out these dismayingly perfect people. This one was very nicely put together; a real person. Even, regular features, nice straight nose, those incredible eyes, and a mouth made for kissing--wide, full, tempting. A strong jawline, small, nicely-shaped ears. He wore gold-framed glasses, and the sun glinted off the lenses occasionally, making his eyes hard to read. A long neck flowed into those broad shoulders, which in turn topped a deep chest, and a flat abdomen. He was muscular, but it wasn't the body-builder type of narcissism one saw so often, rather, the long, strong muscles gained by physical work. In his boots, he was eye to eye with me, but out of them, he'd be a couple of inches shorter.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" I smiled a little in his direction.

"Not at all. Just admiring the view." He gestured with his glass toward the Bay, and his eyes were drawn back to it, as if he were mesmerized. Nice voice, pleasantly deep, with the hint of an accent that wasn't quite Californian. It sounded more Texan, like the Westerns I'd seen on the telly. I liked to think I was fairly good with accents, after spending most of my life dealing with people from around the globe, but the speech patterns of Americans, by their sheer variety, were a little harder to judge.

"Yes, the view is very...pleasant." I didn't take my gaze off him, and it took a few seconds for the casual flirtation to sink in, but then his eyes slid back to mine, and he blinked, slowly. I was surprised to see the edges of his ears pinken delicately, and the effect was quite charming. How a man that good-looking could be caught off-guard when he surely must receive a dozen more blatant propositions....

In for a penny, in for a pound. I held out my hand. "I'm Michael Pierson."

He switched his glass from one hand to the other, then took my hand. His own was strong, his grip firm, and I could feel calluses. "I'm Dr. Taylor. Randy Taylor." His smile, a little shy, self-conscious, was addictive--I instantly wanted to see more.

I could feel a little frisson of electricity arc between us, a sense of *awareness,* where I grasped his hand, and I was loath to pull away. When he finally made a minute movement to pull back, I couldn't help but run my thumb over the bumps of his knuckles before I released him, just to maintain a second or two more of contact.

He laughed a light, pleasant sound with just an edge of nervousness to it, then tried to hide that by taking a drink of whatever was in his glass; it looked very much like pineapple juice. I saw the moment my name connected with him--the green eyes widened a bit, and I could see the thoughts clicking like relays in a computer.

"Michael Pierson...CEO of Pierson Pharmaceuticals, right?" A fine black eyebrow raised in a question.

I could feel my own mouth quirk up at a corner. "Exactly the same." I wanted to sigh in resignation. Here was where the toadying generally began--flattery for what they thought I might be able to give them, for what I might offer, shameless requests for money, power, and position. It seldom varied--everyone wanted something from Michael Pierson--except me, the man. It was so tiring, and disheartening, that I seldom made the effort anymore to reach out to anyone, to meet new faces, because it was almost always the same. My life had turned into a stagnating greyness, a fog of ennui, of unending sameness. Nicole had accused me of being a workaholic when we were married--she should see me now--it was all I had to fill my time.

Taylor smiled at me. It wasn't a calculating smile, one masking a hidden agenda; I'd seen far too many of those not to be able to spot one almost instantly. It was a real, honest-to-God smile, warm and interested. "Why aren't you out mingling with all the party-goers?"

"Why aren't you?" I challenged in return.

He shrugged, a casual lift of broad shoulders that drew my eye instantly. "I'm not a party person. They're a waste of time and oxygen, so far as I'm concerned. Sometimes you meet someone worth talking to, but for the most part, a major waste." He let his eyes flick quickly over me.

I'm not really sure he was aware of it; if he was, the way his eyes slid over me, the way they lingered on my mouth, it was one of the best flirtations I'd ever seen. He had very long eyelashes, and when they dropped to half-hide the sparkle of his eyes, I was utterly lost. He obviously wasn't a gameplayer--someone out to use me would have been a little subtler, a little more polished. I'd been approached by some of the smoothest players in the game, men and women both, and knew all the moves they made. On occasion, I'd let them in, but we both knew what to expect, and for a temporary satiation of my physical needs, they'd gone away a lot wealthier than before. I viewed it as little more than a business transaction, because in truth, that's what it was. I've never been one given to self-delusion.

But this one, Randy Taylor, was not one of that elite group. He was too unpolished, too...I searched for a word, and finally found one...natural. Too real. No more than what he appeared to be, a man approaching thirty, a little nervous around another man he found attractive. It was refreshing to find someone who didn't fawn on me from the moment he realized who I was. I liked him, simply for that, beyond the intense physical pull I felt from him. And the pull was very strong. I could tell he was aware of it, and that it was returned. His green eyes were very bright, and a faint blush traced across the tops of his cheekbones.

"Wanna play a little hooky? Go for a walk? The Bay is beautiful this time of the year."

The question caught me off guard; I hadn't expected it. He stood there, practically vibrating with a very seductive mix of nervousness and self-confidence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Randy's Story

I tried not to go to the parties, whenever possible. I didn't want to go to this one. I'd been working non-stop, 12 hour days at least, for over three weeks, and I was tired. Too tired to mess with the fuss and nonsense of catering to people who, if they have brain-cells, had forgotten how to use them.

That's what the majority of the parties were; social functions for the people who were investors in the company's stock, and their current girl-friend/wife/lover, whatever. I didn't always have to go, but Crandall, my boss, liked me to make an appearance from time-to-time. Since I was the functional head of the research division of Pierson Pharmaceuticals, I had to show up once in awhile.

That night was a near-miss thing, because I almost said what the hell, and headed for the beach, instead. At the last minute I changed my mind and headed off like a good boy, but with a streak of rebellion too. Instead of the usual suit-coat and tie, I chose blue-jeans, boots, and a turtleneck shirt. I pulled a sportcoat out of my closet at the last minute as a consolation for Crandall, but wasn't going to budge on the other. He could just deal with it.

I managed to mingle for over an hour before I had to make my escape. I fended off several women's advances, in spite of the fact that I was sending clear "Not Interested" signals, and then it just got to be too much. I found Karen, my research assistant, and had her cover for me while I slipped off down the hall. The wing of the building this party was being held in faced out to the ocean, and I found myself an empty conference room and huddled into the corner to gaze outside wishfully. Or wistfully. However you want to put it.

That's where he found me.

I heard the door open, but stayed where I was, hidden in the corner, staring out the window. Too bad I couldn't have a view like this in my office, but researchers--even department heads--didn't rate this high. I figured if I stayed quiet and hidden away, whoever it was wouldn't see me, and would go on. Wrong.

Well, actually, not completely wrong. He didn't see me at first; too intent on looking outside -- like me, I guess, longing to be somewhere he wasn't -- to see me standing in the shadows. That was fine; I didn't really want to be noticed.

He had a presence about him, though, that practically screamed to me to look at him. I did so reluctantly, not because I didn't want to look at him, but because I was starting to read things off of him I'd never experienced with anyone else. A deep, electrical current sizzling between us. I looked over, sliding my eyes up and down in astonishment, unable now to look away. He turned after a moment to look at *me*, and I could see -- something -- deep in his eyes.

And Lord, what eyes. I've never seen eyes that grey before. That dark, and full of promise. He was lean, and tall; almost rangy. Shoulders and chest that had width and breadth that spoke of swimming, and other types of endurance sports. A light olive complexion topped by thick, luxuriant-looking hair that was nearly the color of rich, dark sable. Dark, yes, but not black like my own. There were auburn highlights gleaming in the late-evening sun.

He was taller than me. Not by much, maybe an inch or two. I had my boots on, so we were even at that point, but I knew if I took them off, I'd be shorter than him. Shorter, but not smaller. He was good-sized, but I was definitely bigger.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" He gave me a little smile, and I about died on the spot. God, his voice! That *accent*. I'd never realized I had a jones for that sort of thing, but his voice just sort of oozed over me, slow and sweet and hot. My knees actually felt a little shaky.

"Not at all. Just admiring the view." I looked back out the window for a minute at my one true love, and passion: the ocean. Okay, it was San Francisco Bay· close enough, for the moment. I wondered for an insane second if he liked to sail.

"Yes, the view is very...pleasant." Ohmygod! I could feel my ears get hot, and silently cursed the fair coloring of my mom's ancestors. I stared at him, not blinking, not quite believing·was he *flirting* with me? This gorgeous, beautiful, incredible man·flirting? I found it really hard to breathe, all of a sudden. He held his hand out then, his eyes flashing warmly at me. "I'm Michael Pierson."

I switched my glass from one hand to the other, then took his hand. He had a strong grip; firm and sure of himself. "I'm Dr. Taylor. Randy Taylor." I smiled at him, feeling kind of awkward, maybe a little self-conscious. My reward was a smile from him.

He held on to my hand long enough to make me self-conscious again, and I pulled gently on it, not sure I wanted to lose contact, but not sure I should stand there holding on to his, either. He rubbed his thumb across my knuckles just before he let go, and I felt a tightening in my groin and chest. Jesus, what was going on?!

I laughed shakily, and raised my glass to take a drink, needing a brief break from the intensity of the moment. His name sizzled in my brain, and made contact then. I lowered my glass again before I could choke myself on the juice there, and stared at him for a second. "Michael Pierson·CEO of Pierson Pharmaceuticals, right?" I raised an eyebrow. He gave me a sardonic smile -- almost a grimace.

"Exactly the same."

I smiled at him again, feeling a strange warmth flowing through me. A kindred spirit! "Why aren't you out mingling with all the party-goers?"

"Why aren't you?"

Touché. I shrugged. "I'm not a party-person. They're a waste of time and oxygen, so far as I'm concerned. Sometimes you meet someone worth talking to, but for the most part, a major waste." I flicked my eyes over him, lingering for a moment over his mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. To touch him. His eyes darkened a bit, and he smiled again. This time I could see hunger in his eyes; the kind of hunger that can only be assuaged one particular way. Top, or bottom? I shook my head mentally. Michael Pierson of Pierson Pharmaceuticals was a *top*, all the way. I gestured outside with my head. "Wanna play a little hooky? Go for a walk? The Bay is beautiful this time of year."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Randy: I know the back way out of here, Michael, if you want to play hooky with me. My truck's parked just out back, too. We can sneak away and no one'll know 'til we're gone.

Michael: <It took a moment to get the reference, but there was no mistaking the inviting, mischievous light in your eyes, the curve of your mouth. I considered everything that I had to do tonight, Erich's very Teutonic disapproval, responsibilities that called to me. Then I looked at you, almost vibrating with excitement, promise, and there was patently no choice that a man with any sense could make. I reached into my pants pocket, pulled out my pager, and flicked it off before putting it into my jacket pocket. A little curl of something...anticipation perhaps, attraction, certainly, began to warm in my belly. I felt myself grinning back, moving a little closer to you, without realizing that I was moving. All I knew is that I wanted to be closer to you, to absorb some of your energy and enthusiasm, to feel that little spark of awareness I'd felt earlier.> I believe that's the best offer I've had in quite awhile, Randy.

Randy: <I watched you turn off your pager, and reached to do the same to mine, which was still clipped onto my jeans. I hate the damn thing; it feels like a leash. It felt *good* to shut it off. I took off the sport coat too, and headed for the door, trying desperately not to react to your nearness> C'mon. Once we're down the corridor, no one'll know we were here. <I laughed a little bit, feeling like a kid again. A very young kid, too, because it'd been a while since I'd done anything like this. And it feels *good*. You're right behind me, and I can feel the heat of your body, which seems to be increasing mine. The door opened quietly, and I checked the corridor, really feeling like a kid skipping study hall. I shook my head> All clear. Let's go.

Michael: <Amusement bubbled up within me as I watched your elaborate precautions.> I feel rather James Bond-ish. <My whisper is for effect only; the hall is deserted. I can hear the sounds of the party down the hall in the main conference room, and wonder suddenly if we really can make it away without being caught.>

Randy: I spy, we spy? If you're 007, who'm I? <I want to touch you again, even just a little bit, so I reach back and grab your hand, not letting myself think about what I'm really doing. I hear the sounds of the party too, but head us quickly down the other way, and around a corner, then around another, then a left. I hate this maze, but I've spent five years of my life navigating it, and know it as well as my own apartment. We leave the sounds of the party far behind us as I lead us around the one last turn that'll bring us to an outside door for this wing>

Michael: <I'm a little dizzy, a little breathless, and it's not from the quick trot you set to get us out and away. Your hand is warm and strong, and fits in mine as though it was designed just for me. I watch the roll of your shoulders, the flex of your muscles beneath the cream sweater tucked into your jeans, the curve of your ass and the movement of long, strong legs encased in denim. My mouth dries just a bit, and I swallow, hoping you don't hear. This is foolish, this is crazy...this is not me. Michael Pierson has not done anything like this in what seems a lifetime, too consumed with the responsibilities of business; I wonder briefly if I've been possessed. Then your scent drifts back to me, and the low-level lights pick up the bluish highlights in your black hair, and my body tightens in anticipation. Not me, but hell, what a ride this could be. I clear my throat; it feels a little thick.> Are you certain you're not lost? I passed lost three turns back.

Randy: Not lost, no. I've had plenty of time here to learn all the back ways. See? Door. Just like I said. And when we open it... Voila. Hey, are you hungry, by any chance?

Michael: <The air is fresher, the setting sun snaking across the concrete in long ribbons. An errant breeze ruffles my hair, and brings the scent of the ocean to me. I follow you as you head off across the lot, your boot heels ringing on the pavement; I can't believe how quiet you'd been inside. I think about your question a minute; breakfast had been rushed, and lunch, non-existent--a lost cause in a swirl of meetings. At the party, I'd had mineral water, and a canapé or two. In answer, my stomach rumbled loudly, and I laugh, ruefully.> I suppose there's your answer.

Randy: You sure you don't mind? I'm betting it's a lot different from whatever you drive.

Michael: It suits you, somehow. I like it. <I step to the driver's side, and watch as you duck your head to unlock the door. I'm close enough to brush your shoulder, and feel the sudden, quick nervousness slide over you. It's a little endearing; I'm accustomed to being with men or women who are supremely self-confident in their appeal, and I find it quite charming. Before I realize it, I'm leaning into your personal space, my hand going to your shoulder, resting there, lightly. I want to kiss you, to taste your mouth, but realize this is not the time nor the place. Patience, patience, I counsel myself. You may not feel the strong pull I do, but I hope fervently that you do.> Thank you, Randy.

Randy: <I've just pulled the door open, and am trying to remember how to breathe when your hand settles on my shoulder. Your comment catches me by surprise, and I turn my head, not realizing you were so close. We're practically nose-to-nose, and I gulp in some more air as a bolt of lightning rushes through me. My voice is actually a little shaky> For--what?

Michael: <Your eyes are wide, startled. It would take so little just to lean in that scant couple of inches or so; I can feel your breath warm against my cheek. The urge to carry through with the initial desire to kiss you is great, but I pull back a bit, and smile, giving your shoulder a little squeeze instead.> Why, for rescuing me from the boring horde, of course. I was in imminent danger of death by anecdote.

Randy: <I snort, relaxing a little bit when you pull back. It's not that I don't want to be close to you; I do. More than anything I've wanted ever, I think. But now isn't the right moment. I don't want to kiss you standing in the parking lot. I gesture into the truck.>Climb on in. I don't know how witty I'll be tonight, but I'm probably at least more *real* than most of the hanger-oners there. Man, I hate those parties. <I wait for you to climb in and slide over, then I toss my jacket behind the seat and slide in next to you, sighing. I love this truck; it's large enough for me to stretch out in. I look at all the small cars on the freeway every day and shudder--I'd die in a Honda or a Toyota. I stick the key in, ready to get going> How d'you feel about Mexican? And I don't mean the American version...I mean the kind where you don't order in English, because no one in the joint speaks it.

Michael: Sounds like a plan to me. I take it you speak Spanish well enough not to order something inedible? <I busy myself pulling off my tie, and then ridding myself of the jacket, dumping both unceremoniously on top of your own. Settling in after buckling up, I begin to roll up my sleeves to my elbows, watching you out of the corner of my eye.>

Randy: <I watch you shedding layers like a snake sheds its skin and wonder what in the hell am I doing? Or what are *you*, for that matter? But I don't want an answer; I want you. You're so different from anyone else I've met, and I sense that feeling of kindred souls that I felt earlier. We're a lot alike, I think. I smile and start the truck, wincing when the radio turns on full volume, to the local C&W station. I make a move to turn it off -- just because I like it doesn't mean you do -- but you stay my hand with a touch of yours. I turn the volume down, and grin at you as I stretch my arm across the back of the seat and look behind me to back out> Si, sabo bastante. Quieres tacos y cerveza?

Michael: <Your good humor is infectious, and I grin back at you. Your fingers brush across my shoulder before you pull back your hand to steer, and it's like a warm flash along my skin and down my spine. Then another feeling rushes through me--alarm. You drive as if the hounds of hell are chasing us, and I barely restrain myself from looking back and checking. I content myself with curling my fingers around the armrest, trying to be inconspicuous about it.>

Randy: I promise I won't kill you with my driving, Michael. But midnight can only be pushed away for so long...and I have no idea what I look like in orange. I can slow down a little bit if you want?

Michael: It's that conspicuous? So tell me, Dr. Taylor...what exactly does one do when "playing hooky?"

Randy: Well......dunno about one...but we're gonna hit the beach, and eat tacos and drink beer. Well -- you can have beer if you want. Manuel's has the most incredible guava-pineapple-orange juice drink you've ever tasted. I think the owner is trying to compete with some of the juice stands over on Marina Boulevard. Anyway...then I'm gonna park us, and we're gonna talk. Or walk. Get to know each other. <I can't believe I just said that, and I feel a blush moving over my face, getting deeper when I realize I'm blushing. I sigh, because for all my propensity to tan, I still have remnants of my mother's coloring, and flushing is something I've never been able to hide> Um...if that's okay.

Michael: It sounds more than "okay," Randy. You're the instructor here...I place myself in your capable hands.

Randy: Instructor? Me? <I laugh, feeling the awkward moment pass. I shake my head as I turn into Manuel's driveway. "Restaurant" is too pretentious for this; it's a taco shack, nothing more. But they have the best rolled tacos here> Okay. You like beef or chicken better? Generally I get the shredded beef 'cause they're really good, but the chicken's pretty good too. And hot sauce is a must.

Michael: Really? Is this sinus-clearing sauce we're talking about here? Or just the heat that makes your nose sweat? I warn you--I spent a lot of time in New Orleans, and those cooks know what hot really is.

Randy: Ahhh, man. There's a big difference between Jambalaya that'll clear your sinuses and jalapeno and cayenne pepper sauce that'll make you wish for new ones. You can't compare Cajun and good, authentic Mexican. Hot is hot, yeah, but its a different heat. But if you like Cajun, you'll like this. I guarantee. So...chicken or beef?

Michael: Chicken...and I'll try the juice you recommend. Probably quite a lot of juice. Just in case. <I had thought about the beer, but only for a moment; I wanted my head to be clear to talk with you, and if perhaps more than talking should take place, I didn't want to feel sluggish, slow. I'd been watching you move, quick, graceful, and I wanted to be able to keep up with you.> How much do I owe you?

Randy: Just your company, Michael. I'm so glad -- that you wanted to come play hooky with me. I hate those things. Buenos noches, Manuel! Como estas? <he replies and we chat for a couple of minutes before I order for us> seis tacos carne asadas, por favor, y tres tacos pollos. Tambien, tres litres jugo pina. Pues, salsa picante, favor. It'll be a few minutes.

Michael: <I don't push paying my half; it's generally a sore point with men, as the power usually seems to go to the one who pays. Your comment about the pleasure of my company makes me smile, because I think you really do mean it. No games, no agenda, just simple happiness about being with me. I feel myself relax more, and loop my arm over the back of the seat, turning slightly toward you. You're such a handsome man, and the combination of boyish enthusiasm, almost imperceptible nervousness, and feline sensuality makes for a very potent mix, one my body can, and does, respond to with enthusiasm.> Not a problem,

Randy. As long as we're back before you change into the pumpkin....

Randy: Sometimes, if prince charming is along, there's no flash of smoke, and no pumpkins to be seen anywhere. <I lean back against my seat and let my neck brush against your arm, shivering when goosebumps pepper my skin. I can smell you; a very masculine scent; musk and soap and a hint of spice, a hint of woodsmoke. You smell good. I have to push down the urge to breathe in deeply, not wanting to be too obvious. I'm almost glad when Manuel hands me the sack of food and a large bottle of juice. I thank him and head back for the road before I realize he didn't give us any cups, then grin sheepishly at you> We didn't get cups -- I can go back and get 'em...?

Michael: Not necessary, unless you mind drinking after me. <Of their own will, my eyes move to your mouth, and the urge to kiss you is strong again. I push it down, ruthlessly, trying to ignore the curling warmth deep in my belly that thought brings.> I can promise you, I'm healthy...no germ would dare to attack me.

Randy: <I know you're looking at me...at my mouth. I can see where your eyes are. My fingers clench around the steering wheel until my knuckles are white, trying not to reach out for you, to grab you and kiss you senseless. Mind? Not a bit. The thought of being that close to you sends shards of heat through me.> I don't -- mind, at all.

Michael: <I force myself to look out the window. I know I can be...intense...and don't wish to make you nervous, or uncomfortable. I can feel the tension ratchet down a notch, but it's still humming between us. Possibilities seem to grow, to become probabilities, and it makes my blood sing along my veins with anticipation. I want you, and unless I'm grossly mistaken, the feeling is returned in full. All that remains is place, and time, and as for time...I can feel that it will be sometime soon. Arrogant of me to assume so much? Perhaps, but I don't think so.> Where are we going?

Randy: <I turn the truck onto a small, paved road marked "Private Drive", and slow my speed down to barely moving. All the Riesens have ever asked is that I obey the rules for the area and don't cause any trouble, and I can come here as often as I like. This works out very nicely indeed, especially in the summer, because they're in Europe during those months. I smile at you> Some friends of mine have a private beach, and they've given me permission to use it whenever I want, for walking, swimming, whatever. It's a lot nicer than the public areas, and we're not likely to be bothered by dogs and frisbees or a lot of kids, or whatever.

Michael: <You turn off the truck, and for a moment, all I hear is the ticking of the engine as it cools. I look at you for a long moment before indicating the paper bag.> Shall we eat inside, or outside?

Randy: Outside, definitely. Sea air goes great with hot sauce. I have some blankets - I think - in the back of the truck. Or some beach towels. Something we can sit on. Besides, it's going to be a beautiful night. Love summer in San Francisco.

Michael: <I reach back behind the seat, and snag the neatly folded blankets before following you around to the back of the truck. You hand me the sack, and I juggle sack, blankets, and bottle while you let the tailgate down.>Yes, it's really lovely here. I've lived here about five years, now, and prefer it to New Orleans, by far.

Randy: Sometimes I like San Diego better--absolutely beautiful beaches down there--but San Fran is beautiful year 'round. And never hot. Never been to New Orleans, though I've heard it's a spectacular city. C'mon up, the view's great from here.

Michael: <I climb up, and settle myself down close to you, no more than a handsbreadth apart. I relax against the back of the truck with a sigh. Beautiful evening, weather, ocean, sky, companion. I could grow to like this, very much...> Yes, it is. Your friend is very fortunate to have such a view. Is that his house over there?

Randy: Yeah. That one, and he's got a beachhouse--a little one, he says--down in Santa Marina, and a condo in Brussels. I think that's all. He and his wife are both heavy players in the stock market, and he's a broker, so they've got the means, I guess. This, is theirs, for about a mile in either direction.

Michael: It's nice to have the privacy. I'd think it makes walks on the beach very cozy. <You stop your work of unloading the sack to glance up at me, and smile a little, not much more than the curve of the corner of your mouth.> Mind if we walk about a bit after we eat? I so seldom get the opportunity to relax like this, and don't want to miss it.

Randy: Anything you want, Michael. <I have to bite my lip to keep from making further promises. I've known you for what, an hour or so now? But it feels so right to be here with you. I pull the tacos from the sack and hand you yours, feeling a tingle of excitement when our fingers brush.> Whatever you want to do...I just like being here -- with you.

Michael: You know, that's one of the nicest things anyone has said to me in a very long time, Randy. Thank you.

Randy: You're welcome. And it's -- I meant it. <I shift minutely closer to you, resisting the urge to put my head on your shoulder. I want to touch you so bad. Hold you, be held. I settle for the closeness for the moment, and take a bite of my taco, my eyes moving out over the ocean.>

Michael: <I shift just a little closer to you, until our hips meet, and that simple touch warms me even through denim and dress trousers. We eat, passing the bottle of juice between us, and our conversation is light, easy. Oddly enough, I feel very comfortable, as if I've known you for a very long time. Even the occasional silence is good, and non-stressful. You're a good conversationalist, intelligent, articulate, well-read, and I enjoy listening to you, watching you when you use your hands to illustrate a point. Finishing, I lean back and watch you lazily, content.>

Randy: <I finish my food and wash it down with a drink, grinning a little self-consciously because you finished quite a few minutes ago. I hand the juice bottle back to you and reach for the cap feeling lazy and sated, and ready for whatever else the evening brings.> Still wanna go for a walk? Or just relax here for a little bit? Your choice.

Michael: My choice? Anything I want?

Randy: <I nod, feeling a flush of heat moving through me, warming me from head to toe. My whole body aches, I want you so bad. I want to kiss you, and settle my gaze for a moment on your lips. Beautiful, sensuous lips. I swallow, and force my eyes back to your face, my voice low and rough> Anything.

Michael: <I can feel the heat that radiates from you; it's as strong as my own. I raise a hand, and slip it through your hair. It's thick, and soft, and even the highest quality mink can't compare with it for fineness.> Anything, Randy? That's a very...open promise.

Randy: <I take a deep, gasping breath; I feel like my lungs have been compressed down to nothing. All I'm aware of is you. Your hand in my hair sends shivers racing through me, and I bring one hand up to touch your cheek, my finger tracing down to your mouth.> Anything...within reason, Michael. Still open, still a promise. <I lick my lips, a little nervous, a lot hot, wanting so bad to ask you to kiss me, but so uncertain about it. I know you want to, but I can't seem to find the words for it. I lean a little closer, hoping action will substitute.>

Michael: Yes. <I slip my hand to the back of your neck, and pull you the millimeters closer, until my mouth brushes lightly against yours. I can feel the tremor that slips through you at that gentle contact, then return again, to press my mouth against yours, only slightly parted, feeling the texture of your lips against mine. I don't rush; we have all the time in the world to explore. My other hand slips around your back, to pull you close, and you respond, pressing tightly against me. I lick across your lower lip, seeking entrance, and you open for me, eagerly.>

Randy: <I slide my hands up your arms to wrap around your neck, snugging my body closer to yours. Your mouth tastes every bit as good as I thought it would, and then some. I open for you when you lick my lips, and shudder in delight when your tongue flicks over mine. Its like I died and went to heaven...a very hot, sensual, aching heaven. You don't push, or take my mouth hard or anything; it's a slow, sweet exploration that makes me long for more even as I'm loving this. I moan very softly into your mouth and open a bit wider for you>

Michael: <The soft sound that comes from deep within your throat hits me like a bolt of lightning, and my arms tighten reflexively about you. You invite me in, and I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue over and around yours at first languidly, then with more intent, slipping over every surface I can reach, stroking along sensitive tissues, tasting, sampling, learning your unique flavor. It's so good, so warm, so moist. I feel like I could kiss you forever, savor you. I want to be closer, and pull you over me, until you straddle my lap, strong thighs to each side of mine, sliding my arm around your waist to snug your body into mine. I pull your tongue into my mouth and suck on it, little sounds of pleasure coming from my own throat.>

Randy: <I shift eagerly when you pull me over your lap, hesitating for just the barest moment before I realize that not only are you big enough to take my weight, you want me that close to you. I want that close to you. I rub myself against your thighs, trying to ignore the burning in my groin, and the heat that envelops my brain when I think about what else we could do in this position. I've never been with anyone that I've wanted this bad, this fast, but I've never been with anyone like you, either. It's almost like we're meant to be together, our actions and reactions complementing the other's. I hug you tightly, opening myself as far as possible for your mouth, feeling the kiss becoming rougher, hungrier. I want it like that now; I loved the slow and sweet and easy, but my body is hot, and I want more. I moan again, moving as close to you as I can get myself.>

Michael: <I release the back of your neck when I realize my fingers are starting to dig in. I run both hands over your broad back and shoulders, feeling the stretch and bunch of muscles. So much, so strong. It's exhilarating, different from my own more slender body. Your hips rock against me, your hunger obvious. I let my hands slide down, until I'm cupping your ass, kneading you through the denim. You jerk roughly against me as I run my fingers down the center seam, pressing in to rub it against your cleft, feeling the heat there, how your body responds to my touch.>

Randy: That feels great...God, it feels great! <I press myself back against your hand, rubbing myself harder against you as my mouth seeks yours again. I'm hungry for all the kisses you'll give me, wanting to be filled with them. I mumble against your lips> you taste good, Michael...

Michael: <I'm hard and throbbing fiercely, simply from the closeness of your body to mine, the heat of your eager, voracious mouth. It's been years since I responded so quickly to anyone, and it's heady, bubbling through my blood like champagne. I want more; my body demands more, and I slide one hand over your body, up over your chest, until I can feel a hard little bump beneath your sweater. I keep rubbing your cleft as I begin to stroke over your nipple with my thumb, all the while never leaving the sweetness of your mouth.>

Randy: <I moan something that sounds like "yes" to my ears, and press myself closer against you, your hands tormenting me so sweetly. You're hard beneath me, and I rub myself down on you, pressing our cocks against each other. Even through the thick denim and your slacks I can feel you throbbing, and I lower one hand to rub at you, wanting desperately to feel you against me, flesh to flesh. I pull away from you long enough to reach down and tug my shirt up over my head, baring my chest to you. I hold your eyes with my own as I reach for your hand, settling it back against my throbbing nipple. My own hand reaches to rub your cock again, and I hiss in pleasure just from the touches we're exchanging.>

Michael: <I watch your impromptu strip, my mouth drying. You have a smooth, gleaming chest, with large nipples, standing at attention, begging for me to touch, to lick, to caress. Wide shoulders moving cleanly into strong arms. A flat, firm belly. When your hand reaches down to caress me, rubbing gently, it startles me out of my viewing of your body, and I arch into your touch, my breath catching with the pleasure of feeling your fingers stroke me. For a moment, my eyes close, and I give myself over to the sensation, my hips rising slightly into it.>

Randy: <I lean in closer to you and kiss your neck, rubbing myself harder into you, loving the feel of your cock throbbing beneath my hand. I lick and nibble gently, moving up to your ear, where I rim it, licking over the outer edge before whispering> you taste good...you *feel* good. Love being here with you, Michael.

Michael: <I can hear my breath growing ragged, my heart beating more quickly as the need rises hotly in me, almost scalding me with its intensity. I seize your hand, and pull it away...much more, and it will be finished before it's begun.> Shhh, Caro…slow down...<I can scarcely think because of the blood pounding in my head, and I want to savor this, not be done in a flash. I lay my cheek against your chest, sheened lightly with sweat, and hold you close. I can feel the protest, the shudder of your heated body as you continue to move against me a little. A couple of deep breaths, and I'm calmer, though your musky scent rises strongly all around me.> I want to be with you too, Randy...you feel so good to me...<My hands stroke your back for a long moment, soothing, calming.>

Randy: <I draw in a few deep, shuddering breaths, forcing myself to hold still against you. The hoarseness of your voice nearly sizzles me, and that..."Caro"...ohmygod...it sounds so good in that incredible voice of yours. I hold you tight against me, my heart pounding wildly. I can hardly speak, my head is so filled with thoughts of you, with the heat you're generating within me> I -- God, Michael...what's going on...I've never -- never. But I want to... so bad. Fuck common sense...convention. I want -- you. <hoarsely> Bad.

Michael: <The low, needy sound of your voice tears through me, and I turn my face slightly, latching onto a nipple, and sucking, gently at first, your soft sounds of pleasure rich in my ears, then more strongly, as I realize how much you like this. It isn't going to be enough; I want more, I want you just as much as you want me. Common sense doesn't factor into it--it's raw, primal need that pumps through me. I separate from your flesh with a loud pop of suction broken.> Want me, Caro? Need me? Need me to touch you, to taste you? Lie back for me, Caro.

Randy: Yes... <I'm not altogether sure how we got to this point so fast. I met you at a party a couple of hours ago, for god's sake. But Jesus, it feels so right, I don't think I could stop if the world was in danger of ending. I lie back for you, spreading my legs enticingly, and hold my arms out for you> Please...

Michael: <I toe off my shoes, and then reach over and pull off your boots, giving them an indifferent toss before rising up on my knees between your widely-spread thighs. You lie submissive before me, chest rising and falling quickly, eyes huge and dark, your arousal like an iron bar beneath the heavy denim. You lick your lips, and then snake a hand down to cover your crotch, beginning to stroke.> No. <The word is out of me before I can stop it, hard with command. Too late to call it back; I watch to see your reaction>

Randy: <I swallow and nod, pulling my hand back from my groin. I feel like I'm going to explode if we don't do something soon, but I recognize who's in control here. Oh, maybe not *control*, although that thought makes me shiver a bit, but you're definitely the Top I'd taken you for. I lick my lips again and whisper hoarsely> Michael, please. I want you...want you to fuck me... Please.

Michael: <I begin unbuttoning my shirt, slowly, watching you trying to be still before me. It's off in a moment, cast aside, and then I'm working on my belt. I pull it from my pants loops with a quick whisking sound of leather against fine wool. Your eyes widen fractionally, and I smile before looping it in my hand and trailing it over your stomach, then up to rub over first one peaked nipple, then the other.> Do you like that, Caro? Like the touch of leather against your flesh?

Randy: <I nod again, knowing my eyes have gone wide and hot. In truth, it feels fucking *great*, but I'm not so sure I can speak right now, so I content myself with the nod. My cock pulses against my jeans, so hard it aches. I can feel the damp spot growing where I'm leaking so profusely, and that only increases when you stroke my nipples. I close my eyes then and shiver lightly, moaning very softly, my voice hoarse and thick.> Feels fucking incredible, Michael...

Michael: <I smile, and let the belt slide from my hand. Time enough for that later...and I fully intend for there to be a *later.* I reach for your jeans, and begin popping the buttons, one at a time; the buttonholes are so worn they give way easily. It's only a matter of a moment to pull them down your thighs; you help without prompting. God have mercy--the erection outlined by the straining material of your boxers is both thick and long, a prize. I run the backs of my fingers down its hot length, pleased beyond measure.>

Randy: <I let out a strangled hiss when you touch me, rubbing very lightly over the bulge that's pushing my boxers up. I'm not sure I've ever been this hard, this erect. I'm torn between wanting to come right now to relieve the pressure, and wanting to never come, to *keep* the delicious feeling from the pressure. I settle for pushing my hips up to press my hard-on against your hand, my breath coming faster now, more like a harsh panting than anything. My voice is pure moaning> touch me, ohgod, please...touch me, Michael...

Michael: <The skin of your upper thighs between the pushed down jeans and the legs of your boxers is very soft beneath my fingers, in direct contrast to the hardness of muscles bunched beneath. I run my hands up over your hips, and pull down the boxers, and then your jeans, all in one movement. Naked, spread wantonly before me, a sensual feast. You're fully erect, red and angry looking in your need, shiny with precome, lying heavily on your belly. You're smooth, hairless, and that catches me by surprise; I'd never have expected it. But I find it beautiful, and can't resist running my fingers over your smooth skin. Wonderful. Mine. My fingers shake as I unbutton, unzip, and shuck gracelessly out of trousers and boxers, frantic in the need to touch you, to cover you with my own body. I slide up over you, skin slipping over skin, belly to belly, chest to chest, and at last, cock to cock. I shudder as my weight settles onto you, and moan, low and deep, when I feel your hot erection settle against mine. It's so perfect, so right; nothing should feel so good, and I can't remember any other lover making me feel this sense of rightness.> It's good, Caro.

Randy: <Clothed you were impressive; naked, you're incredible. Long and lean, with muscles bunching and flexing fluidly. There's a dark mat of hair spreading over your chest and arrowing downward; I reach one hand up to stroke you, letting my fingers follow that line, and shivering at the texture of it against me. > Yes...it is. So very good...<I moan the words, pulling you closer against me, my arms tight around you. I spread my legs wider, rubbing up against you, my body hot and yours hotter. Your eyes are so dark they look black in the night. I slide my legs slowly up yours to lock around your waist, at the same time pulling your head down toward mine.> Kiss me, darlin'. Please...need your mouth, Michael.

Michael: <I slip my arms around you, and lean in, hungry to taste you again, to feel your tongue slide along my own. Your mouth opens eagerly beneath mine, and it's so good, so sweet, so hot. I feel the low sounds rise up within me, at the voraciousness of your mouth on mine, demanding, and I give you what you want, what we both need, kissing you deeply, thrusting my tongue into your mouth as my hips rock hard into yours, rubbing myself against you. The friction between us is delicious; it takes only a moment for sweat to slick the way between us. Your legs clasp me hard as you buck up into me, thrusting with the same mindless need as I have. Your arms are tight around me, holding me to you; you're very strong, and my excitement rises higher.>

Randy: <I'm panting, so hot, and wanting you so bad. I pull my mouth from yours, gasping> Michael...not gonna...not gonna last long. Gonna c--come soon... <I'm moaning softly now, my cock throbbing with its need> Oh, God, you feel so *good*!

Michael: Don't hold back, Caro...let it loose, let it go...let me see you come... Give it to me...let me see you.

Randy: Oh god...<my whisper hangs in the air, hoarse, pleading, needy, *hungry*. I tighten my grip on your shoulders and thrust myself against you again, feeling my body shuddering as my orgasm rushes over me and boils up in the form of thick, hot cream. I feel scalded from the inside out, and bite my lip to keep from shrieking out loud. I slam myself against you, then bury my face in your neck, licking and sucking at your flesh as I shoot my juices all over your belly and mine> Michael...ohgod...

Michael: <It's almost as if I'm somehow connected to you, to your pleasure, and your shuddering thrusts against me. The clasp of your muscles on my finger, the soft, stifled sound of ecstasy you make, and the blood-hot, wet heat spreading over me all conspire to drag the orgasm from me as I thrust once more against you, my way slicked by the evidence of your spent passion. My fingers dig into your flesh tightly enough to leave marks, and then I'm bowing against you as my seed leaves me in hard, pulsing spurts against your belly, mixing with your own. I hear a sharp cry, and surprised, realize it is my own.>

Randy: <I feel your seed hit my belly, then your cry ringing the air and my body gives another jerk and I release one last spurt of liquid, shuddering hard in your arms. My mouth searches blindly for yours, sucking and licking until I can open your lips, my tongue begging for entrance to tease at yours before plunging hotly inside your mouth, stroking roughly. I let my free arm roam over your body, stroking your chest and nipples, teasing the crisp hair on your chest. You're still shuddering through your own orgasm, and I slide my hand down your flank to cup your ass, stroking one finger down the dark, sweaty cleft, rubbing lightly>

Michael: <My eyes flash open in startlement. My body is still singing and pleasure streaks through me, tingling to the fast beat of my heart. I push back a little against your questing finger, liking the little extra zing of sensation your finger stroking across the sensitive flesh brings to the ending of one of the most intense orgasms I'd ever had without being inside a warm, willing body. I break away from your mouth to lay a series of hard, sucking kisses along your neck to your shoulder, nipping hard.> So good, so sweet...you're so responsive....

Randy: God, Michael...it was good, darlin'. <I wiggle against you, rolling us so that I'm on my back, with your heavy, welcome weight resting solidly on me. My dick hasn't even completely softened, much to my surprise. I rub against you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your ear. My voice drops to a seductive whisper> Show me...tell me...what turns you on. What makes you so hot you'll burn. I want to make you burn, Michael.

Michael: <I kiss you softly but thoroughly, tasting you completely before kissing and sucking at the soft flesh just beneath your chin, then moving down to lick and nibble at your Adam's apple. Sweat, ocean scent, musk, you. Scent and flavor combine to imprint your taste in my memory. A quick lick to the hollow of your throat, and a nibbling path across your collarbone before dropping to lick across your hot, hard nipple with broad strokes of my tongue. You arch up against me, seeking to keep me there, but I move on after a quick moment of gentle sucking. I can begin to taste our combined fluids now, and lick it from your skin, so glad you're smooth and hairless. I follow the path of stickiness downward, cleaning it from you, feeling you writhe and move restlessly beneath me. Reaching your navel, I stop to suck at it, chasing around the edges of the little hollow with the tip of my tongue before slipping into it for a moment. I can feel your cock against the skin of my throat; it never went down completely, and is beginning to stir once again, awakening beneath my attentions. I want to take it into my mouth, to taste it, but not yet; I like the feel of your skin under my tongue and lips, so I move on. You are bare, completely, and it's a novelty; I'd had women who shaved, but never a man, and I like it. I lick around the full, heavy balls, so smooth, like velvet. Without hair to obscure your cock, you look impossibly larger, more masculine, if possible, nothing to detract from the shaft laying across your thigh. I take first one ball into my mouth and suck gently, then the other, before releasing them to run my tongue up your stirring cock.>

Randy: <Your tongue and mouth are like manna from heaven, sliding over me, leaving me damp and shaking in their wake. I splay my legs wider open for you, drawing my knees up slightly to give you a better area to maneuver in. I lower my hands to rub and pinch at my nipples, shivering when the sensations combine with what you're visiting on me. My body is already scorching again, the heat rising quickly. I want to taste you, touch you, but you seem to want to taste me. It's unusual; I'm used to being the one doing the active pleasuring. To lie back and just be pleasured is a fairly new thing. I moan and move my legs again, feeling utterly wanton; I need to sprawl out for you to take your pleasure from as you give me mine. One hand strays downward further to stroke your head as you suck and lick me. I can't stop the low moans that pour from me; I'm not sure I would if I could. I want you to know how you're making me feel> Yessss...oh, yes, Michael... Oh, please...suck me, darlin'. Suck my cock...your mouth is so hot...so good...

Michael: <I nibble across the crease where your leg meets your body, barely scoring the skin, then over to your hipbone, to nip harder and suck until a mark appears on the pale, untanned skin there, proof I'd loved you. My mark.> You do make me burn, Randy...you make me burn hot for you...you make me hungry to taste you, to feel your skin under my mouth, to give you pleasure...<My fingers curl around your now-hard cock, and it throbs hotly in my hand. Big, strong, just like the rest of you. I lap delicately at the wet crown before sucking it into my mouth.>

Randy: Oh, god... Do you burn to fuck me, Michael? Do you burn to bury yourself deep inside me and ride me hard, until we're both shaking and sweating and gasping?

Michael: <I pull off your hot, thick cock with a loud, obscene wet sound. I feel the heat rise up within me again. I'd been half-hard as I gave you the slow tongue bath, but your words, and the wholly carnal image that flamed across my mind's eye, made me harden completely, throbbing.> God, yes. I want to fuck you, Randy. I want to cover you with my body, I want to be so deep within you that you taste me. I want to take you, to own you... I want to fill you, to be inside you. But as much as I want that, I won't--can't hurt you. As much as I burn for you, as much as I want you, we don't have anything, and I won't do it without something to ease the waylube, oil, whatever.

Randy: Michael...<my voice is hoarse, thick with my need, with my arousal> I have...fuck. I have suntan oil in the glove box... If you can stand the smell of coconut...?

Michael: <The thought that I could be buried deeply within you sends a jolt down my spine. I press a kiss to your inner thigh, then make myself get up and slide out of the back of the truck. I'm so hard it hurts to move, but it will be worthwhile in just a moment. I go around to the door of the truck, open it, and lean into the interior, opening the glove box and fishing around until my fingers close over the little bottle. I can feel the slick residue on it beneath my fingers. It's not the best thing, but it will serve. I retrace my steps, my heart pounding hard. As I come to the tailgate, you roll a little, and rise up on one elbow to look at me. It's dark, but the house behind us has a floodlight, and I can see enough to recognize the hunger on your face; I'm certain it's a match for my own. Need makes my voice hoarse, thick.> Come here. Down off the truck.

Randy: <I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you are, standing there in the moonlight, and the light from the house behind us. Your body is long, and lean; almost rangy, with muscles bunching and working under your skin. Your cock is gorgeous; long, thick, completely erect. I can see you're uncut, and this'll be a first. I wonder what it'll feel like. What you'll feel like. My belly tightens in anticipation at the hunger in your eyes, in your voice. I shift myself forward, until I'm sitting on the edge of the tailgate, then I slip off, staring at you. There's a slight, cooling breeze blowing past us which is good, otherwise I'd have disintegrated from heat by now. I stand before you, my body hungry, ready for you; my cock achingly erect and throbbing. I lazily stroke one hand over myself, tip to root and back again, gathering my juices on myself before raising my hand to my mouth to lick at them, keeping my eyes on you as I whisper,> I'm here, Michael, and all ready for you. Do it, darlin'. Fuck me.

Michael: <I'm drawn to you; it's almost like a gravitational pull. I take your hand, the one you'd been licking, and bring it to my own mouth to taste you, sucking lightly at your fingers before releasing them. Your mouth parts on a soft sigh, and I kiss you, slipping inside to run my tongue over yours just a moment before releasing you to whisper in your ear> Want you...need to be inside you...deep inside...want to feel you shake as I make you mine... Turn around, Caro. Hands on the tailgate, and spread your legs for me...

Randy: Shit, Michael...ohmygod... Yes <I turn and brace against the tailgate as you've asked, and spread my legs slowly, letting you see me being wanton for you. I shift my weight so that I'm bracing on my forearms, my legs wide apart now, my ass tilted for you. I haven't been this hot, this hungry for anyone in a long time, and wonder briefly what's making it different with you, but then you touch me once, a single finger trailing down my spine, and I lose all ability for higher thought or reasoning.> All for you, darlin' Do it, pleaseC'mon, Michael, I'm burning, babe.

Michael: Oh, god...<My voice comes out a strangled whisper as I look at you, pliant, willing, spreading yourself freely for our pleasure. I've loved women, but there's just something about a man submitting, giving himself, that has a power to move me like nothing else. Especially if that man is like you--strong, capable, and physically perfect. I run my hand over your neck, and down your spine slowly, watching and feeling your muscles bunch and roll beneath my touch, shivering slightly, like a fine thoroughbred. I place a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, and another, lower, at the base of your spine, licking at the sweat gathered at the hollow of your back. I pop open the bottle, and the scent of coconut rises strongly between us; you jump a little at the sound, then shift again, willing. I coat my fingers with the oil, and slide them down the dark cleft, searching until I find what I'm looking for, and pressing my fingers there. You make a small, desperate sound, and I shush you gently before pressing hard enough to slip into your body, into the welcoming heat and tightness.> It will be good, Caro...I promise...

Randy: I know it will...Ahhhh...ohgod... <I can't stop the fevered moans, nor my arching toward you. Your fingers feel good; damned good, in fact, but they're not what I want. I groan and push back at you, breathing out to relax myself, not surprised when my body opens suddenly to you, creating a hot, snug tunnel for your fingers. *You're* a little surprised, I think; I feel you start behind me. Then you're kissing my back again, fucking your fingers smoothly in and out of me. My cock throbs harshly, twitching and spasming. I can almost feel each drop of precome as it oozes up and leaks out. I feel hyper-sensitive right now; each stroke of your fingers within me reverberates all through me. I gasp and thrust back at you, my body hungrily closing over your fingers, working them> Michael...more! Please, darlin', give me your cock...fill me up. Now, Michael...

need you now!

Michael: <I'm already sweating, though the breeze that moves around me is cool. Your body gives off enough heat to incinerate me. Reluctantly, I pull my fingers from your body with an oily, wet sound, and dump more oil on my hand, biting my lip as I use it to slick myself up. I can scarcely bear to touch myself; getting inside you without losing it will be difficult. I want inside, to be contained within your body, to be a part of you more than I thought I would. I want to wrap around you, absorb you, be absorbed by you. Become one with you. It's overpowering, this need--I'd always been in control before. There, but distant. With you, there seems to be no distance, just a need to join myself to you in the most intimate way possible. Taking a deep breath, I move up behind you, and press a kiss to your back, before placing the swollen head of my cock to the pinkened, stretched opening, waiting for me to fill it.> Relax, Caro...let me in, lover...

Randy: <Your voice flows over me, warm, gentle, loving. I shudder and blow out a long breath, willing my body to relax. I want this. I want it so bad; want to feel *you* so bad. I reach one hand up grasp yours, shivering when you slide it down my arm to twine your fingers with mine. Your cock is so hot pressing against me that I jump a little when you actually breach me; just the waves of heat moving outward to consume me are nearly overwhelming. I moan softly, not from any pain or discomfort, but from the heady sensation of having you inside me, of joining with you. My low cry hangs in the air as you push further into me> Do me, Michael...god, it feels good.

Michael: <I stop, though your voice has nothing but pleasure in it. I have to stop, or risk losing it; it feels so incredibly good to be inside you. Your body ripples, adjusting to my invasion, hot, moist, tight--heaven. It feels so perfect, like I was meant to be there, like you were made specifically for me. I blink sweat out of my eyes, and taking a deep breath again, lean harder into you, watching with amazed eyes as my cock disappears inside you, until I'm snug up against you, pressing tightly against your body, sheathed completely. You flex, and it's like being squeezed by a hand. I hear us both moan as the sweetness of complete joining sparkles along my nerves. I could stay here forever, held by you. We're both panting, and I slip my hand around, still coated with oil, to curl my fingers around your cock, hot and heavy and needy.> Are you all right, Randy?

Randy: Ohhh... Oh, man, I'm *fine*, Michael... ohgod, better than fine...fucking fantastic... <I can't seem to catch my breath. The sheer volume of feelings and excitement and sensation inside me is pushing me toward oblivion, I think. Everything feels a little gray around the edges, and bright, white-hot at the center. When you stroke my cock I let out a growl of pleasure that has you jumping, thrusting inside of me, releasing another. I shake my head and arch back against you, then forward into your hand. I take your other hand and settle it over my left breast, massaging your fingers into my skin and rolling my head back against your shoulder.> Never...never been better, darlin'... Feels so good to have you inside me... <My voice drops to a throaty, husky whisper> I was made to take you, Michael. No pain; just pure, hot, burning pleasure.

Michael: <I suck in a deep gasp; holding you is like holding fire. Overwhelmed, depending on your strong arms and legs to keep us upright, I begin thrusting into you, slow, deep, controlled movements, burying myself as far as I can into you, then pulling out until I'm barely inside you, at the very entrance, only to push hard back into you. It's like being dipped into flame; your body clasps and releases me, like being sucked by a hot, hot mouth. I can hear myself groaning against your neck; it's unbelievably good, intense, perfect. I stroke you in time to my thrusts; you're as rigid as steel, and slick with your own juices and the oil. Your nipple is hard, turgid, and I pluck hard at it, twisting a little, seeking to send the extra pleasure zinging through you. The abandoned sounds you make, the strong, fierce movements you make against me are incredible.>

Randy: AHH! Oh, god...<I arch back hard against you, wanting to feel your cock pushing all the way into my throat from the backside. I groan and meet your next thrust, and the next, growling as thrust harder into me. My nipple is aching, it's so hard, and I wish for a moment we were face-to-face so I could have your hot wet mouth on it. But god, it feels so good like this...I can hardly stand all the feelings inside me right now. My cock is sizzling, all my nerve endings on fire. I'm so close to coming that its not going to take more than a touch or whisper to send me over, and I close my eyes in anticipation of the riots of sensation, my voice husky,> Love this, Michael…love how good it feels!

Michael: <Your voice is soft, low, husky, and your words hit me with the force of a club. With a low cry, I let go of my inhibitions and let out the passion, driving into you hard enough to lift you to your toes with each thrust, giving myself over to the need to own you, to claim you, to make you mine. I pump you mercilessly, seeking to drive you to orgasm even as mine is beginning to swell through me like a tsunami.>

Randy: <My coming breaks over me like the crackle of thunder that precedes a storm, and my body bows before the onslaught of it. I feel the heat swelling and swirling, climbing from the far reaches of my body, gathering in the pit of my belly, then lower, in my groin. I'm harder than any piece of steel I've ever touched, and I ache so bad it's all-encompassing. You're jerking me fast and hard, pounding into me from behind. I gasp, a small sob forcing its way out as I give in and give myself over to the whirlwind that's claiming me. My cock shudders and spasms, then releases a flood of semen, coating your hand, and my belly where it spurts. I groan, shuddering back against you, small whimpers rising amidst the rest.> Yesyesyesyesyes Michael...ohmygod...!

Michael: <As your body shudders against mine and spasming muscles clench tightly around me, the wave breaks, and I'm helpless against it, given to it, lost in the power of it. I clench tightly, and my seed boils out of me, deep into you as I push as hard as I can into you, seeking to be a part of you. The hoarse cry rips from me, leaving my throat raw, and my arms go around you, crushing you into my body, tightly enough to bruise. I pant harshly as the wave recedes, and collapse against you, my weight bearing you forward, until we're lying flat on the tailgate, still joined, still entwined, still one. It's a moment before I collect myself, and realize that I'm lying sprawled across your back, my cheek against the nape of your neck. It has to be uncomfortable for you. You don't complain, but I can feel the tremors in your back, your legs as you struggle to keep us both upright. With a sigh, I turn my face and kiss the back of your sweaty neck, and down the strong muscle that curves from neck to shoulder. Your breath is as harsh and as rapid as my own, and I can feel your heart pounding fiercely.> OhmigodI can't believe how good...how wonderful you were...you're like a volcano...

Randy: <I reach back and clutch at you, my breathing still harsh, as I try to get it under control. I've never felt such an all-over, complete satiation as now, and even though its threatening to buckle my legs, I don't care. I don't want you to leave, because once we're separate again, we're separate. I can't even explain to myself why it matters; I haven't known you for more than a few hours. And I don't care. I hold your arm that I caught tightly, knowing I'll leave marks, but needing you to understand. I'm amazed by the strength in my voice, but also by the note of vulnerability there.> Don't -- not yet. Please. Don't go...don't leave me.

Michael: Don't go? Where would I go, Caro? I just don't want to make us fall...<Still, your grip on me doesn't loosen, and I settle back over you again, trying to hold a little of my weight off you. I press a kiss to your neck, and the soft skin behind your ear.> Randy...are you all right?

Randy: Fine...<I swallow, thinking what an idiot I am, of course you're not going anywhere. Not right away, not butt-naked. I consciously ease my grasp on your arm, but press myself back against you, moving as close as I can get, given our positions.> I'm -- I don't know, Michael. I'm fine. Just -- overwhelmed. That was...<whispering> oh, man. Intense.

Michael: Yes... intense. It was like being struck by lightning, or being caught up in a whirlwind, or riptide. I don't think I've felt anything so powerful before. It was like a force of nature. <I've softened, and slip from your body; it makes me sigh regretfully, wishing I could have stayed inside you longer, been a part of you. I feel you shudder as I slip from you; you're pressed so close.> Please, let me hold you, kiss you?

Randy: <I turn into your arms, and wrap mine around you so tightly I can feel the hair from your chest tickling against mine. I burrow my face into your neck, and place several quick kisses against the pulse I feel throbbing there. It's like a grounding, feeling you against me like this, warm and sweaty.> I'd like that, darlin'. The sex was It was fantastic…but I wanna hold you, too feel you against me

Michael: <I spread my legs a little to get you closer, and lean against the tailgate to support both our weights. You curl up into me like you truly belong, and you fit perfectly there. I slip an arm around your waist, and my other hand steals up to cup the back of your head. I feel oddly tender as well as fiercely drawn to you, wanting to offer comfort, to show you I do care.> You're so warm, so vital, so alive. You make me feel alive, and I've not felt like that for a very long time. Too long. I like the way you make me feel, Caro...

Randy: <I wonder idly if you're a cuddler by nature, if you're humoring me, or if, like me, you feel the strange pull between us. No, not strange, just so goddamn intense. I feel like my brain itches, it's so intense. I curl closer into your arms, breathing in the rich, musky scent of our sweat and orgasms, and that unique spice that is you. I lean my head in a little closer to you and lick along your collarbone, wanting to taste you. Finally I shift, straightening a little.> Let's get up in the truck, Michael. I wanna feel you against me. I want you to feel alive...I'm glad it was me.

Michael: <My hand petting the back of your head holds you in place as I capture your mouth again. It's not the fierce, hunger-filled kisses of earlier, but gentle, exploring, giving. The kiss of two people who feel close and connected. Your mouth opens willingly for mine, generous and joyful. Warmth sweeps over me, but it's not lust; its softer, gentle, something tender. It fills me, makes my chest feel tight and expansive all at once. I like it. I can hear soft, contented sounds rumbling up from within you, and a sense of wonder fills me. I tighten my grip on you, not wanting to let go, but finally, the need for oxygen, to draw a deep breath, makes me pull away. Your eyes are huge, dark, and soft. I brush a kiss across your mouth lightly, and smile.> Yes, let's do that, Caro...

Randy: <I shiver when you stare into my eyes, then break from you for the brief moment it takes to shift up onto the tailgate. I stand there, looking down, watching you, wondering about you, and how much I'll get to know. I reach my hand out, shivering lightly when the wind brushes cold fingers over us. Your hand in mine is warm, smooth, and it's a lot like kissing you, very sensual. I grasp it tightly and brace myself to help you up. Smaller than me, but not small, not by a long shot. We settle at the end of the bed, sitting on one blanket, pulling the other over us. You reach an arm around me, pulling me close to you, and I snuggle in, wanting *this* as badly as I wanted you inside me just a bit ago> S'nice, Michael... I've missed this. Haven't done it in a while.

Michael: <Your head fits perfectly into the curve of my neck, and I find I like it there, as much as I like my arm about your waist, as much as I like stroking your thigh lightly with my free hand. It's warm beneath the blanket; I'd gotten a little chilled, and your skin is cool against mine. Peeking out from beneath the blanket, my toes are a little cold, but its a small price to pay for the sweet comfort of your weight leaning into me, the brush of your breath against my skin. I'm content, happy, as I've not been for so long--too long.> I've had lovers, but they never stayed to touch, to cuddle. I miss it, too...

Randy: <I sigh contentedly, and find myself wishing for sleeping bags; it'd be nice to sleep out here, on the beach, under the stars. Your voice sounds soft, low, like a man who's comfortable after finding pleasure. I kiss your jaw, then shift so I can curl an arm around your waist, hugging you loosely to me> I like to touch, Michael. Haven't found anyone yet who wanted it as much as I did, and there's been no one in a while... <I reflect on how buried in my work I tend to get, and even my free time is busy, filled with sailing and swimming; lone sports, without anyone along. I wonder if maybe you'll want to see each other again; maybe do something this weekend.> Its gonna get really cold here pretty soon, being so close to the water. We should get dressed, or something. <Neither one of us moves.>

Michael: Or something. <My voice reflects my amusement. I could sit for awhile longer, but you're right; it's getting colder. Still, I'm not ready to end this sweet feeling of closeness. I wonder if you'd be willing to go home with me, and the thought sends a little sizzle of pleasure down my spine. I want to make love to you again, but also want to hold you in my big, lonely bed, to feel your warmth curled next to me.> Randy...would you like to come home with me? I'd like to wake up next to you in the morning, feel you close to me. I'm not ready to let you go, yet.

Randy: <I consider your question for a moment, giving it serious thought. It could turn out to be one of the best things I've ever done, or one of the more stupid things--and these days it's hard to tell which, until its done and over with. But like you, I'm not ready for this--whatever *this* is--to end yet. I nod, grinning at you.> Yes...I'd like that. A lot.

Michael: I'm glad you said yes. Truly glad. <I offer you a smile, and you return it. Slowly, we separate, and begin looking for our clothing, scattered in mad, hot haste. I don't bother with the boxers, but slip on the trousers. As I pull on my shirt and start to button it, I'm drawn by your economical grace; fluid, not a wasted motion. Your body is truly beautiful, smooth and gleaming, like marble. I can't help myself, and reach out to touch your arm as you sit there, trying to figure out front from back on your sweater. You glance down at my hand, gently stroking your skin, and then back up at me. I'm not sure what the expression in your eyes is, but I drop my hand and go back to buttoning my shirt, trying to ignore the fact that my fingers are shaking a little.>

Randy: <I can't find my underwear. I don't know why that bothers me, except that I hate missing things. That, and Levi's are uncomfortable riding rough. Well, maybe these won't be. They're worn; the fabric is soft and comfortable; hopefully it'll be okay against my genitals, which still feel super-sensitive. The strangest feelings flashed through me when you touched me, and I feel pretty confident that I'm making the right decision in going home with you. A smile crosses my face at that thought, followed by thoughts of what we just shared--and hopefully will share again, soon. You look up from your buttoning and see me grinning, and an answering one forms on your face. I feel laughter bubbling up from inside, my pensiveness vanishing like the wind took it.> This has been the best hooky I've ever played, Michael. And I'm looking forward to it getting even better.

Michael: If I had known how much fun playing hooky would be, I'd have played it a long time ago. Of course, I suspect that the amount of fun is in direct proportion to the other fellow playing hooky with you. I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. And yes, Caro, it will get much better...I promise.

Randy: Oh, yeah. I'd say the fun is directly proportional. <I give up on the boots and shift forward on my knees to where you're sitting, putting on your shoes. You look up, a bit startled to see me suddenly so close and I grin again. You're so incredible--'beautiful' isn't generally a term I use for other men, but I think it works. You've caught my attention, at any rate, whatever the adjective my brain is trying to figure out. Your eyes are dark already, and they get darker the longer you look at me; catching and reflecting pinpoints of starlight back at me. I reach up and cup your face, then lower my mouth to yours, touching very gently at first, then deepening the kiss, moaning softly into your mouth when you open for me. Your hands are like fire when they touch my waist, and I swear I can hear and feel the energy crackling and sizzling between us. I draw back after a moment, surprised -- very surprised -- to feel myself warming again, and I laugh quietly against your mouth> I can't believe