Blind Faith

I met Rafe in college. He was my first roommate. It was my first time away from home and I was green. I was so naïve. He was a year older than me and we took some time to warm up to each other. I just wasn't used to sharing a room or my life with anyone other than my family and I had had to get to know them over the course of 18 years. But, after the initial wariness wore off, he made the effort to pull me out of my shell. His father was from Ireland and his mother was from Guadalajara; so he got the best from both cultures. He had creamy, bronzed skin and black, black hair that was more straight than curly with his dad's bright blue eyes. He was tall, about six-two, but it didn't touch my six-five. He smiled a lot and was almost always laughing and joking. It helped.

As is often the case when you spend almost every waking moment with someone, cramped into a room twelve by nine, you either hate each other to pieces or become best of friends. Well, we became friends. I lived about ten hours away from school, but Rafe's family lived only two hours away. We talked about all things, growing closer and closer as the days passed. By Christmas that first year, we could complete each other's sentences. When I lost my virginity to a sweet co-ed named Carrie in February, I shared all the details with Rafe. He just smiled at me and laughed as I told him how nervous I had been and how I thought it was wonderful, but it was over a little too soon (her words, not mine).

In March, just before Spring Break, I got a call from my dad's best friend. My parents had been killed in a car accident. I know I breathed because I am alive, but the events of the following few hours are gone. Rafe found me about an hour or so after the phone call, sitting on the floor in a pile by the phone. He had had to shove me back because I was blocking the door. When he looked at me, directly in my eyes, the numbness faded and the pain came flooding out. All I remember is crying and being held. I remember other people in the dorms coming to the open door and watching the tragedy, rubbernecking someone else's pain. Rafe called all of my professors and all the other myriad people then drove me home. We stayed in the house that my parents had lived in. It was so shocking to see. There was folded laundry waiting to go in drawers and their bed was unmade and one of my mom's shoes was just sitting, waiting for her to come home. But they didn't. Rafe stayed with me through the funeral and the will reading. We got back to school after spring break and took make up finals.

For the next six weeks or so, I was doing anything to dull the pain. I slept with girl after girl, three of them in one night. I drank and smoked grass, even thought of trying other stuff, harder stuff, anything to make the ache go away. When I had slept through another day's worth of classes, Rafe poured a bucket of cold water on me in bed, waking me, sobering me. He then let me have it for all he was worth. Shame was riding me hard, guilt followed a close second and pain was the constant background. Rafe's words shocked me. He had never been angry before. He had never raised his voice and had never yelled at me. I was in shock, unable to even defend myself. He must have screamed at me for a good half hour. When he finally ran down his head of steam, he noticed that I had paled and was crying. But, he did make me realize how destructive my life had become. He helped me get cleaned up and talk to my teachers and workout a make-up plan. Over the next few weeks, I went through some serious shakes. I wasn't addicted to anything, but I also had to face the world without a girl or a drink or a hit. I was just grateful that I had somehow remembered condoms when I had slept with all those women.

That summer, I went to my home and packed up and sorted through my folk's things. Rafe joined me for the summer. My parents owned a consulting firm and had left their majority in the business to me. I had my dad's best friend take over until I was done with school. I didn't want grief to cause me to make mistakes. I still had to vote on important matters, but I was given time to mourn and grow a little more. That fall, Rafe and I moved into an apartment off campus and roomed together through the remainder of school.

I dated from time to time, but I was in no way as promiscuous as I had been. I only slept with one other woman in college and it was a few months of dating before that happened. Rafe didn't date though. I asked a couple of times and he kept evading. One day I cornered him and asked why. He was scared and angry and told me he was gay. I just looked at him and then told him he was an idiot for worrying about telling me. I hadn't noticed how tense Rafe had become around me until he relaxed after telling me. I felt really bad that he was so scared. There is so much evil in the world and some people find the stupidest things to be uptight about. Rafe was studying for his master's degree and was going to be in school a little longer than I was. During our last year living together, just before I went home to take over the family business, Rafe cornered me.

"John, I know you wanted me to go home with you for the summer, but I can't."

I was hurt and confused; we had been planning on him staying with me until he got a job with the city's library system. "Why?"

"John, please..."

"Why? We planned this. I was looking forward to it. Weren't you?"

"Yes, but John..."

"Why, damn it!"

"Because I've fallen in love with you!"

I was surprised. No, shocked was a better word. I was unprepared for what he said. I tried to say something, but all I did was stammer.

"It's okay John, I need to be away from you or I'll never got over it. I will eventually, but not if we are living in the same house." The light seemed to have faded from his eyes a little. He laughed, but without humor. "This has always been my biggest fear. Falling in love and not having that love returned."

I was so lost. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I felt so bad. But, after graduation, I returned home and Rafe stayed in our old apartment until he found a job. I called from time to time. I really missed my best friend. After about two months when I called, Rafe begged me to stop calling. He was crying on the phone. "I can't do this John. I miss you too. But I ache every time I hear your voice. I love you so much. Please stop calling. You're killing me."

So I stopped calling. I maintained my friendship with his family and they kept me up to date on how Rafe, Rafael to his mother, was doing. But I didn't talk to him on the phone. I didn't see him, even when business took me to his town. I stayed away. I felt guilty and sad because I couldn't return his feelings. I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him.

Almost three years had passed when he came to my door one day. He looked tired and pale. I had him come in. I wanted to hug him, but I didn't. He sat down and asked how I was. Then he asked me for a favor.

"Can I stay here with you for a few weeks?"

"Of course. You're always welcome."

"Listen to me first."

He told me why. I was horrified and scared. He told me that he had been having headaches the last few months. They got so bad that they did a CT scan on him. They found a tumor. He had gone through radiation to try and shrink it. He was going in for surgery in three weeks and his family was driving him crazy. He would survive the surgery, but he might not be able to see afterwards. He also might have the same recovery time and procedures as a stroke victim. When he finished telling me, I couldn't help it, I pulled him into my arms. I hugged him so hard and started crying. My best friend was sick and possibly dying. I lost it.

He rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head. He got me to stop crying. I showed him a guest room because he was tired. I called into the office and took the next month off. I was going to spend as much time with my friend as possible. That night, I heard Rafe screaming. I ran into his room. He was sitting up and holding his head. He had had a nightmare and he hadn't taken his pain medication. I got it for him and rubbed his neck until it took affect. He leaned away from me. I know he wanted to kiss me. He never asked for one single thing the entire time we were friends. He gave and gave and never once asked. I leaned my head forward and kissed him lightly, just a brushing of lips.

Generosity made me kiss him at first, but it wasn't what kept me kissing him. The moment my lips met his, I started getting hard. I felt a tingle up and down my spine. I deepened the kiss. I thrust my tongue against his lips, nipping at the bottom one until he opened his mouth. This kiss was special. I was kissing a man and liking it. But more than that, I was kissing my best friend. Rafe moaned against me when my tongue brushed against his. I kept kissing him. When we were both a little breathless I pulled back to look at him. He was smiling. Then he got serious and apologized.

"Do you want this to stop Rafe?"

"No."

I pulled my shirt off and Rafe reached out with his fingers, brushing them through the thick hair covering my chest and belly. I shuddered at his touch. I reached out my hand and sifted through the soft hair on his chest. His was very sparse, and it tickled because it was so fine. I kicked off my shoes and stood to remove my pants and underwear. When I was naked, I lifted the sheets and crawled in with him. He was naked too. I pulled him to me and started kissing him again. He molded his body to mine. I felt him hard and insistent on my belly. I had thought I would be repulsed by it. Instead, I was fascinated. I knew that if I touched him, I could make him feel good by doing what felt good on me. That was so empowering.

I rolled him to his back and covered his body with mine. My erection was wedged between his legs. The head brushed against his pucker. Each light touch made me shudder. I wanted this; I wanted to be with Rafe. I looked down at him and smiled.

"Rafael, I have never done this before. What do I do?"

"I've never done this either."

I was shocked. I looked at him and asked him why. I knew from his family that he dated from time to time.

"They weren't you."

"But—"

"I want you now. It doesn't matter why there have been no others. It just matters that you are with me and I with you. Please?"

He looked both sure and doubtful. He also looked very aroused. Fire burned inside me. I knew I needed to be with him. I pushed against him instinctively. He arched his back, but I didn't move at all. That stopped me. I knew we were going to need to slow down. He wasn't ready. He wanted, but his body needed prepping. His body didn't self-lubricate like a woman's. I really had no idea what to do.

"Rafael. We need something to help us along, but I don't know what."

He suggested some Vaseline. I got up and got it and came back to him. But the medication had kicked in and he was asleep. I was so hard still, my erection practically touched my belly button, definitely grazed the edge of the hairiness on my belly. But he was asleep and would need all the sleep he could get. I willed my erection to go away, but it didn't. Instead I crawled into bed with Rafe and held him. I molded my body to his back and my cock rested in the cleft of his ass. It wasn't what we started out looking for, but it would be enough for tonight, for now. I still ached, but just touching his body calmed me. I felt contentment, for probably the first time in my life. I slowly drifted to sleep, holding the body of my best friend and deep in my heart, I had a feeling he was so much more.

I awoke a few hours later, feeling Rafe stroke my arm lightly. He was awake and from my vantage point, smiling. I kissed the top of his head and moved him so he lay back on the bed. I kissed him deeply, molding our lips together, melding our tastes. One hand stroked his body from the hollow of his hip to the tender skin of his throat. My other arm was still under his neck, supporting him, cradling him. I felt him hard and leaking against my hip, my erection nestled into the soft curls on his belly. We continued to kiss and taste each other. I was lying against his chest, my hips cradled between his. I looked in his eyes and he nodded at me. I reached over to the table where I had set the Vaseline. I opened it and smeared some on my fingers before moving down to him. I swirled the greasy jelly around his hole, smearing it around him, stroking the nerves there, and willing him to open to me. He did. I spread the jelly inside him, stroking one, then two, then three fingers into him, parting him, twisting and testing, wanting him to be comfortable. Rafe arched his back under me and moaned loud. I removed my hand and moved my cock into position. I pushed forward, easing just inside, so his ring grabbed just under the flare of my cock head. I stayed, noticing the wince and grimace across his features. I kissed him, needing to feel him, being connected to him.

His stranglehold on my cock eased, I pushed forward. I kept kissing him, moving into him with ever deepening strokes. Then I was in him completely. I had to grit my teeth to keep from losing it. The sensation of having him adjust to me, easing around my girth, accepting the breadth and length of me made me so hot, I almost came. Then he smiled at me. His dimples showed and the look of love and joy on his face had my chest squeeze with emotion. I wasn't fucking him. I was making love to him. Then I began to move. I felt my entire body slide against his. My belly moved over his, I felt his nipples grind into my chest. I felt his cock, hard and steely, grind into my belly button. His body rocked with mine, meeting me, pushing me. The hairiness of his body, that infinitely soft down, was a tactile feast to my sensitive skin. I was on fire, every square inch of my body primed and feeling every little sensation. This was more than I had ever known. This was better than all sexual experiences from my first to last combined.

I watched every nuance of pleasure cross Rafe's face. His eyes sparkled and his skin flushed and sweat beaded his brow. His back arched over and over, thrusting his body into my heaving, sweaty torso. His cries were music to my ears, knowing I was bringing him pleasure, bringing him something he had wanted for so long, but didn't have until now. I felt so guilty for denying him this, for not understanding until now. I mourned the time we wasted. I kept moving, feeling our bodies slide together, feeling myself swell inside, hoping to keep from tripping, wanting Rafe to join me. And he did. I was thrusting away when he arched his back and cried out. My belly was coated with his release. Watching ecstasy spread across his beautiful features had me cry out in orgasm as well. I continued to thrust slowly after it was over, feeling my cock deflate than go limp as I slid out of him, cupping his body to me, not wanting him away from me for a single moment. We dozed.

I got up a few hours later and made food for us. He still slept and until that day, I didn't realize how exhausted he was, how debilitating his illness was. But I spent my time with him when he was awake. I fed him in bed, sitting in front of him naked and hard, making him eat, teasing him by not letting him touch me. When he was done eating, he surprised me by tackling me and taking what he wanted. He took me in his mouth and made love to me with his lips and tongue. I was powerless to stop him. All I did was let him move, teasing and tasting me. He bobbed his head and swirled around me with his powerful tongue. I found my body pulling in on itself, curling and tensing, its only recourse from the amazing sensations surging through me. His fingers pulled on my sac, pushing the hard ridge below my balls, moving down further and further, brushing against my center. The moment he pushed into me with his finger, my back arched off the bed and I cried out. I didn't know this was possible, no one ever played with my ass before. If I had only known, I would have done this sooner.

He moved deeper inside me, brushing something deep, and I cried out, clenching and spurting down his throat. No woman ever allowed me to cum in her mouth before. He swallowed all I had to give, moving on me still. He kept going, as if he couldn't get enough. He was treating me like a pacifier. I was too sensitive, but I stayed still, wondering where this was going. I was still hard; I couldn't lose my erection with his mouth still on me. I was over-sensitive, it was too much, and I wanted him to stop. I pulled at his shoulders, but he ignored me, brushed them off. He kept moving, going faster, brushing a second, then third finger inside me. It had been less than two minutes since I came, but I was ready again. The sensitivity had lessened and he kept moving, pushing at my prostate, stroking my body to respond. And I did. I exploded, raising my body off the bed and grasping Rafe's head. I pulled him off me and dragged his lips to mine. I started kissing him, tasting myself on his lips, feeling my cock twitch and sputter out the last few drops of my release against the two of us.

I pulled away from the kiss, shaking and trembling. I was so overwhelmed, both physically and emotionally. Rafe took one look in my eyes and hugged me, pulling me down on the bed and cuddling against me, stroking my body lightly until the tremors lessened, then stopped. I started to cry; realizing that the love I felt for my friend had blown up into so much more. Rafe looked up into my eyes and smiled, then reached up and wiped the tears away. I pushed him onto his back. I moved down his body, kissing and nipping against him as I moved down: in for a penny, in for a pound. I took him into my mouth, letting him rest against my tongue. I learned what it was to have my lover, my love, in my mouth. I tasted him, felt his texture and taste against my tongue, the roof of my mouth. I moved my tongue against him, moving it in a long, sensuous lick against his length. I felt him rumble with pleasure. I moved more, faster and stronger, up and down his steely shaft. I was lost in his taste, in his moans and the feel of his fingers sifting through the hair at my temples. I kept moving, letting the rest of the world disappear. Then I felt him let go, and his spasms pushed and twitched against my tongue. I kept moving on him, accepting him, feeling him melt against my tongue. And when he was soft and I had cleaned him up, I let him slip from my mouth and I looked up, not sure what should happen next. I felt a little lost. I had taken a big step, and now didn't know what was what.

Rafe pulled me into his arms and held me, stroked my back and crooned simple words to me until reality began to return. I looked into his eyes, searching for answers. He cupped my face and kissed me. He tasted me slowly, moving over me with light strokes of his tongue against mine. He pulled away and held my head gently in his hands.

"I love you, John."

It was so simple. Those words were so much. I felt so much. They were easy to return. "I love you too, Rafael."

"What happens now?"

"What do you want to happen?"

"I want tonight, and tomorrow. I want next week and the week after. I want forever."

"Do you trust me?"

"Always."

"Then you will have tonight and tomorrow. You will have next week and the week after. You will have forever. I want it too."

We spent the night in bed, never getting up except for food and the occasional shower to cool our heated flesh. I gave him his medication and when necessary, I held him while he slept. It was an ideal time we shared together. As the day of his surgery came closer, we stopped talking so much. Each time we came together was almost desperate. The chances of him losing his life were slim. But so many other complications could occur. He could lose a good portion of his memory, never to have it return. He could lose his sight. The great unknown we pushed aside to enjoy as much time as we could.