David

STOP: It is highly recommended that the reader peruse Chapter I and 2 before Chapter 3.

*

By the time Neal and Jeff returned, both in cut off jeans and t shirts, Howard had built a huge tower of buckwheat pancakes. The last of a dozen sausages were simmering in the pan, and the Cuisinart™ was pumping out grapefruit juice at a pint a minute.

"Mmm," both guys hummed together, and then broke out laughing at their synchronicity. Howard couldn't help but notice that Neal was staying close to Jeff; he in fact had one hand on Jeff's shoulder. During their repast, Howard asked Neal. "How are you doing?..... Are those ribs healing at all?"

"Well, Howard, they are healing, but a couple of times a day, when I move or twist a certain way, the pain just about drives me to my knees; but as I say, it's down to only a few times a day instead of all the time."

"Listen, Neal," Howard went on, "I don't expect you to go anywhere any time soon, what with the condition your poor body is still in, but what about the long term? Have you decided to move in here?"

"Well, Howard, you hadn't asked me again, but I was kinda hopin' you would."

"Mi Casa es su casa, as they say down in old Mexico. But seriously, I feel a bit responsible for what has happened to you. I want to help you in any way I can. It would give me great pleasure to do nice things for you, maybe sort of to make up for the sordid and violent things done to you."

"Shit, Howard, how can you take the blame for that?"

"Okay, not blame. But I am capable, able and eager to do nice things for people, especially for you."

"Why for me 'especially'?"

"Because, Neal...you are me. What you have been going through, I have already been through. Not exactly, perhaps, but certainly an analog, at least. Besides, you are a highly attractive, very engaging, very endearing young man."

Neal's fork stopped half way to his mouth, syrup dripping back onto his plate.

Jeff started laughing. "Here we go again."

Howard guffawed, Neal joined in. Soon all three men were rocking with laughter, holding their bellies.

Gaiety over, they settled in to demolishing pancakes. No one spoke until the platters were empty. Over fresh cups of coffee, Howard spoke again. "Have you written anything lately, Neal?"

"Naw, you know, with all that's been going on, I haven't felt very creative."

"You mind my making a suggestion?"

"You will anyway," Neal answered.

As Howard chuckled, his big chest rocked. "Too true, too true, my man."

"Well go ahead then," Jeff and Neal said, in unison again.

"I think you should write about what's been happening to you. Not a blow for blow factual account, but, I don't know, a short story, maybe. If you are gonna stay here for a while, I have a great laptop I could lend you to work on. When you think you are ready, I have an in with several publications who are crying for stories like that. I also have a friend, er, well, a business acquaintance, who is a literary agent and an activist."

"You gonna buy him clothes like you did me?" Jeff asked.

"That is certainly an option open to him," Howard said, "though I don't think he is as eager to accept as you were."

"It just feels awkward having you buy clothes for me, I mean it would feel awkward with anybody, like I was a kept man or something" Neal said.

"Except that I do not expect any reciprocity," Howard said. "Meanwhile, my laptop is on my desk. I'll remove the entry code so you can get on, later we'll make you a user with your own password. At any rate, let me know if there is anything I can do for you, anything I can get you."

Neal reached to lay a palm on Howard's shoulder; Howard turned to face him. Jeff was about to speak, but stopped, mouth agape. Neal's face was suddenly deadly serious as if a dark shadow had passed over him.

"You can help me find the ones who did this to me," Neal said, gesturing to his injured body.

Howard reacted as if he thought someone might be listening. "Look in my eyes," he said to Neal. "Do not, ever, speak to me of that again!"

Since it was Monday morning, Jeff and Howard had to go to work. Neal, well enough now to hobble back and forth to kitchen or bathroom, was left alone to fend for himself. He went back to bed but found sleep elusive. He began wandering around Howard's large apartment, continually awed by the view, the furnishings, the art and the electronics. In the 'fireplace room', a sort of modern library, he discovered a brand new, state-of-the art vinyl disc-player and hundreds of re-mastered 'records'.

He lost himself for thirty minutes sorting through to find something to play, finally deciding on "Dragonfly" by Jefferson Starship. The album was much older than he, but he had certainly heard of "Starship" and the surrealistic, futuristic female dragonfly on the cover art intrigued him. Handling the equipment very carefully, he started the music. Within moments he found himself captured by the driving power of the band. By the fifth song, 'Devil's Den', the haunting voice of Grace Slick, the booming guitars and the eerie melodies of Papa John's electric violin had him spellbound.

Howard's library had built in speakers, at least eight of them, concealed throughout the room, adjusted for ideal 'live' sound. It was an experience akin to a live concert. Neal, read the entire album jacket, learning all he could about the band, about its performers. As he was returning the volume to its protective sleeve, it dawned on him that Howard himself would have been only four years old when the album had been released. He vowed to himself, then, that he would learn to appreciate all of Howard's collection.

He wandered toward Howard's home office, grinning when he realized he had just committed himself, if not to stay here; that is to live here with Howard and Jeff, at least to spend considerable time here. What a difference from his feelings a few weeks ago. Jeff and Howard's unrelenting, unconditional love was like a force of nature. Neal sat at Howard's desk, pulled the sleek looking laptop to himself. As promised, Howard had removed the password, so Neal was able to fire it up. Neal had never heard of the brand name, ASUS, but was pleased when it was ready in seconds. Scanning the available programs, Neal found "Word Perfect," his favorite word processor. Checking further, he determined the computer also had the software necessary to convert documents to any format.

He sat scratching his hairless chin for several minutes, and then began to type. A Chance to Live, he chose as a working title, then changed it immediately, A Choice to Live, by Neal Downs. He chuckled to himself. Potential readers, glancing at his name, would think he was a reformed porn star, but suddenly a picture flashed into his mind of himself, on his knees before Jeff. Maybe his name was not quite so terrible.

He wrote all day, not even noticing when he missed lunch. He created the heart wrenching story of a young man so lost in his search for himself; so filled with fear and loathing for what he was, what he was afraid to be, that he turned to violence against those who have sought in their ignorance to torment him, his hatred so strong he finally turned his weapon on himself. The story ended with the young man's mother, father, and fiancé huddled together in tearful mourning. In the last scene, the beautiful young girl raised her voice to heaven. "WHY?" she screamed at her maker, "Why would he do it?"

He rose from the desk shaken; his hands trembling, his mouth dry. The deep emotions he had written cried out to him from his own alternate future. "My God," he thought, "that really could have been me." For a moment he considered Howard's potent brandy, opting instead for a tall cold glass of milk. He drank it so fast that his 'got milk' mustache was a Fu Manchu. He was wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve when Jeff burst through the door.

Jeff stopped short. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I, I, I am all right."

"Don't shit me Neal, something is up."

"No, really, I am okay, it's . . .just, er, something, I wrote today."

Jeff moved closer to lay a palm on Neal's shoulder. "So you wrote today? All day?"

"Uh huh, I. . ."

"It affected you this way?" Jeff asked; the concern was heavy in his voice.

"No, it, it's good, very good, probably the best thing I have ever done."

"But you are . . . like, this?" Jeff gestured open-handed, indicating Neal's body, head to foot.

"It's...it's... powerful."

"Can I read it? Now?"

"I don't know if I could stand it if you didn't like it."

"Since when did i become so important to you?"

"Oh God, Jeff, don't you know? You have come to mean so much to me in the last few weeks. I, I. . ."

"Where is it?" Jeff exclaimed "Oh no you don't!" as he moved to intercept Neal."

"Okay, fine, there!"

Jeff settled in at the desk and fired up the laptop. "Why don't you scare up something for supper? Howard will be home in about half-an-hour."

Jeff read on in silence, undisturbed by the clop, clop, clop of salad being created. Neal put down his knife to glance at Jeff every few minutes, but could tell nothing from his body language.

Howard came burbling in, his usual cheerful self. Impulsively he drew Neal under one huge arm. His gaze traveled to Jeff, then back to Neal, then back again.

"Hi Howard..." Jeff said, "Be with you in a sec. I am reading the story Neal wrote today."

Howard released Neal and paced over to sneak a peak over Jeff's shoulder. "Oh no," Jeff said, "This is a treat you can't cheat on. When I am done you can read it from start to finish. I highly recommend that you do so.

The praise he received that evening from Jeff and Howard infused Neal with a newly found sense of power and purpose. Howard had suggested he publish the short story at once, and then get busy expanding it to a novel. "It's a story that needs to be told, Neal," he had said, gesticulating, "and yeah, we have true stories like that of Matthew Shepard. But I think the novel genre would proide a better platform to tell the story much more powerfully, more personally."

Neal had always thought of himself as a writer, but the term had applied in only a hazy, artsy kind of way. The way this story had poured from him like a case of mental diarrhea, had pleased and astonished him. Even though nothing had yet been published, he felt himself actually, a writer. Howard had gotten on the phone immediately to a business associate who was a literary agent, e-mailed him a copy and asked him to look at it. He promised Neal he would go no further. The story would make it or not on its own merit.

To celebrate, they walked a few blocks to Ditka's, a famous Chicago eatery, owned by a former member of 'Da Bears', the affectionate local name for the Chicago Bears NFL team. Dinning at Ditka's was always a treat. Definitely a sports bar, but also a place where people could eat and converse as individuals. The menu was solid food, served in huge portion at exorbitant prices. The three men shared a famous seafood tower (designed to serve 5-6), two sides of lobster Mac and cheese and a pitcher of Dos Equis. Howard tried to push the chocolate raspberry dessert, but the other two sat rubbing their bellies and shaking their heads.

Later that evening, Neal, passing a mirror, was astounded to see the face in the mirror sported a huge smile. He found himself humming snatches of Starship tunes. He saw Jeff headed for the shower, his hard body swathed only in a huge towel. He smiled evilly to himself, waited a few minutes, and then entered the bathroom. Dropping his clothes to the floor, he slid back the shower door.

Startled, Jeff turned; water from the shower channeled itself over his torso, flowing off the end of his puckered foreskin as if he were pissing.

"I've made up my mind," Neal said, "I've decided. Mind if I join you?" Jeff stepped back to allow Neal entrance. Neal placed one hand tenderly on Jeff's waist. "Jeff, I. . . I. . ." Jeff turned them both, pinning Neal against the shower wall with his own heavier body. Holding Neal's chin, Jeff kissed him lightly on the mouth, once, and then pulled his face away waiting. Tentatively, cautiously, tenderly, Neal leaned forward, the touch of his lips fleeting at first, then firmer and finally avidly attacking Jeff's mouth and tongue. His hunger, no, his need, suppressed for so long under shame and fear,quickly rose to the surface. He reached between their bodies to firmly grasp Jeff's cock. "This," he said, "This is what I want. Now!"

Jeff's laugh was nearly drowned out by the pattering water, but it made Neal pause and look up.

"Not too fast, my beautiful, beautiful David. We've got all night. Turn around and let me wash your back." Neal obeyed. Jeff leaned back. Supported by the shower wall, he drew the full length of Neal's body back against him, soaped up his own hands and reached around to caress and wash the front of Neal's fine body

"Close your eyes," Jeff said, and then soft as the puffs of air from butterfly wings, his fingers washed Neal's eyelids, cheeks, ears, neck. Touching Neal, having the firm round globes of Neal's ass against him made Jeff's cock begin to lengthen as it hardened. He moaned softly as his hands descended to tweak and wash Neal's nipples.

Neal could not help but notice Jeff's hardening cock, pulsing along the crack between his cheeks.

"Oh god," he said to himself, "This is IT. This is when he will try to. . ." his mind refused to complete the thought, but the idea affected the strength of his knees. Jeff's manipulation of his nipples caused a skittery, jumpy sensation deep down between his belly and his balls. No one had ever touched his nipples. He hadn't known them to be... had never considered them a source of sexual arousal in a man. When Jeff's hands roved over his taut belly, Neal's body went weak. He felt as though he might slip to the floor if Jeff's strong body and hands had not held him. His breath was soft and shallow. Jeff's hands cupped his balls, one on each side. And now Jeff's hardness was a live power, poking at him, prodding him.

One of Jeff's hands held Neal's foreskin back while the other swirled round and round the head. Without prior warning, Jeff pumped Neal's cock several times as if to jerk him off, and then released him. "Your turn," Jeff intoned, turning, handing Neal the soap, placing the flats of his hands on the shower wall, and bending slightly for support.

Neal stood inert for a moment, his body afire; his mind in turmoil. "After this," he thought, "there'll be no turning back." A basic part of him screamed for flight. A deeper, more primal instinct said, 'Go on... take the plunge...surrender to it and accept it all.' Timidly, he began to soap Jeff's back, rather than reach around as Jeff had done.

"That feels great," Jeff moaned, "a little harder please."

Neal responded by turning the washing into a massage. Though he had never rubbed anyone's back, he was encouraged by the deep sounds of pleasure he was eliciting from Jeff. Though he was a full five inches shorter than Jeff, he was so achingly hard that the tip of his cock stayed in contact with the firm contours of Jeff's ass. The more his hands touched Jeff's body, the harder Neal got until it felt as though his cock would burst his foreskin. He had reached a turning point in his life, he felt. Whatever label anyone would seek to place on him now, he could not deny his fierce attraction to other men, to their cocks; or perhaps, only to Jeff. The instant he reached to grasp Jeff's dick, Jeff surprised him by turning suddenly, dropping to his knees and plunging his mouth on him.

"Wait, I . . ." Neal started to object, to say he had plans of his own... but it was too late. Jeff's hands went to Neal's ass pulling him roughly forward, his mouth a piston, tongue swirling, throat sucking. Neal stumbled a bit, spread his legs farther for better support and surrendered to the moment.

After a few moments, Jeff's fingers sneaked into Neal's ass, one from each side. "Oh," the younger man cried, jerking forward. "Oh god," he cried again. He took Jeff's head in his palms, fingers entwined in his curly locks, guiding his mouth on and off his raging penis in exactly the right way to maximize his pleasure. He tried to stop, to wait, but bolts of orgasm swept through him.

Jeff, sensing him cumming, sucked harder and shoved one finger deep in Neal's asshole. He was immediately rewarded by spurts of hot cum down his eager throat. He held tight as long as he could; Neal's knees were shaky, unstable.

"Oh god, Jeff, I am so sorry, so sor. . . "

"Please, please don't be sorry," Shut up and kiss me. Jeff's heavier body pinned Neal to the wall. He covered his face with wet kisses, imbued with the aroma of cock and cum.

After all the years of denial and celibacy, reigniting Neal's passion was quick and easy. By the time the two young men had toweled one another dry and hopped in Jeff's bed, Neal's erection was once again fully developed. Jeff's had never abated.

"What's next?" Neal asked, sitting cross legged in the Middle of Jeff's bed, shaking anxiously like an excited puppy.

"I need to do something about this," Jeff said wagging his dick at Neal, "It, I mean He aches.

"What do you want me to do?" Neal asked, with a quiver of fear in his voice.

"I don't think you want me to decide," Jeff countered.

"But, but, but that is exactly what I want."

"You're sure?"

Well, no, but, y, yes, go ahead, er, do whatever you, er, want."

"I don't think I'll go there yet. You are still too afraid. But if you really want me to take charge..." Abruptly, Jeff pushed Neal onto his back and straddled his chest. In the process, Neal's legs became uncrossed. Jeff's cock stood out over Neal's face, most of its head still covered by its dark thick foreskin, but the tip protruding, dripping with a glistening strand of precum that arced down to touch Neal's cheek.

Jeff's sudden move had thrown Neal's hands above his head. Now Jeff held them pinned there with his own larger, stronger hands. He began rotating his hips. Leaning forward, he rubbed his wet dick all over Neal's face, painting the younger man's eyes and ears and cheeks and lips with the slime leaking from his hard-on. He paused, his cock bouncing on Neal's lips. "Open, Jeff commanded."

Neal's eyes went wide, astonished that Jeff would "order" him.

"I said, open," Jeff repeated. His voice held not cruelty, but assurance; not a harsh demand but an instruction he assumed would be obeyed.

And Neal did. Willingly, knowingly, obediently, he opened his lips to the largest thing he had ever taken in his mouth. Reluctance gone, he thrust his head forward and up, engulfing a cock for the first time. Jeff immediately rose to his toes and thrust downward. Neal gagged. Jeff eased back, and then plunged forward again. Once again, Neal gagged. And again. And again. Each time, Neal felt as though he would vomit, but each time he controlled himself as Jeff withdrew. The thrusting, the gagging went on, but over time Neal learned to breathe through his nose and the choking subsided. Now he could pay attention to what he suddenly knew he wanted, had wanted for a very long time; to suck a cock. The smell of raunchy maleness, the feel of slick, soft hardness in his mouth and throat, the feeling on his tongue as the solid piece of male meat slid past, all stoked his growing fire.

His vision was blocked; his breath cut short, his world became that of plunging dick as Jeff fucked his throat. He tried to remember what Jeff had done to him, tried to swirl his tongue, use his throat muscles. He tried to suck. He had not expected to be so affected. He had thought Jeff would be the one out of control, but it was he, he who wanted more...MORE!

As if reading his thoughts, Jeff moved one hand to the back of Neal's head, forcing Neal's face harder against his groin. Jeff's balls banged against Neal's neck, the base of his cock slammed Neal's chin. Jeff paused for a moment, buried deep. Took one, then the other of Neal's hands and placed them on the hard curves of his butt.