The university had pushed up its start date a few weeks so that the first semester would be finished by Christmas this year.  The afternoon autumn sun turned everything to gold as traffic wound slowly through the campus and around the dorms. Newly minted freshmen unloaded their clothes, computers and stereos before trundling everything inside their plain, brick dorms.  Kisses and hugs from moms and dads, and by dusk the younger generation was finally on their own

"About time!" Mike Berman said to himself as he sat down on one of the two single beds in his new dorm room.  He loved his parents and younger brother and sister dearly, but more so from a distance.  He was ready to move on from being the apple of his parents' eye to some measure of independence, and an out-of-town school was just the place to get started.

Turning his head, Mike looked into the large mirror on the sliding closet doors.  Looking back at him was a seriously cute (or so he had been told) dirty blond with a high and tight haircut, small ears, modest nose, piercing blue eyes and pleasant expression.   His eyes moved over his well-earned swimmer's build on its 5'11" frame, wearing a cutoff tank top, gray gym shorts, and Nikes with no socks.  Six-pack abs, and good, defined pecs filled out the tank top, and a bubble butt attached to muscular legs, the latter lightly dusted with blond hairs, completed the picture.  His package looked good and big in the shorts, with a treasure trail leading down to it from his navel.  Mike smiled and made the "OK" gesture to his image.

From 8th grade on, there had never been a time when the girls were not crawling all over him, and he them.  He had dated a variety of them up until the middle of his junior year in high school and had lots of sex.  Everything changed for him the night he and his cute swimming teammate Jason got wasted and had sex, and Mike found out what an orgasm was really supposed to be.  Thereafter he publicly dated the girls for show, and privately got it on with Jason for pleasure.  Now the plan was to study hard for the next four years, and do a lot of beautiful boys.  No commitments.  He wasn't ready for that.  It was time to play the field.  Discreetly, of course.  He was only going to be 17, soon to be 18, once.

His roommate hadn't arrived yet, and he glanced around the room.  It was bigger--about 20' by 25'--than he had expected, with built-in closets, cleverly recessed bookcases and desks with attached computer stations, two beds, and an adjoining bathroom and shower.  Because it was a corner room, he and the roommate wouldn't have to share the bathroom with the guys next door.  There was a mini fridge for ice cubes and soft drinks.  The school obviously took care of the jocks there on scholarship.  Mike's swimming scholarship was paying most of the freight for his education.

"You're not gonna unpack yourselves, I spose," he said to the suitcases.  Peeling off his sweaty tank top and throwing it on one of the beds, he began to unpack and stow his gear.

A light knock sounded at the door, and in walked. . .a god in human form!  Mike's jaw almost hit the floor as a handsome guy who looked like he had been poured into his 501's and a T-shirt extended his hand.

"Hi.  Matt Broman.  Guess you're my roommate."

"He-hey,"  Mike stammered.  "I'm Mike Berman."

"Hmmm.  Berman and Broman.  B & B.  I see that the placement people really put their creativity to the test in matching up roommates,"  Matt quipped.  "I'm sorry I'm so late getting here, but my plane flights have been screwed up all day.  I just got back today from a trip with my home town church youth group to Honduras.  We left Tegucigalpa at 4 a.m., and I'm whipped!"  With that, he fell back on the nearest bed.

Oh shit, Mike thought to himself, this guy is a world traveler and religious to boot!  Broman.  Broman.  Why do I know that name?  It came to him.

"Weren't you the state high school wrestling champ in your weight class last year?" Mike asked.

"Well, ah, yeah,"  Matt said, turning a little red and modestly looking at the floor.

"You're here on a full-boat ride, then.  That's great!  I'm here on a swimming scholarship."

"Excellent!  You look like a swimmer.  Listen, Mike, before we get better acquainted, I gotta run downstairs and bring up the rest of my stuff.  If it's OK, I'll take the bed and desk and dresser over here."

"That's cool.  I'll come down and give you a hand."  At least he's not an arrogant prick, Mike thought.  In fact, he seems like a pretty nice guy.

Mike grabbed a shirt and followed Matt out the door and down the hall to the elevator, and almost got hard watching the ass on this Adonis leading the way downstairs.  Damn, guys with nice butts in Levi's made him hot!  The two picked up a couple of suitcases and Matt's laptop from under the watchful eye of the security guard at reception, and made their way back to the room.

Making small talk, they put their clothes away and put fresh sheets on the beds.  When they checked their schedule for orientation the next day, they found they were each supposed to report to the same building and room on campus at 9 a.m.

"Well, it's a shower and bed for me!  I'm wiped," yawned Matt, and headed into the bathroom.  He closed the door, but when the little exhaust fan in the ceiling didn't go on, he opened the door back up a little to vent the steam.

From his vantage point on the bed, the mirror on the closet door gave Mike a perfect view into the bathroom as Matt stripped for his shower.  Work boots, socks, Levi's, T-shirt, and white briefs ended up in a pile in front of the sink.  The body Mike saw emerge was probably the most perfectly proportioned physique he had ever seen--everything looked just right for Matt's height at 5'10".  The kid was well hung--about 7 inches soft--perfectly shaped with a mushroom head, of course, snaking down over low hanging balls.  Except for his crew cut head, underarms, and curly brown pubes, there didn't appear to be another hair on his body.  His warm brown eyes and handsome, chiseled features gave Mike butterflies in his stomach.

Mike popped a bone, and when he heard the shower start and the shower curtain close, he stripped down to his boxers, got under the sheets, and began to jack off.  He quickly blew a big load into a sweat sock, fantasizing about the beautiful body he had just seen..

Mike feigned sleep when Matt emerged from the bathroom, but watched across the room out of the corner of his eye when Matt pulled on a fresh pair of white briefs over that beautiful butt, got into bed, and was soon snoring lightly.  Mike breathed in the smell of Matt's freshly washed, male body.  The "Matt smell," he would come to call it.

"Shit, I'm in love!" Mike kidded himself before he drifted off to sleep.

                                                                               *  *  *

The two roomies settled down into a comfortable routine over the next two weeks.  They had a few of the basic freshman liberal arts classes together during this first semester before more advanced classes in their respective majors kicked in.  Matt was pre-law, and Mike was pre-med.

After classes, in the late afternoon, Matt worked out with the wrestling team and Mike with the swim team.  Between athletics and their studies, there wasn't a lot of time for socializing, but they usually talked for a while before bed about their courses, complained about their professors and dorm food, and compared notes on the pretty girls in their classes.

They found out they had a lot in common.  Both came from well-to-do, upper-upper middle class families, both had a younger brother and sister, both of them had been jock heroes in their high school days, and--this blew Mike's mind--they both loved motorcycles.  Each of them owned a Honda CBR 900, as a matter of fact, and shared "a need for speed."  Their lament was that they couldn't have their bikes at school during their freshman year.

They were very popular with their teammates on the wrestling and swim teams, and there were always a lot of guys and even a few girls wandering in and out of their room at odd moments.

Matt was a pretty good Episcopalian, and Mike a casual Roman Catholic, so on their first Sunday in residence, Matt talked Mike into going to mass at the Canterbury Center, with the promise that he would go to mass at the Newman Center with Mike the next week.  Mike received communion at Canterbury, and on the way back to the dorm Matt kidded him,  "Mikey, the Pope is really pissed off at you now!" and they had a good laugh.

As the days passed, Mike realized that Matt was as beautiful a person on the inside as he was on the outside.  Mike just didn't see any flaws in this guy at all--he seemed honest, hardworking, serious about the serious things, but with a killer sense of humor and an infectious laugh.  And he was very laid back and easy to get along with.  He was also very demonstative, and was constantly pulling pranks.  He thought nothing of grabbing Mike around the neck and giving him nuggies, or putting him in a full Nelson and letting him struggle vainly to get away, or when they were sitting around in their underwear, snapping the waistband of Mike's boxers, and telling him, when he jumped, that he needed to learn how to relax.  When Mike retaliated on occasion, his only assets were speed and dexterity.  Matt couldn't catch him in a flat-out run down the hall, and Mike was slippery as an eel when cornered.  Once Matt had his hands on him, though, it was all over.

Matt had been complaining about not feeling up to par for the past several days, and the Thursday night of their second week in residence something happened that moved their relationship to a new level.

Mike woke up in the middle of the night, and he thought he heard Matt say his name.  He glanced at the luminous face of his watch, and it was a little after 2 a.m.

"Mike."  He heard it again.

Mike snapped on his reading light, and glanced over at the bed across the room.

"Mike," Matt croaked out, "can you come here for a sec?"

Mike rolled out of bed, and went over to Matt.  He had kicked all his covers off, and he and his sheets were wringing wet.  The sweat was dripping off his body.  His briefs were soaked through to the point of being almost transparent, giving Mike a jolt.

"Mike, I don't feel so good!"

"Hold on a sec, Matt."  Mike blessed his mother for putting a thermometer in his first aid kit.  He retrieved the thermometer, and sitting on the edge of Matt's bed, shook it down and put it under Matt's tongue.

Matt mumbled something, and Mike told him not to talk.  When Mike pulled the thermometer out and checked it, it read 102°.

"Dude, you have a bad fever."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"No, this is serious!"  Mike said.

He grabbed Matt's wastebasket, dumped the crumpled paper in it into his own wastebasket, and took the empty one into the bathroom to fill it with cold water.  Snatching some hand towels, he stopped at the little refrigerator and put all their ice cubes into the water.  Carrying his makeshift pail back to Matt's bed, he sat down and began to soak the towels in the cold water.  He knew that if Matt's temperature got much higher, he could go into convulsions or a coma, and possibly incur neurological damage.

Mike wrung out the cold towels, folded them, and put one over Matt's face, one around his neck, and one over his abdomen.
He dipped the towels back in the water and rotated them every few minutes, and after 10 minutes, checked Matt's temperature again.  Still 102°.  This wasn't good.

Ten minutes later Matt's temperature was the same, and Mike asked him if he thought he could swallow some aspirin.  Matt thought he could, so Mike broke two aspirins in half, got a glass of water, and Matt managed to get them down.

After 20 minutes more, the thermometer was still reading 102°, and Mike told Matt he was going to wake up the RA.  Matt protested and tried to sit up, but Mike pushed him back down, made the call, and explained the problem.

Not two minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door, and Jim Hollister, the RA, came in rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and carrying a digital thermometer.

"Hey, guys. Whassup?"

"Matt's not doing so well," Mike said.  "I've been trying to cool him down for about a half hour, but my thermometer is still showing 102°."

"Lemme see," Jim said, and replacing the plastic throwaway piece on his own thermometer with a new one, he plugged it into Matt's ear and pulled the trigger.

"Yep, 102.  You're right, Mike.  Let's get emergency services up here right now.  Call 911."

"No," Matt protested again, but was ignored.

"OK.  Keep changing those towels, though."  Mike got an outside line, called 911, and gave directions to the room.  Then he called the front desk to let security know that the EMT's were coming.

Ten minutes later, Mike saw red lights flashing outside, and in a couple more minutes, two paramedics came in rolling a collapsible gurney with bags of meds and equipment on it, and bent over Matt's bed.  They checked his vitals, and radioed them to the hospital along with Matt's personal stats.  The answer came back almost immediately:  "Bring him in."

The EMT's loaded a complaining Matt on their stretcher, strapped him down, put an IV in his arm, and covered him with a blanket.  Mike threw on a pair of sweats, shoes and a T-shirt, and told the paramedics, "I'm coming with you."

"Are you a relative?" one of them asked.

"Yeah, for now," Mike responded, and they didn't say anything else.

Hollister locked the room, and followed them down the hall.

"You got Matt's home number?" he asked.

"I'll get it from information," Mike said.  "I know where they live."

"Call me, then, and let me know what's happening, OK?"  Jim instructed.

"I'll let you know as soon as I know anything.  Thanks for your help, Jim."

Security held the building doors open, the EMT's loaded Matt into the ambulance, and Mike climbed in beside him.  Matt's face looked ashen despite his tan and he was shivering and sweating at the same time.  The ambulance pulled away with lights flashing.

"Can't you have 'em put on the siren at least?" Matt said to Mike, and the paramedics laughed.

"No traffic, no siren," one of them responded with a grin.

Five minutes later they arrived at the hospital emergency entrance, and Matt was rolled inside with Mike still hanging on to the gurney.  The paramedics went through their litany of Matt's vitals for the hospital staff.  Surprisingly, hospital staff let Mike into the bay with Matt while they took his temperature yet again and drew some blood for tests.  "103," one of nurses told the doctor.  Matt was passing in and out of consciousness.

The resident looked at Mike.  "He's a university student, right?"

"Yes."

"You his roommate?"

"Yeah."

"Has he had any symptoms before tonight?"

"Well, he's been complaining about being tired the last few days."

"Did he eat anything unusual in the last 24 hours?"

"Yeah, dorm food,"  Matt woke up and interjected with a wan smile.

"Other than that?" the doctor said.

"No, I don't think so," Mike said.

"Has he been exposed to anybody with the flu or anything else contagious?"

"Not that I know of."

"Any vomiting or diarrhea?"

"No."

"Has he traveled outside the country recently?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact," Mike said, "he just got back from Honduras about two weeks ago."

"Hmmm."  The doctor ordered an additional blood test, and one of the nurses hurried off.  "We're probably going to admit him, and may have to pack him in ice to get his temperature down.  Can you get in touch with his parents and let them know what's happening?"

Mike glanced at his watch.  3:30 a.m.

"Yes, I'll give them a call in a few minutes.  They'll probably freak, though."

"Well, wait a few minutes before you call.  Let's see if he starts responding to treatment," the doctor said.  "The phones are out there"--he pointed in the general direction of the waiting room--"and you can have a seat.  I'll come get you as soon as I know anything."

About an hour later, the resident came out and sat down beside Mike.

"We got his blood work back, and thanks to having a hint about what to look for, we're giving him some strong antibiotics.  The ice did its job, his temp is on the way down, and we're hydrating him.  He apparently picked up a bug in Honduras, one that we don't see much of here in the states."

"He's gonna be OK, then?" Mike asked.

"As I said, we're going to admit him, and he'll probably have to stay here for a couple of days, but yes, he's going to be fine.  You can make that call to his folks anytime now."  The doctor stood and started to walk away, and then came back.

"I understand from the paramedics that you iced him down back in the dorm.  You should know that you probably saved his life.  Once somebody's temp hits 105°, and his very likely would have, all bets are off.  Good job.  How did you know what to do?"

"I just remembered something about the danger of high temperatures from my high school hygiene class," Mike shrugged.  "No biggie!"

"Very biggie," the resident contradicted with a smile.  "You wanta be a doctor, by chance?"

"Yeah, I'm pre-med.  You found me out," laughed Mike.

"You ever need a job in a few years, come see me."

"Thanks.  Can I see Matt after I call his folks?"

"Sure.  Let me get him admitted, and you can ask at the desk where they put him."  The doctor strode away, and Mike went to the bank of phones.  5 a.m.  Mike got the Bromans' phone number from information, and put the call on his phone card.

"Hello?" a sleepy male voice mumbled.

"Hello.  Mr. Broman?"

"Yes."

"I apologize for waking you up so early, sir, but I'm calling about Matt.  I'm Mike Berman, Matt's roommate, and I'm with him at University Hospital."

"What's wrong?" Mr. Broman asked.  Mike could hear the apprehension in his voice.

"Matt apparently picked up a bug in Honduras, and he has a high fever.  But the doctor says he's going to be fine.  They're going to admit him for a couple of days, though."

Mike heard Mr. Broman relaying what he had said to a third party.

"Mike, thank you so much for this call.  Matt's mother and I are going to get ready to drive down.  Tell Matt we love him and we'll see him in about four hours."

"I sure will, Mr. Broman.  I know he'll be glad to see you.  Please don't worry, now.  He's doing great."

They hung up, and Mike called Jim Hollister back at the dorm with an update, and then went to find Matt in the general hospital.  He was sound asleep with an IV still draining into his arm, but he had stopped sweating so profusely and his color was better.  Mike felt his forehead, and it was cooler.

"Matt, your folks are coming down, and said to tell you they love you,"  Mike whispered.  And so do I, he thought to himself.  He sat down in a chair beside the bed, and promptly fell asleep.

                                                                                *  *  *

Two days later, Matt was back in the dorm with strict instructions from the doctor to stay in the room except for an occasional walk down the hall.  He was very weak.  The first day Mike had to walk him to the bathroom, hold him while he stood in front of the toilet to urinate, help him undress for a shower, wash his back, and hold onto him so he didn't fall while showering.  Matt had been told by the doctor to stay away from wrestling practice for two weeks, and Mike was instructed to take him his meals in the room until he was stronger.  Mike tried to keep the stream of visitors to the room to a minimum, but Matt was so popular, that was a vain hope.

Matt's parents had stayed in town while he was in the hospital, and they were warm and wonderful people.  Matt's mother had hugged and kissed Mike when they left town, and told him how grateful they were for what he had done for Matt.  They said he had a standing invitation to come home with Matt any time the boys had a vacation.  That made Mike feel pretty good.

Matt didn't have much to say about the whole hospital episode for the first few days he was back in the dorm, but one night after all the visitors had cleared out of their room, he came up to Mike, and much to Mike's surprise, put his arms around him.

"I owe you big, bro!" Matt said quietly.  "You saved my life, and I won't forget what you did for me."

Mike's eyes watered a little in spite of himself.  "Hey," he said, "you don't think I wanted to break in a new roommate at this late date, do you?"

"You can kid around all you want, Mike.  I'm serious.  It was a near thing. and we both know it.  I 'm really thankful for everything you did."  He hugged Mike hard, and he could feel Matt's stubble against his cheek.

"Well, look, I'm glad I was here for you.  We haven't known each other very long, but we're supposed to be here for each other.  I'm just happy you're OK.  Let's let it go at that."

Nothing more was said, but as time passed it was clear that their bond had deepened.  More and more, they began to include each other in activities after their respective teams had practiced in the afternoon.  Matt began to take Mike to the university fitness center for an hour in the evening two or three times a week for some light work on the machines, and showed him some basic wrestling moves.  Or Mike would take Matt with him to the pool and they would swim laps together.  For Mike, seeing Matt in speedos was a dream come true.  Supporting the other by attending his competitions became a matter of habit for both of them.  And they studied well together, only occasionally breaking the intensity to pelt one another with pencils or wadded-up paper as the mood struck them.

Their respective teammates began to kid them that they were like an old married couple, but Matt and Mike just laughed it off and thoroughly dug each other's company.  They began to double date some of the prettier girls, and had some great times.  Mike enjoyed those times, but knowing he was probably gay, tried not to lead on any of the girls into thinking there was anything serious going to happen.  He'd learned his lesson about that in high school.

In fact, Matt and Mike's only bone of contention over the first few months was that sometimes, on rare occasions, Mike liked to smoke some weed, and Matt hated it.  In deference to Matt, if he just had to have a few tokes, Mike would leave the dorm entirely, find a secluded spot, and get relaxed.  Well, get wasted, actually.  Whenever he did it, Matt refused to talk to him for awhile after he came back to the room to reinforce the fact he didn't like it.  The only time Matt ever said anything after the subject had first been argued was to question how a gifted swimmer could do that to his lungs, and then he'd shake his head.

                                                                                *  *  *

Midterms came and went, and all Matt's and Mike's studying had paid off.  They each had gotten four A's and a B, and were on the dean's list.  Their coaches were ecstatic because a lot of their charges barely maintained their athletic eligibility.

Matt used a notebook computer and a little bubble jet printer for his work, and Mike used a fast, full sized CPU with a nice 17" monitor and laserjet printer.  Sometimes when Matt wasn't around, Mike would fire up his computer to check out stories in the Nifty Archives, or chat in gay.com or look at some of the hot gay porn sites.  He always cleared his URL site history and made sure he shut the computer down completely before he left the room, though, and his password was required to fire it back up.

The day he forgot his normal computer shut-down routine, he had left the room in a hurry because he was late to class.  It was the same day that Matt crashed his notebook, and needed to pull some information from a URL for his next class.  When Matt moved the mouse to wake up Mike's computer, up popped gay.com, with Mike signed in as SwimStud1.  Matt shut gay.com down, but couldn't resist looking at Mike's site history list.  Lots of gay sites.  Then he went ahead and pulled up the site and information he wanted for class, and left.

Mike got back a little early from swim practice that afternoon, and grabbed forty winks before starting to study.  Matt came in, said hi, and was unusually quiet, but Mike thought he was just tired or something.  They both got down to studying, but Matt didn't have much to say all evening.

Before they got ready for bed, Matt swiveled around in his chair and looked at Mike for a long moment.

"Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Are you gay?"

Mike nearly passed out.  Pulling himself together, he swiveled around to face Matt.

"Why the hell would you ask me such a stupid question?"

"I used your computer today because my notebook crashed.  I saw some stuff."

"Oh."

Long silence.

"The answer to your question is, Yes, I am gay, I'm pretty sure."  Tears began to form in Mike's eyes.  "I know you probably hate me now.  I didn't say anything before because I didn't want you to look down on me.  I know how much most jocks hate fags, and I certainly won't give you any trouble if you want me to move out so that you can get another roommate."

"Are you out to anyone here at school or at home?"

"No.  Only one guy I grew up with at home knows.  My family doesn't have a clue.  Are you gonna out me?"

"Mike, don't be ridiculous.  You are what you are.  You're my best bud, and this doesn't change anything.  And you're not moving out.  You think I want to break in another roommate at this late date?" Matt asked with a grin.

Mike covered his face as the tears really began to fall.  "I'm sick about this."

"Knock that shit off!  Now I almost wish I hadn't asked."

"No, I'm glad you did.  The closer we've gotten, the worse I've been feeling about lying to you about who and what I really am.  I hope you can forgive me someday."

"There's nothing to forgive," Matt said.  "Let it go.  Nothing's changed, OK?  If you ever feel comfortable enough to discuss it with me, and want to, then we'll talk.  Until then, I don't want to hear any more about it.  And I apologize to you for using your computer without permission and butting into your business.  And I'm going to bed."

And he did.

His brain spinning, Mike didn't drop off to sleep that night for a long time.

                                                                                *  *  *

Mike watched closely for signs that his relationship with Matt had been damaged by what had transpired, but Matt's attitude and the way they interacted hadn't changed, at least on the surface.  Mike felt somehow that something else needed to be said to bring closure, but for the life of him, he didn't know what.  On the one hand things were the same between them, but the subject of Mike's sexual orientation still seemed to hang between them like a dark curtain.

Christmas break was coming, and this year it came at the end of semester finals, giving them more time than usual away from school.  Matt surprised Mike by asking him to spend as much of his vacation as he could with the Bromans.  Mike was really pleased, and let Matt know that, but said he thought he should stick close to home with his own family because he hadn't seen them for several months.

That plan went south when Mike's mother called to say that Mike's 75-year-old grandmother in Ft. Lauderdale had fallen and broken her hip, and that the whole family would be in Florida over the holidays and for an indefinite period thereafter.  She gave Mike the choice of coming to Florida or staying at home--alone.  Mike said he'd let her know.  It looks like I'm the home-alone kid, he thought to himself.

When Mike explained the situation with his family, and asked Matt if the invitation to go home with him was still open, Matt high-fived him exuberantly.  "Hell yes, man!  We'll have a great time, and you know my folks will love to see you."

Mike called his mother back, told her what he wanted to do, and got her blessing.  She did ask him to call the family in Florida during the holidays, though.  Now Mike really started to look forward to vacation.

The roommates slogged through finals week, studying hard, and they both felt pretty good about how they did on their exams.  The night after the tests were over, the dorm exploded with life, and Matt's and Mike's room was full of partying teens until the wee hours.

Matt's younger brother Jeff had been dispatched from home with a car to pick them up, and arrived about noon the next day.  Jeff was a clone of Matt, except a little taller and not so muscular.  Handsome kid, though, a junior in high school.

Matt and Mike threw their suitcases and garment bags in the trunk, and when Matt offered to drive, Jeff gladly lay down in the back seat and promptly went to sleep.  The roomies listened to some tunes and talked quietly about nothing in particular.  After they stopped for gas and to use the facilities a couple of hours later, Mike took the wheel because Matt said he was sleepy.

"Man, this thing's a boat!  I've never driven a Cadillac before," Mike said.

"What kind of car does your family have?"

"Two Lexuses, actually.  Dad's is red, Mom's is white."

"I've never driven a Lexus, so we're even."

"Yeppers."

Matt slept for an hour, and Mike woke him up for directions when they got closer to the Bromans' house.  They were driving down a quiet suburban road when a tall brick wall appeared on one side of the road, and continued for several miles.

"Slow down, Mike, the gate is just up here."

They drove through a wrought iron gate, standing open, and up a winding driveway and into a courtyard with a fountain in the center of it.  One side of the courtyard was bounded by a six-bay garage, and the other two sides by a venerable-looking, red brick, English country house.

"Holy shit,"  Mike said.  "Your house is humongous!"

"Yeah, bigger than we need," Jeff chimed in from the back seat.  "But it's been in the family since before the Revolutionary War."

The front door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Broman emerged, accompanied by Matt's and Jeff's sister, Martha.  Mrs. Broman grabbed Matt and kissed him soundly.  Matt shook hands with his dad, then hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.  Mike went to shake hands with Mrs. Broman, only to be hugged and kissed instead.  Mr. Broman shook hands with Mike, and clapped him on the back.

"Mike, welcome.  We're so glad you could come for the holidays," he said, and Mrs. Broman echoed his words.

Matt introduced Martha, who appeared to be about a freshman in high school, to Mike, and she looked at him with big eyes.

"Martha, he's a college man and too old for you," Jeff kidded, earning him a smack on the shoulder.

"Let's get your things out of the car, and get in out of the cold,"  Mr. Broman suggested, and they grabbed their bags and went inside.

The hallway was huge and rounded, with various doorways to first floor rooms opening from it, and a circular stairway against the back wall winding up to the second floor.  In the center of the hall hung the biggest crystal chandelier that Mike had ever seen, and underneath it sat a giant Christmas tree with all the decorations.

"Matt, you and Mike help Branford take the bags upstairs, then come down and see Grandma Hagerty and Uncle Jack and Aunt Judy, and introduce Mike to everybody,"  Mrs. Broman said.  A distinguished-looking, middle-aged man in formal attire stepped forward silently and took two of the bags.  "Branford, this is Mr. Berman."

"Good evening, sir.  Good evening, Mr. Matthew.  Please follow me."

"Where are you putting Mike?" Matt asked his mother.

"Well, we weren't really expecting Grandma.  She flew in from Boston yesterday--you know how unpredictable she is--so the bedrooms are full.  If it's all right, we'll put Mike in your room."

"No problem, Mom.  Come on, Mike."

They followed the butler up the winding stairs and down the hall to the third door, and entered a large room with windows overlooking a brick patio at the back of the house and a lawn which swept down at least a half mile to what appeared to be a river in the distance.  A private bathroom was equipped with a separate shower and whirlpool tub.  There were comfortable chairs and some antique tables scattered about the bedroom, and an entertainment center, and computer, and even a fireplace, but only one double bed.

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Matthew?"

"Thank you, no, Branford.  Tell my mother we'll be right down."

The man nodded, hung up the garment bags, and withdrew, shutting the door.

"Who gets the bed?" Mike asked slyly.

"We'll argue about that later, dufus!" Matt said.  "Just leave the bags here--we can unpack later."

"OK."

"Come on, I want to introduce you to the rest of the family."

They went back downstairs, and entered one of the doors off the hall leading into a library.  The library ceiling was two stories high, and had a second story walkway around the edge to access the upper bookshelves.  There was a small fire burning in the fireplace, with people sitting on couches and overstuffed chairs around it.

"Matt, dear."  An elderly lady with gray hair looked up expectently.

"Grandma,"  Matt said with enthusiasm, and went over the couch to engulf her in a hug.

"You sweet boy, you look wonderful," she said, kissing him.

"So do you, Grandma.  I'd like to introduce my roommate from school, Michael Berman.  Mike, my grandmother, Mrs. Hagerty."

They shook hands politely, and Mrs. Hagerty said, "Michael, I've heard some interesting things about you!"

Mike looked over at Matt nervously.

"I understand we owe you my grandson's life," the old lady said.  "It's a privilege to meet you at last."

"That's an overstatement, m'am," Mike said.

"Not according to my daughter and son-in-law.  We deeply appreciate what you did."

Mike turned red and didn't say anything.

"Mike, I want you to meet my aunt and uncle, Jack and Judy Hagerty," Matt continued.  A balding, middle-aged man stood to shake hands, and a somewhat younger, very pretty woman extended her hand from where she sat.

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Mike sat down between Mr. and Mrs. Broman, and the afternoon passed quickly in conversation, with everyone asking Matt and Mike a lot of questions about school.  Mike didn't ever remember having such a good time with adults before.

Dinner was served in a dining room covered in beautiful wood paneling.  Another chandelier hung down over a long table, which was graced with tall candles.  Mike was so impressed with the surroundings, he hardly knew what he ate, but whatever it was, it was delicious.  Matt and Mike had wine with dinner with the grownups, leading to big complaints from Jeff and Martha when they got none.

After dinner, they all adjourned to a sitting room on the other side of the big front hall, again enjoying a fire in the fireplace and some more good conversation.

About 10 o'clock, Matt kissed his mother, and excused himself and Mike, saying they were tired from the trip.  They went upstairs to Matt's room and got ready for bed.  They unpacked their clothes and put them in a huge dresser on one wall, and their toilet kits in the bathroom.  Matt took his usual evening shower while Mike watched TV.

Matt came out of the shower with a towel around his waist, looking very sexy, Mike thought.  Matt slipped the towel off and put on a fresh pair of briefs.

"I don't know how you can wear those things,"  Mike told him.  "Too confining!"

"Well, that way, when I get a hard on, no one can tell," Matt said.

"With that mini wiener you have, no one could tell anyway."

"You piece of shit!  You're gonna pay for that."

Mike grinned.  "Yeah, yeah, promises, promises."

Matt started over toward him, but turned back when Mike got up and dodged around a couch.

"I owe ya," Matt muttered to himself, turned down the bed, and climbed in.

Mike finished watching a Law and Order rerun, shut the TV off, and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  Coming out, he stripped to his boxers, grabbed a pillow and blanket out of the closet, and headed for the couch.

"Mike, what are you doing?"  Matt asked.

"Going to sleep, what's it look like?"

"We can share the bed, you know."

"That's OK, the couch feels pretty comfortable."

"Mike, get your ass over here."

"No, really. . ."

The next thing Mike knew, Matt was out of the bed and sitting astride his chest on the couch.

"Now we can do this the hard way, or the easy way, your choice,"  Matt said.  "Come on, get in bed, I wanna talk for awhile."

"Oh, all right," Mike said with reluctance, pushed Matt off of him, and walked to the bed.  Climbing in, he pulled the sheet up to his neck.

Matt joined him, and they lay there quietly for a few minutes.

"I want to talk to you about the gay thing," Matt said finally.

"The gay thing?" Mike shot back.  "What the hell is the gay thing?"

"Don't make this more difficult than it is," Matt said.  "I don't think we've said everything that needs to be said, and there haven't been that many opportunities to talk about it.  You know I care about you, and I just want everything out on the table."

Silence.

Finally Mike spoke up.  "All right, you asked for it!

"My gay sex experience is very limited," he began.  "I've only had sex with one guy, my best friend on my high school swim team, and we did it a lot during my junior and senior year.  That's it.  Before that, I was pretty hot and heavy into girls.  Once I had had sex with a guy, though, I knew I was gay.  You don't know how much I just wanted to be normal, but no such luck.

"My plan when I came down to school was to fuck as many beautiful boys as I could.  I mean lots of guys.  The last thing I wanted to do was to fall in love with anyone, male or female."

Mike paused.

"This is really hard for me," he said.

Matt was quiet.

"Then you and I got to be roommates," Mike said.  "I was attracted to you physically right away, but that's as far as it went at first.  You probably don't even think about what a beautiful bod you have."

"I look OK, I guess," Matt responded.

"Let's not bullshit each other, bud.  You are fucking gorgeous!  I've had trouble not boning up every time I see you,"  Mike said.  "And the better I got to know you, the kind of person you are, the more I thought of you.  After awhile I never even thought about getting it on with anybody else.  There was no competition."

Long pause again.

"I don't know how to say all this."

Another pause.

Mike took a deep breath and continued.

"I love you very much as a human being, Matt.  I really believe you love me that way, too.  The difference is, I don't just love you and admire you, I'm in love with you.  I'm so much in love with you that, if I could, I'd get under your skin and be you.  That's why living with you is so tough for me.  I fantasize about you all the time.  And I know you can never respond to me the way I want you to.  I'd feel terrible not being around you, but I'm hurting every minute, dude.  That's why we need to give some thought to this roommate thing, and maybe I need to move on."

He added, "Now, can I stop embarrassing both of us?"

Matt moved his head over on his pillow until he touched Mike's head, and said quietly, "I'm not embarrassed, man.  I'm stunned.  I just didn't know.  I think I'm hopelessly straight, but if it were ever to be another guy, you'd be the one, and that's the truth.  I've had a lot of friends in my life, but I never had these feelings for them."

Matt was quiet for a minute, and then continued slowly, "You got it right when you said you believe I love you--and I've never said that to anyone but family."  He paused. "Well, maybe I've said it to a few women along the way.  But I didn't mean it!  Anyway, the fact is, I care about you more than I can put into words right now.  And not just because you saved my life, don't think that.  I never thought I would ever say anything like this to another guy, but I'm begging you not to move out on me.  Please.  I know I have no right to ask, but please stick with me, roomie."

Mike sighed.  "You're tough to say 'no' to, bro.  Let's just think about it though, OK?"

Matt said nothing, but turned on his side, put his arm across Mike's chest, and they fell asleep head to head.

END OF PART 1

Mike had already learned a great deal about the Broman extended family during his stay.  Matthew James Broman, Matt's dad, was an attorney and senior partner in the law firm of Hagerty, Broman, Arpels, Schiffmeyer and Dixon, one of the most powerful and respected law firms on the east coast.  His particular specialty was corporate law.  He had reportedly turned down numerous offers of state and federal judgeships to remain in private practice.

Matt's mother, Jane Broman, was partner and senior designer of a large jewelry retail company, and had the luxury of doing her design work in her home studio, only rarely going to their headquarters.  She had received numerous awards for the freshness and creativity of her designs.

Emily Hagerty, Matt's grandmother (Jane's mother), was the widow of Thomas Hagerty, formerly a senior partner in the law firm.

Jack Hagerty (Jane's brother), was CEO of a large bank with branches up and down the east coast.  The bank stock was closely owned by only a few families, and of those, the Hagertys had the lion's share.

Judy Hagerty, Jack's wife, was owner and head broker of Hagerty & O'Toole, the largest and most prosperous real estate firm in the region.

These people were all very rich, and obviously not slackers.  Mike had a better sense of where Matt's drive to succeed at everything he did came from.

So far, his vacation with Matt at the Bromans' house was as close to perfect as you could get, from Mike's point of view.  Visitors, both adults and many of Matt's former high school classmates, streamed through the house constantly.  The youngsters had accepted Mike into their group as if he had grown up right in the area.

The day before Christmas, Mike asked Matt to take him to a mall on the outskirts of the nearest town so that he could buy gifts for the family.  Mike was very taken with them all, especially Mr. and Mrs. Broman, and felt as if he had known them all his life.  He missed his own family, of course, particularly after talking with them on the phone, but these warm people were the next best thing.  And being around Matt, sleeping in the same bed with him, gave Mike intense joy.  After their talk on the night they had arrived, Mike felt closer to Matt than ever now that there were no secrets between them.

On Christmas Eve, the entire family went to Midnight Mass at nearby Old St. Paul's Episcopal Church, and Mike had to admit he was impressed with the beauty and pageantry of the service.  When a young man in his vestments processed down the center aisle ahead of the crucifer and choir, swinging the thurible in a 360° circle every few feet while incense billowed, Mike figured he was in for a show.  The music was magnificent, and Mike could feel the bass notes of the pipe organ resonate in his gut.  When the organist added the state trumpets at the back of the church to his mix of sound just as the three priests processed, the hair on the back of Mike's head stood up.  Even the celebrant's homily was good.  Mike went up to the altar rail with the family to receive communion, and felt a real sense of peace and belonging.  But he couldn't help noticing how cute the high school boys who were serving at the altar looked in their red cassocks and white surplices.  He was still human, after all!

Before he left the church, Mike went into one of the transepts and lit a votive candle for his family.

After church, the Broman clan returned home and gathered in front of the fire in the library for a light buffet and to exchange gifts.  Mike hadn't been forgotten by anyone, and he was glad he had gone to the mall so that he could reciprocate.  Everyone seemed pleased with what he had selected for them, and he received some very nice things.  He had bought Matt a new leather billfold to replace the ratty old thing he was always complaining about, and Matt gave him a beautiful, lined flannel shirt.  Later, in private, Mike gave Matt a gold ID bracelet with the engraved initials MB entwined on it, and Matt gave him a pocket watch with MB likewise engraved on the back.

"Great minds think jewelry," Matt said laughingly, punching Mike lightly on the shoulder.

"You know it!  Thanks, man!" Mike said.

"No, thank you!"

"No, thank you!"

"No, thank. . ."  Matt didn't finish his sentence.  "Commere, you pissant!"  He grabbed Mike around the neck and gave him really hard nuggies until he begged for mercy.

They got ready for bed and both slept soundly.

Christmas morning dawned crisp and clear, with the promise of an extraordinarily warm day for that time of the year.  By eleven o'clock it was 60°, and after a leisurely breakfast, Matt told his folks they were going to throw a battery in the CBR and take a ride.  Matt borrowed some leathers and a helmet from Jeff for Mike, and they walked down to the garage.  Sitting in the fourth bay were two dirt bikes and the CBR 900.

Mike glanced over into the adjoining bay, and stopped dead in his tracks.  There sat a fairly new Nissan pickup truck, dark blue with red pinstriping, with a vinyl cover over the truck bed.

"Are you trying to weird me out?" he asked Matt.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"How did you get my truck up here?"

"That's not your truck, it's my truck!"  Matt said.

"I don't believe this.  I have a truck exactly--exactly--like this at home.  My mom and dad gave it to me for high school graduation,"  Mike said.

"This is too eerie!"  Matt responded.  "My folks gave me this truck for my high school graduation.  Since I can't have it at school this year, Jeff's been driving it."

"Jeez, we have the same bike and now the same truck.  This is just so weird!  Are we clones, or what?  You're gonna have to get rid of your bike and truck, or people will talk!" Mike kidded.

"In your dreams, man.  You get rid of your stuff."

"I don't think so.  If you were a really good host, you'd get rid of your stuff!"

They continued to bicker while Matt took the motorcycle battery off the charger, seated it in the bike, hooked up the terminals, and put the panel cover back on.

The bike roared to life on the second try.

"I'll drive first, then you can have a shot,"  Matt said.  They put on their helmets and gloves, and they were out of there.  Mike held on to the pillion, and gripped Matt's legs hard with his knees as they ripped out of the driveway doing a wheelie.  What a rush to be out on a bike again, Mike thought.  I've really missed it.

Traffic on the country roads was practically non-existent, and Matt didn't spare the throttle.  In about 30 minutes, he pulled over in a secluded spot, and they traded places.  Mike started out slowly, but warmed to the task, and on one straightaway he hit 125 mph.  Matt was impressed with the way Mike handled the bike.  After an hour and a half of trading back and forth at the controls and really putting the CBR through its paces, they headed back to the house feeling good, and parked the bike in the garage.

"I have a surprise for you," Matt said as they walked up to the house.

"Will it hurt?" Mike asked with feigned innocence.

"Not unless you keep fucking with me, wise ass!  We have a pool.  Indoor.  How about a swim?"

Mike stopped and gaped at him.  "Oh, shit!  Are you serious?  This is too good to be true!"

"I figured you'd approve.  Let's get changed and swim before dinner."

"Awesome!  Do you have a suit I can borrow?  I didn't bring one from school."

Matt pretended to look him up and down.  "Well, you're kinda scrawny.  A pair of my trunks might just fall off your pitiful ass."

"Revealing nothin' you ain't seen before, yo!  But we'll make it work!"

They hurried upstairs and quickly changed into their suits, inviting Jeff and Martha to come along to the pool, which they did.  The pool area was everything Mike expected it to be, given the rest of the property, and included a nice diving board.  He swam some laps, gave the others a few tips on their swimming techniques, and they all just horsed around.  The next thing they knew, Branford was there to say that dinner would be served in a few minutes.

"I have another surprise for you," Matt said as they went upstairs.

"You're just full of it, aren't you?  Surprises, I mean," Mike responded.

"Why do you make me hurt you before you'll be nice?"  Matt sighed.  "Anyway, we're having a New Year's Eve pool party before we go back.  It will give us a chance to see all the kids again, and you'll be in your natural milieu, won't you, water  boy?"

"Outstanding!" Mike said.  "Just don't turn your back on me around the pool, shithead, or you'll get wetter than you planned."

Vacation passed by all too quickly.  The boys watched movies, listened to music, had great talks with the Broman clan, and even got the CBR out on the road one more time.

New Year's Eve finally arrived.  Mr. Broman gave the kids the run of the pool and the far wing of the house, with the proviso that he didn't want anybody using alcohol or drugs.  Matt argued for having beer at least, but to no avail.  Food and soft drinks aplenty were laid out, and about fifty kids showed up.  Matt had moved his stereo down to the pool so they could have tunes, and pretty soon things were in full swing.

Jeff had wrangled an invitation to the party from Matt, and was obviously as popular as his brother despite being two years younger than the rest of the gang.  Mike roamed around freely talking with people, and later, in an impromptu swim contest, whipped all the hot shit jocks who thought they were such great swimmers.  His reward, at Matt's instigation, was to be grabbed by the arms and legs by about 10 guys and given the old heave-ho out into the center of the pool.

Mike noticed that Matt was spending a lot of time with a cute little brunette, and even saw him kissing her.  When Mike asked who she was, Jeff told him that the girl had been Matt's steady during his senior year, but that they had gone their separate ways by mutual agreement when they went off to college.  Get used to it, Mike told himself, and tried not to let it bother him.  But it did.

The party wound down about 3 a.m., and Matt, Jeff and Mike made a stab at cleaning up the pool area, but soon called it a night.  When Matt and Mike finally hit the bed, they were asleep almost immediately.

They spent the New Year's Day being couch potatoes, watching the various bowl games, and recuperating from the party.  That night they got a start on packing to go back to school.  Jeff was going to drive them back, and Mike went out of his way to let him know how much he appreciated his making the long trip.

They had breakfast about 8 o'clock the next morning with the Bromans, and then loaded up the car.  Mike was feeling overwhelmed by all the kindness he had been shown over the past two weeks.  Mrs. Broman hugged and kissed him, and told him they loved him and wanted him to come back with Matt whenever he could.  Mr. Broman started to shake his hand, but then pulled him into an embrace.  Mike gave Martha a hug, and told them all that they felt like his second family.  Hiding his emotions, Mike quickly got into the car and waited for Matt and Jeff.

Jeff drove first, and then climbed in the back of the car for a snooze when Matt took over.  Mike felt good when he looked over and saw that Matt was wearing the ID bracelet he had given him for Christmas.

Mike took the wheel later, and Matt glanced into the back seat to make sure that Jeff was asleep.  He was.

"Have you decided what you're going to do about the roommate situation?" Matt asked Mike quietly, prepared to hear the worst.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"I'm gonna stay with you, if that's cool."

"Dude, you have made me so happy!"  Matt closed his eyes for a moment in relief.  "Can I ask why?"

"Well, because I'd rather be celibate and horny living with you, than having lots of sex living with anybody else," Mike said.  "It's that simple."

Matt looked thoughtful, and the subject was closed.

                                                                                *  *  *

The second semester started, and the roomies were soon back in their normal routines of classes, athletics and studies.  Matt had yet to lose a wrestling match in his weight class, which sat well with the athletic staff, needless to say.  Mike had lost only one event at swimming, and the coach was always holding him up as an example to his teammates about how to train faithfully and expend whatever energy it took to win.  That made Mike a little uncomfortable.

There was one big difference in their routines, though, Mike noticed.  He had never known whether Matt ever jacked off to relieve stress and sexual tension, or not--he had never seen or heard him masturbating during all the time they had lived together.  He assumed he did, but didn't know for sure.

But after they got back from vacation, as soon as they hit their beds at night and the lights were out, Mike starting hearing Matt jack off at least three times a week, then cleaning himself up and going to sleep.  It was so blatant, and represented such a huge change, that Mike wondered whether it had anything to do with his own comment about being horny when they were in the car coming back to school after Christmas.  Whatever the reason, it was all the permission Mike needed to go at it himself without hiding what he was doing, and he slept a lot better as a result.  Neither of the roommates ever spoke of it.

The boys had always done their own laundry separately every week, but they decided it made sense to throw it all in together and trade-off duty at the laundromat every other week.  Mike was sorely tempted to check out the "Matt smell" on the his roomie's jocks and briefs when it was his turn to do the laundry, but mostly he resisted, feeling a little like a perv for even thinking about it.

The two guys had regained most of the easy camaraderie which had marked their relationship when they first met, and were back to joking around and playing pranks on each other.

One night Mike found a poem on a gay computer site, and he told Matt that he wanted him to memorize it and use it for his mantra:

THE PERFECT MAN IS GENTLE,
 NEVER CRUEL OR MEAN.
 HE HAS A BEAUTIFUL SMILE
 AND KEEPS HIS FACE SO CLEAN.
 THE PERFECT MAN LIKES CHILDREN
 AND WILL RAISE THEM BY YOUR SIDE.
 HE WILL BE A GOOD FATHER,
 A GOOD HUSBAND TO HIS BRIDE.
 THE PERFECT MAN LOVES COOKING,
 CLEANING AND VACUUMING TOO.
 HE'LL DO ANYTHING IN HIS POWER
 TO CONVEY HIS FEELINGS OF LOVE TO YOU.
 THE PERFECT MAN IS SWEET,
 WRITING POETRY FROM YOUR NAME,
 HE'S A BEST FRIEND TO YOUR MOTHER
 AND KISSES AWAY YOUR PAIN.
 HE NEVER HAS MADE YOU CRY
 OR BATTERED YOU IN ANY WAY.
 TO HELL WITH THIS ENDLESS POEM...
 THE PERFECT MAN IS GAY.

Matt almost fell on the floor laughing.
 

                                                                                   *  *  *

Midterms were just completed in late February when the two roomies were sitting down about 7 o'clock one night to study.  The telephone rang, and Matt picked it up, said hello, then handed the phone to Mike as he mouthed the word, "Police."

Looking puzzled, Mike said hello, confirmed his identity, and listened.  His face turned white.  Matt thought he was going to fall down, and pushed a chair under him.

When he hung up the phone, Mike stood up, went over to his bed, and sat back against the wall.  His face was ashen.

"Mike?"

No response.

Matt went over and sat next to him on the bed.

"Mike, what's wrong?"

Mike looked at him slowly.

"My parents, my brother and sister, and my grandmother were killed in a private plane crash late last night on the way home from Florida."

"Oh my God!" Matt said, and sat there looking at Mike.  He didn't know what to say, and just kept staring at his roommate.

"I don't know what to do," Mike whispered.  "What am I supposed to do?"

He shut his eyes, and became almost catatonic as the two continued to sit in silence.  There were no tears.  Matt watched him, paralyzed himself.

Matt eventually got up and left the room to use their neighbor's phone, and when he returned, Mike was in the same position, sitting in his bed with his back against the wall.  Matt sat down beside him again.

"Mike?"

No answer.

"Mike, do you want me to call a priest?"

Mike shook his head, "No."

"My mom and dad are coming down here to get you tomorrow, and take you to your house, OK?"

No response.

Matt moved closer and put his head against Mike's, and they sat that way in silence.

When Mike hadn't moved at all by 9 o'clock, Matt decided to put him to bed.  He leaned down and took off Mike's shoes and socks, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and removed his Levi's, leaving his boxers.  He walked him into the bathroom, and had him use the toilet and brush his teeth.  Then he walked him back to his bed, and put him under the covers.  He leaned down and caressed Mike's forehead, and then got ready for bed himself.

Matt lay in his bed, staring through the darkness at his friend, feeling totally helpless.  He said a silent prayer for Mike and his family.

Mike awakened about 1 a.m., and the enormity of what had happened finally hit him.  He began to weep, silently, he thought, so as not to wake Matt up.

Matt heard him, though, and got up and went over to Mike's bed.

"Scoot over, Mikey."  Mike complied, turning on his side and toward the wall.  Matt slid under the covers and cradled him.  Mike felt Matt's breath on his neck as they drifted off to sleep.

                                                                                *  *  *

When Mike woke up the next morning, Matt was sitting at his own desk in his briefs, studying.  Even in the midst of his pain, Mike couldn't help admiring the beautiful body of that beautiful man as Matt sat there making notes from one of his readings.  Matt's skin glowed with health, and there wasn't a blemish on it.

Matt glanced over at him.

"Mike, good, you're awake.  I'm going to run down and get you some breakfast."  He reached for his pants, shirt and a pair of Nikes.

"Thanks, but I don't want anything."

"How about a little juice and some toast?"

"No, that's OK."

Matt got dressed and left, returning a few minutes later with orange juice and toast.  He sat on Mike's bed, and put the tray on Mike's lap.

"I can't eat right now," Mike protested.

"I'm not letting you get sick, bro.  This is a tough situation.  You gotta eat something."

"Jeez, you're worse than my mother. . ."  Mike's eyes got tears in them when he realized what he'd just said.

He picked up a piece of toast and bit down on it just to shut Matt up.  Matt didn't take the tray away until Mike had eaten two pieces of toast and drunk the orange juice.

"Tell you what, why don't you grab a shower and I'll make a few phone calls," Matt said.  "I don't know exactly when my folks are going to get here, and we have to pack your bag."

Mike climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom without replying.

When Matt heard the shower start, he pulled the school directory out of his desk and phoned the dean's office, each of Mike's professors, and the swim coach, and explained what had happened.  Each of them sent Mike his condolences, and offered to help in any way he could.

When Mike didn't get out of the shower in a reasonable time, Matt went into the bathroom and looked behind the shower curtain.  Mike was just standing there in the spray as if he were comatose.  Matt turned the water off and told Mike to step out of the tub, and dried him off.  Now Matt was really worried about him.

He sat Mike down on his bed again, and picked him out fresh boxers, a clean T-shirt, some Levi's, and clean socks, and told Mike to put them on.  He did, slowly, and then sat there blankly watching Matt.

Matt went to the closet and took down one of the suitcases, put Mike's shaving kit in it, and began to fill it with underwear and socks for at least a week.  He pulled a pair of dress shoes out of a shoe bay, gave them a quick brushing, and dropped them into the suitcase with a necktie and clean handkerchief neatly folded up in one of them.  He put Mike's best dark suit in a garment bag along with a trench coat, placed several folded white shirts in one of the garment bag pockets, and hung the bag back up in the closet.

"Did I forget anything, Mike?"

"I don't think so.  Thanks."

"Mike."

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, and my family loves you, and you're not gonna go through this alone, don't you?"

Mike's eyes teared up, but he didn't say anything.

About half an hour later, there was a light knock on the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Broman came in.  Matt met them at the door and kissed them, hugging them long and hard.

Mike stood up, and the adults embraced him.

"Mike, I don't have the words to tell you how sorry we are," Jane Broman said, and hugged him again.

Leaving Mike with his mother, Matt pulled his father into the bathroom.

"Dad, I hadn't planned to go with you," Matt said, "but I think I'd better.  He's going to need me, and all of us, right now.  He already seems to be going into a depression, and I think we should have Dr. Peterson see him as soon as possible.  I don't want to hold you up, but can you wait while I pack my stuff and let the dean's office and my professors and the coach know that I'm leaving?"

"Of course, son.  I hate to have you miss school, but I do think it would be best if you came along."

"Does anyone know exactly what happened," Matt asked his father.

"Yes.  The plane was a charter out of Ft. Lauderdale last night on instruments.  They were making an approach to a small airport in Georgia to refuel, and about twenty miles out they plowed into a newly constructed radio tower.  It wasn't on any of the maps, and the contractor was only one day away from marking the damn thing with lights.  That was all she wrote," Mr. Broman said.

"Can any of your staff help straighten things out for Mike?"

"I have people working on it right now, Matt.  I'm going to see that he gets the best advice that's available.  I'm going to do for him what I would want done for you in the same circumstances."

"Dad, thank you!  I really appreciate your being here for Mike.  I wonder if Mike's going to have any money problems?"

"You don't know who his family was, do you?

"No, we never really talked about his family much."

"His dad was Andrew Berman, CEO of Berman Engineering Worldwide, Inc.  That's a ten billion-dollar company traded on the big board, and a big chunk of it is family owned.  If Mike is the sole heir, he's going to be a very rich young man," Mr. Broman said.

"Wow.  I guess that answers that question."

They rejoined Mike and Mrs. Broman.  Matt packed, made his telephone calls, and they left quickly.

                                                                            *  *  *

The trip was fast and uneventful, with Mr. Broman driving well above the speed limit.  They drove to the Bromans' house for the night, with plans to go on to Mike's parents' house the next day.

His hosts were going to put Mike in a bedroom of his own, but Matt demurred, insisting that he stay in Matt's room.  He also insisted that Dr. Peterson, their family doctor, be contacted to make a rare house call the next morning to check Matt out, and possibly prescribe some medication.

A few hours after supper, Matt made Mike get into swim trunks, took him down to the pool, and swam laps with him for an hour.  Matt was whipped when they were finished, but Mike seemed energized and more alert.

When they got back to the room, they changed into dry clothes, and Matt checked Mike out.

"You know, we won't have time to get to a barber shop before we leave.  Why don't I give you a little trim so you'll look good for the trip?" he suggested.

"OK," Mike said.

Matt put a straight backed chair in the bathroom in front of the big mirror, took out a hair cutting kit, and sat Mike down.  He put a towel over his shoulders, and began to run the clippers in long, even strokes over the top of Mike's high and tight.

"How long have you been wearing a high and tight?" he asked.

"Since I was a freshman in high school.  I thought I wanted to be a Marine.  When I found out I was gay, I changed my career plans, but kept the hairstyle."

"I could shave your head completely, like some of the guys on the swim team," Matt suggested.

"I could shave your butt, too, but it's not gonna happen!" Mike shot back.

Matt laughed, and continued trimming and checking his work in the mirror.  He shaved off the hair growing low on the back of Mike's neck, and shortened up the sides, Marine style.  Then he wiped the loose hair off his face and neck, and said he was done.

Mike looked at himself in the mirror.  "Good job, bud.  You missed your calling."

They went to bed early.  Mike awakened in the middle of the night and wept again.  Matt held him until sleep overcame grief, and then counted his own blessings over and over before falling back to sleep himself.

The next morning Mike seemed lethargic and withdrawn.  Dr. Peterson came to the house and talked to him, and confirmed that Mike was indeed in the beginning stages of a simple clinical depression.  He prescribed a light dose of Paxil to see if Mike's system could tolerate it, reminding the Bromans that the medication wouldn't kick in right away.  He asked Matt to make sure Mike took his pill every day.

Matt decided that he would follow his parents' car in his pickup for the trip down in case Mike wanted to take some of his personal things out of the family home right away.  Then if Mike wanted to do so, he could put his CBR in his own pickup, and they could return in three vehicles.

When they were ready to leave, Mike walked to the truck with his head hanging down.

"I could off myself right now with no problem," he mumbled to Matt as they climbed into the pickup.

"No, no, no, no,"  Matt responded, scared and upset.  "We're going to get through this together, one day at a time, bro," Matt said, vowing to watch Mike more closely than ever until his medication took effect.

They rode in silence for awhile, listening to some of Matt's CD's.

"Were you really close to your mom and dad," Matt asked.

"Not as close as you are to your folks, I guess" Mike said.  "I was closer to my mom than anyone, though.  I could talk to her about anything and everything.  I never heard her say a mean word to anyone, ever, even to us kids.  She supported me in everything I wanted to do.  A class act.  My heart is broken to lose her.  But my dad wasn't around all that much when I was growing up--he worked all the time.  I loved my grandma.  She was a sweetheart.  I got along with Kevin and Carol all right, I guess, but we never hung out a lot."

The two boys segued into talking about some of the good times they had had in high school, and some of the wilder escapades they had been involved in.  They agreed that they would probably be in jail today if they had been caught by the authorities pulling some of the shit they did.

Mike used his cell phone to call his parents' house and alert the staff that they were coming and to have some rooms prepared.

They arrived in town at about five o'clock in the afternoon and had a quick supper at a nice restaurant before going to the house.  It was an enormous place in the style of a French chateau, with a mansard roof, surrounded by about 100 acres of grass and trees.

A woman whom Mike introduced as Mrs. Brighton, the housekeeper, greeted them at the door.  She hugged Mike with tears in her eyes.  She and Mrs. Broman clicked immediately, and went off to discuss household issues that needed to be dealt with.  Mike asked a male staffer to unload the Bromans' car, and helped put the luggage in the right rooms.  Matt said he wanted to stay with Mike in his room, and so it was arranged.

Mr. Broman got on the phone to the Berman family lawyers at their respective homes, introduced himself, and said he would be representing Mike on the estate issues.  Meetings among the attorneys were set up for the next day.

Mr. Broman then called Sacred Heart Church, which Mike identified as their family parish, and talked to the pastor about the visitation and funeral.  The visitation was to be from 6 to 10 o'clock the next night at the funeral home, with the funeral mass scheduled at the church for the morning after the wake at 10 a.m.

Mike seemed very tense and yet somehow oblivious to most of what was going on around him.  Back in the bedroom, Matt kneaded Mike's neck and shoulders, and they were tight.  He suggested that Mike take a hot shower, and that then he would give him a rubdown before bed.

Mike agreed.  He showered, and lay on the bed, face down, in his boxers.  Matt found some lotion in the bathroom, and poured some on Mike's back.

Mike jumped.  "Ow, you rat, that's cold!"

"Just trying to see if you're awake."

Matt's hands were very strong, and Mike groaned for the next 20 minutes as Matt worked his torso over thoroughly, front and back.  When he was finished, Mike lay there like a lump, perfectly relaxed.

Matt watched TV for a few minutes, then stripped to his briefs for bed.  He raised Mike up in one arm and held him while he turned down the bed with the other.  Then he crawled in and pulled the covers up over both of them.

"Matt."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for everything you've done for me.  If it weren't for you and your parents, I'd be in deep shit.   I love you very much."

"And I love you back, my bud.  I'm here for you."

Mike moved over as close to Matt as he could without being too obvious, and they both slept soundly all night.

                                                                                *  *  *

The wake and funeral went smoothly.  Almost 600 people attended the visitation, which had to be extended until 11 p.m. to accommodate everyone who wanted to pay their respects.  The five closed caskets were a vivid reminder of the family's terrible tragedy.  Many of the employees of Berman Worldwide made a point of speaking to Mike about their personal sense of loss at the death of his father.  Mike began to think more highly of his father as he began to grasp the positive impact he had had on so many lives.

Sacred Heart was packed with 700 people the next day, the funeral mass being graced by such luminaries as the city's mayor and state governor.  The burial was simple, and sad.

The only jarring note in the proceedings for both Matt and Mike was when Jason Stelling, Mike's boyfriend from high school,  had shown up at the wake.  Mike had introduced Jason to Matt, and the three of them had talked for a bit.  Jason was a freshman at a nearby college. The kid was tall and handsome, but his face was already giving clear indication that he had been burning the candle at both ends for some time.  There was something about Jason that Matt just hadn't liked, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he had a past with Mike. Or so Matt told himself.

Matt knew he was right about Jason, though, when out of the clear blue sky at the wake he had asked him with a sneer if he were "Mike's latest fuck toy."

Mike had turned crimson and walked away.  Matt was cool, though, and gave Jason a level stare.  "You mean, like you were a couple years ago?"  It was Jason's turn to blush as Matt turned on his heel and strode away.  Jason was gone the next time Matt had looked around.

Mr. Broman's meetings with the Berman personal and company lawyers had gone well, and he felt he had a good grasp of the immediate decisions which would be facing Mike in the days ahead.  At Mrs. Broman's suggestion, the Berman household staff were all retained until some decisions were made about the property.  She suggested a three-month severance payment for each staffer should the property be sold in the immediate future, and Mike thought that sounded fair.

Mike confirmed with Mr. Broman that he could store his truck and his motorcyle in the Bromans' garage if he were to take them back with him.  Matt and Mike charged the battery in Mike's truck, and it started right up.  The local motorcyle dealer brought some ramps, and they loaded the CBR into the pickup and tied it down.  The bike was so long, they had to secure it on an angle to make it fit in the truck bed.  The two boys and a couple of staffers loaded Mike's stereo and a big screen TV, wrapped in plastic and cushioned with rubber mats, into Matt's truck, and secured a tarp over the whole load.  Matt thought Mike should keep his mother's vast collection of classical music CD's and LP's, and so they put them in Matt's truck, too.

At Matt's suggestion, Mike took one personal item belonging to each one of his family members as a remembrance, as well as pictures of his family and of his grandmother in happier days.

The reading of his parents' and his grandmother's wills was carried out two days after the funeral.  Mike was the sole heir to all their properties and assets, but as the family lawyer droned on, the information mostly went over his head.  Mr. Broman was present, however, and secured copies of the wills before they went to probate.

With the loose ends mostly tied up for the moment, it was time for the Bromans and Mike to leave.  He bid an emotional goodbye to Mrs. Brighton and the rest of the staff.  Mike looked back sadly as he pulled away in his truck, realizing full well that he really had no home any more.

The three vehicles convoyed back to the Bromans' at a leisurely pace, arriving fairly late, and the boys put the two trucks in the garage for the night without unloading them.

They were both tired, and after showering, curled up in bed together and slept almost immediately.

                                                                                *  *  *

The roomies stayed two more days before Jeff was supposed to take them back to school.  They would leave on a Saturday so Jeff wouldn't miss school himself.

The afternoon of the second day, Mr. and Mrs. Broman asked Mike to join them in the library.  They made small talk for a few minutes, and then Mr. Broman said that there several issues that required some discussion.

He said that the the provisions of the two wills required, by going into effect before Mike was 21 years old, that a conservator be appointed by the court to oversee the two estates following probate.  He told Mike that he would be willing to take on that responsibility, at no charge to the estates, if that was Mike's wish.  Mike felt relieved, and quickly agreed, with thanks.

Secondly, Mr. Broman said that state law required that in order for Mike to enter into any major contracts between ages 18 and 21, that a personal guardian needed to be appointed.  He said that after discussing the matter with Matt, Jeff and Martha, that he and Mrs. Broman wanted to become his guardians, and for him to become part of their family.

Mike was stunned, and put his hands over his face to compose himself.

"I don't know what to say," he responded at last.  "I'm just so overwhelmed with everything you have done for me already that. . ."  He couldn't finish the sentence.

"We want to take care of you just as we would want someone to care for our kids if this happened to us," Mrs. Broman said.  "Very honestly, you've grown on us.  First we liked you, and then we came to love you," Mrs. Broman said.  "And Matt thinks the world of you."

Mike was silent for a moment.

"Well, first I need to tell you something that may change your minds on the guardianship thing."  He took a deep breath, and then just blurted it out.

"I'm gay."

Neither of them reacted, except that Mr. Broman cleared his throat.

"Mike, this is none of my business, really, but are you and Matt sleeping together?" Mr. Broman asked.

"We've slept together lots of times, but not for sex," Mike answered.  "Matt is, as he once told me, 'hopelessly straight.'"

Mike thought he saw a flicker of relief in their eyes.

"Well, Mike, your sexual orientation isn't really an issue for us, but we appreciate your honesty," Mrs. Broman said.  "We would very much like to have you join our family, if you can stand us.  You saved our son's life last fall, without a doubt, and acting as your guardians is something we really want to do."

"Then I very much want that to happen," Mike said.  "You already seem like second parents to me."

"It's settled, then," Mr. Broman said.  "I'll have the papers drawn up for court, and send them down to school for you to sign and have notarized.  And I'd like you to sign a power of attorney for me before you leave."  He leaned over and shook Mike's hand.

He turned to his wife.  "Now, my dear, if you will excuse us, I need to talk to Mike as his lawyer."

"Of course."  Mrs. Broman stood and came over to Mike, and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.  "We love you, Mike."

Mike stood, and embraced her.  "Thank you for everything, for doing all this for me.  I am so grateful I don't know what to say."

"You just said it."  She left the room.

Mr. Broman pulled a yellow legal pad out of a desk drawer with a list of items written on it.

"Just a few things for now.  First of all, and you probably don't know this, but your grandmother had just sold her home in Ft. Lauderdale for $1.2 million, and she and your parents had jointly purchased a penthouse at one of those highrises on South Beach for $4 million.  I don't know whether or not you're interested in the property or not, but I would recommend in any case that you keep it for investment purposes.  Property in South Beach is still appreciating rapidly."

"That sounds fine to me," Mike said

"Secondly," Mr. Broman continued, "I need to get some idea of what you want to do with your family home.  The house and land is probably worth about $25 to $30 million."

"I've given some thought to that.  I would like to make a gift of the house and property to the state for a park, provided that they are willing to name it the 'Andrew and Emily Berman Recreation Area.'  I want to honor my mom and dad."

"I think that's a wonderful idea.  Let me have my tax people take a look at that, too.  I know you're not doing this for tax purposes, but if the law provides a tax break, you should take it."

"OK," Mike agreed.

"Lastly, at least for now, your parents owned a condominium in Snowmass, as you know.  I need to know if you want to keep it, or sell it.  The real estate market out there in ski country is always strong, so there's no hurry on a decision."

"I think I'd like to keep it, at least while I think about it.  I've always loved that place," Mike said.

"Good.  That's all the business I have for the moment.  I'll need to talk with you about your stock in Berman Worldwide and about insurance settlements at some point, but that will keep for later," Mr. Broman said.  He sat back and looked intently at Mike for a moment.

"You will have a lot of money after the wills are probated," he said.

"Yeah, I guess so.  It really hasn't sunk in yet."

"I think I'm kind of a dinosaur in the way I believe money should be handled, Mike.  The Bromans represent 'old' money, and the Bermans, 'new' money, I guess you'd say.  I've had lots of time to consider what I view as the responsibilities of being rich, and I don't think much of the way those responsibilities are being carried out by most of our leaders in government and commerce today.

"I admire capitalism, and my family has benefitted from it greatly," he continued.  "It unleashes more energy in society than any economic system ever known to man.  But the truth is, it's a great servant, but a bad master.  Without the constraints of law, custom, and a sense of community, it comes to operate like the law of the jungle--the survival of the fittest, the fittest being the strongest, most focused and most rapacious.  'Take the money and run' needs to have some brakes put on it from time to time, don't you think?  Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir, and I agree with you," Mike said.

"Some of the worst mistakes by the rich are how we raise their children, and that's why I'm talking to you about this.  I look at some of Matt's peers who come from wealth, and they are spoiled, hedonistic, lazy and corrupted in many cases.  It's more their parents' fault than their own.  It's sad.  I don't know why your folks didn't send you away to a fancy prep school somewhere rather than keeping you in a public high school, but I can tell you why we didn't and won't send our kids away:  I just don't think much of the product these places turn out.  More often than not, youngsters emerge from these settings as elitists who will never do a day's work in their lives, and for whom public service is not even on the horizon.

"One of the things Mrs. Broman and I like about you, Mike, is that you're disciplined and hardworking, if your academic and athletic records mean anything.  Yes, I had you checked out before we decided to bring you into our family."

Mike looked surprised, but said nothing.

"I'm getting to my point.  We're scared to death of our own kids in this country today, and for good reason," Mr. Broman said.  "As a whole, we aren't establishing relationships of mutual respect with our youngsters in which real supervision and guidance by parents can take place.

"That's not a mistake Mrs. Broman and I have made with Matt, Jeff and Martha, and although it's pretty late in the game, we're not going to make that mistake with you.  I intend to work with you collaboratively in deciding how your money is going to be used until you reach 21, but once I make a decision on issues, very frankly, that's it.  You're not going to go on any wild spending sprees while you're under my supervision, even if it is your money.  If that sits all right with you, we'll proceed."

"Yes, sir, I agree," Mike said.

"One last thing.  I want you and Matt to be thinking about what kind of work you want to do this coming summer.  I don't care whether it's physical or mental, I want both of you to to find a job.  You'll have two weeks after school is out to play around, and then I want you working.  There will be no sitting around the pool on your asses all summer for you two!"

"That sounds fine to me, Mr. Broman."

"Now, before I let you go, I want to know how you're feeling mentally and physically, Mike."

"Physically, I'm fine, I think.  Mentally, I'm feeling low, as you might expect.  But the medication Dr. Peterson gave me seems to be helping, so I'm going to make it, thanks to you guys."

"You've had a terrible shock.  Any of us would be in trouble if we had been on the receiving end of a blow like this.  You're a tough kid, though, and you're going to make it.  You're our tough kid now."

They stood and embraced.  As Mike had seen Matt do so many time, he kissed Mr. Broman on the cheek, and the man hugged him harder.

Mike went upstairs to the bedroom, saw Matt napping on a couch, and slammed the bedroom door to wake him up.   Then he did a little dance at the door, and ran over and jumped on Matt, full length, and held him down.

"Ow, get off me, you dufus!" Matt yelled.

"Get used to it, studly.  I'm really your bro now, and your suffering has just begun!  You knew what your folks were going to say to me, and you didn't give me a clue.  Now I'm going to make your life miserable!"

"My life has been miserable ever since I met you, you little twerp.  Prepare to die!"  Using his superior strength, he raised Mike straight up in the air, dumped him gently on the floor, and sat astride him.  He held both of his victim's wrists in one hand, pulled Mike's T-shirt up with the other hand, and began to tickle him.

"Quit it, you perv!"  Mike said.  "You're giving me a woody."

"Shoot, I didn't know that pitiful little thing you call a penis could get an erection!"  Matt tickled him some more, and then jumped up and ran around to the other side of the couch.

Mike lay there on the floor with his pants tented up, and Matt pointed at him, laughing derisively.

That night in bed, Matt pulled Mike over close to him, massaged the back of his neck, and rubbed his chest.

"You're my bro, Mikey, you're my bro!"  He kissed Mike on the side of his head.

Mike went to sleep with a big smile on his face, feeling settled and content for the first time in many days.

END OF PART 2

Jeff dropped Matt and Mike back at school right on schedule, and they had to scramble to catch up with their course work and get their edge back in wrestling and swimming.  Their social life, such as it was, was eliminated entirely for awhile by an endless round of classes, studying, athletics, and sleep.

Their professors offered them special help, however, as did the coaches, and after several weeks the boys felt they were enough on top of things to actually go to a movie and a meal off campus one night.

Matt resumed dating on an occasional basis.  At the same time he amazed Mike by beginning to point out the cute guys they would run into on campus as they came and went from classes.  He'd give Mike a nudge if Mike missed seeing one.

"For a straight guy, you sure can spot the good looking men," Mike kidded him.

"Hey, I'm straight, not blind," was Matt's laughing rejoinder.

They talked several times about what kind of job they should get for the summer, and decided that whatever it was, they wanted to work together.  Matt leaned toward trying to get something in the trades, in construction, so they could work outside and stay in shape, and Mike didn't really care what they did.  They telephoned their family, and Mr. Broman said he would see what he could line up for them with a friend of his who owned a construction company.

Mike continued to take the Paxil that the Bromans' doctor had prescribed, and the gray cloud of depression that had hung over him following the death of his family had gradually dissipated.  Matt welcomed the change in Mike's demeanor and began to lighten up on watching over him every minute.  Mike started serenading him occasionally with "What a Friend we have in Paxil," to the tune of "What a Friend we have in Jesus."  Matt would frown at him disapprovingly, but inwardly he was delighted as the old Mike emerged again.

Finals week was hectic, as usual, but both of them felt that they had done at least as well on their tests as they had the first semester.  On the athletic side of the equation, their lost time hadn't hurt them too badly.  Matt ended up with that perfect record in his weight class he had been striving for, and Mike maintained his record with only the one loss previously incurred.  They were pleased with what they had accomplished, all things considered.  Both their coaches saw them as the top performers among their freshman classmates, and their scholarships were secure for another year.

Jeff drove Matt's truck down to school the day after finals to pick them up with all their things.  Mike sat on his bed in the newly emptied dorm room before he left and thought of everything that had happened since he had arrived.  The tragedy of his own family and his great good fortune in having Matt for his friend and brother and acquiring a new and very nice family coursed through his mind.  Leaving, he shut the door on the room with positive feelings about the future.

                                                                            *  *  *

The boys moved their things back into the Broman house.  The first face he saw after greeting the family was that of Mrs. Brighton, his parents' former housekeeper.  Mr. Broman had closed the Berman house, paid a generous severance to staff, and posted security people there until the state formally took possession of house and property.  Mrs. Broman had asked Mrs. Brighton if she would accept the housekeeper position at their home to assist the butler in running the household, and she had accepted.  For Mike, having her there provided a happy piece of his old life as he moved into the new, and he was very moved when he greeted her.

Matt didn't see any reason why Mike shouldn't continue to share his bedroom, and asked his mother to get a matching double bed and put it in the room for Mike.  She did so.

Mike's relationship with his new family really began to develop once he had moved in for good.  Jeff and Martha were easy to be around, and Mike felt they had really accepted him when they started treating him as casually and disrespectfully as they did Matt.  Mike began calling Mr. and Mrs. Broman "Dad" and "Mom," at first infrequently and somewhat hesitantly, but then with increasing meaning for all of them as they got to know one another better.

Mr. Broman had made good on the construction job for Matt and Mike, as promised, and after their two week respite after school was out, they started getting up at 6 a.m. to get to work in the city by 7 a.m.  They had to join the bricklayers and hod carriers union, but Mr. Broman fronted them their hefty initiation fees.  Dan Sullivan, the crew chief who was ramrodding the current job on a big highrise, and the other workers, soon found out the boys weren't slackers and were willing to work.  At that point the hazing of the "new guys" by other crew members slowed down and then stopped altogether.

The crew of ten bricklayers was a diverse and interesting group, Matt and Mike thought.  All of them were somewhat older than they--most of them in their mid-twenties--but almost without exception they were buff and good looking.  One of the guys, Rick Scott, a six footer with great pecs and abs, tree trunk legs, and a great head of black hair, took the two boys under his wing and oriented them to the job as they went along.  They got in the habit of eating lunch with Rick every day, sitting at street level and checking out the women as they went by.  The three of them looked so good that the women checked them out right back.  Matt and Mike liked Rick a lot, but got the clear idea that he liked to live life on the edge.  That didn't deter their friendship, though.

Several weeks after they had started work, Rick asked the boys if they wanted to drop by his place for a few beers.  Matt said he would, but Mike couldn't make it because he had a dentist appointment right after work.  Rick gave Mike his address, 121 Altorfer, for later if he wanted to drop by.  The boys had each driven their pickups into town because of Mike's appointment, so they went their separate ways after work.

Mike had to have one filling replaced and a new cavity drilled and filled.  His jaw was still numb after what seemed to be a protracted procedure, and he decided he would pass on partying with Rick and Matt and go home.  He ate soup and cereal for supper to spare his jaw, and then read, surfed the net and watched television until 10 p.m.  TV was all reruns, but he hadn't seen any of the programs the first time, so it didn't matter.  He showered, went to bed, and fell asleep right away.

He awakened with a start at 1 o'clock in the morning, and snapped on his bedside lamp.  Matt's bed was empty.  He sat up and collected his thoughts.  It wasn't like Matt at all, as disciplined as he was, to stay out until all hours when he couldn't sleep late the next day.  Mike got up and used the bathroom, and then sat on the side of his bed, worried.  On impulse, he pulled his clothes on, quietly left the house, and got in his truck.  He was back in the city within 20 minutes and looking for 121 Altorfer.  He stopped at an all night gas station, and the kid behind the counter pointed out the approximate location on a big wall map.

"That's not a very good neighborhood, dude, " the kid said to Mike as he was leaving.  "I wouldn't wander around down there alone."

"Thanks for your help,"  Mike replied, and got back in his truck.

The kid had been right.  The entire area was undergoing industrial redevelopment, and it looked like a war zone.  The only remaining houses were widely scattered here and there, and bricks and debris were strewn everywhere else.

A few young guys who looked like they were up to no good skulked around on the darker corners.

He found where 121 Altorfer should have been, but it was a vacant lot.  Increasingly apprehensive, Mike continued to drive around, and several blocks later he found Matt's truck parked in front of the only house in that block which had thus far escaped the wrecker's ball.  The address wasn't "121," and it wasn't on Altorfer Street.  Dim light emanated from a large, painted-over front window.

Mike got out of his truck, and went up the rickety front steps.  He knocked softly, but there was no response.  He tried the door.  It was unlocked, and he crept in with every sense on the alert.  The living room was full of old, ratty, overstuffed furniture, and was softly lighted by one lamp.

He heard loud music and some kind of rhythmic slapping sound coming from nearby, and inched his way forward into the next room.

A boombox was sitting on a table, set at top volume, with Michael Stipe of R.E.M. meandering through "Losing My Religion."

Mike gasped as he saw Matt's body, naked and spread-eagled on his tip toes against the wall of the room, his wrists and ankles shackled to metal rings.  He had a black hood over his head, and was making muffled sounds as Rick beat him with a heavy strap.  Matt's butt and upper legs were bright, bright red and covered with welts as if a whip had been used earlier.  A butt plug was stuck in his rectum.

Rick, stripped to his briefs and sporting a huge hard on, was talking to Matt as he beat him, asking him how he liked it, and asking him if he wanted more.  Rick didn't see Mike standing there.

Knowing he wouldn't stand a chance with Rick in a one-on-one, Mike looked around, grabbed a heavy glass ashtray off a table, and smashed Rick in the side of the head with it.  The man went down like a sack of rocks and lay there, unmoving.

Mike turned off the music, went to Matt and snatched the hood off his head, and undid a strap which was holding a gag in his mouth.  The hood was damp with Matt's tears from the beating he had sustained.

"Matt, it's me.  Mike."

"Mike.  Get me down from here," Matt said weakly.

Rick began to stir.

"Just a sec, Matt.  I hafta take care of Rick, here."  Mike found Rick's Levi's, removed the belt, and turning him over roughly, tied his hands behind his back.  Then he took off his own belt, and secured Rick's legs.

"Stay down, you sonofabitch!" Mike told him, punctuating his instructions with a kick to the ribs.

Mike spotted some keys on a table, and used them to release Matt's arms and legs from the cuffs on the wall.  He helped him over to the couch, and removed alligator clips from his nipples.  He took off a heavy weight which had been secured to his testicles,  and a cock ring, and gingerly pulled out the butt plug.  Matt couldn't sit because of his wounds, and twisted around halfway to lie down.

"Damn it, Matt, what the hell happened?" Mike demanded.

"One minute I was sitting here on the couch having a couple of beers--and I mean two beers--and the next thing I knew I was on the wall getting the shit beaten out of me."

Searching for something to cover Matt, Mike walked into a bedroom and pulled a sheet off the bed, and gently draped it over his friend.

Mike went over to a table with some mail on it, and found Rick's address on an envelope.  He took out his cell phone, called 911, and gave the address.  Five minutes later he admitted two young patrolmen in their early twenties.

The two officers smirked throughout the interview as Mike explained what had apparently transpired.  They hemmed and hawed when Mike asked if they weren't going to arrest Rick, who by this time was awake and asking to be released.  The cops freed him, sat him up, and gave him his pants.  When Mike asked them to call the paramedics for Matt, they refused, saying he didn't require medical attention.

Mike's temper finally boiled over.  "You need to be arresting this asshole!  Look what's he's done to this man!" he said loudly, motioning toward Matt.

"Hey, punk," one of the rookie officers responded, "we don't know what really happened here.  We don't care what you weirdos do in the privacy of your own homes.  For all we know, your boyfriend, here, begged for this.  You should probably be arrested for knocking this guy out," he said, pointing at Rick.  "It's his house."

Mike decided not to argue.  It was now after 2 a.m.  He went into the living room and called the Broman house.  Mrs. Broman answered the phone.

"Mom, it's Mike."

"Mike?  I thought you were home here in bed."

"I was, but when Matt didn't come home by 1 o'clock, I went looking for him.  Is Dad there?"

"No, Mike, you remember, he went to New York for a few days for some meetings.  What's the matter?"

"Mom, I'm gonna need some help.  Matt's been beaten up pretty bad, and the police are saying they think they should arrest me because I hit the jerk who's responsible."

"Where are you, Mike."

"We're at 127 Rudden Street, in the city.  A house.  Don't come in here alone, though, Mom.  You wake up Jeff and bring him with you."

"I'll be all right."

"No, Mom, promise me you'll bring Jeff."

"All right, I promise.  Give me a rough idea of where Rudden is, and I'll see you in a half hour."

He gave her directions as best he could.

She was true to her word, and walked in the door with Jeff not 25 minutes later.  Mrs. Broman gasped, and Jeff's eyes got big, when they saw Matt half sitting, half lying on the couch, covered with a sheet.  Mrs. Broman went over to him and lifted the sheet, seeing the results of Matt's ordeal.  Her eyes flashed.

"I want you to get your watch commander and a detective down here right now!" she told the two patrolmen.

"I'm sorry m'am, that's just not possible," one of them responded.

Mrs. Broman pulled an address book out of her purse, looked up a number, and dialed on her cell phone.  A sleepy voice answered.

"Chief Richmond, please," she said.

The two patrolmen looked at each other nervously.

"Speaking."

"Bob, this is Jane Broman.  Sorry to disturb you at home so late, but I have a situation that I think you can help me with.  I'm with my son and his two brothers at 122 Rudden Street.  My boy has been injured, and the two patrolmen who responded to the 911 call don't seem to want to carry out an investigation.  I asked them to contact the precinct watch commander and a detective, but they refused.  What do you recommend?"

She listened quietly, and hung up.

"The Chief said he would be here directly, gentlemen, and will be bringing the watch commander and a detective."

The patrolmen looked even more nervous, and said nothing.

The Chief strode in a few minutes later, in full uniform, with a Lieutenant Smith, the watch commander, and Detective Art Dominic.  Chief Richmond kissed Mrs. Broman on the cheek, and introduced Smith and Dominic.

Dominic interviewed Matt, Mike, Rick Scott and the two young police officers, and then the watch commander sent the two rookies out to their car with instructions not to leave until they were told.  Rick's story  to the detective was that Matt had come to the house specifically for "bondage and discipline."

Dominic ran Rick's name through NCIS, and found one arrest, no convictions, for aggravated sexual assault.  Based upon what he had heard in the interviews and the fact he had been previously arrested for a sex crime, he placed Rick under arrest and called the precinct with instructions to wake up a judge to get a search warrant for the house.  When the warrant came an hour later, the Chief and his officers donned rubber gloves and conducted a search.  They didn't have to look far to turn up what appeared to be drugs in the kitchen.

"Looks like roofies," Lieutenant Smith said.

"Roofies?  What are roofies?" Jane Broman asked.

"Rohypnol, m'am,"  Smith said.  "It's like valium, but much more powerful.  They call it the 'date-rape' drug."

The officers stored the substance that they had found in plastic bags, and put the empty beer cans sitting in the dining room into bags, too.  They found an unregistered .38 Police Special in one of the bedrooms, bagged it also, and then tagged everything.

Much to Matt's embarrassment, they then took the sheet off him, put him on his stomach on the couch, and took polaroid pictures of his ravaged buttocks and legs from several different angles.  They also took pictures of the metal rings set into the wall from which Matt had been hanging when Mike arrived.

That wasn't the worst of it.  Dominic asked Matt if he had been sodomized, and when he said he didn't know, the detective got a rape kit out of his car and took swabs from Matt's rectum and sealed them in test tubes.  Even though his mother had excused herself to go to the kitchen during the procedure, Matt was mortified.  Finally they finished.

"Jane," Chief Richmond then asked, "Do you want to take Matt to the hospital, or get the paramedics here, or just take him home?  His wounds look more painful than serious, frankly."

Mrs. Broman looked at Matt inquiringly.

"Home," was all he said.

"Home it is," she said.

Chief Richmond told her that the District Attorney's office would be in touch with her and Matt within the next few days as to what charges would be brought against Rick Scott.

Mike collected Matt's clothes from where Rick had stripped him.  He put Matt's sneakers back on his feet, but left the sheet wrapped around him because dressing him would have been too painful.  Mike threw a jacket over Matt's shoulders and they all went outside.  Rick was loaded into the rookies' patrol car, hands cuffed behind his back.  Mike heard Lt. Smith telling the two rookies in a barrage of profanity how displeased he was with their performance, and to report to him personally at the beginning of their shift the next night.

Mike and Jeff put Matt, lying on his stomach, in the back seat of the Cadillac.  Jeff drove Matt's truck, and Mike followed behind.  Mike stopped at an all night drug store on the way and picked up a big bag of antiseptic, cotton swabs, disposable rubber gloves, and various unguents in case they didn't have what they needed at home.

It was 4:30 a.m. when they arrived back at the Broman house, and Mike helped Matt upstairs.  Matt embraced his mother and thanked her, hugged Jeff, and told them that Mike would take care of his wounds.  After asking Mike if he needed anything to help Matt, Mrs. Broman took Mike's face in her hands and kissed him.

"You know," she said, "You're Number One in my book about now, Mike.  Thank you."  She turned and went toward her room, and Jeff went off to bed as well.

Mike steered Matt into the bedroom, and slowly unwound the sheet.  In good light, Matt's wounds looked bad.  There was no overt bleeding, but some seepage.

"I don't think you can shower right now, Matt.  Can you you stand up long enough for me to give you a sponge bath?  Then I'm gonna clean up the painful part."

Matt said he could stand, and Mike took him into the bathroom.  He filled the basin with lukewarm water, and put some liquid soap in it, swirling it around.  Taking a wash cloth, he gently washed Matt's face, neck, arms, torso, back, and then his genitals and the front of his legs as he stood there, leaning on the sink counter, still in shock.

After drying Matt off, he fed him three extra strength Tylenol.  Then he walked him back into the bedroom, turned down his bed, and had him lie face down.  He put on a pair of latex gloves.

"There's just no way that this antiseptic isn't going to hurt like hell, bud," he warned.

"Do I have a choice?  Do it!"

Mike soaked a large cotton swab in the antiseptic, and began to apply it to Matt's buttocks and legs.  Matt screamed into a pillow for the next 5 minutes as Mike completed the job as quickly and gently as he could.  Then he applied some salve liberally to the damaged areas.

Mike said, "Matt, this is kind of embarrassing.  But how badly did that jerk tear up your asshole with that plug thing?  Does it hurt bad?"

"Yes.  Is it bleeding?"

"I don't see any blood.  But I bought some stuff for hemorrhoids that has a pain deadener.   It might give you some relief.  Do you want to put it in?"

"Yeah."  Matt tried to turn his torso to reach his butt, but grimaced in pain.

"You're gonna have to do it, Mike, I can't twist around that far without hurting."

Mike screwed the nozzle which had been supplied with the product on to the tube of gel, and spread Matt's cheeks.  Sticking the nozzle into Matt's rectum very slowly and gently, he squirted the medication into it.

"Man, that helps a lot, Mike.  Thanks."  Matt visibly relaxed.

"Sure," Mike said.

"This is so fucking humiliating.  Why me?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, bro.  It could have been me, or both of us, for that matter, that Rick took advantage of.  Please don't think all gays are predators like Rick.  I'm sorry you're hurt, but you have nothing to feel guilty about.  We both thought this guy was a friend.  It's just not a friendly world out there, that's all.  Everybody's at risk, all the time."

"I guess.  This is a hell of a way to learn a lesson, that's all I can say."  He looked at his watch.  "We're gonna have to leave for work in a few minutes, you know."

"Not we, kino sabe."  Mike looked at his watch, too--5:30 a.m.  "You're going to stay right here, and I'm leaving for work.  I'll fill Dan in on why you didn't make it."

Matt didn't argue.

Mike moved Matt up more toward the head of the bed, and put a blanket over his neck and back, and a sheet over his buttocks and legs.  He kissed the back of Matt's head, and then made a beeline for the shower.  Matt was fast asleep by the time Mike finished getting ready and left for work at 6 a.m.

                                                                                *  *  *

Mike pulled Dan Sullivan aside at the beginning of the shift.  Withholding the full details, he told him that Rick Scott had been arrested for beating up Matt, and that Matt would be recuperating for at least the next several days before coming back to work.  Dan was shocked about Rick, and not a little exasperated at being short two men, but he said they'd make the best of it.  When the other guys asked where Matt was, Mike told them he was sick.

Mike got through the day somehow on autopilot, and when he got home, collapsed in bed.  Mrs. Brighton woke him to eat some soup and a sandwich later that evening, and then he slept through until the next morning.

The District Attorney's office called within a couple of days.  They said that the gun they had found in Rick Scott's house was linked to the robbery of an all night convenience store in which the young clerk on duty had been wounded.  The police put Rick in a lineup at the precinct, and the kid had picked him out right away as the perpetrator.  The lab tests on the swabs which had been taken of Matt's rectum revealed no traces of semen.  The Assistant D.A. suggested that the charges for the assault on Matt be held in abeyance while they charged Rick with robbery and attempted murder.  She felt she could get a conviction, but if anything went wrong at trial, then they would indict him for the assault.

Matt was relieved, to say the least, about the lab results and the D.A.'s decision to hold off on the assault charge.  He was not looking forward to testifying in graphic detail at Rick's trial about what had been done to him, and if the attempted murder and robbery charges did stick, Rick would get a longer sentence for those crimes, anyway.

Mike continued to put salve on Matt's wounds every night, and they were healing nicely.  After a couple of days Matt said he wanted to get back to work and not lie around the house anymore.  He had Mike buy him a couple of pairs of loose-fit Levi's, and started borrowing Mike's boxers to wear instead of his customary briefs because they were easier on his skin as it healed.

Mike noticed several changes in Matt's behavior as he got back into circulation.  He stuck close to Mike all the time now, and they were rarely out of one another's sight.  He didn't seem apprehensive about anything in particular, but it just seemed he was content to be in Mike's company anytime he left the house.

On the job, Mike caught Matt intently watching him work, and more than once.  When his glances were noted, Matt just smiled and continued working.

Another change was that Matt didn't seem to want to sleep alone.  Either he would ask Mike to come into his bed, or he would ask if he could sleep in Mike's bed.  Mike loved sleeping next to him, of course, even though there was no sex.  The first night they were side by side, Matt told Mike how much he appreciated the rescue from Rick Scott.  He touched Mike's face gently, told him he loved him more than ever, and kissed him lightly on the cheek before they went to sleep.

At first, in response to their new sleeping arrangements, Mike made sure that the bed that they hadn't slept in was messed up the next morning so the maid wouldn't know they were sleeping in the same bed.  Matt finally put a stop to that.  He said it was nobody's business where they slept.

One night, after one of their weekly conferences on Berman estate issues, Mr. Broman told Mike that after talking with Matt, Jeff and Martha, he and Mrs. Broman wanted to adopt him formally.  He said they had come to love and respect him so much, and were deeply grateful for his part in their family life.  Mike was greatly moved, and said he would like that.  He asked if he would have to give up the name "Berman," and Mr. Broman said he wouldn't unless he wanted to.  Or he could hyphenate the two last names, if he wished.  Ultimately Mike decided to use the initial "B" to represent "Berman," and to use "Broman" as his last name.  A court formalized the decision a month later.

Matt and Mike talked Mr. Broman into creating a small fitness center at poolside, arguing that it was something the whole family could use.  They got a treadmill and three very versatile machines which could be set to develop different parts of the body.  The boys got in the habit of taking a swim after they got home from work, and then working out for an hour on the machines before dinner.  Between their physical labor on the job, the swimming and the workouts, they were both magnificent specimens of healthy young males as the summer progressed.

Matt continued, however, to be somewhat reclusive in his daily behaviors, and eventually Mike broached the subject one night while they were vegetating, listening to some tunes.

"Dude, we gotta talk."

"Huh?  What about?"  Matt asked.

"Well. . .this is kinda hard to put into words, so just let me say it.  You've changed a lot since that mess with Rick."

"How so?"

"You just don't seem as outgoing as you were.  You've always been a 'balls-up,' 'out there' kind of guy, and now it seems like you're hiding out a little.  I understand why to some extent, but I'm worried about you."

"I admit I'm still seriously bummed by what happened.  But I'm fine," he reassured Mike.

"I wish I could believe that," Mike said.  "I think that you have some thoughts and feelings that aren't getting handled.  Would you be willing to talk to somebody about it?"

"Absolutely not.  If you think I'm gonna relive that experience with some stranger, think again!"

"I really think you should."

"Chill, dude.  I'm just fine.  The subject is closed."

Mike could tell Matt was angry with him.  Later that night when they turned out the lights, Matt didn't come into his bed and he wasn't invited into Matt's bed.  He went over and climbed into Matt's bed, anyway.

"Don't be mad, bro," Mike said quietly.  "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.  Just promise me you'll think about what I said.  I love you so much I'd give up my life for you, I hope you know that."

Matt said nothing, but held him tightly as they went to sleep.

Toward the middle of July, though, Matt told Mike that Mike had been right in what he'd said, and began to see a therapist three times a week right after work.  By the end of August, Mike could see some good changes occurring, and soon the old, outgoing Matt was pulling pranks on him again.

                                                                                *  *  *

The boys had quit work for their two week vacation before school started, just as their dad had told them at the beginning of the summer they could.  Matt asked their parents if he and Mike could ride their CBR's up to the Broman summer cottage, situated on Lake Marston about 150 miles north of the main residence, and they assented.

They threw swim suits and a change of clothes into bags early Saturday morning, bungeed them to the bikes, and took off for a week of fun in the sun.

The ride up was glorious.  The sun was warm but not too hot as the road curved gently right and left, and then went up to a higher elevation. The bikes were running beautifully, and both boys relished the sense of freedom that biking always gives those who love to ride.  They stopped for lunch at a little inn with a fishing pond beside it, and after lunch they sat in the sun and watched some little kids throw their lines in and occasionally haul in a fish.  In self defense, the adults watching the action would usually take the fish off the hook and throw them back, since fish don't travel well.

Rested, Matt and Mike punched their starter buttons and the bikes roared to life.  They took off, and maintaining a steady pace, arrived at the lake about 5 p.m.

They took their bags inside, and Matt busied himself turning on the water pump and the propane, and checking the fuel level for the heater in case they needed a little warmth in the morning.

The "cottage" was a large, plain clapboard house, square in shape, with four bedrooms, situated on a large lot.  It sat not 30 feet from one of the bluest and most beautiful lakes Mike had ever seen.  The lake was about 4 miles across and 8 miles wide, and spring-fed. Inside an old boat house which hugged the shoreline of the Broman property was a vintage Chris Craft speedboat, with mahogany and chrome highlights which testified to an earlier age of craftsmanship.  A pier ran 20 feet out into the lake, which had quite a few boats on it engaged in various activities, even at this hour.

"For water skiing, bro!"  Matt said, pointing to the Chris Craft.  "I'm looking forward to seeing you take a header into your favorite element, H2O, at thirty miles an hour!  We'll see how frisky you are then!"

"Not on your best day, jack!  I'm gonna drag your ass kicking and screaming all over this lake!  You won't need to take a drink of water for days, if you survive at all."

They continued to badger each other while Matt took some frozen hamburger out of the freezer, and nuked it in the microwave to defrost it.  They took some folding chairs out on the front lawn and sat down for a few minutes as the sun began to dip low across the water.  It was peaceful in the extreme, and both boys soaked it up.

As the sun sizzled red and sank into the water, Matt fired up the gas grill, made patties of the hamburger, and threw them on the grill.  They sat down again for a few minutes on the front lawn.

"Mike, did you hear the story about the man who found a hair in his hamburger?"

Mike groaned.  "No, please, not a story!  We're here to have fun!"

Matt was undeterred.  "Yeah, but this could even be true.  A man went into a restaurant and ordered a hamburger.  The waiter brought it out and put it down on the table, and there was a hair sticking out of it.

"He called the waiter back, and said, 'Hey, there's a hair in my hamburger.  Take it back and bring me another one.'

"The waiter apologized profusely, and took the hamburger back to the kitchen.

"In a few minutes, the waiter came back with another hamburger and put it down in front of the customer.  But there was another hair in it.

"The customer angrily summoned the waiter again, pointed out the hair, and demanded yet another hamburger.  This time he followed the waiter back to the kitchen and hid where he could watch the cook.

"The cook opened a fresh package of hamburger, made a portion of it into a ball, slapped the ball of meat into his armpit, lowered his arm, and out came a hamburger patty.

"The customer was outraged.  He jumped out of hiding and yelled at the cook unmercifully, but the cook didn't seem to care.

"'Listen, Mister,' the cook finally said, 'this is nothing!  You should be here on Wednesdays when I make the donuts!'"

"Eeewwww, gross!"  Mike had to laugh in spite of himself.

"So, bud, if you find hair in your hamburger, you'll know what happened," Matt said.

"We're not having donuts for breakfast, are we," Mike asked.

"No, wiseass."

When the hamburgers were cooked, the boys ate, and then sat on the screened-in front porch.  There wasn't even a hint of wind, and the moon was blazing a yellow-gold path across water like a mirror.

"I could get to like this," Mike said softly.  "I haven't felt so relaxed in a long time."

Later, while Mike watched some TV, Matt pulled some sheets out of a linen closet and popped them into the dryer to get the dampness out of them.  Then he made up one of the beds for the two of them.

They stripped to their underwear and climbed into bed about 10 p.m., and listened to the night sounds of a lone cicada buzzing, and crickets chirping, and the lake lapped gently against the shore.

"Mike."

"Yeah?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Sure."  Mike turned on his side toward Matt.  "Whassup?"

"I've been wanting to talk to you for quite a while about. . .us."

"That sounds ominous. What about us?"

"No, it's nothing bad.  I just have to find a way to say it, that's all."

Mike was quiet.

"We've been through some pretty bad shit this last year, and we went through it together.  Really together.  I knew I could count on you no matter what happened, and I hope you feel the same."

"You know I do."

"There isn't another human being on this planet that I love as much as I love you," Matt continued.

Silence.

"I feel like I'm on a cliff right now, and if I tell you what I'm thinking and feeling, I'll fall off with no way back up.  I'm scared," Matt said.

Mike put his head against Matt's.

"Go ahead," he said quietly.

Matt hesitated.  "You told me once, a little while after you first admitted to me you're gay, that you loved me.  And you said that you not only loved me, but that you were in love with me.  Has that changed?"

"Not at all," Mike said.  "If anything, I'm more in love with you than ever, because I know you to the core.  In my eyes, you're the most wonderful person I've ever known.  You're complete in every way.  I don't use those word lightly.  And you're beautiful on the outside, too.  I don't know how anyone could help falling in love with you, frankly, male or female.  You turn me on mentally, physically and emotionally every day I'm around you."

"God help me, Mikey, I feel the same way about you.  It's time for me to be as honest with you as you have been with me, and fall off that cliff I was talking about.  I'm very much in love with you, too, body and soul.  And scared to death about it."

"Why?"

"I never thought I could fall in love with a man.  But I have.  And I know that if our relationship is going to survive and continue to grow--and it has to, because I don't think I can make it without you in my life--then it has to move into the physical and sexual.  I want that to happen, but at the same time it scares the shit out of me."

"I think I understand," Mike said softly.  "It's a hell of a transition when you, Matt Broman, have to face the reality that the person you're in love with is male, too.  I think you probably loved me as a person long before you knew you loved me as a man.  On the other hand, I was on the bone for you from the first time I saw you, but I finally realized along the way how much I love your whole being.  I think we're meeting in the same place now."

"That says it perfectly."

They were quiet.

"Mike, can you just be a little patient with me on the physical side of our relationship?  I want to show you how much I love you and how much you mean to me, but I'm just not sure I'm ready for that yet.  Or know how to go about it, for that matter."

"As long as it takes, bro.  You've made me one happy guy tonight, maybe the happiest guy in the world.  We'll work it out, you can count on it!"

He caressed the contours of Matt's face, and kissed him lightly, very lightly, on the lips for the very first time.

END OF PART 3

The days following Matt's admission to Mike that he was in love with him were ecstasy for both of them.  Days of golden sun, blue water and vigorous exercise water skiing and swimming were a perfect prelude to nights of tentative exploration in their new sexual relationship.

Mike was keenly aware of his promise to let Matt escalate the sexual side of things at his own pace, and so he followed Matt's lead.  The boys had immediately dispensed with sleeping in their undershorts, their nakedness making inevitable the uninhibited contact they both wanted.  The night after their talk, when Matt ran his hand down over Mike's abdomen and gently cupped his package while he kissed Mike's face, fantasy and reality had met at last.  Almost twelve months of sexual frustration escaped in Mike's sigh of anticipation as for some inexplicable reason he remembered the old axiom that the ultimate sex organ is the human mind.

The first sex act for each, after slowly exploring one another's body in bed and while showering together during those first days, was to masturbate in bed, side by side.  It wasn't long, however, before each passed that pleasant duty on to his partner, resulting in copious orgasms for each of them.  When he first tasted Matt's cum on his own hand, it was as Mike had expected:  pungent and sweet as the man himself.

For Matt's part, as slowly as he had arrived at admitting his desire for a physical relationship with Mike, there were no uncertainties now as they became more and more intimate.  His sexual relationships with the many girls he had been with in his life could not compare with the explosion of love and longing he felt for Mike.  He wanted to touch him all the time, and they were spending a lot of time in bed.

Mike had been planning to invite their brother Jeff to come down to the cottage midway in the week in partial repayment for all the nice things he had done for both of them, but as his and Matt's passion unfolded, he put that idea on hold for another time.

By the end of their week at the cottage, they had each found out what the other liked and responded to, and were well on the way to enjoying the full repertory of non-violent gay sex.  The first time they had 69'd to orgasm and then shared a deep kiss, each thought he had died and gone to heaven.  They also found out that they were both tops, but that the other was willing to be versatile for his partner's sake.  Mike loved to rim Matt, and it was so pleasurable for Matt that he would almost cum in the process without other stimulation.

The world had narrowed for the moment to each other, time had stopped, and they positively glowed in one another's company.  Sometimes, passion temporarily spent, they just lay quietly side by side, held hands, and said nothing.  Nothing needed to be said.

The last night they were at the cottage, as they lay relaxed and intertwined after great sex, Mike asked, "What are we going to tell the family?"

"I've been giving that some thought myself," Matt said.  "I think what we should do is to say nothing for the time being and go back to school.  Then we can think about it some more and talk to them between semesters.  I know they won't like it, but on the other hand, we're not going to live a lie for anybody.  I think they'll eventually come around and accept the situation."

"I hope you're right.  I'm sure they wanted grandchildren from you."

"Well, then, Jeff and Martha better turn out straight.  'Cause I'm sure not, thank goodness!"  He laughed and kissed Mike for the thousandth time.

Mike sighed with contentment, nestled his head into Matt's shoulder, and they fell asleep.

They stayed in bed with each other as long as they could the following morning, and after showering together and then eating breakfast, packed their bags.  Mike stood on the front lawn taking a permanent picture in his mind of the lake while Matt turned off the propane and the water pump.  The two of them put slings under the Chris Craft and using the pulleys, raised it out of the water inside the boathouse.  They checked the inside of the cottage one more time, locked up, and threw their bags on the bikes.  With a last look at the place in which their lives had changed so dramatically in a very short time, they jumped on the bikes and hit the road.

They dawdled on the way home, stopping at several parks and sitting around, enjoying each other's company.  They arrived home just as dusk was falling, garaged the bikes, grabbed their bags, and went inside.  The family was glad to see them, and they were precisely on time for dinner.

Mr. Broman talked with Mike briefly after they had eaten, and said that the state had officially taken over the Berman house and property.  The new public park would be called the "Andrew and Emily Berman Recreation Area," as Mike had wanted.  He also said that the tax write-off  from the gift to the state would be of considerable help in lowering Mike's tax liability for the year.  Mike thanked his dad warmly for all the work he had done, and hugged him.

The next week was busy.  Their Mom took all four kids shopping so she could make sure they got a few dressy clothes, and then turned them loose to buy their own casual things.  Matt and Mike and Jeff were of the school of thought that you can never have too many T-shirts and Levi's, so that's what they bought.  Martha was another matter, though, and she worked her mother's credit card over pretty well buying some nice things.

Once home, the three boys went downstairs to the big laundry room and threw their new Levi's in the washing machine with the water set on "hot."  They washed them five times in a row to get the new look out of them and give them a better fit.  Out of Jeff's earshot, Mike told Matt that the first time he had seen him in 501's, he had nearly shot his load.  Matt pinched Mike's butt in response, and they had a little scuffle right there in the laundry room while Jeff watched from a careful distance.

Matt got Mike down on the floor and put him in a wrestling hold called the double leg grapevine.  Just when Mike thought he was going to escape, Matt rolled over on his back and held Mike suspended in the air, still stretching his legs apart.

"Ow, Matt, that hurts," Mike complained.

"Ow, Mike, it's supposed to hurt."

"Well, let me go, you spaz!"

"First you have to say, 'Matt and Jeff are the best brothers in the world!'"

"No!"

"Yes!"  Matt put on the pressure.

"Ow, oh, all right!  Jeff is the best brother in the world!"

"You must love pain!" Matt said.

"Jeff, help!"

"No way, bro!" Jeff said.  "I don't love pain!"

Mike finally conceded that Matt and Jeff were the best brothers in the world, and Matt let him go.  Mike edged away.

"The next time we're in the pool, I'm gonna drown your raggedy ass!" Mike said.  "Bring my jeans when you come up,"  and he ran out of the room and upstairs.

Later that evening, Matt was in their room surfing the net to check out some song lyrics, and came across some words that moved him deeply.  He printed them out.

All of my life I've fought hard for
the things I have wanted,
Caught up in blindly believing
the strongest survive,
But here in your eyes
I see everything I ever dreamed of
and I am afraid.
If I rush in, if I move too fast,
I just might frighten my one chance away.

It's easy to be strong,
I've done it for so long
but this time I have to remember,
this time to get what I want,
I have to surrender.

Here I stand helplessly willing
and waiting for your love,
When want became need,
I had no choice at all.
What will you do now,
it's up to you now,
it's so hard to wait but I will.
God give me wisdom,
God give me strength,
And the courage to simply stand still.

Here I am, take me;
Somehow you've saved me
from a lifetime of not being
all that love could make me.
It's easy to be strong,
I've done it for so long
But this time I have to remember,
this time to get what I want,
This time I have to be tender,
This time to get what I want
I have to surrender.

["I Have To Surrender," written by Pat Bunch and Doug
 Johnson.  Recorded by Ty Herndon on the CD Living
 In A Moment. © 1996, Pat Price Music.]

Mike was in the shower.  Matt put the lyrics on Mike's pillow and went down to the kitchen for a snack before bed.  When he came back, Mike was already in bed.  Matt stripped and slid under the covers.

Mike said simply, "Thanks for the beautiful poetry, Matt," and moved over to hold him.

The next day was one of those typically hot, humid, late August days, but the boys decided to wash and wax their trucks and their bikes.  Although they were working in shorts and nothing else, the sweat poured off of Matt and Mike in rivers.  When they finished three hours later, the vehicles all looked almost better than new, and the boys were pleased with their efforts.  They went upstairs to shower, and Matt stripped to his briefs before he went into the bathroom.

"Commere, Matt."  Matt walked over in his jockeys to where Mike was sitting on the couch.  Mike got on his knees, and put an arm around Matt's butt.  "Gimme a couple minutes," Mike said.  "I've been wanting to do this for almost a year."  And Mike put his face into crotch of Matt's briefs, redolent of his sweat and manhood, and breathed deeply.  Just breathed in and out, nothing more.  Matt smiled and just shook his head.

                                                                                *  *  *

Sunday, departure day, came all too soon.  As sophomores, Matt and Mike could have vehicles at school, and they decided to take Mike's truck and Matt's motorcycle back with them to the university.  That way they could ride the bike during the good fall weather, and then have the truck available when the weather turned nasty.

When Jeff said he was disappointed he couldn't come down with them and check out the university before his high school classes started, Mike suggested that he drive the Matt's truck down and stay over as long as he could.  So it was agreed.

Matt and Mike traded places driving the truck and riding the CBR to stay alert during the trip.  They arrived in the late afternoon with all of the other jocks reporting early, and went to the sophomore dorms.  Their room wasn't quite as big or nice as they had last year, and they would be sharing the connecting bathroom with their neighbors.

The boys stayed busy that evening getting everything put away where they wanted it, and then made up the two single beds.  After several teammates from last year had dropped by and gone, Matt gave his bed to Jeff, and climbed in with Mike.

"This single bed shit is gonna get old real fast," Matt whispered to Mike as he spooned him.

"You ain't kidding!" Mike said, and they slept.

The next morning they got up, showered, and went down to breakfast.

"My, what a delicious repast," Jeff opined as they ate greasy scrambled eggs, cold toast, and drank warm orange juice.

"Get used to it, boy, you have years of enjoyment ahead of you," Matt said with a smirk.  "This stuff is guaranteed to give you big, ripe, juicy, runny zits."

"Eeeewwww, that's appetizing, Matt!" Mike said accusingly.  "Spare us the graphics, will ya?"

Jeff laughed.

They went back to their room, and Matt called the administrative offices and asked if there were anyone available to provide a tour for a high school senior who might matriculate next year at the university.  The answer was "yes," and Matt gave Jeff directions to the admin building and said they would meet back at the room at noon.

Matt and Mike went off to their respective team meetings.

When Mike got back from his swimming meeting, Matt was already there and was packing.

"Was it something I said?" Mike asked.

"No, man, stupendous news!  I heard at the wrestling team meeting that Jack Whittaker's dad had a heart attack--no, I don't mean that's the good news.  Anyway, Jack won't be coming back to school this year at all, probably.  He and his roommate had this kickass apartment off campus last year, and the roommate graduated last spring.  I called the lady who owns it, and she said she wants to meet us, and if she likes us, it's ours!  Think double bed, bro!"

"How do you know she'll like us?"

Matt swung Mike around to look at the two of them in the big mirror on the closet door.  Pasting a big Tom Cruise smile on his face and showing his teeth, he asked, "Who could possibly resist two clean cut, all-American boys like us, dude?  Are we white bread, or what?"

"To the core!" Mike agreed, and began to pack his stuff.  "Can we get out of our dorm contract?"

"No prob.  I already checked.  We'll lose our piddly deposit, but we can stand it."

"Awesome!"

Jeff came in, and they put him to work as well while they heard about his tour of the campus.  They loaded up the truck in short order and drove to the apartment address, which was a large Victorian house within walking distance of the campus.  They rang the bell.  An elderly lady with white hair and patrician features, the widow of a longtime professor at the university, answered the door.

"Mrs.Wilson?  I'm Matt Broman, and this is my brother, Mike.  I talked to you on the phone, and we're here to look at the apartment.  And this is my other brother Jeff, but he won't be staying with us normally."

"Come in, boys.  I was afraid the apartment would have to stand empty when I heard at this late date that Jack wouldn't be in school this year."

They chatted for a few minutes, and Mrs.Wilson was apparently pleased with them.  She sent them to look at the apartment, which was a separate two bedroom coach house over a three-bay garage toward the back of a large lot.  There were two bathrooms, one with a shower and one with a tub/jacuzzi, a utility closet with washer and dryer, a nice kitchen adjoining a small dining alcove, a large living room, and a nice balcony off the back.  The furnishings all looked new.

"Perfect!" Matt enthused.

"Yeppers!  How much?" Mike inquired.

"I don't know.  Let's go negotiate."

The rent turned out to be a little more expensive than the dorm, but doable.  They closed the deal, which included two of the three bays of the garage for their use.  They could eventually bring down the other pickup and CBR if they wanted because the space was so deep they could park the bikes in front of the trucks and still close the garage doors.

Matt and Mike each wrote a check for half the rent and half the deposit, and they were in.

Jeff stayed that night with Matt and Mike in their new place, and was due to head for home the next morning.  Matt came back from class and caught up with him before he left.

"Jeff, I need to tell you something before you go.  I hope you won't be bummed."

"What?"

Matt cleared his throat.  "Well, Mike and I are. . .together."

"Yeah?"

"No, I mean we're a couple."

"Oh."  Jeff didn't look too surprised.  "Well, it's pretty hard to miss how you two look at each other.  And you seem to sleep in the same bed all the time.  So I admit I've been wondering."

"Are you OK with it?"

"I guess so," Jeff shrugged.  "I love you both no matter what.  You have to make your own decisions."

Matt let out a sigh of relief.

"I love you, Jeff, and I mean that.  Do me a favor and don't say anything to Martha or Mom and Dad, though, OK?  Mike and I are going to tell them when we come home between semesters."

"Cool.  That's one job I don't envy you.  Say 'bye to Mike."

Jeff grabbed his bag, and Matt walked him down to the truck.  They hugged, and Jeff was on his way.

                                                                            *  *  *

The jocks, having reported early, got to register before anyone else.  Matt and Mike got each of the classes they wanted, and because they were easing more into their respective majors, found that they would have fewer classes together than last year.

Within the next week the campus filled up with students, and it was like old times.  Matt and Mike didn't miss the dorms at all, although they still had their food contracts if they wanted to eat there.  It wasn't long before their wrestling and swimming buddies were dropping by fairly frequently, but the two boys were agreed that they didn't want their apartment to become "party central."

About two weeks after classes started, Mike heard somebody yell his name one afternoon as he was on the way to swimming practice.  He looked around, and was astounded to see Jason Stelling, his old high school boyfriend, bearing down on him.  He was still handsome as hell, but didn't look very healthy, Mike thought.

"Jase, what are you doing here."

"I transferred in this fall.  I was wondering when I was going to see you around."

"Matt and I came down a week early to start practice, and we lucked into an apartment off campus this year."

"Really?  Lucky you.  I'm stuck in the sophomore dorms.  I'd like to get together with you sometime and talk about old times."

"Well, I guess we could do that," Mike said slowly.  "Maybe in a week or so when I'm more in the groove."

"Sounds good!  Are you in the book?"

"You'll have to call information."

"Will do.  Catch you laters!"

They went off in opposite directions.

Mike told Matt about the encounter that evening, and Matt was not happy.

"Mike, I just don't like that guy.  I don't know what's going on with him, whether he's doing drugs or what his story is, but I don't like him and I don't trust him.  Do you have to see him?"

"Well. . .he is from my old home town.  I s'pose I don't have any reason not to."

"It's your decision, but I wish you wouldn't.  I admit I'm not long on trust after what happened last summer," Matt said.

"Oh, come on!  Jase is no Rick Scott.  Nothing can happen."

Matt shrugged, but had an uneasy feeling in his gut.

A couple of weeks later, the phone rang about 9:30 p.m. as Matt and Mike were studying.  Mike answered.

"Hello. . .Oh, hi, Jase.  What up?"

Matt scowled.

"Yeah, I could do that," Mike said.  "Why don't we meet over at Houlihan's about 6:30?  I should be out of swim practice by then."

Mike listened, and then said, "OK, see ya there tomorrow night."

He hung up the phone and looked at Matt, who made a face and continued reading.

The next night Jason was waiting for him at Houlihan's, an off-campus pub, in an out-of-the-way booth.  They shook hands and Mike sat down.

"So, Jase, how are ya?  It's good to see you."

"Thanks.  Same here."

"So what's been going on?  How did you happen to transfer here?" Mike asked.

"Oh, I was kinda bored at home.  I needed a change."

A waitress came and took their order.

"Yeah, I was bored," Jason continued.  "And I got to thinking about you, and couldn't get you outta my mind."

"You were thinking about me after all this time?" Mike asked, amused.

"Well, yeah, actually, I was.  We had some pretty good times, you know."

"Yeah?"

"I thought maybe we could have some good times again," Jason said with a serious look on his face.  He pulled up the sleeves on his sweater, and then pulled them back down right away, but not before Mike saw tracks on his arms.

"I'm partnered up with Matt Broman now, Jason.  In fact, you probably don't know it, but his family adopted me after my family was killed.  We're brothers."

"How nice for you, Mike," Jason said sarcastically.  "When you do it, doesn't that make it incest?"

The waitress brought their order.  After checking for anything additional they might need, she left, and they started to eat.

"Jason, if you're talking about you and me having sex again when you talk about having more good times, that's out of the question!"

"Is it now?"

"That's right," Mike said grimly.

"Well, I could see things becoming a little difficult for you, then, as far as your reputation on campus is concerned."

"How so?"

"Because I'll out you without a second thought!"

Mike was stunned.  "Well, you asshole!!  I guess you'll just have to do what you have to do!  Once an prick, always an prick!"

"Mikey, Mikey, that's harsh!"

Mike threw down his hamburger and started to get up.  Jason grabbed his arm.

"I don't want your decision now.  You think about it for a couple of days.  Think about how your swimming buddies are going to react when they find out you're a fag.  I'll call you and let you know when and where to meet me to talk about it some more."

Mike left, saying nothing, and sticking Jason with the check.

Matt was more angry than Mike had ever seen him when he told him about the track marks on Jason's arms and what Jason had said.

"That drugged-up motherfucker, I'll kill that asshole!"

"Matt, don't worry about it.  I'll find a way to handle it," Mike said.

Matt continued to fume, and neither of them slept very well that night after they went to bed.

Two days later, Matt happened to come in from class just as the telephone stopped ringing and the call went to voicemail.  He waited a minute, then dialed into their box number.

"Mikey, it's your ol' buddy Jason," the recording said.  "Meet me again at Houlihan's tonight at 6:30.  And don't stand me up if you know what's good for you!"

Matt hit "7" to erase the message, and didn't pass it on to Mike when he came home.

About 6:15 he told Mike he had to go the library to look something up, and walked over to Houlihan's and went in.  He walked around until he found Jason, who started to get up when he saw Matt.  Matt blocked him and slid into the booth beside him.

"So the fag boy sent you over to negotiate, huh?" Jason said.

"Negotiate?  No, Mike doesn't even know you called or that I'm here.  And this is no negotiation."

"I don't have anything to talk to you about, Broman.  Lemme outta here."

"I don't think so.  I want you to listen to me very carefully.  Don't miss a word, you little pissant," Matt said quietly.  "You're a college man.  You probably learned at some point that there are 204 or 206 bones in the human body, depending on how many bones you think are in the inner ear.  What you may not be aware of is that I am in my sixth year of learning how to break most of the bones in the human body and make joints bend the way they don't wanna go."

Jason said nothing.

"What I want you to know is that if you damage Mike or his reputation in even the slightest way, I am going to take you to a lonely place and break as many of your 204 or 206 bones as I can, slowly, one at a time.  Am I connecting with your smacked-out brain cells at all?"

"You wouldn't dare!"  Jason looked pale.

"You don't want to find out," Matt hissed.  "You'll wish you were dead!"

Matt picked up a pitcher full of ice water off the table and dumped it in Jason's lap.  Then he rapped him on the scull with the pitcher, and left.  Jason looked exasperated and intimidated at the same time as he stood up with cold water streaming off his pants.

"That didn't take long," Mike said when Matt got back to the apartment.

"Nope, not long at all."

Two days later Matt was just home from wrestling practice when Mike came in with fire in his eye.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?" Mike asked.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I ran into Jason Steller a few minutes ago, and he mentioned the little encounter you two had at Houlihan's."

Matt looked at the floor.

"You deliberately withheld Jason's message from me, and then lied to me about where you went."

"Mike, I did it because I love you and I don't want you to get hurt.  Wouldn't you do the same for me?"

"No, I have more respect for you than that.  Do you think I'm so weak that I can't take care of myself?"

"No," Matt said sheepishly.

Silence.

"Look, Mike, I was wrong, and I apologize.  I promise I will never do anything like this again.  I know I'm overprotective, and I'll work on it.  Please don't be mad."

Mike allowed himself to be held, and his anger ebbed.

"Let me ask you one thing, though," Matt said as they embraced.  "Did that asshole mention anything about outing you?"

"No."

"Well, then, maybe he listened to reason," Matt said, and then added hastily, "Not that I went about this the right way."

Matt kissed Mike on the lips, and they headed for the bedroom to put the argument behind them.

                                                                                *  *  *

The danger of Mike's being outed seemed to be in abeyance for the moment.  Mike knew the issue was far from resolved, however, when he began to see Jason here and there on campus watching him, always watching.  Jason never approached him, though.  Mike didn't tell Matt he was being stalked because he was afraid of what Matt might do.

The constant reminder that he could be outed at any time made Mike reflect on taking the initiative and coming out of the closet on his own.  He obviously couldn't do that without considering Matt, of course.  But he did resolve to talk to him about it.

One night after a long study session, he broached the subject in a round about way.

"Matt, are you still thinking we should tell the family that we're a couple when we go home between semesters?"

"I did tell Jeff before he left for home, and he was OK with it.  And not too surprised.  I did ask him not to say anything to anybody else yet."

"I didn't know you told him.  But I'm not surprised he already knew.  He's a smart kid."

"Well, I think we probably should tell Mom and Dad, too, don't you?"  Matt asked.

"Yes and no.  I want to tell them, but I don't know whether Christmas is the right time.  I don't want to spoil the holiday for them."

"Hmmm.  You may be right about that.  I sure hate to drag it out, though," Matt said.

"Yeah, I know.  I've also been thinking a little bit about how much we want to say about it on campus."

Matt looked at him sharply.

"On campus?"

"Yeah,"  Mike said.  "This may not be the right time to get into an extended discussion on this, but we need to think about whether or not we want to stay in the closet."

"Jeez, why wouldn't we?  We're jocks.  Do we really want to face the issue with our teammates if we don't have to?"

"I don't want to face it at all, but there's a price to be paid if we don't come out," Mike said.

"What price?"

"Take it from somebody who's been under cover for a long time--it takes a lot of energy to hide who and what you are, and do a convincing job of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Our secrets kill us," Mike said. "Psychologically, I mean.  They sap your strength after awhile.   I'd almost rather take every mean thing the world could throw at us than pretend to be something I'm not," Mike said.  "I'm tired of the game.  But it's a decision we have to make together."

"Are you bringing this up because of Jason?"  Matt asked.

"Well, he kind of started me thinking about it, but the whole thing goes beyond whether he outs me or not.  We've earned some respect on campus, and if you and I were to come out, we'd not only be standing up for who and what we are, we might also be some help to other gays who are really down on themselves."

"Jeez, Mike, I hate the idea of becoming a 'professional' gay.  I don't want to go on any crusade.  I just want to get an education, enjoy my sport, be with you, and be left alone."

"I understand that.  But I don't think we're gonna enjoy the best of both worlds and end up feeling good about it down the road.  We're going to suffer one way or another, either from lying to others that we're straight or from taking some heat from others for being truthful that we're gay.  Let me ask you this:  if you want to stay in the closet here on campus, why do you want to be upfront with the family?"

"Because,"  Matt said, "they're our real support group.  I do think we have to be truthful with those who love us the most.  The rest, I'm not so sure about."

"Do you remember when you first confronted me about being gay?" Mike asked.

"Yeah."

"I would have lied to you if you hadn't already known the truth.  But I learned something from that experience, Matt.  First, you taught me that difficult things should almost always be faced head-on if you want good outcomes.  And secondly, I've come to realize that you and I wouldn't be together today if I had continued lying to you about being straight.  I would have lost the person I love the most in this world for a lie.

"I don't think we're going to solve this in one conversation, bro," Mike continued. "But it's a decision we have to make together, and it's going to be status quo until we agree.  All I'm asking is that you think about it."

"I will.  I respect what you're saying, Mike.  And I hope you know I love you with all my heart."

                                                                                *  *  *

For good or ill, nature abhors a vacuum, and inertia seldom prevails very long in human events.  Mike noticed it first.  Some of his swimming buddies began to shy away from him when he was showering after practice and when he was at his locker getting dressed.  He didn't think too much about it at first.  When some of them also began to avoid sitting near him in class, he began to wonder whether or not Jason was busy making good on his threat to out him.

One night, at dusk, Mike was walking home from practice when out of the blue a couple of second string football players fell into step with him and began to harass him, asking him whether he was gay and how he liked getting it up the ass.  They ended up putting him against a building they were passing and knocking him around a little.

"Hey, dickheads!" a voice came out of the darkness.  "Is there a problem?"  Mike's swimming teammate, Dan Smith, a big guy himself, came down the walk and started toward them.

"Fuck off!" one of the football hulks said. "Mind your own business!"

"Definitely my business," Dan said.  "Move on, or there will be a problem!"

Mumbling and grumbling, the two disingaged from Mike and walked off.

"You OK, Mike?" Dan asked.

"Yeah.  Thanks, Dan."

"Is it true what they're saying?"

"They who, and what are they saying?"

"The guys. Word around is that you're gay."

Mike looked down at the ground and then looked Dan right in the eye.

"Yes, I am gay."

"Well, OK.  I'm glad you told me.  I have a brother who's gay.  You're still one hell of an athlete as far as I'm concerned, and a nice guy.  You're gonna run into a lot of assholes like those two, though, you can count on it."

"I know.  It's human nature, I guess.  But I'm gonna hafta watch myself."

"Yeah.  Well, I'll see ya later, Mike."

"Thanks, Dan."

Mike walked on home and waited for Matt.  He was more shaken than he wanted to admit.

Matt came in, took one look at Mike, and knew something was very wrong.

"It's started," Mike said.  And he told Matt the whole story, including his admission to Dan Smith that he was gay..

"I didn't want to say anything before," Matt finally responded, "but I've kinda been getting some strange looks, too, at wrestling practice.  I just didn't think anything about it.  It looks like that pissant Jason has been busy."

"Matt, I know you didn't want to come out on campus, and I understand why.  I think if I move out of here right away and get my own place, you can say you didn't know I was gay, and your reputation will still be in good shape."

To Mike's surprise, Matt's eyes got tears in them.

"I should kick your ass for saying that, Mike!  Do you think for one second that I'd let you go through this alone?  Whatever we do, we're doing together.  And it looks like the decision has been made for us."

They made dinner, and spent the rest of the evening alternately studying and talking about what lay ahead for them on campus.

Two weeks later they were lying in bed early one morning listening to the campus radio station on their clock radio when a news bulletin interrupted the music.  Jason Stelling had been found dead, apparently murdered, in a gravel pit about 10 miles from school.  Other details were being withheld by the police pending an investigation.

Despite their dislike for Jason and what he had done to them, Matt and Mike were stunned.  They went about their morning routine getting ready for classes in shocked silence.

Later that afternoon, as Matt emerged from one of his pre-law courses, a young guy in a sports coat and slacks approached him and flashed a badge.

"Are you Matthew Broman?"

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Ray Stans of the University City police.  We'd like you to come down to the station and answer some questions, if you wouldn't mind."

"Questions about. . .?"

"The murder of Jason Stelling."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, we just want to ask you some questions."

"OK, but I need to make a call first."

"Go ahead."

Matt pulled out his cell phone and left a message for Mike on voicemail that he was going to the police station to answer some questions, supposedly about Jason's murder.  He asked him to call his coach to tell him he might not make wrestling practice, and then to call their dad and tell him what was happening.

Matt felt butterflies in his stomach as he accompanied the detective to an unmarked car, was put in the back seat, and driven off to the station.  It occurred to him during the ride downtown that the date was October 7, 1999--one year after Matthew Shepard had been left to die on a fence in Wyoming.

Detective Stans seemed to be a nice young guy, and he and Matt made small talk about life in a university town on the way down to the police station.  The day was cool and windy.  There wasn't much traffic on the road, but a lot of students were walking around campus right then, seemingly without a care in the world.

Sometimes, Matt thought to himself, it's just you against the harsh realities of life--particularly when you're in the back of a unmarked police car on the way to answer questions about a murder you know nothing about.

Matt found himself wondering if Mike had gotten his voicemail message to call their dad and to let the wrestling coach know he wasn't going to make practice today.  Had he asked Mike to pick up a quart of milk for breakfast tomorrow morning or not?  His mind flashed on a thousand disparate subjects on that ride downtown.

Once inside the station, Stans took Matt to the front desk to sign him in.  Jeff Miller, a young attorney who was waiting for them after being contacted by Mr. Broman, introduced himself as Matt's lawyer, and asked Detective Stans for a room to confer with Matt before questioning began.

"Fill me in on what's going on," Miller said once they were situated and alone.

"I'll make it short and sweet," Matt said.  "A student named Jason Stelling has been murdered.  I met this guy twice, once at my adopted brother Mike's parents' funeral, and once recently here in town at Houlihan's.  Jason was Mike's lover in high school, and was threatening to out him here on campus if Mike didn't resume his relationship with him.  Without Mike's knowledge, I went to meet Jason one night at Houlihan's when he was expecting Mike to meet him, and told him that I would break every bone in his body if he hurt Mike by outing him.  That's probably why the cops want to question me.  I also dumped a pitcher of ice water in Jason's lap before I left, just to make my point, so plenty of people saw us arguing.

"You also need to know," Mike continued, "that Jason was a drug addict, on heroin, I believe.  Mike saw tracks on Jason's arms during one conversation he had with him."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Yes."  Matt looked Miller in the eye.  "Mike and I are not only brothers, we're lovers and domestic partners."

"I'm glad you're telling me everything, Matt.  It makes it just that much easier to stop this before it goes anywhere.  Did you have anything to do with the murder?"

"Nothing!"

"What about Mike?"

"No!  I'd stake my life on it.  It's just not in his character.  He's not a violent person."

"OK, I think I've got the picture," Miller said, and went to get the detective.

Stans came in with some cans of pop for Matt and his attorney, and sat down across the table from them.

"Matt, do you or your attorney have any objection to videotaping this interview?" he asked.

Matt and Jeff Miller looked at each other, and Jeff said, "No problem."

Stans turned on a camera sitting in its holder on the table, identified himself for the record, and asked Matt and Jeff Miller to identify themselves.  Matt also stated for the record that he agreed to the videotaping, and the questions began.

"Did you know Jason Stelling?" Stans asked.

"Yes."

"In what connection?"

"I first met him last year at the funeral of my adopted brother Mike's parents.  He came to the wake.  The next and last time I saw him was about two weeks ago at Houlihan's."

"Did you talk to him at Houlihan's?"

"Yes."

"What did you talk about?"

"We talked about Jason's threat to out Mike on campus for being gay."

"What did you say?"

Mike looked at Jeff inquiringly, and he nodded "yes."

"I told him that if he hurt Mike by outing him, that I would break every bone in his body."

"Did you?"

"No, sir, I never saw Jason again."

"Anything else happen at Houlihan's?"

"I dumped a pitcher of ice water in his lap before I left.  That was it."

"Where were you at 5 o'clock yesterday afternoon?" Stans asked.

"I was on a bus with 25 wrestlers coming back from Werther College after a meet."

"We're going to confirm that, you know."

"I would hope so."

"So you're telling me that you didn't murder Jason Stelling."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know who did?"

"No, sir."

Stans looked down at his notes.

"I understand that your family is quite wealthy."

"Yes."

"So you have some money to throw around?"

Matt laughed.

"No, not really.  You would have to know my father to understand that he is, well, tight when it comes to handing out money, particularly to us kids.  He thinks people should work for their money to the extent they are able.  If I weren't on a wrestling scholarship here, I'd be working part time on campus to pay some of my expenses.  I have to talk fast for anything I get, believe me."

"What about your brother, Mike?"

"Same thing, except that Mike is rich in his own right because his natural family was killed in a plane crash and he inherited.  But our father controls his money as well for three more years, so he's in the same boat I am.  He has a swimming scholarship, or he'd be working, too."

"Both of you have bank accounts here?"

"Yes, at University National."

Stans made a note.

"Are you gay?"

"Yes."

"Were you afraid Jason Stelling was going to out you, too?"

"I was prepared for it, yes.  I don't lie about being gay when I'm asked, but I don't flaunt it, either.  I've pretty much concluded that at some point, it will come out, and we have to live with what we are.  I'm not ashamed, and I'm not prepared to be victimized because I'm a homosexual, I can tell you that.

"Did you hire someone to kill Jason Stelling?"

"No, sir."

"Do you use illegal drugs of any kind?"

"No!  I hate them."

Stans paused and looked over his notes.

"Do you have anything else to tell me?" Stans asked.

"No, sir."

"Thank you, Matt," Stans said.  "I think that's all the questions we have for the moment.  And thank you, Counselor.  We'll be in touch if we have more questions."  He shut off the video camera.

The three stood up, shook hands, and Matt and Jeff left the building.

"Good job, Matt," Miller said.  "You answered everything he asked, and didn't volunteer any information that could be interpreted the wrong way.  Text book technique!"

"Thanks.  It must be all those Law and Order reruns I've watched.  But it's nerve-wracking to be questioned, even when you're innocent!"

"Yeah, that's for sure.  Listen, do you need a ride home?"

"I'd appreciate it, Jeff."

Ten minutes later Matt was running up the coach house steps.

He burst in the door of the apartment prepared to tell Mike what had happened at the police station when a cloud of marijuana smoke hit him in the face.  In an instant rage, he turned the corner from the hall to the living room, all ready to berate the hell out of Mike for smoking dope.  Mike sitting on the couch in blood-stained boxers, holding a bloody hand towel to his head, and sporting a big bruise on his right cheek and his right rib cage.  His right shin was swelling into a huge knot.  He was smoking a huge, fat doobie.

Matt stood there aghast, his rage gone in a flash.

"Mike!  What the hell happened to you?"

"I got jumped on the way home after swimming practice by three guys wearing ski masks and carrying baseball bats.  They worked me over pretty good.  I don't think they like fags."

"Fucking son of a bitch!!"  Matt sat down beside Mike on the couch, and took the doobie and ground it out in a saucer.  "Let me look at you, buddy."

The head wound was small, and although there was copious blood, it was beginning to congeal.  Matt gently touched Mike's rib cage, and was rewarded with a groan.  The face bruise was just that, a bruise, but the swelling on Mike's right shin was about the size of a grapefruit.

"Mike, I'm worried about the ribs.  One could be broken.  And the leg."

"Yeah?  I'm not hurting too much now.  That's why I smoked pot.  Don't be mad at me."

"We can talk about that later.  I think the Student Health clinic can handle this.  I'm going to call the police and have them meet us there."

"I don't want to get the police involved."

"We have to!"  The cumulative anger and frustration of being questioned about Jason's murder, and now what had happened to Mike, and the fact Mike had smoked the grass, boiled over.

"THIS SHIT WILL CEASE!!!" Matt shouted as he stood up and punched his fist through the wall.  Plaster rained down on the couch.  Matt's knuckles began to bleed.  Mike looked up at him in stoned surprise.

"We are NOT going to be victims of this anti-gay shit, Mike.  That is the bottom line.  I want this on the police record because, guess what, as of right now, I'm a gay activist!  You and I are not living our lives as victims, and the motherfuckers who think they have the power to make us victims are gonna get hurt, I promise you!"

Matt went to the telephone and called the police station, asking for Detective Stans.

"Stans. . ." a voice prompted.

"Detective Stans, this is Matt Broman.  I'm glad I caught you.  I need your help.  Somebody beat up my brother Mike pretty bad on the way home from swim practice late this afternoon, and I'm getting ready to take him over to Student Health.  Is there any chance you could meet us there and take a report?  I think this battery was probably a hate crime, and we need to get it on the record."

Matt listened, and then said, "Thanks.  We'll see you there in about 15 minutes."

"Mike, come on, let me help you get dressed."

Matt helped Mike up and took him into the bedroom.

"I want you to put on the same clothes you were wearing when those assholes got you,"  Matt said.

"OK, the T-shirt and Levi's are in the laundry hamper.  But they're all bloody."

"The detective and the student doc need to see exactly how you looked when those pricks left you," Matt explained.  Mike dressed slowly with Matt's help.  Helping Mike on with his jacket, Matt grabbed his Polaroid camera and cell phone as they went out the door and down to the truck.

Matt and Mike walked in the door of the clinic just as Detective Stans pulled up in his unmarked car.  A nurse at the reception desk took one look at Mike and motioned them through the waiting room doors and into an examination room.  The doctor, a tall, thin blonde woman about 35 years old, came into the exam room, as did Detective Stans.

"Doctor, uh, Lucas,"  Matt said, reading her name tag, "I'm Matt Broman, this is my brother Mike, and this is Detective Stans of the University City Police Department.  My brother was beaten up on the way home from swimming practice about an hour ago, and I want to make sure that everything is OK with him.  He has a head wound, a bruise on his cheek, bruised or possibly cracked ribs, and what looks to be a hematoma on his right shin.  Secondly, we want to file a report of the incident with Detective Stans, including your documentation of his injuries."

"Mary Lucas," the doctor introduced herself.  "Doris," she instructed the nurse, "get a gown for Mike.  Mike, are you going to need help getting undressed?"

"Yes, probably," Mike said.

"Gentlemen, if you will have a seat in the waiting room, we'll bring you in when we're finished with the exam," the doctor said.

Matt and Detective Stans went to the waiting room.  Matt noticed that Detective Stans had a Polaroid camera with him, the same model as Matt's.

"Great minds. . ." Matt said, motioning at the detective's camera with his own.

"Yeah," Stans said.  "Do you know anything more than you told me?"

"No.  I relayed everything Mike said to me.  I just can't believe there were no witnesses."

"I don't like this very much.  This may or may not be a hate crime, but I'm wondering at this point just how random it is.  They could have killed Mike, you know.  Maybe they were scared off.  Anyway, I'm hoping this isn't a pattern."

"If it is, it's going to stop!  I'm making an appointment with the chief of campus police tomorrow about campus security.  That's why I wanted you to come down here and document Mike's injuries for the record.  If I don't get any satisfaction from the chief, I'll go to the chancellor of the university."

"Do you think you can get them to take this seriously?" the detective looked at him quizzically.

"They will, believe me!  In addition to the hate crime issue, a big, fat lawsuit against the university is a pretty good bargaining chip, too.  Failing all else, you should get prepared to talk to the national media about the incident by tomorrow night, if that's what it takes.  Because the media will be here in town, and they'll be calling you."

The detective grinned.  "You don't fool around, do you, kid? I like that!"

Dr. Lucas came out and sat down with them about half an hour later.

"Mike is going to be fine, and you can take him home.  He didn't lose consciousness during the beating he sustained, so I'm not too concerned about a concussion.  He doesn't need stitches in his scalp.  I shaved some of his scalp hair so I could use a butterfly bandage on it.  There are no broken ribs.  His rib cage is badly bruised on the right side, so I wrapped it, but he can take the wrapping off any time he wants.  The leg isn't broken.  I've put ice on it, and I want you to keep icing it for at least 36 hours, 2 hours on and 1 hour off.  From then on, ice it whenever it's convenient.  He should keep the leg elevated as much as he can, and avoid walking on it for a few days.  His face will be fine, but if you have a steak at home, put that on it for a few hours to reduce the bruise.  It may or may not help, but try it.  Here is a prescription for Tylenol 3, and some samples to get you through the first few days.  If he needs anything stronger, call me."

"Doctor, can we get some pictures now?" Stans asked.

"Yes.  If you need anything unwrapped so the wounds can be seen, just ask Doris.  I've dictated Mike's medical record, and it will be transcribed first thing in the morning and available to you, Detective."

"I'd like three copies as well, Doctor," Matt said.  "One for the campus police and one for the chancellor, and one for Mike's records.  Is that possible?"

"Of course.  I'll go and make a note to that effect right now."

"Mike is on the swim team.  How soon can he get back to practice," Matt asked.

"Let's play it by ear," Dr. Lucas said.  "The ribs are going to send him a message if he's overdoing it.  But I don't want him thrashing around, even in water, with that hematoma for at least a week or so.  Let's just say I want to check him out before he goes back to practice."

"Yes, m'am.  Got it." Matt responded.

Matt and Detective Stans went back into Mike's room, and took as nearly identical pictures of Mike's wounds as they could.  At Matt's request, Stans signed and dated the backs of the pictures that Matt took so there could be no doubt of their authenticity.

Matt got Mike dressed, and the nurse brought a wheel chair.  Matt and Stans wheeled Mike out to the truck, and they helped him in and shut the door.

"Call me tomorrow and let me know how you do with the campus chief, will you?" Stans asked.  "Maybe I can be of some help."

"I will," Matt said.  "And thanks very much for coming down here.  I really appreciate it."

"That's OK.  I have a lot of thinking to do about whether Mike's beating is linked some way to the Stelling murder.  We're going to want to talk to Mike at some point about Stelling, by the way."

"I'll tell him.  My dad will probably want to have Jeff Miller there for Mike, so just let me know when."

"I will.  Take care of your brother, now, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Matt drove home slowly, trying to miss the bumps in the road so as not to jostle Mike too much.  They reached the coach house, and Matt helped Mike up the stairs.

"Mike, do you want to take a shower or a bath, or just skip it tonight?"

"I'd like to take a shower--but only if you come in with me," Mike said with as much of a leer as he could manage with his bruised, swollen face.

"I can tell you're not too bad off," Matt laughed.  "I'm there, bro!"

He walked Mike into the bathroom and began to strip Mike's clothes off as gently as he could.  Then he stripped off his own clothes, turned on the water, and adjusted it to luke warm.  He helped Mike over the threshold into the shower, stepped in himself, and shut the glass door.  Once inside he put his arms around Mike and, chest to chest, body to body, held him tenderly and kissed his face repeatedly as the spray wet them down.  They stood there like that for a good 5 minutes without moving, except they both got erections.  Then, fearful that Mike's hematoma might swell more from standing too long, Matt took soap and a wash cloth and washed every inch of his lover's body with great care.

Finished, they stepped out of the shower, and Matt dried Mike off, and then himself.  He put toothpaste on Mike's toothbrush for him, and had him brush his teeth.  Then he gave Mike three of the Tylenols, and took him into their bedroom and turned down the bed.

"Mike, if you want me to, I can sleep in the other bedroom so I don't accidentally roll on you or bump you in the night."

"Fuhgeddaboutit."

"Well, why don't you switch to the left side of the bed instead of the right side until you heal.  Then I'll be sleeping on your good side.

"Good idea."

"Now, let's get that leg up on a pillow, and I'll get some fresh ice for the ice pack."

"OK.  Thanks."

"While I'm going in that direction, what do you want for dinner?" Matt asked.  "You know, I have to defrost a steak for your face anyway.  Why don't we put it on your face for an hour or so, and then I'll cook it for you.  Is that a brilliant use of precious resources, or what?"

"You nimrod!" Mike laughed painfully, holding his ribs.  "No wonder America's great!  Dad would be proud!"

Matt roared, and went to defrost the steak.  When it was limber, he took it to Mike and gently laid it over his bruised eye and cheek.

"Mike Broman,"  Matt observed, "half man, half steak!"

"Thanks, Matt."  Mike smiled, and then paused.  His expression grew serious.  "You know, I love you so much I can't stand it sometimes.  Sometimes my chest hurts I feel so much love for you.  It scares me."

Matt regarded him solemnly for a minute, very moved, and sat down on the side of the bed.

"Michael, let me tell you some things that by rights I should have been telling you every day we've been together--and now is as good a time as any to start.  And please don't interrupt."

Matt took a breath and swallowed.  "Give me a minute.  I'm not used to this."   He composed himself and then continued, his voice breaking a little.

"You are deep in my heart and in my soul, Mike.  You're as fundamental to my being as living and breathing.  You give me joy and humor and happiness in a world where all those things are in short supply.  I don't know what I could ever have done to deserve you for my brother and my partner and my lover and my friend.  Everything I know about 'hanging in' when the person you love is hurting or in trouble, I learned from you.  Every day that goes by, I am a better person because of you.  You are my ideal.  I thank God for you every day of my life, starting the minute I wake up in the morning.  I'd write love poems to you all day long if I had the talent, but I don't.  I respect you for your toughness and your tenderness and your honesty, starting with the standards you impose on yourself.  I'm infatuated with your mind and your body. You know, I can remember what you were wearing last year the first time I ever saw you--a cutoff tank top and those gray gym shorts that showed off your cute little butt and your package--and I wasn't even into guys back then, dude.  You have been my partner in the most incredible sex I have ever had, or ever could have.

"I hate it that you're hurting now, but taking care of you is a gift for me because I can show you, just a little, how much having you in my life means to me."

They stared at each other in silence, and Mike put a hand over his one uncovered eye so Matt wouldn't see his tears.  Matt bent down, picked up Mike's free hand from the bed, kissed the back of it, and then got up and walked out of the bedroom to straighten up the apartment.

In between cleaning the apartment, cooking dinner for Mike and himself, and cutting up Mike's food for him, Matt called their  mom and dad and filled them in on the beating that Mike had just taken, the murder of Jason Stelling, and the police questioning.  The elder Bromans were very upset about Mike, and insisted on talking to him, so Matt took him the phone.  When they finished, Matt told his dad about his plans to see the chief of security, and if necessary, the chancellor, concerning the issue of campus security.  Mr. Broman thought that raising the issue was entirely appropriate, and asked Matt to let him know if he could be of any help along the way in dealing with the problem.  He also said that Jeff Miller would be available if and when Mike was questioned at the police station.  Matt told his parents to smack around Jeff and Martha for him because they got away with far too much without their older brothers around.  He thanked them for all their concern, and told them he loved them.  They promised to call Mike in a few days to see how he was doing, and hung up.

Later that night, after feeding Mike some more Tylenol and replenishing the ice pack on his leg, Matt eased into bed.  Due to the condition of his ribs, Mike could only sleep on his back.

"Mike, are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna be all right."

"Do you want me to get you off so you can sleep better?  I'm a full-service boyfriend, you know."

"No, I'm hurting too much now to enjoy it, but thanks.  And quit making me laugh.  It hurts."

"Sorry.  But you wake me up if you need anything, all right?"

"Well, this sounds stupid, but would you just hold my hand?"

"Yeppers, I'd like to."

Silence.

"Mike, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still taking your Paxil?"

Long pause.

"No, I stopped when we came back to school."

"I'm not raggin' on ya, but could I ask why?"

"I don't think I need it anymore."

"Do you remember the little conversation you had with me after the Rick Scott thing, when I would hardly leave the house without you?"

"Yes."

"You told me that I needed to talk to someone about what had happened to me, and you did me a huge favor, Mike.  I really wasn't functioning very well, and you helped me get back on track.  I might not be back in school today if you hadn't, well, pressured me in a very nice way to talk to a counselor.  Now the shoe is on the other foot.  I don't think you're over your family's death by a long shot, and this incident today isn't going to help.  Now I want you to talk to someone, and to start taking your medication again."

"Hey, bud, I'm not seeing it, myself.  But I don't want to be a churl about it, so if you want me to, I will."

"Outstanding!  I think you'll be glad you did.  By the way, that word, 'churl.'  Very nice. You're just too literate for a jock, my man!  Where'd you pick that up?"

"Well, I'm an innocent young college boy sitting at the feet of the wordmaster--that being yourself, of course--every time I'm in your company.  I must have picked it up by osmosis or some such process," Mike said.

"We do what we can," Matt chortled.  "Sometimes it's an uphill battle."

"You're an uphill battle, you spaz!  What a trip you are!  But I love you anyway!"

Silence.

"Mike?"

"Yeah."

"I want to apologize to you for losing my temper and punching the wall this afternoon.  That was so stupid and uncalled for.  I'm ashamed.  I'll work harder on my temper, I promise.  That's not the kind of person I want to be."

"I have to say I came down real fast."

"Well, that's not the way to handle things.  I do want to talk to you about the pot sometime, though, but not tonight.  Maybe later, 'K?"

"Yes."

"OK, then, goodnight."  Matt kissed the side of Mike's face tenderly.  "Thanks for putting up with me, dude.  I thank God you're all right and you're here beside me in this bed tonight."

"Love you."

"Love you more, more, more."

Mike just groaned in mock frustration, and they slept hand in hand.

                                                                                *  *  *

The next morning Matt got up later than usual, about 8 a.m.  Mike was hurting and little cranky.  Matt saw to it that Mike got to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and took his Paxil and Tylenol.  Then he put him back into bed, put fresh ice on his leg, and fixed him his favorite breakfast--eggs over easy, home fries, whole wheat toast with apple butter, crisp thick bacon, and orange juice.

After showering, Matt put on a sharp, dark blue suit with a blue and white striped shirt, a red print tie, and shined black shoes.

"Damn, studly, you look like a model!" Mike said. "Kickass ensemble,  you know!  I'd like to pinch your tight little ass just to see you jump around a little and strike some poses."

Matt smiled and wiggled his butt.  "Oooooo!  Pinching.  Now I'll be thinking about that all day!"

"Who's first on your schedule?"

"First, I'm going to the clinic and pick up your records, then to the campus security office to see the chief.  If I don't get any satisfaction there, I'm going to the chancellor's office."

"'Luck, dude!"

"Things are going to change, I promise you that.  Now, do you need anything before I leave?"

"No, I'm fine."

"OK, here's the TV remote.  There's a glass of water by the bed.  Here's the phone, and I have my cell phone.  You call me if you need anything, and I'll be here!  All right?"

"Sure."

"I mean it, Mike."

"All right, already!  I'll call!"

"That's what I wanted to hear.  I gotta book!  Stay off your leg!  Love ya, bud!"  Matt leaned down and kissed Mike on the nose.

"Love ya back!"

The copies of Mike's medical records were ready at student health, as Dr. Lucas had promised.  Matt picked them up and presented himself at the campus security office promptly at 9:15 a.m.

When he gave the receptionist his name and told her he wanted an appointment with the security chief that morning, she said that the chief was booked solid all day.  Matt responded that either the chief could work him into his busy schedule that morning, or he would take up his business with the chancellor's office.  The receptionist excused herself and went into the door marked "Chief of Campus Security."

She returned in a minute, and said that the chief would see him in 15 minutes.  Matt took a seat and began leafing through some magazines.  When he had not been called within 30 minutes, he stood and put on his trench coat.  The receptionist immediately picked up her phone and reminded someone that Matt was waiting.  He was ushered into the office of a man whose expression said he didn't like being strong-armed for an appointment by a mere student, and that he was feeling very put-upon.

"Matthew Broman, sir.  I'm a sophomore student here at this university.  Thank you for seeing me."

The man behind the desk didn't introduce himself, offer his hand, or for that matter, ask Matt to sit down.

"What is it?" the man barked.

"Well, first of all, the courtesy of being asked to sit down," Matt shot back.

"Sit, then.  What do you want?"

"Your name, sir, is. . .?"

"Cramer.  What do you want?"

"I want to report a battery which occurred on campus between 5:30 and 6:00 p.m. last night.  A report is already on file with the University City Police Department, but I want it to be on file here, as well.  Secondly, as a result of this battery, which may have been a hate crime, I am requesting an immediate review of security plans and manpower allocations for this campus with a view to increasing the protection accorded students here."

"First of all, what do the University City Police have to do with a crime on this campus?  How did they get involved?"

"I called them to come to the clinic where my brother, the victim, was treated."

"On whose authority. . ."

"Chief Cramer, let's get something straight.  I am not some yokel who's going to be intimidated by bullshit about who has what jurisdiction.  I know that the City police have full primary jurisdiction on this campus, and that your force has concurrent jurisdiction.  All I want to know now is whether you are interested in receiving a copy of the reports already available so that you can investigate, and secondly, whether you will entertain a review of the security provisions on campus which allowed this crime to occur."

Cramer's face reddened.  "You punk!  Get the hell out of my office!"

"With pleasure. You may want to take a picture of this office to remember it by, because I don't think you're going to be sitting in it much longer."

Matt stood, picked up his coat and files, and exited while Cramer did a slow burn behind his desk.

Matt then went immediately to the chancellor's office in the administration building, and approached the chancellor's secretary.

"Good morning, m'am.  My name is Matthew Broman, and I'm a sophomore student here at the university.  It's very important that I talk with the chancellor this morning about a battery which was perpetrated on my brother, also a sophomore student here, early last evening on campus."

"Do you have an appointment, Mr. Broman?"

"No, I don't.  But I'm hoping that the chancellor can work me in on an emergency basis, given the gravity of this crime and the campus security issues it raises.  There are also some liability issues that the university may want to address early on."

The secretary's eyes widened slightly when she heard the word, "liability," and she asked Matt to be seated and offered him coffee.  Then she went into the chancellor's office.

She emerged a minute later, and asked, "Mr. Broman, would you be able to return at 11 o'clock?  The chancellor would very much like to talk with you."

"Certainly.  Thank the chancellor for me, and thank you for your help and courtesy.  I'll be here at 11 o'clock."

Matt returned to the administration building a few minutes before 11 o'clock, and was ushered into the chancellor's office immediately.

A tall, gray-haired man arose and walked slowly around from behind his desk, extending his hand, as Matt entered.  He had sad eyes in an animated, intelligent face.

"Don Edwards, Mr. Broman.  Please come in and sit down.  May I call you Matt?"  He sat down beside Matt in front of the huge desk.

"Yes, sir, and thank you for seeing me on such short notice.  I wouldn't have been so insistent except I think there is a violence problem developing on campus that has recently touched me, personally, through my adoptive brother.  He's a sophomore student here as well."

"Tell me what's going on."

"My brother, Mike, who is here on a swimming scholarship, by the way, was on his way home from swim practice last night between 5:30 and 6 o'clock when he was set upon by three guys in ski masks and baseball bats, and badly beaten.  It wasn't a robbery--they didn't take his money or watch.  I have a copy of his medical exam from the student clinic here for you.  Detective Ray Stans at the University City P.D. took a police report, and that report can be obtained from him.

"This is particularly serious because I think it was a hate crime directed at my brother because he is gay.  I need to tell you that he and I are domestic partners as well as adoptive brothers, so I feel strongly about asking the university for a review of campus security plans and deployments.  I'm not what you'd call a social activist, but I'm energized on this issue, for sure.  I'm asking for your help so that this kind of incident won't happen again."

"Matt, I'm very sorry and ashamed that something like this could happen on our campus," Dr. Edwards said.  "Have you talked to campus security at all?"

"Yes, I was over there before I came to your office earlier this morning.  Chief Cramer threw me out of his office, as a matter of fact.  He wanted to discuss why the City police were involved in taking the report rather than the campus police, and I didn't see that as the real issue.  We had a difference of opinion."

"Just for my information, was there a special reason Detective, uh, was it Stans, took a report?"

"Yes.  I know the detective personally.  He's looking into whether there is a pattern of crimes against gays right now, and I thought this incident might provide some additional information for him.  And, to be honest, since I knew I was going to ask for a top to bottom review of the security apparatus, I wanted an independent look taken at this case."

"Not a problem.  Let me make a quick call."

Edwards strode to his desk, hit the intercom button, and asked his secretary to place a call to the vice chancellor.  Two minutes later, the phone buzzed.

"Vice Chancellor Taylor on Line 3," his secretary said.

Edwards picked up the phone.

"Jerry, I'm sitting with Matt Broman, a sophomore student on our campus, who is reporting a battery on his brother, also a student here.  Last night the young man was on the way home from swim practice and was set upon.  Would you have time to contact Chief Cramer and set up a meeting with me here in my office this afternoon?  I'd like Cramer to bring a copy of his report on the incident,"--Edwards winked at Mike--"copies of his budget, and regular campus deployment plans for security officers as well."

Hmmmm, it's true, Matt smiled to himself.  Shit does roll downhill.

"Good, 3 o'clock would be fine.  See you both then."  Edwards hung up the telephone, and came back to sit down beside Matt.

"Would you be able to attend this meeting at 3 o'clock, Matt?  I'm also going to invite the president of the student senate so you and she can give us some input from the student point of view."

"Yes, sir.  I would be glad to do that."

"Good.  I'll look forward to seeing you at 3:00, then."  The chancellor stood and offered his hand.

"I want to tell you how much I appreciate your listening to me.  I know there will be some grumbling in the ranks before we're done," Matt said, "but I'm really really concerned about this issue."

The chancellor smiled.

"Sometimes, Matt, we forget who our customers are.  Our customers are people like you and your brother.  We need to pay attention, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir.  Forgive me for saying that yours isn't a typical attitude for an administrator.  See you at 3:00."

Matt walked out feeling that the security issue would indeed get a thorough review.  He looked at his watch.  Almost noon.  He pulled out his cell phone and called Mike.

"It's me," he said when Mike answered.  "Do you want me to bring you something for lunch?"

"Yeah, that would be great," Mike said.  "Bring me a gyros."

"A gyros! You're a gyros, you dufus.  Anyway, I obey your every command!"

"Then get home, you slacker.  I'm lonesome, and I miss you!  TV really is a vast wasteland."

"On my way, and with good news!"

"Laters."

Matt stopped and picked up a gyros and fries for Matt, and then drove home still feeling very up about the meeting with the chancellor.  Mike ate quickly while Matt filled him in on his two meetings.

"You're such a charmer, Matt.  No wonder the chancellor couldn't resist you."

"How do you explain the chief, then?"

"His wife didn't give him any last night, how should I know?"

"Speaking of  'any'..."  Matt lifted the sheet and saw that Mike was still naked.  "I believe I see some 'any' down there under this sheet."  He stood up and took off his clothes, neatly hanging up his suit for the 3 o'clock meeting, and slipped into bed with Mike.

"You won't hurt me, will ya, mister?" Mike simulated a whine.

"No intentional hurting.  But I am going to suck your dick until you implode."

"Jeez, Matt, that's really romantic!" Mike complained.

"Can I help it if you've made me into a horny cum slut?  I used to be such a sweet, pure heterosexual boy.  I didn't have a clue how many functions the penis had until you demonstrated the entire menu for me the first five minutes we were intimate.  You cast a spell and corrupted me."

"Shoot!  You were a quick study, for sure!"

"I learned from the master," Matt said, flicking Mike's left nipple with his tongue several times.  The nipple engorged.

"Earth to Matt.  You're giving me wood.  Don't start what you can't finish!" Mike cautioned.

" 'K, I'm on it.  Literally."

Matt pushed himself down more toward the foot of the bed, and pulled the sheet over his head.  Being careful not to lean on Mike's chest or legs, he took the head of Mike's penis in his mouth and began circling it with his tongue.  Just seconds later, he tasted the first drop of his lover's sweet pre-cum, and heard Mike groan.

Pulling off momentarily, Matt said, "Bro, you are one glorious horny dawg.  Tastes great, more filling!"  After thoroughly licking Mike's balls and as much between his legs as he could reach without moving him, he went back to his labor of love, swallowing Mike's stick whole and squeezing it in his throat.  Eventually, bobbing his head slowly and deliberately, he began patiently to coax out the maximum in sexual pleasure for Mike.  By now Mike was groaning loudly and continuously as Matt skillfully brought him near to climax and then eased off, again and again.  After 15 minutes, Mike begged to be allowed to come, and Matt escalated his efforts.

"I'm close, man. . . I'm sooo close. . .Get ready, here it comes. . .YES--AHHHHHHHHHHH."

Matt drew back so that just the head of Mike's penis was in his mouth, and savored his lover's essence as he received seven  huge spurts of cum, coursing onto his tongue as he swallowed as fast as he could.  Matt tongued the last juices off of Mike's dick, and came up for air.

Mike just lay there with his eyes closed, as if he were dead.  When he did open his eyes, they were just slits.

"I know you don't like me to misuse the Lord's name," Mike said, "but, OH MY GOD!  You keep surprising me, dude," he said weakly.

"See," Matt said, kissing him gently, "Surprise keeps love fresh.  And love is better in the afternoon!"

"If I ever doubt it, make yourself available, will ya?  You are incredible!"

"Well, you inspire me.  You were Cum Central today, dude."

"Don't you wanna get off, too?" Mike asked.

"Later.  For now, I just want to lie here next to you."

Matt moved over as close to Mike as he could without hurting him, and they dozed together for about 15 minutes.

Matt woke up, and got Mike some more ice for his leg, and some Tylenol.  Then he refilled Mike's water glass, and lay down with him again until he had to dress for his 3 o'clock meeting.

When he was ready to go, he kissed Mike good-bye, and said, "I should be back about 4 o'clock.  I want to give you a shower before I head out to wrestling practice, if that's OK.  What do you want for supper, by the way?"

"You know what I have a taste for?" Mike asked.

"Other than me, what?"

Mike smiled.  "I'd really like some of that blackened catfish and cajun rice from Houlihan's.  Would it be too much trouble to stop and get some on your way home?"

"No prob.  Why don't you call there about twenty of 4 and put in two take-out orders?"

" 'K."

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"  Matt asked.

"No, I'm good.  You better get outta here, though, before I jump your bod!  I love ya!"

"Love ya back, buddy, bigtime."  Matt kissed him again and left, clattering down the stairs to the truck.

Mike was so relaxed that the bed felt as if he were floating on a calm sea, and he slept soundly for an hour.  At 3:40 he called Houlihan's and placed their take-out orders, and then waited for Matt.

Matt came in about 4:15, and the aroma of blackened catfish wafted through the apartment.

"Hey, Mike, when do you wanna eat?"

"When are you gonna eat?"

"After practice."

"I'll wait for you, then.  Why don't you put it in the oven on low to keep it warm?"

"OK."

"Now, tell me what happened at the chancellor's office," Mike said.

Matt started his story as he went into the kitchen.

"Good meeting, really.  Diane Shanley was there, you know, the president of the student senate.  She is very bright, and very much on board on the security issues.  I'm really impressed with the chancellor, and the vice chancellor is no slouch, either.  Cramer looked like the asshole he is once everybody saw his deployment sheets, and how inadequate campus security really is.  I don't think he's gonna be around too long.  I picked up on bad vibes between him and the chancellor.  By the way, he wasn't able to get the a copy of the police report on your beating from Stans in time for the meeting.  Major embarrassment."

Matt came back into the bedroom from the kitchen.

"I suggested to the group that in addition to whatever the university can do to beef up the paid security force, that we also create a student campus patrol.  I'm not talking about vigilantes, here, just people who would be willing to devote a couple hours a week to watching what's going on.  I also suggested that we have plastic whistles made up for any students who want to wear them around their necks, and that we call it the 'Whistle Me Safe' program.  They all seemed to like that idea, except for the chief, of course.  Anyway, we're all supposed to meet again in a couple weeks."

"Awesome, dude.  What a fertile mind you have!"

"Hmmmm.  Speaking of fertile, you're so fertile smelling that I think we better get you into the shower, if you're ready.  I should leave for practice in about 15."

"You're just smelling my pheromones, horndog, and that's why you're so happy and horny all the time.  Like the young pup you are.  But, yeah, let's hit it."

Matt pulled the sheet off of Mike, and helped him up and into the bathroom.  The bruise on his face was better, but the swelling on the leg still looked angry.  Matt couldn't see Mike's scalp wound, but decided they should leave the butterfly bandage on for another day.  His rib cage was the most painful of all when it came to moving around.

Matt stripped, opened the shower door,  turned on the water and adjusted it.  They climbed in together.

"I could get used to this as a daily routine," Mike said as they held each other.

"Me, too, at least until we got our first public hardon in the gym shower some night when we're ogling each other.  That's generally frowned upon."

"Either that, or we'd be the most popular guys in town!"

"Shut up, turn around, and let me wash your back and that beautiful ass of yours.  I don't know whether to wash that ass or bite it."

"Nibbling is encouraged; biting, well, maybe not."

Matt finished Mike's back, butt and legs.

" 'K, now turn around and let me get your front."

"You did my front a couple hours ago, thank you, and your technique was great!"

"Just a portent of things to come--no pun intended.  Now shut up, I have to work fast, here."

Matt scrubbed him down, taking special care with his rib cage and his bad leg.

"OK, we're done.  I'd like to spend the next two hours in here with you, but wrestling calls.  Step out, and let me wipe you off."

Matt toweled Mike off gently, gave him a dose of Tylenol, and helped him back to bed.

"Thanks, Matt."

"Sure, bud, glad to do it.  Now, I gotta get dressed and outta here.  You sure you don't want to eat before I leave?""

"No, I'll wait for you.  Thanks."

Matt dried himself off, put on briefs, Levi's and a T, and his jacket, and after kissing Mike, bounded down the stairs and out.

Mike lay in bed thinking about Matt, what a good person he was to him and to everyone else for that matter, what a generous spirit he had, and yes, how physically beautiful and sexy he was.

I'm a believer, Lord, now that you've shown me some of your best work, Mike reflected to himself.

When Matt got home from practice, they ate and watched a little TV.  They decided that since the next day was Saturday, they would get back into their study routine on Sunday.

"You know," Matt said, "some of the guys at practice are still giving me the fish eye.  I don't know exactly what to do about that."

"I'll tell you exactly what we're going to do about that," Mike responded. "On Monday, we're going to ask the wrestling coach if you can have two minutes to talk to the team before practice.  You're going to put me in a wheelchair, and take me over to the gym, and let them see exactly what hatred can do to human beings.  We're going to tell them that our commitments to the school and to our sport are exactly what they have always been, and that we are still members of the human race even though we're gay.  We're going to ask them to accept us as their friends and teammates whatever their own orientation may be.  And on Tuesday, we're going to talk to the swim team and say the same thing.  No more secrets--everything's on the table.  Let's face the problem head on.  I learned that from you."

"Two days ago, I wouldn't even have considered it.  Now, I think you're right.  Let's do it."

On Saturday, Matt did some grocery shopping, rented a wheelchair for Mike, and bought plaster mix and fixed the wall he had put his fist through.

On Sunday, he decided to go to early mass at Canterbury Center, feeling he had a lot to be thankful for.  Mike wanted to go, too, so they threw the wheelchair in the truck, and Matt wheeled him into church.  It felt good to both of them to be there.

That afternoon, as they were talking, Mike said, "You know, Thanksgiving's only about three weeks away.  I wanna go home, and I wanna go bad."

"Me, too.  There's only one potential problem.  It could be bad for your leg for you to sit up for that long a time, and the truck doesn't have a back seat to lie down in."

"What if every hour or so I lean against the door and put my leg in your lap for a few minutes?  Between that and icing it down, I should be OK.  Especially in three weeks."

"That could work.  Good idea.  If it's still swollen this bad, though, I'm gonna ask Dad if we can't rent a car.  I don't want to take any chances."

"Cool."

Later that afternoon, just to give Mike a change of scenery, Matt took him downstairs, put him in the wheelchair with the bad leg supported straight out in front of him, and wheeled him around the neighborhood.  The remnants of colorful foliage from a brilliant fall season still graced the old university town.  It was very peaceful, and they enjoyed a great walk.

Later that night, after they were in bed with all their needs except sex taken care of, Mike, still forced to remain on his back, slicked down Matt's big dick with lotion, and jacked him until he shot a foot and a half in the air.  He continued to shoot until his chest and abdomen were covered.  Matt returned the favor, being very gentle, and after they wiped themselves clean with a hand towel, they kissed and then slept through the night like the dead.

                                                                            *  *  *

The wrestling and swimming coaches respectively gave the boys a couple of minutes at the start of practice on Monday and Tuesday, and the two brief meetings went better than either of the guys had expected.  They pretty much played it as Mike had suggested on Friday night.  Without exception, the wrestlers came up to Matt, and then to Mike, and shook hands with them.  Several of them said they appreciated the guts it took to be that honest.  There was only one guy on the swim team on Tuesday who seemed to have any reservations about the situation, with the rest of the team members seeming friendly. They said they wanted Mike back at practice and at the meets, and quickly.  Even the one holdout became friendlier after Mike's friend Dan Smith had a little talk with him and the guy saw which way sentiments were running.

From then on, Matt noticed that his teammates, trying not to be too obvious what they were doing, casually alternated with one another walking him out to the parking lot to his truck, or across campus with him if he hadn't driven. When Dr. Lucas released Mike for limited swimming practice a couple of weeks later, he experienced the same thing.  Nothing was ever said to either one of them, but the boys felt very good about it.

Matt called Detective Stans, and suggested that with Thanksgiving coming up fast, an appointment be set up for Mike to be questioned about Jason Stelling's murder.  To his surprise, Stans said that they had two suspects, reputed drug dealers, already in custody, and that they would likely be charged with the murder.  Records in Jason's room suggested he had owed them about $100,000 for heroin he was dealing.  Mike wouldn't have to undergo questioning after all.  The boys high-fived each other over that piece of good news.

The second meeting in the chancellor's office on campus safety took place during the week before Thanksgiving.  Chief Cramer was gone, and in his place, a nice and seemingly competent older man named Davis.  The committee recommended to the chancellor that contingency funds be used to increase the security force by 15 percent immediately.  They also recommended that 15,000 whistles be purchased for Matt's "Whistle Me Safe" program, and that Chief Davis develop and submit standards for training a student auxiliary patrol for campus safety.  Matt was jubilant.

The chancellor asked him to remain behind for a minute after the meeting broke up.

"Matt, I want to thank you for stepping up to the plate on this one.  It took guts, and some vision."  He paused. "My own son was gay. He had a hard time of it growing up, and I didn't do very many things right to make it easier for him.  He was one of the few men killed in Operation Desert Storm."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Edwards.  I didn't know."  No wonder the man's eyes are sad, Matt thought to himself.

"Thank you.  I hope you'll stop by from time to time and bring me up to speed on how things are going for you and your brother.  Please.  I'd like to see you."

"I'll do that, sir."  Matt offered his hand.  "You are a very special person.  You handled this issue perfectly, if I may be so presumptuous, and you're one heck of a fine administrator.  You'll probably get tired of seeing me hanging around here."

"I doubt that.  Have a great Thanksgiving, you and your family!"

"Thank you, sir, and same to you.  See you later."

                                                                            *  *  *

The boys had one class each on the Monday morning before Thanksgiving, and then they were free as birds.  They packed quickly, loaded the truck, and were on the road by 11 a.m.  Mike's leg was looking much better, but they stopped and bought ice for the ice chest before they left town.  His ribs still hurt like the devil.

They talked about their classes and sports, and listened to some tunes.

"Matt, I was thinking we should talk to Mom and Dad about, uh, our situation on this trip instead of waiting until Christmas.  We're sure coming clean with the rest of the world."

"I've been thinking the same thing.  Man, I dread this, though."

"I know.  But we owe it to them.  And to ourselves.  Let's not even think about their reaction at this point.  Sometimes people surprise you in a good way when you're expecting the worst."

"Boy, is that the truth.  Right again, Ringo!"  Matt reached over and put his big hand on Mike's neck, and very gently swayed him back and forth.  "Hey, I've got a joke for ya!"

Mike groaned.  "Oh, no. . .not one of your jokes.  We're on vacation.  Why am I being punished like this?"

"No, you'll like this one!" Matt said.

"A blonde, a brunette and a redhead enter an elevator together.  As they walk in,
they notice a small puddle of white liquid on the floor of the elevator car.

"The brunette bends down for a closer look, and says, very matter of factly,
'It looks like cum.'

"The redhead stoops down a little closer, takes a deep breath through her
nose, and proclaims, 'Yes, and it smells like cum.'

"The blonde stoops down closer yet, puts the tip of her finger into the puddle,
touches it to her tongue, and exclaims, 'Well, it's nobody from our building.'"
 

"Eeeeeewwwwww!" Mike said.  "I don't know where you hear this shit."

"Hehehe.  Well, the wrestling team has real men on it.  That's where I hear this shit."

"Stop this truck right now!  I'm walking!"

Matt started singing, "O Solo Mio!" at the top of his lungs.

"I'd rather be beaten with baseball bats than listen to you sing.  I'd rather listen to one of your jokes, even."

"You just don't know talent when you hear it, dude!  Did I hear you say you wanna hear another joke?"

"NO!"

"Yes, I did, don't lie to your brother/lover/partner/friend," Matt said, obviously feeling good.  "It's not nice."

"Have mercy!"

"This one is short and merciful," Matt said.  "And clean."

"A man went into a barbershop and said, 'I'm tired of looking
 like everyone else! I want a change! Part my hair from ear to
 ear!'

"'Are you sure?'

"'Yes!' said the man.

"The barber did as he was told, and a satisfied customer left
the shop.

"Three hours passed and the man re-entered the shop.  'Put it
back the way it was,' he said.

"'What's the matter?' asked the barber. 'Are you tired of being a
non-conformist already?'

"'No,' he replied, 'I'm tired of people whispering in my nose!'"
 

"You are a very sick man," Mike said.

"LA LA LA LA LA," Matt sang loudly.  "I can't hear you!"

Mike reached down and turned up a Green Day CD that was playing, and they moved their heads in time to the music.  They continued to aggravate each other the rest of the way home just to pass the time, and finally arrived.

The front door flew open when they pulled up, and the whole family and half the staff poured out into the driveway, with Jeff and Martha leading the way.  The elder Bromans headed right for Mike.  Jane Broman had tears in her eyes.

"My sweet Michael," she said as she hugged him gently.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mom.  Other than the psychic scars that come from living and traveling with Matt, I'm great."

Mr. Broman hugged Mike and kissed him .  "We've been so worried about you, Mike.  I was ready to come down to school for you, you know."

"Thanks, Dad," Mike said, kissing him back. "There wasn't much anybody could do but let me heal up.  Matt took good care of me."

"Hey, you guys, what about me?  I have a bad hangnail, and I need some comforting, too," Matt said to the crowd.

Everybody hooted, and they all unloaded something from the truck and went inside, Martha holding hands with Mike and Matt.

They all ate supper, and caught up on things.  After a lazy evening swim, the boys were tired and excused themselves to go to bed.  Mrs. Brighton, the Berman's former housekeeper, put her arm around Mike as she went upstairs with them to see if they had everything they needed in their room.  Everything was fine, and she touched Mike's bruised face with love as she excused herself and went downstairs.

The boys looked at each other.

"When are we gonna talk to them, and how do you want to handle it?" Mike asked.

"I don't know.  What do you think?"

"I think we should do it tomorrow.  I don't want it hanging over our heads all the time we're here."

"OK."

"Would you have a problem if I started with Mom," Mike asked.  "I'd like to have her for an ally before we tackle Dad."

"You want to talk to her alone, you mean?"

"Yeah.  I just have a feeling that she and I can come to a good understanding, Matt.  If you don't want me to, though, I won't."

"No, that's cool.  Take a shot.  You might wanna wait 'til she's in her studio, and go see her there.  She's always in a good mood there," Matt said.

"You know the one I'm most worried about?  Martha.  How the hell are we going to explain this to her?"

"I don't have a clue.  If you and Mom have a good talk tomorrow, ask her how she thinks we should tell Martha.  If anyone has the answer, she will."

" 'K.

"Let's keep one thing in perspective, Mike.  Coming out looms large to us right now, and we want everything to go well, but whatever happens is a small blip on the horizon of the whole universe.  Very small.  We're gonna be fine because our happiness can't and won't depend on what anybody else thinks.  Let's remember that, too."

"You're right."

Matt took Mike's hand and walked him over to the far wall of the bedroom, where there was a diminutive icon of the Virgin Mary hanging on the wall with a candle holder under it.  He took a small votive candle out of a bookcase drawer, put it into a blue votive glass, and lit it.  They stood there in silence for a moment.

"Did you pray?" Matt demanded.

"Yes.  I prayed for a Vehicular 'No Joke/No Singing' policy to be passed into law.  The penalty would be death."

"Do you want hard nuggies on your sore head?"

"No. . .And I really did pray for good things to happen in our family," Mike said.

" 'K.  You wanna shower?  I'll wash your back," Matt offered. "And your butt.  In fact, I'll wash anything you want."

"I'm so ready."

"After you, Monsieur."

They showered, with Matt giving Mike tender care, as usual.  He put a fresh ice pack from the ice chest on Mike's leg after Mike was in bed, and then climbed in himself.  They went to sleep almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

The next day would either be a coming-out party or a wake, they just didn't know which.

It was Tuesday before Thanksgiving, back at home for vacation, and an unaccustomed late morning in bed for Matt and Mike.  A narrow band of sunlight lasered through the window drapes where they weren't quite closed, and the light cut across the boys' chests as they lay together in bed in the otherwise dark room.

Matt lay without moving and studied Mike's form, gratified for the thousandth time by what he saw.  That handsome, fine featured face, now with a hint of morning stubble, full lips, small ears, smooth, muscular neck, unblemished and glowing skin stretched over the long, swimmer's muscles of his arms and torso.  Six pack abs.  From the waist up, not a hair to be seen except his blond, Marine style, high and tight haircut, a light treasure trail, and a blond tuft under each arm.

Below the waist, the sheet covered what Matt knew by heart.  Long muscular legs, covered with blond down, and a sandy colored bush.  And a cock and balls that were so perfect in their size, shape and texture that God could have sculpted them Himself, personally.  A God who loved generous portions, Matt smiled to himself.  Mike was hung.

They had awakened last night after an initial hour of sleep, wanting each other.  Their passion for one another had matured over the past months.  Their encounters now transcended physical release alone and testified to a consummate joining of heart, mind and soul which defined their relationship.  And so their lovemaking last night had been long, slow and intense.

Matt's breath momentarily caught in his throat as he contemplated his beloved beside him, breathing slowly and evenly in sleep.

Today was an important day for them.  Today was the day for sharing with parents and siblings the truth that they were gay, that there would be no grandchildren to dandle upon the knee, no nieces and nephews to indulge as they grew up.  At least not by the accustomed methods. A day for beginning the road to acceptance for all concerned, or else the first step into an angry and despised rejection by those closest to them.  A year ago, without Mike in his life, coming out to his family wouldn't even have occurred to Matt.  There would have been no need.

"The truth is its own reward," Matt said to himself.   Moralistic pap?  No, Matt knew deep down that it was right on the money.

Matt slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom for a shower.  He toweled off when he was finished, and went back into the bedroom where Mike was still sleeping peacefully.  Still naked, he went over to the bed and gently lay face down right on top of Mike, who kept his eyes closed and got a big smile on his face.  They kissed as Mike reached up and grabbed Matt's butt with both hands.

"Shawn?  Shawn, is that you?" Mike asked in a dream-like voice.  His blue eyes popped open.  "Oh, Matt, it's you. Well, nice butt, anyway!"

"I'll Shawn you!  You're all butt, but I love ya."  Matt nuzzled Mike's neck.  "Want a nice big hickey?"

"Wouldn't that look great for when we talk to the family, you spaz!" Mike protested.

"Yeah, you're right," Matt said, and licked Mike's left nipple.  "We'll have to think of something else."

"I thought I wore you out last night, you horndog!  You're like the energizer bunny with fresh batteries.  You must get inspired by all the crotches you grab in wrestling!"

"Bite your tongue!  You've been staring at those firmly packed speedos at the pool too long!"

Mike rolled them over, putting Matt on the bottom, caressed his face and smelled his skin.

"Hmmm.  You smell good," Mike said.

"Well, I'm not smelling you 'til you shower!  I bet you still smell like sex!  Hehehe."

"Probably.  You're so juicy when you're passionate!"

"I'm juicy!  When you came last night, I thought I was in the swimming pool!"

"Nectar of the gods!" Mike said.

"That makes you a nectarine!" Matt responded, giving Mike's chest a nip with his teeth.

"You're getting awfully personal, studly!"

"That's why I'm here, dude.  To get personal with you!  It's my goal in life, my life's work!  And I will be getting personal early and often, even if I have to whup your cute little butt once in awhile to get you to cooperate!"

"So you keep promising."

Silence.

"Today's the day, bud," Mike said, looking into Matt's eyes.  "I'm a little nervous."

"You know what we talked about, Mike.  It's time for some trust in the people we care about.  They say they love us.  This is  the right thing to do, and the right time to do it.  So let's not dwell on the negative."

"You're right.  I know you're right.  Would you mind, though, if we lit another votive candle and asked for a little help?  For the family more than for us.  This won't be easy for them."

"Good idea."  Matt rolled Mike off of him, and they got out of bed and went over to the little icon of the Blessed Virgin on the far wall.  Matt put a candle in the blue candleholder, and lighted it.  After they prayed, Mike went to take a shower.

A few minutes later they ate a quick breakfast in the kitchen, and then, as the boys had planned, Mike went up alone to their mom's jewelry design studio to talk to her first.  He knocked and went in.

The studio was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows with northern exposure, and a skylight as well.  It was organized chaos.  There were workbenches against the windows and the side walls, and all sorts of kilns and ovens and tools that Mike didn't recognize scattered about.  A drawing board was covered with sketches of rings and necklaces and pins, and the top of one table was a riot of color from precious gems of all colors, shapes and sizes.

Jane Broman shut off the acetylene torch she was using on a piece of jewelry that was stuck into a vise, and removed her mask.  She was slim, very pretty and petite in a white blouse and light brown slacks, and not a hair was out of place.  Classy.  She gave Mike a big smile.

"Mike, come in, dear.  I'm glad you came.  I've been wanting to show you where I work for a long time."

"Hi, Mom.  Are you sure I'm not disturbing you?"  Mike hugged and kissed her.

"No, I'm so pleased to see you.  I never get to spend enough time with you.  Let's sit down.  Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"Coffee sounds good if it's not too much trouble."

Mrs. Broman picked up the acetylene torch, fired it up, and held it under a beat up old pan full of coffee.  It was steaming in about ten seconds.

"As you can see," she said, "we have all the amenities here."

Mike chuckled.  "It smells good."

Mrs. Broman poured two cups and they sat down at a rickety old table.

"This was my first kitchen table after your dad and I were married.  It's seen better days, but I can't bear to throw it out."

"I wouldn't.  It's still serving a purpose, and it must hold a lot of memories," Mike said.

"Yes, it does.  We struggled financially at first, but they were good times.  The Bromans always had money, but you know your dad.  He always wanted to make it on his own.  My family had money, too, but he wouldn't let me take anything from them, either."

"Well, that idea took some getting used to for me, but now I think it's the best way to get a grip on real life, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Broman said.  "I hope you know, though, that if you ever really need anything, Mike, it's yours.  We're not trying to make life difficult for you kids by keeping you on an allowance."

"I know.  I don't even want to think about where I would be today without this family.  Alone, and miserable, I'm sure, and ruining my life with too much money and a lot of poor judgment.  A bad combination.  You're my anchor.  I love you all so much, and I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me.  But I need to--" Mike stopped and cleared his throat--"I need to tell you something that will probably upset you, I'm afraid, and I hate doing it."

"Nothing you tell me is going to change how we feel about you, Mike.  So let's have it!"

"Mom. . ."

Silence

"Mom, Matt and I love each other, and we are a couple."  The words flew out, quickly, under pressure.

Mrs. Broman lowered her gaze and traced lines in the dust on the table with her finger.  Then she looked back up into Mike's face.

"When?"

Mike was nervous and talked fast.

"Matt told me how he felt about our relationship when we went up to the cottage at the lake, just before we went back to school this year.  We never had sex before that.  I had told him my feelings for him last year, and wanted to move out of our dorm room then because I thought he would be uncomfortable living with a gay person.  But he didn't want me to."

Silence.

"Mom, the reason this is so hard for me to tell you is that I didn't want you to think I'm a sexual predator who set out from 'day one' to get Matt.  I've been afraid you'd think I corrupted him and made him gay.  I never thought there was the remotest possibility that he could respond to me in a physical relationship until we talked at the lake.  I knew that's what I wanted, but I didn't think there was a chance.  I know now he loves me deeply and completely, and I certainly feel that way about him."

"Mike, you didn't corrupt Matt.  Let me tell you some things about Matt that you may or may not know.  First of all, Matt is one of the strongest-willed people you will ever meet.  He is a wonderful young man, but he was far from being easy to raise.  You have no idea the number of clashes his father and I have had with him over the years over a variety of issues, including sex.  He's been sexually active since he was a freshman in high school.  That's when I began to find the occasional condom on his dresser after date-night.  He was bound and determined to marry a girl he was dating when he was a sophomore in high school.  Nothing we could say would dissuade him.  Finally, we packed him up that summer and sent him off to a Franciscan friary on Long Island.  Along with being sexually active, Matt's always been the most religious of my children, and he listened to the brothers with respect.  They gave him a sense of perspective on the marriage issue that we couldn't.  I thought he might even be a priest some day.  Anyway, he didn't get married."

"Wow!" Mike said.

"Matt is, for want of a better word, willful!  There is nothing you could have done to get him into a gay relationship with you if it weren't something he was comfortable with and wanted to do.  He knows his own mind, and for the most part, he does exactly as he wants to do.  He must really love you.  So let yourself off the hook on the 'undue influence' issue, please.

"Along with being very strong willed," she continued, "I'm sure you know by now that Matt has one of the biggest hearts on this planet.  Every stray dog and cat that came to the back door for a handout when he was growing up ended up with a place to live.  And as far as the human race is concerned, he has always stood up for the underdog and the outcast.  He would never let his friends, mostly the strong and the popular kids, abuse kids on the bottom of the social ladder when he was around.  I know that to be true because I've heard it from so many different people.  He just has a kindness and goodness about him that is very unusual at his age.  He is a very loving person, and I admire him so much, I can't tell you.  I wish his father and I could take credit for it all, but we can't.

"I'm not saying that I'm thrilled about you two," she said. "I know the kind of barriers our society is going to throw up against you because you're homosexuals, and how much harder it's going to be to meet your personal and professional goals.  I guess things are improving to some degree out there for gays, but chances are you're going to have to work a lot harder to do what you want to do than anybody else.  It's not right, but that's the way it is.

"Personally, I don't care what anybody else thinks about this situation," she said. "My pride isn't an issue.  I don't feel the need to apologize to anyone about your relationship.  When you have as much money as we have, and for that matter, as you have, you set your own standards and don't worry about other people's problems with it.  We have that luxury.  But even if we didn't have a dime, I'd just want you both to be happy, and respectful of one another, and enjoy the love you feel for each other, because the world can be an ugly and disheartening place for any couple, gay or straight.  It's always been the lovers against the haters, kid.  I'm your mother, not your judge, and I love you both.  I always will."

"You blow me away, Mom.  Aren't you even a little disappointed about not getting grandchildren?"

"What if Matt married the most beautiful girl in the world and she made him unhappy, or even if she made him happy, they couldn't have children?  Would I have to fix that?  Should I try to make you two do what I want?  I won't be able to pick Jeff's and Martha's spouses.  Should I have special rights when it comes to you and Matt?"

"You're just so rational about this.  It's such a gut issue for a lot of people, parents especially."

"Mike, I love you both, and you love each other.  Is there something else to be considered?"

"No, I guess not.  How did I luck out and get you for my mom?"

Mrs. Broman laughed.  "Oh, I have my moments, I guess."

"I wanted to talk to you before we discussed it with anyone else.  How do you think we should approach this with Dad and Martha?  Matt told Jeff last fall."

"What did Jeff say?"

"Matt told me Jeff was cool with it.  Jeff and I have never talked about it."

"I am a little concerned about Martha," Mrs. Broman said, "but not for the reasons you might think.  She's a very tolerant and easy-going person, so I doubt if she has any special animus toward gays.  But she has romantic ideas about you, Mike, if you didn't know, and I'm not sure how your news is going to affect her."

"I didn't know that.  Now I'm really worried."

"Would you like me to talk to her?"

"It might make things easier," Mike said, "but I feel as if we're asking you to do our dirty work for us.  It's asking a lot."

"Martha and I have a special rapport.  I think I can help her understand.  But I won't talk to her about it unless you want me to," Mrs. Broman said.

"Well, give it a shot, then.  I really appreciate this.  I hate hurting her.  It's gonna be a real downer for me if she can't accept Matt and me as partners."

"OK, I'll talk to her today."

"What about Dad?  Any advice?" Mike asked.

"Just tell him what you told me, no embellishments, no evasions.  I'd be lying, though, if I told you I know exactly what his reaction is going to be."

"Please don't be disappointed in us, Mom."

"Mike, if every mother had sons as fine and strong and good as you two are, this would be a happier world.  Nothing's going to change my mind about that!"

"Mom, I love you with all my heart.  And I'm so grateful to you.  Thank you for being the person you are."

They stood and held each other, in silence, and when they stepped back, they both had tears in their eyes.  Mike kissed her cheek, and left without another word.

Mike went back to his and Matt's bedroom, and found Matt lying on the couch, watching TV.  Matt sat up, looking worried.

"Well?"

"Mom is one fantastic woman," Mike said.  "She's awesome.  How could she have given birth to a skag like you?  There must have been a mix-up at birth."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  What did she say?"

"She's cool with it.  And she offered to talk to Martha about us, so I took her up on it."

The boys high-fived.

"That's just leaves Dad,"  Matt said.  "Tonight after dinner?"

" K."

"Ya wanna go for a swim?"

"Yeppers.  Sounds good," Mike said.  "You hafta swim naked, though."

"Why?"

"Hehehe.  I want instant access to your moving parts, that's why!  And I wanna watch your cute little butt as you struggle to stay afloat."

"You horndog," Matt said.  "You have such a one track mind!"

"Yeah.  Ain't cha glad?"

"Yeppers."  Matt grabbed him and gave him a kiss.

They changed into their suits, and went down to the pool.  Matt swam a few laps with Mike, and then sat on the edge of the pool and watched Mike do lap after lap, seemingly without effort.  Mike was truly in his element, his arms and legs moving rhythmically, his body cutting through the water with little resistance.  Poetry in motion, Matt thought to himself.

After awhile Matt slid into the water, and intercepted Mike in the middle of the pool.

"Hey, maybe you've done enough.  Your leg might swell if you overdo it," Matt said.

Mike grabbed him and pulled him underwater.  Matt struggled, and suddenly went limp.  Alarmed, Mike pulled him to the surface, where Matt came to life and took Mike down and held him under.  They both came up laughing and sputtering.

"You are so devious!" Mike said.  "I don't know why I take pity on you."

"I learned all my tricks from you, bud!  In the water and in bed!"

"If there's a liars' corner in hell, you'll be elected their leader."

They climbed out of the pool and went upstairs to their bedroom.  After showering together with lots of horseplay, they dressed, and lay down on the couch to watch TV, Mike spooning Matt to his chest.  They napped in that position off and on until it was time for dinner.

Everyone seemed to be in a good mood at the dinner table.  Mr. Broman told a couple of clean jokes, Jeff talked about school and sports, and Martha chatted, but was giving Matt and Mike curious looks.  The boys assumed Mrs. Broman had kept her word and filled Martha in on their relationship.

After supper, Matt said, "Dad, could Mike and I talk to you for a few minutes in private?"

"This won't give me indigestion, will it?" Mr. Broman smiled as they stood up from the table.

"We have the Tums ready," Mike said.

Mrs. Broman gave Mike a surreptitious "thumbs up" and a smile as they left the dining room and went into the library, sinking down in overstuffed chairs in front of the fire.

"Mike, are you pretty well healed up?" Mr. Broman asked.  "How're the leg and the ribs?"

"I'm good.  The ribs still give me a twinge every now and then, but nothing too bad.  The legs swells a little if I stand too long or exert myself too much in the pool, but other than that, I'm in good shape."

"Did they ever catch the guys who did it?"

"No.  They wore ski masks, and I was too busy covering up to get a good look at their clothes or anything."

"Matt, I understand you got some changes made in campus policing practices," Mr. Broman said.

"Yes.  The chancellor is a wonderful guy, and we actually got a new chief of campus security out of the deal.  And a lot of volunteers for a campus watch and escort system, so things really worked out well.  I think everybody feels a little safer, even the guys."

"I'm old fashioned, but that's the kind of responsibility we need to take for our community, wherever we are," Mr. Broman commented.  "That's leadership."

"Yes, sir." Matt agreed.

"Now, what's on your mind?"  Mr. Broman looked over his glasses at his two sons.

"Dad," Matt said, "this is very hard for us to tell you, and it's going to be hard for you to hear."

Matt paused.  "I've known for a long time that Mike told you he is gay when he first became a part of this family."

"Yes, he did.  And your mother and I appreciated his candor," Mr. Broman said.

"And you know that Mike and I have been best friends and like brothers for two years now, even before you adopted him.  But our relationship, since this fall, has deepened to the point that we are real partners now, including sexually.  I realized this fall, whatever classifications you use to describe my orientation, that I love Mike deeply and completely, and he loves me the same way.  I guess I'm gay, Dad.  We are a gay couple."

Mr. Broman put his hand to his forehead, and was silent.

"Give me a minute," he said.  His eyes looked damp behind his glasses.

"I'll have to say I'm surprised, Matt," he said finally.  "Given your track record with women, that's the last thing I expected to hear."

"I know.  But my relationship with Mike is the best and most fulfilling relationship I have ever been in with any human being.  It feels right to us."

"Mike?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you sure about this?"

"Dad, I've always known I've loved everything about Matt, including that he is a man.  But I never thought there was a chance that he ever would or could reciprocate with the same feelings.  Last fall, at the cottage, he told me he felt the same way I do.  The only thought that's been nagging at me all during this new phase of our relationship is that you and Mom would feel I preyed on him and made him gay."

"From what little I know about orientation and gender, it doesn't happen like that.  Science says that orientation isn't shaped so easily or quickly that your two years together would do it," Mr. Broman said.  "So don't think I'm blaming you for this, Mike.  But it's going to take some getting used to."

Silence.

"Do you know what grief is?" Mr. Broman asked Matt.  "I know Mike does."

"Sure," Matt said.  "The feeling you have when someone dies."

"Yes.  Or when our ideal mental image of someone dies.  But it isn't just loss of people or our ideas about them that we grieve.  We can grieve almost anything we perceive as negative.  We grieve sometimes when we fail to achieve an important  task, we grieve the failure to attain our dreams, we grieve loss of health, we grieve loss of wealth, we grieve the loss of relationships.  We can grieve a change in our sense of self.  We can grieve the loss of anything we prize when it's taken away.  And if we allow it to, grief can destroy us, inch by inch, until there is nothing left but a bitter shell.  Every joy in life can become ashes when grief defines us.  And most of mankind is deeply grieving one thing or another, and suffering because of it.  Unfortunately, people get stuck in the grief process, and never make it back on track to enjoy life.

"This partnership isn't what I would have chosen for you, but the fact that you are a gay couple is not the worst news I've ever heard in my life.  I admit I'm grieving the loss of my dream for you, Matt, that you would marry and have a family.  At the same time, I know that what is far more important for all of us is the relationship of love that this family has.  That's what has to be maintained.

"So, please be patient with me.  I'll work through my sense of loss, and I don't want you to think that I love either one of you any the less because of what you've told me.  I need to remember that this isn't about me, after all.  I'm proud of you for what you have each achieved so far in your lives, and I'll continue to be proud of you.  Coming to terms with this will be easier for me because I know that you truly love each other.  A lot of heterosexuals should be as lucky as you two are in that respect, as lucky as your mother and I have been."

Mike sat there stunned by the magnanimity of what he was hearing.  Matt reached over and took his father's hand.

"I've always known you were a great man," he said softly, "but never more than today.  I love you, Dad, and so does Mike."

"I know.  You have a hard road ahead, but I'm here for you when you need me."  He cleared his throat.  "Now, what I need is a good, stiff drink!"  He walked over to the drink table.  "Have you told your mother?"

"Yes, sir, I told her this morning," Mike said.

"Is she all right with it?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good.  What about Jeff and Martha?  Do they know?"

"Yes, they both know," Matt said.  "Jeff is OK with it, I'm not sure about Martha."

"Well, we'll all work through it.  Thank you both for not trying to live a lie for us.  As hard as knowing the truth is, living a lie is always a prescription for disaster," Mr. Broman said.  "For everybody concerned."

There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Broman poked her head in.

"Hi, may I join you?"

"Come in, dear," Mr. Broman said.  "We've had our talk."

She came in and put her arms around her husband, and kissed him.

"Thank you, Mom and Dad, for being such incredible people.  We're very grateful," Mike said.

The boys kissed them both, and went up to their room.  They shut the door, and just stood there holding each other without a word for a long time.  Their relief was palpable.

When they broke apart, Mike said, "I'm so keyed up.  I really need something to do.  Something useful, preferably."

He was lost in thought for a minute.  "Why don't you let me give you a haircut?  You're looking a little shaggy."

"Why do you want to do that?  You have a new fetish?" Matt asked.

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"I want to do something nice for you, and I need to touch you.  So. . ."

"You wouldn't do anything crazy with the clippers, would you?" Matt asked.

"You mean other than carve my initials in your scalp?  Our initials, actually.  No."

"Well, OK, then, but there will be heavy retribution if you do something bad!" Matt promised.

"Understood."

Mike took a wooden chair into the bathroom while Matt took off his shirt and undershirt, and put on a white T.

"You sure you're not planning something, here?" Matt asked as he went into the bathroom and sat down.

"Rest easy, big fella.  Close your eyes, and  t-r-u-s-t  me!"  Mike said as he got the clippers, scissors and comb out of a drawer, and put a towel around Matt's neck.

"Trust is the last thing on my mind right now.  I know you too well.  I'm watching you every step of the way!" Matt said.

"Hmmm.  I love tools," Mike said, turning on the clippers.

"You are a tool," Matt responded.

"Insults won't affect the quality of my work," sniffed Mike, "as you'll see."  He added an adapter to the clippers so they wouldn't cut too close.  "This is such an easy job, I could do it with my eyes closed.  And maybe I will."

"If you so much as blink, I'm outta here!"

"Relax.  This is just a plain old burr haircut, not exactly a stylistic challenge like a high and tight, you know what I mean?  Satisfaction guaranteed!"

" K."

Mike ran the clippers smoothly across Matt's head as the brown hair began tumbling on to the towel and the floor.  Matt watched with approval as Mike gave him a good haircut, removing the hair low on his neck, and gave him a nice even hairline on the back of his head.

"Not bad for a swimmer," Matt allowed when Mike was finished.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and someone came in.

"In here," Mike yelled.

Jeff came into the bathroom, and took in the scene.

"Kickass trim!" Jeff exclaimed, looking at Matt's head.  "Will you give me one?"

"See, Jeff recognizes quality when he sees it," Mike chortled.  "Unlike some others.  Jeff, let me brush your brother off, and you're the next victim, er, customer."

"Cool," Jeff said, and took off his shirt.  Mike looked appreciatively at Jeff's torso--not as beefy as Matt's, but somewhat more defined than his own.

"Looking good, bro!" Mike said to Jeff.

"Thanks," Jeff said. "I've been working out three times a week."

"It shows," Matt said.  "You can't take me yet, though."

"You wanna try me," Jeff said, giving Matt a light slap to the side of the head.

Matt sighed deeply.  "What is it with this younger generation?  They all seem to have a death wish."

Matt got up and went to get another chair, while Jeff took his place in the chair in front of the mirror.

"Now, Jeff, what's your pleasure?" Mike asked.

"Give me a twin of Matt's 'do."

"You got it.  Where do you want your initials?"

"Forget it!  I can probably take you if you mess up," Jeff said, looking at Mike's biceps.  "Maybe."

"Not to worry, my man.  I'll do my usual professional job."

Matt brought his chair into the bathroom, and plopped down in it.

"Jeff, have you decided where you're going to school next year?" Matt asked.

"Well, I've applied to several places, but I'd really like to come your direction if the university gives me a thumbs up."

"That would be great," Mike said.  "How are your grades?"

"Good," Jeff answered.

"Good!  They're outstanding!" Matt said.  "Don't be so modest.  You can have your pick of schools, and you know it."

Jeff blushed.  "Yeah, I guess."

"Listen, Jeff, if you do come to the university, why don't you live with Matt and me?  We have that extra bedroom," Mike said.  "Wouldn't that be OK with you, Matt?"

"Absolutely.  That would be cool."

"Wow!" Jeff said.  "That's a really nice offer.  I'd really like that."

"'Course, you gotta be our slave the first year," Matt said.

"That wouldn't be much of a change," Jeff smirked.

"Do you think you'll get a scholarship?" Mike asked.

"I concentrated on baseball this year," Jeff said, "so I applied for a baseball scholarship at all the schools.  But I also applied for an academic scholarship, so we'll see what happens."

"You know you're a shoo-in for one or the other at the university," Matt said.  "So start planning now to move in with us."

"Well," Jeff said with mock uncertainty, "is your personal hygiene good?"

"Mine's great," Matt said.  "Mike's?  Well, so-so.  Sometimes his armpits get a little ripe."

"Just reverse that, Jeff," Mike responded.  "Matt wins all his matches by smelling so bad his opponents forfeit."

They continued to bicker until Mike finished Jeff's hair.

"I gotta book, guys.  Big date," Jeff said.

"Who is she?" Matt demanded.

"Marlee Anderson," Jeff answered.

"Ooooo, cute!" Matt said.  "Do you have protection?"

Jeff's face reddened.  "Shut up, Matt!"

" K.  Have a good time," Matt said.

"Thanks for the haircut, Mike.  Nice job.  I appreciate it."

"'Welcome, bro.  Anytime.  And you remember our offer," Mike said.

"Yeppers," Jeff said, and he was gone.

"Man, is he a great kid!" Mike said of Jeff.  "If I didn't have you like an albatross around my neck, I could fall for him."

"Count your blessings, dufus!  And keep your horny paws off our little brother!"

After sweeping up the hair clippings in the bathroom, they went to watch TV, and snuggled together on the couch until bedtime.

                                                                                *  *  *

The next morning was bright and cool, but as the temperature rose, Matt and Mike decided to fire up Mike's bike and take a ride.

The country roads were quiet the day before Thanksgiving, and first Mike, and then Matt, got to open the CBR 900RR up on the straight-aways, and felt their tensions melt away.  Several hours flew by with the miles.

On the way back, they stopped at a mall with a movie complex, and as they were walking past the theaters, somebody stopped them to ask if they wanted to watch a pre-pre-showing of a film called Magnolia in return for answering a questionnaire about the movie afterward.  They agreed.  They hated it most of the way through until things began to come together at the end, and then they loved it.  The questionnaire got positive responses from them.  They borrowed one of Tom Cruise's lines from the movie, and kept telling each other, "Respect the cock!  Tame the cunt!" and laughing uproariously.

Closer to home, they stopped at a florist and bought their mother a bouquet of roses, wrapping it carefully and riding slowly the rest of the way back to keep it intact.

Once home, they got Jeff and Martha to toss a frisbee around with them on the back lawn for awhile, and then they all took a swim and worked out on the exercise machines at pool side.  Martha seemed friendly but reserved.  Mike resolved to spend some time alone with her before he and Matt left for school to find out how she was taking the news.

After a light supper in prospect of a huge Thanksgiving meal the next day, Matt and Jeff informally teamed up against Mike and Martha in a game of monopoly in the library while Mr. and Mrs. Broman read and enjoyed their children's company.
It was a see-saw battle all the way, but Mike and Martha definitely had the edge in money and property when they called it quits about 10 o'clock.

"We're going to mass at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning," Mrs. Broman announced as they folded up the monopoly board.

The kids all nodded, and kissed their parents good night.

Back in their room, Mike surprised Matt by putting his arms around him, and saying, "Matt, I want you to know how much I love you.  Tomorrow is a real Thanksgiving for me."

Matt looked into his eyes, brown into blue.

"You mean more to me than anything, Mike.  We're so blessed to share what we do with each other.  What a privilege to be able to say that to you with no hesitation or reservation!  And not to have to hide it from anyone else anymore, either.  I'm the luckiest human being in the world."

They undressed each another, and took to the bed to make sweet love.

                                                                                    *  *  *

The service at Old St. Paul's was a low mass with hymns.  Matt and Mike offered their special thanksgiving for each other and for the love and understanding of their family.

Mike also prayed for his blood family, and lit a votive candle for them after the service.  He was perfectly content now, but couldn't help wondering what his life would be like if his parents and brother and sister and grandmother had not perished.

On the way home in the car, Mike suggested that the whole family, along with Grandma Hagerty, Uncle Jack and Aunt Judy, spend the Christmas holidays in South Beach at Mike's condo.  He told them it would mean a lot to him if he could repay all their kindness to him in some small measure.  Mr. Broman said he and Mrs. Broman would talk it over, but that it sounded like a nice change of pace.  Mike figured that with a six bedroom condo, there would be plenty of room.

When they returned from church, Mrs. Broman went into the kitchen to see how dinner was progressing, and Mr. Broman and the kids went into the library, everyone's favorite room.  Dinner would be served at 2:00.

Mr. Broman offered Matt and Mike a glass of wine.  When Jeff asked if he could have one, too, Mr. Broman said he could.

"Boy, it sure pays not to be the firstborn," Matt laughed.  "You didn't let me have wine when I was in high school!"

"Well, Jeff is very mature and responsible," Mr. Broman said.  "Unlike others were at his age."

Jeff gave Matt the finger and a triumphant look when his dad wasn't looking.

"Martha, what can I get you, dear?" Mr. Broman asked.

"How about some cranberry juice, if you have some," she said.

"Coming right up."

Mike took the opportunity to sit next to Martha on one of the couches.

"Mart, I've been wanting to talk to you," Mike said.

"Yeah, we don't get to see too much of each other," Martha responded.

"Did Mom talk to you about Matt and me?"

"Yes.  I was surprised, but I wasn't," she said.  "You two have been through so much together and it's made you close."

"That's true.  Are you OK with our relationship?  It's a little unusual."

"I think so.  I don't completely understand it, but I care about both of you.  If this is right for you both, it's fine with me."

"That means so much to me."  Mike put his arms around her and kissed her.  "I love ya, Mart."

"Same here, Mike.  I wanted you for myself, but Matt got there first.  What a rat he is!"

"That's so true!"  They both laughed.

"Is there anyone special in your life?" Mike asked.

"No, not really.  I haven't done any serious dating yet."

"Well, there's time enough for that.  You're a beautiful girl, and you'll be a beautiful woman.  You look just like Mom.  And that's hot, believe me.  By the way, I get approval of the lucky guy when the time comes.  I'm gonna grill him 'til I'm sure he's fit to be in your company.  Many will undoubtedly fail!"

"Yeah, right!"  Martha laughed.

They went on to talk about their experiences in school, and the time flew by.  Matt and Jeff joined them, and before they knew it, it was time for dinner.

The table was beautifully decorated for the holiday, and was laden with a golden brown turkey and all the trimmings.  The candles flickered as they joined hands and Mr. Broman returned thanks for a loving family and for the food they were about to eat.  Mr. Broman seated his wife, Matt seated Martha, and they dug in after pouring more wine.  Everything was delicious, and the three boys ate like there were no tomorrow.

The remainder of Matt and Mike's vacation was relaxed and carefree now that their major worry of coming out was behind them.  The day to return to school inevitably rolled around.  They packed up the truck, and the family came out to say goodbye.  Mike made sure he expressed his and Matt's special thanks to each of them for their understanding and kindness as they prepared to go.  As they were pulling away, Mr. Broman stopped them, and told Mike that the family wanted to take him up on his offer to go to South Beach for Christmas, which pleased Mike immensely.

"If its too late to fly commercial, we'll get Uncle Jack's company plane," Mr. Broman told them as they drove out of the driveway.

Once on the interstate, with Matt driving, they sang along with the CD player and talked more about how good it felt to be out to everyone that counted in their lives.

"Hey, I have a story for ya!" Matt eventually said with enthusiasm.

"I think they passed that no-singing/no-joke law I prayed for, death penalty and all.  You don't want to be strapped to a gurney with that special sauce flowing into your arm, do ya?"

"No, you'll like this story, particularly since you mentioned the death penalty."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No.

"Three guys go to the Amazon on a vacation.  While there they
get lost, and are captured by a tribe of bad-ass natives.  They are
taken into the deepest, darkest part of the jungle and tied onto poles
in a clearing.

"After night falls and a huge bonfire is blazing, all the tribe members
assemble and began chanting and making merry in anticipation
of a great evening's fun at the expense of the three vacationers.

"Suddenly, a hush falls over the crowd - the Chief has arrived!  He
goes over to the first guy tied to a pole and asks, 'DEATH, or Uga Buga?'
The guy, not knowing what it is, answers that he'll take the Uga Buga.
The crowd breaks into an uproar!!  Eight of the biggest, strongest and
most virile savages step out of the crowd, free the guy from his pole,
bend him over a log and sodomize him for 30 minutes.  The crowd is
elated!

"The King walks over to the second guy, and asks 'DEATH or Uga Buga?'
The second guy looks at the first guy, still gasping for breath and
writhing on the ground, and swallows hard.  He thinks to himself, 'I
don't know if I can take that or not, but I'm too young to die.'  He
also chooses Uga Buga! Again, the crowd erupts in glee.  Eight more
savages emerge from the crowd, take the second guy off his pole, and
sodomize him for 45 minutes!!

"The third guy is in a real sweat!!  The king approaches him and asks
'DEATH or Uga Buga?'  The third guy looks over at the first two guys.
It's not a pretty sight.  He swallows hard and answers 'DEATH!'  The
Chief is astounded!  With a puzzled look he replies, 'OK, DEATH!
DEATH BY UGA BUGA!'"

Mike coughed to stifle a laugh.

"You need some Uga Buga," he said.

"I thought you'd really appreciate that story 'cause you're a swimmer.  I hear all kinds of strange things go down in the pool locker room after practice," Matt said.

"Yeah, we swim, we shower, we get dressed, we leave.  Not like you oversexed apes in the wrestling locker room.  Anything can happen over there, and usually does.  At least that's the rumor."

"Now I'm feeling negative vibes in this truck!  And negative vibes make me want to SING!  How about a little Right Said Fred?  I know all the words, by the way."  And he started crooning, "I'm too sexy for my shirt. . ."

"Noooo!  I loved your story!  It was the best I ever heard!" Mike said pleadingly.  "Please stop!  It's against the Geneva Convention."

"I just don't understand why you don't like my singing," Matt said.  "I have a trained voice, you know."

"I've heard better singing in the dingo house at the zoo," Mike responded.  "Did they train you?"

"I'm too sexy for my hat, too sexy for my hat, whatcha think about that?" Matt resumed singing.

"Slow down, there's a semi coming," Mike said.  "I wanna hurl myself out on the highway.  If I'm lucky, it'll hit me."

"All right, I'll stop singing, but it will cost you another story."

"Anything, but no more singing!!"

"OK, then.  Two gay guys decide to have a baby.  They mix
their sperm, then have a surrogate mother artificially
inseminated. When the baby's born, they rush to the hospital.

"Two dozen babies are on the ward, 23 of whom are crying
and screaming.  One, over in the corner, is smiling serenely.
A nurse comes by, and to the gays' delight, she points out
the happy child as theirs.

"'Isn't it wonderful?' one of the guys exclaims.  'All these
unhappy children, and ours is so happy.'

"The nurse says, 'He's happy now ... but just wait until we
take the pacifier out of his ass.'"
 

Mike again stifled a laugh.

"I'm reporting you to the Gay-Straight Alliance the minute we get back to school," he said.

"Oh, oh, I'm feeling a negative vibe, here!  You know what that means!"

"Noooo!  It was a really cool story.  I'm laughing on the inside!"

"I sincerely hope so.  By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to sing and tell you stories."

"Now that's hilarious!" Mike snorted.

"You're no fun!  Turn up the CD!"

They continued their verbal jousting all the way back to school, and loved it.

                                                                                    *  *  *

The next few weeks before Christmas passed at blinding speed, as the boys concentrated on studying for finals and each maintaining his competitive edge in his sport.  Relationships with their respective teammates continued to be good, and Matt and Mike felt that they had chosen the right path in coming out to everybody who mattered to them, especially their family.  They felt completely at peace with who they were now, with no secrets hanging over their heads.

Matt was really pumped when he heard that he had been selected to represent the university in an invitation-only Pan American wrestling meet in Mexico City during the second week in January.  Mike was really pleased to see Matt getting some recognition for his phenomenal record--one loss in two years.

Their dad called them to say that he wasn't able to get satisfactory plane reservations for everybody from home to Miami International before Christmas, so their Uncle Jack's company plane would take the rest of the family to Florida first, and then come back to University City to pick them up and bring them down after their finals were over.

"Bro," Mike said, "this is the first 'rich man' thing we've ever done.  This is kickass!"

"You don't know how surprised I am at Dad, laying out the cash for this.  We've never done anything like this in our lives," Matt said.  "I'm so jazzed I can't stand it!  I can't wait to get there and catch some rays!"

They started counting down the days and the hours before vacation.

A week before they were to leave for Florida, Mike called Jeff Miller, the lawyer Matt's dad had retained when Matt and Mike were under suspicion in Jason Stelling's murder, and went to his office to make a will.  Upon Mike's death, half his money would go to Matt.  The other half of his estate was to be divided equally among Mr. and Mrs. Broman and Jeff and Martha, less $100 thousand each to PFLAG and the Gay-Straight Alliance, and $100 thousand to Mrs. Brighton, the Berman's former housekeeper.  Should any of the named parties pre-decease Mike, the money would be divided equally among the other parties still living.  Mike felt at more at ease about the trip once the will was signed, witnessed, and filed, and a copy sent to Mr. Broman.

As always, the boys felt that they had acquitted themselves well on their finals.  After the last test, they packed quickly so they would be ready when their Uncle Jack's pilot called from the airport.  Mike arranged for one of his swimming buddies, Mark Epps, to drive them out to the airport the next day, and told Mark he could use the truck while he and Matt were gone.

A shiny, new 8 passenger Learjet 31A was sitting at off to one side when the boys arrived at the airport, and after Mark dropped them off, they walked their bags out to the plane and got on board.  A cute female attendant greeted them and stowed their luggage.  Every inch of the cabin bespoke luxurious good taste.  The pilot came and greeted them, and after they had conversed with him for a few minutes, they sat down in plush seats and strapped themselves in.  The pilot went back to the cockpit, and they heard the engines wind up and begin a gentle roar.  In a few minutes they taxied out on to the runway, and then were airborne.

They reached cruising altitude, and the seat belt sign went off.  They loosened their belts, and sat looking around.  The attendant asked if they would like soft drinks, and they asked for a couple of root beers.  When she brought them, Mike looked over at Matt.

"SoBe, here we come!  I can't wait to see some of the resident super studs struttin' around, showing their wares!" Mike said.

"Oh, didn't I tell you, you're not allowed to look at the merchandise down there.  I bought you a pair of opaque sunglasses to protect your eyes from the sun and the sight of all those beautiful men," Matt said. "I don't want you to rev your engine and bust something!"

Mike just snorted, and turned serious as he looked around the cabin.

"What's wrong with this picture?" he asked.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I'm loving every minute of this trip," Mike said, "but what a waste of fuel just to haul our two sorry asses down to Florida.  If I'd talked to the family earlier about this vacation, we could have flown commercial."

"I know.  But flying private is something everybody should do once in his life, so let's just enjoy it!  We'll plan better next time," Matt said.

"Yeppers, you're right.  And speaking of a plan, now that I'm thinking about it, and I'm always thinking about it, ya wanna join the 'mile high club?'" Mike whispered with a leer.

"Can we both fit in the bathroom?" Matt asked.

"I don't think so.  Your butt is too big," Mike said.  "And if you cut one of your humongous farts in that confined space, we'd both die instantly!  It might even kill the crew!"

"You're the only fart on this plane anybody has to worry about."

The pilot joined them just then to say that their travel time would be a little over two hours, and to ask them if they wanted to see the cockpit.  They went forward, and saw a smaller version of the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.  Lights, buttons, displays, gauges, pedals and levers surrounded the two seats.  And what a view, as the clouds scudded by!  The co-pilot got up to take a break, and the pilot let the boys take turns sitting second seat for a few minutes.

They went back to the cabin, and still sleep-deprived from finals week, were soon dozing in their seats.

The next thing they knew, the attendant was waking them and asking them to buckle up for landing.

                                                                                *  *  *

There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the temperature stood at 75°.  They stood on the ocean side of the wide terrace that ran completely around the penthouse--which occupied the entire 36th floor--and looked down on the ribbon of sand bordering the ocean.  The view was breathtaking.  There was a nice private swimming pool on their south terrace.  The condo was furnished beautifully, and Mike recognized some pieces of his deceased grandmother's antique furniture here and there.  He realized anew with a pang that she had never had a chance to enjoy her new place.

There were just enough bedrooms.  Grandma Hagerty, Jeff and Martha each had their own room, and the the Bromans, Jack and Judy Hagerty, and Matt and Mike took up the other three bedrooms.  Over their own protests, Matt and Mike got the master bedroom and a private bath.

Their dad and uncle left to buy a Christmas tree and some decorations to kindle the spirit of the upcoming holiday.

Matt and Mike unpacked their suitcases, and put on swimming trunks and sandals to walk down to the beach with Jeff and Martha.  On the way to the water they walked through Penrod's, a bar-restaurant, and on down to the ocean, reveling in the sun, water and sand.  The water was warm, and they all took a swim and then came back and collapsed on the sand to catch a few rays.  Matt, Mike and Martha watched the beautiful boys passing on the beach, and Jeff stared at the girls.

They hadn't brought any suntan lotion with them, so after 20 minutes of sun on their front and 20 minutes on their backs, they ran in and out of the water to cool off, and then headed back to the condo before they got burned.

When dinner time came, Grandma Hagerty, Jack and Judy, and the older Bromans trooped off to a restaurant they wanted to try, and the four kids stayed in and ordered pizza.  After they ate and dusk came, they all went out to the west terrace and watched the sun begin to set across Miami Beach, Miami Bay and Miami itself.  The expanse of it all blew them away.  They dragged patio chairs to the rail of the deck and watched the stars come out to compete with the emerging lights of the two cities.

The adults came back about 9 p.m. with a light buzz on, and they joined the young people on the terrace.  Matt and Mike thanked their Uncle Jack for the the plane ride, keeping to themselves their reservations about wasting resources for just the two of them.  About 10 p.m., still tired from finals, Matt and Mike excused themselves and went to bed.  Their bedroom was on the ocean side of the building, and they opened the sliding doors and let the gentle breeze off the water billow the curtains.

"Uga Buga," Mike whispered in Matt's ear after they had showered, and they proceeded to have wild and prolonged sex, in every conceivable format, to make up for several days of deprivation during finals week.  They fell asleep holding each other, covered with cum, and too exhausted to clean up.

The next morning, after breakfast, the four youngsters put up the Christmas tree, put the lights on it, and put other Christmas decorations around the condo in strategic spots.  After the Miami rush hour was over, Matt and Mike borrowed their dad's rental car and drove up to Palm Beach to do their Christmas shopping, something they had been too preoccupied with school to accomplish before vacation.  The amount of traffic on I-95, even at off hours, amazed them.  They split up at the shopping centers they visited so the presents they were buying would remain a mystery.

They arrived back at South Beach mid-afternoon, and took a quick nap out on the terrace after putting suntan lotion on each other.

"I have a surprise for you," Mike said when they went back to their room to shower before dinner.  He reached into his wallet, and pulled out two picture I.D.'s, one for Matt and one for himself, which stated that they were 21 years old.

"Where did you get these?" Matt asked in surprise.

"Mark Epps has a friend who makes them, and I figured we might need them on this trip," Mike said.  "They look pretty good, huh?"

"Like the real thing."

"I thought we might go up to Ft. Lauderdale to the Copa tonight," Mike said.

"What's the Copa?" Matt asked.

"According to the Damron gay guide, it's a big dance club.  I thought we should check it out.  Do you realized that you and I have never danced together publicly?"

"Awesome!" Matt said.  "I'm ready for some fun."

They borrowed the car again, and headed for Ft. Lauderdale about 10 p.m.  After paying a couple dollars to park at the Copa, they went inside.  It was cavernous, with separate bars scattered all over the place and a huge, central dance floor where huge speakers were pumping out music so loud you could feel it in your gut.  The crowd was sparse at 11 o'clock but by midnight the place was jumping, populated with beautiful men and boys, and a few women, who were set on having a good time.  Both boys paced themselves on alcohol consumption.

After a few drinks, Mike kissed Matt soundly on the lips and dragged him out into the midst of the perspiring crowd on the dance floor.  They began to dance, one song segueing into the next.  Soon they began to perspire themselves, and were really getting into it.  After about an hour, drenched with sweat despite the air conditioning, they went into a little side bar and sat down for another drink.  They were noticed and got cruised frequently by guys on the make.  There was a male porn flick on the monitor over the bar, and they watched a little of that.  They really hadn't seen much male porn before, but neither of them saw anything they hadn't already tried themselves.

Alternately dancing, stopping to drink, chatting it up with some of the guys around the various bars, and watching the flicks, the time passed quickly, and they finally left about 2:30 in the morning, feeling happy and relaxed.

"Are you OK to drive?" Mike asked.

"Yeah.  I haven't had anything for the last hour, so I should be."

Once back on I-95 toward Miami, Mike looked at Matt inquisitively.

"How did you like it?"

"Kickass, man!  I needed that!  I haven't felt so good in a long time." Matt said.

"Me, too.  It feels great to touch you in public without worrying how people are gonna react, you know?"

"Yeah, I admit I feel freer in a crowd of gays.  I've never cared to see people make fools of themselves in public with displays of affection, hetero or homo, but I think we should lose some of our aversion to never showing any at all, don't you?"

"Yeah, as long as we're focused on communicating something to each other, and not putting on a show for bystanders," Mike responded.  "We don't have anything to prove to anyone else, and certainly not to each other."

"You're wise beyond your years, and hardly dry behind the ears!" Matt said.

"Why, thank you, dude!  May I say the same of you?"

"Certainly, my man.  Feel free!"

A Florida Highway Patrol car flew by them, lights flashing, and stopped the car ahead of them for some unknown reason.  As they continued down the highway, motorists were pulled over by the Highway Patrol every few miles all the way to the MacArthur Causeway to Miami Beach.

Back at South Beach, they used their entry card to the garage and parked under their building.

They showered and went to bed, where fueled by alcohol and the erotic images they had seen on the monitor at the Copa, they 69'd, both climaxing after prolonging the act as long as they could.  Then they kissed hungrily, tongues battling, each tasting the cum from himself and the other before they swallowed.

"You're the most important thing in my life, Mike," Matt said, holding him tightly.

No response.  Mike was already out and beginning to snore softly.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and the family just lazed around, played board games and shuffleboard on the terrace, and swam.  Mrs. Broman looked up the parishes in Miami Beach and Miami in the phone book, and they all decided to go to midnight mass in Miami Beach that evening.  The church was packed, but the service was well done and satisfying.  The choir was excellent, and the priest could actually had a good singing voice for his part of the mass.

They arrived back at the condo, and opening their presents seemed to be the thing to do.  Mrs. Broman fixed drinks for the adults and gave the kids soft drinks.

Matt had bought Mike a Palm Pilot, something Mike had been admiring in the electronics store windows for awhile.  Mike gave Matt a necklace with the same medium heavy gold links as the I.D. bracelet he had given him last year.  They were each very pleased.  There were oh's and ah's around the living room as everyone opened their gifts.  Mr. Broman told Jeff that when they got home, they would go look at vehicles so they could place an order for a car or truck for Jeff's high school graduation present.  Jeff was ecstatic.

                                                                                *  *  *

The remainder of their vacation was pleasant and relaxing, and Matt and Mike were sorry to see it end.  The adults decided to stay a few days longer in Miami Beach after the kids had to leave.  Mike suggested that Uncle Jack's plane take the four kids home, and that Jeff could then drive Matt and him back to school rather than having the plane make an extra trip.  So it was agreed.

Once back at school, the boys settled into their familiar routine.  Mike's leg was almost back to normal from the hematoma, and he was again swimming full out.  Matt worked especially hard getting in shape for his Pan-Am wrestling appearance, and before he knew it, he was on his way to Mexico City for five days.  He loved the city and the people, but the air quality was terrible, and he could feel the effects in his lungs.

Matt won all his matches, and due to a last minute forfeit by his final opponent, he caught an early flight home, arriving back at the University City airport at dusk.  He tried to call Mike, but got no answer, so he took a cab back to their apartment.  It was dark by the time the cab dropped him in front of their landlady's house, and he began carrying his bag up the driveway to the coach house.  Mike's truck was sitting out, and Matt could see the outline of Mike's head in the back window.  He's probably listening to some tunes before going upstairs, Matt thought to himself.

He snuck up to the left hand door of the truck, and yanked it open.  The dome light came on.

Mike was sitting there with his fly open, Mark Epps' head in his lap, getting a blow job.

Mike looked into Matt's eyes, his face a mask of surprise and regret, before Matt slammed the door and ran up the stairs to their apartment.  Matt heard both doors of the truck slam shut as he went inside.

He dropped his bag and sat down on the couch in a state of shock.  Mike came in and sat on the couch beside him.

Silence.

"Why didn't you just take a gun and kill me instead?" Matt asked, not looking at Mike.

"Matt, I'm sorry."

"How long has this been going on?"

"There hasn't been anything going on.  I didn't even know that Mark was gay until tonight.  He wanted to do it, and I was weak.  Please don't hate me," Mike pleaded.

Mike put his arm over Matt's shoulders.

"Don't, Mike."  Matt shrugged off Mike's arm.  He picked up his bag, took it into the spare bedroom, and shut the door.  Feeling terrible, he lay down on the bed in the fetal position, and eventually drifted into a troubled sleep, not waking until the next morning.

The next week was living hell.  Matt moved all his personal things into the second bedroom, and refused to speak to Mike or spend any time around him unless absolutely necessary.  The shock of losing a soul mate took its toll on both of them--neither was eating or sleeping properly.

After a week, Mike told Matt that he knew Matt couldn't forgive him, and that it would be better if Mike moved back into the jock dorm for the remainder of the year.  He said he would leave the truck for Matt, since the apartment was farther away from campus than the dorms.  He also said he would continue to pay half the apartment rent through the end of the year.  Matt didn't say anything, and the following Saturday, Mike moved out.

The apartment was like a tomb to Matt.  He was numb and depressed.  He was so low he didn't even jack-off despite the lack of sexual outlet.  He found one of Mike's flannel shirts in the laundry hamper, and began to sleep with it just for Mike's scent.  His life consisted of classes, wrestling and back to the apartment.  He cared about nothing, and was dead inside.

He saw Mike across campus a couple of times, and they nodded, but never approached each other.

Three weeks later, Matt got a call from Bob Dalton, a teammate of Mike's, and Mike's new roommate.

"I thought you'd want to know that Mike is in the hospital, Matt."

"What happened?" Matt asked, his stomach suddenly in knots.

"They think he has meningitis.  They took him in last night."

"Where would he get that?"

"It's all over the news.  There's quite a little epidemic here on campus.  For some reason, he hasn't been sleeping very well.  And of course, he's been working as well as swimming.  That's a heavy schedule.  I think his resistance was low."

"Working?  What for?"

"He said he needed the money to pay for the dorm room and for his half of the apartment rent.  He's been busing tables at Houlihan's."

Matt groaned.  "Do you know how he's doing?"

"Well, I'd get over to the hospital.  When I was there this afternoon, they said it didn't look good.  They gave me some shots, by the way, so they may want you to get them, too."

Matt thanked Bob, and hung up, awash in guilt.  Moving fast, he grabbed his cap and jacket, and ran down to the truck.  He was at the hospital in five minutes.

He went to the front desk, and asked where Mike's room was.  He was told he was in the ICU, and couldn't have visitors.

Matt went to the ICU, identified himself, and asked to speak with Mike's doctor, who came out to see him immediately.

"Mr. Broman, I'm Dr. Saxton.  I'm taking care of Mike."

"Thank you for seeing me so quickly.  Can you fill me in on what's going on?"

"Yes.  Mike has Pneumococcal Meningitis, one of the most serious varieties.  It's bacterial in origin, and occurs from an infection of the spinal fluid and the fluid surrounding the brain.  We confirmed the diagnosis with a spinal tap.  We got him in here later than we like--the earlier the antibiotics are administered, the better the results are in combating this disease.  Mike is in and out of a coma, and I have to tell you that the prognosis is not good at this point.  He's not fighting back to the degree I would expect from someone of his age and physical condition, and I'm very concerned.  I think you should notify your family right away."

"I'll call them.  Can I see him?"

"Well. . .we don't ordinarily allow that in cases like this.  He probably won't know you."

"I need to see him, Doctor, especially if he's in as much danger as you say.  I can help him fight this, I think, if I can see him for a few minutes."

The doctor regarded him thoughtfully.

"OK, you call your family, and come back here to the nurses' station for a gown and mask.  I'll give you some time with him.  I'm going to give you some preventive shots, too, just in case."

"You don't know how I appreciate this," Matt said.  "I'll call the family, and be right back."

Matt called home, and Mr. Broman said they would be on their way within the hour with Jeff and Martha.  Matt said they should stay at his apartment, and his dad said they would after they came to the hospital.

Matt went back to the nurses' station.  The nurse took him into a room adjoining the nurse's station, and gave him two shots.  Then she gave him a cap, gown and mask, and helped him to put them on.  Matt asked for gloves as well, saying that he wanted to touch his brother.  The nurse complied, and led him into quarantine in the ICU.

Mike was lying in bed, eyes closed, and looking as white as his sheets despite his Florida tan.  He was hooked up to two IV's, the contents dripping down into either arm.

"Mike, it's Matt, can you hear me?" Matt whispered through his mask.

Mike slowly opened his eyes, gave Matt a half-smile and shut his eyes.

"Mike, please listen to me.  I miss the hell out of you.  I want you to come back to the apartment when you get out of here.  We started this trip together, and I'm not gonna make it without you."

No response.

"I forgive you, Mike, for what happened, and I hope you can forgive me for taking so long to tell you.  I've been a prick, and I'm sorry.  We're human beings, we make mistakes.  I love you, Mike.  Please fight this thing and come home."

Again, no response.

Matt caressed Mike's forehead, and sat down in a chair next to the bed and held his hand.

He began to pray.

The black hearse wended its way around the circular drive in front of Old St. Paul's Church, its tires crunching in the heavy frost on the ground, and stopped at the front entrance.  It was followed by several dozen cars.  The tower bell tolled sadly as car doors began popping open.  Six of Mike's swim teammates gathered at the back door of the hearse under a cold, gray sky that promised snow.

The funeral director slid the casket halfway out.  The six young men donned gray gloves, grasped the rails, and walked the casket up the front steps to a rolling catafalque.  They paused briefly while an embroidered white pall was put over the casket, and then, preceded by a crucifer and the priest, rolled the coffin toward the altar as the organ played softly and the priest intoned scripture.  The family followed behind the casket, looking devastated.  Seated on either side of Matt, Mrs. Broman and Martha held his hands after they filed into the front pew.

Once the casket was properly in place in the chancel, the priest filled the thurible, censed the altar, and began the Mass of the Resurrection for Michael Andrew Berman Broman, departed and now ready to be commended to Almighty God.

Matt awakened with a start and sat bolt upright in bed, tears streaming down his cheeks.  He shook off the terror of his dream, and reached over to feel for Mike.  He was there beside him, breathing slowly and evenly until Matt's touch woke him.

"Matt?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing, buddy.  Go back to sleep."  Matt bent down and kissed Mike on the side of his head.

" K."  Still very weak, Mike was soon snoring softly.

Matt waited until he was sure Mike was asleep again, and eased himself out of bed.  He went into the kitchen, microwaved a cup of milk to warm it, and sat down at the kitchen table.

The last week, prior to Mike's release from the hospital, had been horrendous in its stress and tension.  And yet there had also been the joy of rediscovering the love and support of family in time of need.

The Bromans had arrived at the hospital from home to find Matt at Mike's bedside, distraught and exhausted.  They immediately set up a schedule so that one of them would be with Mike at all times, 24/7, except when he was being bathed, medicated, or the bed changed.  When the head ICU nurse objected at having family underfoot all the time contrary to the rules, Mr. Broman had a private chat with her.  She immediately grasped the logic of it all, and acquiesced.

Jane Broman had wanted to stay for the first shift, so after she was gowned, masked and at Mike's side, Matt led the way back to the coach house with Jeff in the truck, as his dad and Martha followed in their car.  They carried the luggage upstairs, and Matt put his dad in the spare bedroom, and he and Jeff prepared to sleep on the floor in sleeping bags so that Martha could have Matt's and Mike's bed.  Martha tried out the couch, and said she wanted to sleep there, so Matt and Jeff took the bed.  Jeff watched a little TV, but Matt was so tired he went to sleep immediately, setting the alarm clock for 5 a.m.

When the alarm went off, he put on a robe and went into the kitchen.  Mr. Broman was already up.  Matt made him some eggs and toast and coffee, and they went over to the hospital together so Matt could bring his mother back to the apartment.  He saw to it that she ate breakfast, and then she went to bed.

So began seemingly endless days of catching meals on the fly and changing shifts at Mike's bedside.  Slowly, over the next four days, Mike began to respond to the family that surrounded him with love and concern day and night.  His medical indicators began to improve.

Dr. Saxton told Mr. Broman that he was amazed by Mike's turnaround in such a short time, given the fact that he had been very close to death.  The doctor also said that it was a good lesson for people in his line of work--never underestimate the power of love to stir a patient's will to live.

The Bromans left for home the day that Mike was released from the hospital.  Matt had already gone over to Mike's dorm room, and picked up his shaving kit and other essential things.  He felt a little guilty that he hadn't told the family about the rift between Mike and himself, but decided at that point that it was nobody's business but their own.

Before the family left, Matt took each one of them in his arms and thanked them for their love and kindness.  When they were gone, he wept that he had had no better way than that to express the gratitude he felt for what they had done for Mike.  And for him.  He felt that they had saved Mike's life.

Dr. Saxton took Matt aside for a few minutes as Mike was being readied to leave the hospital.  He told Matt that the period of recovery from meningitis could be prolonged, and discussed a multitude of possible complications:  hearing loss, brain damage, epileptic seizures, changes in eyesight, violent temper tantrums, aggression, mood swings and learning difficulties.  He said he wanted Mike in for a follow-up exam every two days for the two weeks after he left the hospital, and that Matt should make an appointment for him to have a hearing test as soon as possible.

When Matt heard the doctor's spiel about potential problems, he wondered momentarily whether he had made a mistake keeping him at school rather than sending him home with his folks.  A few minutes of reflection, however, confirmed for him that Mike was his responsibility, and that it was best that he took care of him himself.  Dan Smith, Mike's swimming teammate, had offered to spell Matt at the apartment for the first few days when Matt had to go to classes, and Mrs. Wilson, their landlady, agreed to sit with Mike while Matt was at wrestling practice.  Things seemed pretty well covered.

Mike's homecoming was low key on the outside, but very emotional for both boys.  Mike looked over everything, and felt a deep sense of contentment to be back.

Just the short trip from the hospital had exhausted Mike, and Matt put him to bed.

"Mike, do you want me to sleep in the other room?" Matt asked.  "Then I won't be waking you up.  You need your rest."

"No, please stay here with me.  I've been dreaming about having you in bed beside me since I moved back to the dorm, and I'm not even talking about sex.  Please don't leave me.  I'll even let you sing to me and tell me jokes."

Matt laughed.  "I'm on you like glue, bro.  You're really gonna be tired of me by the time you're well."

"No way.  I've missed you so much."  Mike's eyes teared up.  "I know we need to talk about some things."

"Yeah, we do, but when you're feeling better, not now, K?"

"Yes."

"Now, what do you want for supper?  I'll get you anything you want."

"Would a small steak be too much trouble?"

"I'll go to the store right now.  I thought you were gonna say pizza.  What else should I buy?"

"Well, soup, canned stew, and some ice cream, peanut butter if we don't have any, stuff like that.  Maybe we can order pizza tomorrow night."

Matt knelt down beside the bed and gave Mike a big hug.

"You got it, Mikey!  I'll be right back.  Don't go away!  I'll give you a shower when I get back, K?"

"I'm so glad to be back here with you, I may never never leave this apartment again," Mike laughed.  "And a shower sounds great!"

Matt went to the store, and when he got back a half hour later, Mike was sleeping.

Matt went into the kitchen, threw a couple of medium sized potatoes in the microwave, and when they were nearly done, put some small steaks in the broiler.  He made two small salads.  When he judged the steaks were medium rare the way Mike liked them, he put them on plates, cut Mike's steak up for him, split the potatoes and put sour cream on them, and took Mike his meal with a bottle of A-1 sauce and a glass of milk.

"I smelled the steak," Mike said, awake and with a big smile.  "This is really nice of you, Matt, thank you!"

"We gotta fatten you up a little, bro.  You look a mite puny."

They sat together on the bed, eating supper and watching TV.  After the rerun of New York Undercover they were watching was over, Matt pulled Mike out of bed and took him into the bathroom for his shower.  He stripped him down and put him on the scale.

"Man, you lost about 10 pounds the hard way," Matt told him.

Matt got undressed, and they got in the shower together.  Making sure Mike didn't fall, Matt washed him tenderly top to toe, and then just held him in the warm spray.

"I've sure missed looking into those baby blues," Matt said.

"Same here, bud.  But I prefer your baby browns, myself."

When the water started to cool, Matt helped Mike out of the shower and dried him off, watched while he cleaned his teeth, and then took him back to the bedroom.

"First, some ice cream for dessert, and then I'm gonna give you a back rub, OK?" Matt told him.  "You've been lying on your back a long time."

"I think I'm just gonna stay sick if this is what it gets me," Mike responded.

Matt chuckled and went for the ice cream.

After they ate, Matt put Mike on his stomach, warmed lotion in his hands, and rubbed his neck, back, buttocks and legs for almost 20 minutes, accompanied by Mike's grunts and groans of satisfaction.

"I feel like a cooked noodle, I'm so relaxed," Mike said when Matt was finished.

"Good.  That should help you sleep better.  Do you want fresh boxers, or are you going to sleep naked?"

"I'm fine the way I am.  Matt. . .I love you so much.  You and Mom and Dad and Jeff and Martha saved my life.  I know it.  I was a goner.  I could feel it coming until you all were with me.  I. . ."  Mike began to cry.

Matt took a tissue and wiped Mike's face, knowing that Mike's emotional state was in part the aftermath of the meningitis.

"Don't cry, bud.  I love you, too. Who would crave my singing and jokes the way you do?  We all love you, and couldn't do without you."

Mike smiled, and not more than 30 seconds later, he was asleep.  Matt covered him carefully, kissed him, and went out into the living room to study.  When he finally went to bed beside Mike, he felt complete again for the first time in many weeks.

Before he went to classes the next morning, Matt called all Mike's professors, explaining that Mike had just been released from the hospital due to a case of meningitis, and asking for make-up assignments and any special help that might be available so that he could catch up.  Matt was given the names of two tutors, and said he would call them.

Mike's swim coach already knew that Mike had been hospitalized from Bob Dalton, Mike's swim teammate and former roommate in the dorm, and sent his best wishes and said he wanted him back at practice as soon as the doctor released him.

Dan Smith showed up before Matt left for class, and said he would stay with Mike until noon.  Matt fixed breakfast for all three of them, woke Mike up, and they all ate together in the bedroom.  Matt gave Mike his robe, and Dan was taking Mike to the bathroom as Matt ran down the stairs to the truck to go to class.

Matt attended the two classes he had that morning, and hightailed it back to the apartment.  Dan and Mike were kibitzing and watching TV.  Matt thanked Dan, who left to attend one of his own classes.

Mike seemed a little more alert than the day before, and very cheerful.

"Mike, do you want to shower now or later?" Matt asked.

"Now would be great, if you have the time.  A shower would feel good."

"You got it, Mr. Man.  Let's go."

Matt helped him out of bed, and took him into the bathroom, once again getting in the shower with him so he didn't fall.  After the shower, he dried him off and gave him his meds, and then put him back in bed.

"Ready for lunch?"

"Yeppers.  I'm actually hungry."

"How about some soup and a sandwich?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Coming up," Matt said, and went into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later they were slurping soup and eating lunch meat sandwiches.

After they were done, Matt took the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, and came back to the bedroom.

"Mike, how do you feel today?"

"Better.  I feel stronger, and I can actually put two thoughts together without passing out."

"Good.  You need to let me know when you can study again.  Your profs gave me the name of a couple of tutors, and I want them to come in and help you when you're ready."

"Outstanding!  Thanks, bro."  Mike paused.  "Matt, I don't think you can keep up this kind of schedule, trying to study, and wrestle, and taking care of me and the apartment and doing all the shopping.  Don't you think I should go home, or at least to the University clinic, until I can pull my own weight?"

"No.  I thought it over, and I want to handle as much of this as I can.  You're my responsibility," Matt responded.

"I feel so bad about this.  I know I set myself up to get sick because I felt so bad about our situation.  And now you're the one who gets punished by having to wait on me."

"I thought we settled this early on in our relationship.  We're here for each other!  Didn't we?"

"Well, yes, but. . ."

"There are no buts, except for your big butt!  K?"

" K."  Mike started to cry again.  "What's the matter with me, why am I crying all the time?"

"One of the aftereffects, of meningitis, Mike."  Matt went on to list some of the psychological aftereffects, but for the moment skipped the potential physical problems that could result from the disease.  He figured Mike had enough on his mind right then.

Over the next week Mike got stronger, although he stayed in the apartment except for his doctor appointments.  Dr. Saxton reported that Mike's hearing test showed no loss of hearing, and there were no signs of any other permanent damage as a result of the meningitis.  Other than a few mild mood swings, Mike appeared to be home free, much to Matt's relief.

Matt's schedule, on the other hand--attending his own classes, going to wrestling practice, chasing down Mike's class assignments, coordinating people to stay with Mike when he wasn't there, studying, cooking, cleaning and doing laundry for both of them, was definitely wearing him out.  Still, Matt was glad he had made the decision to keep Mike at their apartment, and from his demeanor when he was around Mike, no one would have suspected how stressed out he was.

Mike continued to improve, and the second week after his release from the hospital, the doctor cleared Mike to begin attending classes and to watch swimming practice, but not to swim.  His teammates gave him a warm welcome back.  The third week he was allowed to get into the pool for some light swimming.

One night as they were going to bed, Mike turned on his side and looked at Matt.

"Matt, are we back on track enough that you'd feel OK about making love?  If we don't do it soon, I'm gonna hafta start looking for farm animals!"

"Are you sure you're horny?" Matt laughed.

"Horny?  Monica Lewinsky looks good to me!  I haven't even had sex with my right hand since we split up."

"Mike, I miss your body so much, but you know we have some work to do before things are right between us."

"I know that, and I'm not trying to avoid the issue.  I want to rebuild what we had, even better.  And if you don't want to have sex now, I'll stay celibate for you as long as it takes."

"No, I want you.  I love you, and I  miss being close to you that way.  I haven't had sex since we split up, either, and I want to."

Taking that as acquiescence, Mike rolled Matt on his back in the bed and proceeded to nibble and lick Matt's nipples until they were engorged.  Slowly, Mike began to lick Matt's flawless skin all over.  Mike then rimmed him repeatedly as Matt began to groan and leak precum from his rock-hard cock.  Taking his tongue out of Matt's ass, Mike inserted one finger, then two, and finally put the head of his dick in after lubricating it with his own precum.  Working his way in slowly with Matt's legs over his shoulders, Mike fucked him to orgasm with deliberation, massaging Matt's prostate repeatedly in the process.  Matt came so explosively he hit his own face, and then flooded his chest with semen as Mike loosed his own load inside Matt.  Mike lapped the cum from Matt's face and chest eagerly after pulling out.

Afterward, they cuddled and nuzzled one another, kissing softly.  Drifting off, Matt clung tightly to Mike as they lay facing one another, feeling satisfied and relaxed.  Mike gently stroked Matt's face and hair for a long time after Matt was asleep.

The next night the two boys set aside the last half hour before they went to bed to talk about their relationship, and decided they would do that three times a week until they they understood everything they could about Mike's being unfaithful to Matt.

They sat on the couch, cross legged, facing one another.  Both were a little uncomfortable, feeling their way through unfamiliar territory.

"Well, bro, since this was my idea, let me start," Matt finally said, looking Mike in the eye.  "I want you to know first of all that I didn't suggest doing this so we could pick at a painful wound.  I just think it's important to talk about it because the biggest problem we can have--one that could break us up for good--is if you can't forgive yourself for what happened.  I forgive you completely and I love you as deeply as I always have.  But if you can't forgive yourself, you'll end up resenting me, I just know it.  So wherever we go from here, how you feel about yourself and what happened is fundamental.  I wouldn't bother to bring this up if I didn't know you have high standards.  Have you really forgiven yourself?"

"No, I haven't," Mike said.  "I'm having a very hard time doing that.  I don't know how to do that.  I betrayed what I believe in, and I hurt you.  I don't know what to do about it."

"Were you ever going to tell me what happened if I hadn't seen you?"

"Yes, I would have.  I acted like a louse, but I'm not a liar.  I would have had to tell you."

"Why did you do it, Mike?  Are you attracted to Mark?"

"No, Mark is just a friend.  He doesn't hold a candle to you in any way."

"Why, then?"

"Very honestly?"

"Yes."

"Because you're so perfect and so fucking complete as a human being, Matt.  I feel like I'm nothing compared to you.  Sometimes I feel swallowed up--like I don't have an identity.  I think I got it on with Mark just so I'd know I had some identity that didn't depend on you, as pitiful as that sounds.  I admit it was nice to be wanted by someone outside of our relationship.  Maybe I did want to hurt you, but I didn't consciously plan it, and I'm ashamed it happened."

"Reality check, Mike.  You're physically beautiful, you're a gifted athlete, you're compiling a brilliant academic record, even the macho males on your swim team care about you and protect you from being gay bashed, and you're part of a loving family.  You've got it all, man.  And I've always felt you were a full partner in this relationship--you've certainly set me straight on things often enough when I was wrong.  What's this bullshit about feeling inferior?  I'm really surprised."

"I don't know what to tell you.  Everything you say about me is true, I know, but I feel like I'm in your shadow.  Tell me what I should do."

"I don't know.  And if I did have the answer, and you did what I said, it would just confirm in your own mind that I have the answers and you don't."

"Common, Matt, I'm floundering here.  I need some help.  I don't want it to be over between us.  We've always said we couldn't make it without each other.  Well, we probably could, but from my perspective it would be hell, judging how I felt when I was living in the dorm again without you."

"Well, I can tell you what I do when I have trouble forgiving myself for something, but it may not be right for you.  I go to confession."

"I can't get absolution for being gay."

"Being gay isn't what's bothering you, is it?  If it is, we've got a bigger problem than I thought."

"No, you're right.  I don't think being gay is a sin, or having gay sex in a committed relationship is a sin.  But the church thinks the sex part is," Mike said.

"If you feel you betrayed our relationship and that's what you can't forgive yourself, then that's what you need to confess.  Being gay or having gay sex doesn't have anything to do with it.  You don't need to talk about what's not bothering your conscience, although I know the church says different.  If we're wrong on that, God will sort it out later."

Mike looked at Matt thoughtfully.

"Why don't you think about it, and we'll talk again in a couple of days," Matt said.  "But I think it's an important issue for us to put behind us before we move on to how you're feeling about yourself."

" K," Mike said.  "Thanks for letting me be honest with you without getting mad at me and pushing me away."

"That's not in the cards, bro!"

They went to bed and made sweet, gentle love, and then lay there for a long time just holding each other before they drifted off to sleep.

Two nights later, a half hour before bedtime, they were back on the couch, facing each other.

Mike started.  "I've been thinking your suggestion to go to confession, and I think it's a good idea.  Tomorrow's Saturday, so I'll go tomorrow afternoon.  Do you think I should go to Canterbury or Newman?"

"I don't think it matters.  Either one.  I want to ask you something, though.  Do I need to be going, too, for anything I've done to make you feel bad about yourself in this relationship?"

"No, Matt.  It would be so cool for me if I could blame you in some way for what happened, but I can't honestly do that.  The problem is inside me."

"I guess I don't get it, as I told you last time we talked.  You and I are equal in so many ways, and you're ahead of me in some."

"Well, for one thing, I never had the family support you had when I was growing up," Mike said.  "I had my mother to confide in, but I didn't have the same security that you had in your family.  I'm not trying to blame my problems on my family--they were what they were--but I honestly think you had a leg up on me.  There's so much love in the Broman family I can't believe it even now--and I've been the recipient of a lot of it since I was adopted.  My dad was never around enough to be a role model for me, and he wasn't all that warm a person around family, anyway.  Kind of withdrawn.  When he did talk to me, it was to criticize.  Again, he was what he was, but I still feel bad that he never once came to a swim meet to watch me swim, and he even missed my graduation.  That didn't make me feel too cool about myself, I admit.  We were strangers, and that hurts me to this day."

"I admit I was incredibly lucky to have been born into the family I was.  I'm thankful.  Your situation with your dad doesn't sound cool at all.  But you and I are only 19 years old, for gosh sakes.  We don't think about it a lot, but we're still growing up.  The things that made us what we are, are very real, but we're not set in stone yet.  You must know that Mom and Dad saw some wonderful things in you, or they wouldn't have adopted you.  They aren't stupid, and they're pretty good at reading character.  I guess what I'm saying is, you're what those who love you are seeing, not as you're apparently seeing yourself-- as somehow deficient."

Mike looked at Matt with big eyes.

"So, you're saying I need to be listening to today's messages, not yesterday's," he finally said.

"Yeppers.  Exactly!  You're such a quick study," Matt said with a twinkle in his eye.  He moved forward, laid Mike back on the couch, and lay on top of him, face to face.

"See," Mike joked, "here you are on top again.  This confirms my worst suspicions about this relationship."

Matt picked him up, and lay down again, this time putting Mike on top of him.

"There!" Matt said, holding his face and kissing him.  "Mike, my heart is so full of love for you.  Please don't give up on us or on yourself."

Mike cried a little, and finally said, "Not gonna happen, my bro.  Not gonna happen."

They dropped off to sleep that way for awhile until Matt woke up and carried Mike to the bedroom, undressed him, and put him into bed.  Climbing in beside him, Matt offered a prayer of thanksgiving for Mike, for his recovery from meningitis, and for their family.

The next afternoon, true to his word, Mike went off to the Newman Center to make his confession.  When he came back to the apartment, he was calm and serene.  He sat down beside Matt, who was studying on the couch, and took his hand.  Saying nothing, he put his head next to Matt's, and they sat there quietly.  In a few minutes, Mike got up and went into the bedroom, where he changed into sweats and fired up the computer to check his e-mail.

Later as they fixed supper togther, Matt asked how confession went.

"Really well, I think," Mike said. "I confessed what was on my conscience, and was absolved.  I feel good about it, but I still want to continue our conversations about the two of us.  I've learned some things.  I feel as if I have a new lease on life.  I think our relationship is stronger than ever.  I hope you feel the same way."

"I do, Mike.  I think it's a good idea."

The next week, out of the blue, Mr. Broman called early one evening while they were studying.  Matt answered, and they exchanged pleasantries as Matt inquired after the family.

"Matt, get Mike on the other phone," Mr. Broman said, finally.

"OK.  Hold on."  Matt put his hand over the receiver.  "Mike," he yelled, "Dad wants to talk to us."

" K," Mike said, and Matt heard a click as he picked up the other phone.

"Hi, Dad, how are you?" Mike said.

"I'm well, Mike.  The question is, how are you?"

"I'm feeling better all the time, Dad.  I want to thank you and Mom and Jeff and Martha again.  I'd be dead now if it weren't for you all.  Seriously."

"I don't know about that, Mike, but you know we wanted to be with you.  We're just relieved you're doing so well."

"Thanks."

"Boys, I've been thinking about next summer.  You know I've always thought it was a good thing if you worked.  And I don't think it's hurt you any.  But as I look at what you've been through the last couple of years, your mother and I decided maybe you need to take this summer off and take a trip or something.  Would that be all right with you?"

The boys were speechless.

"You have a deal, Dad," Mike finally said.  "That would be so great, and we'd try to see some worthwhile things, believe me."

"Thanks, Dad.  That would be outstanding," Matt chimed in.

"Well, your mother and I wanted you to have something to look forward to at the end of the school year.  Matt, you haven't had a summer off since you were 14.  Mike, I don't know how long for you.  But that's the proposal, in a nutshell."

Excited, Matt and Mike thanked their dad again profusely, and sending love to everybody at home, hung up.

"Oh, man," Matt said, "I'm so pumped!  And surprised at Dad, I might add."

When Mike joined him in the living room, Matt picked him up and swung him around the room.  "How will it feel to be a man of leisure in a few months?"

"Kickass, bro!  Where we goin'?" Mike asked with a big grin.

"Shit, I don't have a clue.  We'll get out a map, I guess.  And oh, the singing and the jokes we'll enjoy along the way!"

Mike stopped smiling, causing Matt to grab him again and rain kisses on his face.  They ended up in a pile on the couch, laughing and tickling each other.

The call from their dad had energized both boys, and they looked forward to summer.  Mike was attending all his classes by this point and working with his tutors every day, and was back swimming full-out and feeling good.  Matt was so full of joy and energy that he was sparking his teammates to wrestle well above their abilities.  Talk on the team was that he would be selected team captain next year.  And the fact that Matt and Mike were screwing like minks every night and thoroughly enjoying each other didn't hurt their general attitude.

The only cloud on Matt's horizon was his pre-law class.  The professor was great, but Matt's section was taught twice a week by a teaching assistant by the name of Neil Anderson, whose distinctive nasal tone and supercilious attitude drove everybody in the class up the wall.  He would go out of his way to embarrass and humiliate the weaker students when they would stumble on answers, something Matt couldn't abide.  He always treated Matt with respect, though, and seemed to want to get to know him better, something Matt intuitively resisted.  Had Matt been less conscientious, he would have cut that class as frequently as possible without a second thought.  But being the bulldog he was, he forced himself to go.  Matt called Neil "the Weasel," and it seemed to fit him.  His long nose, thin, asymmetrical features and blotchy, flaking skin were a fit complement to his personality.

Midterms were fast appoaching.  Matt was confident, but because of the time he had lost from school when he was sick, Mike was worried despite the intensive tutoring he was getting.  Neither Matt nor Mike had failed to make the Dean's List since they metriculated, and Mike was fearful he wouldn't make it this time.  Both were burning the midnight oil getting ready for their tests.

It seemed as if the exams came and went in a flash, and even Mike felt he had been overly pessimistic about his chances of doing well.  And then it was time for spring break almost before they knew it.  They talked about going to Aspen for some late winter, early spring skiing, but decided since they were going to be gone all summer, that they would go home.  They also decided that they would bring Mike's bike back to school so they could do some spring riding when the weather broke.

The time Matt and Mike had invested over the past weeks in talking about their strengths and weaknesses as individuals and as a couple had borne rich fruit.  Both of them felt that their relationship was stronger and more loving than ever, and looked forward every day to the time they could spend hanging out together, tormenting one another, studying, and making love.  They were aware of a balance they had achieved as a couple that they had not been aware of before.

Tests over, they packed up the truck and were on their way home, feeling exuberant.

"I miss Jeff and Martha," Mike said as they drove out of town.  "We gotta do some things with them this vacation."

"I miss 'em, too.  And we hafta get Jeff prepared for his role as a slave if he's gonna live with us."

"You better watch it.  I bet he's really buff by now.  He might knock you on your butt, dude!"

"In your dreams, Mikey, in your dreams.  And don't think you can hide behind him if I need to punish you for one of your many lapses in good taste, bud!"

"My lapses.  I could write a best seller on your peccadilloes, spaz boy!"

"'Peccadilloes,' you say!  You used a big word, bro, and big words are forbidden in a redneck pick-em-up-truck like this.  That's punishable with, now let's see, what would be fitting?  Yep, that's right, a joke!"

"I don't suppose there's anything I could say or do to stop you," Mike groaned.

"No, it's inevitable, like the sun coming up, or my gettin' wood when I look at you.  You know.  Destined.  You'll like this one.  It has confession in it."

"Bummer."

"A priest is in a church on Saturday afternoon, hearing confessions.

"A man walks in and kneels down and begins his confession - 'Father, it
has been two weeks since my last confession, and these are my sins. Last
night I had sex with Nookie Green.'

"'That is your sin?'

"'Yes, Father.'

"'You are forgiven. Go out and say one "Our Father."' The man leaves.

"Soon, another enters and kneels. 'Father, it has been one month since my
last confession.  These are my sins. I have had sex with Nookie Green
every week for the last month.'

"The priest thinks to himself, This Nookie Green woman is fairly popular
with his male parishioners...  'Those are your sins?'

"'Yes, Father.'

"'You are forgiven. Go out and say three "Hail Mary's."' The man leaves.

"Soon, another enters and kneels down. 'Father, it has been six months
since my last confession. These are my sins, I have had sex with Nookie
Green twice a week for the last six months.'

"This time, the priest has to ask - 'Who is this Nookie Green?'

"'Just a woman I know, Father.'

"'Very well--you are forgiven. Go out and say ten "Hail Mary's."'

"The priest closes the church for the evening and leaves wondering who
this Nookie Green woman is . . .

"The next morning, the priest is up in front of his congregation saying
mass. The doors fly open in the back of the church and in walks this
woman, a tall redhead with long gorgeous hair, a green sequin dress,
green sequined heels and a green hat with a long green feather coming
from it. She walks straight up the aisle and sits down in the front pew
right in front of the priest, her knees apart. The priest cannot help but
stop and stare.

"He finally catches himself and leans over to ask the altar boy,
'Pssssst.. . . Is that Nookie Green?'

"The altar boy takes a long look and says, 'No, Father, I think it's just the
reflection off her shoes.'"
 

Mike looked out the side window, smiling, and then turned back to Matt with his face a mask.

"That has to be at the top of the bad joke list.  Where's the Spanish Inquisition when we need it?" Mike asked.

"Spanish Fly, you say."

"No, you heard me."

"Mikey, I'm feeling those negative vibes again.  What have I told you about that?"

"I forget."

Just then the radio station they were listening to began to play 'N Sync's Bye Bye Bye, and Matt began to sing along.

Mike made a face.  "How can such cute guys perform such trash?" he asked Matt.  "And how can you sing it?"

"Hehehe.  I do it for you, Mikey, all for you, out of the kindness of my heart."

"Well, be cruel, and stop.  I can take it."

"You should just admit you love my singing, and we'll go from there.  I could be in a singing group.  I have the talent and the voice for it, you know."

"Yeah, the Backalley Boys.  Your trademark could be garbage cans crashing together as you do your tunes."

"You have such a cruel streak, dude.  I'm hurt.  But every artiste has to endure insults.  We grow through our pain."

"You're a pain, and you know where.  Could you be quiet now?  I hafta pray," Mike said with a sly sideways look at Matt.

"Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God." Matt said.

"Now that's beautiful!  What is it?"

"It's from the Psalms--Forty-something, I can't remember."

"You amaze me sometimes with what's tucked away in that little pea-brain of yours, bro."

"Speaking of pee, I hafta stop at the next rest area.  How about you?"

"Yeah, me too.  Maybe they sell earplugs.  I'll pay big bucks."

They continued putting each other down until they took the next ramp off the interstate into a rest area. Matt went to the rest room while Mike filled up the truck with gas, and then Mike went in.  They met in the food service lobby, and had a snack before starting out again.

As they were moving toward the on-ramp with Mike at the wheel, Matt did a double-take as they went by the parked cars.  He thought he saw his teaching assistant from pre-law, Neil Anderson, in one of them with a bunch of rough looking guys, but they were past the other car so quickly, he couldn't confirm it.  I'm losing it, he thought to himself.  I'm seeing the Weasel everywhere.

Back on the interstate, Mike didn't spare the horses, and in an hour and a half, they were pulling into the Broman driveway.  As usual, the front door burst open and the truck was surrounded with family and staff by the time it rolled to a stop.  Mike got a lot of special hugs and kisses, and Mrs. Brighton's eyes were full of tears as she held him tight.

The boys grabbed their luggage out of the truck bed, and everyone started for the house just as a clap of thunder sounded, and it began to rain.  Running the last few steps, they all made it inside the hallway just as the storm hit with full fury.

"That's what I like--home in the nick of time," Matt said.  "Reminds me of when I was dating in high school and had a curfew.  I was always right on time then, too.  Hehehe."

"Liar, liar," Jeff said.  "I should know--I used to have to cover for you with Mom and Dad!"

"Now the secret's come out," Mrs. Broman laughed, "when it's too late to spank him."

"No, Mom, Jeff and I can hold him and Martha can spank him," Mike suggested.  "Just give us the word."

"All right, you guys, no rough-house, now!" Mr. Broman said.  "You two go get settled upstairs, and come on back down, and we'll talk."

Matt and Mike went upstairs, unpacked and put away their clothes.  When they were done, Mike held Matt and gave him a good long kiss.

"I gotta make up for all the smooches you gave me when I was sick," he said.  He reached down and squeezed Matt's crotch.  "Aha, just as I thought!  You got wood, boy!  What are we gonna do about that, do you think?"

"You stud!  You bring out the beast in me!" Matt said. "We're not gonna do anything about it right now.  Wait 'til I get you in bed, though!"

"Shoot, you can't get it up after the clock strikes 8 p.m.  It'll be another night of sexual frustration for me, I can tell."

Mike broke away, and ran out of the room and downstairs, with Matt in hot pursuit.  They entered the library out of breath.  Mike moved Mr. and Mrs. Broman apart on the couch so he could sit between them.

"I'm sorry to break you two up, but I need to sit here.  I have to tell you that your Matthew has been mistreating me terribly, especially on the trip home.  I almost jumped out of the truck to escape!  I need protection!"

"And you wouldn't be havin' a little of the devil in you, too, would you?" Mrs. Broman asked, simulating an Irish accent.

"I used to have, but Matt made me go to confession last Saturday, so now I'm pure.  Very pure!  He still has the devil in him, though.  I know that for a fact!  Look at his eyes!"

"Matt, is this true?  Have you been abusing our convalescent, here?"  Mr. Broman put a protective arm around Mike.

"Absolutely not true, Dad," Matt said.  "I was even quoting Scripture on the way home to try to help this boy.  Wasn't I, Mikey, and don't lie!"

"I thought it was Wiccan philosophy, isn't that what you said it was?" Mike shot back.

"All right.  I've heard enough.  I pronounce you both morons," Mr. Broman said, laughing.  "College has helped you torment each other in a much more literate way, I'll have to say that.  You're giving me second thoughts about letting Jeff go to school anywhere near you two."

"Jeff, what have you heard about that?" Matt asked.

"I got accepted at the University," Jeff said.  "And I got a baseball scholarship.  Cool, huh?"

"That is so great, man!  Congratulations!" Mike said, and got up and shook Jeff's hand.

"Outstanding, bro!" Matt said, following suit.  "Our offer is still good on the room, too."

"Just out of curiosity, Jeff, how many schools accepted you, anyway?" Mike asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Jeff said, blushing.

"Seven," Mrs. Broman said.  "Don't be so modest, Jeff.  You've earned the right to blow your own horn a little."

"Wow," Matt said.  "That's fantastic, Jeff!"

"Martha, when you're ready to join us at school, we'll build on to the coach house so you can have your own room," Mike said.  "I'll help you civilize your brothers, the beasts!"

"That's a lost cause," Martha said.  "If Mom couldn't do it, there's no hope.  It's too late.  I think I read that the hardwiring of the brain is complete by age 5 or so, so there's probably no hope for any of you.  You're men! "

The three boys said, "Ouch!" simultaneously, and laughed.

The family went on to talk about midterms, life at school, and what had been going on at home.  The evening passed quickly and pleasantly.  About 10 o'clock the youngsters stood up to excuse themselves and go to bed.

"I just want to tell you all how much I love you, and how much I appreciate what you did for me when I was sick," Mike said.  "I know I was dying when you came down to school, and that your prayers and being with me brought me back.  Being part of this family and sharing your love have made up for everything bad that's ever happened to me.  I don't know how I could have been so lucky."  He started to weep, and embarrassed, turned to leave.

"Come here, Mike," Mrs. Broman said, and made him sit down again.  She folded him in her arms, and kissed his face.

"I'm sorry.  I just wanted you to know how I feel," Mike said.

"We know, dear.  And you've had a tough time," Mrs. Broman said.

"Mike's going to be fine, Mom, but he's still recovering from the meningitis," Matt explained.  "It leaves his emotions a little raw sometimes."

"I know.  That's why we're so glad you came home for your break instead of running off to Lord knows where for vacation.  We're going to take good care of our Mike while he's here."

"Thanks, Mom."  Mike kissed her, and left to go upstairs.

Matt lingered.  "He's right.  I really think he was gonna die until you came down to school.  We owe all of you a lot," he said.  He kissed his mom and dad good night, waved at Jeff and Martha, and followed Mike upstairs.

When Matt went into their bedroom, Mike was sitting on the side of the bed quietly.  Matt went over and sat beside him, and hugged him.

"You're my sweet boy, Mike, and I love you to death," Matt said.

Mike was surprised--they rarely used endearments for one another.  They lay back on the bed with their arms around each other, legs dangling.

"I feel so stupid when I can't control my emotions around people," Mike finally said.

"Don't worry about it," Matt said.  "You're recovering right on schedule, and none of the really terrible things that can come from meningitis have happened to you.  You're doing great."

They held each other tightly, and then got up to take a shower together.  When they went to bed, Matt made gentle love to Mike, and they fell asleep, entwined.

The boys spent the week and a half that they were home bumming around with Jeff and Martha, catching up on movies, listening to music, swimming and working out.  Matt made an effort to keep their vacation pace slow for Mike's sake.

It was too cold for a motorcyle ride, but they made arrangements to get a ramp so they could load Mike's bike into the truck and take it back to school for spring riding, and just in case they decided to spend their summer of leisure traveling by bike instead of taking one of the trucks.  They had about decided to spend the first few weeks of their summer at Mike's condo at Snowmass, and were looking forward to experiencing spring in the Rockies.  After that they thought they'd go out to Vancouver and travel south along the Pacific coast through Washington, Oregon, and California to Mexico.  They thought they'd at least go down to Ensenada.  They were starting to get more and more excited about the trip now that they were actually making plans.

Spring break over, they added their luggage to the CBR in the truck bed, said goodbye to the family, and were on the road back to school by midmorning.  They were in a great mood due to their summer plans, and were listening to music and having their usual verbal jousts, Mike at the wheel.

"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, I'm really glad you're feeling better because you've gotten spoiled while you were sick.  I'm gonna hafta take you in hand and get you straightened out," Matt said as he reached over and squeezed Mike's neck.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, I think you have been taking me in hand on a regular basis.  That was you, wasn't it?  It felt like you.  I'd know those fat, fumbling fingers anywhere."

"Oh, oh, negative vibes here.  And you know what that means."

"No!  This is my truck.  I don't have to listen to this!"

Matt started singing, "Bye, bye Miss American pie, took my Chevy to the levy, but the levy was dry. . ."

"I've heard you sound better when you're gargling in the morning than you do right now singing."

". . .and this will be the day that I die. . ." Matt sang louder.

"Lord, take him quickly and stop this squawking in my ears," Mike said.

"All, right, now I'm really insulted.  You have to be punished with a good joke," Matt came back.

"No, I'm begging you. . ."

"You'll love this one, Mikey, it's a travel story. . .

"A man and a woman were driving down the road arguing about
his frequent infidelity.

"Suddenly the woman reaches over and slices off the man's
pecker. Angrily the woman tosses it out the window of the
car.

"Driving behind the car is a fella in a pickup truck with his 10 year
old daughter chatting away beside him. All of the sudden, the pecker
smacks the pickup on the windshield and flies off.

"Surprised, the daughter asks her daddy, 'Daddy what in the
heck was that?'

"Not wanting to expose his 10 year old daughter to sex at such a
tender age, the father replies, 'It was only a bug, honey.'

"The daughter gets a confused look on her face, and after a
minute she says, 'Sure had a big dick!'"
 

Mike struggled to keep a straight face.

"You know, your jokes just keep getting worse.  When are you gonna hit bottom?" he said.

"You're just jealous that wrestlers have a joke repertory, and swimmers don't," Matt said.

"We don't need a repertory.  We just look at our sorry wrestling team, and that's all the humor we can stand!"

"Bad vibes again, Mikey.  But I'm gonna give you a sporting chance.  If you can tell me the answer to this question, no more jokes or singing from me on this trip, OK?"

" K, what's the question?"

"What do you call an Alabama farmer with a sheep under each arm?" Matt asked with a big smile of triumph already on his face.

Mike was quiet for a minute, and then said, "A pimp!"

Matt's smile disappeared. "You dufus!  How'd ya know?"

"Ha!  Just because swimmers have the good taste not to tell bad jokes doesn't mean that we don't know any!  I win, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah, silence is golden!"

"Stop gloating!  If you weren't driving, I'd give you a hickey that would take six months to heal."

"More promises, no delivery!  I've heard all this before."

They continued bickering back and forth until they hit the next rest area on the interstate, where they stopped and got gas and grabbed a burger and fries.

As they left, this time with Matt driving, Matt looked in his rearview mirror and throught he saw the Weasel again, in the same car as before with a bunch of guys, but couldn't be sure.  He didn't see them again once they got back on the interstate.

They arrived back at school without incident and unloaded their luggage.  They didn't have a ramp to unload Mike's motorcycle, so they drove a short way into the countryside, found a ditch of the right depth, backed the truck into it, and drove the bike off on to level ground.  Mike drove the truck, and Matt the bike, back to their apartment.

Things were soon back in their old routine, except that Matt and Mike were getting more and more excited about their upcoming trip.  They pulled up maps on their computers and continued to make plans for what they hoped would be the greatest summer of travel ever.  The anticipation kept them energized as the school year wound down.

One night Matt was coming out of wrestling practice and was walking alone toward the truck, when a rusty old blue van pulled up next to where he was parked.  He neared his own truck  and turned to unlock the driver's side door, when the van's side door slid back suddenly and somebody put a black hood over his head.  Myriad hands grabbed his arms and legs and hustled him inside the van.  He felt his limbs being bound tightly as the vehicle pulled away.  He could hardly breathe inside the hood.  There had been no chance to signal the campus patrol.  Matt was furious as he lay on the floor of the van, being jounced around.  Whether this was gay bashing or only a prank, someone was going to pay dearly for it.

One of Matt's teammates, coming out of the gym about 30 seconds after Matt, witnessed what had happened, and called the University City police.  He wasn't able to give them any information on the van other than it was a Chevy, dark blue and rusty, no windows on the sides, no license plates.  The first uniformed policemen on the scene radioed what information they had to the central station, and an all-points bulletin was put out by Dispatch on the van.  Patrol cars watched the main streets out of town for the vehicle. The uniforms also sequestered Matt's truck, and sent for a tow truck to take it to the police impound just in case something inside it would give them a clue about what had happened.

Meanwhile, Mike had arrived back at the apartment from swim practice before Matt got home, as usual, and was sitting in the living room reading when a knock came at the door.  Mike thought Matt must have misplaced his key, so he opened it, and was surprised to see a stranger standing there.

"Hello, I'm Detective Ray Stans.  You must be Matt's brother, Mike."  Stans showed his badge.

"Yeah, I'm Mike.  What's wrong?"

"May I come in?"

"Sure."

They went into the living room, and Mike motioned the detective to a chair.

"Mike, let me get right to the point.  One of Matt's teammates says he saw Matt being grabbed up by a bunch of guys in an old blue van tonight after wrestling practice.  Have you seen him?"

"No!  He's usually home by now, too.  What's happened to him?"  There was fear in Mike's voice.

"We don't know.  We have an all-points bulletin out on the van, and I'll be very surprised if they can get out of the city without being spotted.  Has Matt received any threats of any kind recently?"

"Not that I know of.  The gay bashing incidents have dropped off to practically nothing here on campus for the time being, and I don't know why anybody else would bother him.  This can't be happening!"

"Let's not get too worried yet.  This may turn out to be a prank," Stans said.  "I'd like to have another phone line and a tracing apparatus installed here in your apartment just in case it's something more.  Is that all right?"

"Yes, please.  You think he's been kidnapped, don't you?"

"It's too early to make that judgment, but we want to be ready for any eventuality.  Don't be upset.  We're going to get Matt back, and catch the guys who took him."

Mike got up and began to pace up and down the living room.  "Do you think I should call our dad and mom?"

"Why don't you hold off for a couple hours, and let's see if you're contacted.  If nobody calls, then you call your family."

"OK.  Isn't there something more we can do now?  I'm getting scared."

"Give the patrol cars a chance to spot the van.  Meanwhile, I'll get the technical crew in here with another phone line and the tracing equipment," Stans said.

Within a half hour, the apartment was crawling with technicians installing another phone line, recorders, and a box that supposedly would provide an instant trace on incoming phone calls.  They had everything installed in about 30 minutes, and everyone left except Detective Stans and two technicians who manned the equipment.

Mike made some coffee for the policemen, and walked around the apartment nervously until 10 p.m., when he called home.  Mrs. Brighton told Mike that Mr. and Mrs. Broman had left for London just that morning on business.  Matt didn't tell her why, but said he needed to talk with them right away.  She said she would call them at their London hotel when morning arrived over there, and have them telephone him.  Mike thanked her, and hung up.

Mike went to bed about midnight, really frightened for Matt.  The bed felt empty without him as Mike inhaled his lover's scent on the sheets.  He asked God to bring Matt safely back to him and the family.

There were no calls all night, and the only call early in the morning was from their mom and dad.  Mike gave them all the information he had.  They said they were cutting their trip short, and would fly into University City as soon as they could.  Their fear for Matt was palpable, even over the phone.

About 11 o'clock that morning the telephone rang, and the technicians immediately started the recording equipment.  The trace started the minute that Mike picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"We have Matt.  You want him back?"

"Yes."

"All right.  You have Daddy Warbucks get together $50 million in bearer bonds and cash for his little boy.  We'll call again with instructions for delivery."

The phone went dead.

Stans turned and looked inquiringly at the technicians.

"Cell phone," one of them said.  "Tower One.  Not far from the center of town.  That's as much as we can give you right now."

"Get more, and get it fast," Stans ordered.  "The clock's ticking, here."

"I'm going out for a few minutes, if that's all right," Mike said to Stans.  "I have something I gotta do."

"OK, but get back as soon as you can.  We don't know when they might call again."

" K," Mike said, and went out the door after snatching up his wallet.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he realized he didn't have the truck.  He went into the garage, and fired up his bike.  First he went to a cash machine, and withdrew $1000 on his American Express card with no trouble.  Then he headed for the airport.

He parked in one of the lots, and climbed off the bike, chilled to the bone.  He hunted down the office for small, private plane flights, and asked if he could rent a pilot and helicopter, saying that he remembered seeing a nice little Bell 427 on its pad the last time he was there.

"You got money, kid?" one of the guys in the office asked.  "The bird costs $250 an hour."

"No problem," Mike said.  "Gotcha covered."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I'm looking for a certain vehicle.  I want to start in the center of the city and fly in concentric circles until I locate it," Mike said.

"It's your money.  Let's go," the pilot said.

They went out to the pad and the pilot took the tethers off the rotor paddles.  They climbed into the cockpit, the pilot in the right seat, Mike in the left.  The pilot threw some switches, and after a humming sound, the rotor began turning, throwing moving shadows on the ground as it wound up.  They sat on the pad for 10 minutes while the engine warmed up and the pilot went over a checklist.

The pilot looked over at Mike as they buckled themselves in, and stuck out his hand.

"John Davis," he said.

"Mike Broman," Mike responded as they shook hands.

"What's goin' on, Mike?"

"My brother was kidnapped last night from the university.  I'm looking for the van they took him in."

"Cops know?"

"That I'm doing this?  Nope."

Davis shrugged.  "OK, let's go up and look around."

He cleared them with the tower, pulled up on the collective and moved the cyclic forward.  They rose a few feet, tilted forward, and cut across the airfield as they climbed and flew toward the center of town.

"What kind of vehicle are you looking for?  I'll watch for it out my side, too," Davis said.

"A dark blue Chevy van, rusty, no plates.  I don't know how much detail we can see from up here, but that's all we know at this point."

"All righty," the pilot said.  "Here we go."  And he began to make gentle, clockwise, circular sweeps around town.

They finished with the center of town, the university and the older residential area in about an hour, doing a thorough job and sometimes going back over the same area twice if a vehicle looked at all similar to their target.

"Where'd you learn to fly, John?" Mike asked.

"Nam.  I was a warrant officer in search and rescue."

"Wow.  Lots of experience, then."

"Yeah.  These birds are so expensive to fly that we're not certifying a lot of new helicopter pilots today.  The stick time is too expensive.  So us old timers are still holding down the fort."

"I can see why," Mike said.  "I bet you saw some things in Nam!"

"Sure did!  I never expected to make it home, to tell you the truth."

They were now flying over a bunch of factory buildings that had once been on the outskirts of town, but had been gradually encompassed by new housing developments, and eventually been abandoned for newer, more modern structures.

They were flying over one such abandoned building when Mike thought he saw a dark shadow under a sheet metal canopy at a one-bay loading dock.  He asked John to go around again so he could take a better look.  Davis identified the building as an abandoned broom factory, closed down for the past 10 years or so.

Matt had continued to fume as the van bounced through the now-dark streets of University City, but it was a short and leisurely trip, wherever they had gone.  Within 10 minutes they had stopped on what seemed to be a downward incline. Matt's arms and legs were grabbed again and he had been carried out of the van, still hooded, and from the sound of his captors' footfalls, into some huge space.  He was placed in an old wooden armchair, and his arms and legs re-tied to the chair.  Someone took off his hood, but it had been too dark to see much.

He had heard his abductors talking behind him, and one voice had stood out, even at a whisper.  It was the Weasel's nasal tones that he heard.  Matt hadn't let on that he heard anything, though, let alone that he knew someone who was involved in this incident.

The night had seemed interminable, although his captors had fed him hamburgers and released him from the chair long enough to relieve his bladder against the wall.  Some kind soul had even thrown a blanket over him, and he got some sleep after he said his prayers, asking for rescue for himself and protection for Mike and their family.

As dawn had arrived, Matt could see a little more of where he was being held.  It looked like an abandoned factory building.  It was totally empty and swept clean.  Ten I-beams ran down the center of the huge space, each one supporting a continuous catwalk 50 feet up with a skylight in the roof above it.  A few of the sections of the skylight were cranked open a foot or so.  The sun was shining, and the sun-warmed spring air floated around the huge room.  The entrance to the building was 75 feet or so from where Matt was sitting.

One of Matt's captors showed up with an Egg McMuffin and some orange juice, fed him, and let him urinate again.

Later in the morning, Matt heard a helicopter flying around outside, and thought to himself that it would be too good to be true if they were looking for him.

He asked the guy who was guarding him if he could take a leak again, and was released from his chair.  The other men were all huddled together down toward the entrance to the building, talking.  Matt emptied his bladder, and on the way back to the chair, on impulse, sprinted suddenly to the closest I-beam and jumped up on it.  Using his hands and feet, he began to climb rapidly toward the catwalk above.  His nearest guard jumped and made a grab for him, but Matt punched the man's hands until he let go and fell back to the floor.  Expecting to be shot at any minute, Matt reached a rusty old ladder which reached halfway down the beam from the roof, and easily ascended the rest of the way to the catwalk.  None of his captors seemed to be in good enough shape to climb an I-beam, at least not quickly enough to reach him anytime soon, although one had made it up about 15 feet.

Matt ran down the catwalk to an open section of the skylight and wedged his way under it, rolling out on to a broad expanse of roof.  Now the question was, how was he going to get down?  There was a 75-80 foot drop to the ground, and his captors would undoubtedly find a way to the roof before long.  Maybe, he thought to himself, he had outsmarted himself.

The helicopter had made another circle and was approaching the abandoned factory again when Mike and the pilot saw Matt roll out the skylight window and sprint to the edge of the roof, looking for a way down.  Mike recognized Matt's athletic jacket immediately.

"That's my brother, John.  Pick him up!"

Another figure rolled out of the skylight, and began running toward Matt across the roof.  A puff of smoke came out of a black object in his hand.

"I can't land down there, Mike.  The roof of that old building won't hold this bird!"

Mike put his hand over John's hand on the collective and pushed down gently.  The holicopter dipped momentarily, then continued to hover.

"Put this thing on the deck, John!  We're not leaving him here!  We're going down there one way or another!"

Their eyes locked and no one blinked.

His eyes locked to the pilot's, Mike kept his hand over John Davis' hand on the helicopter's collective.  Mike pushed it down yet again as a reminder he meant business, and the big bird bobbed in the air.

"John, I'm not fucking around here.  You get down there and pick Matt up, or I swear to God, you won't like what happens."

"Mike, I told you, I can't land down there!"

"You get down there and hover, then!  You don't have to land!  I can at least get Matt on the skid."

Cursing under his breath, Davis knocked Mike's hand away and pushed the collective down to descend, turning on the landing light in the nose and training it on the man running with the gun as he did so.  The light was so bright, even in daylight, that the man was somewhat blinded and stopped running after Matt.

Other men, squeezing out from under the skylight and on to the roof, saw the approaching helicopter and quickly went back the way they had come.  The man with the gun immediately followed them inside the building, leaving the roof to Matt and his rescuers.

As the copter hovered a foot or so above the surface of the factory roof, Mike opened his door and stepped out on to the skid.  Matt limped over and Mike hauled him up on the skid and into the passenger compartment, remaining outside on the skid himself and hanging on to the door frame.  The machine began to lift rapidly.

Mike stuck his head in the door.  "John, can you radio the airport and have them send the police over here?  Tell them we have Matt Broman and that the kidnappers are still here."  He squeezed Matt's neck.  "Matt, are you OK?"

"That guy shot me in the leg, Mike.  I think it's just grazed, though."

"You don't know how glad I am to see you, bro!" Mike said.

Mike heard John on the radio to the airport controller.

When John finished, Mike asked him to head for the hospital landing pad so that Matt could be looked at, and suggested that the airport controller also let Detective Stans know that Matt was on the way to the emergency room.

From their vantage point in the helicopter high above, they could see squad cars all over the city turning on their Mars lights and heading for the abandoned broom factory.  There were soon about 20 police cars gathered there, and none of the kidnappers had escaped from the building that they could see.

The helicopter arrived at University Hospital's landing pad within several minutes, and ER personnel with a gurney met them on the pad as they landed and powered down.  Mike and John assisted Matt in climbing down from the cockpit, and he lay down on the gurney.

"This gurney is like an old friend, I'm sorry to say," Matt quipped.

"I know," Mike said.  "I'll be right behind you, Matt."

Mike turned to John Davis, who was standing beside the helicopter, ready to go.

"I'm sorry I was so hard-nosed about picking up Matt, John," Mike said.  "But I honestly believe they would have killed him rather than let him identify them."

"Kid, I would have done the same for my brother.  All's well that ends well.  No hard feelings.  You got guts!" Davis said.

"Thanks, you too, not that you had anything to prove!  Now, how much do I owe you?"

Davis looked at his watch.  "Well, it's a little over two hours, but let's call it an even $500, and we're square."

"Fair enough."  Mike counted out five $100 bills and gave them to Davis.  They shook hands, and Davis climbed back into the copter, fired up the motor and took off as Mike gave him a wave.

Mike headed for the emergency room on a dead run, and encountered Detective Stans just going in.  Stans took his badge out of his pocket and handed it to Mike.

"Here, buddy, you should probably be wearing this!"

"I don't think so.  I just got lucky, that's all!" Mike said, handing it back.

"Sometimes we make our own luck.  Is Matt hurt bad?"

"No, just a bullet graze on the right leg, I think."

"Well, while they're working on him, why don't we sit down and let me get a report started?"

" 'K," Mike said, and they headed for some free chairs to talk.

Mike filled Stans in on all the details, and within an hour, Matt was wheeled out of a treatment room and was ready to go.  Mike went to him, and hugged him and kissed him, spectators be damned.

Since Mike had no transportation, Stans offered them a ride back to the apartment.  An orderly wheeled Matt out to the unmarked police car, Mike helped him into the back seat, and then climbed in front with Stans.

"Matt, Mike saved your bacon, in all probability," Stans said.  "The department should have been as on top of things as he was.  You can be proud of him."

"Well, it's not the first time he's come through for me!  And I'm always proud of him!" Matt responded.

"Do you feel up to answering some questions when we get you home?  I've already started a report with the information Mike gave me."

"You bet!  I want you to catch these guys, and I know who you should start with!" Matt said, thinking about the Weasel.

They arrived back at the apartment and saw a rental car in the driveway.  They got out of Stans' car, and went upstairs.  The policemen who had been assigned to the phones had admitted Mr. and Mrs. Broman to the apartment, and the surprised and happy parents were all over Matt as soon as he came in the door.

"You ought to be hugging and kissing Mike!" Matt said.  "I didn't do anything but get kidnapped.  It took Mike to get me out of it!"

Mike shrugged, but his mom and dad enfolded him, too.  Then the elder Bromans sat down on the couch and cried with relief, both of them.  The boys pushed them apart and sat down between them with their arms around them.

The remaining policemen uninstalled the extra phone line and the tracing equipment, and were soon on their way.

By then it was supper time, so Mike borrowed the rental car and went to Houlihan's for some good take out, including a meal for Detective Stans so he could talk to Matt for his report.  They all ate around the kitchen table, and then Mike brought the Bromans' luggage upstairs, and got them set up in the spare bedroom.  Their mom and dad wanted to leave the next morning, and they phoned the airline to arrange for their flight home at 9 a.m.

Detective Stans left about 8 p.m. after completing his report and talking to the police station.  He was informed that 5 kidnappers had been captured by the police at the broom factory.  All were in custody, in fact, except Neil Anderson.  Stans put out an all points bulletin on him, and also ordered a squad car to be stationed at the boys' apartment all night and every night until he was caught.

Matt was thrilled to be home.  He was also jubilant knowing that he wouldn't have to face the Weasel twice a week in pre-law anymore.

By 10 p.m., everyone was in bed.

Matt and Mike lay on their sides in their bed, looking into one another's face.

"I couldn't have gotten through this without you, Mike," Matt said.  "I don't mean your part in the rescue, I mean just being a prisoner of those people.  I had a hood over my head most of the time, but every minute I was tied to that chair I could see your face in my mind as clearly as I see it right now.  That's what kept my spirits up.  That's what gave me the courage to try to get away."

Mike put out his hand and rubbed Matt's crew cut.  "I've been thinking about you and praying non-stop since they grabbed you.  I was scared for you, but I knew in my heart God wouldn't take you away from me."  Silence.  "You mean more to me than my own life, Matt," he whispered.  "I don't have the words I need right now to tell you how much I love you."

"You don't need to tell me, Mikey.  I know."

They just held each other.  Matt was exhausted.  His eyelids soon drooped, and he fell asleep almost immediately.  Mike lay wide awake for several hours looking at Matt's face and savoring their love before he eased out of bed, put on a robe, and went into the kitchen.  He warmed some milk, and sat down at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a pencil, and began to write, making new starts and many corrections as he went.

"MATT

"We met in the early morning of our lives,
And the sparkle in your eye penetrated deep
Into my soul, as yet almost unknown to me,
While my own eye caressed the muscular curves and hard planes of your body.

"Still a child, I could not have known what lay beneath
Your perfect configuration:
A soul and spirit so quietly luminous that the power of them
Went unnoticed, until without warning, I was captured, enraptured by their beauty.

"That rapture, that joy I now encounter every day,
Converts my nervous and wandering inner self,
Capable only of sporadic glimpses of certitude,
Into a student who eagerly learns all that you can teach me from your very nature.

"There is nobility in that nature, without doubt,
Because lessons of love, lessons of forgiveness
Are hard to come by
Without the vessel of flesh that bears them to me, never counting the cost.

"And so, from that first tiny spark of love and lust for you
Has grown a great conflagration
Which consumes my dross, and can never be quenched."       ©2000 Don Hanratty
 

Finishing at last, Mike laid down his pencil.  For the first time since Matt had been kidnapped, he let go of the tight hold he had on his emotions, and put his head down and cried.

Soon he stood up.  Still not completely satisfied with what he had written, he folded up the poem into a small square and tucked it into the pocket of his robe.

Making his way back to bed beside Matt was sweet culmination, indeed, to a very troubling few days.

Life at school settled down again into its familiar routine.  Mr. Broman was calling all too frequently, however, and making noises about "security."  The boys tried to assure him and Mrs. Broman that their teammates were re-energized and watching out for them, sometimes even staying overnight at the apartment in the spare bedroom and on the couch, but parental worry was very much in play.  Matt finally took the heat off to some degree by making it clear, very firmly, that they were going to tough it out with the current arrangements until the school year ended, and revisit the issue before school started again next fall.  The calls from home moderated, but didn't stop altogether.

The bullet graze on Matt's leg really had been superficial, and there was nothing but a red mark on his leg within two weeks.

Neil Anderson had been picked up by the Georgia state police when his car ran out of gas on one of their expressways around Atlanta, and his name had turned up on their "wanted" list.  He was in the process of being extradited from Georgia.  The other five kidnappers already in custody were trying to outdo one another as to how fast they could confess to their part in the kidnapping, each trying to cut a deal with the prosecutors for lesser charges.

One morning after Mike had already gone to class, Matt was having breakfast at the kitchen table in his robe and spilled coffee all over himself.  Not yet finished eating, he put his own robe in the clothes hamper and borrowed Mike's.  When by chance he put his hand into the pocket, he found a small square of paper and unfolded it.

The poem that Mike had written about him two weeks before jumped off the page, and took his breath away.  He sat there stunned at the power of Mike's words, and amazed that they could have been used to describe him.  He began to realize more fully than he ever had before that the relationship of love between Mike and him went far beyond what most human beings are privileged to experience in their lives.

On impulse, Matt showered right away rather than waiting until the last minute before class, and leaving the apartment, stopped by the chapel at Canterbury.  He sat there in that silent space, deserted except for the Presence reserved in the tabernacle behind the altar, and communed without words as he watched the flickering Sanctus light.  He sat there too long, and was late to class.

Arriving home that night from one of the last wrestling practices for the year, he found Mike sitting on the couch, reading.

" 'Sup?" Mike asked.

Saying nothing, Matt put his books down and went over to sit beside him.  He silently took Mike's hand.

"Don't be mad," Matt finally said.  "But I borrowed your robe this morning and found the poem you wrote in the pocket.  Awesome, Mike.  I don't know what to say to you.  I'm really jazzed, it's so beautiful!"

Mike looked embarrassed.  "It still needs some work.  But it's my crude way of saying what I feel," he said.

"There's nothing crude about it!  It's perfect, and I love it so much.  Please don't change a word!"

"Well. . ."

"Well, nothing!" Matt said.  "I'm not giving it back, anyway, dufus!  It has my name on it, remember?  I'm going to print it out on my computer, and have it and the original framed, and hang them in our room."

Mike just nodded, pleased.

"Listen, we need to talk a little more about our summer trip after we study, 'K?  I had a few ideas today I was thinking about," Matt said.

" 'K, sounds good.  Hey, whaddaya want to do for supper tonight?  I'll treat at Houlihan's if ya wanna go over there."

"You got a deal, bud.  Just let me change my shirt, and we'll go early and beat the supper crowd."

"Yeah," Mike said as they stood up and gave each other a hug.

They drove over to Houlihan's and stuffed themselves, and came back and studied for several hours.  Then they got soft drinks out of the fridge, and sat down cross legged and facing each other on the couch to talk.

"I stopped by Canterbury today for a few minutes before I went to class," Matt started out.  "We've been so busy, I didn't feel I'd said a proper thank-you for getting out of my latest mess.  I got to thinking about us.  I want to ask you, first of all, how you feel about 'us' at this point.  We've been through an awful lot of shit in a short time."

Mike regarded him solemnly.  "Matt, I've never felt better about myself or about us as a couple.  I am so full of love for you and for the whole world right now, even knowing that there are assholes out there who try to hurt us sometimes, that I think I'm gonna burst.  Like this minute!  Rose-colored glasses all the way, as stupid as that sounds!  And it all starts with you, I hope you know that!"

"I feel exactly the same way about you!" Matt said.  "I don't think most people feel this way about the people they're closest to.  Mom and Dad certainly do.  But there aren't too many examples of what we have together.  We're generating a lot of  love in this relationship, and I'm not only talking about sex.  There's so much love, it's overflowing.  We hardly know what to do with it all.  It's energizing!  Anyway, I got to thinking about our trip this summer.  This may sound strange 'cuz I don't know exactly how to say it, but I've been wondering if we shouldn't put our love to some good use rather than just kickin' back, traveling."

"What do you have in mind?" Mike asked with a sly grin.  "Becoming subjects at the Kinsey Institute?"

"No, you spaz!  I was thinking that maybe we could volunteer in a hospice or something like that for at least part of the summer.  Maybe we don't have what it takes to do that kind of work, I don't know.  It's tough duty.  But I keep thinking, 'Give something back, give something back!'"

Mike sat there quietly, thinking, his chin cupped in his hand.

"It's just a thought, Mike, we don't need to make a decision now," Matt said.  "I'll go along with anything you decide.  I don't want to disappoint you--we do have some awesome travel plans!"

"Awesome travel plans?  No, you're awesome, bro!" Mike responded.  "Everything you've said is right on!  Payback at a hospice sounds excellent to me.  I wish I'd thought of it.  That's what really pisses me off.  You're so damn good hearted!  Sometimes I'd like to get you down and beat some of that goodness out of you so you'd be more of a selfish prick like the rest of us.  I'm j-u-s-t kidding, you know that.  Really, hospice is a great idea.  Doing this together will be the best gift we ever gave each other, let alone what we do for anybody else."

"Well, give it some more thought.  I'm serious about doing whatever you want.  Part of me is hoping you'll say we're just gonna travel.  You know, the selfish prick part." Matt said, smiling.

"Two months volunteering, one month traveling," Mike said.  "How does that sound?"

"Done, dude!"  They bumped fists.  Then Matt pushed Mike back on the couch and climbed on top of him, grinding his pelvis into Mike's.  They were hard almost instantly.  They both jumped up and ran for the bedroom.

"Last one undressed is a love-slave," Matt said, stripping off his 501's and jockeys in one motion.  He kicked off his Nikes and socks, and his T floated to the floor as he jumped into bed ahead of Mike, who still had his T-shirt and boxers on.

"You cheated!" Mike simulated a whine.

"I'm going to be a very benevolent Master," Matt said.  "Now get those boxers and that shirt off, and get your cute little butt over here, Boy!  Hehehe!"

Mike did as he was told, and lay down on top of Matt.  Matt cupped Mike's ass and squeezed his cheeks with his big hands. "Your butt is one in a million," he said.

They kissed at length, tongues dueling, exploring.  Finally breaking their kiss, Matt propped his head up on his folded pillow.

"Mike, I'm feeling really oral tonight.  Hehehe.  Sit on my chest.  I want you to feed me your beautiful dick an inch at a time."

Mike straddled his partner, his 8 inch cock standing straight up, almost against his abdomen.  He reached down and put the head of his dick in Matt's mouth, and leaned more toward Matt, resting on his hands and arms.  Matt began to run his tongue around the corona, and inserting his tongue repeatedly in the slit.  Mike made approving sounds, and Matt tasted a sweet drop of pre-cum.

Matt cupped Mike's balls in one hand, and with the other, reached around, parted his cheeks, and began to caress Mike's rosebud with a moistened middle finger.  Soon Matt put his finger up Mike's ass to the first knuckle.  Mike began to groan with pleasure as Matt continued to circle the end of his dick with his tongue.  Matt pulled Mike toward his face and took another inch or so of his penis into his mouth, at the same time sticking his finger as far he could up Mike's chute.  He began to massage Mike's prostate.  Mike began to thrust gently into Matt's mouth.  Their eyes locked as they really got into pleasuring one another.

Matt eventually took all of Mike's 8 inches as Mike thrust slowly in and out.  Matt squeezed Mike's dick with his mouth and throat every time he took him all in, and after about 10 minutes of escalating pleasure, Mike gasped and filled Matt's mouth with semen.  Matt counted at least 8 full shots of cum, which he swallowed as rapidly as he could.  Only a few drops ran down his chin.  Mike crumpled down on top of him with a deep sigh, spent and resting.  They kissed, and Mike tasted himself in Matt's mouth.

"Hmmmm," Mike mumbled.  "That was fantastic!  Now, how do you want me to get you off, bud?"

"Let's 69.  I want some more of your juice.  You've made me into a cum slut, you stud!  And do I love it!" Matt said.

They rearranged themselves on the bed, head to foot, and Mike gazed at Matt's already hard cock, engorged to its full 8½ inches.  Matt gasped as Mike suddenly swallowed the whole thing, right down to the pubes.

They began working each other up to a climax.  Mike could hear Matt groaning with pleasure as he sucked Mike's dick.  Mike teased Matt, repeatedly bringing him to the edge of ejaculation and then slacking off.  Mike was hard and horny again himself, and just as he blew, Matt flooded Mike's mouth with at least 10 shots of hot cum.  The boys lay dormant, still holding one another's cock in their mouths, tongue washing them gently and letting them drain completely.  Eventually they let go, and crawled up, face to face at the head of the bed, and kissed tenderly.  They held each other and napped for about 15 minutes.

Then they got up and showered together.

"Ya know, I still bone up every time I see your body.  After two years, you're still a total turn-on for me.  Along with everything else, you've probably got the most beautiful dick in the world," Mike said as he washed Matt's penis.  "I thought it looked perfect the first time I saw it-- I spied on you stripping for your shower the first night we roomed together.  You gave me wood, and I jacked off in a sock.  If there were a contest for the world's most beautiful dick, I'd enter yours!"

"You devious little perv!  I knew I liked your style the first time we met!" Matt said.  "But I feel the same way about your bod.  A swimmer's build like yours makes me hard--it's those long muscles, I guess.  That long muscle between your legs should be in the art books, and your butt is wet dream material."

They were aroused when they went back to bed, but too tired to do anything.  They fell asleep in seconds, pressed close to each another.

Beginning the next night, after they had studied, Matt and Mike began to search the internet for hospices where they might want to work during the coming summer.  They were surprised to learn on the web that most of the AIDS hospices had closed down due to low occupancy rates, thanks to the new anti-viral drugs.  The few terminal AIDS patients who were in need of hospice services were now housed in general hospices.

They focused their search mostly on the midwest, figuring that if they worked there, they would be exposed to a little different culture.  They would also be in the center of the country when it came time to choose their destination for their month of travel.  They finally settled on Mother of Mercy, a general hospice on Chicago's near-north side, run by the Sisters of Mercy.  They composed a letter introducing themselves to the Sister in charge, explaining their desire to volunteer without pay for two months, and some of their reasons for doing so.  Ten days later they received an enthusiastic acceptance of their offer from Sister Angeline Martin of the Sisters of Mercy.

The boys called their mom and dad to tell them that their plans for the summer had changed.  Mr. and Mrs. Broman seemed taken aback, but pleased.

"You know," their dad said on the phone, "just when your mom and I think we have you two guys all figured out, you surprise us.  We're proud of you!"

"We love you," Mike said.  "We wouldn't have done much without you two behind us!"

"What you and Matt have accomplished, you've done on your own, Mike," Mrs. Broman said.

"I don't know about that," Mike responded.  "Listen, we want to ask you something.  We'd like to continue to pay rent on our apartment here at school while we're gone for the summer, if that's OK.  We don't want to take any chances on losing it, particularly if Jeff is gonna live with us starting next fall.  Would that be all right?"

"Sure," Mr. Broman said.  "And I'll deposit travel money, and rent money for Chicago, in your accounts, too.  We've got you covered."

"Thanks, Dad," Matt said.  "We appreciate it.  Do you think there's any chance that you and Mom and Jeff and Martha could come down to Chicago for a few days once we get settled in?  It's gonna be a long summer if we don't see you."

"Well, we'll try to do that.  Jeff and Martha will be working, but I'm sure we could get them a few days off.  Your mom and I haven't been in Chicago in years, so it would be fun," Mr. Broman said.

They finished their conversation and hung up.  Matt grabbed Mike and swung him around the room exuberantly.

"YES!" Matt said.  "This is gonna be a great summer, even if I'm stuck with a skanky guy like you.  You are gonna wash your crotch and under your arms once the hot weather hits Chicago, aren't you?"

"What about my butt, pilgrim?  Can that stay raunchy?"

"You mean, 'Why change now?!'  Because you're moving more toward the medical profession.  You have to be clean and spiff to be a healer! And speaking of healers, that reminds me of a story."

"No-o-o-o!  I'm not fully recovered from the meningitis yet.  This could send me back into a coma!"

"Au contraire, mon ami!  This will promote good health, I promise!  The hero is your kind of healer!"  Matt held him so he couldn't get away.

"A homosexual was fearful of AIDS and fed up with his gay lifestyle,
so he went to a psychiatrist for treatment.  The psychiatrist said
his problems were so deep rooted, it would require extensive
analysis and many months of treatment before he would be cured.

"After almost two years of treatment, the psychiatrist said,
'You've made remarkable progress. As a matter of fact it's my
opinion that you are now ready to take your rightful place as
a functioning member of straight society.'

"'Oh, doctor,' cried the patient, 'your good news has made me
so happy I could kiss you!'

"'No, no,' said the psychiatrist, 'don't do that... in fact,
I really shouldn't be lying here on the couch with you.'"
 

"That's the worst joke you've ever told!" Mike wailed.  "You should be disbarred by the Bar Association before you're ever 'barred,' if you know what I mean!"

"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, I'm just warming you up for our trip.  Hehehe!  There will be no escape once we're in the truck, you know!"

"I've had it!  The summer plans are off, as of now!" Mike said.  Using one of Matt's wrestling tricks, he kicked Matt unexpectedly behind his legs and powered him backwards to the living room floor, where he began to tickle him nonstop.  They dissolved into laughter and kissing.

Three days later, Mike was leaving a late class, and looked for the truck where he had parked it.  It was nowhere to be seen.  Mike called Matt on his cell phone to find out if he had come and taken it for some reason, but he hadn't.  Matt rode his motorcyle over, and they went up and down the rows of cars, looking.  No truck.  They called 911 and reported it, and a squad car pulled up about 10 minutes later.  The officers filled out their report, and put the information out on the radio.  They told the boys that the truck was most likely stolen for parts, and that they should probably not plan to get it back intact.  Matt and Mike rode home on the motorcyle feeling depressed.

The county sheriff's police did find the truck two days later--about 30 miles from campus at the bottom of a pond left over from some strip mining.  The engine and everything remotely usuable had been removed before the truck body was dumped.  Mike was sad at first because it was one of the last gifts he had received from his blood parents, but then brightened.

"Ya know, Matt, this might be a blessing in disguise."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, both our bikes wouldn't fit in the Nissan.  If I get a new truck out of this, I'll get one with a long bed, and we can take both motorcyles to Chicago and wherever else we go," Mike said.

"You're right, dude!  Lemons to lemonade, yo!"

The insurance company was notified that the truck had been found "totaled," and within a week, they paid off.  Mike talked to Mr. Broman, who had received the check, and he told Mike to get some prices on a new truck.

Mike and Matt priced some long bed trucks, and finally decided on a new Chevy Silverado, 4WD, extended cab, dark metallic red, as the truck of choice.  When they called their dad to give him the price, he told Mike he was nuts for paying that much for a truck, but to go ahead if he wanted it.  They immediately added a cassette and CD player to Mike's order, and finalized the deal after the salesman confirmed all the details with Mr. Broman.  They made sure they ordered RV license plates so they wouldn't be restricted from traveling certain local roads.

The truck was delivered 2 weeks later, and it was so beautiful that Mike almost wanted to sleep in it the first night.  Their first purchase after they got it was a ramp for loading and unloading their bikes.  Then they dropped the truck off at a welding shop, and had nested metal rings installed in the truck bed so they could tie the bikes down for travel, and had grooves cut in the floor just inside the tailgate so the ramp would seat securely when in use.  March had come in like a lamb, so during that first weekend they had the truck, the boys washed and waxed their new toy and cleaned up their bikes as well.

They began studying maps of Chicago on the net, and pinpointed the location of the Mother of Mercy hospice.  They were torn between trying to find a place to live in Boystown, the heart of Chicago's gay community, or further north toward Evanston where Northwestern University was located.  They finally decided to look north for an apartment because of the easy access to the Lake Michigan beaches so they could run for exercise.

The boys contacted a realtor on the net, and after looking at the floor plans and costs he e-mailed to them, chose an apartment close to Howard and Sheridan Road, within a block of the lake.  They sent the realtor their security deposit and first and last month's rent, and could take occupancy anytime after June 1.

They were getting more and more excited about summer.  The night they closed on the Chicago apartment, after they made an attempt to study and were too pumped to remember anything they were reading, they showered, went to bed and made passionate love, exploring one another's body enthusiastically yet again.  They stretched their lovemaking out as long as they could, each captivated by the other.  Then they watched TV and just enjoyed each other's company.

"I can't get enough of you," Matt said after they turned out the light.  "I mean more than sex.  I mean the total package.  I love the way you look, the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you think.  I suppose this is a cliché, but you make me a whole person.  I'm not the same guy when we're not together.  Knowing I'm going to see you when classes are over makes me happy all day."

"Hey, quit stealing my lines, dude!  Without a doubt, I'm the luckiest guy in the world to be your partner.  I ask myself sometimes what I could possibly have done to be blessed with you in my life, and I don't have an answer to that.  I don't deserve you, but I'm happy as a pig in shit makin' you happy.  It's just that elemental."

"How come you didn't put the 'pig' part in the poem you wrote me?"

"I'll make sure it gets in the next one."

They snuggled together under the blanket and were soon asleep.

Now that Matt was finished wrestling for the year, he was starting to get antsy without the exercise.  He started making Mike go to the gym with him in the late afternoons and work out, just so they could burn up some energy.

"By the time I get finished with you, bro, you're gonna be so buff the swim team won't recognize you," Matt told him at the gym.  "Besides, I don't want Jeff terrorizing you when he comes to live with us.  It would be embarrassing for ya.  He's pretty buff already."

"Listen, dufus, Jeff and I may just team up and make you our slave," Mike responded.  "You're already my love slave, so that should cover all the bases."

"Dream on, my man, dream on!  You two wimps aren't used to hand to hand combat like I am.  You'll both be cowering and quivering by the time I'm done with ya!"

Mike looked around the gym to see if anyone was watching, and then gave Matt's butt a good pinch and ran off with Matt in hot pursuit.  It was no contest--Mike was too fast for him and got away.

They had both done well on their midterms, and knew they were down to the final stretch.  They intensified their studying so they didn't have to panic as they came down to the final weeks.  With the warm spring weather upon them, they also got the bikes out on weekends and rode the country roads around University City, feeling the exhilaration of wind and speed.  Life was so good.

When finals week did arrive they studied hard, but they didn't have to pull any all nighters.  They felt satisfied about how well they had done on their papers and on their exams, even with all the challenges they had faced during the semester.

They threw a party at their apartment after the last final, and most of the swim team and wrestling team were there stag or with their girlfriends.  There was plenty of beer, and some BYO hard stuff.  Matt and Mike adroitly rode herd on the festivities, though, so no one got out of hand.  They made sure that there were designated drivers for every vehicle.  By 4 a.m., all was quiet.  The apartment was in chaos, of course, with pizza boxes and aluminum cans and dirty dishes everywhere.  The bodies of those who elected not to try to get home occupied the second bedroom, the couch, and the floor here and there.  One body, snoring robustly, was even in bed with Matt and Mike for awhile, but whoever it was, was gone by the time they woke up the next morning.  A good time had obviously been had by all.

There were a half dozen guys and two girls still around when Matt and Mike got up.  Matt made coffee and cleaned the refrigerator out of eggs and bacon fixing breakfast for everybody.  Eventually their guests all left, and the boys gave the apartment a good cleaning before they started to pack for Chicago.

They decided they would pack and load the truck, piling their luggage in the back seat of the extended cab.  They drove their bikes up the new ramp and secured them.  Then they took an early afternoon nap.  By leaving early that night and staying in a motel, they would only have one fairly easy day of driving to Chicago left the following day.  They went and paid their landlady three months rent in advance for the summer, and at dusk, headed north to hit I-80 West.  They stopped at a motel about 10 p.m. after grabbing a snack.

The next day was one of those beautiful, early summer days that people dream about.  Blue skies, not a cloud to be seen, and about 75°.  The boys grabbed breakfast at a handy Mickey D's, and were on their way in high spirits, Matt at the wheel.

Matt glanced over at Mike out of the corner of his eye once they were back on the interstate.

"You know, Mikey, I don't want to raise a sore subject, but since you stopped swimming every day, I can't help notice you've put on a few pounds.  You're getting a gut, even though Lord knows I've tried to keep you motivated at the gym!"

Mike looked down at his perfectly flat stomach, and back over at Matt.

"I haven't gained an ounce, you dufus!" Mike said.  "But look how the fat rolls over your belt.  Keep it up, and you can wrestle Sumo class next year!  If you gain enough weight, you'll never see your penis again."

"Yeah, but I'll see yours!  And it'll be getting fatter, and fatter, and fatter. . ."

"Shoot!  You won't even be able to find a pair of 501's to fit ya.  And jockeys will be a thing of the past for you--it'll be boxers--big boxers the size of a barn--from now on," Mike said.  "I don't even want to think about it!  You'll be so big, you'll have to ride in the back of the truck!  People will think I'm being cruel to ya, but it'll just be the best way to cart your big lard butt around, that's all.  I'm glad we got the big bed truck!"

"You mentioned penises, and that reminds me of a story, Mikey!"

"No-o-o!  You promised you wouldn't do this!"

"I most certainly did not promise any such thing!  I would never deprive you of the pleasure of one of my stories!"

Mike subsided into incoherent grumbling.

"There is a sign in the drugstore window:  'CONDOMS, CUSTOM FIT.'

"So a man walks up to the counter and asks for a condom, like
the sign says. The man at the counter tells him to see Edna
in aisle 4.  So the man finds Edna.  Edna grabs the man by the
crotch, then gets on the PA system and says, 'Medium Condom.
Medium Condom.'  Well, the man is embarrassed, but goes to the
counter to get his condom.

"Later, a second man sees the sign in the window, and goes up
to the counter to get his condom.  The druggist tells him to
see Edna in aisle 4.  Same thing happens, Edna grabs his
crotch, gets on the PA and says, 'Large Condom, this man needs
a Large Condom.'  The man is pleased, at least, to be a 'large.'

"Next a teenager, a swimmer just your age, goes into the drugstore
to get a fitted condom, and is told to see Edna in aisle 4. Edna grabs his
crotch, gets on the PA and says, 'Clean-up in aisle 4, clean-up in aisle 4.'"
 

Mike suppressed a laugh.

"You know, they just keep getting worse!  But you know what I heard?" Mike asked.

"What?"

"I heard that Edna's retiring, and you put in for her job.  You'd be perfect for it, considering your extensive experience at crotch-grabbing!  I can attest to that!"

"If I weren't driving, I'd make you suffer for saying that!" Matt said.

"I'm already suffering!  You're a sadist, and I'm telling Mom and Dad again!  They won't like it, either.  They still think you're perfect!"

Satisfied he'd gotten Mike all revved up, Matt smiled to himself and turned the radio way up to listen to some Jonny Lang before they resumed bickering again.

The rolling hills of western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio gave way to the plains of west Ohio and Indiana, with farm crops just beginning to poke up out of the rich earth.  The boys traded off at the wheel every two hours, and stopped for a late lunch at an oasis on the Indiana toll road.  They filled up the truck with gasoline.

They hit the Indiana-Illinois state line at dusk, and daylight faded quickly.  The Dan Ryan expressway from the south suburbs was bumper to bumper all the way into Chicago's Loop.  They left the Ryan when they got downtown, and drove toward the lake so they could take Lake Shore Drive north to where they would be living.

They were traveling north on Lake Shore behind a Chicago police car, when the the second car ahead of them lurched suddenly, hit a retaining wall next to Lake Michigan, flipped over the wall, and plunged into the lake.

"HOLY SHIT!!" Matt shouted as the cop car turned on his emergency lights and stopped suddenly.  Mike, who was driving at that point, braked to a stop behind it and put on his flashers.

The boys got out of the truck and joined a rather corpulent police officer, who was standing on the road looking helplessly down at the water.  The submerged car's headlights were still on, and the vehicle looked to be in about 15 feet of water.

Matt and Mike looked at each other, and then sprinted back to the truck. They dumped their wallets, watches and shoes in the truck, grabbed a small, waterproof flashlight and a small hammer out of the glove compartment, and locked the vehicle.  They raced back to the cop, who was talking on his shoulder radio.

"Hey, you can't. . ." the cop said, as the boys climbed on the wall and jumped feet first into the black water.  The water was so cold that they almost went into shock, but they doggedly swam down and peered into the car with the aid of the flashlight.  They could see an African-American man and woman in the front, and two kids, about 8 and 10, in the back.  The water was up to steering wheel already, and rapidly filling the passenger compartment.

Mike tried to open the driver's side door, but it was jammed.  They went up for air.

"Smash the back window, Matt, and I'll pull the kids out first, OK?" Mike said.  "We gotta work fast!  You see if you can get the woman, and I'll come back for the guy."  He put the flashlight into his mouth to free his hands.

" 'K," Matt said.  They both grabbed a huge breath, and dived down again.

Matt smashed the back window of the car, and then swam around to the passenger side and broke that side of the windshield out.  He had to go up for breath.  Mike came up with one of the kids, and handed him to the policeman, who had trained the squad car's right spotlight into the water to provide more light.

The boys jumped in again, and Matt swam to the front of the vehicle and pulled the woman out through the windshield, battling back to the surface.  Mike soon emerged with the other child.  They handed them up to the bystanders.

They hyperventilated, and dived for the depths again, going for the driver.  The man was belted in, and they couldn't get his seat belt off.  Matt reached in his pants pocket for his knife, and sawed away at the seat belt until they could break it.  They hauled the man to the surface just as they ran out of breath.

By this time the paramedics had made it to the scene in the opposing lanes, and many hands reached down and hauled the three of them to safety.  Matt and Mike were going into hypothermia.

A police sergeant had arrived on the scene, and he insisted they go over to the ambulance and wrap up in blankets until the paramedics had time to look at them.  They were sitting on the back bumper of the ambulance when they were suddenly bathed in light and a female television reporter began asking them questions, and strobes began to flash.  Still shivering violently, they didn't talk much.  Another paramedic unit showed up, and they were taken over to it and were finally behind closed doors.  The medics checked them out, and pronounced them all right.

Suddenly the doors opened, and they were bathed in light again.  A handsome TV reporter was asking them questions yet again.  Matt and Mike identified themselves and answered his questions as best they could.  What could they say?  Yes, the water was cold and dark.  No, they didn't know the family that went over into the water.  Were they afraid when they jumped into the lake?  Hell, yes.  Did they live in Chicago or were they visiting?  Living here just for the summer.

An older policeman joined them.  He shut the doors again and and took their report.

The first paramedic unit left for a hospital with siren wailing and lights flashing.

"Are those folks gonna make it?" Mike asked the policeman.

"Looks like it.  They're all breathing and talking," the officer said as he filled out his forms.  "By the way, I'm Tony Angelo."  They shook hands.

"What made the car go over the wall?" Matt asked the cop when he was finished writing.

"We're won't be sure until we pull it out of the water," the cop said.  "I think a tire might have blown out."

"That's all it takes," Mike said.

"You did a good thing here!" the grizzled old cop said.  "You guys are special in my book, and there aren't too many names on that list!  Are you just passing through Chicago?"

"No, we're going to be here a couple of months, working," Matt said.

"Really?  Where?" the cop asked.

"We're volunteering at Mother of Mercy Hospice."

"I'm impressed!  Just when I'm at my most cynical," Angelo said, "you guys come along and prove how wrong I can be."

The boys just looked at each other, and didn't say anything.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Tony asked.

"Well, we were going to pick up the keys to our new apartment and stay there, but it's too late for that now," Mike said.

"I'll tell you what, when we wrap things up here, why don't you follow me back to the station and change clothes there.  Then we'll find a good motel for you, and drop you off.  You can leave your truck at the station--we have lights and a camera watching our lot.  If you park in the city with the bikes on your truck, I can practically guarantee you they'll be gone by morning."

"That's really nice of you, Tony," Matt said.  "We'll take you up on that."

Angelo went over to talk to his sergeant, and when he came back, he told them to follow him to the precinct.  He pulled out into traffic with his lights flashing, and Mike pulled in after him.  Ten minutes later they were at the station.  Matt and Mike each took a piece of luggage out of the back seat of the truck, and followed Angelo inside.  He took them to the locker room, where they gratefully toweled off and changed into dry clothes.

As good as his word, Angelo put them into the squad, and took them to a nearby motel, where they got a very nice room on the second floor.  They no sooner walked in the door of their room than Mike's cell phone rang.

"Mike, what's going on?" he heard his mother say.

"Mom!  Whaddaya mean?"

"We just saw you and Matt on national news," Mr. Broman said.  "Are you both all right?"

"Yes, we're fine!  A little tired, that's all!"

"Now I'm going to worry about you two all summer!" Mrs. Broman said.

"We're OK, Mom.  We were just in the right place at the right time, that's all.  Here's Matt."  Mike quickly handed the phone to his brother before he could protest.

Matt gave them a rundown of what had happened, and got them calmed down.  He promised they would call and give them their new telephone number as soon as they got moved into their apartment and had the phone hooked up.  When he finally hung up, he smiled wanly.

"Are we wearing a sign that says, 'Give us a challenge!'  I feel like a lightning rod.  Can anything else happen to us?"

"Well, yeah," Mike said.  "How about all-night sex?"

"Don't tempt me, you dildo.  I'll wear your young ass out!  First, though, a shower to get rid of that Lake Michigan smell."

"Yeppers!  May I join you?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," Matt said, stripping off his clothes.  Mike followed suit, and they were soon holding each other gratefully under the hot spray.

When they went to bed, Matt kissed almost every inch of Mike's body, and then made love to him slowly and passionately until they both came.

They fell asleep so fast that they left the overhead light on.

They awakened late the next morning, and after eating breakfast at the motel restaurant, caught a cab back to the police precinct and picked up their truck.  They dropped off a short note at the front desk for Tony Angelo, thanking him for his thoughtfulness.

Mike bought a newspaper from the row of vending machines chained together in front of the police station, and nearly fell over.  There he and Matt were, huddled in blankets and sitting on the back step of the ambulance, in a huge picture on the front page.  Only later did they learn that their picture was in almost every major paper around the country.  Matt bought a paper, too, just for a souvenir.

They picked up their keys from the realtor, and the apartment was everything that they had hoped for--light, airy, near the lake.  There was a big living room, one bedroom, a nice kitchen with plenty of room for a table, and lots of closet space.  There was a dish washer and a big refigerator.  When they plugged in the refigerator, they heard a reassuring hum.

Their apartment was at the back of their building, so the heavy traffic from Sheridan Road could scarcely be heard, and it was bordered by an alley in the back.  Matt looked out the back window, and inexplicably grabbing Mike's phone, ran out the door.  Mystified, Mike went over and looked out the back window.  There was Matt, looking at a "For Rent" sign on a garage door right across the alley from their apartment, and dialing the phone.  After talking for a minute, Matt raised his arms indicating a touchdown, and ran back to the apartment.

"Got us a garage, bud!" Matt said to Mike with satisfaction as he walked back in.  "The owner said he'll pull up in the alley and honk his horn in a few minutes."

Fifteen minutes later they closed the deal for two months rent on the garage, which was large enough for the truck and both the bikes.  One bike would fit against the back wall, and one on the side.  It was a little snug, but their vehicles would be safe and out of the rain.

Next they went to a furniture rental place.  The price was steep, but for staying only two months, renting furniture was worth avoiding the trouble of buying it and then having to turn around and sell it.  In addition to the necessities, they got a 40" television and a fairly good stereo while they were at it.  Their selections were to be delivered that afternoon.

On the way "home," they stopped at a department store and bought a blanket, sheets and towels, and a few dishes and some silverware.  Two more stops, at a grocery store and at a hardware store for a second set of keys to the apartment and garage, and they were set.

The furniture came in mid-afternoon, and the crew moved it in quickly and were on their way.

"Good bed," Mike said, sitting down on it.  "I'm gonna have a lot of fun bouncing your cute little butt around when we initiate this mattress!"

"I admire your one-track mind," Matt said, as he threw a sheet over Mike and started to make up the bed.  Mike grabbed him and pulled him down on the bed with him.  He caressed Matt's face and hair, and looked into his eyes, saying nothing for a long time.

"I love being here with you," Mike whispered.

Matt put his fingers across Mike's lips, stilling him, and hugged him tightly.  They lay there quietly for ten minutes before they got up and finished making the bed.

"You up for a run on the beach before we eat?" Matt asked.  "I need some exercise."

"Uh huh."

They changed into jocks and running shorts, and headed out, feeling great.