Author: Mark Smith
Title: Plunging into the Pool
Summary: Mark and John hadn't seen each other since high school, but
John's return after 24 years leads to an encounter unlike anything either
of them had ever experienced.
Keywords: MM Bi Cons Solo Voyeur Literary

   Plunging Into the Pool: An Old Friend is Worth the Wait

   Copyright (C) 2012 Mark Smith

   This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike
License.  All other rights reserved.

   This story is inspired by actual events, but names, dates, places and
other details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals
involved.  Any mention of businesses, celebrities or other trademarks does
not imply any connection to this story; there is none.  No other person
mentioned in this story has contributed to or is aware of it; it represents
only the author's views.  Not all of the events described in this story
actually occurred.

   Discuss this story anonymously on my website.  All comments are welcome!

   www.plungingintothepool.blogspot.com Act One, Scene 2

   Walking along the streets of uptown Charlotte.

   As I walked back to get my car out of the garage at work, I thought
about John, of course, and wondered whether we'd have the opportunity to
spend some time together while he was in Charlotte, and whether that time
would be as enjoyable as the dinner we just had.  But I also thought about
everything we talked about at dinner.  I thought about Rachel, for example,
and I thought a lot about Elizabeth.

   And as I walked along, I have to say I grew a little sad, because I
realized that I knew it was never going to happen.  I would never be with
Elizabeth.  And I wondered why that was.

   I mean, I wondered "why?" in the abstract.  I knew the immediate reason
was because I had a wife, and I loved her.  But on a more abstract level I
wondered why it was that I had stayed with my wife, rather than running off
with Elizabeth, as I had imagined that day in the office.

   I was still in a haze from the two bottles of wine and drinks that I had
had at dinner with John, but the answer to my question soon became apparent
to me.  It wasn't simply because I had chosen to be faithful to my wife. 
Nor was it because the fact that I made that choice was actually part of
the reason Elizabeth liked me.  No, as I walked back from the restaurant, I
understood that the reason I would never be with Elizabeth was because
although Elizabeth liked me (I knew that), she didn't like me to the point
of being ready to run off with me.  Just as Emily didn't like me to the
point of going out with me.

   It was suddenly obvious to me that I had gone through the same thing
twice.

   "The same?" I thought to myself, "Really?  How much the same?" After
all, Emily had gone out with John.  And, as I looked back on what it felt
like to tell John all about Elizabeth, on how excited I had been, I had to
ask myself whether the same thing would have happened - would Elizabeth
have run off with John?

   Now, I have to admit, at this point, all my thoughts and memories get a
little mixed up.  I have a hard time sorting through what I had been
thinking as John and I had dinner, what I thought about as I took that
walk, and then the thoughts that flooded my mind after I returned home to a
quiet house that evening.  I realize now that my later thoughts have
filtered through to how I described our dinner, and I've put more emphasis
on things John and I talked about because they became more important as I
looked back on them later.  All this is natural, I know; it's just to say
that this whole description of what I was thinking is my impression of the
evening, more than how it all actually played out in reality.

   Which is to say that this starts to get a little confusing.

   As I walked back from John's apartment building, I remembered back to
when I had last seen John, in his dorm room, right after we had started
college.  It was a Saturday afternoon, I think.  (It's my memory, why
couldn't it have been?) We talked a few minutes, and I left.  But now I
knew, based on what he had told me at dinner, why he seemed disinterested
in me.  His mind was preoccupied by the girls that would be arriving that
evening, like they did every weekend.

   Just like in a movie, I saw myself walk out of that dorm room in the
afternoon, and then the scene warped and it was 11pm.  The dorm was full of
kids - drunk, stoned, whatever.  John's room was a center of activity. 
There were at least a half dozen girls there.  High school girls.  And John
was there with a few of his buddies.  Then his buddies left, three of the
girls stayed with John, and the door closed.  You could hear the laughter
in the room ... which soon turned to other, more intimate, sounds.

   The door opened, and it was two weeks later.  A married woman, about 35,
a little disheveled but still well put together, was leaving.  She turned
over her shoulder to look back at the room.  John was lying prone on the
bed, buck naked and fast asleep.  She took a nice long look at his perfect
ass, smiled to herself, and then walked out of the building to her car to
drive home to her husband, who was asleep himself, in front of the
television.

   There was a fast forward and John was in his apartment after he
graduated.  It was a pleasant evening, like tonight; the room was hot and
crowded and fun.  People everywhere, spilling out onto the deck, enjoying
the night.  John was on the sofa in his living room, not with Emily, as
he'd been at my house, but with his future wife and her two friends.  One
friend on each side of him, his future wife curled up on her knees in front
of them on the floor.  They were sharing a joint and flirting like mad. 
No, way more than flirting.  They had their hands all over him.  How could
they not?  They each wanted him and they were so stoned and horny they
didn't care who knew it.

   As these scenes played through my mind, I wasn't upset, I wasn't
jealous. Far from it.  I was incredibly turned on and there was a smile on
my face.  This was exactly what I wanted; it was exactly what I wanted John
to have.  I was just sad that I hadn't been there to share it.  To watch
him.  To watch him just as he suggested I should have in that car parked
outside my house 24 fucking years ago.  I should never have left.

   As I walked along, thinking about this, I started to compare those
scenes to the scenes I had described for John - Elizabeth and I having
lunch, walking through the streets of London, flirting with each other in
the office.  I knew those were sexy, erotic images.  I knew that they were
even "better," in so many ways, than the scenes that John had described for
me and inspired for me.  But they weren't raw.  They weren't sensual.

   It became obvious to me.

   I'm verbal, he's physical.  It had been that way since high school.

   Verbal's good, isn't it?  The greatest sex organ is the brain, right?  I
thought about when Elizabeth had said I was sexy, and I remembered that she
said that after we had a great conversation at lunch together.  That's what
Elizabeth had liked about me, and in fact she liked that I was attracted to
her for more than just her beauty and fantastic legs.  We had a cerebral
connection, not a physical one.

   But is that what Elizabeth wanted - was it what Emily had wanted - a
sexy brain?  If so, then why did Emily choose John over me?  Was it because
she made that choice when she was still young?  Was she swayed by her
hormones, then, in a direction that she would not pursue, now, as an adult?

   No.  And it wouldn't be any different for Elizabeth.  Like I said, my
experiences with Elizabeth had been the same as with Emily.  We were close,
but not intimate physically.  I couldn't help but think what it would have
been like if John had met Elizabeth.  Would she have had the same reaction
to John that Emily had, would Elizabeth have made the same choice?

   Of course.  She would have chosen John over me.  I was sure of it.

   "The truth is," I told myself "women want it all." Just like I do, or
any other man does.  We all want it all.  And with regard to this
particular choice, what women want is to talk all day with a guy like me,
and then fuck all night with a guy like John.

   My thoughts returned to when I had watched John walk through the
restaurant earlier that evening, when I had thought that his body was
similar to mine, but with an extra layer of muscle.  It occurred to me that
the same description applied to his personality, now that he had matured.
In many ways his personality was similar to mine, but it was wrapped in an
extra layer - an extra layer of raw, masculine, physical potency.

   That's what John was.  He was like me, wrapped in an extra layer of
masculinity.  And it was that extra masculinity that made Emily go out with
him, and that would have put Elizabeth over the edge.

   Sure, women like me, they like me a lot.  But they like my mind, not my
body.

   And I knew that John can give them what I cannot, that he can be the man
that I cannot.  I can provide the verbal and mental stimulation women need,
but he can provide the physical stimulation they crave.

   I thought more about all the women I have known and flirted with - from
Emily to Elizabeth and now to Rachel, my ripe young office friend.  Sure, I
had seduced them all.  Sure, they were all attracted to me.  But to my
mind, to my words.  My relationship with each of them had been the same -
verbal, not physical.  Ever since fucking high school I had done everything
I could to perfect my mind - to create the mind and personality that every
woman wants.

   But John had the body.  The body that every woman wants.

   No, it was more than that.  It was way more than him being cute and in
good shape.  It was his personality, his seductive power over women.  I had
seen it, right in front of me, on the couch in my living room, and in his
car, 24 years ago.  That power had allowed him to seduce those hundred
girls in college, and to seduce his wife into pursuing him.  No woman had
ever pursued me like they pursued John.

   Just ask Emily, or any of the hundred others.

   They preferred him, not me.

   They wanted him, not me.

   And that thrilled me.

   So there I was, standing on the sidewalk outside my office building in
uptown Charlotte, thinking about how John - the guy I had just had dinner
with - would have had more success than I could have ever dreamed of with
all the women I had lusted after, and the only thing I knew for sure was
that I definitely wasn't going to drive home.

   No, I wasn't embarrassed.  I wasn't worried.

   No, the reason was simply that I was way too drunk to drive, and I just
needed to get control of myself (I could get a hold of myself at home!).

   Figuring that I could collect my car tomorrow, I turned around and
started walking back to the center of uptown.  The walk did me good.  I
wandered around on Tryon, Church and College streets, where a few bars were
still busy on this pleasant summer night.

   As I walked away from my office building, it was as if I was transported
back to that night, 24 years before, when I had walked away from John's car
back to my house.  Just as I had left him to make out with that girl, it
was now as if I had left him to make out with Emily, Amy, Rachel, Elizabeth
and every other girl I had ever liked.  But this time, I wasn't angry at
him, and my thoughts didn't bother me, because this was far from the first
time that I had thought about John being with a woman I know.  Of course,
as I said, in high school I had fantasized about John and Emily together,
but those fantasies had faded away.

   But my fantasies about John returned a few years later, with
exponentially more intensity.

   Yes, dear reader, we have come to the point in my story where I have to
fill you in on some of the other thoughts about John that preoccupied me in
recent years.

   My fantasies about John became much more explicit in about 1995, when I
first discovered the internet, back in the first days of "dial-up" and AOL.
It didn't take me long to discover chat rooms and an infinite variety of
written erotica.  After only a few weeks of perusing this material, I
discovered alt.sex.stories on Usenet.  And it took me only a few days to
discover that I liked "wife watching" and "slut wife" stories - stories
where some wife loses control of herself and goes at it with some hunky,
well-hung guy.  In these stories, the husband inevitably learns, much to
his surprise, that this doesn't bother him at all, in fact he likes it. 
Sometimes he watches his wife with another man, other times he deliberately
does not, and instead enjoys the teasing torment of knowing that his wife
is having sex in the very next room with some stranger.  And when I read
those stories, the stranger was always named John.

   As you learned from my description of the fantasies I had about John in
high school, I've never had a problem indulging myself in fantasies of
every sort.  I've taken pleasure from imagining all sorts of things that I
wouldn't dream of doing in real life.  The stories available on the
internet just gave me the comfort of knowing that other people had the same
varied and "exotic" fantasies that I did.  After all, those stories were no
different from the Penthouse Letters that John and I had each read.  Nor
were they different from the story about the girl in the library I made up
for John that first time.  It's not like the internet created pornography!

   To give you one example, a story I remember very well involved an old
friend of the husband coming to visit.  He turns out to be a bit of a lout,
and the wife instantly dislikes him even though he is tall, well-built and
rather handsome.  The husband has to make excuses for this guy's behavior,
and he promises his wife that if they can just be accommodating for one
evening, the friend will be gone the next day.

   As the evening wears on, the alcohol flows freely and the three of them
start to play cards.  Sure enough, the friend suggests a game of strip
poker.  The husband makes a show of objecting, but of course he's secretly
thrilled by the idea of his hunky friend seeing his wife naked.  He's
surprised, though, when she doesn't object.  Instead, she says "Why not?"
as she glares at her husband, as if to signal that he's just about to
regret getting what he asked for.

   They play a few hands and the husband is nearly naked, being the loser
that he is.  The wife has stripped off her shirt, revealing her lacy bra,
and the friend has yet to lose a hand.  At this point, the friend suggests
that, seeing as he's getting so lucky, he'd like to make it more
interesting.  "Why don't we play a hand for your wife?" he asks, turning to
the husband.

   "What do you mean?" the husband responds, meekly, knowing exactly what
was meant.

   "I mean, just you and me.  Whoever wins the hand gets to sleep with this
pretty lady here."

   "Now you're getting out of line," the husband responds angrily, even
though he can't believe how the idea is turning him on.  He looks at his
wife and says, "Honey, I'm sorry I started this," before facing his friend
and saying, "I think you should leave now."

   "No, it's ok."

   The husband looks back at his wife in surprise and sees her looking at
him with daggers in her eyes.  Never has she respected him less, because
it's obvious that he cannot protect her.  And it's equally obvious who's
the stronger man.

   "You started this," she continues, "and you should learn to finish what
you started."

   "I guess the lady knows what she wants," the friend interjects with a
confident laugh, as he starts to deal the cards.

   Of course, the friend wins the hand, and immediately takes the wife's
hand in his.  "You'll excuse me for leaving the table while I'm ahead," he
says, looking in the husband's eyes, "but I'd like to enjoy my winnings
now."

   When he gets up and walks away from the table, the wife follows without
saying a word.  The husband is speechless too, and as he watches the two of
them walk off toward his bedroom, he can see only the look of complete
disgust that his wife gives him, before she turns away to gaze at the man
in front of her.

   The husband cleans up the cards and puts the glasses in the kitchen,
trying to pretend he doesn't hear what's going on in the bedroom.  But
within minutes the couple in there have become quite loud, and it's obvious
that his friend is giving his wife a pounding like she never had before -
and that she loves it.  The husband sits in his living room for hours,
listening to them go at it again and again, and stroking himself to orgasm
after orgasm to match each of his wife's climaxes.

   The next morning, everyone is up as if nothing had happened the night
before, or at least, pretending as if nothing had happened.  The friend
says his brief goodbyes and heads out, and the wife turns to start the
dishes.  When the husband walks up to wrap his arms around her, she shrugs
to push him away.  "Just forget about it," she says.

   After a few days of silence between the couple, it seems that everything
has returned to normal.  The wife tells her husband that there's nothing to
talk about.  They all had too much to drink and did something stupid, and
she never wants to see or hear of that guy again.  The husband is satisfied
with her explanation and they start to make love again, but he can't help
but think she seems rather listless in bed.

   And then one day a few weeks later, he comes home early from work and
sees a strange car in the driveway.  When he opens the front door, the
sounds from the bedroom are unmistakable.  He simply sits in the living
room and listens as they go on for more than an hour - an hour during which
he never loses his erection.

   A few minutes after the sounds stop, his friend doesn't say a word as he
walks through the living room, and out the front door.

   * * *

   After about 20 minutes wandering the neighborhood, I'd gotten so turned
on thinking about these stories that I knew I had to get home.  Luckily, a
cab was available, so I hopped in and gave the driver my address.  Act One,
Scene 3

   Mark's home, after dinner with John.

   The cab dropped me off at home after only a ten minute ride.  It was
well past midnight and my house was completely dark and quiet.  I tiptoed
in through the front door and went immediately to the basement.  In my
house, all the bedrooms, living areas and kitchen are on the main floor,
but the house sits on top of a slope, so that the basement opens onto a
patio out back that looks out on the trees in the back yard.  The three
rooms in the basement are a small den where we have the computer and such,
a small guest bedroom which also has a door leading out to the Endless
Pool, and a large rec room with a big comfy couch and the TV.  Each of
these rooms has windows looking out on the patio.  Since the house is on
top of the hill, the basement and that patio are very private.  It's the
perfect place to relax in the evening.  But on this night, like many
others, I had a special form of "relaxation" in mind.

   Leaving all the lights off, I went straight to the computer and within
minutes after walking through the front door I was reading my favorite slut
wife stories on the aptly-named alt.sex.stories text repository
(asstr.org). My imagination was transported back 15 years to when I had
first read these stories.  Of course, at that time, I had always imagined
John as the guy who had appeared to interrupt a quiet domestic situation
and drive the wife to new levels of distraction.  But now, I could imagine
that same scene with the image of John, as he was now, fresh in my mind.

   A lot of those stories would start with the wife meeting the new guy in
a bar, so of course I thought back to when I had first seen John across the
room earlier that night.  I remembered that I had noticed his hair first,
but now, in the mood I was in, I was ready to admit that his wonderful hair
was not only attractive, but downright sexy.  I also remembered that when I
first approached him, and he turned to face me, I couldn't keep my eyes off
him.  Since high school, he had changed in a very positive way.  His face
was not only handsome, but sexy (that word again).  What I didn't mention
before, when I described my first reaction to him, was the sparkle in his
dark brown eyes, and the way I noticed that the thick eyebrows I like so
much on a woman also turn out to be something I find to be attractive on a
man.  Nor did I say how long my attention lingered on his nose and lips,
which, I could now admit, I had imagined kissing from the first moment I
saw him.

   When I said that I liked him even more because he was John, my old
friend, rather than just because he was attractive, I didn't tell you that
I was holding myself back, just like I had done in high school.  In fact, I
was reluctant to admit to you, and to myself, what I really thought about
him - the fact was, I truly was attracted to him, as a guy.  That's what I
thought when I first saw him.  To be honest, I thought right away that he
was a very handsome, sexy man.

   "Emily was right," I remember thinking when I first looked in his eyes.
He is cute, that's for sure.  But "cute" isn't really the right word for a
42-year old man.  "Sexy," is a much better word, and that's what he was. 
As I listened to him talk, I found myself looking at the texture of his
face.  The lines by his eyes, the stubble around his lips and along his
jaw. I can be self-conscious about my own skin, but I found his to be very
- inviting, as I said.  Inviting to a touch, and a kiss, even.

   You know also, from the description that I first gave you, that I was
interested in more than just his face.  When we walked to our table, and I
stared at his ass, you have to believe me when I say that I didn't care if
anyone else noticed.  For all I know, I gaped in open-mouthed wonder.  He
didn't have a "nice" ass - it was perfect!

   And I mentioned his shirt, but I didn't tell you how I noticed that his
manly yet graceful neck was the introduction to a well-proportioned torso.
His shoulders, his chest, his biceps, all were very nicely developed.  And
as John and I talked, it was difficult for me to avoid noticing his arms,
which were very attractive all the way down to his large, masculine hands.

   There was only one, inescapable conclusion.  He was not an athletic,
well-developed guy.  That would be putting it politely.  He was a man - a
very muscular, sexy man.  So when I said that I concluded during dinner
that he was pretty much like me, but with about 15 pounds of pure muscle
wrapped around his entire torso, you have to know of course that I was also
imagining how we would look together, our arms and legs wrapped around each
other.

   With thoughts like these filling my mind, you won't be surprised to hear
that I had no further need for any slut wife stories that night.

   Instead, I thought back with a smile to the times in my room when I
would put my magazines aside, close my eyes and think only of John.  How
nasty it felt to break all my "rules" about masturbating.  Feeling the same
way now, I knew I didn't need the stories because my own imagination,
fueled by the memories of my dinner with John that evening, would be more
than sufficient fuel for my hottest fantasies.  So I quickly erased my
web-browsing history and powered off the computer, and then walked over to
that big comfy couch in the next room, stripping off my clothes along the
way, leaving only the skimpy hipster I was wearing to tease me with its
slinky fabric.

   Then, laying back on that couch in my darkened basement, I abandoned
myself to a fantasy that I had first created 15 years ago, when I had
started reading those stories.

   My fantasy was about John, of course.  He arrives in town for a job
interview, and, being the good friend that I am, I invite him to stay in
the apartment where my wife and I live.  His arrival is matched by a
heightened sexuality, as I can tell right off that my wife also notices his
physical attractions.

   The first night after he arrives, my wife and I have very passionate sex
- because we know he is right there in the next room.  Although my wife and
I say nothing to each other, we are both fantasizing that John would hear
us, or walk by the half-open door and watch us, and be tempted to join us.

   The sexual tension builds over the next few days, as John stays in our
apartment and prepares for his big interview, but it does not yet
culminate.

   (It only took me a moment in real time to bring back to mind this setup
for my favorite fantasy, and as I did so I ran my hand lightly along my
thigh and over my tummy to my chest.  I was eager to get to the point where
my fantasy would deviate from the pattern of the stories I had read on the
internet, and take a turn that I found to be especially thrilling.)

   Instead of John getting it on with my wife, she gets out of the way, by
leaving for an out-of-town business trip.  This was before we had kids, so
it means I would be home alone for the next few days or, in this case,
alone with John.

   After dropping my wife off at the airport for a very early morning
flight on Friday, I return to discover John in the kitchen wearing only his
tiny bikini underwear, of course.  When I walked in on him he seems to be
as surprised as I am, because he didn't expect that I would return so
quickly, and that I would have the chance to take in a perfect view of his
perfect body - or did he?  Anyway, he isn't shy about having a quick
breakfast in his present state of (un)dress, and afterwards I have the
pleasure of seeing him get dressed in his best suit before heading off to
his interview.

   (Let's just say he cleaned up well, and I realized that I had the same
thoughts about him that I had had watching Elizabeth get ready for her
meeting that time in front of the mirror in my office.)

   (In my fantasy, I go straight to my bedroom after he leaves, and stroke
myself with abandon.  But in my basement that night, I had to control
myself because I wanted to wait for the best part.  So I satisfied myself
by just lightly running my hand along my stiffening cock, which was
straining against the thin fabric of my hipster brief, as I thought back to
John's body at dinner that night, and imagined how he would look in the
tiny underwear he wore for me in my fantasy.)

   My memories of our dinner were also a new inspiration for the next scene
in my fantasy, when he returns that evening from his interview.  I had come
home early from work and was waiting for him nervously, but when he bounds
into the apartment, very "up" from how well the interview had gone, all of
my hesitation dissipates and we go right into an excited conversation about
all his plans for his new job.

   Talking like this with him leaves me entirely frustrated and completely
turned on (again, just as I had actually felt at dinner with him earlier
that evening).  But rather than making things easy for myself, or shrinking
away from my opportunity, I suggest that we share a joint, like we did in
high school

   He happily agrees, but says, "I just want to change out of this suit
first."

   "Ok, I'll change too."

   So I go to my bedroom to give him some privacy in the living room, where
he was sleeping on the couch, and quickly slip into a t-shirt and a pair of
short boxers, like I usually wear to bed.

   When I return to the living room, I see that he has similarly changed
into a deliciously tight t-shirt and a pair of green silk boxers that are
short like mine, and snug around his muscular thighs.

   We light up a joint and smoke quietly for a minute, passing it back and
forth to each other.  As I feel the pleasant haze of the drug start to take
hold, I watch his hands closely as he brings the joint to his lips and then
hands it back to me while he slowly releases the smoke through his nose.

   When we start to talk again, the conversation somehow turns to our
workout habits.  (As I lay on the couch in my basement, my mind returned to
our conversation at dinner about biking, lifting weights and swimming, and
I fantasized that in the stoned state of my fantasy, I could steer that
conversation to what I really wanted to talk about - how all that exercise
had perfected John's fantastic body.)

   John is too modest to let me go on about his shoulders, his arms, his
back and his abs.  Instead he tries to tell me about some imperfection he
sees in himself as I laughingly tell him he's crazy.

   "No, really, look," he says, as if he knows of a way to convince me.

   Now completely lost in a marijuana haze, I watch as he stands up before
me, strips off his shirt and uses this discourse about all his imagined
faults as an excuse to run his hands across his chest.  Then he talks about
how he needs to work on the definition in his abs, moving his hands there
to trace a trail across his muscles that I long to follow with my tongue.

   Then, seeing that my eyes are locked on his hands, he rests them on his
hips.  The reason he does so, of course, is to focus my attention on his
stiff, pulsating cock, which is barely concealed by his tight silk boxers.
Which is to say it's no more concealed than is the erection straining
against my own skimpy boxers.

   But we're two guys, right?  Although we are entirely familiar with
hard-ons, we know that they're intended for women, not men, right?

   John, of course, is simply amused by the confusion he reads in my
expression.  He knows that I am completely hypnotized by his presence, and
that I can only stare transfixed as he pulls his briefs aside and, without
saying a word, reveals his deliciously hard shaft and begins to slowly
stroke himself.

   Finally, as he realizes that I am at his command and will meekly do
anything he wishes, he reaches over towards me and, after one final glance
in my glazed eyes, takes each side of my head in his hands and brings my
mouth to his hard cock, before pushing it past my lips and into my mouth.

   After I service him, he just as calmly pulls himself out and goes off to
take a shower, leaving me with his cum all over my face.  And the only
thing I can wonder is if I have permission to move.

   (As I lay on my couch that night, my breath now came quickly and I could
feel my heartbeat thumping, but I wasn't ready to finish yet.  Over the
years since I first had this fantasy, I had returned to it countless times
and had greatly elaborated what would happen after that first time with
John.)

   For the time that my wife is gone, my only concern is John's pleasure.
We don't talk much, and I don't even care to wonder whether he's my friend
or not.

   Even after my wife returns, and my normal life resumes.  John has now
moved to town to take his new job, and I take every chance I can to sneak
away and be with him.  He knows that he has me completely under his
control, so he even calls at times when he knows my wife and I are home
together, and tells me to leave and come over to his place.  Sometimes, he
doesn't even let me take a shower before going back home.

   One night, I had to work late.  When I call home to tell my wife, she
tells me not to worry since she has plans with some friends and she might
not even be home until late, so I shouldn't bother calling again.  Nothing
unusual in that, I think, as I return to my work.

   Happily, there's a change in plans only a few minutes later.  The
project I'm working on is postponed so I can leave the office about 7:30
pm. I'm happy that I'll have a relaxing evening to myself, but I'm way more
happy when I arrive home and see John's car parked outside our apartment
building.  Thinking that he must have just come over to see if I was there,
I very expectantly bound into our apartment, the erection already pushing
against the fabric of my slacks.

   As soon as I enter the living room, I hear sounds from the bedroom.  The
sounds of John fucking someone.  At first, I'm completely thrown off.  He's
never involved anyone else - we've always been alone together.  But then
again, I am intrigued by this development, and I begin to sneak around the
corner to peek into the bedroom.

   Imagine my shock and horror when I round the corner and see .  .  .

   ... my wife thrusting herself up and down very excitedly on John's
massive cock, as he lies back on our very own bed - the same bed where he
had so often taken me when my wife was away!

   After a moment when I stand transfixed, staring at the sight in front of
me, I simply retreat back around the corner.  A thousand and one ideas fill
my head, not least of all that my wife is cheating on me.  All of the
nights when I was working late at the office during the past few months
begin to flood back to mind, and I realize that she had plenty of
opportunities.

   I also cannot shut out the noises that fill the apartment.  She's
expressing herself like she never had when she made love to me.  She's
telling John how she's absolutely dying for his cock - how she can't wait
for him to make her come - and when he does, it's louder and more intense
than I had ever done for her.

   But actually, what I'm really thinking is that I can't blame her.  I too
was a slave to John's cock, and I knew why she was doing what she was
doing. I had known ever since that first night when he was in our
apartment.

   So, I turn around and look in the bedroom again.  This time, John is on
top of her, pushing his perfect torso up on his muscular arms, giving me a
clear view of his chest and abs as he thrusts into my wife.  Again, I just
stand there, transfixed, so that when he looks over and sees me, he gives
only that same look of indifference he had given me the first time I had
serviced him, and keeps on pounding my wife.

   Like a zombie, I walk into the room, saying nothing.  At first, my wife
is so carried away that she doesn't even see me.  But when she does, she
panics.  She starts saying, "Oh my god, oh honey, it's not what you think,
I couldn't help myself," and so on.

   John is much calmer.  He just stops his thrusting, pulls out of her and
gets out of bed to stand in front of me.  He looks at my wife and says,
"Don't worry baby, he's not angry at you.  At least, not for the reasons
you think."

   When my wife looks at me, and sees that instead of being angry, I'm just
staring with meek desire at John's body, she slowly calms down.  Instead of
being worried, she begins to get even more turned on - turned on by John's
power over me.

   John looks back at me, and with that same impassive look he says, "Well,
the time has come, Mark.  Why don't you show your wife the way things are
now?  Why don't you show her what you really want to do?"

   And that's what I do.  I drop to my knees, and ...

   And that's when I came, laying back on my couch that night, stroking
myself as roughly as I could stand.  And as I came, in my mind's eye I
looked over to see that not only was my wife watching, but that Amy, Emily,
Elizabeth and Rachel were all there, also, watching me intently.  And it
was their presence - the knowledge that they were watching me as I knelt
before John and sucked his cock - that put me over the edge.

   * * *

   Right after I came, and I lay there slowly stroking myself with one hand
while my other hand wandered across my chest, I felt everything I had done
that evening - the dinner, the walk after dinner, and what I had just done
- wash over me, and I immediately felt very sleepy.  I have to admit, that
the one thing I don't like about growing older, into my forties, is this
lack of "stamina." As I quickly cleaned myself up, gathered my clothes and
stumbled off to slip quietly into bed next to my wife, my last thought was
how, when I came back home from John's place at age 18, I had been able to
enjoy a full afternoon of delicious fantasy, coming over and over again as
I masturbated to thoughts of him.

   Those were the days.  Act One, Scene 4 The next morning.

   I woke up with the sunrise the next morning, only a few hours after my
head had hit the pillow the night before.  At first I had the happy thought
that I wasn't even hung over from the night before, but when I sat up in
bed, I realized it was only because I was still drunk!  Making the best of
a difficult situation, I decided to take a slow bike ride into work, since
I had left my car at the office, and shower and get dressed there.  Getting
out of bed I slipped directly into a baggy pair of running shorts and old
t-shirt (no concern for my appearance today!) and rummaged around for some
clothes to change into later.  The house was a beehive of activity because
my wife and kids would be leaving the next day.  In my bemused state, all I
could do was smile, say my good mornings over a bowl of cereal, and when
the time was right I slipped on my sunglasses and hopped on my bike.

   As I pedaled along to work, I tried to sort through in my head
everything that had happened, and everything I had thought about, since
John called three days earlier.  I realized it was especially difficult to
do so because my memories of John from high school, and the fantasies I had
had off and on since then, were coloring my impressions of what we talked
about at dinner.  And those impressions from dinner were also coloring my
memories of him.  It was like everything was caught up in one big feedback
loop and I was having difficulty separating what had really happened from
what I had imagined happening.

   What's more, I couldn't ignore the obvious similarity between the
fantasy about John that I had replayed the night before, and John's actual
arrival in town just as my wife was getting ready to leave with the kids to
visit her parents.  But I couldn't figure if this similarity meant
anything. After all, there was nothing unusual about meeting up again with
a friend from high school, years after graduation.  And, it's not uncommon
for a wife to leave her husband alone for a few days.  Maybe it was the
banality of this situation that had inspired my fantasy in the first place
- that is, I took a common situation in a different direction.  Adding
spice to life, that's all.  Nothing wrong with that.

   Similarly, it's not hard to figure out the attraction that those slut
wife stories would have for me, and other married men.  After all, there's
a lot of pressure on men (and women too, I'm sure) to perform, to be the
perfect lover, a good spouse, and all the rest.  So the idea that someone
would sort of appear out of nowhere and take that pressure off - in a very
"forbidden," exciting, way - is a harmless fantasy that is easy to
understand.  Looking back on my days as a young husband, I realized I liked
those stories because the husband doesn't have to feel responsible for the
wife, and especially doesn't have to feel responsible for pleasing her
sexually.  The pressure to perform is off.

   And in my case, there was someone in my past - John - who I could easily
imagine filling that role.  Since I hadn't seen him in years, and didn't
expect to ever see him again, he could safely be the person who would do
what the fantasy required, and bring my wife to paroxysms of pleasure that
I could never provide.

   As I pedaled along, I felt the blood flowing to my legs, my hips - and
my butt - and I began to enjoy replaying all my memories from the night
before.  I thought back to how much I had enjoyed listening to John recount
his conquests in college, and how it had felt even better to share my
experiences with Elizabeth with him.

   "To share her with him," I thought, and smiled to myself.  Had last
night really been the first time I'd thought about that?

   Had I really never before thought of John and Elizabeth together? 
Thinking about it now, I couldn't say for sure, but I realized that I had
probably been thinking about it in some way ever since I first met
Elizabeth.  In fact, now I had to wonder how much my experience with Emily
had predetermined how I approached Elizabeth.  That is, had I been
reluctant to start anything with Elizabeth because I was worried that if I
made a move on her, she would have reacted with the same "let's be friends"
attitude that Emily had?  And when I thought that the bad experiences
Elizabeth had with other guys were the reason that I did not come onto her,
was I just rationalizing my own hesitation and self-doubt?

   So I came back to that "verbal vs.  physical" thing again, and I
wondered whether the pattern of behavior toward women I had adopted really
bothered me, or, like in those "slut wife" stories, whether I actually
enjoyed what was happening - enjoyed it because it took the pressure off,
because it eliminated a pressure to perform that I knew I could never live
up to.

   I thought again about my morning bike ride two days earlier, when I had
so much enjoyed reminiscing about that summer after senior year and all the
fantasies John had inspired for me.  It occurred to me that since my
experience with Emily was so closely followed by those fantasies about
John, my thoughts about him had somehow affected the way I approached women
ever since.  My approach is simultaneously very confident, and hesitant. 
One the one hand, I am completely comfortable talking with women, and even
flirting with them, because I know well how to make each woman I meet the
center of attention.  But at the same time, I am physically hesitant to the
point of near-complete chastity.  The reason for this is simple, if I could
be honest with myself - it's because I know I will never be able to satisfy
any of them the way that John could.  I could never live up to the
unobtainable ideal of virility that I had created in my fantasies about
John.

   And so, I adapted.  Instead of trying to live up to a standard I could
never meet, I perfected the qualities that Emily had admired - my emotional
and cerebral qualities - the same qualities that Elizabeth had so much
enjoyed, and even found to be sexy, at lunch that day.

   But in perfecting those qualities, what had I given up?  What was I
missing?

   At this point, I realized that I had unwittingly rolled to a stop on my
bicycle.  I was passing through a small park and had become so lost in
thought that I had simply stopped next to a park bench.  I decided to
listen to my subconscious, get off my bike, and sit on that bench simply to
think for a moment.

   Sitting there, I thought back to my first bike ride home, that evening
after John had called, and I thought back to the question I asked myself
then, when I realized that John and I are both looking for something: "What
am I looking for?"

   I paused

   "It would have to be someone completely different."

   John's words from dinner came back to me, as if in answer to my
question.

   And I knew he was right.

   The answer would never be Elizabeth, nor Rachel, nor Emily, even.  What
I was looking for would have to come from someone completely different from
any of them.

   "It would have to be him," I said to myself, under my breath.

   And in that instant, my subconscious told me that I was ready to move
on. Without thinking further, I got back on my bike and pedaled out of the
park, heading towards work.

   Now I pumped my legs vigorously and fluidly, in contrast to the languor
of earlier that morning.  I was no longer preoccupied.  Instead, I was
focused on a new goal, a new possibility.

   The possibility of being with John.

   Thinking back to everything - everything - from the night before, this
possibility made me giddy, and I even laughed out loud as I accelerated on
my bike; but at the same time, none of it made any sense.  It was starting
to sink in that after 24 years, John had returned, all of a sudden, and it
turned out that upon seeing him I wanted him just as much as I imagined I
would in all the fantasies that had been hiding in the recesses of my mind
for all that time.  And I had to be honest with myself, it wasn't just his
body (though that was a very good start), and it wasn't just his face.  It
was him, it was his personality.  I liked him.  I really liked him.

   "How is this possible?" I actually asked myself, almost out of breath
because I was riding my bicycle nearly as fast as I could.

   You see, the thing is, I really don't like men.  I really don't, never
have.  I think they're stupid, uninteresting and unattractive and I
honestly can't see what women see in them.

   On the other hand ... sure, I've admitted that a young, very attractive,
very well-built man can be incredibly sexy and attractive.  And sure, if it
were somehow possible to do so without consequence, I don't see why I
couldn't enjoy a physical, sexual experience with one of the underwear
models on the web sites I frequent.  I've told you what my fantasies are
like.

   But don't get me started on their personalities.  The guy would have to
promise not to say anything!  And I'm a verbal guy, remember?  So I just
never saw it happening.

   To give you an example, I'd mention that one film star I think is very
sexy and attractive is Russell Crowe.  I like his face, his body, his
accent and his physical mannerisms.  Whenever he's on the screen, I can't
take my eyes off him.  I want him.  But his off-screen personality is a
complete turn-off to me.  I have the feeling that I would actually be very
uncomfortable in his presence.

   The other thing is that in my fantasies, the guy has to be very, very
attractive and fit.  Also, strangely enough, he has to be white.  This is a
complete contrast to my feelings about women.  I enjoy women of all types,
looks, races, personalities - the whole shebang.

   But what does any of this matter, anyway?  All of these thoughts were
comfortably confined to the realm of my idle musings, the sort of thing I
thought about on my lunchtime walks.  Until John called, that is.

   John's phone call triggered an intense curiosity that I realized had
been in the back of my mind for some time: what would I do if in fact I met
a guy who was not only very attractive physically, but also had the
qualities that would interest me in any person, such as being intelligent,
contemplative, and fun to be around.  From that first phone call with John,
I knew that he had those qualities.  And, since he was also as attractive
as I remembered from high school ... well, then the potential got very
interesting, very fast.

   One last thing.  You have to remember what I told John at dinner about
the feeling of being pursued; about how I liked it.  He would have to pick
up that signal.

   But what if he did?  What if a guy like that - John, for instance - were
to actually make a move on me?  I was pretty sure that I would not have
been able to resist, and everything - everything - that had happened the
night before told me I would not have wanted to resist.

   Again, the same question - how is this possible?  Well, on that August
day in 2010 when John called me, there were two things lurking in the back
of my mind that made me open to the possibility of, well, being with
"someone completely different."

   The first was my wife's attitude - she often encouraged me to spend more
time with men!  Not strange at all when you think about it.  As I
mentioned, she didn't like me spending time with women, and she could tell
that I was feeling a little lonely.  So, it's not like she was nagging or
anything, but every once in a while she would ask why I didn't find some
male friend to go running or biking, or to a museum, or to the hardware
store, or whatever else I like to do.  Now, the reason I don't do this is
very simple - I don't know any men I'd be remotely interested in doing
things like that with!  When I exercise or shop or whatever, I like to do
it on my own terms, I don't want to have to put up with some other guy. 
And see above about how I like women, not men.

   But my wife's attitude was not lost on me.  If I did somehow meet a man
that was attractive, interesting, and interested in me, I would have every
opportunity in the world to be with him.  In fact, my wife would encourage
and facilitate it!

   The second element was that I was beginning to realize that the
hesitations that held me back, where women were involved, just weren't a
concern if it was a guy I was interested in.  Like I said, I have a deep
affection for women, and a strong impulse to take care of them, provide for
them, and please them.  So I never started anything with Elizabeth, or
Rachel, or any other woman, because I didn't think I'd be able, in my
present circumstances, to have a complete relationship and give them what
they deserved.  Also, I worried about how my family and friends would
adjust to the new arrangement.  I'll admit - it isn't my willpower that
keeps me in line, it's concerns like these

   So what if the perfect guy came along - handsome, fit, friendly - and
interested in me?

   In that case, everything seemed that it would be "completely different,"
and there was no real downside I could see.  The question of how such a man
would fit into my life, what my friends and family would think about it,
etc.  just didn't occur to me.  And for some reason I can't explain, I
didn't worry about pleasing him.  Maybe I'm more sure of what a guy wants,
or I know how easy it is to please myself.  But for whatever reason, I
thought that we would just hook up every once in a while, to go for a run
or whatever, and we could have sex afterwards.

   Saying it like that made it sound like a perfectly wonderful idea.

   I certainly thought it would be.

   Would it happen with John?

   As I approached my office building, I realized that my giddiness about
John was getting the best of me, and I was getting way ahead of myself. 
The fact was, the night before I had met a man I liked.  A person I liked.
What I was most sure of was that we'd be friends, that I enjoyed talking to
him, and that I could share with him thoughts and feelings I couldn't share
with anyone else.  Sure, I was attracted to him.  I thought he was very
sexy.  But I had dealt with having the same feelings about Elizabeth, and
had remained friends with her.  I could deal with these feelings about
John.

   Anyway, who knew?  Maybe he was attracted to me, too.  It was possible.
Maybe we would have a fling, starting the very next week.  It could happen;
why not enjoy looking forward to it?

   By the time I was walking from my bike to the locker room at work, I was
thinking that the bottom line was, there's no reason to worry about any of
this now.  It probably wouldn't happen, and if it did, I was smart enough
to make it work.  For now, I could just enjoy a harmless fantasy.

   * * *

   When I got to my desk, there really wasn't a lot for me to do.  It was a
summer Friday, August 6 - sure to be a quiet day at work.

   Putting myself back in that place, that morning after dinner with John,
puts me in a very happy place.  Especially after I realized that it could
work out many ways with him but all of them positive.  Still, you know my
motto - "the unexamined life is not worth living" - and I couldn't help but
wonder just what I really thought about him, when I got right down to it.

   It's interesting, you know.  I never wondered the same thing about
Elizabeth.  I think that by the time I met her, I had had so much
experience with women that I acted just by instinct, which told me how to
start a relationship with her that was finely balanced between friendship
and flirtation.  But with John, it was completely different.  This was an
area where I had no experience.

   And I didn't know what to think about his story about college.  I
believed him, even though I had no way of knowing if it was really true,
but I took it all with a grain of salt.  I guess what I was really
wondering was whether my impression of what he said was the same as what he
meant to say.  Maybe I was seeing it all through the lens of our shared
experience with Emily and high school.  Maybe I wasn't even remembering
high school correctly.

   Mulling this over, I thought of one explanation that would account for
all my mixed feelings - I really was attracted to him.  I fell for him in
high school and I had never stopped thinking about him.  It's just that I'm
also attracted to women, and so for obvious reasons I repressed my feelings
for John.  Since I couldn't confront those feelings, I fixated on all my
fantasies based on my feelings of inadequacy from high school.

   And so on, and so on.  Hey, I never said I was a psychologist; I'm a
finance guy!

   So I'm wallowing in all this crap (I think that's the scientific term
for it), when an email from John appears in my inbox.

   I wait about a millisecond before opening it.  I've saved it to this
day; this is what it said:

   "Hi Mark!  It was really great seeing you last night.  I had a fun time
and was glad that we got to talk about so much.  I'm so glad that I called
you this time, I should have called you the last time I was in Charlotte.
If you're available next week, I'd really enjoy seeing more of the area
with you

   "In the meantime, I saw this on the internet this morning and thought
you would get a kick out of it."

   (He attached an article about adults getting back into Dungeons &
Dragons.)

   "See you later,

   "John."

   This message really had an effect on me.  It seemed to be just what I
needed to hear from him, and it put me back on track to realizing that John
was here, now, in reality, ready to spend more time with me.  Plus, even
more important, he was taking the initiative.  He was reaching out to me.
He wanted to spend more time with me.  I couldn't possible resist that, and
the reasons why I couldn't resist just didn't matter.

   I thought for a moment how to respond.  Of course I'd be thrilled to
show him around town, but it did throw me a bit that he'd also referred
back to high school, in a way.  I decided the best course was, as I had up
to this point, to act positively and stay focused.  After all, just the
fact that he was interested in some of the same things as me was
exhilarating.  And I still liked D&D and that whole genre of gaming.

   Here's the message I wrote back:

   "Hey John!  Thanks for writing.  I really had a fantastic time last
night, too.  It was so much fun to get out on the town and it felt really
good to talk about a lot of things that, well obviously I haven't had much
of a chance to talk about.  Thanks for listening!

   "I would love to show you around Charlotte.  There is so much more to
this city than people usually think of.  Think about what you would like to
do - museums, a park?  There is a really good bike trail that runs down to
some bars and restaurants in The South End.

   "Thanks for the article, too.  I haven't had any chance to play D&D
after we did in high school, but I have very happy memories of that and
have always thought about somehow `getting back in the game.' I like to
keep up on it vicariously.  I even went on eBay and got all the old books,
which I had foolishly thrown away (actually, I think I lost them).  Hey,
there's something else I would be too embarrassed to talk about with anyone
other than you!

   "I'll be busy this weekend, but I'm free starting next Monday.  Let me
know about your schedule.  - Mark"

   That last sentence, about being embarrassed, just sort of came to me as
I was writing.  At first, I was going to delete it, but then I thought,
"What the hell.  He's smart enough to figure it out, and if he doesn't,
then I'm not so sure I want to spend time with him." Also, I wanted to give
him some sign of the closeness I had felt with him.  I left it in,
wondering how he would react.

   I found out soon enough.  Within a minute or so, I got this response:

   "Mark - I got a chuckle when I read what you said about D&D.  I'm happy
to share one of your guilty pleasures.  What class would your character
be?"

   Whoa.

   This was an intense message for me.  It hit me on so many levels.  His
talking about sharing a guilty pleasure would have been enough, but the
last sentence really got me.  I read it as referring to the whole
roleplaying aspect of the game, which had taken on a much more sexual
connotation for me over the years since high school.  Last, and most
important maybe, was the way he was subtly inviting me to role play with
him.  (At least, that's how I read it.)

   But aside from the particular aspects of his message, the general fact
that he would write an email like that had significance for me.  Here's the
reason.  We all enjoy a flirty message at work, right?  Just so long as
it's from the right person, and doesn't go too far.  That's been my
experience, and I've never heard any objections about those that I've sent,
and I've received more than a few choice examples of the genre.  But the
weird thing is that I sometimes worry that I slip back into that mode in
normal correspondence.  It's like I've trained myself to look for
double-entendres, and sometimes after I write something I have to go back
and delete a phrase that strikes me as, well, too much.

   It can be something as simple as writing a message to Rachel that says
"Please come by my office." (I would replace this with "Please stop by my
office.") It sounds silly, I know, but it's one of those things that's
always in the back of my head.

   So even though I was thinking at the time that John's message was rather
flirty, I was also aware that I could have been reading too much into it
and maybe he didn't intend it that way at all.  And, even more important, I
realized the potential for me to be a flirt in response.

   The only thing I could be sure of was that I was way over-thinking this,
so I tried to put it all out of my mind and respond as simply and neutrally
as possible: "John - I'd be one of the thief classes.  Probably a Bard."

   I didn't add, "Would you be the Dungeon Master?" That would have been
way too much.  Even in my addled state, I realized that.

   He responded to me quickly.  "That's cool, you always did have a way
with words."

   Ok, that's a natural thing to say about a Bard, who can cast spells
through his songs.  I forced out of my mind the worry (or was it hope?)
that he was referring back to the story I had told him that one time, that
one hot summer afternoon, 24 years ago.  "Keep things positive," I told
myself.

   "Yep, I like that they have mystical powers, and acrobatic skills, in
addition to thieving," I wrote back to him.

   He replied in less than a minute:

   "Or is it that you just like to wear leather?"

   I laughed out loud, and I could really feel the throbbing of the
erection that had developed when I received his first message.  I just
tossed off my first response, trying not to think about it.

   "Another plus!  What would you be?"

   "A Paladin."

   The response to this was too obvious.  "A knight in shining armor!," I
wrote, still being careful not to say "My knight in shining armor!"

   "Something like that," he answered.  So modest!

   I knew where to take this.  "But, I'm not so sure you could handle the
lawful good part."

   "True, that could be a problem.  Especially with you around to tempt
me."

   Whoa.

   Double whoa.

   Just respond, don't think about it.

   "What's that supposed to mean?!  I'm chaotic good, not evil."

   "That's what I meant.  Your thieving skills, remember?"

   "Oh, I see." Maybe I was disappointed, but I still liked where this was
going, so I added, "I always saw you as more of the Ranger type anyway. 
Moving silently through the woods and all that."

   "Plus, I would get to wear leather."

   Don't think.  "Like I said, another bonus!  We would make a good team."

   We went on like that for about half an hour.  We laid in wait in the
forest for a passing carriage carrying rich nobles.  I distracted them by
offering to provide a song, while John circled behind to check out the
treasure they carried.  It was John who really got things going when he saw
that the carriage conveyed the king's two young princesses to a nearby
castle.  I added that they were off to be wed to the evil lord and his
henchman.

   Things were really getting good, with these two young princesses
desperate to be ....  saved, yeah, that's it.  Then he had to go to a
meeting.

   Sigh.  Oh, well.

   I headed straight to the men's room to masturbate.

   Undoing John's leather armor was quite an enjoyable task.  Act One,
Scene 5

   Mark's home; Friday evening and weekend.

   After work that evening, I was seriously tempted to call John and see if
he wanted to get together for a quick drink.  But, aside from worrying
about being too "forward," I knew that if I did see him there would be no
way I could make it quick, and I had to get home.

   When I got there, the house was full of activity to distract me. 
Preparations for the upcoming departure were well under way.

   The next morning, Saturday, I got up early to help my family finish
packing for their trip, and then dropped them off at the airport.  It
wasn't the first time that my wife had taken the kids to visit her parents,
so everything went smoothly.  On the way home, I stopped at the grocery
store to stock up on all the food, snacks, and of course wine and a bottle
of gin, that I would need to fully enjoy my two weeks alone.  As I pulled
the car into the garage, I had to think back to my fantasy and wonder, with
a smile on my face, what it would have been like to return and find John in
my kitchen, wearing just a tiny pair of underwear.

   Even though I knew I would have no such luck, I was looking forward to
two weeks alone.  Sure, I love my wife and family, and our time together is
fantastic, but still the most valuable luxury to any parent (in my book
anyway) is having some time to yourself.  So even apart from everything
that had been going on with John since he called on Tuesday, I was most of
all looking forward to some time to do what I like to do.

   After putting the groceries away, I got started right away on all the
chores around the house that I'd need to complete over the next two weeks.
I hoped to finish everything in one day, if possible, so that I could relax
for the rest of the time.  My duties at home mainly revolve around lawn
care and attending to the many tall trees on our property.  As I pulled the
lawn mower out of the garage, I thought about the story in Penthouse
Letters that John had picked out for me.  Ever since then, I've been
sensitive to the sensual aspects of working in the yard, and I've always
liked to wonder who might be watching me as I get all hot and sweaty in my
ragged pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt.  (Yes, I guess I am just that
vain!)

   At that time, I was also busy preparing the house for an upcoming
renovation.  Our house had been built in 1968 and not changed since, so we
were planning to update the kitchen, bathrooms and so on in mid-century
modern style.  I really like that look (think of the design of The
Incredibles for example, or the Eichler style of home from California), so
we were planning lots of open space and clean lines, which would go well
with the many large picture windows that look out on the trees in the back
yard.

   As I had hoped, I was able to finish most of what I wanted to do by 6pm.
Like the night before, I thought again about calling John to see if he
wanted to get together.  He hadn't mentioned any plans for the weekend, so
as far as I knew, he was alone in his apartment that evening.  After
thinking of him all week (that is, constantly since his call on Tuesday),
this would have been the perfect time to get in touch with him.  But I
thought it would be weird to be so forward with him, just to call him out
of the blue like that.

   Also, like I said, if anything were to develop between John and me, it
was important for him to be the one to initiate it.  In short, I was
waiting for him to make the first move.  After all, he had all my contact
info.  He could call me whenever he wanted.

   Plus, even though I had been thinking about John a lot, there were a few
other things I'd been looking forward to doing during my time alone.  So,
while I continued to keep an eye on my email and an ear open for the phone,
I showered, took a quick swim, and then headed out for the evening.  Here,
I have to say that while I've shared many potentially embarrassing secrets
in this story, I may need the most courage to tell you what I had been
looking forward to doing that Saturday evening, because it truly was what I
most liked to do with my scarce time alone.

   First, I got dressed in a nice shirt and khaki shorts, and went to the
SouthPark Mall, which isn't far from my house, just to look around.  I'll
agree that the mall can be crowded and annoying, but if I'm not in a hurry,
I greatly enjoy just strolling around and girl-watching (well,
women-watching).  The fact is, there are always lots of cute women at the
mall, and there must be something about the atmosphere there that puts them
in a good mood.  So it's a thrill for me just to wander around and soak in
that vibe.  One thing I especially like to do is casually walk through the
makeup counters at Nordstrom, to see all the women taking advantage of the
free makeovers to get ready for their Saturday nights.  Sweet!

   The only purchase I made was a new cotton hipster brief by 2xist that I
picked up at Macy's.  I also got a bite to eat at Zink.  I thought about
going to the McCormick & Schmick's there, but no future meal at that
restaurant could do justice to my dinner with John.  I was home by 9pm,
just as the sunset was fading.

   Leaving the house dark, I changed into only my new hipster (taking a
moment to admire in the mirror how good it looked), and then went
downstairs to open a bottle of wine and watch some TV - to play computer
games, actually.  I've always been a bit of a technology geek, so I have a
computer hooked up to the big screen TV for games, web browsing and such,
and I've been into computer games since I was a kid with my Atari 2600.

   When I'm alone, however, I have the opportunity to enjoy a new aspect of
computer roleplaying games which has blossomed as they have become more
sophisticated - the sexual aspect.  For example, I started by playing
Resident Evil 5, which aside from being an exciting zombie shooter,
features the exotic and alluring Sheva Alomar as your partner.  The game is
especially clever in using cut scenes of her facial expressions to motivate
the player.  Like, as you walk through a deserted street knowing that
within moments you'll be surrounded by a zombie hoard, she will give you a
look that's a perfect combination of fear, confidence that you'll be able
to protect her, and the slightest hint of anticipation of what's to come.
That look from her is all the motivation I need to zealously blast away at
the zombies that would dare to threaten my beautiful partner.

   After an hour or so with Sheva, I switched over to Dragon Age.  It's a
very popular single player roleplaying game (i.e., not online like World of
Warcraft) in a swords and fantasy setting, with rules similar to Dungeons
and Dragons.  What makes it special is the opportunity to actually
"romance" the computer-controlled characters in the game, and it
conveniently provides several options for you to pursue.  Primarily, there
is an interesting contrast between the innocent Leliana, who leaves a
convent to join your quest, and the darker Morrigan, who is a witch of
unspecified origins and very sexy in a bad-girl way.  This being the 21st
century, you are also free to pursue Zevran, a male elven rogue, who is,
well, let's just say "open-minded." (If you play as a female character, you
have a similar choice between a good-guy and a bad-boy, as well as Zevran.
And Leliana, who might not be as innocent as she first appears, turns out
to be equally open-minded.)

   I'll spare you the rest of the details, and just tell you that I had
carefully saved a game at the point where I had fully romanced Leliana (I
hope it doesn't surprise you that I would choose her), but also had Zevran
to the point where he was available to me.  Thus, I could go directly from
Leliana's tent to Zevran's, and back again, and neither of them seemed to
mind!  (Can you understand now why I like computer games?) I had also taken
the steps that are called "hardening" Leliana - meaning that I had asked
her about some events in her past that I won't spoil for you - which makes
her less shy about revealing her not-so-innocent side.  Then, when you go
to the brothel known as the Pearl and meet the pirate Isabella (really, I'm
not making this up) in the presence of both Leliana and Zevran, you can all
enjoy a foursome that also results in some of the funniest dialogue in the
game!

   By this time I had finished more than half the bottle of wine and was
ready for the last step in my fantasy sexual adventure.  Returning from the
Pearl to camp, I went to Morrigan's tent.  In a plot twist that I find to
be very sweet (minor spoiler alert here for those of you who might want to
play the game, but I promise not to give too much away), it turns out that
Morrigan has a secret soft side, just as Leliana has her hard side. 
Morrigan is susceptible to gifts that play to her vanity, and by giving
them to her you hint that you think she's beautiful.  After that, if you
ask questions about her past in just the right way, she'll open up to you
and invite you into her tent.  It's then possible for you to go from her
tent, to Leliana's, to Zevran's and then back again.  And when you head out
on your next adventure, Morrigan will take pleasure in giving you a deep
kiss, knowing that Leliana is present there to watch.  But if you go too
far with this, it's interesting that Leliana never really objects (and
Zevran sure doesn't!), but it is Morrigan who calls you on your
philandering ways and forces you to make a choice between her and "the
girl," as she calls Leliana.

   No matter how many times I play through this scenario, my hand always
hovers over the mouse for a moment, and I don't know exactly who I want to
choose.  I've certainly never faced this choice IRL.  Anyway, for whatever
reason I always break things off with Morrigan and return to Leliana. 
Maybe it's her sweet, French accent.  In any case, though, I'm glad that if
you do this right, Morrigan won't have any hard feelings and will remain
your friend.  Could that be why they call it a fantasy?

   The few hours I spent with Sheva, Leliana, Morrigan and Zevran that
night left me in the mood for more, and needing a release, so I surfed over
to the Redtube web site to end my evening browsing through the endless
supply of porn available there.  I soon found one to my liking - a video
which featured lots of long shots of a lovely young lady on her hands and
knees, stretching and twisting her body in front of the muscular young man
taking her from behind.  And you can be sure that on this night, her name
was Leliana.

   I prefer that sort of scene to the more typical video that has way too
many close ups of things I'd rather not describe here.  Instead, I like to
get a good view of the overall scene, so I can watch two (or more!) toned
bodies all moving together as they pleasure each other.  And I especially
like to get a good look at the girl's face, so I can see just how happy she
is to be so well fucked by some hunky guy.

   That's what I thought as I came - how lucky she is to have some guy to
do her, to give her what she needs.  After I cleaned myself up and crawled
into bed, I fell asleep quickly, musing about whether and how John would
make me just as lucky.

   Sunday morning, I woke up late and stroked my morning erection to a
quiet orgasm before reaching over to check my cell phone for any messages
or emails from John.  I'll admit to being disappointed that there were
none, but I wasn't too sad because there was still something I wanted to do
that weekend.  I told myself that John, too, probably had some things to do
during his first weekend in Charlotte.

   I tumbled out of bed and walked naked into the kitchen for breakfast.  I
needed a good meal that morning because I planned to spend the day doing
something I'd been wanting to do for a long time - a personal triathlon. 
I've never attempted the actual event, but since I have the Endless Pool,
I've thought it should be possible to give it a try.

   I started by swimming for 30 minutes, which I knew to be about a mile.
Then I changed out of my Speedo swimsuit into triathlon bike shorts and a
comfortable zip-front running shirt, and hopped on my bike for a pleasant
ride up to Reedy Creek Park, which is about 12 miles away.  I know that a
normal triathlon calls for a 25 mile bike ride before running, but I like
that park so much that I left my bike for a 30 minute trail run around the
nature preserve.  Upon returning to my bike, I munched down a Clif bar
before biking back home, and then headed out immediately for about a 5 mile
run around my neighborhood (I figured that, combined with the trail run,
made for the required 10K).

   When I was done with the run around 3pm, my legs were burning and I felt
pumped and exhilarated.  It had taken me about 3-1/2 hours total.  Like I
said, my goal isn't really to go fast, so much as it is to enjoy the
physical exertion and the pleasure that comes just from moving your body
across the face of the earth under your own power.

   After a quick, and fruitless, check for messages from John, I got in the
shower.  As I enjoyed feeling the water flow over my body, I thought about
how much fun it would have been to do that "triathlon" with John, and how
it would have been even more fun to share the shower afterwards with him.
As I ran the soap slowly over my own chest and arms, I thought of doing the
same thing for him; and as I slid the bar down between my legs, I wondered
what it would be like to reach out and take ahold of his hardening cock,
rather than my own.

   When I got out of the shower and dressed in a short pair of boxers and
small t-shirt that was very similar to what I was wearing in my favorite
fantasy about John, I was sorely tempted to call him, but by now, after
enjoying my weekend alone so much, I knew that I would never take the
initiative to do that.  Much as I was still obsessed with him, he'd have to
make the first move.  So I kept the phone free, and checked my email often,
but he didn't call.

   For the rest of the day, I did a few minor things around the house and
made a burger for dinner.  Then, I settled down with a beer to watch the
Simpsons, and finished the evening by having a few more beers while I
flipped between MLB Tonight, a concert on Palladia and a documentary on the
Science Channel, until I dozed off on the couch.

   Even without John, it had been the perfect weekend!  Act One, Scene 6
Mark's office; Monday.

   The next morning was bright and beautiful, and I had no problem getting
up and off to work.  Riding my bike to work (I was really beginning to
enjoy those rides!), I wondered whether John would call me at work.

   At work, my thoughts about John only intensified, until a message
appeared in my inbox around 10am.  Something simple, to the effect of "Hey
there.  Did you have a nice weekend?"

   "Yes," I replied, adding, "But I'm looking forward to this week.  How
about you?"

   "I had a few things I needed to do over the weekend, but I'm hoping
things will calm down this week." He answered within a minute.

   I remember pondering how strongly to respond.  Since he hadn't called
earlier, I was actually happy to hear he had been busy.  I wanted to just
say "It would be nice to see you," but I was still worried that would be
too direct.  I tried to think of something non-committal.

   "Well, I hope this week isn't as hectic as your weekend." The best I
could manage.

   He was ready with a reply in less than a minute.  "Something tells me it
will be better than the weekend."

   Hmm, that was very interesting.  I wanted to know more.  "Why do you
think that?"

   "Gotta go right now.  I'll be back later."

   What a tease, I thought.  Men!

   He didn't keep me waiting long, thankfully.  It was around 11:30 that I
got another message.

   "Hey Mark - I'm planning to meet some friends for drinks after work
tomorrow.  Would you like to join us?"

   I'll admit that my heart started pounding the minute I saw the words
appear on my computer screen.  Of course, my answer was yes, I didn't even
have to think about it, but I agonized over how quickly to respond to him.
I got up and walked around the office, looking out the window.  Then looked
back at the computer screen.  Then forced myself to stay by the window.

   I managed to stall for all of two minutes before sitting down to write
back.  "Sure, that sounds great, where should I meet you?"

   Instantly, he responded.  "Good to hear.  Do you know that bar, Tilt,
around the corner from McC & S?  We could meet there at 8pm."

   "Sure, I know the place.  See you then," I immediately replied.  (I
remember feeling like I was trying to sound cool when I said I knew that
bar.  Sure, I knew of its existence, but it had been a long time since I
had gone to any bars!)

   Of course, I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about what this
could mean.  My first reaction was simply the thrill of knowing that I
would be seeing him again, and even more important, that he had asked me. I
really let loose with those feelings for a while, and felt the excitement
and pride of knowing that he had "asked me out."

   As I thought about it further, however, I of course realized that I
could be misreading the entire situation.  There was no doubt that we had a
good time at dinner the Thursday before and had really hit it off - as
friends.  But that didn't necessarily mean that he was attracted to me or
interested in me, sexually.  After all, I continued to think, it was easy
to read the messages he sent completely platonically.  Of course he had
enjoyed talking to me and was glad to have reconnected with a friend (me)
who was in town and available.  He knew that I would be available this
week, and was looking forward to spending some time with me.  To enjoy my
company, sure, but as a friend, and just as much to relieve his boredom as
for any other reason.

   From this point of view, I imagined some of his friends asking him to
join them for drinks tomorrow.  Why wouldn't he agree, and why wouldn't he
ask me to join them?  It would be the perfect opportunity for him to have
some fun and to catch up with an old friend.

   I had convinced myself that I was simply going to meet up with John, as
a friend, and also meet some of his other friends, until later that
afternoon.

   I could use the excuse that it was a quiet day at work, but frankly, I
continued to obsess about him.  I thought about how he had said that he was
having drinks with some friends and asking if I wanted to join them, and I
started to play out the scenario where he was attracted to me and
interested in me for more than friendship.

   If that were the case, I told myself, it would still be unlikely that he
would ask me to meet him or "go out" with him.  Like I had thought over the
weekend, he would think that doing so would be too forward and simply
weird. After all, we had only had dinner last week; there hadn't been any
real element of romance to the evening.

   Instead, what he would do is try to think of some way to see me again in
a more neutral setting.  "Isn't that what people do when they start
dating?" I asked myself, which was a hard question for me to answer because
I hadn't dated anyone in about 20 years.

   So there I was, sitting in my office, thinking about things I've read in
advice columns on the internet, and I soon convinced myself in the
completely opposite direction.  He was interested in me, and so he took the
logical step of setting up drinks with some friends and then inviting me.
He hoped to be able to gauge my reaction, and if it was positive, try
flirting with me to let me know he was interested.  In a casual setting
like that, it would be easy enough for us to break away from the others and
be alone.  After all, we were two high school friends who hadn't seen each
other in years.  It was the perfect opportunity for him.

   Perfect for him, sure, but for me it was maddening.  I was faced with a
situation with two equally possible, but completely contradictory,
explanations.

   And I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him what he intended!

   I drove myself crazy the rest of Monday afternoon, alternating between
the two possibilities that tormented me.  I went home relatively early and
tried to find something to do around the house to distract me, but nothing
could keep me from thinking about John.

   Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course!

   I woke up Tuesday in a considerably better mood, thinking only of seeing
John again that evening.  I had resolved to go with the second explanation
- that he was using his friends to create a neutral opportunity to gauge my
reaction to seeing him again.  After all, what did I have to lose in
thinking that?  The worst I would suffer is disappointment, and if the best
were to happen, at least I would be ready for it.

   With thoughts of John and me sneaking away from his friends to be alone,
I went for an invigorating swim that morning, then headed off to work. 
Since I had the house to myself, I didn't have to worry about any
logistics. John had asked me to meet him around 8 pm, so I would be able to
leave work a little early and have plenty of time to come home, shower,
change and head back to uptown to see him.

   Getting home from work around 6 pm, I took a full hour to carefully
prepare for my evening.  Thinking that John was interested in seeing me, I
tried to dress as best I could, choosing my sexiest Hom thong as a start.
Over that, I wore a pair of slacks that Elizabeth had once complimented and
were therefore my favorites (they also are made from a very lightweight
fabric and perfect for summer).  Last, I chose a casual shirt made from a
soft, microfiber fabric that matches those slacks.  It has a darkish blue,
geometric pattern.  Those three items together make for what I consider to
be my sexiest outfit, so they are naturally what I chose to wear that
evening.

   Considering how much I'd had to drink at dinner with John, I decided to
call a cab this time.  Act One, Scene 7 A trendy bar in uptown Charlotte

   As I got out of the cab and walked toward the bar, I couldn't help
thinking how free I felt.  I purposefully had brought very little with me.
In fact, I had just my driver's license and some cash in my pocket.  I
didn't even have a house key (no reason not to leave the back door
unlocked, with no wife or kids sleeping inside).  I had no need to get home
by a particular time.  In fact, I could stay out all night.  "Or stay over
with a friend," I thought to myself, and smiled.

   The bar, Tilt, was busy for a weeknight in early August.  As I walked
in, I looked around and noticed a photogenic mix of revelers; they all
seemed to be well dressed and happy, and there was a vibrant, dynamic feel
to the room.  Or maybe my perception was only a reflection of my mood.

   I saw John immediately as I approached the bar.  His back was turned
toward me, and the first thing I noticed were the jeans he was wearing. 
They were such nice jeans that I noticed them even before I noticed how
tightly and perfectly they encased his round, muscly butt.  These jeans
were unlike any that I would ever wear.  They had a fashionable stitching
on the back, a zipper on one of the back pockets, and a slightly distressed
look.  I would never wear anything other than plain Levis.  Sure, I would
wear jeans in different colors and made from different fabrics, but that is
as "fashionable," as I would get.

   For the moment it took me to walk over to John, I mused about what his
jeans said about his fashion sense.  I took them as a sign of his
confidence; that he knew he was a good looking man.  The fact was, he
looked great in these jeans, and there was nothing wrong with him calling
attention to his butt.  With his body, he could look good in a variety of
clothes.  Just as I thought when I first saw him at dinner, and noticed
that he had kept his hair long, his decision to wear "fashion forward"
jeans like this told me that he was determined to get the most out of life
and he wanted other people to know that.  To me, it was not only refreshing
but exciting - it was one of the aspects of his personality that intrigued
me.

   But I also liked that he didn't go overboard.  He complemented the jeans
with a normal, cotton dress shirt; light blue with black and white
pinstripes that gave an understated accent to his torso.  It was also just
this side of too tight, so it showed off the muscles in his back well.

   I came up next to him and put my hand lightly on his shoulder, saying
"Hey there," quietly.

   He turned around quickly and smiled at me.  "Hey Mark, glad you could
make it."

   I took a step back from him.  I think I was trying to give him an
opportunity to take a good look at me.  I couldn't help smiling at him, and
I only hoped I looked half as good as he did, because he looked really
good. Those jeans were just as attractive from the front, around his hips
and thighs, as they were around his butt.

   I noticed the drink in his hand; it was a clear liquid.  "No Jack and
Coke this time?" I said, smiling, trying to keep it light.  I wanted to be
as upbeat and inviting as I could, and let him take control of the evening.
I was very curious to see where it would lead.

   "No, I decided to give a gin & tonic a try."

   This was a good start.  "How is it?"

   "Great with this hot weather."

   "See, I told you."

   The bartender approached, a man this time.  "What can I get you?" The
bar was pretty busy.

   "I'll have what he's having," I said, gesturing toward John.

   The bartender gave me a slightly annoyed, puzzled look.  There were over
50 people at the bar.

   John defused the situation.  "A gin & tonic, on the rocks, house brand,
lemon instead of lime."

   "Coming right up," said the bartender.

   I liked this.  Not only had John rescued me from an awkward situation,
but he had ordered for me, and he had got the order exactly right.  At
least, that's how I saw it.  The evening was starting off well, just like
our dinner had.

   "I'd like you to meet my friends," John said.

   At first, I didn't know what he was talking about.  I had been so caught
up in looking at him that I hadn't even noticed he was talking to anyone. I
turned slightly to see that he was with two of the most beautiful women I'd
ever seen.

   "Mark, this is Susan and Michelle."

   "Hi there," they both said in unison, smiling at me sweetly.

   "Hi.  It's nice to meet you," I replied.

   It certainly was!  Susan in particular was a drop dead gorgeous woman,
who looked to be around 30.  She had beautiful, flowing blonde hair.  Sort
of the Jessica Simpson or Taylor Swift type, but all the more amazing when
seen up close.  Her face was beautiful, too - the word "pretty" would not
do her justice.  She was about as tall as John, and I noticed later she was
wearing simple flat sandals.  She was very fit, yet also curvy.  She wore a
simple, dark navy t-shirt, but it was very tight and the dark color did
nothing to diminish her full, round breasts.  The cap sleeves showed off
well-muscled, but feminine, arms, and as the evening progressed I noticed
that she didn't mind when her shirt rode up to reveal well-toned abs.  She
wore a pair of white capri jeans; very tight and very low rise.  I noticed
later a silver anklet, but she didn't wear much jewelry; it would have only
been a distraction.  Seriously, she looked like she just stepped out of a
Victoria's Secret catalog.

   Michelle seemed the same age as Susan, and since Susan was so amazingly
beautiful as to be slightly off-putting, I found Michelle to be the more
attractive, all things considered.  She was a brunette, with her straight
hair put up in a girlish ponytail (which always gets me).  She had a pretty
face, of the type I find very approachable.  She struck me as an
interesting mix of Martha Quinn (the MTV VJ, if you remember her) and a
young Audrey Hepburn.  She was just as cute as pretty, with large brown,
doe eyes that were extremely inviting.  She was petite.  I would guess she
was about 5'2" because I noticed she was wearing three inch heels and was
still a few inches shorter than me.  She had pale, smooth skin and she wore
a simple pastel sleeveless blouse and short, tight skirt.  She had a nice
body, but she was not "stacked" like Susan.  Most of all, she was very
graceful; she had thin, very feminine arms and a long neck which was
complemented by a silver choker that gave her a slightly risqué air.  If it
were not for the tease of that choker, she reminded me of a ballerina.

   "I could see you with a girl like her."

   That was the first thought that crossed my mind.  But I realized I
wasn't joking.  Susan and Michelle were in fact exactly the type of woman
that I imagined John would be with.  From what I had seen of John so far -
his looks and his personality - he was the type of man who would have the
confidence and the charisma to be with women like this.  I started to
wonder what he'd see in me.

   Susan broke my reverie.  "John was just telling us how he hasn't seen
you since high school," she said, lightly.  I think she was used to
conversations coming to a stop when people first looked at her.

   "That's right," I said, smiling and looking over at John.  "I hope you
haven't told them how long it's been."

   In my slightly nervous state, it seemed to me that this went over badly,
and both Susan and Michelle gave me a look as if to say, "Right; we know
how old you are." But it was probably my imagination.  I told myself to
keep it light and upbeat, and avoid any negative emotions.

   "He also said you live in Charlotte," Michelle offered.  "That's cool
because we only come here for contract work and don't really get to see
much of the city."

   "You work with John?" I asked.

   "Yep, we've come here for work a few times but don't see much beyond the
airport," Michelle explained.

   "Yeah, we're usually stuck at the office," John interjected.

   "Oh that's too bad," I said, as my drink arrived.  I took a sip and then
continued.  "There's so much to do here in uptown, and you know, you can
take the Trolley Trail to the South End."

   "We heard about that, but didn't know exactly where it is," said Susan.

   "You can just go down Trade St.  to pick it up, over where the trolley
tracks go over the street."

   "That sounds great," Susan said, "We'll have to try it out as soon as we
can."

   I had to wonder who she meant by "we." Was it Susan and Michelle?  The
two of them on the bike trail, in cute little shorts I'm sure, would make
quite an impression.  Or would John join them?  They could ride out for
drinks at one of the South End bars.  Then they could return to their
apartments, take a shower and ... why was I thinking like this?  I knew
why, of course.  Just seeing John with these two beauties, it all seemed
perfectly obvious to me.

   "So," I asked, "Does this contracting work get to be a drag?  I mean,
how do you make all the arrangements."

   "Oh, General Dynamics handles everything, they make it very easy," Susan
answered.

   "Yeah," John said, as he reached out to put a friendly hand on Susan's
shoulder.  "We work for the same team, so we get assigned together a lot."

   Michelle continued.  They were almost completing each other's sentences,
I noticed.  "They put us all up in the same building, so it's pretty
efficient.  We know what to expect, and if there's any logistical problem,
there's always one of your team members around who's been through it
before. It's pretty painless."

   "So you're all living in the same apartment building?" I asked, trying
not to sound incredulous.

   "Yeah," Michelle answered, smiling.  "Susan and I share an apartment. 
They'll give you a two bedroom if you want, and you even get a little bit
of cash back if you do that."

   I couldn't think what to say to this.  The idea of Susan and Michelle as
roommates was mind-blowing enough on its own.  The idea of them being
roommates in the same building as John was just too much.

   "It's a pretty effortless existence," John chimed in.  "It's an easy
reverse-commute out to work, so we end up with quite a bit of free time."

   After a promising start, this evening was not turning out as I expected.
Despite my efforts to stay positive, I couldn't help but think that I had
misread a lot of signals.  Starting first and foremost with John's jeans,
which I now realized were definitely not worn for my benefit.  I felt
really foolish for thinking that.

   I resisted the thought for as long as I could, but finally I blurted out
to myself: "John is not gay, you idiot!  He has these two incredibly hot
women, and others for all you know, at his disposal 24/7.  In the same
freakin' building for Christ's sake.  He doesn't even have to go outdoors
to get prime pussy," as I imagined he would put it.  Now I knew exactly
what they did when they returned from their bike ride.

   I looked over to John, but I couldn't read his reaction to all this.  He
was smiling at me, and seemed happy, but I sensed his attention was divided
between me and Susan.  I didn't like that at all.

   While I stood there, silent and stewing, John, Susan and Michelle made
some small talk.  Apparently, Susan and Michelle lived in Albuquerque, and
they talked about a rafting trip that they had heard about in that area,
and that Susan and Michelle were anxious to try.

   As I watched them, I realized how close the three of them were, how well
they knew each other.  They became more animated as they talked about this
trip, in anticipation of sharing the excitement with each other.  I watched
as they moved closer together and their bodies began to sway to a single,
unheard rhythm, brushing against each other in a way that seemed to
generate sparks of sexual energy.  This was such a hypnotic sight that, for
a moment, the bar seemed to fade away.  We were in their apartment, and,
sure enough, their clothes had faded away as well, and their incredibly
toned, sensual bodies were right in front of me, moving together.  And then
John turned, looked at me, and said, "You should try white water rafting."

   At first, this was so jarring that I didn't know what to say.  But
finally, I managed to reply weakly, "I don't know, that kind of thing
always scares me a little."

   And then Michelle turned to me, her sweet voice drawing my attention
away from her delicate, nude body.  "You should give it a try.  Don't hold
yourself back.  Just do it."

   Susan chimed in last, and she didn't seem to mind that I couldn't tear
my eyes away from her incredible breasts as she said, "It's one of those
things that if you think about it too much, you'll never do it."

   "That's right," John said, his muscles rippling as he wrapped his arms
around the girls.  "And the most important thing is that you have to be
sure to have the right people with you when you do it for the first time.
People you can trust.  People you can feel comfortable relying upon
completely."

   Finally, I pulled myself back to reality, and realized they were talking
about rafting.  John smiled at me with a gleam in his eye, while the girls
went on with their discussion.

   "Enjoying that drink, Mark?" John asked.  "For a second there it looked
like you were a thousand miles away."

   I looked over at Susan and Michelle and subtly gestured toward them.  "I
know, I mean ..."

   "Incredible, aren't they?" John said.  Then he leaned toward me and said
in a whisper, "Roommates - can you believe it?"

   "Hey, what's that whispering over there?" Susan called out teasingly. 
"No whispering allowed," she chided, reaching out to poke John in his very
firm midsection.  She kept on poking him in a very sensual form of
horseplay.

   At first, I couldn't draw my eyes away from these two gorgeous specimens
as they teased each other.  But finally, I looked toward Michelle, to see
her reaction.  She was just smiling at me and swaying to the background
music of the bar, in an inviting little dance.

   I knew from her body language that she wanted me to come closer to her,
and for an instant I was transported to a party I'd attended in high
school. Christine, a girl I had a crush on when I knew nothing would happen
with Emily, was also there, and at one point we'd slipped away from our
friends and she'd pulled me into a corner.  Now I know that she wanted me
to kiss her, but I was clueless then.  I don't know why I couldn't read the
signals she was giving me, and to this day, I think there's something in
that experience that helps to explain who I am.

   Maybe Michelle saw my hesitation and decided to change her approach. 
"It must be amazing to live here in Charlotte," she said, trying to draw me
out in a different way.  "There's such variety.  It seems like there's so
much to do."

   "Yeah, it's a great place to live.  It's like a combination of a real
city and the mountains and countryside.  There's so much great hiking right
nearby."

   As I spoke, however, I couldn't help but glance over to Susan and John,
as they continued their "goofing off" - which would be the polite way of
describing what they were doing.

   Michelle noticed I was distracted, and I think she tried to defuse
things a bit.  "See what I have to put up with?" she said, in mock
exasperation.

   At this, Susan and John stopped what they were doing and looked at her
in bemusement.

   Michelle turned toward me, continuing her mock complaint.  "They're like
this all the time at work.  I can never get anything done." She seemed to
be making light of the whole thing, but what she said had certainly got my
attention, and had conjured up some very intense images for me.

   "Like this all the time, huh?" I thought to myself.

   "Oh, don't be such a spoilsport," John said, as he reached over and gave
Michelle a tickle.  "Isn't she just a little spoilsport?" he asked, looking
over at me.

   "Oh, yes she is," I thought to myself, "and she looks like she needs to
be taught a lesson in how to let loose and have fun."

   But of course, I didn't say that.  Instead, I stood there staring at
John, not only amazed at the way he had with women, but also at the women
he had his way with!  I don't know exactly why, maybe I was just
overwhelmed by the situation, but all that I could manage was a little
laugh.

   John tried another tack to keep the evening going.  "Are you all ready
for another round?" he asked.

   "Sure," they both said eagerly.

   "You too, Mark?"

   "Shouldn't we wait for the rest of your friends?" I asked.  I had been
wondering when the rest of the people from their work would arrive, and I
would have more of an opportunity to get John to myself.  With it being
just the four of us, I didn't see how I would get the chance to be alone
with him that I'd been looking forward to with so much anticipation.

   John looked over at me, puzzled.  He didn't seem angry at me; rather, it
seemed he didn't know what I was talking about.

   "I mean, weren't there going to be some more people to join us?" I tried
to explain, realizing that I had misunderstood.

   "No," John started to say, then he seemed to understand.  "Oh, you mean
I said I was having some drinks with friends.  Well, these are my friends."
He tried to say it lightly, as he gestured toward the girls.

   I looked over at Susan and Michelle.  They looked uncomfortable.  I
didn't blame them.

   We got our next round of drinks, but it was difficult to restart the
conversation after that.  The crowd at the bar started to thin.  We talked
about some movies we had seen, but it seemed like our spark had been lost.
And I knew I was the one who had put it out.

   I tried to stop myself, but I couldn't help but wonder why John had
invited me here in the first place.  And I quickly realized that I knew
exactly why, and my "wondering" was just a manifestation of the trepidation
I felt.

   It was clear to me that something was going on between John and Susan.
The only question in my mind was whether it was just a flirtation, or
something more.  But regardless of the answer to that question, I figured
that John somehow wanted me to join him in his game.  Looking back on the
evening so far, I sensed that John had been encouraging me all along in the
direction of Michelle.  I guessed that John and Susan had longstanding
plans to get together while they were each in Charlotte, and that,
following how much fun John and I had had at dinner, he had decided to ask
me to join in the action.  This would mean that Michelle had been invited
for my benefit.

   As I stood there, preoccupied by my effort to make sense of the evening,
John, Susan and Michelle started to talk about the art scene in New Mexico.
As much as a topic like that would normally interest me, I remained silent
for the most part, just listening to them.

   "This isn't going to work," I started to think, trying not to panic.  I
didn't know what John expected of me, but despite Michelle's beauty and the
feelings of affection toward her that had already begun to develop, I
couldn't see myself starting anything with her that night.  It just wasn't
possible for me.  I had already been through enough "white water" - what
with all the emotions associated with the realization of how strongly I was
attracted to John and the possibility, however unlikely, that I could be
with him - so I wasn't up for more "rafting" that night.

   But then I thought to myself, "Aren't you ignoring the obvious, Mark?"
And I instantly realized that there was no way that John expected me to
join in on whatever he had going on with Susan and Michelle.  Instead,
there were two, far more persuasive (at least to me) explanations for him
asking me along that night.  The first was that he had set all this up to
humiliate me.  That is, either consciously or subconsciously, he wanted to
show me what he had and I would never have, just as he had described at
dinner experiences with women that I would never have.  The second
explanation, which seemed more likely, was that he just wanted to give me
what he knew I truly wanted.  That is, he had planned that we'd have
drinks, maybe dinner, and then we'd head back to Susan and Michelle's
apartment.

   And I'd watch.

   * * *

   Maybe she had noticed that I had pretty much faded out of the
conversation, but for whatever reason there came a point that Michelle sort
of yawned and said, "I was up at 5 am to finish that project, I think I
better head on home."

   Susan didn't say anything; she seemed to be waiting to see what John
would say.  I quickly decided not to give him the opportunity.

   "Back in the TradeMark?" I asked.

   "That's right, why?"

   "I'm parked over near there.  I could walk back with you."

   "You heading on out, too?" John asked.  I couldn't help but think that
he did a good job sounding sincere, since he now had the opportunity to be
alone with Susan.

   "Yeah, I've got a 9 o'clock meeting tomorrow and it's hard for me to get
out of the house in the summer." I couldn't believe how blatantly and
easily I was lying to them - about parking, about the meeting, even about
getting up in the morning.  In fact, it's way easier for me to get up in
the summer.  Why would I even bother to lie about that?

   I thought I saw John and Susan look at each other, and then John said,
"Well, give me a call and maybe we can make it to that trail."

   I looked at him.  "That would be fun," I said, without much enthusiasm.
Turning to Susan, I managed only, "It was nice meeting you."

   "You too," she said, without moving towards me.  "Can I give you a call
if I have questions about Charlotte?"

   "Sure thing," I said.  "John knows where to reach me." I hoped she got
the message.  The message about who had been friends with John before she
was born.

   Michelle and I headed toward the exit.

   When we stepped out on the sidewalk, she stopped for a moment, took a
deep breath, and then said, "Nice night."

   It was.  The last of the sunlight was fading down the street to the west
(it was just before 9pm), and it was not too humid.  Michelle didn't seem
eager to start walking right away.  It was only a few blocks over to the
building where she, John and Susan all lived.  (That thought again!)

   She started walking slowly, then said, "That didn't seem to go as well
as it could have."

   I felt bad the instant she said it.  I thought that she, most of all,
had been innocent in all this.  Also, I was impressed by her honesty.  So I
tried to take the blame.  "I just seem to be a little out of sorts
tonight."

   "Mmm," she murmured, sympathetically.  After a pause, she continued. 
"John told us how he hadn't seen you in so long.  I guess it would be a
little strange, when you want to catch up with your friend and we're
there."

   I didn't want her to think any of this was her fault.  "It's just not
what I expected.  I don't think I handled it too well."

   I was really regretting what I had done.  I hadn't given the evening a
chance.

   We walked in silence the rest of the way, and as we approached their
apartment building, I was reminded of when John and I had walked right here
the other night.  It had been entirely different.

   We reached the building entrance and Michelle looked at me.  "Well, I
hope you get the chance to spend some time with your friend.  He was
talking about you all day yesterday and today.  We couldn't get him to shut
up."

   I smiled at her.  There was nothing I could say in response, other than
to apologize.  "Well, please tell Susan I'm sorry for being such bad
company.  I feel like we really got off on the wrong foot."

   "Yeah, well, we've got two feet!" she said, and just like that she put
her hand on my shoulder and leaned up to give me a peck on the cheek.  I
looked back at her, blushing.  I felt like I was back in France, that first
time.

   She just smiled at me and turned to walk into her building.  I watched
her until she reached the elevator, where she gave me a little wave and
disappeared.

   I turned around and looked at the street for a cab.  "What a fuckhead,"
I thought to myself, of myself.

   A few minutes later I was in a cab, taking the short ride back home.  I
thought about asking the driver to turn around to take me back to the bar,
but I imagined all the confusion of trying to explain to John and Susan how
badly I had fucked up, and of calling Michelle and making her come back. 
Plus, what if John and Susan weren't even there any more, or, worse yet,
what if they were having a romantic dinner together?  I would only prove
beyond all doubt what an idiot I was.  Act One, Scene 8 Mark's home; dark.

   I got home and went in through the back door into the kitchen.  Without
turning on any lights, I walked to the picture windows overlooking the
trees in the back yard and all the lights of the neighbors' houses.  It
became obvious to me how completely I had fucked up the evening.

   First of all, John had given me the chance of a lifetime with two
fantastic women.  Aside from their incredible looks, Michelle, especially,
had justified John's friendship with her on that walk home, and I had no
reason to think that Susan wasn't just as nice.  With her body, it was a
mind-blowing concept.

   What was worse, I think, was that John had given me exactly the
opportunity I most craved.  The fact is, I like nothing more than to sit
down and have a meal with an attractive woman, and here, two very
attractive women and John had been available to do exactly that.  If all we
had done was go to dinner together, I think I would have had more fun than
I had had in years.  It could well have turned out to be even better than
my dinner with John.

   And nothing could have more clearly demonstrated to me how well John
knew me and how highly he thought of me, than the fact that he had invited
Susan and Michelle to join us.  He paid me a real compliment by doing that.

   Most concerning to me was that I had let my silly fantasies and
obsessions interfere with my real life.  I had thought earlier that my
obsession with John was a "harmless fantasy," but now it had prevented me
from doing something that I could have actually done, in reality, and which
I really wanted to do.  Isn't that when psychologists say you know that
some mental instability has become a problem?  When it interferes with your
interactions with other people and prevents you from enjoying normal
activities?

   Well, my fantasies and obsessions had certainly done that!

   I was worried

   I couldn't imagine why I hadn't just relaxed and had a great time with
John, Susan and Michelle.

   But on the other hand, and even more worrying, was that of course I
could imagine.

   I knew exactly why.

   Fear - that's what always motivates the most extreme behavior.

   In this case, fear of inadequacy.

   The truth was, that much as I may think highly of myself, and much as I
might believe that I can handle any social situation, I really can be very
insecure and awkward sometimes.  The fact was, I was intimidated by Susan
and Michelle.  Well, not intimidated, exactly, but fearful.  I feared that
I could not compare to John, in their eyes.  Also, I feared that I could
not compare to them, in his eyes.

   Let me explain.  I think that if I had met Susan and Michelle in another
situation (as unlikely as that might be!) I could have handled it well,
especially if I was alone.  If we were at a work-related cocktail party,
for example, I would have had no problem just walking over to them and
striking up a pleasant conversation.  I've done it countless times.

   But this time, I couldn't approach the situation in a positive way. 
Instead, I was defensive.  I wanted to keep John's attention for myself,
and at the same time look good in their eyes.  Especially Michelle's.  I'd
set myself up for an impossible task, and I'd fucked it up royally.

   But there was something more serious going on.  Something I had a hard
time admitting to myself.

   I had realized it when I first saw Susan and Michelle.  When the first
thought to cross my mind was, "I could see you with a girl like that."

   These were the girls that I could see John with.  That I could see John
with - not the sort of girls that I could see myself with.

   To cut to the chase, what if I had been able to put aside my fear, and
we had all gone to dinner together?  It would have been wonderful.  Great
conversation among all four of us, great flirting, too.

   But come on, they had eyes, they could see.  They could look at me, then
look at John.

   The choice would be obvious.  Emily had made it easily.

   Standing there in my darkened home, I could see it now.  Gradually, both
Susan and Michelle would scoot their chairs toward John, away from me. 
Their hands would disappear under the table, and I could see Michelle's
delicate arms moving slightly as she stroked him.  Then, she would look at
Susan conspiratorially, and lean across John to whisper something in
Susan's ear, while pressing her small but firm and rounded breasts against
that tight dress shirt he was wearing.  The tight dress shirt that she had
noticed earlier she couldn't pinch the slightest bit of fabric of.

   I would ask for the check and quickly pay it, dropping a pile of
twenties on the table so that we could leave right away.  John would walk
in front of me, a girl on each arm, as I followed them, watching silently.
They needn't pay the slightest attention to me.

   When we made it back to his apartment, Michelle would know well that
there was no way I would start anything with her; I wasn't that kind of guy
and the fact was, I probably couldn't have, after the drinks and wine we'd
had for dinner.  I would slump in a chair in his living room, and John
would sit in the middle of the couch as they settled in on each side of
him. I would just sit there watching - not moving even after I came, only a
few minutes into their performance, holding my still limp dick in my hand.
When they retired to the bedroom, I would remain there, listening, and
waiting for my erection.

   The only thing that concerned me more than having these thoughts, even
after I realized how they were messing up my life, was knowing just how
much these thoughts still thrilled me.

   * * *

   Eventually, I managed to change out of my clothes.  Despite my best
efforts to focus on John fucking Susan and Michelle, however, I couldn't
manage to get a hard-on that would last more than 30 seconds.  So I lay in
bed for an hour or so, waiting to fall asleep, alone.

   That's what I was.

   John was probably pissed off at me.

   I'd blown my chance to get to know Susan and Michelle.

   I'd never felt more alone.

   * * *

   Now, dear reader, if I were truly cruel I would close the curtain on Act
One right here.  That's what playwrights do, don't they?  They bring the
main character to the very depths of hopelessness in Act One, before
miraculously redeeming the hero in Act Two.

   But in my play, the lights slowly fade on me crashed out in bed, finally
falling into a fitful sleep around midnight.  The audience awaits sign of
the intermission, when, unexpectedly, the stage is lit again.  It's now a
bright summer morning, birds are chirping outside the window, and there is,
in fact, no 9 am meeting for me to attend.  What's more, I'm greeted by a
delightful morning erection which gives me great pleasure as I think of all
the characters in our story.  Entr'Acte Mark's home; light.

   The light of day brought the perspective I needed.  I realized that I
had overreacted after returning home the night before, just as much as I
had overreacted at the bar.  After all, I hadn't really done anything to
annoy John or his two beautiful friends.  They probably felt just as
awkward as I did, and Michelle so much as told me that she was ready to
give it another chance.  It would be simple enough to make apologies and
see each other again.

   What was more important, I had foolishly failed to realize that there
were, again, several possible outcomes from the prior evening, nearly all
of them positive.  True, John might be angry at me, but if this would put
him off our friendship, it wasn't meant to be in the first place.

   The first positive possibility was that John and I could reconnect just
like we had at dinner earlier.  As I said before, that alone would have
been enough for me.

   There also remained a possibility, which I couldn't rule out however
unlikely it may seem, that John and I could become more than friends.  The
memory of his jeans, and his smile when he first saw me last night,
reminded me of how much I wanted that to happen.

   It was also possible, and given what Michelle said, it seemed likely,
that I would still be able to have the dinner with the three of them that I
had so regretted missing the night before.

   And most of all, I realized, I had looked at the possibility of John
getting it on with Susan, Michelle, or both of them!, in completely the
wrong way.  Rather than this being my jealousy-soaked nightmare, it was
instead the perfect solution.

   I had to admit that, much as I was attracted to John, and as beautiful
as his two friends were, I really just wasn't the kind of guy to start
anything with them.  For a lot of obvious reasons, I had to be realistic
and admit to myself that it wasn't gonna happen.  And that was ok.

   But that wouldn't stop them from doing whatever it is they want to do.
And something told me, even if it was only my own horny fantasy talking,
that they might not mind if I was there when they did whatever it is they
want to do.

   In fact, the scenario I imagined the night before would be perfect: a
quiet, flirtatious dinner, where conversation centered on John's obvious
physical charms.  Then, we could retire to John's apartment, where I could
offer, well, encouragement, and suggestions for their performance.

   It would be just what I needed.  All the eroticism I craved, without any
of the messiness of actual involvement with them.

   By the time I arrived at work, I had resolved to contact John, make my
apologies, and suggest that we get together.  When we did so, I would find
a way to suggest that I wouldn't mind seeing Susan and Michelle again.  And
then, I would do my best to let nature take its course.

   Not long after reaching this conclusion, and before I had the chance to
take the initiative, an email popped up on my screen.  "Hi Mark.  Can we
talk?  - John."

   I looked at it for a moment, reassured that John was taking the lead
again.  I recognized that this was my chance.  "Sure, I'm at my desk.  Give
me a call," I responded.

   About thirty seconds later my phone rang.

   "Hello, it's Mark."

   "Hey guy," John said.

   "Hi there."

   "This a good time?"

   "Sure, what's up?"

   "Nothing much.  Quiet day."

   "Oh?"

   "Did you get home all right last night?"

   "Sure, no problem."

   "Look, I want to tell you - that didn't work out as I expected.  I
should have told you about Susan and Michelle."

   "Yeah, dude.  If you're gonna spring two gorgeous women on me, you've
gotta give me some warning."

   He laughed.  That was nice.

   "Yeah, you're right."

   A pause.

   "John?"

   "Yeah?"

   "I fucked up.  I'm sorry."

   "Hey man, you don't have to.  That's for me to say."

   "No way.  It was my fault."

   Another pause.

   "Did you talk to Michelle today?" I asked John.

   "Yeah."

   "Did she tell you about our little talk last night?"

   "I think so."

   "She's an amazing girl, John."

   "You don't hafta tell me."

   Another pause.

   "Mark?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Let's say we reboot this thing and see what happens."

   "Sounds good to me."

   "You wanna get something to eat after work?"

   Yes!  Of course I did.  But suddenly I realized that this was the one
day in my two weeks alone that I would be busy at work, and would probably
end up working late.  Although I could have made it out to see him, I
didn't want to rush this.

   "Sorry John," I had to say, "I can't.  There's something I have to do at
work today, and it's going to take a while.  I'm not sure when I'll get out
of here."

   "Ok, I understand."

   "Thanks, man.  What about Thursday?"

   "Ouch," he said.

   "Really?"

   "Yeah.  That's my busy day."

   Jeez, I couldn't believe this.  After having the perfect opportunity on
Tuesday, were we really going to get caught up in this sort of thing? 
Work's a bitch!

   "But Friday's free.  You want to get together then?"

   I couldn't believe how easily he said that.  He just said it.  Like
that. I'm sure it didn't carry for him the import that it did for me.

   "Yes!" I screamed in relief, in my mind.

   "Sure, what're you thinking?" As I said it to him, I remember straining
not to sound in any way like I was leading him on.  In my mind, he had to
make the invitation.

   "Well, I don't know, whatever.  I'll have the whole weekend free."

   "That sounds fine," I said, trying very hard to keep my voice neutral
and not betray what I was thinking - which was that I couldn't believe we
each had the whole weekend free!  Instead, I just said, "I'll probably
finish work a bit early.  I can swing by and pick you up whenever is good
for you."

   "Cool," he said, probably not knowing the effect that single word had on
me.

   "Ok, I'll see you then."

   "Yeah.  Bye."

   "Bye."

   As I hung up the phone, I realized that what was really important was
that he had called me.  Only twelve hours after a difficult evening, he had
reached out to me.  I cannot deny that I found this alone to be incredibly
exciting, and as I said it was the last characteristic (interest in me)
that John would need to show in order for ...

   ... in order for me to be unable to resist him.

   I couldn't deny it.  And I couldn't deny why this was.  It was because
his taking the initiative was both an exciting change from what my life had
become, and it was a great relief.  I couldn't deny that whether or not
anything ever developed between John and I, there was no doubt that I found
him to be very exciting.  He was new.  He was unlike any man I had ever
known before.  I realized I was desperately curious to see what he would
say or do next; even his invitation to Susan and Michelle, which had
annoyed me so much at first, I could now see as part of the excitement of
being with him.

   And his taking the initiative was, as I said, a relief.  Finally, I no
longer had to take the lead, or be in control.  I could surrender all of
that, and myself, to someone else.  To someone new and exciting for me. 
Now a person had come into my life to whom I was comfortable surrendering
myself.  And I, personally, had come to the point that I was willing to
drop all barriers.  I realized that I had been comfortable sharing
everything with John - including some of my innermost thoughts and
vulnerabilities - and I wondered what had brought me to this point of
comfort.  Surely, it was initiated by the strong physical attraction I felt
toward him, and it had been encouraged by his open and engaging
personality, but I also felt a trust developing.

   So, on that quiet Wednesday afternoon, I guess it really started to sink
in for me.  I'd be seeing him Friday night, but for what, I didn't know
exactly.  He said he wanted to "reboot." And even though I didn't know what
he meant, for once I succeeded in just not thinking too much about it. 
When I got home from work late that evening, I realized that there were
still some things I needed to do around the house.  So after work the next
day, I rushed to finish up everything I needed to do over the next 10 days.
For the rest of my time alone, I wanted to be able to devote all my
attention to John.

   So the curtain closes on me bustling around the house, getting ready for
John.

   And not having any idea what would happen between us.

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