Triptychs – Chapter 23




“You . . . know,” from Noah; pausing to puff, between words – “I don’t . . . remember . . . you mentioning . . . doing . . . mountain climbing . . . today.”


San Francisco. The two of us, legging our way up Fourteenth Street, which was steep and already pretty far uphill, from the Cafe Flore, where we’d just had lunch; Noah’s voice, his whole body, just radiating good-natured amusement, in that understated way he has.


“I got the idea,” I went; then I paused, to breathe . . . “from the Castro Theater.” Another breathing pause. “Did you see what they . . . were showing?” Me, grinning, as I puffed out the fib. I’d planned this, for days.


“’The Sound of Music’?” Noah’s sideways-smile back at me; followed by some puffs.


“Well, Yeah!” A couple more puffs. “You know . . . the Alps?” Another breath-pause; and then we came to a corner, and we stopped for a second. We’d actually been walking uphill, pretty fast; it felt good. “We go this way, now,” I went; pointing to where a street kind of curved away from Fourteenth, headed uphill. The street sign on the corner said, ‘ROOSEVELT’. “It’s not much farther . . . ”


Well, that was a little bit of a white lie, too. We still had a long climb up, after that.


Up Roosevelt, a long, steep, curving street; tidy, three- or four-unit apartment buildings, turning into houses, and maybe duplexes, beautifully kept . . . this was a rich, rich part of San Francisco, as most of the uphill parts are. And then, finally, a gap in the buildings, at the very top of everything, with a green lawn, and some steep, steep rock spires towering up behind that. ‘Corona Heights Park’, read a green-painted, wooden sign, and I just grinned big, at what I had planned.


“C’mon. This is what I wanted to show you . . . Oh. And watch your step; this is one of the best dog-runs in the city.”


“Duh,” from Noah; eyeing the dogs, there must have been a dozen of them, running around on the grass, playing together, yapping, just totally blissed-out, you could so tell . . .




Okay. The Wicked Plan.


Part of it unfurled, or unfolded, as soon as we got up to the rock-spires part of the park . . . and I actually heard Noah gasp.


It’s the view, actually. The view down, mostly to the south and east . . . and it’s spectacular. I mean, it’s most of San Francisco, at your feet; the Financial District skyscrapers, South of Market, the Castro, with the Bay behind it, and Berkeley and Oakland on the other side, and Mount Diablo, the single highest mountain in the East Bay Hills towering over that . . .


It’s kind of like the view from Twin Peaks, the highest point in the city; and in some ways, it’s kind of like a reverse version of the view from our parking-lot-lookout at Hayward State. Hey; I’m really visual, and I’ve got a weakness for jaw-dropping, beautiful views, you know?


But in some other ways, some really important ways, Corona Heights wasn’t anything like Twin Peaks or Hayward State.


“Here,” I said; brushing off a kind of rocky shelf, in one of the rock spires. It made a sort of seat, facing the beautiful view. A narrow one. “Sit.” Noah sat, slowly, his eyes on the huge, beautiful space of the Bay in front of us; and I squeezed in next to him, trying not to grin too wide, feeling the press of him, the press of his body against my side.


Okay. Part Two of the Wicked Plan, successful. Check.


“Wow,” he said, after a second. Softly. Then, “Wow.”


I paused a second; mostly just to enjoy the feel of him, but also a little high on the view, myself. “Uh-huh,” I went. “Wow.” I let it go a couple of beats, then – “Can you see the ballpark? SBC, or ATT, or whatever they’re calling it, this year - ?”


“Wait . . . what?” I saw his blue eyes search; then – “Yeah. Oh, yeah . . . !” He was quiet, a second; just looking at it. “I almost got to play a game there, once . . . ” There was something different in his voice.


“Huh?” I blinked at him.


“My team. If we’d won against Bishop O’Connell, and if Saint Matthew’d won their division . . . we would have had our playoff game there. At ATT park.” He shrugged, a little. “They let schools use it for playoff games, sometimes. It would’ve been so, so cool to play there . . . ”


His voice trialed off a little; and there was just a little note of sadness in it, I could so tell; and I somehow didn’t think it had anything to do with losing a game . . .


So, it just felt natural, when I put my left arm around his shoulder; and pulled him a little closer to me, a little tighter against me, feeling the warmth of him, even though our two jackets.


Hey. So what, if that was Step Three in my Wicked Plan? It felt right.


It must have felt right to Noah, too. He didn’t pull away.


“Okay,” I went, after a pause. A slightly-charged pause. “See how small the Bay Bridge looks, from up here? And we were just there!”


“Uh-huh,” from Noah; after a second. “Cool.”


“And that’s the Transamerica Pyramid building . . . duh. But. Look off the right . . . you see that smoke, rising up?” I motioned with my head.


“Umm . . . ” I felt him shift, just a little; and in a second, all of a sudden, his right arm was around my waist, holding me, gently, as I held his shoulder; and I grinned so wide at that, for a couple of beats I swear I couldn’t speak, it was just an intense, vivid rush . . . even though I’d set this whole thing up.


“You mean, there? On that hill?” he went, finally. His voice was a little strained, maybe; and the whole situation was so funny, on top of being so charged, that I really had to work to keep from busting out, laughing.


“Uh-huh,” I said, instead. Eventually. “Well, it’s not really smoke; it’s steam. And somebody told me, that’s the Anchor Steam Brewery, there . . . Only it isn’t, really; but it’s the right neighborhood for the Anchor Steam Brewery, anyway . . . ”


And as I talked about beer – and believe me, I know almost nothing about beer, I don’t really like it – as I talked about beer . . . I felt him lean against me, press against me, just a little harder; warm, in the cool December air.


So I leaned my head over, just gently, until it was resting against the side of his; my shaggy hair touching the side of his baseball cap, and my heartbeat just hammered up, and up, some more. And the words stopped.


What a moment; what a moment. On one level, it was exciting, and on another it was so COMFORTABLE, holding Noah like this – we’d never had the chance to touch each other like this, to hold each other like this, before . . .


“You know I’m seducing you, right?” I whispered, finally. Grinning big.


A short pause. An IRONIC pause; I could just see in my head, the look he’d be giving me, if he could.


Then – “Like you really need to?” from him, in a soft whisper; somehow, also full of irony.


Wicked Plan, Step Five-A, accomplished! Oh, this was turning out well.


“Remember what I said – ” I began –


Crunch, from somewhere in back of us; then, crunch-crunch. The sound of shoes on loose stones; more than just one person, and coming closer.


Noah’s head jerked away from mine, and he started pulling his arm from around my waist –


I trapped his arm with my free hand.


“Shhhh - !” I went, and he froze. Me, trying not to laugh, again. “It’s okay,” I went on, gently. “Remember where we are? We can do this, here . . . ”


He didn’t exactly relax; but he didn’t pull away, either.


Crunch, crunch, crunch . . . and at last the two people came around from in back of the rock spires, eyes out towards the view, of course; two women, middle-aged, maybe, in fleece vests and walking shoes. Talking, in low voices; I couldn’t hear what they were saying.


They crunched their way to the edge of the little plateau we were on, and then they just stood there; gazing at the view, pointing out landmarks to each other the way Noah and I’d just been doing . . . and it went on like that for awhile, and I could feel Noah just beginning to relax, just a little, in my arms –


And then they turned around, to come back.


The first one, a blonde woman with short, straight hair, gazed around at the rock spires, completely oblivious to us; she saw us, and it so clearly just didn’t register . . .


But the other woman, black-hair flecked with gray, and black-frame glasses – she saw us, and her eyes darted back to meet mine – and a broad, sunny, knowing smile, maybe even a motherly smile, just spread over her face; and then she was looking away, leaving us some privacy, and I noticed the two of them wore the exact same fleece vests, just in different colors, and they had a kind of ease with each other, the way they talked, the way they moved . . .


Crunch . . . crunch, crunch, crunch, fading away, and then we were alone with the sky and the view, again.


And of course, I was on the verge of breaking out, laughing.


“See - ?” I went, softly. After a second. Loving the joke of it. “I TOLD you we could do this, here . . . ”


No words from Noah, just eloquent silence . . . but I felt him relax against me again, molding his body against mine, warm in the cool breeze; and I tightened my arm around his shoulder, and gently leaned my head against his, again. That rush back, stronger than ever.


A pause, then; me feeling my pulse, pounding in my ears.


“You know,” I went, softly; almost whispering it. “There’s something else we can do here . . . ”


Nothing from Noah; just a quick stillness, that meant I had his attention. Duh.


“Remember when we talked about doing this - ? Talked about getting together, over Christmas break - ?”


Loaded silence. I’d said something about dinner, a movie – and making out.


Well, two out of three isn’t bad . . . assuming we still had time for dinner.


I turned my head, and carefully, gently, kissed his cheek. It was smooth, and soft. And then, I did it again . . . only it was almost the corner of his mouth, this time, and I swear, it was SO exciting, and my heart was just hammering . . .


And his face turned to mine, and then all of a sudden his lips were on mine, soft and warm and then open, a little wet –


Oh, Jesus.




On one level . . . god, I’d missed this, I’d really been missing this.


And on a whole other level, this wasn’t anything like the few, stolen kisses we’d managed to snatch in the Pioneer Bookstore.


His lips on mine, BETWEEN mine, so soft . . . the taste of his mouth, the clean, shockingly intimate taste of him . . . and then his mouth was a little away from mine, and I could feel his breath on my face, and then I was chasing his lips with mine, and we were kissing again, and it was so SHOCKINGLY intimate, fuck-me . . .


I was so hard, it actually hurt.




Okay. Confession.


So far, my Wicked Plan had worked, beautifully; the incredible view, the comfort of doing this in the Castro – well, above the Castro, anyway – the sheer, fucking FREEDOM of making out, like this, as much as we wanted, as long as we wanted –


So, Wicked Plan successful, ding, ding, ding! Thank you, thank you very much, no, no please, it was nothing –




The thing is – I hadn’t taken the Wicked Plan any further than, you know, making out. I mean, it was Noah; a shy Catholic boy, I’d figured if I got him this far, I’d be way ahead . . . I’d figured, we could do some kissing, and cuddling, and it would all be kind of sweet and high-school-date-ish. Kind of goofy, and charming, with me as the worldly, experienced guy, holding himself back. Right?




We powered by ‘sweet’ and ‘high-school-date-ish’, pretty damn fast. Real damn fast, actually.


And as for me, the worldly guy, holding himself back, taking care of poor, little innocent Noah - ?




At this point, I was just keeping up with Noah . . . he was making out with me, with totally commitment, with a sensuality that had me gasping for breath one second, and almost shivering the next –


Not that he was super-experienced, or anything; no. But; he MEANT it, he was so totally into it, he was really into it. No technique, no calculation. Nothing held back.


And, he was as hard as I was. I know, because I felt him down there, with my fingers . . .


Which brought his fingers down to the bulge of my dick, with the wet of his mouth on mine, and I made a noise into his mouth as I felt him, down there . . .


And he kept his fingers there, warm through the fabric of my jeans . . . and I kept my fingers, my hand on his bulge, pressing a little, squeezing a little, wanting so, so badly to open up his pants, fuck, to get him OUT of his pants, to get my mouth on him, all over him, below his waist –


Voices, from in back of us. Faint, but male; coming closer.


His mouth on mine again, wet, and maybe a little desperate . . . the WARM of his fingers on my boner, through the cloth –


Crunch . . . crunch; crunch.


The voices louder, now; two men, and a woman.


Crunch, crunch, crunch - ! and Noah and I pulled away at almost the same time, faces apart, hands out of each other’s crotch, untangling our arms. Flushed all over, panting. I felt the wetness in my shorts, from where I’d been leaking . . .


I kept my arm around his shoulder, though; and I held him, tight.


The three of them came around our rock-spire, from the left; older folks, and from the ways they were dressed, you could just so tell, they weren’t from San Francisco. They walked up to the edge of the rock-plateau, and did the oooh-ing and ahhh-ing thing, over the view . . .


And then one of the men set down a cloth bag he was carrying; and he pulled out something big, which turned out to be a folded-up blanket, and he slowly, deliberately began to unfold it, square by square, and spread it over the rock, and the white-haired woman went to dig around in her own cloth bag, pulling out plastic plates and Tupperware containers, one after another, maddeningly slow –


Oh, no. No.


One of the men slowly, painfully got himself down onto the blanket, half-falling onto his butt the last couple of inches, and he turned to his friends to laugh at it . . .


Fuck me, hard.


I mean, have you ever been there - ? Been so utterly, thoroughly boned, so utterly horned-out . . . and then had to shut it down, slam on the brakes, had it all snatched away from you in a second - ? Have you ever gone from a totally sexual, sensual high to flatline, in a split second?


The word is, ‘frustration’.


Turned out, Noah was feeling the same way.


My arm still around him, his arm still around my waist, he turned his head and looked at me sideways, anguish just all over his face.


“Is there someplace we can go?” he went, with a kind of plaintive, wild, upward-accent on the word, ‘go’ . . .



*   *   *



Okay. Life Lesson, Learned. If you’re going to come up with Wicked Plans – always have a Wicked Plan B. Always.


I didn’t have one . . . but I lucked out. I remembered there was someplace we could go, and it was close. REALLY close.




Remember what I was saying, about Castro street going straight up a really, really steep hill on the other side of Eighteenth - ? A hill almost steep enough to lean against?


Well, it really is that steep . . . and nobody walks it, or almost nobody.


So the result is, there’s a valley just on the other side of that hill; and even though it’s only six blocks from the Castro Theater, it’s a whole different neighborhood, with a whole different feel to it. It’s called Noe Valley, and it’s a million miles away from the Castro, culturally; it’s not particularly gay, or anything, it’s basically kind of family-ish . . . Well. That’s if you include the two-mom families, there’s lot’s of two-mom families in Noe Valley.


There’s this hot-tub place in Noe Valley, that I know about. Knew about.


Okay, again.


So there are hot-tub places, and hot-tub places . . . and there’s a lot of variety, they can be places with unhappy young Asian girls who offer ‘massages’, and they can be more friendly, funky, neighborhood-y type places. Cleaner places, in multiple senses of the word.


This one hot-tub place I knew about – it’s one of the neighborhood-y places. It’s calm, and nice, and clean; kind of an old, hippy-ish hangout.


Which isn’t to say, people only go there to soak their pulled muscles, or something . . . you know? I mean, really; it’s a hot-tub place; it’s a place to get naked and wet in hot water, with a friend. Of COURSE people go there to have fun; to have outrageous sex . . . and everybody knows it.


Still. At this particular place the youngish, blond-goateed guy behind the desk was really nice, and he gave us extra towels, and he pretended not to notice that Noah kept his head way, way down, blushing beet-red, his whole body just radiating mortal embarrassment, as I paid for a private tub for us for two whole hours.


Which made me want to laugh, of course. It was hard not to; I could just feel my mouth quivering, right on the verge, as the goateed-guy gave me the change. And I could see him trying to keep a straight face, too.


“Oh . . . ” I went. “We’ll need some water.”


“Small or large?” from him, in a polite voice.


“Large, please. Two of them.” I could feel my mouth quiver again, as I glanced sideways at Noah’s lowered cap. “We really will need them,” I said, towards his cap. “The water’s HOT, here . . . ”


Noah shifted on his feet, saying nothing; and then the two big, frosty plastic bottles were on the counter, and I paid for them.


“That’s the Redwood Room,” the goateed-guy said, really nicely; with a sympathetic look at Noah, and a smile for me. “Second door down the hall, on the left; I’ll knock on the door fifteen minutes before your time’s up . . . ”






We’d lucked out getting into this place, but we’d REALLY lucked out getting the Redwood Room. It’s the room I’d been in before – on one of my dates, of course – and I’d asked for it, and I couldn’t believe it was free. Usually you have to make reservations in advance.


What makes it nice, is that it’s not really a room; it’s open-air, there’s no roof. Four high walls, and open sky. Hot tubs were MADE to be enjoyed outdoors . . .


Well, okay. So maybe there can be a few drawbacks, to hot-tubbing outdoors.




“Fuck, it’s cold!” from me; hopping on one foot, as I pulled off one of my socks. Noah had his shirt off, and looked like he was seriously thinking about going any farther; I mean, it was COLD, it just bit into me. In the background, a cloud of steam was rising from the water; overhead, the blue of the sky was fading, it was getting late.


So much for romantically undressing each other, or anything.


“Fuck!” from me, again; as I pulled my pants and shorts off, together, and put them on the redwood bench. Noah was bare, now – he even had his baseball cap off! – and part of me really, really wanted to get a good look at him, but fuck, it was COLD, and then he was padding gingerly towards the tub –


“No!” I reached over and grabbed his arm, gently; and I pulled him towards the little, open, one-head shower on the wall. “No, shower first!” I hesitated, a second, looking at the puny little shower head. Fuck. “Go ahead; I’ll wait.” I gently pushed him under the shower.


Yeah, fuck me. Three years of swim-team instincts cutting in; I mean, you just don’t go in the water without showering, you just DON’T, it’s gross. And it’s even worse, with a hot tub. I just couldn’t help myself.


So I was stuck, freezing my balls off, crouching a little, arms around my chest, as Noah washed off, fast, under what looked like not-warm-enough water . . .


Oh; oh.




Want to know what a guy really looks like, naked? Just watch him, as he takes a shower; the water sheeting over his skin, making it glisten, pubes all wetted down, muscles working as he rubs himself, arching back as he rinses his hair . . .


And of course, if it’s a locker room or something, usually you can’t watch; actually, I don’t even like to watch straight guys, or anybody who’s not into the eroticism of it all, I mean, what’s the fun in the that - ?


But it can be fun under the right circumstances, and Cole and me had a couple of really fun times with boys from other swim teams in high school, staying late, showering off after a meet, playing looking games with guys who played looking games back –


This was better.


For one thing, Noah was beautiful. I mean, I knew he was cute – but his body was really nice. Skinny, by my standards; but beautifully proportioned, and he had nice, wiry muscles all over, more than I’d expected, and his skin seemed SMOOTH –


He had a really nice dick, too. Not enormous, not small; just, really nice. Photogenic, maybe.


And as I half-crouched there, teeth chattering, now – I started to get hard again. In spite of the cold. Which made me start to sort-of laugh . . .


And Noah glanced over at me, and he caught me perving on him. And that made his head go down a second . . . and then it was up, and he was looking back at me through slitted eyes, the water running off of him, looking me up and down –


His dick is even nicer, hard. Hard, and wagging, a little.




Out of the shower, now – Noah’d stood there, shivering, waiting for me – and along the plank walkway, to the redwood decking around the hot tub. Noah’s body wet and glistening in the fading daylight; steam, and the heavy smell of chlorine.


“Aaaahh - !” from Noah, as he put one foot in the tub; he yanked it out, fast, his blue eyes wide and surprised, looking at me. “It’s HOT!” He sat down, slowly and carefully, on the wood deck.


“It’s okay!” I couldn’t help laughing at his expression. “It’s okay; that’s just the contrast, it’s not really that hot, you’ll get used to it.” I put my own foot into the water . . . “Fuck!” I gasped, a little; it felt like I was sticking my foot into boiling water.


Noah’s expression said, See? So of course I laughed again, a little ruefully; and then I sat down, too, and I forced myself to swing my other leg over, and put my other foot into the water. Trying not to wince. “See - ?” I went. REALLY trying to keep a straight face. “Honest; you’ll get used to it . . . ” And I went in thigh-deep, gasping again, some . . .




Hot water. Bare skin; cold/cool air . . .


Noah and me, touching, almost-floating, in the middle of it all. Skin to skin; lips to lips. The low bubbling of the hot tub, and our breathing, the only sounds. His curly hair wet, and flat, and cool against my face as I held him, and nuzzled his cheek, before finding his mouth again, with mine . . .


The taste of him, the taste of his mouth, so wet.


The feel of his body pressed against me, bare skin to bare skin, above the water, under the water . . . his bare skin on my crotch, moving against my hard, hard bare dick, and fuck-me, I was so inflamed down there, so NEEDY, that I pressed against him as we made out, and I whimpered into his mouth, I swear I did . . .


Yeah. There’s a thing about doing it, in the water; in warm water. Something about it is, like, primal, something about it makes the sex about an order of magnitude better; an order of magnitude hotter. The wet, the hot and cold, the wet, warm skin –


This was better still. This was fucking intoxicating.


“Unnnhh . . . ahhhh,” from Noah; breathing hard. His breath smelled so good. His head pulled away a little, and his blue eyes were on mine, blinking, for a second, so fucking INTIMATE – and then his mouth was on mine again, so slick/warm, so wet –


The way he moved against me, in the water.


I mean, he was so . . . into it. So into me; so enthusiastic. It was like he wanted to feel every inch of me with his hands, hug me so hard sometimes I couldn’t breathe, rub his bare body against mine like he wanted to climb into me, or something . . . and it was all so, so . . . innocent, I guess? Unpracticed; yeah, and so, so real . . . . I couldn’t even remember doing anything like this with anyone before, anything sexual that was so REAL –


“Mmmmmmmppphhh . . . wait,” I whispered, at last; pulling away just a little. My arms still around him; my crotch still pressed against his. The smell of his breath so close; steam all around us, defining our world.


“What - ?” he whispered back; so low, I could barely hear him.


“Too hot,” I whispered; cupping my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a deep, wet kiss, a long one, then back out again –


And it was. Dangerously hot; as in, temperature, the water is kept way hot at this place. Our faces were streaming sweat, in spite of the cold outside-air; you can hurt yourself, you can hurt your heart, getting your heart rate too high in heat like that . . . it’s dangerous.


Besides. I had an idea.


“C’mon,” I whispered; beginning to grin. I broke away from him, slow, and I pulled him by the hand across the tub to where we had he towels stashed, on he other side –




Yeah. It’s the boundaries, that make doing it in the water so exciting. The boundaries between hot and cold, dry and wet; wet skin to wet skin . . . It’s the intense contrasts, the intense physical sensations . . . The going back-and-forth.


I spread out a couple of the towels on the redwood decking at the side of the tub; they were wet almost as soon as I pulled Noah up and into place, on his back on the towels, shivering under my hands . . . only, he wasn’t shivering from the cold; steam actually rose from his skin, for a minute, it was a weird sight, but then I wasn’t seeing much of anything, as I was kissing him again, wet mouth on wet mouth –


I laid myself down on top of him; front to front. Full bare body to full bare body.


Crotch to crotch. I felt his dick hard against my skin, and mine against him. I felt his arms around me, as I half-supported myself on my forearms, and I kissed him again, I kept on kissing him, tasting his mouth, coming back a little bit, then back in, the SHOCK of intimacy, as I tasted him, and I slowly moved my crotch against his –


“Mmmmmmphhh . . . mmmphhh - !” from underneath me, a strangled sound; and his arms around me tightened, hard, squeezing the breath from me, and I held on, pushing against him, my wet cheek against his . . .


And then I felt him go still, underneath me; his grip on me loosened. His body, still.


“Hmmm!” from me; as I ducked back to taste his mouth, again, then back to cheek-to-cheek. I could feel the wet of his semen between us, even with all the sweat.


Nothing from Noah for a second; then a whispered, “Sorry,” into my ear.


I couldn’t believe I was supposed to take that seriously. “What?” I whispered, back –


And of course, I couldn’t resist. I pushed up on my arms a little, and reached down with my right hand, and scooped up some of his cum – as much as I could scoop up with one finger, anyway – and as he watched me, I brought it up to my mouth, and licked up his cum, thoroughly –


“Yum,” from me, grinning. It actually DID taste good; I could so get used to it.


“Unnnh . . . ” Another strangled breath, from him; his eyes wide, wide, and so of course I had to lean in and kiss him again. And that went on, and on for awhile . . .


Until I rolled us over a little; onto our sides, me feeling the heat of the hot-tub steam against my cold back and butt, still holding Noah close, still kissing him; but I really, really needed to cum myself now, I was WAY overdue, so my free hand went down to my dick, the towels wet underneath us, the breeze from the open roof cold on my wet skin –


“Touch me - ?” I hissed out, pleading; and his mouth was back on mine in an instant, and his hands were everywhere, all over my back, my butt, and his fingers were in my crotch, on my BALLS, oh, fucckkkk . . . .


“NNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn - !”


It was a wild orgasm, one of those really strong ones that you think isn’t ever going to stop, one of the ones that flushes out all those ducts and pipes below the waist and leaves you panting. Satisfied. Wrecked, even. The spasms went on, and on, dwindling slowly, until I lay, panting, skin-to-skin in Noah’s arms.


Oh, fuck, I thought to myself. Happily. Oh, fuck. Noah’s breath, intimate in my face; my groin, my stomach, wet, my balls tingling.


“Sorry,” from Noah, again; whispered, low. “I’m sorry . . . ”


“What?” from me, after a second. Blinking.


Nothing from him, for a long stretch of seconds; and he felt – kind of stiff, in my arms. Not relaxed.


“What - ?” I tried, again. Whispering it.


Long pause. Then – “I do that. I, I, like . . . I come too soon.” I could hear him swallow, his face so close to mine. “I do that a lot,” he whispered, and it was a harsh whisper.


I lifted up my head, to look at him, look at his face; his body was stiff, and his face was kind of closed-down; his eyes shut. He was just radiating shame; and my heart lurched to see it.


“Hey,” from me; still in a whisper. I put my head down again and pulled him closer against me, skin to skin, our semen getting cold now between us. Snuggling against him. “Hey. That wasn’t . . . I mean, that was fine. It was incredible, actually.” I hesitated, groping for words.  “Was it . . . okay for you - ?”


Silence, for another long stretch; I was rubbing his back with my free hand, now, trying to give him some comfort. “Yeah,” he whispered back, eventually; his head kind of down, between us, not looking at me. “Yeah – but I should have lasted longer. I should have lasted longer . . . for you . . . ”


I didn’t know what to say. I mean, he HAD gone off a little early, I guess . . . but with all the stuff we’d been doing, all the making out we’d been doing, it wouldn’t have surprised me if we’d both come in our pants, back at the park. And it just plain didn’t fucking matter anyway, it was a fantastic experience just now, it was so fucking INTIMATE . . .


“Shhhhh,” from me; I craned my head over, and kissed his cool cheek; then I scrunched down a little, and caught his lips with mine, once, then twice, opening up his mouth a little with mine, tasting him all over again; then back away, just a little. “No. Don’t. That was the best time for me since . . . That was the best time for me, that I can remember. Honest.”


I’d started to say, that was the best time for me since Cole and Jeremy got me off, on the beach, two years ago; but I couldn’t go there.


But it was true.


Nothing from Noah, for long heartbeats. His skin warm against mine; but I could feel the cold air against the parts of me that weren’t touching him, cold almost like burning.


“I mean it,” I whispered, again, and I kissed his forehead.


“Hmmm,” from Noah; and this time he kissed me, and his body relaxed a little, and moved against mine, and it felt good.


But it was clear, this was a big issue for him; I could so tell, it was an issue, and a few words from me weren’t going to make it all better for him, or anything.


Well, fuck, I thought to myself. We’ll just have to work on it. And as soon as I thought that, the idea of Working On It – meaning, having lots of nice sex with Noah, great sex with Noah, as some kind of self-image therapy – it made me smile to myself, big. It made me grin wide, actually; although I didn’t let him see it. What a sacrifice - !


“We should get back into the water, before we freeze out here,” I whispered, eventually; and he made a contented noise, and moved against me a little, although neither one of us got up, in spite of the cold. The hot tub burbled away in back of me, humming and steaming.


And between us – I could feel him, I could feel his dick; it was hard, again. Really hard. And that made we grin, right on the verge of laughing, as soon as I figured out what was poking against me, down there.


“So,” I whispered; a little carefully. Still concerned, for him; even if a little less so, now. “Think you can go again - ?” And I moved my groin against his, gently.


“Oh, yes!” from Noah; surprised at the question, and that DID make me laugh, softly, as I reached over him, for a towel.


And as we took turns, cleaning each other up – part of me was wondering, what exactly I was feeling about all of this; part of me was wondering, if I had the slightest, fucking clue what I was getting into, how much responsibility I was just casually taking on, wondering if it was fucking stupid to let somebody else get so into me . . .


So I kissed Noah again, and it felt and tasted so good, and I tried to shut down that questioning part of my head, and shut it down tight. Time for all that later, I thought.