Archive of Our Own ^beta

So sue me.

Not a death story, but pretty heavy on the angst.

THE WAY THINGS ARE
By Roxanne

I was 11 the first time I fell in love. Sarah. That was her first name. I don't remember her last name ... I'm not sure I ever even knew it. I only spent one week with her. Not enough time to find out much about a girl ... even when you're only 11 ... but it didn't take much. I really loved Sarah and she broke my heart.

She was a friend of my cousin, Nancy. Nancy's family was traveling on a summer-long vacation across the country and Sarah got to come along with them so that Nancy would have somebody to play with. Nancy was an only child and spoiled rotten. I couldn't stand her, but I was absolutely crazy about her friend, Sarah.

They'd come to visit the last week in August. I remember it being really hot and steamy while she was here. The air felt heavy on my skin in the sweltering heat. It was so hot that Dad's tomato plants shriveled and died, but Mom's roses bloomed like nobody's business. I remember that she had bouquets of them all over the house while Sarah was here.

That kind of weather was unusual for Cascade, but it was like everything was out of whack that week of my life. Nothing was happening the way it usually did. Mom and Dad were getting along, Stevie wasn't bugging me and every time I played ball, I hit a home run. Meeting Sarah was like the icing on a wonderful cake.

It was the end of summer vacation when Nancy and Sarah got to our house. School would be starting the day after Labor Day, so it was my last week of freedom. I'd spent my entire summer outdoors that year, so I was tan and fit and my hair had bleached out to a golden brown. I'd also shot up a couple of inches and been running everywhere, so my legs were long and strong. The fact was, I was feeling pretty good about myself that last week of summer. Then Sarah came into my life.

Sarah was still about an inch taller than me and just starting to get some gentle curves to her slender body. I was fascinated by the way her breasts poked out to sharp little points under her t-shirts. I could have started at those breasts all day long. She also had the most beautiful long brown hair and big brown eyes I'd ever seen. The whole time she was in Cascade, Sarah wore her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail like I sometimes see women at the gym wearing today. The only difference is that her ponytails were always tied with a ribbon that matched her outfit. On her, it was adorable.

I was smitten with Sarah from the first moment I saw her. Problem was, she didn't like me. I'm not sure why, but it didn't stop me from falling head over heels in love. And nothing I did seemed to make any difference. She always stayed cool and aloof. But I was absolutely crazy about her and I decided to do anything I could to win her over.

Man, I pulled out all the stops too. I shared everything I had with her ... baseball cards, marbles, even my stash of candy corn. It was my favorite candy and I didn't even share it with Stevie. She didn't seem to comprehend just how special that was. She just ate a handful, then went off to play Barbies with Nancy.

One evening, I let her look at my ViewMaster slides of Disneyland. I remember hauling out the cigar box that I kept them in, so proud of the photos of garishly colored rides and characters. They were my special prize because nobody in Cascade had slides of Disneyland. My Aunt Jean had brought them back for me along with a set of mouse ears and a box of saltwater taffy. Sarah said she'd seen the real thing and it was stupid to look at pictures of places you'd already been. I could have cried right then and there.

My trump card came the day that I took her to my favorite fishing spot. It was on the shore of that tiny creek that ran along the border of the golf course that Sarah flat out told me that she didn't like me. I still remember it so clearly. It was a perfect summer day ... hot and sunny with just the slightest of breezes to keep us from sweating to death. The sky was bright blue that day and huge puffy clouds were sailing overhead as we sat on the grass and looked for four-leaf clovers.

It had been a great day ... Sarah and Nancy's last day in Cascade before heading back to Baltimore. Sarah, Nancy, Stevie and I had run wild in the wooded area behind Ashton's house all morning. After Sally had fixed us lunch, we went back to the creek to watch the tadpoles in the shallow water and hunt for snakes in the tall grass.

I'd done whatever I could to be with Sarah that day ... calling her attention to every little flower and insect, drawing her close to me at every opportunity ... wanting to imprint her beauty on my memory for all eternity. I was flying between the elation that comes with true love and the despair of knowing that after that day, Sarah would be thousands of miles away from me.

It was almost time to head back home and Stevie was wading through the cold water with Nancy when out of the blue, Sarah looked at me and said, "I know you like me, but I don't like you."

I didn't know what to say. I was totally devastated. I wanted to bust out crying, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Besides, my dad would have killed me if he'd caught me bawling. So instead, I just shrugged my shoulders and told her I didn't care. Truth was, I cared a whole hell of a lot. I'd never felt that way about a girl before and all I could think was that if she didn't like me there must be something terribly wrong with me. That night, I cried myself to sleep. Nancy and Sarah left the next day and I never saw her again.

Not long after Mom left, Dad got into this huge fight with Nancy's mom. I heard them arguing on the telephone. He called her all kinds of names just because she said that Mom had good reasons to not want to be with Dad. She said that Dad drove Mom away and that if he wasn't careful, he'd lose his kids too. He told her to never darken his door again, so I never even got to see Nancy to find out what happened to Sarah.

<*>*<*>*<*>

The second time I fell in love, I was 16. His name was Mark. We were best friends, co-captains of the JV football team and members of the same country club. We'd met as freshmen when we were in homeroom together and taken an instant liking to each other. We listened to the same music, watched the same TV shows and rooted for the same football teams. Mark and I discovered our mutual interests that year during a Saturday detention we'd each gotten for running in the halls.

We were supposed to stare at the clock, but every time Mr. Beecher left the room ... rumor had it, he had a drug problem, so it was a lot ... Mark and I would start talking. Since I could always hear when Beecher was coming back, sniffing and rubbing at his nose like he had a cold, we never got caught. That really impressed Mark and I really got off on that admiration.

Mark was about my height with green eyes and curly hair that was the color of spun gold. He wore it longer than me and the bits around his neck would twirl into tight little coils when he'd get hot and sweaty. Those curls just fascinated me and I always wanted to touch them ... even before I realized that my feelings for him went a lot deeper than simple friendship.

Mark lived a couple blocks away from me. His dad was an accountant with some firm that did business with my old man and his mom was a teacher. They were a nice family ... always inviting me to stay for dinner ... including me in family functions ... things like that. Mark was the oldest of six kids, so there was always a crowd at his house. I guess they didn't mind having one more kid around. I'm sure his folks felt sorry for me too ... poor motherless boy that I was.

I loved going to Mark's house too. It wasn't as big as ours even though there were twice as many people living there. Their things weren't as nice as ours either. The furniture was old and lumpy and the house was always messy, but there was a warmth there that I'd never felt in my own home. Mark's brothers and sisters were allowed to eat in the living room and play anywhere there was an empty space. They fought and laughed and studied together. It was always noisy at Mark's house, but for some reason, that noise never bothered me.

My house was big and well furnished and always spotlessly clean. Dad had had a decorator come the summer after Mom left and she redid the living room in shades of off-white. I thought it looked like a hospital operating room, but Dad said it was stylish. Stevie and I weren't allowed to go in there with shoes on, let alone eat in there. Once, Dad caught me watching TV with my feet on the coffee table and I got grounded for a week.

I never had to worry about that at Mark's house. The coffee table always had so many magazines and toys piled on it that there was no room for your feet. Every so often, Mark's mom would get real mad and say that the house looked like a pig sty and we'd all run around trying to clear up the clutter before she started yelling again. Mark's dad would just start muttering to himself, then go outside and do some yard work whenever that happened.

Mr. Entwistle had to fix a lot of stuff around their house too. I guess they couldn't afford repairmen like we could and with so many kids, things were always getting broken so he had to know how to do it himself. He was pretty good at all that handyman stuff, so he showed me how to use a circular saw and how to replace a light switch. I helped him change the oil in their station wagon and spent more than one Saturday raking their huge yard.

I loved being with Mark and his family. They were so different from my own. It took me years to realize that what I felt there and what was missing from mine family was love. But they had it in abundance and were more than willing to share it with little Jimmy Ellison. When I think back, I realize how much of an effort they made to include me.

I remember them taking me with them to the state fair the summer between my sophomore and junior years. I'd always wanted to go there when I was younger, but Dad thought it was too dirty and too crowded and refused to take Stevie and me, even for a day. The Entwistles went every year though. They'd pack everybody into their station wagon and make a day of it.

We had a blast. Mark and I went into every barn and took the younger kids on every ride we came across. Mark's folks bought me a hillbilly hat that had a corncob pipe stuck in it that I wore all day long and we all made ourselves sick on corndogs and cotton candy. It was one of the best days of my life even though Dad threw the hat in the garbage as soon as I got home.

About that time, Mark and I got in this habit of staying at each other's houses every Friday night. One week, I'd be at his house, the next he'd be at mine. I loved it. I'd never had anyone that was as easy to talk to or as much fun to be around as Mark ... not even Stevie. Mark had his own room in the attic and we'd sit in there and talk 'til all hours about our hopes and dreams, the perfect woman, the perfect car, or the perfect baseball lineup.

Mark's room was decorated like every other typical teen-aged boy of the day. His walls were painted blue, but they were mostly covered with all kinds of posters that I'd never been allowed to have. He even had a psychedelic poster of a unicorn jumping over a rainbow and a black light bulb, so when you turned it on and the other lights off, the colors exploded in neon shades.

My favorite one of the bunch though was his Farrah Fawcett poster. That thing used to give me the best wet dreams I'd ever had. I can still see ole Farrah in her white hot pants and t-shirt that was so tight you could see her nipples pushing through. God, I didn't think there was anybody on Earth more beautiful than Farrah Fawcett that year.

Mark had a beat-up old record player that had been his dad's, but he spent all the money he made mowing lawns on record albums. When I think about it, he had pretty funny taste for a kid that age. He loved Lou Reed and T-Rex and a bunch of other bands that I'd never heard of until I met him. I don't remember how he ever found out about them, but he was hooked on that kind of music. I grew to like it even though all the other kids at our school were listening to the Eagles and the Doobie Brothers at that time.

Mark and I were too cool to like what the other kids liked though. I think we both really wanted to be hippies, but didn't have the nerve for that. So we'd just sit up there in his attic bedroom with the lights out and a bunch of candles lit and listen to his music and pretend to be something we weren't. Most nights though, we'd just do our homework together with Marc Bolen singing in the background.

We had all kinds of serious conversations up there while listening to songs about heroin addiction and teen-aged angst. I felt like I could talk to Mark about anything. He was a really good listener. He'd sit and look me right in the eyes as I talked about the kinds of stuff that teen-aged boys liked to talk about. He always seemed interested, no matter how much I rambled on about how much I couldn't stand Rick Zimmerman or how sexy I thought Liz Springer was when she wore her cheerleader outfit.

Mark was the one person who actually encouraged me to talk about my family. He said it would make me feel better to get things out in the open. Then, he told me about when his sister Frannie had whooping cough and how scared his parents were when he ran away from home when he was 6. His problems always seemed so solvable. It was like his family could handle any hurdle that was thrown in front of them because they had each other.

That innate strength was apparent in Mark from the moment I met him. That's probably why I was so drawn to him. And why when he asked me a question, I always answered, no matter how much it hurt to talk sometimes. So I told Mark things I'd never told anyone ... about how much I loved Stevie even though it wasn't cool to care that much about your little brother ... about Mom leaving without ever saying goodbye ... about Dad hitting me so hard when I was 10 that he loosened a tooth.

When Mark wasn't listening to my problems, he liked to talk about what he was going to do when he got out of college. He was always thinking about the future and how he'd fit into it. Mark had plans to be an art major in college. He was really talented at drawing, so he was going to UCLA and then head to New York to work as a graphic artist after he graduated.

Once he got to New York, he'd get on at some big ad agency or maybe work as a cartoonist for The New Yorker and hang out at places like CBGBs and Studio 54. I think he'd read one too many Penthouse articles about life in the big city because he even had his dream apartment planned out. It was going to be a loft apartment in Greenwich Village with lots of leather furniture. And what I loved most was that Mark had absolutely no doubt that he'd end up doing precisely what he wanted to do with his life.

I was just the opposite. I couldn't decide on whether I wanted to play pro football or be a business major. I also toyed with the idea of working for the FBI or becoming a doctor. Sometimes I thought I'd spend my entire life in Cascade. Sometimes I dreamed about exploring the world as a soldier of fortune.

Mark told me I could be whatever I wanted. He thought I had "untapped potential" that would make me special if I'd just let it loose. He believed in me more than anybody ... myself included. It was exhilarating to have that kind of friendship directed your way. So I spent every minute I could with Mark as we talked about our dreams and fears and hopes and desires.

Then one night when we were sitting in his room listening to his new Mott the Hoople album, I told him about Sarah. I don't know why ... maybe it was just my teenage hormones going wild ... but I just started crying about it. For some reason, at that moment, it hurt just like it had when it had happened. I felt like an idiot, sitting there blubbering about some little girl that I hadn't seen in 5 years, but Mark seemed to understand exactly what I was feeling and just put his arm around me and told me to let it all out and that it would be alright.

I grabbed my hanky out of my pocket to wipe my face and Mark took it from my hand and tenderly dried my tears. I couldn't believe how gentle he was being. It was one of those moments where I felt truly loved. Then I looked up into Mark's eyes and they were shiny with tears too. I knew that Mark was hurting just as much as I was ... that he cared for me that much.

We just sat there and stared at each other forever, then Mark closed his eyes, leaned towards me and kissed me. At first he just brushed his lips over mine, but then he made a second pass and really pressed his advantage. Oh god, that was such a great kiss. I'd been dating girls for a year and not one of them had ever kissed me like Mark did. It felt so sweet and hot and perfect and so I just opened my mouth and sucked him in.

I wasn't at all scared or even sad anymore. It just felt so good to be kissing Mark ... like it was something we'd been moving closer and closer towards for the past two years. Then I remember shifting in his arms and finally sinking my hands in his curls as I pulled him close to return his kiss. I was so happy when Mark pushed me back onto the bed and covered my body with his. I couldn't believe how much I wanted this ... how I didn't care what this made us because we were together, loving each other.

Mark's kisses soon became more demanding and I was happy to submit to him. I would have given him anything at that moment. He had my heart. I would have gladly given him my life to just be with him like that. The weight of his body on mine was just so right. We seemed to fit together perfectly. I could feel his dick, pulsing and hot, pressed against my stomach and it made my own throb even harder.

It didn't take long before my whole body was twitching and jerking against Mark's. Our kisses became more urgent and it was like my hips had a mind of their own. I was thrusting hard against Mark and he was thrusting right back at me. The friction caused by our rubbing against each other was making me shake with anticipation for what I knew was ahead.

I'd been having wet dreams for a couple of years and been masturbating regularly since junior high. I knew how good an orgasm could feel when I pumped my dick with spit slicked hands. I knew it would feel even better with Mark because we loved each other. I guess we were both so horny that in the end all it really took was a few thrusts and we were coming against each other.

As soon as he was done, Mark collapsed on top of me. I just held him in my arms that way and continued to stroke his hair and plant lazy kisses on him. We didn't talk. We didn't need to. We both knew that we loved each other madly ... that this was meant to be. All I could see were great days and nights ahead of us ... that is, until his father walked in on us.

Mark's dad went wild when he saw us. I'd never seen him like that. He'd always been so nice ... so fatherly. He'd kind of reminded me of Marcus Welby, but that night he became a different man ... more like my father than I'd ever dreamed possible. He grabbed Mark by the back of his shirt and sent him flying off the bed, then headed for me. He grabbed me up ... pulled me right up to his face and called me a fucking faggot. He accused me of seducing his son and I just stood there and let him because it was true.

When I didn't respond, Mr. Entwistle just got madder. He yanked at my arm and jerked me out of the bedroom and pushed me down the first flight of steps. I stumbled and fell to the bottom and he followed after me calling me horrible names. Mark was screaming at his dad to stop the whole time this was going on, but Mr. Entwistle just ignored him and dragged me to the front door and pushed me out. He threw my coat and bag out after me and told me to never speak to his son again.

I hobbled out to my car and drove the whole way home crying and praying that nobody would see me like that. I was an absolute mess ... bleeding and sticky and bawling like a baby. When I got to the house, I ducked in the back door and snuck into my room without Sally seeing me. Dad and Stevie had gone to Seattle to a Mariners game so at least I didn't have to face them in my shame. If Mark's dad had reacted that badly there was no telling what my father would do when he found out.

As usual, Sally was her sweet, comforting self the next day and never questioned my soiled jeans or the cement burns on my arms. I told her that Mark and I had had a fight over a girl and she didn't question me further. I knew she didn't believe a word of what I'd said, but she never pushed it. Instead, she made me my favorite meal for supper that night and sat and watched Saturday Night Live with me.

On Monday, I got to football practice early and found out that Mark had already quit the team. Coach Jameson said that it had something to do with Mark's dad wanting him to concentrate more on his grades, but I knew the truth. I finally caught up with Mark after fifth period, but he wouldn't talk to me. He didn't seem mad, just very sad. His green eyes were swimming in tears, but he wasn't letting them fall.

I could see where his dad had busted him in the lip and a bruise above his eye. I really wanted to reach out and touch him so badly ... to take the hurt away. Mark flinched when I lifted my hand like he thought I was going to hit him too, so I pulled back and turned and walked away.

We didn't say a word to each other for the rest of the school year. If I walked in somewhere where Mark was, he left. I tried to grab him at the Valentine's dance and force him to at least tell me what his dad had done to him, but his green eyes just filled with tears and he ran away.

Liz Springer provided a handy excuse for our falling out. She'd been flirting with both Mark and I all year and the week after that terrible night when his dad caught us, I finally asked her out. She and I were going steady within weeks, but Liz let everyone know that she'd have been just as happy to be dating Mark as me. I broke up with her after the Valentine's Dance. I just couldn't deal with the hypocrisy any more. She started dating Mark the next week. They went together for the rest of the year.

Mark's dad got a new job that spring and the whole family was moving to Portland, Oregon. I found out from my father, who knew Mr. Entwistle from work and the country club. He said it wasn't a very smart career move, but Mr. Entwistle had never been a great businessman, so he wasn't too surprised about it. Dad had never liked the Entwistles. He thought they were too common for his son to be associating with.

The night before Mark left, he came to the house to talk to me. He must have been watching for quite a while because he didn't show up until Dad and Sally left to take Stevie to the movies. I knew it was him before he even rang the doorbell ... I'd seen him sitting in his rusted out Chevy Nova when I'd closed the door behind Dad ... but I waited for him to make the first move.

I was so shocked and happy to see him that I pulled Mark into the living room and gave him a big hug. He stood kind of stiffly for a minute, then his hands came up and he started to hug me back. It didn't take long for our bodies to react to the closeness. The hug turned into frenzied groping and fevered kisses and we were soon sporting boners and humping against each other like the last six months had never happened.

I was holding Mark so tightly that I could hear his ribs creak. I couldn't stand the thought of letting him go. He didn't complain about my hold on him. Instead, he started nuzzling my neck while I sucked on his ear that had the peace symbol earring in it. All I could think was how wonderful this was ... how much I loved Mark ... how everything was going to be alright after all. We'd fight his father and mine ... run away if we had to ... do whatever it took to be together.

Then I heard him mumbling something into my shoulder so I pulled back to see what he finally had to say to me.

"I'm so sorry," he gasped. "I love you so much, Jim, but I can't do this. I can't ever see you again."

I was dumbfounded. I'd figured he'd apologize, but his declaration that this was it ... that he wasn't willing to fight for what we could have together ... astounded me. I felt the breath whoosh out of me like I'd been punched in the gut. My boner wilted as quickly as it had popped up and I shoved Mark away from me. He stumbled back and looked up at with those amazing green eyes. I'd grown about 3 inches that year and now towered over him.

"You should be sorry, Mark," I finally sneered, sounding more like my father than I'd ever thought possible. "You started this mess and then you let me take the heat with your old man. You're nothing but a chicken."

Mark took a step towards me, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, but I backed away, afraid to let him touch me.

"Please, Jim," he begged. "Don't let it end like this. There wasn't anything I could do. My dad said that if I ever saw you again he'd tell your dad what happened. He wasn't kidding either, Jim. He was so mad I thought he was going to kill me. He kept calling me a queer and a faggot and said he was ashamed to call me his son. I knew that if my dad smacked me around for what he'd seen, your dad would have killed you. I did what I did 'cause I love you."

"Don't say that," I demanded, raising my hands up to my ears. "Don't tell me those lies. You never loved me. You just wanted to get into my pants."

I didn't want to hear his excuses, even if I knew they were true. I just wanted to hurt him back as much as he'd hurt me.

"Yeah, you did me some favor," I continued savagely. "At least I'm only known at school as a girl-stealing son-of-a-bitch rather than a faggot, which I would be if I'd stuck around you."

This time it was Mark that took a step back. He looked shell shocked, so I just plowed on ahead, trying to hurt him with my words.

"You know, Mark, I'm sorry I ever tried to be your friend. I should've known I couldn't trust you. My dad was right, you are too low class for someone like me to waste my time on. You waited until I was really hurting to put the moves on me and then when your dad catches you, you turn it around into something sick. If you want to tell yourself you did it because you loved me, go ahead. But don't think you can waltz in here and take up where you left off. I'm onto you, man and I don't do queers."

After that last remark, Mark just turned and walked out the door and out of my life forever. I hated myself more than ever for what I'd said and done, but at least I didn't have to worry about Mark hurting me a second time.

<*>*<*>*<*>

After Mark came a bunch of little love affairs ... nothing as gut wrenching as with Sarah or Mark. I couldn't take that again. Those two heartbreaks were enough to cure me of falling head over heels in love again. I couldn't put myself through that ... knowing that I would be the one to feel everything, want all the passion and need with every fiber of my being and because of that I'd be the one to shatter into a million pieces when it didn't work out.

So I held back ... kept my emotions in check. I dated a lot of women, wanted a lot of men, but knew better than to try that little experiment again. Besides, cruising guys in the Army could get me in serious trouble and doing that in the police department could get me killed. So I stuck to women ... lots of women. It wasn't hard to find ones willing to sleep with me. I knew I wasn't bad looking and had learned from watching others that if you asked your dates a lot of questions about themselves, they were more than happy to keep the conversations running.

But then after a few dates, things would always fall apart. Patty Janowski accused me of cheating on her because I never wanted to spend the night at her place. She got pissed off because I'd roll out of bed as soon as she'd come. Laura Sayers said I was a cold-hearted bastard because I refused to talk about my feelings with her. Roxanne Liebowitz called me the most passionless man she'd ever met. It never mattered because I'd never let them get under my skin. I tried to be what they wanted, but I just couldn't let loose and let myself fall in love again.

The funny thing is, I think it was that restraint that Carolyn was attracted to from the start. Oh, by the end of our marriage, she just thought I was a soulless prick, but in the beginning she liked the tough guy faade I presented. I think I gave her a goal to work towards. She really thought she could turn me into some warm and fuzzy, 90s kind of guy. When, after 2 years, it became painfully obvious that I wasn't going to get any more passionate than I was when we'd met, she bailed too.

That did hurt more that I thought it would. I knew in my heart that I'd married her because the time was right and that's what guys in their early 30s did. She seemed like a good catch ... bright, attractive, ambitious. She came from a good family, loved sports and most importantly, didn't want children. That was crucial. There was no way I wanted to bring kids into my world ... to have them suffer with a father as cold and heartless as I knew I'd be. I'd lived through that particular hell and wasn't about to subject any child of mine to the same fate.

The first year of our marriage was great. We went out all the time ... dinner, games, parties. We were real social butterflies. There wasn't a cop party we missed. And the sex was pretty fantastic too. While Carolyn has that whole career woman thing going on, she could be pretty kinky in the sack. She loved to fuck in public places ... in a deserted alcove at the art museum, the back stairway at the Rialto, in the alley behind Emilio's.

I guess it was that whole danger of getting caught thing that really turned her crank. I didn't like it a bit. The memories of what happened when you got caught were enough to wilt more than one hard-on. But I was trying to make the marriage work and Carolyn could be pretty persuasive, so we'd do it pretty much any time and any way she wanted it.

In the second year, the thrill of sex in public wasn't enough to turn her on, so we started acting out some of her fantasies. I hated it. She always put me in some degrading, subservient position and I was supposed to act like I liked it. She didn't want to hurt me. She just loved control. Thank god she wasn't into bdsm, but she was heavily into ordering me around.

Maybe it was because of my years in the military, but I could hardly stomach it when I played the POW and she was the strict commandant. I didn't mind going down on her, but when she'd grab me by the hair and push my face down into her crotch, I'd have a hard time working up any enthusiasm for the job.

The first time I refused to play along, she threw my pillow over the railing and told me to sleep on the couch. I stayed there a week before we headed for the marriage counselor. We played that little game for almost four months before the trial separation. The separation only lasted about a week before horniness and saving face became more important to Carolyn than teaching me a lesson.

I did the requisite amount of groveling and ended up handcuffed to the pillar in the kitchen with Carolyn actually spanking me before we fell back into the marriage bed and fucked liked newlyweds. Suffice it to say, the honeymoon ended all to soon and Carolyn just got tired of my unresponsiveness and finally packed her bags for good. She found an attorney that would do an no-fault divorce fast and that was the end of our marriage.

I came out of the marriage with pretty much what I'd gone in with ... the loft, about $10,000 in savings and my solitary life. Carolyn and I grew to be better friends than lovers and continued to work together with only the slightest friction between us. I did miss her and asked her out repeatedly, but she wasn't ready to head back into the fray. Can't say that I blamed her for that.

<*>*<*>*<*>

Then I met Sandburg. Blair Sandburg. Neo-hippy, witchdoctor punk. That's what I called him when I shoved him up against his office wall. I was always big on nicknames. As time went on, I called him a lot of things ... Chief, Darwin, my little guppy, traitor, opportunist. But mostly, I called him my partner. He wormed his way into my life and within a matter of weeks, he'd made himself at home in my apartment and my life ... like he'd always belonged right there.

He really didn't make that big of an impression on me at the hospital when he first finagled his way into my room with illegal copies of my medical records. I was more interested in busting the nurse he'd been "tutoring" than listening to his 90-mile-an-hour speech on what he thought my problem was. Truth be told, I thought he was an irritating little shit. But I guess on some level I knew he had the answers I was seeking, so I eventually went to his little storeroom/office to find out.

I knew the minute I threw him up against that wall that he had balls and brains and that I would give my left arm to feel that incredible mouth of his wrapped around my dick. And at that particular moment, I think he wanted it to. My senses weren't so out of whack that I couldn't hear his heart hammering away in his chest. And even with me sneering in his face, I could still feel his hard-on digging into my thigh. I threatened him with a drug raid that I was certain would produce a fair amount of cannabis just to see his big blue eyes widen with fear.

But I was scared too ... scared of my senses and my feelings for this beautiful boy that thought he had all the answers ... so I held back. I quickly reined in my lust, dropped him to the floor and backed away like I'd been burnt by his desire. Yeah, he figured that out pretty quickly too ... fear based responses and all that.

Well, the story's long and involved, but we became partners, roommates and friends, but I never got that mouth of his around my dick. What I got instead was one lethal case of unrequited love. Yeah, I finally let it happen again. I finally let myself fall in love with someone that was bound to break my heart into a thousand pieces.

I tried diversions to keep from obsessing on what I couldn't have ... Laura, Lila, Michelle ... and made some major mistakes ... Alex, Veronica, the dissertation ... but I never once quit loving Blair. He was like this exquisite pain that I couldn't bear to have stop. He was beautiful and brilliant and treated me better than anyone had in my whole miserable life. I guess that's why I didn't know how to deal with his friendship. I'd treat him like shit and he'd be right back there asking me what was wrong and how he could fix it. How could you not fall in love a guy like that?

And, oh god, was he so gorgeous. There were times that I'd just glance over at him and I swear to god, it would take my breath away. His eyes would be huge and ocean blue and his hair would fall in ringlets around his beautiful face and I'd just want to die from the perfection of it all. Then he'd flash me a huge, earnest smile and I knew that no matter how much he loved me, it would never be the kind of love that I wanted from him. I was his holy grail and his best friend ... not the man he wanted to make love to.

One night not long after Incacha died, Blair started talking about how he wanted to get married some day and have kids. He talked like he was only a kid himself, not a 29 year old man. He didn't really mention his ideal wife, but he knew he wanted at least 2 kids, so they'd always have somebody to play with. I guess that had a whole lot to do with growing up as an only child. He never complained about his childhood, but I think there were times when he was pretty lonely. I also knew that he was fascinated by my relationship with Stevie and probably a little envious too.

"I don't care if I have boys or girls or one of each," he speculated with his typical egalitarian attitude. "I just want them to be healthy and happy."

"I think it would be poetic justice if you had a couple of beautiful daughters," I told him. "Then you'd finally get to know how all those fathers felt about you deflowering their precious little girls."

He'd laughed so hard at that ... a joyous, cheerful laugh that bubbled out of him and covered me in its mirth.

"Oh, Jim," he'd snorted, finally, "only you would still use a word like deflower."

I'd smiled at him, that indulgent smile I always used when what I really wanted was to deflower him.

"Well, you'd better get busy on that plan, Chief. Time's a wasting."

Blair stopped laughing and went all serious on me then.

"I'm not in any hurry, Jim," he said with eyes cast down. "Unless you want to get rid of me."

In my mind, I caressed his face with my broad palm and whispered "never" into his waiting lips. He'd answer with a sweet and gentle kiss that would suddenly become hot and nasty as he realized the depth of his desire. In reality, I made some lame joke about needing the income from his rent check and then slapped him on the back and got the hell away from him before I dropped down to my knees and begged him to love me like I loved him.

Suffice it to say, I never got to feel his dick hard and hot and pressed against me like that day in his office. It took me a while, but I finally realized that that hard-on had more to do with his excitement at finding a Sentinel than any lust he felt for me. Oh, Blair loved me. I knew that for sure. He showed me that love every single day. But Blair looked up to me like the big brother he never had ... like I could walk on water or something.

Little did he know that his idol had feet of clay. See, Blair never once gave me any other indication that he wanted me the way I wanted him, but that didn't stop me from lusting after him big time ... or me treating him like shit, just because I could. Yeah, he'd look up at me with those enormous eyes filled with awe because of some crappy Sentinel thing I'd do just to impress him, but I never, ever saw a flicker of lust or love or need like I had for him.

Of course, that didn't stop me from pushing him ... backing him into any corner I could just so I could feel that dick against me one more time. Oh no, I couldn't just take the friendship and the admiration and spend my nights jerking off to fantasies of Blair handcuffed to the pillar in the kitchen. I had to force his hand, then fall apart when it all blew up in my face.

I guess it all gets back to my self-destructive nature. I knew when I yearned for Sarah and when I kissed Mark that it was going to end up hurting me, because that's all I ever deserved. People don't love me. They may respect me or fear me or have power over me, but there is something intrinsically wrong with me that makes me unlovable. But I just couldn't stop myself. I had to keep trying for that fairy tale romance and get shot down a few times to reaffirm what I already knew. The root of my problem probably goes back to Mom leaving when I was a kid, but knowing that doesn't make it any less true.

So night after night, I planned and fantasized and worked out in my mind how my seduction of Blair would actually happen. My favorite scenario went like this ... I'd come home after being in court all day. I'd be wearing my charcoal gray suit with the dark red tie that Blair gave me on my last birthday. I knew I looked pretty good in that outfit because the last time I wore it, Jeanine from Personnel asked me out to dinner. I heard her tell the woman that she worked with that she'd blow me every day for the next year if I'd just let her take me out of that suit. Just my luck ... I'd already turned her down, before I heard the blow job offer.

So, anyhow, I'd come in and Blair would already be home. I'd saunter over, casually lean against the pillar in the kitchen and then just loosen my tie some. As we talked about dinner or our day or whatever, I'd slide the tie off and unbutton my shirt down to about mid-chest. Blair wouldn't really notice my actions until I unbuckle my belt and pop the button on my slacks. Then, my only hint that he's realized that I'm undressing right there would come when he loses his train of thought and just sort of stares at my waist for a second too long.

Then I'd just grin at him and turn and head up to my room. I'd finish undressing up there and just toss the clothes onto the railing so he'd know I was out of them. Then I'd lie down on the bed wearing nothing but my navy boxer briefs and sort of arrange myself to look casual but willing. And because it's my fantasy, that's all I have to do to make Blair realize that he loves me and wants me.

So finally I hear him come up the steps. I can tell by his gait that he's still not sure of what's going on, but Blair is naturally curious and braver than anyone I know, so he forces himself to make the trek up. When he gets to the top of the stairs, he stops and looks down at me. He looks scared and horny and absolutely beautiful.

"Come here," I whisper, afraid that if I raise my voice, he'll turn and flee.

He doesn't. Instead, he pulls his flannel shirt off ... the black and white check one that I bought him ... then kicks off his shoes and drops his pants. It's my fantasy, so Blair's wearing bright white jockey shorts. He skins out of them and then just stands there for a moment in nothing but his t-shirt. I don't know why the thought of Blair in nothing but a t-shirt turns me on so much, but I've had more than one wet dream about having him just that way.

By the time he's finally undressed, I want him so bad it hurts. He can tell because of the bulge in my underwear ... the way my nostrils flare as I breathe in his scent. I start to reach for my dick, but he shakes his head and gently pushes my hand away.

"Let me," he says as he slides his hand in and grips my hard-on firmly.

His touch is electric. I could shoot just from this simple gesture. But Blair knows me so well that he gives me a little squeeze that keeps me in line, before he pulls my dick free. That prevents me from embarrassing myself and prolongs the exquisite agony of being made love to by Blair Sandburg.

"I love you, Jim," he breathes as he lowers his head and swallows my dick.

I want to tell him I love him too, but my mouth is suddenly too dry to speak. So I tell him with my eyes, because ... see ... he's staring up at me the whole time he's sucking on my dick. And all I can feel is Blair surrounding me ... his hair brushing against my thighs as he bobs up and down ... the satiny heat of his tongue as he strokes the swollen head of my cock ... his warm breath as it brushes across my stomach. When I come, he drinks me in, then gives me a Cheshire cat grin.

As soon as I quit shaking I grab his wrists and pull him on top of me. He lands on my chest and his dick presses against my stomach as he give me a savage kiss. The pre-come leaking from his cock sizzles as it paints a swath of fire on my already feverish skin.

"Fuck me," I beg him when he finally releases my mouth.

My legs spread wide as he slides his hand down my body and soon he has his fingers inside of me, playing my body like a virtuoso. Lila used to finger fuck me so I know what to expect, but this is so much better ... better because it's Blair that's playing with me ... better because it's Blair's eyes I see, wide and blue and telling me how much he wants me ... better because it's Blair.

After bringing me to the edge and back, he removes his fingers and lifts my ankles up to rest on his shoulders, then pushes the blunt end of his dick inside me. There's no pain, no pressure ... just a wonderful feeling of being possessed.

"Oh my god, I love you," he grunts as he slides in and out of my body.

"I love you too, Blair. So much."

He smiles at me and when he smiles he looks like an angel, surrounded by a golden halo of curls. Then his smile turns into a leer and he angles his body so that he begins to pound against my prostate. I scream out with pleasure as his relentless thrusts tear every shred of sensation out of my body. Blair grabs at my dick and pumps it roughly and soon we're coming together, screaming and panting and jerking all over the bed.

When we finally calm down, Blair pulls out of me and then rolls to his side. With infinite tenderness, he draws me close and tucks my head against his shoulder, cradling me in his capable arms.

"Thank you, Jim," he whispers as I start to drop off. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced."

I press a kiss to his chest as an answer, then fall asleep in the arms of the man I love.

Pretty good fantasy, huh? So good, in fact that I managed to convince myself that it was going to happen for real. Maybe not with the suit and the blow job, but the love and tenderness and beauty of the moment was sure to happen because Blair loved me as much as I love him.

So that's why that fateful afternoon, after the Iceman was dead and buried, after I'd tossed Sandburg the detective's badge, after I'd offered him the privilege of being my permanent partner then hugged him to me and played with his hair, I set myself up for the big fall one more time. I'd made my decision to dive back into the deep end and declare my love to Blair, certain that he'd declare his love back to me. What can I say? Nobody ever said I was smart.

At least I had the good sense to not do anything in front of the crowd at the PD. They had enough opinions on the nature of Blair and my relationship to already sustain them through the next 20 or so years. And while I was dying to make my stand, I did have enough brains to not proposition Blair in front of his mother. So I bided my time, figuring I'd wait until we got home. There in the sanctuary of our home, I planned to seduce Blair into my bed and make him my permanent partner in all things. How could I go wrong with a plan like that?

See, I'd finally convinced myself that I was getting some serious vibes from Sandburg those last few days between him giving up his career for me and me offering him a new one. In retrospect, the vibes I was feeling may have had more to do with his panic attacks and Naomi meditating all over the place than any change in Blair's feelings for me.

He'd been giving me looks though ... looks that were filled with more than just the usual adoration I'd grown used to over the years. These looks looked ... well, sexual. I'd hobble into the living room to watch TV and he'd glance up through a veil of hair and his face would flush a ruddy pink like I'd caught him at something dangerous and dirty. Or I'd need his help getting out of the bathtub and I'd see his eyes dart to my crotch before he'd catch himself and focus on the angry, red wound on my thigh.

It didn't matter if I was doing something trivial like shaving or cooking. I swear that when I'd turn and look at him, there'd be something raw and needy flickering in those indigo blue eyes. I tried to tune into his pheromones, but other than that fluke with Laura McCarthy, I'd never been able to get a handle on that particular sensation again. So I watched for signs. I was detective, wasn't I? I could look for clues as well as the next guy.

So first I thought about what I already knew, like Sandburg's love life. It had pretty much dried up since his press conference, but had slowed down considerably in the past year. I think he'd been out with Sam once recently and that evening had ended by 10:30. Blair hadn't mentioned dating anyone for a long, long time. I was thinking that maybe he was tired of all the meaningless affairs and had started looking for love a little closer to home.

Okay, so I had the looks and the lack of love life. It wasn't much, but I could put two and two together and get five as well as the next guy. I mean, throw in what I knew together with what I hoped for and whammo! You get Blair Sandburg, inveterate lover of women, now head over heels in love with his male roommate.

All these thoughts ... these wishes ... these fantasies ... accumulated in my tragic little mind until I was certain that Blair wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him. Like I said, two plus two. So I spent the whole time I was recuperating from the latest gunshot wound planning and scheming and memorizing just the right words to say to prove my love. And the perfect moment was fast approaching.

As I'd expected, Naomi booked it on the first stage out of Dodge as soon as our hokey little ceremony offering Blair the badge, was over. Her phony grin was nearly cracking her pretty face as she'd squealed with pleasure when her son was presented with the opportunity to become a pig, but I knew she couldn't hold on for long. True to form, she kissed her baby boy goodbye and headed off in a cloud of sage and incense for Timbuktu to "process".

I still couldn't drive, so Joel dropped me off at home before shuttling Simon on to his place. Blair had driven his own car to the station. As we rode down to the parking garage, he told me that he had a few things to take care of and then he'd be home. He got pretty subdued as soon as his mom left, but he didn't seem sad or upset, so I figured it was just that the whole thing was catching up to him.

I, on the other hand, was practically throbbing with the anticipation of making my move. It wasn't like I'd felt a hard-on when I had pulled him to me in the bullpen, but I was so convinced that I was getting a sexual vibe from him, I couldn't stand it. I mean, he let me grab him and hold onto him and shit, he'd just given up his career for me. How could I go wrong?

So when he walked through the door with a box of books in his arms and his eyes shiny from the tears he was fighting to hold back, I pounced. I grabbed the box and tossed it aside, then pulled Blair back into my arms for a big, manly bear hug. He came willingly enough, wrapping his arms around my waist and laying his head on my shoulder. I could hear the little snuffling noises he was making as he fought to control his despair. I could feel the trembles racing through his body.

Blair felt so good in my arms ... so strong and warm. The love I felt for him was stronger than ever at that moment. I felt so protective of him as I rubbed his back, reaching up under his leather coat and letting my hands roam over and over the contours of his body. And then all I had to do was turn my head a little and my mouth was right there on his neck.

I kissed the soft skin lightly and Blair's breath hitched in his throat. Stupid me, I took that as a sign to forge ahead instead of an involuntary reaction to surprise. The second kiss was more forceful ... a definite press of lips to skin. This time there was no mistaking what I was doing. I was kissing a line to Blair's mouth when he brought his hands around to my chest and shoved me away.

"Jesus, Jim!" he shouted as he stepped further into the living room. "What the hell was that about?"

As he stood there looking confused and angry, the truth hit me square in the face. Blair didn't want me. Blair was repulsed by the thought of me kissing him. Those looks hadn't been sexual ... they'd been the same old looks as always. Only now, I wasn't likely to ever see one again. The granite facade I'd perfected years ago fell into place and all I could think to do was run.

Blair took a step towards me ... I guess his natural instinct to help me kicked in ... but I could only just shake my head and head for the bathroom. I didn't want to talk to him ... to have him get all compassionate and understanding on me and try to talk it out. I couldn't take that just then. I needed to be away from him and the bathroom was the only room with a lock.

As soon as I slammed the door shut, I fell back against it, taking huge, gasping breaths and listened to the sound of my heart breaking. Outside, Blair was pacing. I could hear his footsteps as he traced a path to the bathroom door ... the door that was the only thing keeping me standing upright ... and then back to the living room.

"Oh god, Jim. I'm sorry," he'd say as he approached my little fortress. His voice quivered and shook with emotion, but his apologies were just like knives thrust into my heart. Then he'd go back to the living room and say it again. Over and over ... those same words ... echoing through the cold, cold apartment.

I don't know how long that went on ... him pacing and apologizing and me feeling like everything that ever mattered in my life had just been blown away. My knees eventually gave out and I landed on my ass on the cold bathroom floor. I stayed there trying to get the strength to go out and face Sandburg, but those old fear-based responses were kicking in big time and all I could do was sit there and shake.

The rejection had been worse than it was with Sarah, a thousand times more painful than with Mark. Blair's rebuff was the last straw. I'd disgusted the one person who meant more to me than anyone else in the world and I didn't know how I could ever look him in the eye again. And this time it wasn't just about love. I depended on Sandburg for my sanity and my safety. If he left me like all the others, I'd surely end up insane or dead. But there was nothing I could do to make things better ... to turn back the hands of time and start the day over again.

Leave it to Blair to try to fix things.

"Jim?"

He tapped lightly on the bathroom door to get my attention, knowing full well that I could have heard him calling my name from clear across town.

"Jim, can we talk? Please?"

I should have known better than to try to ignore Sandburg.

"Jim, please. We need to talk. Please!"

There really wasn't any reason to try to wait him out. Nobody ever managed to wait Sandburg out. He's the most persistent person I've ever met. I've seen monks give in to him because it was just easier than trying to get him to surrender on something he thought was important. I've seen Simon Banks throw in the towel when he'd fight anyone else tooth and nail to make his point. I've even spilled my guts because Sandburg just wouldn't let up. He's like this little terrier that's got a hold of your pant's leg. He'll just keep at you and keep at you until he finally wears you down. I wasn't ready to go the distance though. I knew I didn't have the strength to fight him. So I hoisted myself up and opened the door.

Blair was standing there, hands in his pockets, bouncing on his toes. He looked like he'd explode if he didn't get to talk this mess out.

"Jim?" he said my name as a question. He surely didn't think he'd get an answer that easily.

"Jim! Can we please talk?"

I turned so quickly that he stumbled back against the couch. He caught the edge with one hand, then straightened himself up.

"What Sandburg?" I snarled, getting right up into his face. "Shall we talk about how I just tried to kiss you? Or would you rather talk about how I grossed you out by my clumsy attempt to seduce you? Or maybe we could just skip right ahead to how you hope we can still be friends, but you're really not that kind of guy?"

My emotions were seesawing from apathy to fury so fast that he couldn't keep up with me. But I had to give him points. Blair didn't even flinch at that last question I threw at him. He just looked me straight in the eye and said, "I really didn't realize you felt that way, Jim."

"Didn't realize I felt that way? What's the matter with you, Sandburg?" I yelled. I was livid by then.

"Haven't you been paying attention for the last four years? I fucking love you. I want you so bad it hurts. I touch you every chance I get. I let you live here for four years when you were only supposed to stay a week. I put up with your mother when she blows into town and your stupid algae shakes on a daily basis. I even get you on as a detective so I can be with you every single minute of every day. How could you not know?"

"Jim," he stepped closer. "We're friends ... best friends. I love you too, but ..."

I threw my hands up to keep him from touching me. I could never stand it if he'd touched me then.

"Oh please. Do me a favor and don't even start. Look, I fucked up. I should never have tried to kiss you. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Just, please don't give me that 'I love you but not that way' crap."

Blair just blinked at me. He opened his mouth once or twice, but nothing came out. I think I'd finally left him speechless. God help me, but I still wanted to grab him and kiss that gorgeous mouth. Instead, I spun around as fast as my gimpy leg would let me and hobbled to the door.

"Just leave me alone," I growled as I grabbed my coat and stalked out.

I was gone for about five hours. I just got on a bus and rode. I tried not to think too much, but that's all I could do as I rode around Cascade. I thought about how much I loved Blair, about how much I hated hurting, about whether or not I was too old to re-enlist. I thought about Mark and my mom and dad and why everybody else got to have somebody to love, but me. I never came up with any answers. Finally, my leg and my ass got sore so I headed back to the loft.

Blair's room was dark and his door was closed when I got home. I'd half expected to find his bags by the door and a terse note on the table, but then that's not my Blair. We had way more talking to do and tons more processing before we'd get to the point where this was just one more of those ugly memories for me to repress.

I longed to go into his room and just look at him ... drink in his beauty ... but I could tell from clear by the front door that he wasn't asleep so I gimped up to my room and pretended to sleep. I'd done it before ... gone into his room while he was asleep. That black ops training finally came in handy for something. Other nights when I couldn't sleep, when the lure of watching Blair became too strong to deny, I'd creep into his room and just look at him.

He's a fitful sleeper, tossing and turning all night long, like the energy he's barely kept reined in all day can't be suppressed any longer. He flings arms and legs out and his hair whips at his face as he rolls from side to side over the entire bed. But his face is always serene and beautiful in sleep ... like all the tension I've caused him to suffer has drained away and left the lovely child in its place.

I touched him once in his sleep. It was just a brief caress of his face, but he immediately jerked away from my touch. I was scared to death that he'd wake up and find me hovering over him. That would be hard to explain, so I hotfooted it out of there and never gave in to the urge to try that again.

I thought about that touch ... and all the others ... that night. I relived every pat, slap and grip I'd ever had on Blair, analyzing each for some answer to the question of why I'd let this happen to me again. I watched the moonlight fade into early dawn and still didn't have any explanation for my lapse in judgement.

The next few days were agonizingly painful. Neither of us had anywhere to be, so we were just kind of stuck at home together. Blair cleaned and read and wrote on his laptop. I ate and watched TV and tried to ignore his presence. We barely spoke to each other and when we did, it was only about what was for dinner or if I had any laundry that needed done.

On the fourth day, Blair walked up to my room and sat on the edge of the bed while I lay there not reading a paperback. I had my bad leg propped up on a pillow, but I couldn't get comfortable so I'd been fidgeting and gotten the comforter all balled up around me. Blair pulled the melted ice pack off my thigh and tossed it onto the floor, then looked around for something else to do with his hands.

"Hey, Jim," he began softly as he smoothed out the covers. I could feel his hesitation. It was there in the way he spoke, in the way he moved, in the way he breathed. When he was finished, he sat back down, folded his hands onto his lap and waited for me to respond.

"Yeah," I finally answered, not looking up from my book. I still wasn't able to give him more than one word answers without fear of all of my grief spilling out in huge waves of agony.

"Jim, you know you mean more to me than anybody. I mean, I've never had anybody in my life like you before. You're my best friend ever. And so much more. You're like this god sometimes. I admire you so damn much ..."

"I know," I interrupted. "Holy grail time. I remember the spiel."

My voice sounded brittle and tired. Blair kind of flinched at my tone and the words he'd spoken so long ago being thrown back at him. But after a moment, he sat up straighter and plowed ahead.

"No, Jim. It's much, much more than that. I know everybody thinks I've just got a bad case of hero worship, but the truth is that I love you, Jim. I really do. I can't think of anybody I'd rather have as a partner and a friend. And I can't imagine my life without you in it."

He turned and watched me through our reflection in the mirror over my dresser. I glanced up and caught his eyes, but he looked away quickly. Not a good sign.

"But ...?"

"Jim, this isn't easy for me. I've never been real big on commitment, you know? But I know that I want to make you happy. I really do. And I want to be what you need. I do love you, Jim ... more than you'll ever know. So if you want to try for something more than friendship, I'd be honored to try ..."

I was doing okay ... hopeful even ... until that last declaration. Well, that just went right through me and I just erupted with anger. I knew I shouldn't use my size against Sandburg, but sometimes it was just so damned easy. I sprang forward and had him pinned to the bed before he could even blink.

"You'd be honored to try what, Sandburg? To be fucked up the ass by a man? To take my dick in your mouth and blow me? To withstand my disgusting kisses in the name of friendship? What a noble guy you are! Maybe somebody ought to pin a medal on you. Just, don't do me any favors, okay?"

Blair's eyes were round and huge as he stared up at me. His hair was fanned out across the bed, he was sweating like a horse and shaking underneath my steely grip. Then he licked his lips ... a nervous gesture I'd seem him do a thousand times ... and I just lost it. All I could do was focus on his mouth ... the curves, the color, the utter beauty of it. It was more than I could take. I wanted him so badly it hurt and I couldn't have stopped myself if he'd cried rape at that moment.

I swooped down and kissed Blair Sandburg like I'd never kissed anyone before ... dirty and sloppy and filled with hate and love and desire so strong it made my whole body tremble. I laid down on top of him and ground my dick into his stomach as I forced my tongue into his mouth. I could taste his panic, feel his fear and I didn't care. He tasted so fucking good and felt even better underneath me. So I just kept kissing him until he finally started to kiss me back.

A man's body's a funny thing. In your head, you may think that kissing a guy is gross and repellant ... something you'd never like in a million years ... but when that guy's rubbing your dick and fucking your mouth with his tongue, your body just kind of takes over and goes with it. I could feel that happening to Blair. It didn't matter who was making him hard, just that it was happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

I could feel Blair's hard-on growing as I left his mouth and kissed every inch of his face, then started working my way down his neck. His mouth followed mine at first, but then he started making these needy little noises and I got even more turned on. I finally managed to slip a hand between us and pop the button on his jeans while I worked on raising a giant hickey on his neck. He exhaled a "holy shit" as I reached in and grabbed his dick through the thin cotton of his briefs.

God, he was so hard and ready, from just the kisses and rubbing. I always knew he'd be like this ... a real spitfire in the sack. The guy is so sensual. Everything turns him on. I'd seen him try to hide more than one woody when he some pretty coed did nothing more than bat her eyelashes at him. And I knew he shot off like a cannon when he jerked off. I'd listened to him stroke himself and murmur about Emily or Rita or Marissa on more than one occasion. Apparently he always thought that if he did it in the shower, I wouldn't hear him. He was wrong. I was obsessed with him and tracked his movements constantly. Listening to Blair whacking off was one of my favorite ways to spend an evening.

That's how I knew that this little experience would probably only take a few pulls and he'd be coming like a fountain. But I was just getting started. There was no way I was just going to jack him off and let him go that easily. Oh no, if Blair thought he'd be honored to let me fuck him, then he was damn well going to find out what he was letting himself in for.

I raised up and flipped him over like a rag doll, then jerked his jeans down to expose his perfect, round butt. God, it was so beautiful. I couldn't resist and bent down and kissed the satiny pink skin. I could feel him shiver as I spread his ass cheeks and ran my finger over his hole. I knew he didn't want this. I knew this was not how I wanted him, but I was so angry and hurt and tired of not loving the person I was fucking, that I just kept going. So I ignored his trembling and nudged his legs apart with my knee while I leaned over to grab some lube and a condom from the bedside table.

Blair just kept laying there as motionless as he could while I prepared myself. He reminded me of a rabbit that didn't want to be seen ... like if he stayed still enough, I'd forget he was there. But I knew he was there and I wasn't going to let him get away from me. Not this time. As I coated my sheathed dick with Astroglide, I bent down and whispered into Blair's ear. My voice was cruel and low.

"Say you want it, Blair. Tell me to fuck you. Tell me how honored you'd be to have my dick up your ass."

"Do it!" Blair sobbed as I shoved a lubed up finger in his hole.

He jerked forward on the bed and grabbed at the railing with both hands.

"Not good enough, Chief. I want some of that old Sandburg charm you can turn on and off like a faucet. Tell me how much you want this or get out of my bed and my life right now."

His knuckles were bleached white from the force of his grip, but his hands kept slipping from the sweat on the metal.

"Please, Jim. Fuck me, please."

I could tell that he wanted me to stop this madness, but he'd never say it. He'd asked for this and for all his "I don't do commitment" rap, he'd never back down now. I also knew I was hurting him, that I was scaring him, that he was more scared of losing me than being fucked, but I ignored it all and focused on his words.

"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you, alright," I sneered at him. "I'm gonna stick my dick so far up that pretty little ass of yours that you'll feel me when you swallow. What do you think of that, Blair? Think it'll still be an honor to be my little fuck buddy?"

I stuck another finger inside him just to stretch him out before I stuck my dick in. He'd said he really wanted it, but he screamed out in pain as soon as the second one sank in. And then suddenly everything changed. In my anger and fear and hurt, I realized that I was this close to raping Blair. Blair ... who I loved and cherished and wanted was terrified of me and with good reason. I was a monster.

I pulled my fingers out quickly and stared down in horror at Blair's quivering body. His face was buried in my pillow and his hair was clinging wetly to his cheeks, completely obscuring any view of his face. I didn't need to see him though to know what I'd just done to him. My erection wilted as I backed away from the most beautiful man in the world ... the man I had claimed to love more than life.

"Oh god, Blair, I'm so sorry."

I stood up, then bent over the bed and tried to pull him up to me. I wanted to hold him close. I wanted to start this all over again. I wanted this to have never have happened, but I needed to see the forgiveness in his eyes just so that I could go on living.

Blair just shook his head and burrowed further under the covers.

"Come on, Blair. Please. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I did ask you."

It sounded lame even to me and oh, was that the wrong thing to say to Blair. He lunged up from the bed, hair flying and eyes fiery. If it hadn't have been such a horrible situation, I would have died from his beauty alone.

"Asked? Asked? You asshole! I give up. I can't do anything to please you. You claim to love me and then you wanna fuck me like some two-bit whore! You know I've never done this before and you just ... just ram into me. Then you're upset when it's painful? What do you want from me, Jim? What can I do to make you happy? I'm willing to give this a try because I love you and if this is what you say you want, well, I'll do it. But you don't want that either, do you? You want to be hurt. You want pain. Is it the only thing you think you deserve?"

His words cut too close to the truth. He was right. He was always right. That just made things worse.

"I know this much," I growled. "I don't want a pity fuck from you or anybody."

With that parting shot, I got up and left. Luckily I hadn't taken time for such niceties as taking my clothes off, so all I had to do was lose the condom, tuck my dick in and I was good to go. I ignored the fact that I wasn't supposed to be driving and grabbed my keys on the way out the door. The truck was parked in a garage two blocks away from the loft. It was slow going, but I finally made it there and headed north before I could think any more about what I'd just done. All I wanted was to put the whole nightmare behind me.

And that's how I ended up here, sitting in the middle of Manleo Park with a hot revolver in my hand and no one but myself for company. It wasn't hard to find some punk with more balls than brains to sell a stolen gun to a cop. On any other day, I'd have busted his ass. Today, I didn't care. Let the whole population of Cascade kill each other. What's it matter to me?

Yeah, I'm feeling sorry for myself ... big time. Isn't that what suicide is all about? When the world gets to be too much ... when you can't stand the pain of living anymore? Then it's clearly time to step out of the game. I've been low before, but this is the worst. This is the pain of knowing that I raped Blair Sandburg ... a man who has only ever shown me kindness. I don't deserve to live.

I look around at the shades of green in the trees and weeds that surround me. These woods are a place of life, but this is a good place to die too. This is where Bud died ... the life choked from him for the simple sin of being a good businessman. This is where my father almost met the same fate. But if you're going for pure poetic fucking justice, it gets even better.

This is the place where my mother killed herself. Not many people in my adult life know that my mother committed suicide too. It's just not something that comes up in casual conversation. All I have to say is that my mom is gone and everybody assumes that she died of cancer or something. They would never guess about living through her losing battle with depression, her wild mood swings, or the times she spent in the psych ward.

The funny thing is that Dad doesn't even know that I know about her killing herself. I guess he was as ashamed of that as he was of me being a freak. He just told Stevie and me that she'd died and he never elaborated. I don't know if to this day Stevie has a clue what happened to. I do though.

Dad took the call in his study, behind closed doors, but I heard him crying when he got the word. I just sat up in my room, wrapped up in my Packers comforter and listened to some poor hospital administrator break the news to him. Dad kept saying "no, no, no" over and over, but the man on the phone assured him that it was true.

She'd driven into the park, hooked a hose up to her tailpipe and gassed herself in the middle of the night. She left a note on the seat of the car saying that she was sorry that she was such a disappointment as a wife and mother and that we were far better off with Dad than her. Some teenagers that were looking for a place to make out came across her and called the police, but it was too late. She was dead on arrival at the hospital.

I couldn't even cry about her when I heard Dad on the phone. He'd forbidden me to even mention my abilities, so how could I let him know that I was listening in on the call? Besides, he got even nastier after that happened so I was sure as hell not going to mention being able to hear a phone conversation that he had on the first floor from my second floor bedroom.

I was pretty numb at the funeral. I remember flowers everywhere and horrible, sad organ music playing softly in the background. Dad had an open casket and I remember him grabbing my arm and dragging me up to stand in front of it. I looked at that waxy caricature that was supposed to be my mother and all I could think was 'who is this person?' After an acceptable amount of time, Dad pulled me off to the side to greet the other mourners.

Family I'd never seen before paraded by, hugging my father and telling him how sorry they were for his loss. Almost every woman kissed my cheek, while the men simply patted me on the shoulder and gave me one of those encouraging looks that men do when they don't know how to handle grief. I was 14 and deemed old enough to withstand the torture of that funeral. Stevie spent the day, cloistered away with Aunt Bess, Dad's older sister. Aunt Bess had always hated Mom, so she was more than willing to miss the funeral to take care of Stevie.

I remember Dad praising me afterwards for not crying at the funeral. Isn't that a laugh? The one time he was actually proud of me for something I did and it was that? The straight A's, the winning touchdowns, the swimming medals meant nothing. Acting like an emotionless automaton ... now, that was something to brag about!

Well, now I can cry. I can cry for everybody I've lost in this pathetic life of mine. I can cry for Mom and Lila and Veronica. I can cry for Sarah and Mark, for making such a mess of my marriage to Carolyn. But I don't. I cry for myself and what I had wanted to have with Blair. I cry because I know it will break Blair's heart to have chucked his whole career aside for nothing. I cry for being such a screw-up and never, ever having someone love me as much as I loved them.

The sobs consume me. My tears are hot and burn their way down my cheeks to drip on my shirt. I try to wipe them away with the back of my hand, but there are too many and it's just another pointless gesture. Oh god, it hurts so much. All these senses ... what good are they when all I can feel is pain?

"Jim?"

Oh shit. How the hell did he find me? I thought no one would think to look for me here. I guess I'm more transparent than I thought. I've been sitting in this spot for hours, waiting for dawn to finish my life and apparently Blair's been using that time to find me.

"Go away, Blair."

My tone is icy. I don't want him to see this ... to see me like this ... my face red from crying ... snot smeared on my lip from wiping the tears away. That's not the image I want to leave behind. I want Blair to remember me as the hero he worshipped once, not the pathetic wreck that I've become. I don't turn around and Blair doesn't try to get any closer.

"Jim, give me the gun, please?"

"It's over, Blair. Please just go away and let someone else clean up the mess I leave behind this time, okay?"

"Jim, I love you. Please don't do this. Don't leave me now that I've finally just figured out what I want."

His voice sounds so sad and strange. He's making this sort of choking noise as he speaks. I can hear the rasping in his lungs and the harsh thumping of his heart. He's still behind me though and somehow, it's easier to carry this conversation on this way.

"I told you before, Chief. I don't want a pity fuck."

I force my tone to soften then. I need to clear the air with Blair before I die. I still love him and I want him to understand that, if nothing else.

"Look, I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I really never wanted to hurt you, Blair. That ... yesterday ... I never meant for anything like that to happen. I'm sorry, okay? And I know you think you owe me something, but you really don't need to worry about me now. Everything's going to be okay. You can publish your dissertation for real this time and have the life you've always wanted. You deserve that, Blair. Please let me give that to you, okay? Now, just go back to the loft and wait for the call, okay?"

I hear the rustle of his footsteps in the leaves and start to cock the trigger, but he's quicker than I anticipated. He grabs me from behind and manages to pull me down. We wrestle around and then he knocks the gun from my hand as he scrambles on top of me.

"Listen here, you asshole!" he screams into my face. "You are not doing this to me. I love you, you fucking moron. I'd do anything for you ... anything to make you happy ... to make your life better. Don't you get that? Maybe I didn't get it right yesterday either. Maybe we both fucked up. So, what? Now, you expect me to just get in my car and drive back home while you eat a bullet?"

He has my shirt bunched up in his fists and is shaking me as he roars out his anger.

"Well, it's not gonna happen. I love you, Jim. I'm in love with you. And I'm scared shitless too. I've never felt this way about anybody, let alone a man. So, yeah, the thought of you putting your dick inside me kind of freaked me out. It's allowed, you know? I'm sorry that I didn't just melt into your arms the first time you kissed me, but I was terrified of where it was gonna lead. Besides, you know my family history with relationships. If this failed, what would be left for me? How could I not be scared of risking the single most important thing in my life when I'd never been able to commit to a fucking goldfish, let alone a man like you?"

Now, I'm trying to placate him because he's totally out of control, beating his fists against my chest and turning beet red with anger. I put my hands up in surrender, but he's on a tear now and not going to stop for anything.

"How could you not think I love you, Jim? I fucking died for you. I gave up my career for you. I've jumped out of planes and taken bullets for you. But that's not enough for you, is it? It'll never be enough to prove to you that I love you more than my own life. Well, I guess I'll have to show you in a way you'll understand."

The horror of that statement slams into me as Blair dives for my gun, then springs to his feet. He backs away from me holding the gun away from his body. For every step I take toward him, he takes one back until he slams up against a tree. I stop cold as he raises his hand and points the gun at his head.

"This is it, Jim. This is the way I make you understand. You die and I die. It's that simple. And since I can't bear the thought of living even a minute without you, I'm going to take the first bullet."

Now he's as calm as I am nervous. And he's deadly serious. His voice is even, his heart rate has slowed down and his respiration is normal. This isn't any bluff he's trying to pull. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his body. I can feel it as he releases the safety. He's not using the old reverse psychology on me. He's going to kill himself.

"Please, Blair, don't," I beg him, my voice choking with fear.

"Why not," he asks evenly. "You'll be gone. What's the point in me living?"

"Oh god, Blair. How could you even ask that? You're so damned special ... so beautiful ... so smart. You could have such a perfect life without me. Please don't do this."

"Perfect?" he snorts, his face contorted with disgust.

"You know what my life would be without you, Jim? Nothing, that's what. There would be no joy, no excitement, no friendship, no love. Nothing that's made it worth living since the day I met you. You see, I don't give a shit about my dissertation or Rainier University or any of the other crap that filled my life before you came along. Face it, Jimbo. You've spoiled me for all others. So if you're gone, why go on?"

I don't know how to answer him. If what he says is true ... if he truly loves me that much then maybe he should pull the trigger. But if he loves me that much, then maybe me killing myself isn't the right answer either.

"Blair, give me one more chance, please? I know I don't deserve it. I know I've hurt you so many times in the past and I'll probably hurt you more in the future, but I love you so much. I'll do whatever you want. We don't have to be lovers. We don't even have to be roommates if it makes you too uncomfortable. I'll do anything you want. Just give me the gun, please."

"Uh uh," he says shaking his head slowly.

I make one last grab for the revolver, but Blair anticipates my move and turns and tosses the gun into the creek as I slam into him and push him to the ground.

"Oh, Blair," I cry as I drop my head onto his chest. I hear his heart thudding wildly and it is like music to my ears. Blair is alive and I'll do whatever I have to do to keep him that way. If it means living like a monk in my own home, then I'll do it gladly ... anything to keep him with me.

The tension suddenly leaves my body and I collapse into Blair's waiting arms. I hear the "ooph" as he gasps from my weight, then he smoothly rolls me so that I'm more at his side, with my head tucked under his chin. I just lay there as Blair strokes my hair tenderly, then kisses my head. It feels like the most devout blessing a man could receive.

"Oh, Jim," he says finally. "What am I going to do with you? How am I ever going to get through to you what you mean to me?"

He tightens his arms around me as I lie against him and shiver. I still can't form words, let alone a coherent answer. Blair doesn't seem to need one though. He just lays there and holds me and keeps dropping kisses on my brow and reassuring me.

"It's okay, baby," he says. "We'll be okay, Jim. I promise."

And you know what? I think I finally believe him.

THE END

End The Way Things Are by Roxanne: [email protected]

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