Brothers - 3. Chapter 3

Part IV Brothers

Chapter 3 Morgan’s Visit Pt. I



The Sunday before Thanksgiving started out dark and grey. Even though the house was warm and comfortable, just looking out my bedroom window at the dreary scene was enough for me to wish I had Jesse to snuggle up with. I wanted to smell the scent of his freshly shampooed hair, to feel the soft fleshiness of his smooth cheek against mine, to feel his warm breath on my neck, to look into those depthless crystal blue eyes...

Unfortunately--for me, at least, he was in Oceanside, at his Aunt Ruthie’s, enjoying an early Thanksgiving Day feast. His mom had to work on the actual holiday, and I thought what a kind and thoughtful person Jesse’s aunt must be to set up this special day for the family to get together and share all the good things that life had given them.

I didn't particularly feel like getting all dressed up in my suit, tie, and loafers, but I had little choice. At St. Agnus, I exchanged small talk with Jessica and Katy, but sensed some tension there. The black cloud of my fabricated story about having a girlfriend back in La Jolla, hung heavily over me whenever I saw them. I knew Katy was seeing Morgan (in whatever sense fourteen year olds did such things), but I had the feeling that Jessica was somehow waiting for me. The brief moment of intimacy we had shared at the rummage sale the week before had touched me in an unexpected way. I did feel an attraction for her, not just on a purely physical level, but also on a more human one as well. I had to admit, for her part, she was being very patient, and always had a smile for me. But it was hard to smile back, knowing that I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Sometimes, it was so tempting...

My mom had a choir practice scheduled this afternoon as they began to prepare for the upcoming Christmas season, and I practically begged her to take me home first. I knew that she liked having me around, and I knew I was being selfish, but I asked anyway. She reluctantly acquiesced, and we went through the drive-thru at Herbies’s so I could pick up a burger and fries. My mom would be joining her fellow choir members for a potluck in the church social hall. She had gotten up early this morning to make a large Chinese Chicken Salad--one of her best recipes.

As we left Herbie’s, with me clutching a cardboard box containing a strawberry milkshake and a white bag on which grease stains were already forming, it began to drizzle. The announcer on the radio said we could expect light to moderate rain for the rest of the day and through the evening before it would clear out and turn really cold (like in the lower fifties for a high--Brrr!!!).

As my mom pulled into our driveway, I was surprised to see Morgan standing under the shallow eave of our garage, holding his bike upright. He had on his grey St. Boniface warm-up jacket, and his hood was pulled over his head, but I would have recognized his tall and slender figure anywhere. He was holding his school backpack against his chest, as if trying to keep it from getting too wet. I wondered why he had dragged that along...

“For heaven’s sake,” my mom muttered. “Why on Earth would Morgan ride his bike over here in the rain?” she asked, somewhat rhetorically.

I suspected that he might want to offer some explanation for his erratic behavior at the game on Thursday night. For some reason, that wasn't a conversation that I relished. On the other hand, maybe he just wanted to shoot hoops for a while, hoping the weather would break. Or maybe the gloomy weather had simply gotten to him the same way it had to me, and he just wanted to hang out with a bud, playing video games or whatever.

“I wonder if he’s had his lunch,” my mom mused out loud, always worried that people around her were going to drop dead from starvation.

“It’s okay, I’ll split this with him if he’s hungry,” I assured her.

“All right--otherwise I’m sure you can fish something out of the freezer to microwave for him--be a good host and ask!” she emphasized. “Let him put his bike in the garage,” she added, pushing the small control above her head that would activate the automatic garage door opener. I saw Morgan step back with a start as the noisy mechanism was activated. He slipped his backpack on over his shoulders.

“Yeah, mom. Okay, well, see you later...”

”I might do some grocery shopping on the way back, so I’ll give you a call to come out when I’m getting close to the house,” my mom shouted, as I hurried out the door. I nodded quickly, before closing the car door, already fumbling for my keys.

My mom hovered there in the driveway for a few seconds, watching as I helped Morgan get his bike into the garage. She started pulling out as I hit the switch to close the garage door.

“I was really surprised to see you here!” I said, stating the obvious. I finished fishing the keys out of my pants pocket while balancing my greasy lunch in one hand.

“Here, I’ll get that,” Morgan said, taking the cardboard box from me so that I could get the kitchen door open as quickly as possible. His hood hid most of his face from me, so I was unable to detect his mood. The drizzle was still pretty light, and by the time I got us inside, I was only coated with a cool mist. I quickly deactivated the security alarm and closed the door.

Morgan immediately toed off his wet Airwalk sneakers, and I slipped off my loafers, leaving our shoes next to the kitchen door. The house was reasonably warm, but I was still chilled from the inside, just from the damp nature of the weather. I felt the cold of the tile floor through the thin fabric of my black dress socks. I imagined Morgan must be feeling really cold. He laid his backpack down against the wall, and unzipped his warm up jacket and hung it on the coat rack. Underneath, he was wearing a YMCA sweat shirt, along with well worn jeans, and white socks.

I gestured for him to deposit my greasy lunch on the counter, while I quickly loosened and yanked off my tie. I shrugged off my suit coat and hung it temporarily on the coat rack.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You just go ahead,” Morgan said in a somewhat subdued manner. I had no doubt he was still upset about losing his temper at the game on Thursday. It was the first time I had ever seen him behave that way, and it had been more than a little frightening. I had been tempted to call him several times since the game, but always managed to talk myself out of it. Whatever was going on, I assumed it was of a personal nature and I didn't want to stick my nose where it didn't belong--well, I wanted to, but...

“Coke?” I asked out of habit.

“Nah, I’m feeling pretty cold already.”

It was only a half mile bike ride from his house, and while it may or may not have been drizzling when he started out, he must have seen the obvious nature of the weather. Still, he had thought it important enough to ride over here, getting himself pretty wet in the process. Even though he had taken off his shoes and jacket, I could see that the bottoms of his jeans, from the cuffs to half way up his long shins, were stained with moisture. Maybe his socks were damp as well. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to sound like a nag. Besides, I didn’t think any of my things would fit him, although I could probably offer him a pair of dry socks if his were wet.

“We could make some hot cocoa,” I suggested.

“Hmmm, what else you got?” he asked, coming up behind me as I opened the fridge to get my Coke.

“This looks good!” Morgan said, his voice brightening for the first time as he reached past me. I thought he was going for the Sunny D, but he passed up the orange flavored drink and pulled out a two thirds full bottle of wine.

“Uh, you drink wine?” I asked hesitantly.

“Nothing better to warm you up on a cold wet day,” he insisted, holding it up so he could see the label. It was a red California Zinfandel, one of my mom’s favorites. She liked to have a glass with dinner. While I had tasted wine before, I had never cared for its combination bitter/sweet flavor, or the unpleasant burning sensation as it went down my throat, but I guessed I could see how it might have a warming effect on someone as chilled as Morgan was right now.

“I don’t know if my mom would be cool with that,” I said nervously.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Morgan said with a slightly mischievous smile.

“I think she’ll notice if the level is lower than it was last night,” I explained. “Besides, she knows I don’t drink.” I had no doubt in my mind that my mother would not approve of any thirteen or fourteen year old drinking an alcoholic beverage unsupervised in her house.

“Stand back,” Morgan warned, still with a devious smile on his face.

I had no idea what he had in mind, but I took my Coke and moved back towards the counter. Morgan pulled the loose cork out of the bottle with a dull pop and then tipped the slender bottle over, letting a small amount of wine splash on the ceramic tile floor.

“What’re you doing?” I asked incredulously.

He had spilled only enough to make a small puddle on the floor, but had also managed to get some on the fronts of his socks. Reddish splotches, looking unnervingly like blood stains, now covered Morgan’s long toes.

“It’s a trick I used at home once,” he explained in a light hearted way. I had no idea that Morgan was so interested in wine, and I had never thought of him as a deceitful kid. It was a lot for me to take in. I didn’t want to pass judgement, since I knew that it wasn’t that uncommon for kids our age to sneak an occasional beer or glass of wine. Some parents didn’t even seem to mind, but I knew my mom did, and it made me uncomfortable.

Morgan boldly tilted the bottle up and took a healthy swig. I watched his large Adam's apple bounce up and down as he swallowed. “Ahhh, that hit’s the spot,” he said with a satisfied smile. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and offered me the bottle.

I was surprised how easily he was able to gulp the stuff down, considering that I was never able to take more than a small sip at a time and let it settle before I could take another drink. “Uh, no thanks...” I said, actually stepping back further as he held the bottle out to me.

“It feels good,” he crooned. “Warms ya up right down to your toes...”

I looked down at his feet again, and the reddish stains on the fronts of his socks. “I don’t get it,” I said dumbly.

“This gets both of us off the hook--but especially you,” Morgan explained quickly. “Just tell your mom that I was fumbling around in your fridge looking for something to drink, when I accidently knocked over the wine bottle. The top came off and it all poured out onto the floor--some even got on my socks--get it?”

Yeah, I got it, but I didn’t like it. Hopefully, my mom wouldn’t notice the small amount of wine that was missing, and I’d never have to tell that story...

To my dismay, Morgan set the bottle down on the counter rather than returning it to the fridge. He then stooped to peel off his socks. He dropped them carelessly near the fridge, leaving his size eleven feet bare.

“Just leave these...If I’m not here when she gets back, she’ll see the evidence, and you can tell her the story.”

I grabbed some paper towels and wiped up the small spill of wine in front of the refrigerator.

"Use more," Morgan recommended.

"It's not that much of a spill," I countered.

"It needs to look like you mopped up all this, right?" he reminded me, tapping the now nearly empty bottle.

I nodded hestitantly and crumpled up about ten sheets.

“Can you compact those right away?” Morgan asked as I slid open the drawer that contained the trash compactor.

“Well, it’s only half full...” I said, not understanding his request.

“If your mom sees that there's hardly anything on those towels, she’s going to realize that isn’t a half bottle’s worth of wine, so the best thing is to compact the trash now, so there’s no incriminating evidence.”

“Gees, you’ve really got this worked out to a science,” I remarked only half facetiously. I closed the drawer and activated the compactor.

“Yeah, well I learned that part the hard way--after I got caught!” Morgan said with a sheepish grin. He giggled a bit, and I sensed that the wine might be making him slightly tipsy already. Even though he was a full five foot ten, he was thin and only fourteen years old.

I looked at Morgan standing there barefoot, a slightly embarrassed grin on his face.

“I don’t like to lie to my mom,” I told him.

“I know, Perry. Your not an asshole like the rest of us, but believe me, when you show her the socks and the empty bottle, she’ll just accept it without a second thought.”

Empty bottle? As if to answer my inquiry, Morgan reached over and took another generous gulp. There was now only an inch of wine left in the bottle. He looked at me, the slightest hint of guilt crossing his face before he gave me a reassuring smile.

“It’s no big deal!” he insisted, sitting himself down at the counter. “C’mon, eat your lunch before it gets cold and the grease coagulates!”

Hesitantly, I joined him, sitting on the stool next to him. I hungrily wolfed down my burger and Morgan snitched a few fries. I watched uneasily as he finished off the bottle of Zinfandel, nodding approvingly at its warming affect. I was worried though. A half bottle of wine seemed like a lot of alcohol for a kid to absorb-- especially in the course of five or six minutes.

“First of all, congratulations on winning the game for us, dude! I'm so proud of you--man, you did great!"

I thanked him uneasily and told him it had just been a lucky shot.

"It was skill, dude--totally," he assured me. "I should know--I taught you everything you know!" he joked. Then the smile left his face to be replaced by a much more thoughtful expression. "So, I guess I really wanted to apologize for Thursday,” he said regretfully. “I really fucked up and I almost lost us the game--I feel really shitty about it.” I could tell he was sincere in his apology even though his cheeks were glowing a rosy red thanks to the half bottle of wine he had imbibed.

“I didn’t see what happened,” I told him. The truth was, I had been on the other side of the court, sneaking a glance at my beautiful blond angel, and missed Morgan’s supposed foul. Before I knew what was happening, Morgan, the kid he had supposedly fouled, and the referee were all shouting at each other. After spouting some clearly un-Catholic-like language, Morgan had even pushed the other kid. The coach had to pull him off the court and he ended up going home with his dad before the game was over.

"Did you hear what happened to Eric right before the end of the game?" I asked.

Morgan nodded. "Yeah, I heard, and I know everyone thinks the referee made a bad call, but that doesn't excuse my behavior." Morgan picked up the wine bottle and swirled it around. There was just a couple of centimeters left. He set it back down on the counter.

“I guess I was just really stressed out,” Morgan admitted. “Instead of focusing on the game, I was bringing my personal problems onto the court...”

Morgan was referring to something Coach Riegert had told us once, about not bringing our personal problems and conflicts onto the basketball court, because it would adversely affect our game. This had been in response to some kind of squabble that had broken out between Eric Adams and Artim Khouladarian. Artim was a pretty strange guy, and was the only eighth grader to be held back from last year, thus making him the oldest kid in our class as well. In class, he clearly displayed an 'I don't give a shit,' kind of attitude, and rarely turned in his homework. Out of school, he hung out with Manny Aguilar and the rest of the skateboarding crowd, and had better attendance at the mall arcade than he did at St. Boniface.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I asked uneasily.

Morgan looked at me thoughtfully. Then he got up and went to rifle through his backpack. He seemed to find what he wanted and pulled out a large manilla envelope.

“Can we go up to your room?” Morgan asked.

“Sure,” I shrugged, quickly rinsing my greasy hands off in the kitchen sink.

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” I asked hesitantly, remembering what my mom had said about being a good host. I prayed that he wouldn’t ask me where the key to the liquor cabinet was...

“Nah, let’s go,” he said, clutching the envelope in both hands. He started for the stairs while I grabbed my suit coat off the hook and scooped up my loafers.

Once in my room, Morgan sat on the edge of my bed (which I had fortunately made up this morning before going to church). He glanced around briefly as if refreshing his memory of the place. But he had been up here enough times that there was nothing in the room to draw his attention away from whatever was on his mind.

“You wanted to show me something?” I asked, nervously gesturing to the manilla envelope laying in his lap.

Morgan sighed heavily. “Yeah, it’s really bugging me, and I hate to drag you into this, but I’m just not sure what to do and you're my best bud and...”

I nodded my head in understanding. Why everyone thought I was the person they should burden with all their secrets and problems, was beyond me. Still, Morgan really was the closest thing I had to a best friend, since I considered Jesse much, much more than what that term implied, so I was glad to help him out in any way I could…

Morgan opened the envelope and pulled out a thin sheaf of eight and a half by eleven sheets of paper. I saw immediately that the paper was glossy and had photos printed on them. He slowly handed them over, and my heart nearly leapt out of my throat.

The top picture was of Jesse, taken at close range, sitting at a table in what looked like the school library, pointing out something in a textbook. There was a slight blurriness to the photo, suggesting that it had been taken with a fairly low resolution camera. His gaze was on the book and his golden blond hair had spilled over his face, but there was no mistaking who it was. I looked at the next picture, and it was again of Jesse, this time from a distance, entering the library, seeming to be looking for someone. There were a good half dozen more pictures of Jesse, a few in the library, a few outside, but the common factor in each photo was that he didn’t seem to be aware that his picture was being taken. It was like the kind of voyeuristic pictures a detective takes in one of those movies when he’s following some guy around, trying to discover with whom he's cheating on his wife.

“I don’t get this,” I said, totally and sincerely puzzled. Why was Morgan showing me pictures of Jesse? Did he think I had taken them?

“Who took these?” I asked.

Morgan looked at me, for the moment looking incredibly sober and serious.

“Derek took these,” he replied, “with his god damn cellphone!”

Now I got it. Jesse had been tutoring Derek for nearly a month now. Both Jesse and Tom had told me that Derek might have a crush on his tutor. Now Morgan had these pictures which Derek had apparently taken without Jesse's knowledge. It certainly seemed to confirm Tom's and Jesse’s suspicions, but I couldn’t tell Morgan that.

“Jesse’s tutoring Derek,” I said, stating the obvious. “So he probably got bored and started goofing around with his cellphone camera just to pass the time.”

Morgan looked totally unconvinced. "I know the little midget has a short attention span, and he just might goof around with the camera when he should be paying attention to his schoolwork--but why would he bother printing these up?"

"Hasn't he printed up other pictures?" I asked nervously.

"Just a few when he first got the phone for his birthday, but as usual with him, the novelty wore off pretty fast."

"Where did you get these?" I asked uneasily.

Now it was Morgan's turn to look uncomfortable. "Well, I kinda stumbled on them by accident," he said sheepishly. "I was missing my new Eminem CD, and I guess the first thing that popped into my head was that Derek took it. He's not supposed to be listening to that stuff because of all the bad language...Of course, I'm not supposed to either," he laughed uneasily.

I was not a Rap fan, and didn't care for a lot of the lyrics, but I kept my opinion to myself.

"This was Wednesday before the game. Derek was at his Tae Kwon Do class, so I went into his room and I kinda went through his desk and shit..." he explained rather guiltily, "and I found these."

"Gees, Morgan, I don't know what to say--Is that why you were so stressed out at the game?" I asked, playing therapist again.

He nodded sullenly.

"I mean, I don't get it. Why would Derek be taking pictures of Jesse?" I asked, trying to keep the true level of my concern masked.

Morgan hesitated and glanced nervously at the pictures on my lap.

"You've got to admit, Jesse is pretty good lookin'...if you like that boy band-teenybopper type," Morgan said quietly.

I didn't say anything. This wasn't the first time Morgan had made reference to Jesse in that way. Morgan himself was not what you would call handsome, although he was a nice looking kid. Of course he had that sleek, evenly muscled swimmer's bod that always looked great in a Speedo, but his face was somewhat long, his forehead a bit too high, his eyes slightly too close together, and his lips rather thin. He always kept his dark brown hair cut short and his ears tended to stick out a bit much for my taste. Still, he didn't seem to have any problem attracting the opposite sex...

"I mean, if someone were to be interested in...that sort of thing..." Morgan was dancing around something and it was becoming pretty obvious what it was. Should I just come out and say it, or let him stumble around it for a while longer?

"What do you mean, 'interested in that sort of thing'?"

Morgan shrugged and looked down at his lap, where he had his hands folded tightly in front of him. He laughed, but I knew it wasn't because of anything funny.

"What if my brother...is a fuckin' queer?" Morgan finally asked, not daring to look me in the eye as he spoke.

That sounded harsh, and I wished that I had been the one to bring it up, perhaps in a subtler way. But it was out now, and I had to respond.

"Hey, I've got a picture of Jesse, too--does that make me gay?" I asked somewhat irritably, not liking the term Morgan had used.

He glanced quickly at the silly picture of Jesse and me that was one of two my mom had taken the day he had first come over. The first picture had been of us dozing on the sofa, with Jesse's head resting on my shoulder, and I did have a nice printout of that I kept tucked away. Still, my mom had taken the picture so it wasn't like I was trying to hide anything from anybody. The one I had taped over my computer was the second one, where we both made stupidly grotesque faces the second before my mom took the shot.

"Yeah, that's really sexy..." Morgan said sarcastically. He put his head in his hands. I sensed that the half bottle of wine he had consumed was not helping his mood any. "I just...don't know what to think..."

"First of all, what if Derek is gay?" I asked calmly.

"He just turned thirteen--how could he be?" Morgan asked despondently.

"I'm no expert," I assured him. "I'm just asking--what if he is?"

Morgan took his head out of his hands and looked at me. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes that made me uneasy.

"That can't be," Morgan insisted weakly. There was no anger in his tone, only frustration and bewilderment. "That would just be..." He shook his head in disbelief.

"Does he know you have his pictures?"

"I don't think so. I put them right back after I found them. Then I went back and snatched them after he left for the mall this afternoon."

"Why don't you ask him about the pictures?"

"First of all, if my parents found out that I was going through his stuff, I'd be grounded for like a month--and I'm already in enough trouble because of my big blow up at the game. And even if I did confront him, he'd just make something up... He's a good liar--takes after me, I guess," he shrugged. "He knows being gay's a bad thing...I don't think he would just come out and tell me."

I wanted to ask him why he thought being gay was a bad thing, but that would be a long and complex conversation, especially considering my own situation. Still, Morgan's opinion didn't surprise me. It was probably what anyone who considered themselves straight would think. And throw in the whole religious dilemma...

"What did you tell your parents about what happened at the game?" I asked curiously.

Morgan shrugged. "I just told them I had a fight with Katy that afternoon, and I was feeling bad about it. I guess they believed it. My mom asked me yesterday if we had made up, and I said, sort of..."

It was true that Katy hadn't been at the game on Thursday. She usually was. I didn't like knowing that my friends were lying, but I'd been doing more than my fair share lately, so who was I to judge?

"If you don't want to confront Derek, the first thing I'd do is put those pictures back before he finds out they're missing," I suggested.

Morgan was looking at me with something like gratitude in his moist eyes. I think he was glad that I was taking his concerns seriously.

"No shit," he agreed with a sardonic smile.

"And maybe...you should talk to Jesse about it."

Morgan's expression changed slightly. I couldn't say what it was he was feeling at that moment, but I sensed some inner struggle going on.

"I don't know what I'd say to him," he responded, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect. "I don't know him that well...I mean, I like him, but I don't know him, if that makes any sense," he explained weakly.

"He doesn't open up to other people very easily," I conceded.

"Except for hot babes!" Morgan added with a slight grin. He was obviously referring to our little make out session with Jessica and her cousin at the rummage sale last weekend.

"I told you why he did that," I reminded him.

Morgan nodded understandingly. "I just don't know..." he muttered, half to himself.

Then he turned to me, his cheeks still flushed red from the wine. "Did you ever think you might be gay?" he asked in a nonaccusatory, but sincerely curious way.

Oh God, how did I get myself into these conversations?

"I think when you're our age, all kinds of thoughts go through your head," I answered vaguely.

Morgan seemed to think there was something to my comment though, and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I mean, I really like girls..." he insisted, his voice taking on an unusual urgency that I had to assume came from the wine, "but sometimes things just pop into my head, you know?"

I just nodded, letting Morgan say whatever was on his mind. I wasn't about to go into a litany of all the crazy things that popped into my head each and every day.

"Like Kyle..." Morgan said, staring off across the room, although I think his gaze was directed inwardly at the moment. "I used to think he was really cool looking...Even in the fifth grade, he kinda looked older than the other guys, ya know?" He glanced at me for affirmation.

I didn't like that strange quality to his voice, like something was trying to get out, to escape, to do something...

"He does look like a high school jock," I agreed.

That seemed to confirm for him that we were on the same wavelength and he went on more confidently.

"And I see guys on TV sometimes, or in movies, and I guess I wish I looked like that...like that guy in 'The Fast And The Furious'..."

"Paul Walker?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think he's a pretty hot lookin' guy," he admitted sheepishly.

"We'd all like to look like movie stars," I concurred.

"Yeah, like Jesse..." he laughed uneasily.

"I guess..." I replied uncertainly, thinking how weird it was that Morgan was echoing his brother's comment. "Actually, I don't think Jesse really sees himself the way others do..."

"That's hard to believe," Morgan said.

I shrugged. Maybe it was just something about being a teenager. Our bodies always felt a little wrong somehow. With all the physical changes and all the new hormones pumping through our systems, it was astonishing that we were even able to get ourselves out of the house in the morning, let alone worry about being attractive to anyone else on the planet.

"You know, my jeans are really cold and wet--do you mind if I just hang them up somewhere to dry?" he asked, looking at his still damp pants legs.

I had forgotten all about that. I felt embarrassed for being what my mom would call an inconsiderate host.

"Shit, Morgan, I'm sorry. I forgot you were standing out in the rain..."

"...Like a total spaz..." Morgan added self-effacingly.

"It's just that I don't have anything that'll fit you...well, maybe a robe...and some socks..."

"It's okay--it's just us boys, right?" he said with a dry little laugh. He set the envelope down on the bed before getting up. He started undoing his jeans and was sliding them down his long legs just inches from where I was still sitting. I quickly got up to give him some room.

He had on a pair of white boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. I had seen Morgan in Speedos plenty of times, but it was strange to be alone with him in my room like this. Before his sweatshirt fell loosely over his hips, I could clearly see the large bulge that indicated he had a substantial unit tucked in there. I took his jeans and hung them over the rim of the shower stall in my bathroom. When I came back into my bedroom, Morgan was sitting down again on the edge of my bed. His arms were at his sides and his fingers were tensely grasping large clumps of my blue comforter.

"Don't you want to change out of your church stuff?" he asked, his voice sounding a little unsteady.

Actually, I did, but the weird vibe I was getting from Morgan had prevented me from getting undressed in front of him. He had seen me changing into or out of my basketball uniform once or twice. Usually, I tried to change in a stall, but sometimes they were all taken and there wasn't time to wait.

"Uh, I'll get you some socks..." I suggested, tugging the sock drawer of my dresser open.

"Nah, I'm fine, Perry--don't bother."

I shrugged and slid the drawer closed.

"But you should go ahead and change. I don't know about you, but I can't stand wearing all that dress-up shit any longer than I absolutely have to," he laughed uneasily.

Again I was getting that weird vibe from him. I decided I could pick out the clothes I wanted to change into and take them into the bathroom and close the door, hoping Morgan wouldn't think it was strange.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. I picked out a dark blue sweatshirt appropriate to the chilly, wet weather, a comfortable pair of Levi's, and a balled up pair of white socks. I headed for the bathroom...

"Hey, watcha doin'?" Morgan asked. "You don't have to be shy in front of me."

I guess I do feel weird about changing in front of...uh...other people," I admitted lamely.

That's when Morgan looked at me in a way that he never had before--of course, I'd never seen him tipsy before, so that was certainly part of it. But I sensed that something was coming around the pike, and I braced myself mentally.

"You remember Katy's party?" he asked.

"How could I forget?" I replied coyly.

"Yeah, well...while you and Jessica were watching the 'Sopranos' in the guestroom, Katy and I were locked in the bathroom."

That had been the result of our 'Spin The Bottle' game. That was the night I had discovered that Jessica Bainbridge wasn't the arrogant, spoiled rich kid she pretended to be at school.

"Well, I kinda thought that was going to be the night," Morgan said quietly.

"The night for what?" I asked innocently, wondering why Morgan had chosen this moment to discuss his make out session.

"Well..." He actually looked embarrassed (his cheeks were already flushed from the wine). "I guess you know I've done my share of messing around...Melissa, Dana, and now Katy..."

I hadn't known about Dana. She didn't strike me as Morgan's type, but what did I know? And wasn't it interesting that he hadn't mentioned Jessica?

"The thing is, they like all the kissing and hand holding and stuff...but when it comes to getting more serious...you know..."

I didn't know, and I was mighty curious. Still, I didn't want to take advantage of Morgan's slightly inebriated state to get private and potentially embarrassing personal information from him.

"Uh...why don't I just get changed and then we can talk about it--I'm definitely intrigued," I added, wiggling my eyebrows in what I hoped would be an amusing gesture.

"Don't!" Morgan, said, grabbing even more of my poor blue comforter in his hands.

"What...?"

"I mean, you don't have to change..." Morgan's voice had taken on a strangely intense quality that made it sound like he was pleading with me.

"That's true," I said, thoroughly confused now.

Morgan shook his head in frustration. "That's not what I meant," he said in an almost desperate way.

"Morgan, what's wrong?" I asked with genuine concern. Other than his losing his temper at the game the other night, I had never seen Morgan in such an emotionally agitated state. It scared me a little. I wished I had stopped him from drinking that stupid wine. It seemed like it had definitely fucked with his mind.

"It's...nothing," he said unconvincingly. "Perry, just come here a minute, okay?" He released my comforter and patted it with his hand, indicating that he wanted me to sit next to him.

I set my pile of clothes on the top of my dresser and hesitantly walked over to the bed.

It was just plain weird to see Morgan sitting there in just his sweatshirt and boxer briefs in this strange mental state. He looked very vulnerable and that was disconcerting. Morgan wasn't a braggart and he wasn't arrogant. But he always exuded an air of easy going confidence that I had come to admire. Without it, he was just a tall and lanky teenager with close set eyes and big ears.

He waited for me to sit. I left as much room between us as the bedframe would allow.

"I'm freakin' you out, huh?" Morgan asked. That probably wasn't a tough call at this point!

I nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're really upset about those photos," I suggested.

"Yeah, but, there's more to it than that," he said, glancing at me uneasily.

We sat there looking at each other for a good long minute as Morgan struggled to resolve some inner conflict or dilemma.

"I was gonna tell you about that time with Katy at the party," Morgan said, suddenly shifting gears again, although it was obvious that all this tied together somehow. His voice sounded so tense and he looked so uncomfortable sitting there, that I felt like the best thing might be for me to just conk him on the head with a baseball bat and take him out of his misery.

"I really hoped that was the night she was gonna give me a blow job," he explained. While he didn't sound embarrassed to share this with me, something else was gnawing at him in a bad way. The alcohol was just making it worse. "But she wouldn't..." he said with obvious disappointment in his voice.

I thought about how many times Jesse and I had 'given each other head,' as Fred Goreski so eloquently put it. It was certainly an exhilarating experience and I felt some sympathy for my poor, straight friend.

"And it's been the same with all of them. They act like they're all lovey dovey and horny, but when it comes time to get past the kissing and touching, they wimp out. It's so damn frustrating!" Morgan pounded his fist into the top of my bed, which of course had no real effect. But it was still a powerful gesture, and I thought maybe it was time for me to go downstairs and make him a pot of strong black coffee.

"Chicks are so frustrating sometimes," he said, seeming to calm down a bit. "Even Clarissa, that slut. The last time I ran into her was over at Jessica's last August. The three of us were in the swimming pool and Clarissa was like totally determined to rip my suit off, man!"

Yeah, that sounded like something she might do. Still, I said nothing. It seemed like Morgan was trying to make some kind of point, and I might as well just sit there and wait until he made it. At least he wasn't pestering me about changing out of my church clothes anymore.

"But after we got out, when I was like, really worked up, ya know? It was like neither one of them was interested any more. They got me all freakin' hard--I mean Clarissa did. Jessica just kinda watched the whole thing and giggled. But then--nothing. I was really pissed but I tried not to show it. I just got outta there as fast as I could without it seeming too weird. I had to go lock myself in the bathroom and--you know," Morgan said with a frustrated little laugh.

Of course, Morgan was just as horny as the rest of us, just as horny as Jesse and me. The only difference was, Jesse and I had incredible sex together. It was beautiful, and kinky, and passionate, but it was also a completely natural outgrowth of our deeper love for each other. But Morgan wasn't talking about love. He was just a fourteen year old guy who wanted to get some action, and his charming personality and big time jock status presented him the opportunities to be with the most desirable girls in our class.

Unfortunately, they were all good Catholic girls--as least as far as Morgan was concerned. I imagined they were in much the same situation as us guys were. Their bodies were changing, growing, developing. They had gallons of hormones pumping through their systems telling them that their biological clocks were now fully functional and it was time to get in there and do what young men and young ladies were meant to do: have sex and make lots and lots of babies. But that wasn't how our society worked. They put these outrageous constraints on us. As far as the Pope was concerned, we weren't even supposed to have sex until we were married, and even then, we weren't supposed to have fun doing it--just make more little Catholics.

"I'm sorry, Morgan. I didn't know," I replied carefully, trying not to sound condescending or overly sympathetic. "I always thought you were great with the ladies--I mean, I'm kinda envious," I admitted.

Morgan seemed genuinely pleased by my response, and it seemed to help him relax a little. I realized from the way he was looking at me, that he valued my friendship as much as I did his.

"You know a lot of that talking about messing around with all these babes is just that--a lot of bullshit," Morgan said.

I nodded. "Still, you don't seem to have any trouble attracting the prettiest girls in school," I reminded him.

He shrugged. "I guess, but they can be so damn frustrating sometimes..." Then he looked at me again, and the somewhat relaxed smile on his face changed slowly into something else, something more intense.

"Ya know, Perry," he said, his eyes again moistening up a little, "if I was...like gay or something? I think I'd have a total crush on you." He quickly laughed a forced laugh to cover his embarrassment a what he had just said out loud.

Okay... it wasn't like he was telling me that he liked boys or anything--just that he valued our friendship and he was frustrated with the girls in our class. I couldn't help but blush though, and he saw that.

"I really envy you," Morgan said quietly, his face relaxing a little.

"Me?" I asked skeptically.

Morgan nodded. "You're so nice to everyone, and always thinking about other people's feelings and stuff... and everyone likes you."

It was the Mr. Popular speech again, like the one Tom had given me a while back. It wasn't something I was ready to accept.

"I was lucky to make some good friends when I came to St. Boniface," I told him, "especially you, Morgan. I'll never forget that first day, when you drew me out of my shell and got me to shoot hoops with you guys. It meant so much to me."

I think the alcohol was making Morgan overly sentimental, because an actual tear spilled from his eye and ran down his cheek before he was able to wipe it away with the back of his hand

"You see, you're just a great guy, Perry. Like the other day, you were willing to spend that time with me after practice and freeze your ass off just to tell me all that stuff about Jesse--which was completely mind blowing by the way. You didn't have to do that..."

I just shrugged. It felt important to me to share what I could with Morgan.

Now he looked at me more intensely, as if studying my meager physical attributes for the first time. "And you're really good looking too," he admitted unabashedly. " I hate looking in the mirror and seeing this gangly, long faced goof with the fuckin' elephant ears..."

"You're being too hard on yourself," I assured him. "You have a nice face, and a great bod--any guy would want that."

"You know what I read?" Morgan asked, seeming to change subjects in midstream. That was okay with me. I wasn't embarrassed to tell Morgan how I felt about him, but I didn't like him saying things about me that I didn't feel were true. All I had to do right now was tell Morgan that the whole 'girl back home' thing was a big fat lie, and he'd probably jump on his bike, and never look back.

"You know, I go in these chat rooms sometimes--usually trying to sound like an older guy, like a senior or something," he laughed embarrassedly. "And you'd be surprised how many of them have the same complaint--and they're like seventeen or eighteen! But these girls, they won't put out. I guess the people that are really in love don't have problems like that, but they also aren't wasting their time hanging out in chat rooms."

I wanted to point out that the guys he thought were older might very well be attempting the same deception as he was, but it wasn't really the point of his story anyhow. He was right about one thing--I hadn't had the slightest urge to check out any porn sites or read any erotic stories on the internet since the day Jesse first came to my house.

"Do you want to be in love?" I asked him.

Morgan took the question seriously and pondered for several silent moments before giving his thoughtful reply. "Maybe, someday...but right now, I'd really just like to jack off!" He grinned and actually pointed to his lap.

Even though his sweatshirt was covering most of his boxer briefs, it was still fairly obvious that he was well on his way to a full blown erection. I had always noticed that the bulge in the front of Morgan's Speedos was rather substantial, and I assumed, he being several inches taller than me and slightly older, that he had much larger equipment than I did. Having now caught a glimpse of the front of his boxer briefs at point blank range, I was even more convinced that this was the case.

"It's probably the wine!" I suggested.

"Yeah, maybe a little, but what about you?" he asked with a slightly wicked grin on his face as he pointed at the front of my dark grey dress pants.

I glanced down and was shocked to see that the thin fabric of my pants was clearing tenting in a way that allowed only one possible interpretation. I blushed and immediately folded my hands in my lap.

"It's okay, dude! Nothing to be embarrassed about. All this talk about girls and blow jobs, huh?"

I nodded sheepishly.

"Anyway, in the chatroom, they were saying that one of the best things for us frustrated folk was to have another guy jerk you off! They said it was like twenty times more intense than doing it yourself. Have you ever tried that?" he asked, and there was a strange innocence to his question despite the overtly scatological bent of the subject matter.

I slowly shook my head, finding it hard to look him in the eyes.

"Gene and I used to talk about it sometimes, when we were in the six grade I guess. But we never got up the nerve..." Morgan admitted.

'You should've asked Tom,' I wanted to tell him, but that would only lead to catastrophe. "Aren't you cold, Morgan?" I asked. "I can get you a robe and some socks..."

"Let's do it!" Morgan said, his eyes lighting up. With his cheeks already flushed from the wine, he looked a bit wild eyed. There was something there that wasn't exactly lust, but more like a sense of urgency, probably caused by his serious hardon.

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

"You know...jack each other off!" he said excitedly.

"I don't know, Morgan. I think the wine's making you a little crazy," I told him truthfully. After everything Jesse and I did together, I still felt extremely uncomfortable with the idea of another guy seeing--let alone touching--my private parts.

"It'll be great! Hell, I'm like half way there already!" he said with a nervous laugh. He stood up and pulled his sweatshirt off, revealing his slim, lightly tanned torso. I noticed small patches of curly dark brown hair in his armpits as he lifted his shirt over his head. His chest, which already featured decent looking pecs, was smooth and covered with only the lightest coat of nearly transparent hair. Not only was his lean torso devoid of any excess fat, he already had a clearly defined six pack. His boxer briefs rode low enough on his waist that I could see the very top of his dark brown pubic bush.

"I'm not really feeling like...that any more," I informed him, relieved that my hardon was diminishing slightly. Morgan had a great body, but he wasn't Jesse and I wasn't in love with him. I guessed that Jesse would be all right with Morgan and me 'experimenting,' but that still didn't justify it in my own mind.

"You losing that lovin' feeling?" Morgan teased. "I know what to do." Dressed only in his boxer briefs and sporting a serious hardon, he got down on his knees in front of me as I sat on the edge of my bed. He reached under the cuff of my slacks and began peeling down one of my thin black socks.

"Morgan!" I said, pulling my foot away.

He grabbed it back with strong hands and finished peeling my sock off.

"What are you doing?" I asked concernedly, finding myself giggling despite my best efforts not to as Morgan peeled down my other sock, lightly brushing the soles of my sensitive feet with his fingers.

"Ticklish, huh?" he asked, and unhesitatingly grabbed my left foot by the ankle with one hand while he lightly ran the fingers of his other hand along the sole of my bare foot.

"Stop!" I cried, trying to squirm out of his grasp, howling like a hyena.

"Okay..." he said with an evil grin, grabbing my other ankle and starting in on the sole of my other foot.

"Stop, Morgan, shit!" I cried, flopping around so much that I nearly kicked him in the face.

"Sorry," he said, still smiling. He stopped tickling me, but still held my right ankle.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked breathlessly.

"Thought it might persuade you," he said with a shrug. "I can get Derek to promise me anything when I do that to him!" he said cheerfully. Then the smile suddenly disappeared as he seemed to remember that Derek had been the whole reason he had come here today. His face took on a more thoughtful expression and he glanced down. "You have really nice, soft feet, Perry," he said quietly. "Mine are like seal flippers..." He wriggled his fingers across my sole one more time.

It was somewhat unnerving for me to discover that Morgan, who I always thought of as my coolest, most together friend, the best athlete, and the most successful with the opposite sex, had such a negative self image. There was no question that he had a great physique, well-muscled but not bulky, tall and well proportioned. It was hard to imagine that he couldn't see that when he looked in the mirror.

Still,Morgan was right about one thing; messing around with my feet was starting to get me hard again. I wondered if it would be better to just go along with what he wanted--it was just a little sport to him after all--and be done with it. Maybe I was making more of a big deal out of it than a truly straight guy would.

"Okay, okay--stop tickling me!" I pleaded, unable to stop giggling as Morgan's long fingers danced lightly on the soft pad just below my toes.

"So you'll do it?" he asked excitedly, finally letting go of my ankle. He got up to sit back on the edge of the bed next to me.

I shrugged. "I guess..." I answered somewhat unenthusiastically.

"Cool!" he exclaimed, either ignoring, or not noticing the reluctance in my response.

Suddenly Morgan reached over and started unbuttoning my white dress shirt. I brushed his hands away, but forced myself to laugh so he didn't think I was annoyed (even though I was).

"Now what?" I asked.

"You gotta take off your clothes, dude!" he said, his voice again taking on that tone of urgency.

"Well...okay, but I'll do it myself!" I said a bit irritably.

Morgan just nodded, and waited anxiously, his eyes never leaving my body as I unbuttoned the front of my shirt. I stood up to pull the tails out of my slacks and finished the front buttons before starting on the sleeves. I slipped the shirt off and Morgan actually took it from me and laid it on the bed. I pulled my T-shirt off over my head, feeling embarrassed that I barely had any hair under my arms. I must look like a little boy to Morgan.

Still, the way he was looking at me wasn't that different from the way Tom had looked at me that day when he had wanted to give me a 'hand job' as he called it. In Morgan's case, I don't think it was so much that he was lusting after my body, as he was thinking about me giving him the release he was longing for.

"I feel weird doing this," I admitted, as I unbuckled my belt, and unbuttoned and unzipped my dress pants.

"I've seen you in swim trunks," Morgan reminded me, his eyes fixated on my every move.

I just nodded and lowered my pants. I carefully stepped out of them, folded them on their creases, and laid them over the desk chair.

"All right, dude!" Morgan said, smacking his hands together loud enough to give me a start. I guess I was more nervous than I thought. "So I'll do you, and then you can return the favor," he suggested quickly.

I was getting hard, but I definitely wasn't ready for Morgan to start tugging on my meat just yet. "You said yourself that you're already half way there," I reminded him. "I'll do you first, and you're not under any obligation to..."

"Hey, that's great," he said, cutting me off. "I guess I really do need some relief!" He boldly patted his crotch.

I stood there in my boxers, looking at him, and he looked back at me expectantly.

"Are you going to lie down or something?" I asked uneasily.

"Yeah, sure..." Morgan responded, his voice sounding jittery with tension. "But hey, I don't wanna mess up you're bed--I'll just get on the floor..." Morgan got up.

"Wait a sec..." I said, going into my closet and getting out my ever trustworthy futon mattress. I found myself thinking about the last time I had used it, when Jesse had stayed over the night before the rummage sale. That had been the most beautiful, emotionally powerful night of my entire life, and I felt cheap getting it out so Morgan and I could spank each other's monkeys.

"That's a great idea," Morgan said, helping me lay it out next to the bed. "Thanks for doing this, Perry--it's going to be totally awesome," he assured me with that weird, shaky voice that barely resembled the cool, confident Morgan that I knew.

And hadn't Tom said something along the same lines, right before he collapsed onto his hands and knees and creamed his pants...?

Morgan boldly stripped his boxer briefs off and I'm sure my face left no doubt as to my reaction. Morgan's dick was substantially longer than mine (or Jesse's), but only slightly thicker. He had a denser patch of dark curly pubic hair surrounding his proudly erect penis, and his balls hung heavier in his scrotum than mine (and Jesse's) did. I knew he was about six months older than me, but I still didn't think I'd be in June, where he was today.

"Now don't you think Katy was missing out?" he asked, and the weird thing was, he was dead serious. He just stood there completely naked, his hands on his hips, his fully engorged boyhood curving gracefully upwards towards his lean belly.

I could only nod in silence as I stood there in awe. It was a remarkable package, more substantial than mine (and Jesse's), but nowhere near as massive and bloated as Fred Goreski's hideous sandworm. How he managed to squeeze all that into a tight little Speedo boggled my mind. I was also impressed by the true extent of his smooth tan. There was a slightly lighter tone to his thighs from when he wore boardshorts, but the small band around his waist that would correspond to what his Speedo would cover, was an extremely pale white. I never realized Morgan had such light colored skin.

"I mean, if you were a girl, wouldn't you want some of this?" he persisted.

"Very impressive," I said, and meant it.

"Thanks bud," he said gratefully. I only got a brief glimpse of his narrow, ghostly white buttocks before he lay down on his back. He stretched his five foot ten frame out full length on the futon mattress, his head at one end, his legs spread to accommodate his hardon, his size eleven feet resting near the other end.

I went around in front of the TV where I had more room, and slowly got to my knees. I couldn't take my eyes off that majestic organ and I think my mouth was still hanging open.

Morgan, now confident that he was going to get the release he was so desperately craving, relaxed slightly, casually folding his arms behind his head, showing off those little patches of stiff curly pubes in his armpits, and bringing his well developed abs into clear relief.

"Do...do you work out?" I asked.

"Yeah, my dad set up an exercise room a couple years ago--but I use it way more than he does. Ya wanna come over and work out with me some time?" he asked carelessly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was lying in my bedroom stark naked with a massive erection curving up towards his belly button.

"Uh...yeah...sure...maybe..." I stuttered. "So...what do you want me to do?"

"C'mon, Perry--just do what comes naturally. Just pretend it's your own--only bigger," he teased.

I didn't really know what 'naturally' was anymore. The things I did with Jesse didn't seem to have any bearing on the current situation. I liked and admired Morgan, but I felt no physical attraction for him. I was impressed by his package and knew that it was making me hard--but you'd have to be Bob Dole to not get aroused under these circumstances. As far as what I did alone in my bedroom these days, well, all it took was a little of Jesse's taste, a little of his scent, or maybe a little of his ass, to send me straight to paradise.

"Go ahead and touch it--it won't bite!" he laughed. Despite his more casual tone, I could see in his eyes that he was still fully charged. The blush from the wine he had drunk still clung to his cheeks like he had just come in from a really cold, blustery day.

Hesitantly, I reached out my hand. I avoided the smooth dark head of his circumcised penis, where drops of clear precum were already seeping from his slit. My index finger was the first to make contact, poking lightly at his hardened shaft. I immediately felt the hardness of his dick under the thin, tightly stretched skin of his erection.

"Don't be shy, Perry--go for it!" Morgan encouraged, pressing his chin to his chest so he could watch my progress.

"Gees, Morgan," I said shakily, "I...I'm just not sure..."

"Grab it!" he urged me. "Just fuckin' grab it and squeeze as hard as you can!"

He seemed to know what he wanted, so I reached my fingers around his rigid tool and gripped it tightly.

"Tighter!" Morgan pleaded, still looking down his torso at me.

I squeezed his shaft even tighter, clearly feeling the pulse of his blood through his hardness.

"Tighter!" Morgan begged, now lifting his contorted face towards the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut as the stimulation of my hand started to really affect him.

I squeezed even tighter with my right hand, amazed that his cock could be so hard and unyielding. Instinctively, my left hand began stroking his muscle-hardened thigh, feeling the slightly bristly, but nearly invisible hairs that covered it. Morgan seemed to like this because he moaned with pleasure.

"Pump it..." Morgan groaned, now fully in the throes of approaching orgasm.

I did my best to do what he asked, flexing my fingers around his hot and hard organ. My left hand got closer and closer to his fully exposed scrotum.

"Pull on my balls, Perry!" Morgan gasped, his eyes tightly closed, his fingers locked together and pressing down on his own head.

It wasn't something I relished but, maintaining my fierce grip on his erection, I used my left hand to probe his ballsac, easily finding the two hard nuggets inside. I grasped his scrotum and tugged the weirdly soft and rubbery sac down at an angle, half towards the floor and half towards Morgan's feet.

This seemed to take him over the edge. I actually felt his scrotum contract before I felt the first enormous surge flowing through his rigid shaft.

"Don't...let...go..." Morgan gasped as he lifted his butt off the mattress and stiffened. I was stunned as his first shot flew up and over his chest to land on his nose and mouth. Morgan seemed oblivious at this point, and inadvertently took some of his own semen into his mouth as he gasped in ecstatic release. The second shot landed on his sternum and the third and fourth on his belly. After that, he kept spasming, and milky white boyjuice flowed from the tip of his dick like white lava from a rounded volcano. I felt his hot, sticky jism starting to drip onto my hand.

Slowly he lowered his butt back onto the mattress and I released his still hard member. My fingers actually ached from gripping him so tightly.

Morgan released a long and noisy sigh. "Oh God...Perry...that was fuckin' AWESOME" he half shouted, half moaned.

I just knelt there between the side of the mattress and the TV, watching his chest rise and fall as he gasped for oxygen. Only slowly did his penis start to become flaccid, eventually resting on his right thigh like a beached moray eel or something. It was still engorged but lacked the intense bloodflow needed to raise itself off his leg.

He carelessly wiped the semen off his face with the back of his bare arm.

"Uh...I'll get something to clean you off--hold on," I said, getting to my feet. I staggered a bit, feeling momentarily dizzy. I stumbled to the nearby bathroom and got a handtowel from the pile of clean linen there. (Since meeting Jesse, I had tripled my inventory of easily accessible handtowels!).

Morgan was still lying on the mattress, exhausted, his arms at his sides and his legs still spread. His dick still retained most of its substantial length even though it lay limply against his thigh. I dabbed the towel at his face but he quickly took it from me.

"Thanks..." he muttered, as he began to clean himself up.

In my light-headed state, I felt like this had all been a dream--not a nightmare or anything--but just something slightly unreal. I didn't feel particularly turned on by what had happened, even though I was impressed as always by Morgan's tightly muscled swimmer's body and his great package. Maybe when I thought about it later--gripping his rock hard penis in my hand, rubbing his thigh, tugging on his balls, I would feel some sense of sexual excitement. Right now, I just wished he'd finish cleaning himself up and put his clothes back on.

"Damn, that was great, Perry, fuckin' A!" Morgan continued effusively. Leaving the handtowel carelessly covering his genitals, he sat up, bending his knees and planting his feet flat on the mattress, supporting himself with his arms. He had wiped most of the sweat from his brow, but his whole body still glistened with a thin coating of perspiration. He looked at me, and he had that look a lion might have after taking down a zebra after a long chase.

"Glad you liked it," I answered uneasily, kneeling again between the mattress and the TV.

"Now it's your turn!" he said. There was only the slightest smile on his face as he looked my crouching body up and down, eventually fixing on the front of my boxers. "Let's see what you got there, bud!" He nodded his head, indicating that it was time for me to strip.

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