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The stranger took some time to recover. He sat there, breathing and
swallowing hard, for the longest time.

It was long enough that the watcher became concerned. "Are you okay?"

The stranger shifted his gaze from the ceiling to the watcher's face. His
hair was matted, and beads of sweat stood as though painted onto his face
and body. What a sight. "Yeah." The stranger was seriously out of breath.
"Just need to catch my breath." He paused, drawing deep the musky
atmosphere they had created in the room. He moved from his lover's chest
and headed, still panting, toward the bathroom. The towel he pitched was
gratefully received, and put to work sopping up the sweat and various other
fluids. He spoke as the watcher walked toward him.

"Never did it with another guy before. I don't know what got into me." The
stranger stared at himself in the mirror, drinking water from cupped hands.
"I don't even want to know how many risks I just took."

The watcher wanted to be angry, but he could see the fear in the stranger's
face. "It's not like that. I...I had no idea this would happen. Look, I
don't go to bed with strangers, either. Strange men. Or women. Men or
women...I don't...You came into my room, I _still_ don't know who you are--
_I_ should be the one who's scared."

"I'm sorry--I overreacted. I thought maybe you were one of those guys who'd
fuck anything that moved. But, this was, like, a big surprise to you, too?"

"Yeah. Nothing like this ever happens to me. I mean, I never took a risk
before, tried something new. I just watched others indulge their hunger.
Fascinating to me that they had the nerve. There's so much inside that
says, "be good," and until tonight, I always let that voice prevail. Until
tonight." The watcher looked down. "This is the first time I _did_ instead
of watched. The first time I was involved in my own fantasy. I got so used
to jerking off to someone else's script that I just took for granted I'd
never experience anything that hot, that real, for myself."

"Well, then...it was good?"

"Good? Shit, are you kidding? Mister, I'll never have to rent another
movie. I can just play back my memories of tonight. It was incredible;
thank you."

The stranger's ego was rising, but it wasn't alone. In the bright light of
the bathroom, they could see each other very clearly. The watcher was
hunched close to the mirror, trying to get his friend's load out of his
hair. The stranger appreciated the view, fixing his eyes on the watcher's
ass. The watcher finished cleaning up, but felt the eyes on him. He stayed
in that position, and even stood on his toes and leaned closer to the
mirror. "Nasty boy," he thought.

The faucet handles squeaked as they turned, and soon the shower's steam
began filling the room. The stranger disappeared into the stall, sliding
the door shut. The watcher wanted to join, but hesitated. Their
conversation left him feeling a little unsure. Then the door slid open,
just a bit, and a hand appeared, motioning "come here."

The watcher stepped into the shower, to be greeted by the stranger's ass
pointed right at him. The stranger stood and turned, with soap in one hand,
a washcloth in another, and obviously fully recovered from their previous
romp. There were no words, just a motion to turn around.

The soap needed help lathering in the thick coating of oil on the watcher's
back. The washcloth found its way to skin after some effort, and the
stranger stepped aside to give a rinse. He watched the soap cascade down
his friend's back and ride down between his cheeks. They both closed their
eyes for a moment, imagining what fate might await them in this steamy
haven.

The watcher spun round to get the other side tended to. His neck and chest
were washed with vigor, a rich, slippery foam left standing. The stranger
arched his eyebrows for a moment, grinned, and began moving southward with
the soap. The washcloth was set aside, as was the soap after the palms were
sufficiently coated.

The watcher hadn't gotten off on the bed. He enjoyed his friend's ecstacy
so much that it didn't matter, but now that things seemed to be starting
again, he rolled his eyes back and prepared to soak up every sensation. The
hands slid around his groin first, barely touching his hair. They swirled
around his legs, playing up the suspense. His cock was twitching, pleading,
giving out with the jism built up from their previous encounter. A hand
cupped his balls from underneath as another took hold of his cock. It felt
so good his knees nearly gave out. The stranger watched intently as he
stroked his partner slowly, balls rolling in his hands.

The stranger moved closer, his own cock just a few inches away. The watcher
reached out to touch it--the stranger motioned "no, no." The stranger
reached between his partner's legs, bending down to reach his slippery
hands up, past the balls, over the sensitive patch, to his friend's hole.
He played there for only a moment, then slid his hands from where they were
to a firm grip on the watcher's ass. He pulled, and they slapped together,
their cocks standing hard, side by side. They held each other tightly, the
spray bouncing off the stranger's back, hands everywhere. They began
rocking their hips, rubbing against each other, feeling their nipples slide
across the coarse chest hair, feeling each other's smooth pricks fuck the
tiny space between them.

The watcher coated his hands with soap, and backed away a little bit. He
took his own cock in hand and began to stroke, pumping into it with his
hips. Just when the stranger thought he was in for a show, the watcher
bound their cocks together in one hand. The stranger titled his head a
little--what is this guy up to?--but soon had something else on his mind.
The watcher rolled his hand, sliding the fronts of their cocks against each
other, adding vertical motion with his hips. He kneaded as he gripped their
cocks tightly, and circled the swollen tips with his thumb.

The pleasure produced by this was so constant that both men were dazed,
grunting softly and fucking the watcher's hand. The watcher's other hand
found its way to his lover's balls, and again he sought out that region
that had brought forth the soaking he got earlier. The stranger retaliated,
reaching around and massaging the watcher's ass. He massaged, then bent
over a little for better position, soaped up one hand, and began working
deeply into his lover's crack. He felt the buns squeeze together with each
humping stroke, and rubbed up and down in preparation for his attack.

Nothing had slowed. The watcher continued to knead their straining cocks
together, but was a little distracted by all that activity going on around
back. He felt little rushes each time the fingers crossed over his hole,
and he'd push instinctively. They had a fine rhythm going. A finger placed
itself directly over his opening, and began to wiggle, and push gently
inward. The watcher's heart raced--this new sensation was intoxicating--and
tilted to offer a better angle. The finger vibrated and pushed more
insistently, and finally broke through. The pressure in his cock rose
substiantially. He stood on his toes and rotated his ass on the finger. It
went deeper, slowly, stroking the distance each time. The friction made his
groin muscles quiver, and his cock skin stretched tighter. The stranger
could feel his lover pulsing and straining against him. He stepped aside,
letting the shower spray wash away the soap, and dropped to his knees.
Leaving his finger in place, he surrounded the watcher's cock head with his
lips. He felt the smooth skin against his tongue, the head pressing against
the back of his mouth. He layed his tongue flat on the underside of the
captive prick, and launched his final assault.

He let his finger stand still for a while as he slowly started gliding his
tongue, front to back, side to side, on the underside of the watcher's
cock. He felt the body tremble in his hands, and let the tempo rise slowly,
licking faster, pressing harder. He bobbed his head, and the watcher
accepted the invitation to start thrusting into his mouth. He searched for
the seam between the shaft and head, and worked it with the full width of
his tongue. The head grew bigger, the skin tighter, and he knew it was
time. He began vibrating his finger in its channel, short, fast strokes.
His lover's knees buckled and the cock came out of his mouth. He gripped it
with his free hand and milked it, still rapidly stroking the finger in the
watcher's ass. He pushed downward on his finger and concentrated on the
wall just inside his lover's opening, rubbing hard with the tip of his
finger. He put the watcher back in his mouth.

The watcher's senses were overloaded. The tongue on his cock was working in
the same areas he used to bring himself off--how did he know?--but the
feeling of a finger in his ass was incredible. Each stroke sent pleasure
streaming from his hole, through a channel to the base of his balls, into
them, then up his cock to the head, where a tongue was working furiously.
Each wave would subside, then another would come crashing in. The path was
so plain he could follow it down, and the nerves in each region gave out
with a different flavor of pleasure. Then there was a squeeze, a hard one,
on his shaft, and his balls pulled tight. The stroking in his ass brought
fluid surging through his pipes in a rhythm. His ass pulled tight around
the finger. He fought it, allowing only a dribble to escape, but then the
stranger took him deep, and rammed the vibrating finger its full distance.
Valves opened involuntarily, and he gushed into the stranger's mouth. The
tongue stopped moving for an instant--surprise!--but then resumed. The
nerves on his head were dancing as the stranger sucked hard and gripped his
squirting cock firmly. He thought he might pass out as the finger and
tongue coaxed load after load from his balls. The tongue slowed, the finger
was withdrawn, and his vision began to return. The stranger reared his head
back to wash the come from his face, and smiled. That had to have been the
warmest smile the watcher had ever seen, he thought, but remembered
experiencing it before: It was exactly like the one he gave the stranger
after pleasuring him on the bed.

Hugs were exchanged, and soap was again applied, but for cleaning this
time. The stranger caught a glimpse of the clock as he stepped from the
shower, and apologized to his host. An early-morning meeting meant he
needed some sleep that night. "Damn," thought the watcher, who was counting
on an opportunity to get even. The stranger dressed, hugged the watcher
again, thanked him, and left.

The watcher climbed into bed, reveling in the musky smells, and propped his
hands behind his head. His cock tingled against the cool sheet, and he
stared at the ceiling, remembering. That was the best night of sex in his
life, but it was more than that. He felt he had connected with the man,
more than sexually, forming an instant friendship that was deeper than any
he'd known until now. There had to be something to that.

But wait--he didn't leave his number. He said he was at the Holiday Inn,
but I don't even know his name. Maybe I'm the only one who felt that
connection. Maybe I'm alone in wanting to see him again.
Well, shit, mister. What did you expect? Besides, the sex _was_ incredible,
can't you be satisfied with that?

He couldn't. He felt strangely alone, almost abandoned. He had shared his
body with this man, but, without knowing it, came to care for him. And, by
all appearances, he was alone in that.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. The watcher tortured himself,
imagining that he'd never see the stranger again, never know his name,
never know whether he was married, or liked Christmas, or thought the
Persian Gulf was justified. They made love, but they never _talked_.

The watcher buried himself in the conferences and BOFS, daydreaming through
his tutorials. The tapes and VCR went back, the remaining liquor went
untouched, and he spent nights watching inane TV in his room.

Wednesday's party was something he normally never missed, but he didn't
feel like it tonight. But a couple of friends who arrived Wednesday morning
left a message at the desk that they'd meet him in the bar before the
party. He felt like a robot as he dressed and made his way to the lobby.
His friends greeted him boisterously, and had a drink waiting for him at
the bar.

"Look at all these people," friend #1 piped up. "Wall-to-wall nerds." His
friends--maybe acquaintances--had cushy government jobs and looked down on
the students and other less-affluent types that attended this show. "The
nerds don't bug me," offered friend #2, who showed signs of having an early
start on the evening's drinking. "It's the fucking queers. You can spot
'em, even the ones who aren't wearing the stupid T-shirts. I'm telling you,
you suck one dick, and everything changes. You can tell from looking at
faggot that he fucks guys. Makes me sick."

The watcher stirred his drink, lost in thought. This guy doesn't have a
clue. I should tell him. I should blow this asshole's mind and tell him
everything I did on Friday night. Every gory detail, down to the last
squirt. I wonder if he'd...

"Hey, Larry!" The watcher knocked his glass over as he turned toward the
voice. There stood the stranger, in his Sunday fines, his eyes gleaming at
the sight of his friend. He came over to the bar and shook the watcher's
hand with vigor. "My business called me back to California for a couple of
days, but I couldn't miss the party." One corner of his mouth smiled
shakily, and his eyes grew misty. "I missed you, buddy." They shook hands--
with both hands--again, holding the grip for more than a cordial handshake
demands.

The friends were busy playing "lookit the fags" and reassuring each other
about their heterosexuality. "I could never..." "Oh, no way, me neither"
"That guy over there--the one with the hair--I bet he..." "Oh, yeah, no
shit. Ewww. Grosses me out, man."

The watcher and stranger listened to this banter for a while, then winked
at each other and left the bar. The stranger put his arm around the
watcher's waist. They looked at each other, and the watcher knew they'd be
spending more time together. "Do you like Christmas?" the watcher asked as
he slipped his arm around the stranger's waist.

Friend #2 came running up and grabbed the watcher by the shoulder. He took
a gulp from his drink and said "You shouldn't walk around like that. I
mean, I know you guys are just good friends who haven't seen each other in
a while, but other people here will think...well, they'll think you're
queer. There's a lot of them here, you know. Makes me sick."

"Yep," said the watcher, squeezing the stranger's waist tighter. "But you
can't really spot them just by looking."
"Bullshit. I've been doing it for years, man. It's easy. I've got this
system, see, I look for..."

"Well, your system sucks, because you missed two right before your eyes."

Friend #2 looked around, challenged. "Where? Where??"

The watcher and stranger walked away, and the stranger moved his hand to
the watcher's pocket. They agreed, as they left, that they hoped that drink
didn't spill on anyone on its way to the floor.

