Down in the cool water we mill about naked. It's my first time in the ocean in many years. Contrary to what he thought, I can swim, marginally. My best move is the side stroke, which I continually show him, floating by as he rests on his back, whispering to him.

"Say it again."

He lifts his head slightly.

"My baby. My baby. My baby. My baby. My baby. Okay?"

I grin stupidly.

"Yes. I won't have to ask you again for another 3 minutes, now." I float by his face. "Why were you trying to hide it from me all this time?"

He shrugs.

"I was embarrassed. I don't do pet names. What goes in my head, stays in my head."

I laugh.

"Are you sure about that, Curt? I rather think you spill the contents of your head quite readily, with little prompting."

He grins.

"Not everything."

"Oh no? Okay, well here's a challenge: tell me one thing you've got tucked in your head that you've never revealed, now that you've spilled your biggest secret- my pet name. Unless there are others of those I don't know about."

"No! There aren't any others, I promise you."

"I thought so. Okay, name something, though."

He grins wickedly.

"That's easy. What I beat off to. We've never discussed that."

"Sex, I knew it had to be sex."

"You've never told me, either."

"I don't beat off."

He guffaws loudly.

"What was that famous quote of Mark Twain's?"

"No idea; never read him."

He turns his head sharply.

"Jesus Christ, really? No Homer and no Twain? None?"

"So I'm a dunce. Tell me the famous quote."

"No, you're not a dunce, I just thought England's education system was 100 times better than ours. That's what we always hear."

"It is, if you pay attention in class."

"Well, I don't have that excuse."

"Then it must have been Michael's influence."

He looks up, thinking.

"Ya, you're right. I read bucketloads, all the Greek shit, and Huck Finn around that time. Anyway, the quote is, that 98% of men masturbate, and the rest are lying."

We laugh.

"That's great. And very true. So quit stalling. Spill."

He turns to me.

"What, you actually want me to tell you what I think of?"

"When you beat off, yes. Why not?"

"Well, I mean … it's a little private. And I'm pretty perverted, Brian. What if it grosses you out?"

"Tell me one thing, like you're favorite thing, maybe. And I'll tell you mine."

"Okay … you go first, though."

He bends his elbows and folds his hands back behind his head.

I groan. I hesitate. We laugh.

"This is harder than I thought! Alright, no, this is easy. Before we hooked up, but after we met that first time, at the dinner table with Jerry, and you said that thing to me, it fucking sent tingles down my spine, and afterwards, every image I'd had previously, all the sure-fire ones, were gone, and they were replaced with you. I even went into the bathroom directly afterwards, did you know that? And I imagined you in the next stall, and beat off right there."

He nods.

"Yup. Same here."

"You beat off to thoughts of yourself, or you beat off in the bathroom right after?"

"Neither. No, all my old favorites sorta shriveled up and dried out after we met, and all I saw was you for a while."

"For a while? Not still?"

"Brian, we've been fucking for real, there's been no need for me to fantasize about you."

"But you said you had some perverted ideas. And we haven't gotten up to much perversion in real life. Can't you picture me in those? What are they by the way?"

He laughs.

"You're not gonna get 'em that easy!"

"Okay, just one, then. Not asking too much, there."

He hesitates, then groans, and laughs an open mouthed laugh.

"Shit. This IS hard! No, not yet. Later, maybe. You still haven't told me anything, anyway. What did you picture us doing when I first entered your fantasy world?"

"No big surprise. First and foremost, sucking you off. Also, you fucking me. And about a hundred variations thereof."

"Specifics."

"Y'know, just … I think in the bathroom stall, which would have been my very first fantasy about you, wait, no … I'm wrong. We'd already met by then, of course we had, remember? At the Bijou office in New York that time. We shook hands. You didn't remember that we'd already shook hands 3 days before."

"Yup. The wonder of drugs."

"It wasn't until the next day that we had that lunch with Jerry."

"So after our very VERY first meeting you beat off to me?"

I laugh. "Yes! I was immediately enraptured. Remember we had to sit through that bloody painful meeting with the fucking New York bigwigs?"

"Which lasted 3 fucking hours."

"We were sitting across the big table from each other, and I kept sneaking looks."

"Fuck, not me. I was too nervous. I was so out of my element. All these suits blathering on about business. I just wanted to fucking jump out the window."

He turns over in the water to face downward, and blows bubbles on the surface. I continue slowly circling him.

"So go on. I still haven't heard what you imagined. Specifics."

"Well I think the very first time, I mean, I kept thinking of you sitting at that big long table in the meeting. You were wearing that black leather jacket with that striped shirt underneath, which always looks so amazing on you, and I pictured myself climbing under the table during the meeting, somehow escaping the notice of everybody there, and sucking you off."

"Wow, good. And so I just have to sit there and not react, is that it?"

"Yes."

"And did I come in your mouth, or someplace else?"

I raise a brow and tilt my head sideways.

He laughs. "Okay, stupid question- in your mouth. The only thing better than that would've been if it had a glass table top and I'd shot off and sprayed on the underside of the glass."

I nod. "Yep, pictured it. We're of the same mind there. The key element to me had to be that the meeting went on regardless, and no one knew."

"Ya, and maybe I get asked a question, a few questions in a row, while your head's bobbing away."

We laugh.

I speak like a super straight suit, with a tight lipped American accent.

"Yes, um, Mr Wild, may we have your opinion on this important matter?"

Curt mimics, crossing his eyes, hanging his mouth open, stuttering and panting.

"W-what imp-important m-matter?"

I continue.

"Why, your whole entire CAREER, sir!"

He goes into an eerily accurate portrayal of himself coming. So much so, that I find it rather jarring. He lifts his head out of the water, tilts it straight back, inhales sharply, cries out hoarsely, and then repeatedly coughs, sniffles, wipes the imaginary moisture from his eyes and then looks off with heavy lids, blinking and speaking in that amazing post-peak gravel tone, "Ya … sorry … what?"

As much as we can in the water, we double over laughing.

"Curt, don't do that! I'm not kidding! It's exactly what you look like when you come!"

He grins devilishly.

I shout.

"Okay, now you! Your turn!"

"Aww, Brian, I'm getting cold. Let's swim back and I'll tell you then."

On the shore we towel off and lay our naked forms back on the blanket. The sun is warm and sweet. We hold hands.

"Jesus, this is almost too wonderful. I might fall asleep."

He grins.

"I love the idea of our fisherman buddy …"

"Manuel."

"Manuel, sailing up to shore seeing the two of us buck naked, holding hands, snoozing away."

I giggle.

"He'd keep on sailing."

"Damn right."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

"Nope. So long as you don't mind a diet of raw fish."

"And lube-less sex."

He groans.

"No. Not gonna happen."

"Well, we could always wave somebody down, catch a ride to town once a week."

"Get our mail, pay some bills, grocery shop, and then hitch it all to a little dingy on the way back."

"Or we could just buy ourselves a boat."

"No, I like the idea that we're totally possession-free. We rely solely on the goodwill of others."

"Ya, we'd be known as 'Los maricones en la isla,' – 'the queers on the island.'"

"And some people wouldn't believe it was true, and some people would. Folklore. We'd be our own myth."

"But nobody would bloody well come near us, so how do we hitch a ride?"

"We'd wave money at them as they floated by, on the end of a huge fishing pole."

"Reel them in. But what about the goodwill of others?"

"Well, the guy would accept cash at first, then he'd do it for the goodwill blowjobs."

We laugh.

"So we'd either have fishermen lining up to give us rides, because they can't get blowjobs like that at home, or we'd be total outcasts for being fags and nobody'd come near us …"

"Or there'd be a police raid every week."

"Not in England. Homos are no longer illegal there. Since like '66 or something."

"I think it still is in the States, at least Michigan, for sure, and I don't think anyone's lining up to make it legal any time soon. I remember in Detroit, the cops would raid this gay club downtown all the time."

"A place you frequented?"

"Well I'd heard about it, and I checked it out a coupla times when I was a lot younger, just out of boredom and I guess, horniness, but there wasn't much to the place. It was tiny and shitty, and it was mostly older guys anyway."

"They must have loved you."

"I got a bit of attention, but I don't remember taking anyone up on their offers. It sucks though, because, what if I had liked it? What if it had been my favorite hangout or something? What business is it of the cops or of anybody else's if I wanna fuck somebody? So long as I'm not forcing them. What gives them the right to barge in and intimidate and harass and arrest people who were minding their own fucking business ?"

"If it's illegal, that's what gives them the right."

He sighs.

"Hate cops."

I fidget.

"I have a longstanding fantasy involving a cop."

"That you beat off to?"

"Um, yes, Curt."

He grins slow. He laughs.

"So do I."

We burst out.

I turn on my side, lay my head on his shoulder and slide an arm across his chest.

"Okay, this I gotta hear."

His eyes drop.

"Careful."

"Not to worry. I promise not to touch below the nipples."

He raises his hand to rest it over my arm.

"Spill."

He squirms. He hesitates.

"Come on. I've told you one, now tell me one."

"But … your fantasy only involved me. There was no embarrassment factor."

"Curt, you chickenshit. I've eaten your ass. I've seen you come. I've seen you cry. I've seen you suicidal. There can be no embarrassment here."

"But … what if you don't like it? What if it turns you off?"

"Why do you assume I'm some virginal little queen about this shit? Even if it does turn me off, so what? It's not like I'm gonna walk out on you."

He nods.

"Okay."

He sighs.

"The cop story."

"Please."

"Um, well–"

"–Okay, wait. When did you begin having this fantasy? How long?"

"This is pretty old."

"And is there any certain mood you'll be in when you'll picture it?"

He shrugs.

"Just a horny mood."

I push his bangs aside with my hand.

"Is there ever a time when you're not?"

"Shit, I'm not always hungry for it, Brian. Not 100% of the time. It just seems that way because we're new to each other and we're in love and we do it constantly."

"And when we're not doing it, we talk about doing it."

"Right. As evidenced by this very conversation."

"By most of our conversations, of late."

We smile. I kiss his jaw.

"Sorry, I interrupted you. Go on."

He sighs.

"Okay, well–"

"Oh, wait! I'm sorry! Describe the cop first."

"Well, it's not only ever one type of cop. There's maybe like 3 types. Like I'm not adverse to an older guy, late 30′s maybe, salt and pepper hair, ice blue eyes, ripping body."

I nod.

"Mmm hmm."

"Then sometimes I prefer the rookie. Y'know. Young, nervous, inexperienced, a bit on the lean side, but not too scrawny."

"Full head of wavy hair."

"Ya, nice. No fucking crew cuts. Believe me, nobody in any of my fantasies have crew cuts. And then there's the guy who's sort of my equal- my age, my build, maybe a bit of attitude."

"Wow, okay, ya. Definitely like that one. But tell me the story with the first guy."

"Well all the stories are pretty much interchangeable."

"Okay, but I wanna picture you and the older salt and pepper guy. A beard would be nice."

"Nah, that's pushing it. They wouldn't allow it."

"But it's fantasy- anyway. Sorry, I won't interrupt again. Tell. I'm all ears."

"Well, alright see, I usually picture it's summertime and I've got the windows open and I'm speeding down the highway blasting the music in my rattletrap shitbox and –"

"–Do you have a car?"

"Not now. This is sorta based on a car I did have for like 6 months at one point, when I was like 16. Y'know, totally illegal rustbucket with duct tape holding the doors on, that sorta thing."

"So are you 16 in this?"

"No, no. I'm, I don't know. Of indeterminate age. I haven't thought about it."

"What are you wearing?"

He looks at me.

"Brian, will you let me tell the fucking story? I'll get to all that. I'll fill in the details for ya."

"Sorry."

"It's warm out. For some reason I like the idea that I'm barefoot. Also, because it's illegal to drive barefoot. Did you know that?"

"No, but then, I don't drive."

"You don't drive?"

"I don't know how to."

"Jesus christ, you're kidding! I never heard of such a thing. You could never live in America, my friend. Certainly not Michigan."

"I know, I know. Go on. You're driving down the road."

"Ya, so I'm shirtless maybe, or just in a t shirt or an old threadbare tanktop."

My eyes widen.

"MMMMM!"

He grins.

"And of course, the cop pulls me over cuz I'm speeding, and the plates have expired, or something. Y'know, multiple offenses. It's nighttime. And as he walks up to the car, I'm checking him out in the side mirror and I'm like, wow, this guy's hot. He like, maybe personifies the ultimate fantasy to the guy driving- to me, in the fantasy."

"Okay, yup."

"And ah, he walks up to the window and he asks me for my driver's license and shit, and I hand it to him and he doesn't take it right away cuz he's checking me out. Okay, maybe I'm shirtless, did I mention that?"

"Ya, that was one possibility."

"And I'm a bit sweaty because it's hot."

"Fuck, nice."

"And he's all in his uniform and shit and he's eying me and he takes the license and he picks up his walkie talkie to call it in to headquarters or whatever. To make sure I'm not some criminal. And the whole time he's leaning in the window staring at my chest and my crotch as he talks into the talkie thing, and it's a bit, y'know, intimidating."

"Jeans. I'm picturing you in soft, worn, ratty jeans."

"Ya, that's about right. And so he's going on in this code language I don't understand- y'know the 10-4 shit, and maybe he stands up but he's still like right in the window as he talks, and I'm nervous and I'm staring straight ahead but I can totally feel his eyes one me, and I start to get turned on, my cock starts to stiffen."

"Phew, and he's right there to see it?"

"Ya. And then he gets turned on seeing it, and he finishes up the call, and he hooks the walkie talkie to his back pocket or whatever, all nonchalant, and he says something like, 'Son, do you know why I pulled you over?' They always ask you that for some reason."

"I think it's in case you confess to some bigger crime you just committed."

"Ya, really fuckin stupid. Anyway. And I say no, or whatever. And he begins listing all the violations with the car, y'know, this light's out, the car isn't registered, I was speeding, etc. And he says there's gonna be a motherfucker of a ticket."

"He says 'motherfucker'" to you?"

"Ya, I don't know why I always throw that in, maybe it's like, he's announcing to me that this isn't a routine pull-over. This one is different."

"Okay."

"And then he always says, it's gonna be like, 300 hundred dollars, and he says to me, 'Can you afford that, Curt?' And I snap at him cuz I'm pissed off and upset and antsy, cuz here I was minding my own business and he's gone and ruined my whole fucking month, and I'm annoyed that he used my name, as if we know each other, and I say to him, 'Do I LOOK like I can afford it, officer?'"

"Shit."

"And he looks at me a minute and he says, why don't you step outside the car. And I say why? And he says it again- step outside the car. So I reluctantly open the door, and I stand up, and I get my first good look at him, and he's really fucking hot. Y'know, intense set of eyes, tan, good strong jaw, nice build, just really tight and fit, great biceps, and he's looking me up and down, not saying anything at first, and it's making me fucking rock hard, and my dick's straining against my pants, and it's glaringly obvious, and he walks up to me and he says something like, 'y'know, Curt, there are other ways you can pay the fine'."

"Woah!"

"And I don't say anything cuz I'm nervous and freaked, and he asks if I understand what he's saying, and I don't answer. I'm looking down at the ground, and he takes his finger and he puts it under my chin and tilts it up."

"Bloody hell."

"And he says like, did you hear what I said? And I say ya, and he's staring into my eyes and he says, and do you understand exactly what I'm saying to you, Curt? He keeps calling me Curt, and I look at him and I say ya. And he fucking takes out this set of fucking handcuffs–"

I gasp.

"–Eureka!"

"Y'know, genuine, real metal cop's cuffs, and he fucking presses them into me and slides them up and down my crotch, and my dick rages of course, and the cuffs are sorta cold, and it feel good cuz it's so hot out, and he tells me to get into the squad car, into the back seat, and I don't dare argue. Plus I'm too turned fucking ON."

"Christ, I'm gonna need to go swimming again."

"And y'know, all this is happening on the side of the highway so there's cars buzzing by- it's all out in the open."

"Absolute bloody genius."

"And he leads me over to it and I get in and he shuts it, and the engine's running and the air conditioning's on, and he pushes me down on the big leather bench seat which feels cool to the touch, and the cop radio's blaring the whole time, y'know, 'car 72, where the fuck are you? Get the fuck over to 5th and Main'."

I laugh.

"And he's all over me, kissing me, seriously mauling me, feeling me up through the jeans and his hat knocks off and he's got this amazing head of thick salt & pepper hair that I see for the first time, and I run my hands up into it and I rip open his shirt and the buttons go flying all over the car, y'know, the whole bit. And he slides down my body and opens my pants and sucks me off somethin fierce. Like, no holding back."

He looks down.

"Brian, you are gonna need to swim."

I back my hips away from him.

"Sorry. I'll jump in after. Go on. You come, I gather?"

"Ya."

"Where? His mouth, or inside the squad car?"

"Well, I sorta like the idea that I shoot a huge load, more than he was prepared for, and it goes partly in his mouth, and partly all over that nice crisp dark blue cop shirt."

"Ya, some of it on his badge."

"And try as he might, he can't get the stains out."

We giggle.

"And then, and this is my favorite bit. We sit up, in the seat, and I kneel down on the floor in front of him and I'm returning the favor, right? And his cock's huge, of course, like massive, all veiny and taut, sticking straight up out of his pants, and I'm workin it, getting him all slick–"

I feel woozy.

"–Christ."

"And his eyes are shut and he's gasping and moaning of course, and he doesn't see that I've reached for the handcuffs, and just as he's about to come I grab his wrists and slap on the cuffs and there's something in the ceiling, like something they have there for criminals- a big metal ring that the cuffs are designed to be hooked onto, and it shuts closed over the cuffs so he's locked in place."

"Holy shit. Hands hanging straight up in the air!"

"Pants wide open, big stiff dick hanging out."

"Fresh come all over that nice clean uniform."

"And I say something to him like, well I hope that was worth 300 hundred bucks, officer."

I burst out laughing.

"Fantastic! The only thing better would be a cock ring at this point. Slap that on him."

"Ya, so then when the chief comes looking for him, there he is all hard and flushed still …"

"Bucketloads of splaining to do."

"Fuck, I gotta work the cockring bit into the fantasy. I wasn't aware of such things before we met. So, once you release that, would he automatically shoot?"

"Ya, that's generally the idea."

"So that means the chief will get a nice surprise when he unclips it!"

"Fuck!"

We laugh.

I return from the cool water, towel off, and lay back beside him on the warm blanket.

"I love you."

He kisses my forehead.

"I love you too, my baby."

An enormous smile shoots across my face and I rock back and forth in sheer delirium.

"Curt, do you have any idea what that DOES to me ?"

He laughs.

"Ya, I think I have some! Should I stop saying it, maybe?"

"No! Never! I want you to say it so much I get sick of it!"

He turns his head from side to side, in imitation of me, sick of it.

"'ENOUGH already with the 'my baby' shit!'"

We giggle.

I spy the bruise on his neck and raise my hand to it.

"I can't believe I hit you."

"It's okay. It's doesn't really hurt. And we're even now."

I move up and in to gently kiss it, and lay my head down on his chest.

"So maybe we should–"

I hold up a finger.

"–Shhh."

"What?"

I move further down his chest, laying my head down on his breastbone.

"Hush, for a sec."

I listen. It's the beautiful rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. I can't believe in all this time, I've never stopped to listen to it.

I grin. I whisper.

"I can hear your heart."

I continue listening.

"All I can hear is that in this ear, and the ocean waves in the other."

I look up at him.

"I think this is it."

"What?"

"The moment when you become my whole world."

Author's note: Many thanks to those that reviewed. It's practically the only thing that gives me the motivation to keep posting. When I get no feedback, I figure nobody gives a crap ... so thanks ! I love this story a lot - Brian and Curt were my first and still my favorite 'fan fiction' loves, and I've put my heart and soul into this story in a huge way, accordingly. It's nothing brilliant - I know it can be kind of silly and maybe stupid at points, but after seeing the film, I fell in love with the two of them and felt the need to round out their story.

There is miles more to go in the story, trust me, so stick around. I just ask for some feedback to keep me going.

PS - Alwaysearching - I tried to send you a pm to thank you for your really nice review, but it said your pm was turned off. Just fyi.