Chapter 11

Cedric:My learning to trust

Sunday's start resembles Saturday's. We sleep in late. We make love. (I discover that holding each other, thrusting and sliding our cocks together, also is effectively pleasurable. I smile at the thought – and feeling – of the mixed semen samples on our abdomens, as I roll off him and lick him clean, recalling his taste from yesterday, when I sucked him off the way he had me.) We shower. We eat breakfast. Gradually my mood drops, though. For all I know, this could be our last day together. (There are contraindications, I'm aware of that, but I find myself unable to rely on them.) I don't raise the subject of our future; I fear his answer, and I don't want to scare him away.

He suggests we go for a walk in the park, and I agree with a heavy heart. He wants to go to a public place; he doesn't want to be alone with me anymore.

We walk in silence. The weather is cold, but sunny. It's actually very nice, but it can't dissolve my gloom. I feel as though Ian is already drifting away.

He touches my arm and stops me, thus attracting the attention of a couple walking passed us on the rather busy path.

'What's wrong?' The look in his eyes is one of concern as well as determination. He's not going to accept a pseudo-explanation.

'It bothers me that I don't know whether I will see you again after today,' I respond.

His expression shifts, I guess, from concern to hurt to understanding, and then back.

'I have to go home tonight,' he says. 'We both have to work tomorrow, and the rest of the week. But you could come to dinner on Wednesday and stay the night if you'd like.' He regards me with anticipation, as though he isn't certain what my reply will be.

'I'd like that very much,' I tell him, feeling guilty about my mistrust. I want to embrace him, kiss him, but we're in the middle of a very busy park.

He smiles a little. 'Don't you dare to kiss me?'

I shake my head.

'Sissy. Was then. Is now,' he remarks.

Is not. Am not. Indignant, I grab him and plant a not so subtle kiss on his mouth.

There's the sound of skeelers stopping in their tracks on the gravel. As we look up, I see a boy of about twenty glaring at us.

'Wow,' he says. 'Sorry for staring at you like this, but wow.'

I look askance at Ian, who's smiling pleasantly at the bloke. I feel an instant flair of jealousy. (Oh, stop it, Cedric.)

The boy pursues his way. When he's a couple of yards away, he turns his head and shouts, 'If you ever break up, call me. Either of you.'

I feel quite embarrassed. Ian seems to think it's all tremendously funny.

'Oh, come on, darling,' he says, taking my hand. In a firm grip, so I can't pull away (which certainly is my reflex). 'You'd better get used to it. We can't hide for the rest of your lives.'

I should be ecstatic that he's referring to a mutual future like this, that he doesn't mind people thinking that we're a couple, but I can't. I do feel better than when we started our walk though, and when he relaxes his grip around my hand, I leave it in his.

He leaves at eight, after dinner. I've dreaded the moment since we got home from our walk. I hate to have to wait three whole days before I'll see him again. (If I'll see him again). I have even negotiated an earlier date, but he didn't change his mind. 'I want to be able to miss you,' he said.

'Can I at least call you if I need to hear your voice?'

He gave me a strange look. Yes, I'm a sissy, all right.

'Well, you could always listen to my recorded voice on the answering machine,' he said, smirking at me.

He's putting on his coat. He kisses me. Passionately. When I have the opportunity to breathe again, he says, 'See you on Wednesday. Call me anytime.'

I don't. I suppress the urge, because I know it's not there because I miss him (which I do in a terrible fashion, by the way) but because I'm still not able to trust him. I crave his confirmation that we have a date on Wednesday as a junky craves his shot of heroin. But I decide not to be a sissy about it. I have to trust him at least insofar he trusts himself.

So I go to work, I check jurisprudence, I interview clients and I prepare the odd plea. And I think about Ian a lot.

On Wednesday, I arrive at his place at five to seven. I announce my presence through the intercom and he presses the buzzer to open the door. As I have climbed the first staircase, I can see him standing in the doorway of his apartment, smiling broadly. God, he's beautiful. God, I've missed him. I force myself to walk the remaining stairs slowly, but I find myself running the last steps.

He drags me inside, closes the door, and strips me of my coat, kissing me thoroughly.

'God, I've missed you,' he says when we both need to breathe.

I scan the door in the hall, trying to assess which one will lead to the bedroom. He reads my mind.

'Patience, darling. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.'

Blast.

Sitting opposite of him, I'm barely able to eat. I'm completely transfixed by the sight of him eating, taking in food, chewing, swallowing. I envy the spaghetti he has made. (I have seen him eat before, but it didn't have the impact on me it has now. Apparently, a mere three days of sexual deprivation can render a newly gay man helpless.)

'Aren't you hungry?' There's a glint in his eyes. I know this is a double entendre.

I decide that I, too, can play. 'Oh, but I am hungry,' I say, throwing him a meaningful glare. 'Just not after the spaghetti.'

'Ah. So you'd prefer we skip it and go right for dessert, I gather.'

'I'd appreciate it if we did, yes,' I say solemnly.

He grins. 'I bet you do. We're going to save this, though.' He gestures at the pasta. 'After I'm done with you, you're so going to need your calories.'

He quickly clears the table and drags me into his bedroom. The lights are switches on already, and dimmed, and the curtains are closed. It endears me somehow, that he has made preparations. I almost gasp when I see a very large jar of Vaseline figuring on the bedside table.

'I want you to fuck me,' he explains. From the look in his eyes, I can judge that he means it.

Oh, I want this. I want him. But I don't want to rush things. I begin to undress him. Slowly, relishing the sight of him getting naked.

'Damn it, Cedric. I thought you were hungry,' he mutters.

'Patience, my love,' I smile at him.

As I've taken off all his clothes, I usher him to the bed, so that he can see me strip from there.

'Jesus. You're a real cockteaser, you know that?' he says, when my boxer shorts fall down at my angles.

I smile when I crawl next to him. Smugly, I admit.

He kisses me urgently. As though it is the only way that can save him from drowning. When we both submerge from the water, he says, 'Fuck me now, Cedric. Please, I don't want to wait.'

I now know how to make him open for me, how to apply the right amount of Vaseline. I sit on my knees, legs spread widely. He is lying on his back, his knees bent over my thighs. The slick tip of my penis nudges at his anus. He looks at me, nods. I enter.

He moans. I still, to let him get used to the feeling of having me inside. Then I start to thrust. Slowly, but deep enough to touch his prostate.

I feel a hot rush running trough my body, melting me, turning me liquid. It feels so incredibly wonderful, a union like this. With Ian. My Ian.

'More,' he's gasping. 'Harder. Please.'

I lean in a little, grabbing hold of his penis and stroking it firmly. I thrust. Hard and fast. He's making high-pitched noises. Sounds of surrender. He tenses, and I feel his rectum contract and my hand getting wet. I love him.

I say it aloud. Then I thrust once again and shoot.

'I love you.'

He grabs my head and pulls it lower to kiss me. 'God. Cedric, I love you too.'