That's Why, Lee

[Guest BareSkin95]

I made it back to work yesterday.  Thanks to the long holiday weekend, I only missed two days because of the fuck flu so far.  I told my co-workers that I decided at the last minute to join my family at our summer cabin and needed extra time for all the driving.  They bought it, except HR knows I called in sick.  I can't have my co-workers knowing the real situation.  Meanwhile, everyone noticed that I lost weight and still look pale.  I blamed it on food poisoning, which is believable for how Mom cooks sometimes.  Luckily, I got the code for a men's room on an unleased floor in my building because I am still dealing with the occasional runs from the fuck flu.  It's up two flights of stairs but I have made it there okay when I needed it.    

Anyway, a summer intern named Lee has been flirting with me ever since he arrived.  I was tempted many times, but HR is constantly reminding us to not sexually harass the summer interns.  Don't flirt back, don't touch and don't fuck.  The comprehensive list of don'ts from HR has never covered giving the interns an STI or HIV, but maybe that goes without saying.  I have always been very careful to not even come close to the line, but things feel different now that I am Poz or at least seroconverting.  

So, when Lee comes into my office wearing one of my favorite outfits I let him stay and talk.  He's wearing a polo and khakis, with perfectly matched brown belt and polished oxfords.  He's compact at 5-7, 130.  According to the jeans that he wears on casual Fridays, he has a 30-inch waist, but those jeans fit him loose.  I'm sorry, I've gotten close enough long enough to satisfy my need to know.  But today Lee is in flawlessly ironed khakis and a polo.  The reason that this is my favorite outfit for him is that the polo is a shade of blue that perfectly matches his baby blue eyes.  Lee has dark brown hair that slants down across his forehead, and thick eyebrows that sit above his baby blues.  Lee's hair is always cut just right so that it is undeniably a man's cut but still shows the fullness and rakishness of youth.  

Lee has a gentle look despite having a prominent nose one size too large for his face and somewhat full lips.  He's 25 and has subtle laugh lines that appear when he holds his lips just right, which is quite often.  He has flawless, snow white teeth.  I can see from his bare forearms and the smooth skin that lies behind the unbuttoned opening of his impressive polo collection that he has a smooth body. His skin is light but not pale.  As though he once had a tan that should have left him a few days ago but that couldn't bear the sadness of separation. He also has two o'clock shadow that never leaves his face.  A beard that doesn't dare overwhelm any of the other fine features of Lee's face.  I bet he only shaves once a week even though he is 25.  And yet the stubble clock is permanently set to 2:00pm.  Or could it be 2:00am if I was able and allowed to take him to bed?  But it's always the baby blue eyes that stop me short.  Soft and gentle, quietly soliciting your gaze and encouraging you to see the mature young man as a growing boy awaiting your kind guidance.  I once had to ask Google Maps for directions back to reality after getting lost in Lee's eyes.  

But there is Lee was standing in front of my desk.  I've made him stand in that exact spot during every visit to my office.  Never gesturing for him to sit, and never encouraging him to come around to my side of the desk.  Lee has tried many times to obtain permission to move from his assigned spot, but I never yield.  Lee will tell me that he went for a run and his legs are so tired.  No, no sitting.  Lee will ask me to show him something on my computer screen.  No, no coming around.  You can see just fine from there, and I don't want you to see this bulge in my pants.  Lee has a concerned look on his face, and his eyes appear anxious for assurance that I am okay.  

Instead of seeking confirmation of a forbidden mutual attraction, his eyes seek to draw more information out of me than I have given my co-workers.  Lee asks many questions.  Slowly.  One by one.  Listening carefully to every answer.  Laying on a smile for encouragement and letting some of his Tennessee drawl charm me into giving more details.  Of course, I have no choice but to continue the lie about the summer cabin and food poisoning.  Everything I tell Lee is true in one way or the other, it’s just something that happened on another summer weekend.  Lee has his Vanderbilt coffee mug in his hand.  I never let him in my office long enough to drink from it.  But now he is slowly inching it to his lips, then holding it with both hands and sipping.  He squints as the hot coffee hits his tongue, and looks me right in the eyes.  Oh fuck, I was staring.  Lee swallows, and lowers the mug.  My own Wisconsin mug is on my desk, empty.  

Do you want some?  Lee is holding the Vanderbilt mug out, gesturing.  Oh, you little fuck.  I tell Lee that I don't want to get him sick, but he says it will be fine, telling me to take just a little sip from "my" side of his mug.  You brazen whore, now I have my own side of your mug?  The mug is too full to hand across the desk, so I tilt my head to the side and raise my upturned hands - acquiescing to Lee's previously unrequited longing to come around to my side of the desk.  Lee offers me the mug.  I place one hand on the bottom, but I have to use the handle because it is so hot.  My fingers wrap around the back of Lee's hand.  It's soft and smooth.  Lee slowly releases the handle and pulls his hand to his side.  I cup the side of the mug exactly as Lee did.  And I squint as I take another long journey into the depths of his baby blue eyes.  I keep hold of the mug when I lower it, and I begin to run my index finger around the rim.  Slowly.  Back and forth.  Lee is leaning against the wall.  He clears his throat.  Oh, here's your coffee back.  Lee repeats his sipping ritual, and then treats the mug to the same rimming ritual that I displayed for him.  

Hey Andrew, you know you've promised to take me to lunch.  My summer ends soon because I have to intern at another firm, too.  Us interns are supposed to have lunch with as many people as possible in the office. I'm falling behind. Maybe today would be good?  You manipulative bastard.  You know you have me.  I can't let you fall behind, Lee.  Meet me in the downstairs lobby at 11:30. The power play would have been to make Lee come get me at 11:30, and then leave him waiting outside my office.  But I am happy to skip over that play in favor of the prospect of something more pleasant.  Lee straightens himself up and thanks me for agreeing to lunch.  He turns and walks out of my office, with my eyes on his splendid ass every step of the way.  Sitting alone, I ask myself what the fuck am I doing?  Right, I'm Poz now.  I am doing what I want to do.  

Bar Siena is the place that I choose for lunch.  It’s easy enough to get a last-minute reservation, has some menu options that are sufficiently expensive for an expense account, and the tables are far enough apart to not be overheard if the conversation strays into the red zone.  I only had to deal with the runs once all morning, so I felt confident at lunch time.  It was nice out.  I grabbed my sunglasses and the Cubs hat off the hook on the back of my office door on the way out in case Lee wanted to walk to Bar Siena.  Lee was waiting in the lobby.  He saw the Cubs hat and sunglasses in my hand and asked: How did you know?  What do you mean?  I scored the Cubs tickets that Ed offered on email if you have time and want to go. 

The little fuck must have seen the Cubs hat on one of his many visits to my office, or asked around.  I explained a few things to Lee.  First, we should have left earlier if we were going to have lunch and make game time.  Second, I have work to catch up on.  Third, I am still not feeling great.  Lee thought that he had the answers: We can Uber up to Wrigleyville and eat at Chicago Diner.  It’s quick and I can get us a booth.  I’m sorry you’re not feeling super great, but we don’t have to stay for the whole game.  Lee delivers all of this with a smile, sparkle and layers of southern charm.  Who told Lee that I like the Chicago Diner?  His plan is almost perfect, except I have inside information that even Lee would not know.  So now I get to explain: Ed loves those seats and he knows everyone that sits in every seat in that section.  He will be pissed off if we leave early because he could have given the tickets to a true fan otherwise.  Lee frowns.  Well, if you can’t go to the game I can find another intern and we’ll put the tickets to proper use.  He reaches out and lightly touches my forearm: But I really wanted to go with you.  Okay.  Here’s the deal.  If I need to leave early, you have to promise to stay at least until the Seventh Inning Stretch.  Lee smiles and nods. 

I text my afternoon plans to my secretary from the Uber, at least the part about lunch and the Cubs.  I don’t have any other plans in mind for Lee, but my mind is filled with possibilities.  I notice in the Uber that Lee has a manbag with him.  What’s in there?  Lee shows me a Cubs hat and t-shirt (both gifts from the firm), sunglasses and sunscreen.  Well, isn’t that special?  The bitch is prepared.  We climb out of the Uber just north of Roscoe and Halsted in front of Chicago Diner.  Lee takes the lead, and we are greeted by a skinny, tall blond kid that must be his connection for the booth.  That’s a very friendly hug and quite the friendship kiss right on the lips.  The booth is perfect, next to the door away from the noise of the kitchen. 

Lunch goes by like most of these summer intern lunches except that Lee has many more follow-up questions about my life and career.  Every question reveals to me how much effort Lee has taken to learn about me.  I’m flattered, but I can’t reciprocate.  The only information that I know about Lee is what the firm provided on his summer intern bio – plus his waist size, which I spied on my own.  I had purposely decided not to poke around for more information because I didn’t want to tempt myself and tiptoe my way into something inappropriate.  No, better to leave it alone.  Until my change of status emboldened me to return Lee’s flirtation this morning.  There’s no time for dessert, but I get some eye candy when we step back out onto Halsted.  Lee excuses himself, steps into a little alley and peels off the polo.  Smooth from neckline to waistline and nipple to nipple.  Not even a treasure trail, and no pit hair.  I watch in awe as Lee retrieves the Cubs t-shirt, stows the polo, then dons the t-shirt.  Lee managed to remain shirtless for the longest possible time during that wardrobe change, doubtless for my benefit. 

All of my Cubs shirts are at home, I tell Lee.  Pounce.  Do you live nearby?  We could stop!  No time.  We get through security and to our seats just after the National Anthem.  I’ve used Ed’s tickets before, and some of his buddies recognize me.  The man seated next to Lee is particularly talkative today, but he engages me only as an excuse to draw Lee into a conversation.  I’ve had a crush on this guy forever.  His name is Caleb.  He inherited two seats from his uncle.  He’s dark-haired with a light beard.  5-9, 140.  According to his Grindr profile (which kills me when it says he practically no feet away but I am getting nowhere), he’s 28, partnered, on PrEP and a versatile top.  I guess I’m not his type because the most I have ever gotten out of him is a Hello.  I wouldn’t even dare to approach him on Grindr just to have him reject me or rat me out to Ed as a faggot.  What I know from real life at Wrigley is that he has a great chest with dark hair that makes a cross up and down the center and across from the end of one nipple to the other.  He has a large written tattoo on his left pec that says Know Thyself in a masculine, stylish script.  Caleb’s shirt comes off at the top of the third inning.  Caleb tells the story of the tattoo in endless detail.  Go Fuck Thyself, Caleb.  He’s here with me.  This sucks.  Lee is getting hit on, and the Cubs are losing.  Caleb wants to know if Lee has a tattoo.  No.  If you were to get one, where would want it?  There goes Lee’s shirt, and with it my prospects for scoring with him.  All the better, I really don’t need to be knocking up a summer intern.  Even one with Lee’s lean, hairless, glistening torso. 

Then things turn around.  Lee tells Caleb that he thinks I would look sexy with a tattoo on my chest.  What?  Did he say sexy?  Is he trying to send a message to Caleb to cool it, or to me to heat it up?  Lee continues: But Andrew would never do that because he’s Jewish.  What?  Now that is freaky.  None of my professional bios reveal my religion even though there are some volunteer positions that I could disclose.  And how does he know that Judaism forbids tattoos?  But, hey Andrew, if you could get one, what would it be?  I want to say a biohazard symbol.  But I say Leviticus 19:28, and explain that that is the scripture that says to not etch yourself.  Lee laughs, and I think that even Caleb is impressed with this flash of wit.  Lee wants to know where the tattoo would go.  Show me, he says.  I’m not taking my shirt off here. 

If any of Ed’s friends are listening to us, we are so fucking outed already.  I don’t want to make it worse.  Lee runs a finger horizontally across my abdomen, just above my shirt but not touching me. I bet it would be here.  You’re crazy, Lee.  On my chest, but it’s too hairy for a tattoo and not hairy enough to be sexy.  Now I’m using the word.  Lee offers to buy me a beer if I take off my shirt and show him.  I haven’t had a drink since I came down with the fuck flu.  It’s hot.  And the beer guy in this section always serves ice cold beer.  Lee motions Sammy over.  Three Bud Lights get poured.  Lee won’t hand me mine until my shirt is off.  There I am.  Pale.  Skinny.  Hairy in patches.  Caleb is manly.  Lee is suave.  And I am unremarkable. 

God damn, this beer tastes good.  Condensation drips onto my chest and droplets snake their way along the irregular path of hair down toward my midsection.  Lee tells me not to spill.  Dude, I am ready to spill, and I haven’t even touched you yet.  John Jay ties the games for the Cubs in the Sixth Inning.  Do I want another beer before sales end?  I decline, but Caleb buys a second round for himself and Lee.  That’s cool.  I no longer feel rejected, intimidated or threatened by Caleb.  Fuck it.  Lee likes me.  And why would I want to fuck a guy on PrEP anyway?  Ian Happ gives the Cubs the lead in the Seventh Inning, and a great day at Wrigley ends with fans flying the W.  We stand to go, and Caleb high fives Lee and even me to celebrate the victory.  Alright, Dude, I guess I would fuck you or even let you do me – but that’s not happening. It’s cool.  No wonder Ed likes you, you’re nice.  We get our shirts on and shuffle out of the park.  Caleb gets lost in the crowd, so its’s just Lee and I as we pour out onto Waveland. 

The crowd is thinning enough for us to easily stay together, but also thick enough for us to get separated if we’re not careful.  Who the fuck is putting their hand into my hand?  I’ve walked out of Wrigley hundreds of times.  But the only time I ever did it with another man’s hand in mine is when I came to the park with my grandfather.  Lee the rookie leads the way, guiding us through the crowd heading east on Waveland where the crowd thinned quickly after the intersection with Sheffield.  You can let go of my hand now, Lee. But we stroll along Waveland hand in hand.  Lee says he’s hungry again.  We can get something at Whole Foods and eat there or go back to his place.  Lee tells me that his building is just a few blocks north of Whole Foods.  My own building is only a few blocks east.  I am shocked to learn that we live so close together but I have never seen him on the bus, until I realize that he must take the Red Line train because it is a shorter walk from his building. 

I struggle with the hot food and salad bars at Whole Foods, trying to find something that looks good.  My appetite is still way down from the fuck flu.  Lee helps by filling my bowl with a helping of whatever he puts in his own bowl.  I follow him from station to station until Lee determines that we have enough food.  I look toward the bottled juices and water display, but Lee tells me that he has drinks at his place.  Oh, so we are eating at you place?  I pay, and we exit Whole Foods heading north.  It’s too early for Lee’s flatmate to be home, but he’ll probably arrive soon.  Lee says its oaky, that his flatmate is cool and they both have guests over whenever they want.  It’s a beautiful two-bedroom, two-bath rental on a high floor.  Immaculate.  Lee’s flatmate has the master, but Lee’s bedroom is right next to the guest bath and he has that to himself most of the time.  We sit at the long kitchen counter and eat.  Lee is three years older than me, but he has no experience working at a large firm.  He has lots of questions.  But mostly he’s troubled that I’m not out at work.  I try to explain that I’m neither out nor in, and that my private life is disclosed on a need to know basis.  Lee thinks that sounds fucked up. 

What about your sex life, is that also on a need to know basis?  What?  Lee is grinning and his eyes have a devilish squint, leaving just enough of the baby blues exposed to reflect the afternoon sun into my own dark eyes.  He got me.  The banter is unnerving.  I have learned one bit at a time since we met for lunch that Lee knows more about me than I know about him.  Lot’s more.  Lee gets quiet, and looks down at his empty dinner bowl.  Mine is barely touched.  He opens his mouth to speak, but sticks his fork in it instead.  Sucking on that upside-down fork seems to help his thought process.  Then he tells me: You should go.  I shrug, stand, straighten my shirt and place my hand on Lee’s shoulder.  Hey, thanks for a great afternoon.  Lee bends his arm up and places his hand on mine.  He’s red in the face.  Andy, wait!  Nobody from the office calls me Andy.  Ever.  I use Andrew in all of my professional bios, even on Grindr. 

I know you didn’t go to the cabin this weekend, Andy.  And I know why you had to lie.  Lee spins his stool around and looks up at me. Our hands are still atop each other on his shoulder.  Then he looks down again, this time at our stocking feet.  My stomach is in knots and I think I will throw up.  The kitchen sink is right there in the counter where we were eating, so I choose that as the receptacle just in case.  Or maybe the bathroom, but where was it again?  Lee leans his head into my chest.  This is hard, he says.  I read about Bjorn are the next words out of his mouth.  More words follow, muffled as Lee speaks into my chest and drowned out as 100 thoughts stream through my mind.  Eventually, all voices quiet.  You know you can access the site without even having a profile, right?  Your picture is right on the front fucking page, Andy.  Shouldn’t you be more careful?  Can you tell me why you did it, Andy?  I know what Lee is asking. I respond: Didn’t you read that post, too? I can’t say it out loud to him. I’m a victim.  I want to be like my heroes that have HIV or AIDS, or have died or will soon die from an AIDS illness.  But I say: It’s just me, Lee. 

Lee’s response startles me: It’s me, too.  Come on Lee, no it’s not.  Why not?  You’re not the only one, he says and then continues: So why did you fuck that dorky guy without a second thought, but you hesitated with Bjorn?  The dork was just a trick looking for a risky thrill.  I fell for Bjorn.  I don’t know what I would have done if Mark hadn’t told me Bjorn was chasing.  Lee asks me: Would you have bred him?  I don’t know.  I probably would have let Mark do it.  I’m sure he would have. He did me.  Then Lee bursts out: Oh God damn it.  Well, it doesn’t matter because I’m on PrEP.  So can we just fuck already?  I tell Lee to show me his Truvada.  He goes to the master bedroom and returns with a bottle.  Let me see.  You can see fine without holding it.  I have to pry the bottle from Lee’s hands.  Unless your name is Roger, these aren’t yours, Lee. 

Lee slowly walks back into the master, dragging his feet.  When he returns, he looks at me forlorn.  He is sad and disappointed.  Disheartened.  We sit on the barstools facing each other, both of our hands in each other’s hands.  I’m miserable for him, but I’m not infecting him.  No fucking way.  I’ll sit here and listen, then I’ll leave.  He can find Mark or somebody else on Grindr.  Whatever.  Wherever.  Whoever.  Whom the fuck ever.  Not me.  What’s wrong with me?  Why did I do it to Bjorn?  Or even the dork for that matter?  Oh wait, Lee’s talking.  Can you repeat that?  So, Lee basically had already said out loud once what he now had to repeat so I can hear him this time.  With practice having said it once, Lee sat up with confidence and spoke with clarity – and with his baby blue eyes trained on me with unyielding intensity.  All I want is to carry one man’s love inside me for the rest of my life, Andy.  I want to share a destiny with a man who has touched me like he loves me.  We don’t have to be together forever.  We don’t even have to be together ever again.  But I want to be together with a man forever.  When I die, why should it be for any reason less than that? 

I got caught up in the moment with Bjorn, and I’m not sure that I should have.  I’m going to be more careful.  I’m standing my ground.  My dick is staying in my pants.  Lee goes on: I know you like me.  I’m not sexy like Bjorn or Caleb, but I’ve seen you return my glances so many times.  I would never have done anything if I didn’t read what I saw online yesterday.  Plus, learning that you are Poz and reading about how you are dealing with it made me feel even closer to you.  But I respect you, Andy.  I don’t want you to do something to me that you’re not sure about yet. 

Shit, my hands are shaking in Lee’s hands.  Lee’s trying to make it easy for me to leave, and that’s making it impossible for me to go.  When you say forever, does that mean no meds?  Lee thinks.  I don’t know, Andy. I would have to decide that when the time comes.  Lee’s honesty unbalances me.  The illness, the beer, being in the sun.  All of the emotions of the last few weeks.  I would have been on the floor if Lee didn’t leap up and catch me in his arms, knocking over his barstool.  Wow, Buddy, come lay down.  Lee walks me to his bedroom and closes the door.  The room is dim and cool, but I am sweaty. Lee guides me into the bed, and pulls off my shirt and socks.  He leaves his own on, but lays down in front of my, fitting his 5-7 frame back against my 6-1 bundle of mixed emotions. 

I awake in darkness to a soft snoring.  Lee is out cold.  He’s had a rough day, I suppose.  It’s hard being a summer intern.  I run my hand up his chest, inside his shirt.  Firm.  Smooth.  Gently rising and falling.  Lee pushes himself harder into me, still sound asleep.  I think as hard as I can.  It’s the Seventh Inning Stretch.  Either I hit some runs or I take the loss.  But what does it mean to fly the W when I’m Poz and Lee is Neg?  Does he really know what he wants or is asking for?  Still asleep, Lee’s feet rub against my own.  He’s still wearing his socks.  Well, maybe I should remove his since he removed mine.

I kneel at the end of the bed, facing Lee’s feet.  The first sock is carefully removed, exposing Lee’s bare foot.  The sock smells of sweat.  I kiss the sole of Lee’s foot. It tastes of sweat.  Then the other foot, again smelling and tasting of Lee’s hard, sweaty day at the office and ballgame.  Lee has little feet, and they’re hairless.  I imagine that his entire body must be hairless until I run my hand up his calves inside his pants and feel some soft hairs.  Lee rolls onto his back and opens his legs, bending them up slightly to confirm the invitation.  He removes his shirt, loosens his belt and unbuttons his khakis.  Then his hands rest on his flat, firm abdomen.  I unzip Lee, place my thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, and pull down until the crumpled ball of clothing requires that I finish the removal by pulling down from the ends of the pant leg openings.  Lee assists, and his pants are on the floor.  He is smooth everywhere I can see except for his calves.  His thighs are impossibly smooth, and laying against his right thigh is a thick piece of uncut meat atop a big set of hairless balls. 

I stand up and remove my own pants and underwear, freeing a raging 6.5 inch hardon that is striving to get to 7.0 but never, ever will.  Lee turns onto his stomach.  He flexes his glutes, dimpling the sides of his ass.  We’ve had plenty of pregame festivities, mostly emotional.  Lee is ready for the first pitch, and for that I will head to the mounds.  I pull his ass apart and see that there is hair on his midsection after all.  Lee shaves his pits and crotch and who knows where else, but apparently doesn’t have the nerve to take a blade or buzzer to the on-deck circle.  I can’t fuck him without eating him first.  It looks too succulent.  He smells of sweat and stinks like a bathroom stall at Wrigley after a few innings of play.  And he tastes better than a ballpark frank with mustard and pickle, never ketchup.  Now I’m hungry.  I lap at his anus and lick it.  It’s a big slit on a small guy, taking a wide stance to catch whatever pitch crosses the plate.  Lee grinds his asshole into my face.  He swirls his butt and puckers his hole.  My hands knead his buttocks and my tongue needs to go as deep into the bullpen as I dare go.  My tongue curls and his asshole sucks me in.  Lee is practically fucking himself with my tongue. 

The warmup ends as I crawl on my knees further up in between Lee’s legs, which he parts even further to accept me.  Lee’s hands are at his side, palms upturned.  Lee leaves it to me to take him as I so desire.  I spit on the head of my dick, and I spit into my hand and work the wet into my shaft.  My cockhead rests at Lee’s entrance, and he sucks my dick in just like he sucked my tongue in.  But now I can go as deep as my regulation-size bat will go.  One smooth swing deep into Lee’s warm, moist receptacle.  And he grinds, and he bucks, and he fucks himself from below up onto my bare cock.  I spit some more when I can, but little more is needed.  I am able to slide into home and back out again over and again.  The fit, the motion and the friction work together to turn a single into a double into a triple on the way back into home.  But no runs are on the board yet. 

I stay inside Lee’s Neg ass as I move onto my side, feeling him match my movements with the right motions of his own to keep us connected and position us for another inning of Poz on Neg play.  Lee raises his right leg and hooks his arm behind his knee, expanding the playing field for me.  I wrap my arm around Lee’s taut chest and squeeze his nipples, first one then the other.  Again, Lee fucks himself into me.  He is working it like an All-Star.  My hesitation about Pozzing him is gone.  He wants his spot on the team, and I want to give it to him.  I’m afraid that if I don’t cum soon I will never cum at all.  But I can’t do it until I kiss Lee.  He said that he wants to be touched like he is loved.  Are you reading this, Lee?  I love you.  That’s why I kissed you on one side of your neck and then slid my arm under the other side of your neck and let the palm of my hand find its way to your cheek, to pull turn and pull your face into mine for our lips to touch.  The lips that shared your Vanderbilt mug.  The lips that exchanged nervous smiles for weeks before you discovered something about me that brought us together for a night of love.  Your lips on mine, Lee.  My lips on yours.  Your tongue where mine usually is, and my tongue hunting inside your mouth for a fresh flavor of sin.  Surely sin is in you, as it is in me.  That’s why I learned that you squint when you kiss just like you squint when you sip coffee.  And even in the dark, your beautiful blue eyes radiate warmth like the sun reflecting off the gentle waves of Lake Michigan and the wind sends the sailboats into harbor. 

That’s why my hand found its way down past your shaved pubic area to your erection and slowly massaged you while we stayed entangled and enmeshed. I think that’s why your orgasm overflowed my hand with semen and my own cock burst inside you.  Am I right?  That’s why I finally had to speak up and tell you to take it: Take my Poz cock, Lee.  Take my Poz load.  Take my Forever Gift.  I want you to have it.  And I fucked it into you so that it would never leave.  That’s why we slumped down into the bed and slept until my hand was glued to your penis and my own penis was glued to the inside of your ass.  That’s why I found out exactly what the 2:00am stubble feels like on your handsome face.  And Lee, that’s why when I walked home in the coolness and dark of night, I understood for the first time in a long time why men love men.  Damn it, I have to stop falling in love with the tricks – it’s too hard!

Please don’t tell anybody that we fucked! Or even flirted.  Sorry, I changed your name up a little bit in this post to protect the guilty.  -Andy

[Guest BS97]

35 minutes ago, ChasingAIDS said:

It’s hard being a summer intern.

Hard work always pays off in the end, right?  I might have to reread this one on the plane back from Amsterdam, Andy.  

[Guest BS94]

48 minutes ago, ChasingAIDS said:

I try to explain that I’m neither out nor in, and that my private life is disclosed on a need to know basis.  Lee thinks that sounds fucked up. 

We need to know lots more, Andy.  Please!  I'll buy you a beer, too. -Tyler

[einathens]

"All I want is to carry one man's love inside me for the rest of my life."  

Fukkin beautiful, the perfect explanation.

[Guest BS94]

12 hours ago, einathens said:

Fukkin beautiful, the perfect explanation.

Very true, einathens -- and well said by you, Sir.  That's why I decided to open my legs, open my heart and let it all in.  

[thomassdca]

I understand this kind of love. The love of sharing hiv with someone you care about. So beautiful. So wonderful that he wanted it from you.

[negparis]

WOW. Just wow.

It's masterfully written. And you paint it so beautifully, it makes me want to be Lee. Or Björn. It makes me want IT.

[Tdgr]

Woof 

[Guest GoodExercise]

On 7/6/2017 at 4:34 PM, ChasingAIDS said:

My dick is staying in my pants.

It's hard to do!