** The ad was on the fourth page of the newspaper's classified section. Small print, no header.
Dr. Ana Von Gaarten, Ph.D. is seeking stories of anal sex for a sex study. Must be personal and must be well-detailed. If the story is accepted for inclusion into the study, the writer will receive $1,000 dollars and will be required to sign a waiver for publication purposes. Send replies to P.O. Box 745, New York, New York ... **
Hey, Doc,
Just saw your ad in the paper and thought I'd send my story along to you. Hope you enjoy it.
David Burns
I was so nervous. This would be the first time that I would be seeing Michael in almost three years. After graduation, we'd gone our separate ways, I to the Peace Corps and Michael to Princeton. Since we'd grown up together, his parents, especially his mom, Robbin, sent me letters and newspaper clippings about Michael's progress. He was a member of the rowing team and did well enough to be invited to the Olympics. He would leave in six weeks and was coming home to visit before heading to Greece.
And he had specifically asked about me.
Michael had always been the man of my dreams. We'd first met in elementary school and we were two gangly towheaded boys, intent on causing as many mischievous problems as we could. Frogs in desks, peanut butter in hair, nothing was too horrible for us. As we grew older, we grew even closer, playing basketball for endless hours and I think it was between eighth and ninth grades that I started falling in love with him.
While my looks had darkened following the Sicilian side of our family, Michael remained golden and green-eyed and his scrawny body filled out marvelously. He wasn't hugely muscular but his chest had delicious grooves that delineated the flat planes of his chest and abs. His thighs thickened from rowing on the weekend with his father and he let his glorious hair grow down to his shoulders and kept it tied with a leather string.
Of course, the girls were after us in droves. My dark hair and blue eyes and Michael's golden looks insured that we weren't dateless most weekend nights but neither of us seemed inclined to have a steady girlfriend. I knew why I hadn't found one. I was gay and had known it for a long time. But I hadn't known about Michael. Until graduation night.
Two drunken eighteen-year olds discovered the joy of blow jobs and the salty-sweet taste of semen that night. I was in inebriated heaven. The image of Michael's firelight-bronzed body bent over my body with his hard cock in my mouth was the centerpiece of my masturbatory fantasies. The next morning, however, was very awkward. Michael didn't speak very much and I caught him giving me some curious looks that I couldn't read. His send-off to college was silent and his hug was stiff. Everyone laughed when I cried. Just two good boyhood friends.
But now, he was returning and he had specifically told his mother that he wanted to see me. Part of me was delirious with the thought of seeing him again, of smelling his particular mix of musk and patchouli, of seeing his smile light up his eyes. But the other part of me remembered our last meeting, the aloofness and the distance that had come between us. My heart ached recalling the uncertainty in his eyes where there once was none.
The doorbell rang and I checked my hair for the umpteenth time, then went to answer it. I didn't recognize the man who was standing on my doorstep. Michael's long waves had been shortened to a cap of curls, sides shaven and he'd gained about forty pounds of muscle. I'd grown as well, but I was more on the rangy side and still two inches shorter than him at 5'11". I stood there, not knowing what to do until he moved forward and gathered me in his arms.
"Hi, Davy."
