Chapter One
Joe pulled out with a sigh and rolled away from me. His legs splayed and his cock lay limply on his right hip. He lazily moved one arm up over his head and grasped the brass rail of the bedpost stroking it in much the same way he had done to me only minutes before.
I stayed put, my left leg tucked up to my chest, my right stretched out in the same position I'd fallen into as my orgasm hit. My cock was trapped between the damp sheets and my wet belly, but I was too content to move.
I felt his hand move to my ass, gently stroking the same object he had just taken. I murmured something but I was too exhausted to actually form any words.
"You okay?" Joe asked quietly.
He knew the answer, but he always asked the question. It was tradition now, the expected end to our lovemaking.
"Well fucked," I said the words slowly. He couldn't see my face, but I was smiling.
He laughed softly then pulled me into his arms. I stretched out on his chest and yawned. He reached across me and down his fingers gathering up a glob of cum on my ass. He raised his hand to my face and offered it to me. I accepted his bounty along with his fingers that I suckled like a newborn babe. I felt his cock twitch against my leg and he murmured in contentment.
We stayed that way for some time. I felt my hole closing up after it's invasion and I squeezed my ass muscles in an attempt to help it in its quest to keep Joe's essence inside me forever.
Eventually, reluctantly, I gave him back his fingers and spoke. "What time are they going to be here?"
I played with his chest hair, hoping his answer would give me the space to fully recover. I always need quiet time after one of our early morning sessions. They always seemed more intense; the transition from sleep to passion to daily life was difficult for me. Not that I was complaining.
"About 10," he answered half asleep.
We were going to a double header at Wrigley. Baseball has never really been my thing, but I have to admit, I love the atmosphere at a ballpark, the sun, the hot dogs, and the corny organ music. Joe had been raised in a family whose love of the game seemed genetic. I had accepted that as part of the price of loving him. At least, that's how it was in the beginning. I'd never tell him, but I think that now, I almost enjoy the boys of summer, as much as he does.
It hadn't always been this easy with us. I had accepted that I was gay from puberty. Growing up had been difficult, but at least I'd never been conflicted about what I'd wanted.
Not so Joe. He had been the quintessential jock in high school, Homecoming King, captain of the football team, boyfriend of the head cheerleader. It had been his twin, Josh, who'd been the quiet, studious one who'd never dated much and was still a virgin when they'd walked down the aisle to Pomp and Circumstance at graduation. Joe had been sexually active, with girls, since he was 14.
I met him at college our freshman year. We were living in the same dorm, but we didn't know each other. He was rushing the jocks fraternity; I was the fag down the hall. It might have stayed that way if I hadn't been flunking chemistry...
October 29, 1985
Ironically, it was the labs, not the bookwork that were killing me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the experiments to come out right. My professor knew I was trying, so he took pity on me and let me come to the lab late at night when I could make my mistakes in private. It was on one of those nights that I met Joe.
I'd been attempting, again, to get some reaction right, when my hand slipped and a beaker of acid flew across the counter. To this day I swear it was a poltergeist that made it do that, or maybe it was my guardian angel. At any rate, it spilled into a hissing pool in front of me. I swore loudly and tried to stop the flow with paper towels only managing to spread the slop onto my shirt and pants and right hand.
It burned. The pain was immediate and searing and all the safety regulations, I'd been taught, were forgotten as I stared at the red angry bubbles that were forming on my palm.
"For God's sake, move!" A deep male voice yelled at my paralyzed back.
I hadn't noticed anyone come into the lab, but now I felt a hand on the back of my neck pushing me up and propelling me to the emergency shower in the corner. The next thing I knew, cool water was rushing over me, taking away the fire and leaving me so weak with relief that my knees sagged. I would have fallen if strong hands hadn't caught me at my pits and kept me upright.
"It's okay, you're going to be fine," the voice murmured over and over hypnotically as thumbs circled and stroked my shoulder blades while the rest of his fingers kept a grip on my armpits, keeping me upright, letting the cold water do its job on the burning acid.
Gradually, I came back to myself. I stood a little more steadily and the hands removed themselves. I missed them immediately and was grateful when they returned to rub my shoulders and the back of my neck in the same steady comforting way as they had held me before.
Finally, curious, I turned to look to see who my savior was, expecting my professor or a stray TA who'd been slaving away grading papers. I was shocked to find Joe Lassiter instead.
"You?" I asked stupidly.
I knew who he was of course. The University of Michigan was, and is, a football school, Joe was a high school All American and the youngest starting quarterback the school had ever had. The fact that we were winning had a lot to do with it too. Three months into the school year and it looked like we were not only Rose Bowl bound, but even had a chance of winning the damn thing. The football players were Gods and everybody knew their names even those who professed to hate the sport.
I loved the game, so of course I was up on the team. Hey, I might be gay, but I'm still a guy. And as I mentioned, I lived down the hall from Joe. I'd have had to be an invertebrate not to have known who he was.
"Hey dude," Joe chose to ignore my comment. "I think we can get you out of here now." He reached up and pulled the chain on the shower but he still kept one hand on my shoulder, still worried I might collapse on him. "Turn around so I can see how bad the damage is."
I obeyed him, in too much shock to put on a macho front and insist I was okay. He stared critically at the front of me and I followed his eyes half dreading to find out just how stupid I had been.
My shirt was shredded and ended in tatters halfway up my chest. Where the acid had touched me were big red angry streaks and a huge blister had already formed. It looked like the top of a question mark and stretched from the waistband of my jeans to just around my naval. The liquid had also sloshed down my left hip, burning a hole through my pocket and down my thigh. Fiery skin could be seen through the gaps.
Joe looked up at me quizzically.
"Those are going to have to come off," he said matter of factly. When I didn't respond he went on to explain like he was talking to child. "We need to see how bad the burn is."
I nodded mutely in agreement. He stared at me and I realized that some sort of action on my part was called for. I tried to undo the button at my waist but the movement of my right hand made me wince. Joe took my arm gently and turned my palm up.
"Oh fuck!" He whistled softly at what he saw.
There had been no material there to protect me and the paper towels I had foolishly tried to use had worked as a wick soaking my hand with the acid. The blisters I had watched forming just a few minutes ago had grown and ruptured, and my hand, which looked normal topside, was bloody meat underneath.
I looked at the mess dispassionately. Funny, it didn't hurt as much as the rest of me. Joe snapped his fingers in front of my face to get my attention.
"Do you have a car?" He asked.
