I could feel him hesitating. I didn't want him hesitating; I didn't want to have time to think. I wanted to ride this wave of sensation all the way out. Eyes closed, nerves still quivering in the pleasure ringing through my body, I urged, «Fuck me. Please fuck me.»

There was a dreadful little delay, cold air over my body, the slide of a drawer, a liquidy squirt. I opened my eyes. He was solemnly rubbing gel over his fingers. Lashes flickering on his cheek as he studied his slimy fingers. Oh, right. Preparation F. I closed my eyes hastily.

He moved next to me again, his hand brushing my dick. Just that accidental touch had my breath rushing in and out of my lungs, my heart pumping like mad. I scooted over to give him easy access.

He stroked and feathered, and then his well-lubed finger pushed into my tightly puckered hole. My eyes opened wide, breath catching. «Oh.»

I tried to make it sound pleased because if there's one thing I've learned both from therapy and from acting, if you pretend strongly enough and consistently enough, eventually the thing you project will become real. He smiled, but there was a little frown between his brows. «You're trembling.»

I gave him a twitchy smile. Not so bad. I could do this. It almost felt good in a too-much– sensation-crawling-through-my-guts kind of way. He slid his finger in and out in a tame parody of fucking and my breath quivered in my chest. It wasn't hurting. It felt … exciting. Alarming, but exciting. He finger fucked me gently awhile, and then said, «You want to take it to two?»

I nodded jerkily. I did. He wasn't pushing for anything more than I wanted myself.

He pressed his other finger in slowly. Sweat broke out all over my body. I bit my lip against a yelp. It wasn't that bad really, my body was accommodating him, it was just strange. So intense. So … familiar. «Relax. Try not to tense.»

I laughed unsteadily. Yeah, right. I had what felt like a steel pipe jammed up my ass and I was supposed to relax? Then he did something with his fingers and I stopped laughing. A thrill of pleasure rippled through my body. What was he doing? «How's that?» I grunted.

He did that thing with his fingers again. I moaned – even I could tell it was an encouraging moan. «This is nothing,» he said softly. «It gets a lot better than this.» I risked opening my eyes again. He was smiling, enjoying my reaction.

He knelt into the mattress, guiding my legs up to my stomach. I tucked my legs up –not a really comfortable position. I felt awkward and exposed, my butt hanging out. I didn't

know what to do with my hands. I couldn't reach him at this angle. I couldn't read his face. My heart started pounding hard with anxiety. My breath caught in my chest. His hands were big, like fetters around my ankles. His dick swung around like a cudgel, sweeping against my ass and thighs. He positioned himself, the head of his prick nudging against my anus like a torpedo lining up to fire. He prodded. A flare of pain went through me. He was too damn big.

The bigger the better, if you were a chick. Not so great for a tight-ass like me. «Wait!» I got out.

Dan waited, expressionless. A wave of cold sick panic flooded my gut. I brought my legs down and rolled away from him.

«I can't do it,» I said. Way melodramatic, crouching on the edge of the bed in this flight– or-fight response, but I was aware that by now he must be ready to throttle me.

He sat back on his haunches. No need to fight. No need for flight. He was frowning but his body was at ease. He wasn't coming after me. His voice was dispassionate. «We don't have to.» «I'm sorry.» He shook his head. Sorry was not necessary. «Not everyone likes it.» «You do, though.» Instead of answering, he said slowly, «We could try it the other way around.» «God, no!»

He gave a funny laugh. «Or not.» He reached out, touched my cheek. «It really is okay, you know.» «It's not that I don't want to …»

He got that speculative look – the very thing I wanted to avoid. «It can be painful the first few times. Especially if your partner isn't experienced.»

I shook my head. «There was no first time. No one hurt me. There's no drama here. I just – I can't explain it.»

Maybe not totally accurate. I closed my mind to the memory of my father's enraged face. The memory of spit-flecked words screamed in my face. «Gay? There's nothing gay about queers. There's nothing gay about taking it in the ass, getting butt-fucked by another queer. Men don't take it in the ass. Queers do. Are you telling me that's what you are? My only son is a queer?»

Dan said quietly, «Whatever is making you look like that, let it go. This isn't a problem for me, and I don't want it to be a problem for you.» I nodded.

A smile tugged at his mouth. «It's not like we can't find other ways to amuse ourselves.»

Sunday started out every bit as beautiful a day as Saturday. Dan and I woke up early, made love, went for a swim – although it was starting to get too chilly for swimming. Summer was truly over and autumn was in the air. I could smell the wood smoke down the beach from Mrs. Wilgi's cottage.

Dan suggested we have brunch at the Chart House, which, despite being the place in Malibu where all the tourists go, has good food, a spectacular view of the ocean and a casually romantic atmosphere. I admit I hesitated. I was a little wary about my personal life getting into the tabloids. I thought a person's private life should be exactly that, even if you were a «celebrity.» And the idea of photos of me and my gay lover in the National Enquirer or the Star took my appetite away. But I didn't want Dan to think I didn't want to be seen with him in public. More, I didn't want him to think that being with me meant he couldn't have a normal life, so I said, sure.

To my relief none of the dogs from the «Hollywood Hunt Club» lurked in the crowded parking lot. Inside, the restaurant was packed, but one of the perks of being a celebrity is that

we were seated right away. People at the crowded tables looked up and leaned over to each other as we wound our way to the table by the window. To my amusement, I realized that they were looking at Dan, wondering who he was, what they'd seen him in. Even in jeans and a sports shirt he had presence, style – not to mention striking good looks. He would never make it as an undercover cop, I thought. «What's so funny?» he asked, glancing at me over the top of his menu. I shook my head, smiling. He raised his brows and went back to his menu.

We ordered our meals, and the waitress brought our wine and warm sourdough bread crusty with garlic, thyme, and butter. I looked across the table at Dan and he was smiling. «Happy?» he asked.

And I realized I was. Very. And if that fullness in my chest meant anything, I was pretty close to falling in love.

He held his wine glass out and we clinked rims – and I didn't give a damn who saw. «Excuse me.»

I glanced up. There was a scarlet-faced kid with terrible skin hulking beside my chair.

He threw a nervous look over his shoulder at a crowded table taking up the center of the room. «Hi, my name is Sam Bowers. You came and spoke at my school last year and I just wanted to say thank you. It … meant a lot to me to …» His voice cracked nervously. «To hear about how it was for you.» I said, «You're welcome, Sam. I'm glad I could help.»

«I want to be an actor too. I've been in some school plays. This year I played Judd in Oklahoma and Iago in Othello.» «That's great.» «I got great reviews in our local paper. Well, for Judd.» I said, «That's excellent. Hang onto those clippings.»

«Everybody makes fun of me, but I don't care. They make jokes about the way I look. They call me queer bait. They're all a bunch of pricks.»

I wasn't sure what I could tell him. I hadn't been out in high school; I'd thought being dead was preferable. His courage awed me. «It gets easier as you get older. You won't care what people think.» As much.