But he's so incredibly sweet, not a mean bone in his body, I amended. Never mean-spirited. He was sweet and gentle and kind, with never a bad word for anyone or about anything.

Almost childlike in his simplicity.

I reached out again toward the nipple, the mound of muscle lying on the rib cage. I wanted to touch his nipple, tweak it softly, pull on it a little bit, just to see what would happen, to see if he would wake.

What if he did wake to me hovering over his near-naked body? To having his nipple toyed with?

His eyes could open slowly with a slow moan, "That feels good, Jeff, I like that." And he would give me that lazy smile, the one that exposed the slightly crooked teeth, and take me by the hand and pull me onto the bed with him, using my free hand to release his huge cock from the white cotton restraints, and we would kiss as I fumbled out of my clothes until we were both naked on the coverlet, Mike rolling me over until I was on my back, my legs going up in the air as Mike spit on his hands and wet his cock, then sliding it into me, and I would open for its intrusion, its pleasure bringing hardness sliding deep inside of me until I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming, it felt so damned good, and Mike would gently rock his hips back and forth, teasing me, taunting me as he slowly slid out before plunging deeply back in, my breath coming in gasps until I could hold myself back no longer and shot a long stringy rope of come out, raindrops of white falling on my chest and stomach as Mike smiled down at me before pulling out and finishing himself off as well.

And then Mike would move in with me, in my very room. We would put in another bed for appearance's sake, but every night we would slowly undress each other before climbing into bed, kissing and caressing and loving each other, before making love and then go to sleep, and in the mornings we would wake in each other's arms, loving each other, happy and contented. We would both graduate from college and move down to LA, get a great place in the Hollywood hills, with a pool and a hot tub, and invitations to parties at the Morgan-Van Zale's would be the most sought after, the most prestigious in the West Hollywood scene. Other men, models, actors, producers, agents, directors, would try to steal Mike away from me by offering to make him a star, by offering him cars and jewelry and money, and Mike would always just smile and say, "Thank you, but no, I am in love with Jeff and can't live without him in my life." And we would grow old together, a permanent fixture in the West Hollywood social scene, me writing my books and Mike doing, well, whatever it was he wanted to do. And every night, we would share a glass of red wine before making love and going to sleep, celebrating our life together. Our love.

I smiled. It could happen that way, I thought to myself. Yeah, sure it could.

Or Mike could open his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?" he would say, shaking his head, trying to clear it from the raging hangover and the overwhelming sense that something was wrong, something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"I, uh. I . . ." I would panic, the cocaine and the pot and the alcohol rushing together in my clouded head as I tried to think of a plausible reason why I had been tugging on Mike's nipple, why I still was! I would pull my hand back as if burned.

Mike would sit up, awareness dawning on his face. "You're a fag," he would say, his beautiful eyes narrowing in disgust and hatred, his lips curling back over the crooked teeth in a sneer. "A fucking faggot! Were you going to suck my dick next?" And then aware that he was only in his underwear, he would shove me back and away, with me falling backwards, hitting the wall with a thump loud enough to wake everyone else in the house as Mike grabbed for his pants and pulled them on, his voice rising as he continued to rant. "A fucking fag! Beta Kappa, some fucking fraternity! Are you all butt brothers? Is that what this place is? A fucking faggot recruitment center?"

Voices in the hall, pounding on the door, Mike pulling his sweater over his head.

"Mike, please-" I would beg from the floor, unable to move, unable to do anything as Mike opened the door and other fraternity brothers came into the room, and told them what I had been doing, and my carefully protected life, the one of acceptance and fraternity and friendship that I had worked so long and so hard to build, would be gone as Mike screamed at them that Jeff was a fag, Jeff was a fag, Jeff was a fag.

"He's lying ..." I would try to say, but the words clogged in my throat, wouldn't come out, and then my brothers were turning to look at me, and my best friend, my closest friends, Chris and Eric would have to play along, their faces twisted with loathing and hatred and contempt as they spat the word out, "Fag."

I finished the soda and stood up. I looked down at Mike and then peered through the curtains. The sun was coming up.

I reached out and shook Mike's shoulder. "Mike."

Mike's eyes opened and his mouth worked slowly. "Jeff? What the-"

"I let you sleep in my room, but it's time for you to get back home." I smiled as I spoke the words slowly, softly, gently. "The worst thing in the world is for a pledge to be in the house the morning after Big Brother Night." I bent down and picked up Mike's clothes from the floor and handed them to him.

Mike stood up and rubbed his eyes. "I feel like shit."

"Go on home and get some sleep."

Mike yawned and stretched, muscles flexing and contracting all over his body. I turned my head.

I couldn't watch, not anymore.

Mike pulled his clothes on in an agony of movement, tied his shoes and gave me a hug. "Thanks for watching out for me."

"What are big brothers for? Come on by tonight and I'll take you out for a nice dinner."

Mike smiled. "Thanks, Jeff."

The door closed behind him. I got another soda and walked over to the window. I stood there until Mike came out the door, and watched him walk away down the sidewalk. My right hand made a fist, and I gently pounded the window with it twice as he watched.

Then, I undressed. I slid beneath the sheets. I could smell Mike's presence there, and the sheets were still warm from Mike's body.

I'm tired of not being who I am, I thought. I'm tired of hiding who I am from everyone.

With a rush of sudden clarity, everything became plain to me.

I walked back over to my desk and sat down hard, reaching for my bong.

That was what went wrong for me in Palm Springs.

I heard Blair saying again to Bianca that he couldn't do the movie because it might affect his future career as an actor. I thought back to that night, to that party. Why had I agreed to make the movie? It wasn't just the money, even though that was what I told myself that night. It was really because I was going to be recorded on film having sex with another man-there was going to be a public record that I was a gay man. Anyone who wanted, from that moment on, to find out that I was gay could do so if they tried hard enough, if they knew where to look. And that's what changed things with Blair. Making that movie was freeing for me. I felt like I was finally showing the world who I was ... and after it was over I went back next door with Blair and back to our hidden relationship. We loved each other, but we were keeping it a secret.

And that was why things had changed between us, that was why I didn't care so much anymore.

I was in love with him, and he with me, but we were in hiding.

My entire life was a lie.

The only time I ever felt like I was being honest was when I was doing that stupid movie.