Expecting to find Thommy still in the kitchen, I was surprised to find that room and the spare room empty. Instead, I found him stripping my bed. "What are you doing, kiddo?" I asked.

"I don't want to sleep on dirty sheets. I'll take these to the laundromat. I'll pay."

"Why would you want to sleep with me at all? Thommy, I don't understand. I really don't. Do you want to punish me? Is that it?"

"Is it so awful to have me in bed with you?"

"No, of course not. What's awful is that you won't let me touch you, not really touch you. You want me next to you but you won't let me make love to you. I have needs, too."

"Yeah, and you have Rob to take care of them. I bet he's good, at least for a Bert."

"Thommy," I said, "you're being a real prick, and I don't know why. But just leave the sheets where they are. There's nothing wrong with the bed in the other room. I think you'll be more comfortable there."

He actually whimpered. "Please, Simon, oh, please. No, no." He started to reach for me, but wound his arms around himself instead and bent over slightly as though he had a stomach cramp. "You don't understand. I'm so scared." He crumpled to the floor, pushing his forehead into the mattress. "I'll be good," he whined. "Just don't make me be alone. Please, Simon, oh, please. If you love me."

I was dumbfounded. Also suspicious. The boy could put on an act. I still thought that he might have conned me so that he could move in. But I had never suspected that he was afraid of anything. If he was pretending, he was giving a first-class performance. I sat down on the bed and stroked his disordered hair and the back of his neck.

"Thommy," I started. "No, kiddo, you're going back to being Herb for a while, Herb from the Michigan sugar beet farm. Do you hear me, Herb?"

He nodded.

"Okay, then. I love Thommy like a lover, but I love Herb like a younger brother, and I want to help him. If you're hurting, I'll try to make it better, but I can't if I don't know what the problem is. Sit up here and explain how you can be scared. In my book, you've got nothing to be scared of, nothing at all."

The boy lifted his head and looked up at me. "If I tell you, Simon, will you promise not to laugh at me? And not to tell anyone else so they can laugh. Nobody, not Rob, nobody."

Suddenly, he was 11, maybe 12 years old. The blotchiness of his face had subsided, but there were still tear tracks on it, and he looked as if he should blow his nose. I reached for the Kleenex on the bedside table and handed him a couple. He hoisted himself from the floor to sit next to me. "Promise?" he asked again.

"I promise, Herb. Whatever it is, no one will ever hear it from me."

"Thank you, Simon." Kind of prim, formal. He took a deep breath and stared across the room. "Before you let me move in with you," he pushed the words out slowly, "I kept having this awful dream. But now I don't. When you're next to me, I don't dream at all, and so I can handle the rest." He stopped. I waited. He wouldn't look at me, but he wouldn't go on, either.

"That's not enough, Herb." I rested my hand on his lower back. "What's the dream about? And what do you mean, 'handle the rest'?"

"Getting eaten!" He yelped and swiveled away from me. "It hurts, and it goes on and on. People eating parts of me, my ears, my fingers, sometimes a whole arm, or they scoop out my eyes. And I can't stop them, Simon. I feel the teeth, but it's as if I'm dead. I can't move or speak or anything. And sometimes, I only wake up when all of me is gone."

He swiveled again, but this time right into me. His arms went around my neck and he seemed to want to crawl into my lap, a very frightened little boy. I held onto him until he stopped shuddering. "Jesus, Herb," I finally said, "nobody would ever laugh at a nightmare like that."

"But you won't tell. You promised."

"I won't. Kiddo, have you had the dream a long time?"

"It started in college. But it's gotten worse here. Sometimes … before you… before you showed me about love, it was every night."

"Have you thought of seeing someone, a professional?"

"I did. There are counselors at NYU, but the guy just told me that I had typical, mild castration anxiety and I should try to get laid and the dream would go away."

"Maybe he was right. Sex can do funny things to your mind. And no sex, well, I guess it can, too."

"But Simon, it isn't about sex. In the dream, these people never touch me down there. They just want to chew off parts of me and take them away. It's what happens to me a lot with real people. I don't understand it, but I can handle it."

"Whoa there, Herb. Hold up. What happens to you with real people."

"They try to take parts of me, too. All kinds of people. I try to be nice, but it doesn't stop them. It's as if they want some of me to rub off on them."

"Who? Give me some examples."

"It happens all the time. People wanting me, wanting me real bad. Sometimes, it's even sort of fun, like all the gay guys who wanted to dance with me last night. But usually it's awkward or worse. The old lady I used to live with, for instance. She'd have me come sit by her bed and just hold my hand and look at me. It was creepy, like she thought I could make her young again or something. And at the audition, too."

"They made a pass at you?"

"No, it wasn't about sex. At least, I don't think so. The head producer was a woman, and she thought I was gay. Otherwise, why was I trying for a gay part, right? But she wanted me to tell her all about who I was, where I came from, what I wanted to do, and every time I'd say something, she'd say that was just the way she was, too, or had been, or wanted to be. She didn't even stay in the room when they made me walk around in my underwear, but she was trying to soak up my life, I guess, so she could take it home with her. It made me real uncomfortable."

"But it's flattering, too, Herb, isn't it? It means you have an appeal - sex appeal, little-boy appeal, whatever. It gets people on your side. Professionally, that's got to be great for you. I don't see why you can't just enjoy it."

"What's going to happen when I lose it, Simon?" He had stopped clutching me, but now he took both my hands in his. "Do you think about that? I think about it all the time. Simon, all those needy people. They drain me. Some morning, I'm going to look in the mirror, and all the juice will be gone."

"Herb, do you remember asking me if I thought you were too good-looking?"

"Yeah. That was just before we did it the first time."

"Why did you ask that question? Do you think it's sinful to be a hunk?"

He smiled. Kind of a thin smile. "I had a grandmother," he said. "She was always telling me, 'handsome is as handsome does.' She never thought I'd amount to much. She said I was vain, that it wasn't healthy to care about myself so much."

"Is she in the dream?"

"No. Well, I don't know. They - the people who chew me up - don't have faces, at least not faces I can make out. They're just people who want part of me."

"And you don't want any of them?"

"I don't know them. How could I want them?"

"Who do you want, really want?"

He cringed. "Oh, Simon, this sounds awful, I know, but I don't really want anybody. Except you. You've been wonderful to me, and you're not like the others. You give, but you don't take. Eldon was really wrong about you."

"Eldon?"

"Your brother, step-brother. Remember? He said you were bitter and that you didn't know how to be loving. But that's not true. You've been totally loving with me. I wish I could be that way."

"What makes you think you're not, kiddo? I couldn't feel this way about you if you weren't lovable. When you gave me those roses and that meal, that was incredibly nice and romantic."

"I was thanking you, Simon. And then, remember, I fucked you right afterwards. I try to pay for what I get, Simon, but I take. I don't give. Not the way you do. You feel love. I don't feel much at all except when people try to squeeze me. That's how I think of it. Then I feel nervous."

"Maybe you just haven't found the right person yet to love, Herb. But you will, I promise. What about your girl in college? Didn't you love her?"

"Cammy? I tried. Sometimes I thought I did love her, but I guess she was mostly protection. She kept the other girls away. And I told you, she wouldn't really make love with me. She said we had to wait. I'd get excited and hoping, and then she'd stop everything. I guess that's when the dream started. What does it mean, Simon? How will I ever get rid of it?"

He had released my hands and had put his own under his thighs. He was hunched over, miserable. I leaned into him and kissed him on the neck and stroked his back. "Herb, sweetheart, I'm good at some things, but I'm not a psychotherapist, and you may need one."

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No, baby, absolutely not. But something about yourself is making you unhappy. And I'm surprised. I hadn't guessed that you had any problems at all."

"When I'm with you, Simon, the problems kind of go away. It must be because you love me even though I'm not good, not the way you think. This morning you asked me if I was jealous of Rob. Well, I lied to you. I am jealous. I'm scared of him. He can give you all kinds of things that I can't. Not just sex. You and he know the same things and probably like the same things. Are you in love with him, Simon?"

"I think I could be. I like him a lot. But I don't love him the way I love you."

"But you and he had sex, and he was sucking you. I saw. Doesn't he make you happier than I do?"

"Being in love isn't the same thing as being happy, Thommy. I can't help myself around you. I think you know that. I think you use it to get what you want from me, and it doesn't matter. I still love you."

"You're right, Simon."

"About what?"

"That I know how you feel about me and that I use it. See, I know that's an awful way to act. I do know. I try not to be so selfish. But I am. I just am. I can't help it." He raised his head so that we were face to face. "I guess my grandmother was right about me. Simon," he stared out into the room again, "how can you like me when you know what I am?"

"You're not that bad, kiddo." I laughed lightly, trying to turn our talk away from his pain. "You let the old lady hold your hand, didn't you? And you cleaned the apartment. And you're trying to make me shape up, leaving little notes in odd places."

"You found it? Did you use the machine?"

"I did, and you know why?"

"Because what I wrote made you laugh?"

"No. Well, it did, actually. But I worked out today because of the nice things you said about me and because - this is going to sound weird - I want you to admire me, to approve of me. I love you, Thommy, and I want you to love me."

"You called me Thommy."

"I think Herb has had enough of a workout for one night, don't you?"

He stood up and pulled me up into a bruising hug. "You're wonderful, Simon," he said. "I wish… I wish …"

"What?"

"I wish you were my brother. Then I'd always have you when I needed you."

"Always is a long time, but you have me for now, till something better comes along. That could be a long time, too. Don't you think we should get some rest, so we'll be ready?"

He hugged me again. "You know what else I wish? I wish I could make jokes the way you do."

"It's a gay thing," I grinned, "and you're a Bert. Too bad."

We both slept well that night, cuddling without caressing, as though an invisible bundling board connected and separated our bodies. Tommy was up before I was, and I found him toweling himself dry in the steamy bathroom.

"Did you leave any hot water?" I asked.

He looked guilty. "Isn't there always hot water?" he asked. "This is New York."

"I was just teasing. How are both of you this morning."

"Herb and Thommy?"

I nodded.

"We're both great, but Herb has to skip breakfast or be late for class. Bye, Simon," he kissed me lightly between the eyes. "I'll see you tonight. But late. I've got a catering job."

I watched his beautiful, naked butt go out the door and briefly fantasized that some day, some night, it would be mine.

Not that night, though. He crawled in next to me long after I'd gone to sleep and was fully dressed when he brought me a mug of coffee in bed the next morning. "Hi, Simon," he smiled, "it's a beautiful morning for exercise. I've set up the machine for you in the hall."

"And I suppose you're going to stand over me with a whip, counting cadence, like in a Roman galley."

"If you like," he grinned. "I've got a few minutes."

"If I shape up to suit you, can we go back to making love?"

That embarrassed him. "Simon," he said after a few awkward seconds, "we agreed, didn't we? I don't ever want to hurt you the way I did before. And you don't want to hurt me, do you?"

He was so achingly sincere that I was mortified. "I'm sorry, kiddo." I swung out of the bed. "Of course, I don't. Let me brush my teeth, and I'll report for calisthenics."

That gave him an idea, and in the hallway, he had me do push-ups and jumping jacks before I could row. Once I was on the machine, he squatted beside me. "I've got to go, Simon, but I wanted you to know something. I want you to shape up, but it's not to suit me. It's for you, mostly, and some for Rob. I've been thinking about it, and I think he'd be good for you."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered. "What do you plan to do about sleeping arrangements?"

He leaned over and kissed me casually. "We'll just have to get a bigger bed, I guess." And then he was gone.

He could joke after all, I thought. God forbid that he was being serious. Still, I was going to have to find a way to stop him from using me as a security blanket. I needed advice and, though I didn't really need the pretext, I called Rob to suggest dinner. He couldn't cook, he said. His freight from Colorado still hadn't shown up, and I didn't want to fix a meal. We ended up in a family-and-formica Chinese joint in Murray Hill, his neighborhood.

"This is glamorous New York, Simon?" Rob was smiling but skeptical. "Where the elite meet?"

"The fried bean curd is three-star," I reassured him. "And General Tsao's shredded pork never fails. Besides, it's quiet."

"And not exactly a gay hangout, I'd guess." Rob's glance took in the elderly couples, the solitary diners, some clumps of budget-conscious tourists. "I thought our first date would be candlelight, damask tablecloths, gypsy violinists."

"This doesn't count as a date," I smiled. "It's more like a counseling session. About Herb."

"Who's Herb? Have you been holding out on me, Simon? I thought we agreed not to have any secrets." He was grinning. I wanted to kiss his entrancing broken nose, but the waiter came to take our order just then, and I didn't want to shock him or the clientele. I explained about Herb being Thommy and the other way around and about his fear of sleeping alone. I didn't tell Rob the details of the nightmare, only its effect on the boy.

"So he wants you to be his big brother and save him from things that go bump in the night," Rob summed up. "That's sweet, and, of course, totally manipulative. But you already know that, don't you, Simon?"

I assented with a nod. "He admits it. He says he knows it's wrong to use people. But he really does need me, Rob. I can't just toss him out."

"You mean, you don't want to let him go. Isn't that it?" His green eyes darkened, but with a kind of toughness, not sympathy. Rob could be light and quicksilvery, but, I was discovering, he also had a no-nonsense, cut-to-the-chase manner in reserve. I stiffened. He'd put me on the spot.

"He's going to go." I know I sounded defensive. "Someday. On his own." I knew that was true, but I had never put it in words even to myself, and the truth hurt. "But you're right, Rob. The truth? I'd like to hang on to him a long time, even knowing that he uses me, even though I'll never have sex with him, even though I'm afraid he's going to screw things up between you and me. How…?" I had gotten to the question I really wanted to ask, but before I could ask it, the waiter and our food arrived.

We were both hungry and both appreciative. The cooking really was first-rate, but as we ate, we chatted only about trivial things. The fortune cookies came, and Rob cracked his open. "Damn," he said, "I always get this kind of shit. 'You are a helpful person and well liked.' Why don't I ever get a fortune that promises me vast wealth or a killer prick?"

"You must go to the wrong Chinese restaurants," I said. We both laughed. "We'll try someplace more upscale next time."

"With gypsy violinists?"

"And candles and damask tablecloths," I giggled. I put my hand across the table and caressed his. So what if we shocked the waiter or anybody else. "Rob, you are a 'helpful person,' but you're more than that. You're fun. You're great-looking. You're smart, and you're wise. And your cock is perfect, as far as I'm concerned. And how," at last I'd gotten to the question I'd wanted to ask earlier. "How do you think we should go from here?"

"We could walk. My apartment is just a couple of blocks away."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know, Simon, I know." He put his hand on top of mine and stroked my fingers. "I told you, I joke when things get serious. It's a defense. It means I'm scared."

"Of me?"

"No. Of course, not. I'm just scared of depending on anyone else for my happiness or having somebody depend on me. I was happy with Karen. I really was. And I destroyed that. I'm afraid of doing something just as stupid again."

"How else do you think you can be happy? You can't be happy with just one hand clapping unless you're a Zen master, maybe. Believe me, I know. I've been trying to fool myself for years that I don't need anybody else. But I do. I need to love someone and I need someone's love. I'd like it to be yours, Rob. I really would."

His other hand came across the table and reached for my free one. I met him halfway. We gripped and just looked at one another. It seemed to me his eyes were on the verge of leaking. But I'm not sure. My vision wasn't 20-20 either just then.

"Simon," Rob broke the silence. "Do you remember the other night saying that you give loving lessons?"

I tried to remember. I succeeded. "Yes," I answered. "Loving lessons, among others."

"I'll need a lot of them," Rob tried to smile, but didn't quite make it. His eyes had gotten very moist. "I'm a slow learner." The smile appeared.

"And not an easy lay. I know. You told me. That's all right," I grinned. "I like challenges. When would you like to start?"

"Shouldn't we get some gypsies?"

"No. That can wait."

"Then why don't we try walking to my apartment now? I think I can get that far even though my knees are a little shaky."

"So are mine. Maybe we should call a cab."