We paid the bill. We added an almost vulgar tip. And we walked. And walked. And walked. We passed the door to Rob's place at least three times, but somehow the need to open up, to tell each other everything about ourselves kept us from going in. If our bodies touched, it was accidental, just shoulders or elbows rubbing. Physical desire, although I felt it every time I turned and looked at his strong, just-off-kilter features, was somehow secondary to the need to spill my soul into Rob's and to receive his in return.

On our fourth pass under his building's awning, though, Rob pulled me to a halt. "I'm getting hoarse," he said, "and so are you. I could make us some disgusting coffee if you'd come up, and if we put brandy in it, you won't notice how bad the coffee is."

"What if I came up and we didn't have coffee?"

"Would that count as a lesson?"

"Well, there are some things you can do indoors that wouldn't be right in the street. Not where you could frighten the horses."

"It's the last thing I'd want." He produced a key and opened the door. "Come on, Simon. I'm ready for a lesson."

Actually, we were both ready. I would have stripped him in the elevator if there hadn't been another tenant, a stereotypical blue-rinsed virago complete with a yappy Pekinese, riding with us. Even so, Rob barely got his door open before my hands were working on his shirt buttons and belt buckle as he dragged me down a short hallway into the Spartan bedroom. By then, he was shuffling, his pants around his ankles, his jacket and shirt pulled back and down to his elbows.

"You can't rape me, Simon," he swiveled into my arms and pressed himself against me, "because I'm not going to resist. But can I have a kiss first?"

I answered him the right way, wordlessly, by locking our mouths together and jamming my tongue between his lips. My hands, though, kept busy with the task of removing his jacket and shirt so that when he broke the kiss - "I have to breathe, lover, and my nose doesn't work right" - I could lower my head onto his broad, bare chest and attack one nipple and then the other with warm, wet, adoring strokes. He moaned a litle and squirmed in my arms, but his fingers managed to undo my belt and zipper, push my trousers over my hips and steal through the fly of my boxers to curl around my cock.

Instantly, it began to swell. Rob felt the movement and moaned again. "Oh, God, Simon, the feel of you. It makes me want you so much. I want to take you, but I want to give myself to you, too. I'm not making any sense, I know. But I want to belong to you and I want you to belong to me."

"That's what I want, sweetheart." It was my turn to moan as his fingers cupped my testicles. "You're everything I want, everything I could ask for."

He took his hand out of my crotch and put it on my cheek. His other arm went around my waist. "What I want is for you to fuck me, Simon," he whispered. "Now. Please. I mean it. I want you, all of you, inside me."

I started to say that I didn't want to hurt him, that I knew he was scared, that touching him, feeling his warmth was enough for me. But for once in my life, I kept my mouth shut. I just nodded and kissed him, and somehow we both got out of our shoes and the rest of our clothes, leaving them puddled on the floor, and into his narrow bed, face to face, belly to belly, our erections pressed together, our lips nibbling at each other's ears and throats and cheeks.

"Have you got a condom, Rob, and some lube?" I finally asked. "I didn't bring anything. I didn't know that we …"

"I didn't know either, but I hoped. So, yes, I got some stuff after work. But Simon? Simon, it would mean a lot to me if you didn't feel you had to wear one of those things. I'm clean. I know you are, too. And if we're going to be making love for years and years and years, I want to start out without anything between us. Could you?"

I thought for a second or two about the risk. I have always tested negative. I have always played safe. Herb had been a virgin. And I'd made him wear protection anyway. "No condoms," I agreed. "You're wonderful, Rob. Amazing. Beautiful. I love you. I'll do anything you want, any way you want." I hesitated. "But I insist on one thing. Lube."

"And lots of it. Lots and lots." He groped around on a nightstand I hadn't even noticed. "This says it's spermicidal. I guess I wanted the drugstore clerk to think I was straight."

"Oh, baby, are you so scared still of what people think? People you don't even know?"

"Some, Simon. But scared isn't the right word. Too strong. Nervous, uneasy, embarrassed. All those. And when I'm with you, none of them."

"Then we ought to be together all the time." I coated my fingers heavily with the gel he had handed me. "Rob, you have to promise me that if anything I do hurts you, you'll tell me right away. Promise?"

"I promise, but as long you go slowly, lover, I know it won't hurt. And I really want this to happen. It will make me part of you."

I entered him one finger at a time and very slowly. I knew I wasn't hurting him because his erection didn't deflate, and I watched his eyes for signs of fear and pain and saw none of them. I passed the tube back to him and got to my knees, displaying my urgent need to him without shame, so that he could slick me up outside as I was doing to him inside. He took my organ in both hands and, for a while, just held it.

"Do I pass inspection, sir?" I joked.

"Oh, yes," he whispered. "Your body is just like the rest of you, beautiful and strong." He drew my penis to his lips and gently licked the tip. "I'm so lucky, so lucky." He spoke so softly I could barely make out the words. "Simon," he suddenly sat up and put an arm around my neck. "Kiss me, please, and pinch me. Hard. I want to make sure I'm not dreaming."

"You're not." I kissed him, and I pinched his ass. Hard. Really hard. He squealed. "See? You're wide awake, and so am I. As I recall, you asked me into your bed so that we could fuck. Are we going to do that, or are we just going to talk?"

"What if we did both?"

"I'm the strong, silent type," I said, pushing him onto his back. "Also greasy. And ready. Are you ready, baby?"

He nodded, a lightning flash of anxiety in his eyes, but he grasped his ankles and spread himself wide underneath me. I replaced his hands with mine. "Put me in you, Rob. Slow, easy. We'll do it together."

We did. God, he felt good! Not just tight and hot and velvety, but wanting me, needing me. Once, only once, he whimpered, but it was not from pain. My strokes were gentle, longer and deeper, but not urgent or sharp. "Does it hurt, baby?" I was puzzled. "I'll stop."

"No, Simon. Don't stop, not now, not ever. I'm just so happy. I haven't been happy like this in so long."

Neither had I. I told him so as we lay, afterwards, with our arms around each other, nuzzling and nipping and kissing like young lovers frightened and astonished and ecstatic over our discovery of one another. I told him again when I put my lips around his elegant, slim member, and he tried to stop me. "You don't have to, Simon," he stroked my hair. "There'll be other times."

"But this time is special. It's the first time we made real love. I'm just getting you ready to take me the way I took you."

"Just suck me then, please. I haven't got the staying power for the kind of treatment you gave me. You have so much to teach me. Do you mind?"

"Teaching you? My schedule is completely free. I told you. Or it was free. Rob, I'm like you. I haven't been happy this way in years and years. I didn't think I'd ever feel real love again, but I do. For you. Just for you." I buried my face in his groin so that he wouldn't see the tears I felt coming. As he came erect, he also rolled first onto his side and then onto his knees so that he straddled me and, immobilizing my head in his hands, passionately thrust himself deep into my mouth. He was taking control of me and I, usually the arch control-freak, surrendered completely, joyfully to his desire, his rhythm, his need.

"You swallowed it all," he said a few minutes later after his probing tongue had replaced his cock between my lips.

"Hunger," I grinned. "Chinese food. You know."

"Do you think that's why I'm a little tired? Simon, could we just hold each other and maybe nap for a bit? And then make love again? Or, if you're really hungry, I have some cheese and crackers and yogurt and grapes. Unless I ate the grapes."

"I'll settle for 'thou, beside me in the wilderness.'" I pulled him into my arms. "There's no one I'd rather nap with."

But it wasn't a nap. It was a deep, almost instant, immobilizing sleep. From which a terrible, liquid rumbling woke me. Rob snored. He sounded like a very large, very old dog choking on a bucket of phlegm. It was awful, almost a death rattle, and I shook him to make it stop.

Awake, he went into denial. He'd never snored. I had just had a bad dream.

"Next time," I snapped. "I'll bring a tape recorder. Rob, trust me, you were snoring. It worried me. That's all." I caressed his neck and leaned over to kiss him. Then I saw the illuminated dial on the bedside clock. Two twenty! "Oh, sweet Jesus," I bellowed. "Rob, look at the time! I've got to go!" I shot from the bed and began groping naked around the floor for my shoes and clothes.

"You're not mad at me?" Rob turned on the bedside light and joined me on the floor, trying to help me find my things.

"I will be unless you give me back my underwear. You don't have some sick fetish for boxer shorts, do you?"

"These?" He had retrieved them from the foot of the bed. "The only reason I'd keep them is to get you to wear briefs. You'd look really sexy in those, Simon. Or in nothing. Maybe I should just keep all your clothes. Then you couldn't run away from me."

I snatched the shorts from his hand, pulled them on and then my trousers. I got my shirt nearly buttoned when I realized I'd done it wrong. I swore at myself. Rob stepped in front of me and pushed my arms to my sides.

"Let me do it for you, Simon." His voice was calm, but his look was hurt. "I'm sorry my snoring upset you so much. If you say I snore, it must be true. But Karen never told me, and she bitched about everything else."

"It's not you, Rob. And I'm not running away. It's the boy. Herb. I told you, he's afraid to sleep by himself. He must be frantic, wondering where I am."

"Telephone him, then. Sing him a lullaby. Simon, I need you, too."

That brought me to my senses. I stopped dressing. I started undressing. I began by undoing the buttons Rob had just done. I leaned over and kissed him. "No more than I need you, lover," I whispered. "You can have all my clothes if you want and for as long as you want. Don't worry. I'm never going to run away from you. Never."

Rob waited until I was as naked as he was and then he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his cheek against mine. "I love you, Simon," his voice in my ear was hoarse. "I haven't said that before because I wasn't sure how you felt about me. But now I'm sure. And it's just wonderful."

It was. Wonderful and wondrous and amazing and marvelous and astounding. We loved each other. I was in love with Rob, and he was in love with me, and everything in my life was transformed. I could see ahead, and the view was … Well, it was wonderful.

Except for Thommy. As Rob and I lay together on the bed again, silent in the joy of an embrace that was more loving than lustful, I debated telephoning my apartment. If the kid was asleep, though, I'd wake him, and he'd be annoyed. If he was awake, he'd give me a full blast of his desperation and make me come to him. He wasn't my lover. He wasn't my child or my brother. I didn't have to keep him. I had to cut loose.

Rob must have read my mind. "You don't have to call him, Simon," he said, his hands busy with the taut muscles where my neck and shoulders joined. "He'll make it through the night without you. You've given him so much, now he can stand or sleep or whatever on his own."

Rob was right. When I got back to my own apartment just as the sun was rising that morning, I dreaded finding an indignant, wounded, red-eyed Thommy waiting for me. But the place was empty. The answering machine light, though, was blinking. I punched up the message.

"Simon? It's me. Where are you? It's late. That's why I called. I'm at a party, see, and I've met someone. And, Simon, well, I don't think I'll get home tonight. I hope you'll be all right. I'll see you tomorrow. 'Bye."

"Someone?" Now I was angry. What kind of someone? Someone who would take my place? Someone who would take him away from me? How could he be so casual? So mysterious?

I stewed all day at the office, waiting for him to call. He didn't. I phoned Rob to tell him what had happened, and he laughed cheerfully. "I was right," he chuckled. "He's on his own. And so are we. Are your feelings hurt, Simon?"

I admitted it. I hated being dumped the way Harry had. I hated it even though I had Rob to love. Even though Rob loved me. Even though he told me had been to a doctor about the snoring only I could hear. And he was going to have a "procedure." On his nose. Because when Karen broke it, she did a really good job of fouling up his breathing, too. "I love you, baby," I told him. "I'll get ear plugs."

"I don't want to snore," he answered. "And I love you. What are we doing tonight?"

"I'm making supper. Then we're making love. Or maybe not in that order. At my place. Seven o'clock?"

"I'll bring some wine," he chuckled, "and ear plugs."

It wasn't that easy, of course. When I got home with the makings of dinner - pasta primavera, veal chops, arugula and romaine for the salad, mangoes for dessert - I found a note from Thommy on the kitchen table. "Please stay up till I get home, Simon. Something wonderful has happened. I have to tell you." Which meant Rob couldn't stay the night. Or maybe even make love. No. I'd put a goddamn handkerchief - hell, a towel - on my bedroom door. Or I'd lock it. Or both. Whatever it was he wanted to tell me could wait till morning. He'd slept one night without me. He could make it through another.

Supper, in fact, did come second. Rob came first and was embarrassed. "I need more lessons," he said, as his cock wilted between my lips. So I tutored him a little on technique until I wilted, too, between his lips. Then, for the longest time, we just hugged and laughed and kissed. We cooked and ate supper in our underwear, and in the unflattering light of the kitchen, Rob still looked delectable. He was not a "skinny dweeb," as Thommy had said. He was elegantly slim. From hiking in the Rockies, I guess, he had impressively muscular legs that held his firm, inviting butt at just the right, rounded angle.

"Coffee, tea or me?" I asked when we'd finished cleaning up.

He pretended to debate the question. "You, I think," he grinned. "I want to see if I'm learning anything. Actually, Simon, I want to see what it's like to have your ankles around my neck and you at my mercy. Just as a lesson, of course."

"Then, I suppose we should do it in front of the mirrors."

"Not the first time, please." He put his arms around me and pressed against my back so that I could feel his excitement. "Lover, it's my fault that we are joking about this. I think we do that because we are still afraid of our feelings. Both of us. I shouldn't have talked about having a lesson. I should have just asked you to trust me, to let me love you, to give me your body the way I have given you my heart. Forgive me?"

I turned around to kiss him. While his arms held me at the waist, my hands cradled his head. When our lips separated, his tongue flicked out to catch a tear rolling down my cheek. "Don't, Simon, my love," he murmured, "don't cry. There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"No, nothing." I squeezed him to me. "It's just that I realized that I'm no teacher. You are." I could hear the choke in my voice. "You're teaching me to let go, and I never thought I could. Thommy called me a 'loving man' once, but we made a joke of it. Now, I think I could be loving for real. And I owe it all to you."

"And maybe a little bit to Thommy, too," Rob suggested mildly. "He got you in the mood for love. Which is where I am now." He took my hands off his waist and put one hand in his. "Come on, lover. I want to make love."

I would like to go on and recount the transports of passion that we experienced that night, the heat and the pressure and the slipperiness and the spasms of release. But, as I said, it wasn't easy, of course. It might have been, except that as we left the kitchen, I heard the front door open. "It's Thommy," I whispered to Rob. "Run. Get dressed. Act casual. Quick!"

As he disappeared down one end of the corridor, Thommy appeared. With someone in tow. "Simon," he said, his huge, gorgeous smile dazzling me as usual. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home. I want you to meet…"

"Hold it," I snapped. "I wasn't expecting company. Let me get decent. Give your friend a drink." Unhappily conscious of my droopy boxer shorts, I whipped down the hall and into the bedroom so fast that I collided with Rob.

"He's brought someone with him," I gasped as I tried to separate my clothes from Rob's. "I don't believe it. The nerve. It's as if…

"This were his home," Rob finished. "And it is, Simon. You should be pleased that he feels that way. He's not ashamed, and you and I shouldn't be either. Those are my socks, I think. Calm down, lover. Let's go out there and meet his friend and be sociable. Or orgiastic." He looked at my bed. "Will it hold four of us?"

"How can you be so cool?" I had found my socks. I had found my trousers. I had found the buttons on my shirt. I started for the door.

"It's easier when your fly isn't wide open," Rob chuckled. "Although, if you're trying to make a good first impression…" He reached for my crotch and zipped me up. "Come on, Simon. I'm dying of curiosity."

So was I, but I was also nervous, upset and more than a little scared. Thommy could be a bull in a china shop, so direct and undevious that he wouldn't even recognize the damage he did if he shattered my fantasies and my world. I sensed that he was about to do both.

I was wrong. The friend he'd seated in my living room was a handsome, middle-aged woman so beautifully dressed that she made my furniture look ratty. "Simon," Thommy was beaming, "Simon, this is Mrs. Vestring."

"Julia," she said, "please." She put out her hand, and I barely resisted the impulse to bend low and kiss it. "Mr. Moore, Thommy has told me so much about you and all the help that you've given him that I just insisted on meeting you to thank you. I thought he was my discovery, but he's told me that the honor is yours."

"Uh-oh," I thought, "Truman Capote, here we go." She was Patricia Neal in "Breakfast at Tiffanys," and I was going to get the eccentric, misfit Audrey Hepburn role, but without a happy, rain-soaked ending. She'd get Thommy. I'd be lucky to be stuck with a cat.

Behind me, Rob coughed discreetly. "Excuse me, " I blushed, turned, turned back, totally off my usual, debonair form. "Mrs. Vestring, this is my friend, Rob Andelman. We weren't expecting…"

"Vestring?" Rob's voice rose in inquiry. "Are you related to Artur Vestring."

"Only by marriage. He's my husband."

"He's the chairman of my board," Rob was genuinely excited. "He's my hero, not to mention my boss."

"You're the young genius he just hired from Colorado? He raves about you."

It was Rob's turn to blush.

"Mrs. Vestring, I mean, Julia, is my producer," Thommy to the rescue. "She was at the party where I worked last night, and she asked me to drive her home, Simon. To Greenwich. Wow! is all I can say. And I stayed out there, and we talked all night about the show and about my part, and we had the first rehearsal today, and she gave a party afterwards for all of us, the cast and the crew…" Julia put up a glittering hand to stop him. The glitter was all from one ring. Harry Winston, I thought. Maybe Bulgari.

"Sweetheart, Mr. Moore and Mr. Andelman…"

"Simon," I said, "please."

"Rob," said Rob.

"Wouldn't you like a drink?" I asked. "Coffee? Thommy doesn't seem to have been a very thoughtful host."

"I don't drink," he said. "I forgot. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven," she laughed lightly. "Could I have a glass of wine? If it's no trouble."

"Vouvray?" I asked, remembering Rob's unopened bottle from our first dinner.

"Perfect."

I hustled off to the kitchen, beckoning Thommy to follow. "What's going on?" I whispered to him. "Are you sleeping with her?"

He looked astonished. "Simon, they have a whole guest wing out there. With a Jacuzzi. You should see it. Besides, she's married, and she's old. Not as old as her husband, I guess, but he's wonderful."

"For God's sake, he's a legend. One of the great directors. At least, he was. What do you think she wants from you, if it's not your body? Remember your dream?"

"Simon, your elephant stick is showing. Until I told her the truth, she thought I was like you, gay, you know. No, it's not sex. She said that she likes discovering talent, and I have it. She said my smile lights up a room. She just wants to help me. The way you have. I really like her."

We carried the wine and glasses back into the living room. Thommy got himself a soft drink. Julia and Rob were deep in conversation about his museum. Her questions were intelligent. Her sympathy and interest were clearly engaged, and Thommy and I were just observers, walk-ons. Julia, though, noticed the awkwardness and effortlessly expanded the conversational circle to draw both of us in. I found myself talking about Giacomo, whose work she knew, of course, and Thommy chimed in with a story about working once for a photographer who made all the models wear masks - male ones for the women and vice versa - so that their features would not interfere with the drama of the clothes. The client eventually rejected all the photos as kinky but dull.

"Well, young man," Julia said, "I don't imagine you'll have that happen to you again any time soon. If you work as hard as I think you can, you'll probably be in Rob's museum before you know it."

My eyebrows arched. "That's what I said when I introduced them," I blurted out. "But I was sort of joking, and I don't think you are."

"Not for a minute," she answered. "Speaking of which," she looked at her watch, "it's late, and I have to get home. Simon, this has been wonderful. You are everything that Thommy said you were and more. He's very lucky to have you as a mentor, and I hope you don't mind if I join the fan club."

"He is lucky," I agreed. "But so am I. He's taught me a lot, especially about friendship, and now he's given me a new friend. I hope we can get together again and draw up the by-laws for the club."

She laughed as she got to her feet. "What about weekend after next? Could you and Rob bring Thommy out to Greenwich on Saturday and stay the night? Artur isn't very mobile any more, and he desperately needs an audience. If you could put up with it, we're having a few people in for lunch on Sunday. Mostly has-beens, but with you young people there, we could talk about the future for a change."

I thought of pretending that I had to check my engagement book, but instead, I stammered a delighted acceptance. So did Rob. Thommy took Julia down to her car, and when he returned, I was still sitting, slightly stunned, inhaling the last traces of her perfume and holding onto Rob's hand while we both tried silently to measure the miracles that were going to transform our lives.

"She really liked you," Thommy was back. "Both of you. And so do I." He drew us up from the couch and into a fierce hug. "Simon, isn't she amazing? Isn't life wonderful? Thanks to you. It wasn't an elephant stick, after all, was it? What you have is a magic wand. I love you, Simon. I owe you everything."

And they lived happily ever after. That's the way it should end, isn't it? Actually, it's close enough. Thommy was a small-scale, small-screen hit when his show finally went on the air. He graduated from Tisch the next spring straight into a powerful Off Broadway role and into the arms of a no-nonsense girl who liked Rob and me well enough to share Thommy with us at regular intervals. After the meeting with Julia, Rob simply moved into my apartment. He got his nose fixed, too. The snoring stopped. Thommy kept the spare room and sometimes brought us breakfast in bed. His dream stopped. Real life kept him too busy and happy, and when he and Sharon moved to Los Angeles and his screen career took off, with help from Artur and Julia, he even found he could laugh about the photograph.

The "famous, infamous photograph" on the Internet, of course. I'm the one who took it. He'd been asked to provide some new publicity shots for the Off Broadway show, and he begged me to take them. We used Giacomo's studio, and when we were done, Thommy asked if I would let him do some erotic poses just for Sharon and for me. "So you'll always have something to remember me by."

I think it's a wonderful, honest picture, but it was never meant to be on thousands of websites. I must have left a print behind in the studio. Some sneak must have stored it away and then, after Thommy's first big movie hit, put it up on the Net to migrate from one celebrity porn gallery to another ad infinitum. Thommy even says it has helped him in a way. "Now, anybody who wants a piece of me can get it, and when they bite, it doesn't hurt. I owe it all to you, Simon. I owe everything to you."

The End