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In preparation for the dinner with Wyatt, I cleaned the cottage within an inch of its life and put fresh linens on the bed. I took time in the shower to make certain that every part of my body was clean. I was pleased to see that the numerous scrapes I'd received in last night's assault and the subsequent cold, wet, wolf-led trek through the woods were almost completely healed. Guess they hadn't been nearly as bad as they'd originally looked and felt.

I was looking forward to the dinner and evening with Wyatt. My cock hardened just thinking about him, but I left it alone to save my load for him. The anticipation of Wyatt's love making kept me semi hard as I dried off.

I dressed in cargo shorts, a tee shirt, and sandals. No underwear.

I reached for my hand brace but stopped. I stretched out my hand and examined it. My hand didn't feel as tight as before. There seemed to be more mobility in my fingers. I reached over to the bedpost, wrapped my hand around it and squeezed. Yes, my grip was definitely stronger. It also appeared that the entrance and exit wound scars from the bullet were less noticeable. I told myself that I was just getting used to seeing the scars. Nonetheless, I was thankful that some of the strength was returning to my hand. If my grip improved just a little more, I might be able to go back performing as a physician again . . . although delicate surgery would not be an option.

Wyatt arrived at the agreed upon time. He was dressed like me . . . sandals, shorts, tee shirt. I could tell from the penis outline in his shorts that he was going commando also. We kissed for a while before I pushed him away. If we kept that up, we wouldn't have dinner until close to midnight.

Wyatt took over the steak grilling duties. I finished preparations in the kitchen. It was a simple meal: steaks, baked potatoes, big tossed salad. Man food.

After dinner we cleaned up the kitchen, then took a couple lawn chairs and a blanket out to the lake and watched the sunset.

As the sky faded into night we made love on the blanket. I was hungry to have him inside me, but he took his time. Finally, he brought us to our climaxes. Afterward we lay on the blanket together. He remained inside me still hard. After ten minutes or so he began to slowly move his big cock in and out of my hole again. I thought I'd been completely drained by our earlier love making, but to my surprise I responded to his movements. Our second orgasms were as beautiful and fulfilling as the first.

We slept wrapped up in the blanket until nearly midnight. It was getting chilly. We gathered up the blanket and moved into the house.

To my disappointment Wyatt left to go back to his house. I'd invited him to spend the night, but he'd just laughed and said it was too early in our relationship for me to put up with his snoring. I reminded him that he hadn't snored the previous night. Again he laughed, told me that he would bring dinner over tomorrow, gave me a dynamite good-night kiss, and left.

I tried to sleep . . . it didn't happen.

I hauled my sleepless ass out of bed around three in the morning intending to do some work at the computer. I glanced out one of the front windows. The moon was about half full and lit up the yard.

The wolf was at the edge of the woods.

I pulled on some jeans, shoes, a jacket then quietly moved out to the screened porch. The wolf moved farther out of the woods and sat down in the ferns and scrubby grass that served as my yard.

I opened the porch door and sat down on the steps. The wolf came over to me and laid his head in my lap. I scratched his ears and started talking to him. I told him how thankful I was that he'd saved me from Bud and PeeWee and led me to Wyatt's cabin. I told him how I thought Wyatt was absolutely amazing and how I thought I could really fall for the guy. The wolf listened . . . at least he looked like he was listening.

We sat like that for a long time. I scratched his ears. He pretended to listen. Finally, I felt sleepy. I said good-night to my lupine friend and went inside to bed.

This time sleep came quickly. I didn't wake up until mid-morning; then it was only because my new cell phone rang.

"Hello."

"Mitch, it's Junior Kuusisto. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No," I lied, "I've been up for a while."

"Good. Listen would it be okay if I stopped by later this morning. I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Sure. I'll be here. Can you give me a heads-up on what this is about?"

"I'd rather not talk about it over the phone."

I hesitated for a moment before telling him to come on over. We hung up, and I hauled by butt into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

I ate a quick breakfast, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. I flexed and stretched my right hand. Definitely getting better.

When Junior arrived, I poured him a cup of coffee and sat him down at the table. I took a chair across from him and said, "So, what's the thing that you didn't want to discuss on the phone?"

"Sorry for the little mystery. I was in the office and didn't want the secretary to hear me. She's a pretty good worker, but she has really big ears. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, so what's this about?"

"It's about my son Jack. I'd like to have you talk with him."

"Me? What about?"

"He's gay. He told us two weeks ago."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm okay with it. I mean, look at what you and I did that summer. My wife's having a little trouble with it, but she'll come around. I think it'd be good for Jack to be able to talk to someone about being gay. He says he doesn't know anyone else. The high school here is kinda small, and he's not ready for word to get around about it."

"I can understand that. What is it you think I can tell him?"

"That being gay doesn't mean you're a bad person, that there are other gay people in this world. I've tried to reassure him. Pop has his heart set on Jack coming into the business after he graduates from high school, but Jack wants to get out of here. I kinda agree with him. I think Jack may need to go where he's got a better chance of meeting other people."

"You mean gay people."

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll do it. I want to reassure you that I won't have any sexual interest in Jack. I'm not into kids."

"Mitch, you and your uncles are just about the finest, most honest people I've ever met. I'm not worried about that." He grinned slyly, "On the other hand, I wouldn't blame you if something happened. I still get a tingle down there when I think about all the things we did that one summer. Guess I wish we'd started earlier. It sure was a lot of fun."

It was my turn to smile. "Jake, I'll always remember that summer as one of the best times in my life."

We talked for another several minutes just catching up on each other. He asked a couple of questions about the incident in El Paso, but quickly changed to other subjects when I deflected his inquiries. We made arrangements for Jake to bring his son out to the cottage on Saturday. I walked him out to his truck, where we shared a long hug before he drove away.

I spent the afternoon checking out the water fowl on the lake, jogging (I managed the entire circuit around the lake. My strength and endurance were coming back!), checking emails, and searching the medical data bases on the web for cases of unusually fast healing in patients.

As it neared time for Wyatt to come over for dinner; I straightened up the cottage, put another fresh set of sheets on the bed, put the used sheets in the washer, and took another long shower.

Wyatt arrived just a few minutes later than he'd said. He brought the dinner fixings in from his Suburban. We poured a couple of glasses of wine and took them outside to the edge of the lake to watch the sun set.

The dinner was fantastic. What I'd thought was beef burgundy was really venison burgundy. Very good. Fresh baked rolls, too . . . the man really knew the way to my heart. I had seconds on the venison and salad along with more wine.

I helped Wyatt clean up the kitchen after dinner, then we got down to some serious foreplay.

We made good use of the fresh sheets that night. We climaxed twice, once with me as the top and once with him in command.

I woke up to the sound of Wyatt's truck starting and listened as he drove away. I checked the bedside clock. 2:15 a.m.! I really needed to talk to him about spending the night. I fell back asleep with my nose buried in the sheets that still retained his scent.

I woke again about 4:00. I heard a noise outside the bedroom window, got up and looked out. The wolf was there.

I pulled on jeans, shoes, and a jacket, then went outside to sit on the steps of the porch. The wolf came over and put his head in my lap for an ear scratching.

After a while I grew sleepy again. I said good night to my wolf and went back to bed.

Again, it was the ringing of my cell phone that woke me. 8:37 a.m.!

"Hello."

"Dr. Mitchell Wolf?"

"Speaking."

"Dr. Wolf, this is Special Agent Daniel Sykes with the FBI. We have a suspect in custody, and we'd like to see if you can identify him as one of the shooters in the El Paso Incident."

"I see. How do I do that?"

"If you could come into the FBI Regional Field Office sometime today to look at some mug shots that would be great. Right now the suspect is being held on some minor charges, but we'd really like to get him charged with some more serious crimes before a judge lets him out on bail."

"Agent Sykes, forgive my wariness, but how do I know you're a real FBI agent?"

"I understand your concerns, sir. Do you have access to the Internet?"

"Yes."

"Then go to the FBI's web site. Look up the number for the Atlanta Field Office on the web and call it. Identify yourself and ask to speak with me. Will that ease your concerns?"

"Yes."

"When can I expect your call?"

"As soon as I can make myself a cup of coffee and look up the web site."

Well, that was an unexpected development. I'd given up hope that anyone would ever be caught and charged with the murders of nine of my colleagues plus our two drivers. I emptied my bladder in the bathroom and padded out to the kitchen to start the coffee.

I filled the carafe up with water, scooped coffee into the brew basket, poured the water into the reservoir of the coffee maker, adjusted the carafe under the brewing basket and punched the Brew Now button. With the most essential tasks of the morning out of the way, I fired up the computer to look for the FBI's Atlanta office phone number.

Suddenly it dawned on me that I'd used my right hand to lift the water-filled carafe and pour the water into the coffee maker! I hadn't been able to lift or grasp anything that heavy in my right hand since the shooting! I examined my hand. The scars from the bullet's entrance and exit wounds were almost gone! Amazing! I looked again to be sure my eyes weren't playing tricks. The scars were almost completely gone, and my hand moved almost normally. What was going on?

I sat down in the computer chair to examine my hand again. As I looked at my hand, my eyes were drawn past it to my stomach. The removal of nearly thirteen inches of small intestine had left a scar on my belly that had been very red and noticeable. Yet now, I could barely see it! The scar was only a thin line running across my lower abdomen.

What was going on? Scars should become less noticeable over time, but the rate of healing in my hand and abdomen was amazing.

My wonderment was interrupted by the gurgle from the coffee maker signaling that the coffee was ready. I poured myself a cup, carried it back to the computer desk, then remembered that I was supposed to be looking up a phone number.

I called up the FBI web site, found the number for the Atlanta office, and dialed it on my cell phone. A pleasant sounding lady answered. I identified myself and asked for Agent Sykes. She transferred the call, and the same voice as before answered, "Special Agent Sykes. How can I help you?"

"Agent Sykes, this is Mitchell Wolf. Sorry I was suspicious before, and I apologize for the delay in returning your call."

"Not a problem, Dr. Wolf. I would have done the same thing if I were you. Do you think you could swing by the office sometime today?"

"Actually, that would be a problem. I'm in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan at the moment."

"Oh, I thought you lived here in the Atlanta area."

"I do, but I'm up here recuperating."

"Okay, that won't be a problem. I can have all the material sent to an FBI field office near you. I think we have an office there in northern Michigan somewhere. Ah, yes, here it is. We have an office in Marquette. Is that anywhere near you?"

"It's about an hour and a half or two hours from here. I can probably be there by mid-day or early afternoon."

"Fine. I'll send everything up to the agent at that field office. Let me check this on my computer. Yes, the agent in charge up there is listed as Enrique Portillo. The number I reached you at has an Atlanta area code, so I assume this is a cell phone and you have caller ID on the phone."

"Yes."

"Good. Let me give you Agent Portillo's number, so you can check the number when he calls you."

I told Agent Sykes that I appreciated his caution. He gave me Agent Portillo's number. We exchanged some pleasantries and disconnected.

I finished my coffee, started on another cup, and had some toast.

I called Wyatt to let him know I might have to delay our dinner plans. He answered on the first ring, and we spent the next hour and a half talking, joking, and engaging in some verbal sexual teasing. Darn, just talking to him made my insides tingle. He suggested that we should drive up to Marquette together and, after I was finished with my business with the FBI, spend some time poking around the town and have dinner up there before coming back to Clear Lake.

Sounded like a plan to me! More time with Wyatt!

Just a few minutes after getting off the phone with Wyatt, the guy at the Marquette office of the FBI called. He identified himself as Agent Rick Portillo. We made arrangements for me to meet him at the field office at 3:00 p.m.

I called Wyatt back, and we set a departure time for our trip up to Marquette.

We arrived in Marquette in time for a late lunch at a small place near the campus of Northern Michigan University and a little tour of downtown Marquette.

When we got to the FBI's office, I introduced myself to the receptionist who ushered us into a small waiting room. About fifteen minutes later a handsome Latino man carrying a file folder came into the room, apologized for our wait, and introduced himself as Rick Portillo.

Agent Portillo had short, black hair, very dark brown eyes, and teeth that seemed brilliantly white against his tan skin. He was dressed in a conservative blue suit with a subtle pinstripe, white shirt, and crimson tie. He moved gracefully, and I thought there was probably a pretty good, trim body under the official-looking suit.

I introduced myself, shook his hand, and introduced Wyatt as 'my friend.' I think Agent Portillo caught the appropriate meaning.

Portillo produced a group of six photographs from the file folder. He spread the photos around on the desk and asked if any of the men in the photographs looked familiar.

I immediately pointed to one of the photos. "That's him."

"You're sure? Not one of the other guys?"

"I'm sure. I see that face almost every night in my dreams."

A smile crept across Agent Portillo's face. "That's the man we have in custody. Thank you, Dr. Wolf."

"If my identification can help put this guy away, there's no thanks necessary."

"This is going to be a big help. Now we can sweat the suspect for other information. Thank you for coming in this afternoon, Dr. Wolf. We'll be back in touch with you if we need any additional information. And please don't say anything about this visit to anyone. The particular drug cartel our suspect is associated with is especially ruthless, and they appear to have a very good information gathering network."

"Are you saying that I might be in danger?"

"No, no. Not at all. I'm just asking you to be cautious. If we ever feel you're in danger, we'll take measures to ensure your safety. Once again, thank you for your cooperation."

I could tell we were being dismissed. Wyatt and I stood, shook the FBI man's hand again, and saw ourselves out of the office into the bright late afternoon sunshine.

We spent the rest of the afternoon driving around Marquette playing tourist. We ate an early dinner at an Italian place on the edge of town, then headed back to Nowhere.

It was full dark when we got back to my place. We sat side-by-side on the couch and had a glass of wine. When the wine was gone, we started kissing. After we'd been kissing for a while, we started to remove each other's clothes. When we were naked, we moved the action into the bedroom.

Wyatt arranged me on my back in the bed, then knelt at my head. He started licking and kissing parts of my face before moving down to my neck. His licking and kissing moved down to my chest, my nipples, my navel, and then to my cock. At this point he was leaning over me in such a way that it was easy to reach up and guide his swollen prick into my mouth.

We sixty-nined for a little bit, then his tongue was on the move again. He laved one ball, then the other, before moving his tongue into the trench of my ass. He slid his hands under my ass and lifted. My hole was now completely exposed to him, and he started working on it with a vengeance. I loved being rimmed. It always reduced me to a whimpering mess. As I whimpered, he worked harder with his tongue. I responded by reaching up and pulling his lightly furred ass closer, so I could work on his hole at the same time. I felt his precum drip from his cock onto my chest. I stopped rimming, grabbed his cock, and started licking the precum off the head. Wyatt added a wet finger to the assault on my hole. I whimpered some more. He kept working on my ass. I expected him to break it off and enter me, but he continued the oral and digital stimulation on my hole.

Suddenly my climax was upon me. I bucked and unloaded my juice on my stomach and his chest. Still he kept up with his fingers and tongue. When I was spent, he twisted around in the bed and entered me with one smooth motion.

My cock, which had been deflated after my massive orgasm, began to harden again as he moved his rod in and out of my ass. His rhythm was slow and steady. He kept it that way until I felt my climax begin to build again. As I moved closer and closer, he began to increase the frequency of his motions. I started first. He followed almost immediately. He gave a cry as he drove his dick home one more time.

He pulled out, lay down in the bed, and wrapped me in his arms. We fell asleep almost immediately.