In this Issue

Desparate Measures, by Shayne Carmichael
Queremos, by Jean Roberta

DESPERATE MEASURES, By Shayne Carmichael

Leaning against the bar, I spoke quietly to the bartender wiping down the counter,

" Alan, did the new shipment come in?"

" Sure did, boss." Glancing up from his work, he quickly reassured his employer. He'd been working here for over two years, and he really wanted to keep the job. Decent pay, and all the blood a vampire could ever want.

" Make sure it's unpacked before everybody leaves for the night. And if Short is late on the next shipment, send the next one to Dunn." Running this club brought in a pretty penny, and I wanted to keep it that way. When Alan nodded to me, I turned, relaxing back against the counter. The place was packed tonight. The darkly, carnal atmosphere I'd purposely created, attracted vampires and mortals alike. Though very few of the mortals knew about the dark creatures who watched them hungrily. As long as my kind followed the rules, I gave them free reign on choices of feeding. They could only take as much as they needed though. The mortal couldn't be badly drained, and he or she would be left with the pleasant memory of being fucked, but nothing else. Any who disobeyed the rules found themselves severely punished or banned from the bar.

Glancing over at the dance floor, I immediately spotted my young, mortal lover dancing between two others on the dance floor. A faint smile flit over my lips as I watched the graceful, erotic sway of the lean, muscular body. The sensuous movement of his body intensified when Jason became aware of me watching him. My eyes swept slowly over the tight, black jeans that encased him, feeling the familiar twinge of lust stirring though my body. Moving upward, my gaze rested on the familiar chest partially hidden by the snug, black muscle shirt. The bright lights above his head shone down on the blonde haired boy, lightening its color, and held my rapt interest. I never tired of watching Jason, knowing the special show on the dance floor played out just for me. There were others around him, their bodies lost in the frenetic beat of the music, but I paid little attention to them. They really didn't interest me.

When the music ended, Jason left the dance floor. He approached me, and once he was close enough, he nudged up against his side. There was a distinct intensity to the lush, blue eyes that looked up at me. Gazing down at him, it felt like drowning in a soft, warm pool. Slipping my arm around his shoulders, he hugged tighter against me. The movement made me acutely aware of the warmth of his body, even through the material of our clothing. Turning my head slightly towards him, a slow, unneeded breath filled my senses with the heat of his blood.

" I think just about everybody has gotten fed tonight, Marcus. Except me." The last two words were a less than subtle reminder because I had yet to feed him my blood. The rest, a reference to the special back rooms of the club being full. I never allowed the others to feed in the public area; a very strict rule of mine. The image I'd built this club on contained the promise of forbidden pleasures in the darkness of those back rooms. It lured people here, and had ever since I'd opened the place two years ago. People left here with the memory of the wildest sex they'd ever had, and my vampires had a safe feeding grounds.

" After we retire tonight, I will take care of you, my hungry little ghoul." Bending my head, I pressed a soft kiss to the lips upturned to me. His warmth tingled over my skin with the soft returning pressure of his.

I'd starting feeding Jason a few months after I'd taken him to my bed, and he'd been with me for almost a year. Not a great length of time to my own 350 years, but Jason managed to hold my attention like none before him. Even I couldn't understand what bound us so closely together. I would catch a glimpse, during those moments his body entwined to mine, in the darkness of our bedroom, but the full comprehension still eluded me.

The prospect brought a smoldering quality to his eyes. He slipped from underneath my arm, then moved to stand in front of me, pressing his body to mine. "I won't let you forget, Marcus." A mischievous smile played at his lips as I chuckled. He tilted his head slightly, the movement arching the line of his neck into a taut line as he murmured softly, "Or you could take me to one of the back rooms."

My eyes dropped to the slender column of his throat, and I heard the soft throb of his pulse speeding up slightly as he watched me intently. The changing darkness of midnight blue fascinated him. In those eyes, he could see and feel the hunger that wanted to take him.

Sliding my arms around his waist, I drew him tighter to me. For a brief moment, I pressed a kiss to the soft, fluttering pulse, and felt the shiver of his body against mine. We were both enthralled with each other, the knowledge shared between us within the mental connection tying our minds together.

Slowly straightening, I said softly, "You know very well if I did, I wouldn't be able to feed you." I could only feed from him every other night. Too much from him would leave him weak, and I didn't want that. Thankfully, at my age, my requirements for blood weren't as heavy as a young vampire. I also fed Jason once a week, but rarely on the same night that I drank from him. The times when we fed from each, while we were entangled in each other's arms, I made sure I took only as much as he did. I had to keep a balance between us, it would have been far too easy to weaken him. His blood was my life, just as my blood was his life now. If he were deprived of it, it would drive him insane within a month. Once he passed his natural lifespan in about 60 years, it would kill him.

" I can wait on that." He already knew what my answer would be, it just never hurt to try.

" And I never will never let you go hungry, Jason. Not even for one night."

A moue of disappointment pursed his lips at my answer. "Oh, all right, Marcus. I suppose I can wait another night for that." He understood the reasoning behind the refusal. He just didn't like it all the time.

" Glad you see it my way." My tone was deliberately teasing to lighten the mood between us.

" I have to go help Buddy anyway. So I'll back in a few hours." What he was saying wasn't exactly true, since he had no plans of actually leaving the club. He knew Shaun would be here soon. Even being somewhat nervous about the plan they had concocted between them, he really wanted to know if his lover would cheat on him. He'd been listening to everybody for the last few months, to the point he'd gotten mad enough to agree to go ahead with the outrageous scheme.

" Make sure you are back before the club closes, Jason. I'm not planning on being up all night if Buddy gets himself into trouble again." The last time he did, I'd had to bail his ass out of jail. And if Cain, my secretary, couldn't get a better handle on his ghoul, I'd have to step in again. Buddy had already been in enough trouble with the police, any more and he could become a serious liability.

" Nah, he won't get in trouble this time. We're just moving his roommate's things from the apartment. That's all." Slipping his arms around me, he gave a quick hug. After returning the hug, I let him go so he could leave. I watched the seduction motion of his body moving away from me as he headed for the front door. Most times it seemed like I could never get enough of him.

Turning back towards the bar, I reached for the whiskey Alan had left for me. Downing it quickly, I gestured for another. Not that alcohol would have much effect on me, but I still enjoyed the smooth taste. Alan grabbed one of the bottles, setting it on the counter in front of me.

" A few bottles of the good stuff arrived as well, Marcus. At least this time Short remembered. The delivery guy brought in seven of them."

" Thanks for letting me know, Alan. I'll take one of the bottles upstairs with me later." Absinth was one of the few alcohols that did provide a kick for vampires. I'd been slightly peeved when Short screwed up the last order, and forgot to include them. Feeling the press of a hand to my shoulder, I turned slowly around, seeing Shaun standing there. He let go of my shoulder, giving me a warm smile.

" Hey, Marcus. In the mood for some company?" His beautiful, dark green eyes ran slowly over me before lifting back to my face, a tinge of lust sparked in their depths.

Somehow I wasn't surprised to see Shaun staring at me so hungrily. I'd known the young, auburn haired, boy had his own interest in me, but up until now, he'd never so obviously shown it. I had a few clues as to why he was, very little happened in my club that I didn't know about. People tended to forget that sometimes.

" If you feel like joining me." I shrugged slightly. Arching a brow, I smiled faintly back at him. "Enjoying yourself tonight?"

" Not as much as I would like to." The unruffled visage he saw brought out the urge to push things; trying to get the attention he wanted. Deliberately he moved closer, letting the faint press of his body brush to the solid feel near him.

Slowly I looked over him; his youthful face and lean body had an appeal all on its own. He wore a white silk shirt tucked into tight black leather pants. The clothing both hinted at and defined the form under them. For a minute Alan watched silently before he wandered away to attend to his duties. It really didn't pay to be too much interested in his boss's dealings.

" Play with fire, Shaun? That's a very bad habit to acquire." The question was asked in silkily soft voice. My hand caught at Shaun's arm as he lifted it, curling my fingers around it.

" How about a dance, Marcus?" His fingers moved to the waistband of my pants, hooking to the material, keeping me against him. I felt the intimate touch of his hand as it lowered, fingers slowly outlining my cock through the fabric of my pants. Several of the more knowing patrons around us tried to covertly watch us, finding the sight highly entertaining.

" Is a dance all you want?" Lifting my hand, I twined the length of one of his curls around my finger, watching the red glints that caught the light. Other than that small touch to his hair, I remained completely motionless. I knew the game he played with me, and it was one that would get him burned. Willingly, I played it out, just to see how far it would go.

" No, but it's a chance to show everything I do want." When he reached for my hand, drawing it towards his lips; I felt the silky slide of his hair over my finger, then the warm press on my skin.

Remaining silent, I drew him with me towards the dance floor. Stopping near the fringes of the crowd already there, he turned to me, sliding his arms around my neck. Staring down at him, I felt the slow, swaying of his body against mine, moving with the beat of the music. Our bodies parted only briefly before I felt the slow grind of his hips to my groin. Growling softly in reaction, I rested my hands on his hips, the edges of my nails dug slightly into him. No doubt, this tempting morsel could affect me, and I enjoyed the pleasurable friction. Nothing was said between us as I watched the slow darkening of his green eyes into velvet arousal. His hand slide up into my hair to draw my head closer to his.

" Take me upstairs, Marcus." Shaun whispered softly, the touch of his lips pressed to the cool skin, beneath my ear. A quick flick of his tongue left a wet warmth behind. Turning my head slightly, I pressed a soft kiss to the warm flesh, feeling the sudden quickening flutter of his pulse. The tips of my fangs pressed gently into him, though didn't break the skin, and his body shuddered against mine in reaction. His behavior and reactions amused me to no end. Without a word spoken, I drew away from him. My hand reached for his, pulling him with me through the bar, and towards the back hall that lead to the upstairs apartment above the bar.

****

Behind the two-way mirror in front of the dance floor, Jason saw it all, unable to look away from any of it. Tears burned behind his eyes as he watched in disbelief. Even though he had set all of this up, pain still constricted at his heart as he watched his vampire lover pulling Shaun with him towards the back of the bar.

At first he'd thought it wouldn't be a good idea. But Shaun had convinced him, by telling him it was the only way he'd ever be totally sure of Marcus. Over the last month, all of his other friends had been warning him, and predicting it wouldn't be long before Marcus replaced him. He'd believed in his heart Marcus wouldn't do that to him, and that Marcus would flatly turn down Shaun's offer. God, it had been a stupid idea, and all he could feel was the pain of that betrayal.

Angrily he opened the door leading to the bar, before slamming it behind him. The noise caught the attention of a few of the customers. None of them had missed the sight of the club's owner and Shaun dancing. Knowing smiles creased their lips as they watched Jason stalk towards the bar. Quite a few of the vampires present were delighted to be witnesses at what they perceived to be the downfall of Marcus' favorite. The length of time the boy had held Marcus’ interest was no small matter of envy to those who hadn't kept it so long.

Jason wasn't even really aware of the eyes pinned on him as he sat heavily on one of the bar stools. Shaking his head, Alan moved towards him to set a glass of vodka in front of Jason. It was about the only thing he could do. Alan had noticed the obvious play Shaun had made, and when he'd seen Jason coming from the two-way room, he'd figured the kid had seen it too.

The sounds of the bar faded away from him as Jason stared up at Alan, watching him move away. He really wasn't seeing the bartender; he only saw the vivid images flashing within his mind. The picture of his friend's fingers, in his lover's black hair, the sight of his Marcus' head bending towards Shaun, and the tightness of their bodies as they danced, played over and over again to him. Tears stung at his eyes as he quickly picked up the drink, downing it.

Feeling a hand at his shoulder, he didn't even bother looking at whoever it was who was touching him. "Well, well, well. Jason has fallen from favored status. It's happen to all of us, kid. It was bound to happen to you sooner or later too."

He glanced up at the words, looking into Kevin's smirking features. The black urge to hit Kevin descended over him. He knew the other vampire had only enjoyed a week of Marcus's attention before it stopped. Two weeks after that, Jason took his place in Marcus' bed, and Kevin wanted to rub things in. Gritting his teeth, Jason pushed down the sudden compulsion. Starting a fight in the club would be a bad idea, and he seemed to be having a lot of those lately.

" Don't worry, love. I'll be more than happy to take over your feeding."

Turning back towards the bar, Jason ignored him as Alan poured him another vodka. When he downed that just as quickly as the first, Alan set the bottle in front of him.

" We did try to tell you. It'd happen soon or later." Kevin seemed to be taking great pleasure in rubbing salt into the wound.

For a while now everybody tried to tell him, Marcus would lose interest. They were laying fucking bets on it. He’d wanted to prove them wrong.

" So fucking what, Kevin. It's not the end of the world." It took every ounce of will Jason had to remain seated, acting so casual. His thoughts screamed at him to run away. He couldn't though, the blood tie bound him more effectively than any prison could. A headlong flight into the night would only compound his stupidity. His imagination came into stark play with images of Shaun and Marcus together, and Jason fought to keep the pain from showing in his expression. He'd been so fucking stupid to set that up and only now did he realize that. The grip on his glass tightened, threatening to shatter it before he felt Kevin's hand touch to his.

****

No more than an hour had passed when I descended the back stairs, returning to the bar. Slowly looking over the crowd, I saw Jason and Kevin at the bar. It never did take the vultures long to circle, wanting the pickings from a bad situation. Heading over to them, I silently stood behind Kevin. When a painful grip landed on his shoulder, Kevin looked back over his shoulder at me. My eyes narrowed on him, and it was enough to make him slide sideways, out from under my hand. He melted very swiftly back into the crowd. Moving up behind Jason, I grabbed his arm before he could see me and stalk off. He knew in an instant who had a hold of him.

Whirling around with a snarl, he growled. "Let go of me, Marcus." Anger twisted his features as my hand slid down his arm, tightly curling to his wrist.

" You're the one that set me up, Jason. Or are you forgetting that? Shaun told me before he left." I felt no more than mildly amused by this outburst, though I carefully kept that hidden. It didn't please me to be tested in this way, and my ghoul would find out just how displeased I felt.

" And you're the one that took him upstairs." Jealousy threaded through his words. He knew it had been a very bad idea to see if I would be tempted by a luscious, young piece of meat, or if I would stay faithful to him. But he went ahead with it anyway, and he couldn't take back the last hour, no matter how badly he wished he could.

" That I did." Smirking faintly, I watched his display of jealousy rise even more with the simple words. Drawing him with me, giving him no chance for escape, I headed for the office. The rest of what we had to say to each other didn't need any more ears listening. We'd already attracted enough attention in the bar. It was obvious several others were intently interested in the fight between the club owner's and his boyfriend. I had no doubt all of this would keep the rumor mill happily supplied for the next several nights to come.

Pulling him with me down the hall and into my office, I firmly shut, then locked the door. It was an easy task to activate the ward guarding the door, insuring there would be nobody close by to eavesdrop, and Jason couldn't simply walk out the door. I released him once I had made sure he could go nowhere until we had this out.

" You bastard! How could you do that?" Jason yelled at me as tears began to form in his eyes. Angrily, his hand brushed away the wetness from his eyes. The moment he saw me leaving with Shaun, that monster inside of him had reared its ugly head, and now it consumed him. In the jealous confusion, he wanted to hurt his lover, to hurt Shaun, to make them feel the pain that he did. I saw all of that in his tear filled eyes.

A preternatural stillness encompassed my body as I stared at him, unblinkingly. When he came at me, drawing back his fist, my hand rose in a blur to take hold of his. Yanking him towards me, I let go of his hand, sliding my arm quickly around his waist, pinning him against me.

" You forget, Jason. I do as I please. And--." My voice lowered to a silky purr as I continued, "I do whatever I want to you as well. You belong to me."

" I thought you loved me." His words struggled to come out around the tight knot forming in Jason's throat. The pain behind them very real.

" But I do love you, Jason. You seem to have forgotten that, along with everything else." I'd known even before I left the bar with Shaun, that it was a test on Jason's part. No, I hadn't been happy at all about it. Lifting my hand to his face, my fingers drifted in a slow caress of his features, feeling the heated skin beneath my fingertips. His body shivered, trying to resist that influence on him. My arm tightened around him when he tried to pull away from me.

He immediately stopped struggling against me so I loosened my hold a fraction. But only to drop my hand, letting it skim over his chest, then lower to press lightly to the front of his pants. He was already hard. I felt the thick outline beneath my fingers. I drank in the rich sound and smell of him scenting the air around us as a soft moaned escaped Jason, feeling that delicate pressure. His hips instinctively nudged into it, having no real control over his own desire. Even as he wanted to fight it, he knew he couldn't. Not against the aching fire that centered in his groin with the smallest of my touches.

As I unfastened his pants, he made no effort to resist me. My fingers kneaded into his bare skin as I slid the pants down over his hips, getting rid of that barrier. He knew as well as I did just how much he did belong to me. Everything about him was mine, and he had accepted that a long time ago. There was no escape from that. Each of my caresses became a reminder of the control I held over his body. He urgently pressed into the fleeting touches that ghosted to his skin. He'd always responded so beautifully to me, totally giving of everything he had. Perhaps that's why I loved him so deeply.

Leaning forward, his lips desperately caught at mine, wanting the images he had witnessed and imagined, drowned from his mind. His tongue slid into my mouth, the tip running over my fangs, letting them nick into his flesh. The hot spill of his blood coated my tongue as I hungrily licked in feverish flicks. Tightening my mouth to his tongue, I took the small draught of his sweet flavor. He wanted to remind me that I need him, but the reminder was unnecessary. I already knew how deeply I did.

I felt the hard line of his cock strain against the tight material. A slow pass of my hand resulted in a harder jerk of his hips. Breaking away from his lips, I said roughly, "Never test me again, Jason. If I desire another, you will be the first to one to know. I would never go behind your back. Don't ever test my fidelity again." Tightening the curl of my fingers to a faintly painful level, I waited patiently for his answer.

" I won't. I promise, Marcus." He wanted to say more but had to bite his lip to still the sound rising in his throat. The sudden flood of sensation made it hard for him to talk. Staring up at me, he once again found himself enthralled in the storm blue depths that held his gaze.

Satisfied with his answer, I released that grip to lift my hand, edging it beneath his shirt to pull it over his hair. It only took me a moment to strip him of the underwear that stood in my way. Later I would tell him the truth, but for now, the urge to bury my cock in his ass over rode any chance of talking. There was no resistance in him as my body pushed his back towards the desk. Turning to face the desk, his arm scattered pieces of paper and the plastic memo box to the floor. As he leaned on the desk, my eyes traveled slowly over the bared ass waiting for my attention. The sight of it sent a familiar rush of lust through my body. When he looked over his shoulder at me, I saw the pleading flash in his eyes

I liberally wet two fingers in my mouth, and then teased slowly to his hole before quickly pushing them inside of him. A soft hissing breath came from him as his hips moved back to drive the fingers deeper inside him. The squirm of his hips drew a sudden sharp slap of my hand. I knew my sweet fuck enjoyed that edge of pain with his pleasure. The tremor of his body betrayed his increasing excitement.

Toeing off my shoes, I quickly unzipped my pants, and then left them to drop to the floor, before I kicked them away. Resting my hands on his hips, I moved closer into him. His ass ground tightly back against my groin. Growling softly, I drew back slightly to spit in my hand. Rubbing the moisture to the head of my cock, I withdrew my hand before I pushed my cock deep into that tight heat. The snug feel rapidly shattered any control I might have had.

His sharp cry, and the sound of my name, only drove me to thrust hard into his ass. Feeling that hot friction surrounding my cock, the sensation rocked through my body. His hips pushed back into my thrusts as his body shuddered. I repeatedly pounded into him, listening to the sound of our flesh meeting over and over again, and the keening rise to his moans. The hot flesh sheathing me sent me over the edge. I buried my cock deep inside him, and felt the white hot explosion as I came. The muscles of his ass tightened, milking every last drop out of me.

Releasing his hip, I laid my hand on his shoulder, drawing him up. His head tilted slowly, arching his throat for me as he ground back against me, wanting his own release. Chuckling softly, I reached around him, my hand brushing his away from his cock, before replacing it. A silken touch ran slowly over his length before I buried my fangs at the side of his throat. Greedily, I drank the crimson flow as my hand curled to stroke over his cock.

His body suddenly convulsed against mine when he came. I felt the heat of his come spilling over my hand, and the sound of his ragged, gasping breaths were the sweetest music to me. The honeyed flavor of his release tinged his blood as I feed deeply from him. When I brought my hand up to his lips, I felt the warmth of his tongue licking at my fingers. As I listened to the quickened beat of his heart slow, a calm tranquility engulfed me.

After I stopped drinking from him, I pressed a soft kiss to his skin. The soft lick of my tongue lovingly healed the two small wounds I had made in him. Lifting my head slightly, I whispered to him. "Nothing happened with Shaun, Jason. We did no more than talk." I'd known that Jason had only being trying to test me. When I took Shaun upstairs, I had absolutely no intention of fucking that cute little piece of ass. And I didn't fuck him either. No, I wanted the ass that was still so tightly pressed back against me, no other.

" Shaun was also hoping to take your place. I made sure he'll never again make the mistake of interfering between me and you. Then I sent him home." I also knew, in his own way, Shaun had set Jason up. Shaun had thought that I would be angry over Jason pulling a trick like that on me, and he could easily step into the breach. He'd admitted to it before I sent him home.

Easily I read his mind, and I could feel the sharp relief that hit his thoughts with my words. As I pulled back from him; he quickly spun around, wrapping his arms around me. Sliding my arms around his waist, I held him tightly to me. Clinging to me, a relieved sob escaped him. The truth easing that knot of pain inside of him. A white heat of anger stirred against Shaun for betraying him, but mostly he felt the keen alleviation of the anguish he'd suffered. He'd learned his lesson, and would never again question the love given to him.

Sliding my arm behind him, I picked him up and carried him towards the back stairs that lead to our apartment. His arms snaked around my neck as he tucked his head in against my shoulder. From the fragments of his thoughts, which flowed to me, I knew he didn't want me to let him go. The almost demanding tenor reached out for me, trying to wrap itself tightly into my thoughts. I felt his overwhelming need for me in those pieces of himself that he gave, he never held anything back from me. Cradling him tightly to me, I ascended the stairs. The door opened for me automatically. After I carried him inside, I kicked it shut with my foot. It would be a long while before either of us returned downstairs.

It would ever be thus between us.

***

Shayne Carmichael has some knowledge in the field of D/s, but mostly a deep personal interest in the lifestyle itself. Currently he is working on a full-length novel entitled The Prince’s Angel with co author Mychael Black. With a deep interest in vampires going back a long way, and a great deal of imagination, he enjoys creating those darker worlds. One of his current works, The Power of Two, written with co-author Mychael Black, is being published by Phaze. Shayne also has stories published by Erotic Dreams and one by Forbidden Fruit Zine

The other main factor in his life is his cat, Jeffrey. A malevolently spoiled feline who often helps his slave type while working on his writing. When not coming up with fantasy worlds, Shayne can still be found on the computer. Doing web work, stretching his PHP and database skills, and generally getting really pissy when the code doesn't do what he wants it to. Shayne's website is: http://www.theprincesangel.com. His email shayne@theprincesangel.com

Queremos, by Jean Roberta

The Pacific is playful and moody near Isla Negra, the final resting-place of the unofficial national poet of Chile and his faithful companera. Stan Boisvert waded ankle-deep into the surging wavelets, his pants rolled up high enough to show the plentiful, dark leg-hair that could be ruffled by a strong breeze.

It was January, full summer in the Southern Hemisphere. Nonetheless, the water was cold enough to raise goose-bumps on exposed skin. The breezes--¬some warmer and some cooler--helped. Stan welcomed the feeling of air and water on his body. He came to the beach to be reminded he was alive.

As a boy in Canada, he had waded into the grey water of Lake Ontario, never quite believing that it was a lake surrounded by solid land and not an ocean that could carry a curious traveler to other continents. The vastness, the restlessness and the dazzling effects of sunlight on water had all been the same then as now. Presumably, though, Stan knew more about the world now than he had as a child, not only in a geographical sense.

He was attracted to this beach because it had looked deserted. In some unacknowledged sense, he had hoped that if his own lost companera were to contact him, it would be here where the ocean surges onto the land like a horde of spirits persistently trying to touch the living. Grief had given him an irrational conviction that she must still exist in some form, and that she had left him to return to her home.

At first Stan thought that the approaching figure must be a young woman, possibly a teenager, judging from the slim, coltish body and the awkward but limber gait on wet sand. This person looked solid and alive. Stan’s Luisa had never walked with such touching clumsiness, even in her youth.

ТHola!У called the stranger, smiling shyly. His jawline was just heavy enough to identify him as a young man, and he stumbled along a wet beach with the game determination of a fellow-gringo. There was something Latino about him, however.

ТHola,У returned Stan with more tolerance than enthusiasm. He had wanted to be alone, but he was a journalist by inclination as well as by trade. Other people always aroused his curiosity.

ТMr. . . Stan Boisvert?У asked the stranger.

If Stan was surprised to be recognized so far from his home, he didn’t show it. ТYes.У

His answer provoked another nervous question. ТYou write for the Toronto Times-Courier, don’t you?У

ТNational Edition,У Stan corrected him.

ТI read about your wife. I’m so sorry for your loss.У The stranger’s accent in English, more than his flattering knowledge of Stan’s life, made it crystal-clear that he was a brother Canadian.

The young man was clearly an admirer. If allowed, he was willing to be Stan’s disciple or his groupie, and this willingness shone in his deep brown eyes.

His attention felt like a flirtatious hand sliding down Stan’s hairy chest to his cock and balls. Stan was shocked by his own reaction.

ТThank you,У he answered to fill the silence. To cover his own embarrassment, he stuck out his hand while calmly stepping back, maintaining his space. ТAnd you are--?У

The stranger flushed under his olive complexion as he eagerly grasped Stan’s offered hand and shook it. ТPaulo Martinez.У A little rush of electricity ran from Paulo’s warm palm up Stan’s arm, but Stan’s face gave nothing away.

Paulo pressed on. ТMy parents are Daniel and Teresa. They live in Kitchener now, but they came to Toronto from Chile in the 1970s. I was born in Toronto.У

Young Paulo seemed desperate for some sort of acknowledgement, but he didn’t want to admit his age -- or his youth. Stan imagined his parents calling him Paulito long after he’d asked them to stop. Stan knew how soon this kid was likely to lose his current embarrassment and gain the deeper shame of having wasted precious time before discovering what really mattered to him.

Stan rarely forgot a name, and he remembered Paulo’s parents. Thirty years before, they had been among the bitterest members of an incestuous community of Chileans in exile from the brutal military regime that replaced democracy in their country in 1973. Canada had taken them in, but adjusting to the climate was hardly easier than surviving torture, and neither the white Anglo-Saxon establishment nor the other cultural minorities was especially warm.

Paulo’s parents had never forgiven Luisa Ortiz for becoming fluent in English within a year, or for marrying a Canadian with dangerously leftist views. Their disapproval alone would have made Stan attractive to Paulo as a role model, even if his words hadn’t appeared so often in print, or if his scandalous life hadn’t been a popular subject of discussion in the Chilean community. For a boy growing up far from the homeland of visionaries like the Poet, Stan was an acceptable hero.

The irony of the current situation tickled Stan like the breeze that slid down his spine. He wondered how long Paulo had been following him and in how many places before he had worked up the courage to speak to him. ТI read all your articles,У Paulo gushed. ТIt’s so good to know there are still some journalists who tell the truth.У

ТWould you like to go sit on those rocks and talk?У Stan invited him graciously. ТIt might be more comfortable than standing here.У The temptation to gently goad Paulo the stalker was irresistible.

The rocks were further up the beach, away from the surf. They were hard on the buttocks, but warmer than the air. Stan couldn’t help wondering whether the man known as the Poet had ever sat on these rocks to watch the ocean and contemplate life. The Poet’s house, now a tourist attraction, had a picture window in the master bedroom that offered a magnificent view of water and sky. The Poet and his lover could have greeted the day by fucking passionately to the rhythm of the waves outdoors. Occasionally, Stan assumed, they must have sought inspiration by going out to feel the air and the spray on their skin.

Paulo’s desire to be touched hung in the air between him and Stan. Seagulls called poignantly to each other in their own language. The wind rose to a moan, blowing Paulo’s shiny chestnut hair into his face.

ТDid you come for a visit with your parents?У Stan prompted. ТOr come back to live?У Some of the Chilean exiles in Canada had done that now that a civilian government had replaced the military regime of the 1970s.

Stan reached out to touch Paulo’s smooth, tanned arm below the short sleeve of his T-shirt. ТNo,У answered Paulo ambiguously, leaning into the steadying, hairy, masculine hand. ТMy parents are worried about me. I dropped out of university for a year, and got charged with drunk driving. My parents thought it would do me good to go stay with my tios for a month.У

ТSo you screwed up.У Stan’s voice was a fatherly baritone.

ТAccording to them. I can’t be who they want me to be. I don’t want to be an accountant. Fuck, if my father had been an accountant, he probably could have stayed here. I don’t want to marry a girl I’ve known all my life. You know?У

Paulo shifted his tight butt-cheeks on his rock, looking more seductive than he intended. The wind brought the scent of men’s cologne to Stan, with an undercurrent of something funkier.

Stan stood upright. ТYou cold, man?У he teased, easily pulling Paulo into his arms.

Paulo hugged back with the intensity of a young man who thinks he is standing on the brink of a cliff at the edge of the world. His longing for his hero radiated from his pores. Stan could feel the emotional war in Paulo’s guts as the influence of his Catholic childhood and his fear of patronizing dismissal clashed with an impulse to throw himself into an ocean of male sweat, of rudely assertive cocks, of subversive communion.

For a split-second, Stan remembered the Bolivian slogan, ТQueremos nuestro mar.У We want our sea. Over a century ago, the Chilean armed forces had defeated Bolivia in a fast, pathetic war over a port town that had enabled desert minerals to be shipped to the outside world, and enabled the world to come to Bolivia. By all accounts, the landlocked country had been in decline ever since, and collective desire for the lost seacoast had become part of Bolivian consciousness.

ТNot cold now,У answered Paulo.

We all miss something we’ve lost, thought Stan, or dreamed of having. He pressed his mouth against Paulo’s softer lips. With swift confidence, Stan pressed his hard-on into Paulo’s, forcing him to recognize the solid evidence of man-to-man attraction. The bulge at Paulo’s crotch was bigger than Stan would have guessed, and it swelled further with contact. Stan tugged at Paulo’s T-shirt, scrunching the logo of a popular Chilean soccer team. Paulo shivered.

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Mercifully, the sun emerged from behind a drifting bank of clouds. Even still, Paulo would have to brave the kiss of the salty air to get what he wanted. Stan wanted to see him naked. ТShow me, guy,У ordered Stan, unbuttoning Paulo’s jeans.

Paulo looked around nervously. ТHere?У The stretch of beach was surrounded by rocks, and it was mid-afternoon on a weekday. None of those factors guaranteed that the small group of people in the distance would discreetly go away instead of coming closer.

Stan smiled and took off his weathered brown leather jacket. ТWhere else? You can put this on, baby.У

Paulo hesitated as though considering a dare. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a smoothly-muscled chest. Stan chivalrously draped his jacket over Paulo’s shoulders. Looking Stan in the eyes, Paulo unzipped his jeans and pulled them down his legs. As he stepped out of the bunched denim, his circumcised cock bounced slightly. It looked graceful and honest, springing from its nest of dark hair.

Paulo stood for inspection, gleaming and fresh in the sunlight. A faintly musky smell wafted from him on the breeze, but Stan could guess that he was obsessed with keeping himself clean and well-groomed, ready for any chance--or well-planned--encounter. With rolling waves behind him, Paulo looked like a merman who had magically acquired human legs for walking on land. His legs were shapely and compact.

Stan reached out to cradle Paulo’s hanging balls. He stroked Paulo’s shaft, sending tremors through it. ТNice,У he remarked.

Paulo tried to suppress a groan. ТStan, I . . . I didn’t think you were gay,У he blurted.

ТI’m bi. I’ve always been into men.У Stan didn’t want to explain that he had never been faithful to Luisa, even though he had loved her in his way.

Paulo struggled to understand Stan’s inclusive sexuality. He understood that Stan’s sense of loyalty must be unorthodox.

Stan dreaded being pelted with questions like a politician during an election, but he felt that he owed his admirer the answers he wanted.

Stan brought Paulo to a crisis-point. ТDon’t come,У he told him softly. ТI want your mouth first.У Stan efficiently unzipped his khakis and pulled out a shorter and thicker cock than Paulo’s. Its head shone brick-red in the pearly light.

Paulo dropped to his knees on the grainy sand. Stan pressed one hand to Paulo’s forehead to keep him from moving closer while he used the other to pull a square packet out of a pants pocket. Stan ripped the foil with his teeth, and pulled the condom over his own cock, noting the slight look of disappointment on Paulo’s face. The young man leaned forward and guided Stan’s covered meat into his mouth.

Paulo used his tongue to stroke the thick vein on the underside of Stan’s cock. He sucked until Stan could see indentations in his cheeks. He held Stan’s balls, squeezing them lightly with five fingers in time to his tongue-lapping. He had style.

Stan closed his eyes, focusing on the wet heat between his legs. The chill breeze in his hair and the rhythm of the surf reminded him of background music in a restaurant known for its flaming desserts.

Paulo's desire to please was as subtly intoxicating as good wine. Stan's balls responded, and fluid shot through his cock into its latex sheath. Stan could feel Paulo's tongue moving on him as though he wanted a taste. Stan was tickled by this evidence of experience or natural aptitude--he couldn't be sure which.

Paulo withdrew as though reluctant to let go. Stan stroked his hair with a tenderness that brought Paulo dangerously close to tears.

"Good boy." Stan loved giving that compliment when he thought it was deserved. He had never fathered a child, and he told himself that one of his divinely-appointed roles was to give sons the approval they rarely got from their blood fathers.

Stan slipped the filled condom off his spent cock and threw it vigorously into the ocean, where it disappeared without an audible splash. Stan thought of it as a sacrifice to the mother of all living things.

"De nada," answered Paulo. "Anything for you, Stan." He tried to make this extravagant promise sound flippant.

Stan could not make extravagant promises to anyone even in his youth, much less in his time of mourning and mid-life world-weariness. He would give what he could. Paulo’s boast awakened his greed. "Anything I want?"

Paulo couldn't maintain eye contact. "Um," he answered. "If it's safe, sane and consensual. You know."

"You just consented," Stan reminded him. Holding Paulo close with one arm around the jacket, Stan used his other hand to squeeze one of Paulo's nipples, experimentally rolling and twisting it. Paulo responded by rising on tiptoes with a hip-swiveling motion, laughing and moaning.

"Anything," repeated Stan. Paulo avoided looking him in the eyes by focusing on the curly, graying chest hair above the opening of Stan's shirt. Stan let go of Paulo's shoulders to give him a hearty slap on the butt. "Do you want to be mine, Paulito? Be my boy?" His tone was mellow.

"Claro," admitted Paulo under his breath, apparently finding this confession less embarrassing in Spanish. "I wanted to meet you for years."

"And now your dream has come true," smiled Stan. "You'll find out how disappointing that is. I want to have you, man." Stan pressed two fingers against Paulo's anus, then pushed the tip of his index finger into the snug opening. Paulo shifted uneasily.

"You're a virgin in there, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes."

"I'll feel too big for you, baby," Stan told him gently. "Even though I've got some lube, and I'll use lots of it. It'll hurt, and you'll have to be brave."

Stan looked into Paulo's boyish dark eyes and saw the reflection of a middle-aged man with a clear, grey-eyed gaze, receding greyish-brown hair and an amused expression. Stan pressed his mouth against Paulo's, holding him with both wiry arms. He pushed his tongue between Paulo's teeth and felt the increase of saliva that suggested surrender. Stan continued to kiss him deeply until he felt that Paulo was ready for the next phase.

"You want to know the worst thing about it?" Stan taunted, or warned.

"What?" Paulo really didn't seem to know.

"You'll love being plowed in the ass. No matter what anyone told you about that abomination when you were growing up. No matter what you've heard about how humiliating it is, how you never get back what you lose to a man who takes you. You'll love it, and you'll feel like a traitor to yourself. You can never forget it, and neither can the guy who filled your back passage. You'll want it when you don't want to want it. Do you understand me, baby?"

Paulo was shaking and trying desperately to control it. "Stan?" he asked. "Are you mad at me?"

Stan rocked him from side to side. "No, Paulo," he told him. "Hell no, my man. You’ve offered me something priceless, and I’m honored. Really. I'm just warning you, that's all. I want to play fair."

"I won't blame you," promised Paulo. "I'll never blame you for anything." The word "never" sounded to Stan like a catchword of the under-thirty crowd.

Stan withdrew from him, but he kept smiling as he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it carelessly on a rock. He pulled a condom and a tube of thick lubricant out of a pants pocket before sliding his pants down and off, and tossing them atop his shirt.

"I want you in the water," Stan grinned. "It's better there."

Paulo glanced at Stan's rising cock, then followed his gaze to the rolling waves, the foam and the unbearable brightness of sunlight on an oceanscape. "But won't . . ."

"No," said Stan. "You won't get saltwater in you. We come from the ocean, you know. A lot of humans must have fucked underwater without getting rust in their tailpipes. We evolved to do that safely."

Stan jerked his jacket off Paulo's shoulders with one hand. Paulo visibly resisted the impulse to cover himself with a classic gesture of feminine modesty.

"No one will see us, Paulo," Stan told him. "And fish don't talk." He kicked off his sandals.

Paulo watched Stan lovingly smooth a condom over his hard cock, covering its angry red color with an overlay of cream-colored latex that reflected the light. With an air of workmanlike absorption, Stan squeezed clear gel onto his cock and spread it evenly from the base to the head.

Stan held Paulo by the hips and moved him forward. Paulo couldn't help walking with a twitch as Stan's competent hands cupped his high ass-cheeks, urging him to walk barefooted onto wetter sand and then into water that chilled his legs until he adjusted to it.

The sand was shifty underfoot, but Paulo's flesh and Stan's grip on it were both firm. The two men waded into the ocean until the water lapped at Paulo's ribs.

"Spread your legs," Stan told him in a low voice, bending him forward from the waist. "Don't worry. I've got you." Stan slid a finger easily into his puckered hole as the current caressed him.

"Ahhhh, you're taking it." Stan knew that Paulo needed the sound of his voice while he had nothing to watch but the vast Pacific in front of him. Stan added another finger and patiently followed the curve of Paulo' rectum to his secret depths. Paulo's prostate gland welcomed the attention.

"Good boy," Stan told him, almost chanting. Paulo had found his footing on the sand, and Stan was gently rocking him to the rhythm of the waves.

Stan reached for Paulo's cock, and found it as hard as a rock worn smooth by water. "I'm going in," Stan told him, spreading Paulo's anus to accept the slippery head that nosed it like a friendly dog.

"I'll fall!" Paulo blurted in a high voice.

"Then go this way." Stan guided him toward a rock at the waterline. With frustrating slowness, they pushed on against the current until Stan was able to place Paulo's hands flat on the rock to steady him.

Paulo's wet ass now projected above the water, shining in the sunlight and shivering in the breeze. Stan stood behind him, tormenting Paulo's balls as he pushed his cock partway into him.

Paulo gasped like a frightened child, but immediately willed himself into silence. "That's it," Stan encouraged him. "I'm in, baby. Just breathe."

"It hurts," Paulo complained before he could stop himself. His body was confused as he tried to relax without falling.

Stan stroked Paulo's cock, searching for the most sensitive, distracting spots. "You don't want me to stop, do you?" he asked.

"No." With a steady thrust, Stan entered Paulo up to his balls.

"Ohhhh," moaned Paulo, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Stan comforted him in front while working up a wavelike rhythm in back.

Paulo's untried passage accepted Stan's cock, relaxing subtly but unmistakably. Stan made wordless sounds of acknowledgement as he fucked him without haste. Soft things like underwater feathers brushed against both men as though urging them on.

Stan could feel the spasms in Paulo's cock and balls as the juice flowed out of him like ink from a squid, and dissolved in the ocean.

Stan reached his own relief a moment later, discharging into a soft tunnel. He felt as if he had baptized Paulo from the inside.

"Now you know, my boy," Stan told him. Paulo seemed to have lost all fear of being seen by passersby.

Both men moved languidly, wanting to stay submerged in the rich brine that was so much like the fluids inside them. Stan splashed water onto Paulo's back, and Paulo turned as quickly as possible to splash him back. The ensuing water-fight left them both completely drenched from the hair down.

Stan lifted Paulo off his feet in the buoyant water before setting him down and guiding him back to land. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, and the expectations of the other people in their lives formed an invisible net that both men could feel.

"How?" asked Paulo, as self-centered as a teenager. "How could you be married to a woman? You're a guy's guy."

Stan knew the types of pain that lay in wait for Paulo, and he knew that any effort to protect him would only result in a delayed coming-of-age. "I loved her," he explained. "I don't regret it."

Stan watched Paulo struggle with an unreasonable self-pity which clashed with his sense of himself as a better man than those who would call him a sick joke, a maricon. Stan would not betray Luisa's memory by hinting to Paulo about how her sensuality had been crippled before he ever met her, or what a sad tangle of good intentions their sex life had been. He would not explain that cancer was the medical term for the war in her body. Stan had loved her in his way, and he would leave it at that.

Stan offered Paulo the comfort of a warm, wet arm around his shoulders, knowing that no words would suffice. They returned to their clothes as the sea sang them an old song about having and losing, about going away and coming back.