Chapter 8

Click here to read the Disclaimer and Warning.

Chapter 8: Commencement -- Part 2

The plane kept shaking and my anxiety was spiking through the roof. There was nothing like imagining impending death to bring up every regret, and mine were rushing in like animals onto Noah's Ark. I regretted not patching things up with Peter before leaving New York, regretted not coming out to my family, and regretted not telling Edward I loved him, regardless of the consequences. About the only thing I didn't have to regret was dying while still a virgin. Thanks to my summer in Europe, that was no longer a concern.

After a couple of weeks in London, my dad and I traveled to Paris, where he went through another round of promotional events similar to the ones he'd had to do in England. Once again, I was left to explore the city on my own. At first I was concerned, since I didn't speak a word of French beyond the basic "Bonjour, parlez-vous anglais?" But, as it turned out, that single phrase was the magic key that unlocked every Parisian's ability to speak English. As long as I approached a French speaker with my magic phrase, they were willing to give me any information I needed in my native tongue.

My exploration of Paris was similar to that of London. I spent nearly all of my time at museums, monuments, or enjoying other tourist highlights. Following my British friends' advice, however, I relaxed the pace and made sure to appreciate the city at leisure, which meant taking frequent breaks at various cafes to drink wine or cappuccinos. That's how I met Laurent.

I was sitting outside a café on Ile Saint-Louis facing the back of Notre Dame Cathedral. He came in to sit at a table next to me, opened a sketch notebook, and began drawing the cathedral with quick, smooth strokes of charcoal. I was impressed with his talent and speed, as he finished the sketch before his order even arrived. When he was done he closed the notebook and looked over, noticing me for the first time.

"Bonjour," I said, lamely. It was obvious that I'd been staring, so I had to say something.

"Bonjour," he said with a slight incline of the head. "Are you American?" His voice was rich and melodic.

"I am," I confirmed. "You're a talented artist."

"What? This?" he said, pointing to his notebook. "It's nothing. Just a quick exercise. A warm-up. I do it every day. It is like singing scales for an opera singer."

"Every day?" I said in disbelief.

"Sure," he confirmed. "The cathedral, she is like an old friend. Familiar. Sketching her is easy." He handed me the notebook, indicating for me to look through it. I did as he asked and, sure enough, interspersed with other sketches were dozens of sketches of the back of the cathedral from the very spot in which we sat. "Sketching the unfamiliar is more difficult. Sketching you, for example, would be a challenge. Still," he said thoughtfully, "I would like to try. May I?" he reached out his hand for the notebook and I handed it back to him.

I hesitated slightly. I'd never been sketched before and I was curious, but I also had a lot of sightseeing planned for the day.

"It won't take long," he said as if he'd read my mind. "I'll finish before you're done with your coffee.

Without waiting for a response he opened the notebook again and took out his charcoal, letting it glide gracefully over the blank paper. I was uncomfortable, unsure if I should sit still or continue drinking. I finally elected to forego the coffee until he was done drawing, hoping it wouldn't take long.

As he moved the charcoal on the page, I took the opportunity to observe him. He was older, perhaps in his late 20s, but seriously fuckin' sexy, with dark hair and eyes, and a deep bronze tan. He had high cheekbones and a cleft chin, his nose was just slightly crooked, and his wide lips looked deliciously soft. He wore a short-sleeved, ivory, button down shirt with a subtle tone on tone geometric pattern, black slacks and black loafers. For the first time I felt a twinge of my gaydar, and wondered if this was the real thing or if I was just projecting my wishes onto an unsuspecting stranger. I was certainly attracted to him, and if we had been in the States I might have even worked up a nerve to ask him out.

The waiter arrived with his coffee, but the man ignored the beverage and continued his work.

"You're a very good model," he remarked. "I have the basics now, so you can move again if you'd like."

I picked up my coffee and took a swallow, glancing back in his direction. He was looking more at the notebook now than at me, clearly adding the final details to his drawing. A few more minutes and he was done, placing the charcoal down on the table and studying the sketch critically.

"It does not do justice to the subject," he said, "but as a quick sketch it will do. Would you like to see?"

"Of course," I replied, "If I may."

He passed me the notebook and reached for his coffee. I glanced at the sketch, surprised at how well he captured my likeness. It was obviously fast work, without a lot of details, yet my features were clearly defined and he had captured a wide-eyed excitement in my face that I was sure had been there since my arrival in Paris, or maybe even since my arrival in Europe.

"You're very talented," I told him again. "I can't believe you sketched this in just a few minutes. May I buy it from you?"

He looked at me, surprised, before shaking his head.

"No. The sketches in that notebook are not for sale. But if you pose for me again I would be happy to make another sketch for you, free of charge. I'm Laurent, by the way," he said, extending his hand.

"Jasper," I shook his hand, holding on a little longer than necessary, testing the waters, "And while I appreciate the offer, I couldn't possibly ask . . ."

"Then let me do the asking," he interjected. "Would you like to get together later this afternoon so that I could sketch you again, and then maybe have dinner? If you enjoy French food, there is a good restaurant at the other end of this island."

I swallowed hard, happy that I'd been right in my assessment and nervous about possibly going to dinner on what sure sounded like a date with someone I'd just met. But after giving myself a pep talk about seizing opportunities when they came along, I agreed. We arranged to meet at the same spot at 5:00, finished our drinks and headed off in separate directions.

I was too nervous to focus on sightseeing, so I went back to the hotel. I needed to talk to someone, but it was the middle of the night back in the States – much too late to call Peter even if we had been on better terms. Then I remembered Greg's card. Granted, he hadn't given it to me so I could call him up for random dating advice, but what did I have to lose? I dug it out and dialed the number. He answered on the third ring.

"Greg? It's Jasper. Sorry to be calling out of the blue but I needed some advice and thought you might be able to help. Is this an OK time?"

"Sure. You're lucky, actually. Caught me during a bit of a lull. What's up?"

"Well, first of all, how are things with Rick?"

He hesitated a moment. "He and H. are back together," he said.

"Oh," I gave myself a hard mental slap for bringing up the subject. "I'm sorry," I added.

"No, it's fine, actually. H. hasn't changed. He's still not willing to come out and I know he won't be any time soon. I also know that Rick won't stay in the closet forever. So this may be the best thing. Maybe the next time Rick gives H. an ultimatum, he'll really mean it."

"Right. And in the meantime you'll . . ."

"Oh, don't worry. I decided to take your advice and start looking. It can't hurt, really, either way. And maybe if I take off the Rick-colored glasses I will find someone who's even more right for me. Besides, dating can be fun."

"And on that topic," I jumped in, "Remember how I said I never had a real date? Well, that may be about to change and I really could use some help."

"Jasper, you dirty dog. Found yourself a handsome frog, have you? Be careful, sometimes when you kiss them they turn into equally handsome princes, and you don't want to get stuck in Paris forever."

I laughed.

"It's just dinner. I don't think anyone is ready to start discussing next week, much less forever."

"Right. So what kind of advice do you need? My French is kind of rusty and I don't think I ever did learn the words for lube and condom."

I gasped in shock, making him laugh.

"Sorry, forgot you were still a virgin. But that may be about to change, huh? And in Paris, too. How romantic! So what happened? Give me some details."

I relayed what happened this morning and asked him if he thought I was interpreting the signs correctly. This caused another fit of laughter, but then he confirmed his agreement with my take on things.

"So, how does this dating thing work? What do I do?" The only things I knew about dating were what I observed among my friends in Forks and on TV, and none of these things applied here. I was seriously freaked out, not knowing what to expect or what would be expected of me. Greg seemed to sense my trepidation, because he turned more serious and started giving me actual pointers. I listened and asked questions which were probably stupid, but which he answered patiently anyway.

"The two most important things," he said in closure, "are that you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, no matter what he may expect, and that if you choose to do anything beyond kissing in public be careful – the last thing you want is for your father to be bailing you out from a French jail on indecent exposure charges."

I groaned. My behavior with Rick clearly showed that I wasn't beyond doing indecent things in public with men I barely knew, so I supposed I deserved that remark. Still, did he really think I had no self-control and would jump every guy who looked my way? I was a really fuckin' shy and reserved guy, for crying out loud.

I hung up with Greg, promising to call him back to let him know what happened. Then I agonized whether to change or wear the clothes I already had on. I finally decided that changing would be trying too hard. This was just dinner, after all. I wasn't even really sure that it was a date.

I spent the rest of the day at the Musée d'Orsay, absolutely entranced by all the paintings, sculptures and decorative arts. The building that housed the museum was a work of art in and of itself, and the collection was amazing. I don't know how long I stood in awe of Rodin's Gates of Hell or how long I studied my favorite painting, Winterhalter's portrait of Madame Rimsky-Korsakov, but the next thing I knew I was leaving the museum in a rush to meet Laurent.

He was already there, waiting for me, sketching the back of the cathedral again, this time in a larger sketch pad. He looked up when he heard me approach and smiled.

"You're out of breath," he said.

"Yeah, I lost track of time at the Musée d'Orsay. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. It gives your eyes and face a certain brightness – I like it. It will make for a better drawing. Here, make yourself comfortable." He pointed me towards a concrete half-wall where I could sit. He took a few moments to position me to fit whatever composition he had in mind. Then he asked me to stay still for a few minutes while he sketched. Again, we didn't speak as he worked. He concentrated as he drew, but it was obviously a pleasurable exercise for him, his face graced by a small smile the entire time. He finished one sketch, but instead of stopping he simply flipped the page in the sketch pad and began drawing again.

"I will do two versions. You will get to select the one you want, I'll keep the other. I hope you don't mind? I like the way this is turning out. You have a wonderful face, very timeless. I only wish I could paint you."

I blushed, thinking about the portrait I'd spent so much time admiring at the museum. The idea that anyone would want me to be the subject of a painting was pretty unbelievable. Not knowing how to respond, I remained silent and unmoving in my pose until he was done with the second sketch. He walked over to me, flipping the pad to the first sketch, and then to the second. The first was a realistic depiction of me in modern day Paris. In the second, he drew me in the same pose, but dressed in period clothing, wearing an open long coat, a buttoned vest and a shirt with ruffles billowing out of the top of the vest and from beneath the jacket sleeves. The second sketch didn't include the cathedral, so it could have been set anywhere. It was quite a romantic look, and I was astounded at the difference made just by the change in my attire. I looked back at him with awe.

"This is incredible," I said. "What made you . . . ?"

"I told you, your face is amazing. It transcends time. When you were sitting for the first sketch I saw you as you were, but I also saw this, and I had to draw it. I'm glad you like it. Which one would you like to keep?"

I flipped back and forth between the two sketches. As much as I loved the second, I didn't see how I would be able to explain it to anyone back home, so I chose the first. Laurent took the charcoal and signed the sketch with a flourish.

"I will keep it in the book to protect it," he said. "Please remind me to take it out for you later. Now, shall we go to the restaurant?"

I followed him down the narrow streets to the other side of Ile Saint-Louis, where we stopped at a small restaurant called Auberge de la Reine Blanche. Inside, Laurent led us to a table for two in the back of the restaurant near the kitchen.

"It'll be quieter back here when the other diners start arriving," he explained. The menus were all in French, so he quickly walked me through the choices and placed our orders. We drank wine, ate and carried on a remarkably easy conversation. He put me at such ease, I forgot to be nervous. We spoke about my trip and what I had seen of Paris thus far, and he told me he made his living as an artist, painting mostly commissions and staging small shows.

"It's not the most comfortable or luxurious living," he chuckled, "but it is a living. I'm doing what I love and I don't have to be stuck inside an office punching the clock."

Throughout the leisurely dinner neither of us made any romantic overtures, and I started to wonder if perhaps I misinterpreted his intentions. But as we were leaving the restaurant Laurent asked if I wanted to go for a walk along the Seine, and my nerves returned.

We strolled slowly, still talking, though my mind was not fully on the conversation. I wanted something to happen, but I was too afraid of rejection to initiate it myself. Finally we paused and leaned against the concrete wall along the upper riverbank just as a bateaux-mouche drifted along, bathing the buildings behind us in a bright light. As the boat passed and darkness enveloped us again, Laurent turned and dipped his head towards mine for a gentle kiss. I could feel his lips turn up in a smile when he sensed my welcoming response. He broke off the kiss a few moments later and leaned back, looking at me inquisitively.

"You're a very attractive man, Jasper. I confess I've been thinking about kissing you all day. But you're also an enigma. I couldn't quite tell if you wanted this."

I looked back towards the river, thankful that the darkness hid my blush.

"I've never really done anything like this before," I said, sounding as insecure as I felt.

"Like this?"

Jesus fuckin' Christ. He was going to make me explain? It was too embarrassing to put into words at all, much less to say out loud.

"You don't normally go out to dinner with strangers you meet in foreign countries?" he verbalized for me.

"That too," I said quietly.

"Ah," his voice was filled with understanding. "You seemed pretty comfortable with yourself and me, so I thought you were more experienced. But this is all still very new to you, yes?"

I nodded.

"Well, then, let's start at the beginning."

He set aside the sketch pad, reached for me and pulled me into his arms, his lips returning to mine in a kiss that started off gently and then continued to increase in passion and intensity. Soon our hands were moving over our bodies, grasping and groping until we were both extremely turned on and panting heavily, rapidly reaching a point where our activities should be taken indoors.

"Would you like to come to my flat?" he asked. "It's nearby and it will be more comfortable, but we will only do what you wish. What you feel comfortable doing. Even if it's just more of this."

I hesitated. Heading off to the apartment of a guy I just met was a big fuckin' step. Yet Laurent seemed perfectly sincere in what he told me, and I really wanted to do more than just kiss him without having to worry about being arrested. I indicated my consent by slipping my hand into his.

"Lead the way," I said.

His apartment was a 7th floor studio in a building with an elevator so small it barely held the two of us. There was a tiny but efficient kitchen and a small table in one corner, an armless sofa, TV and a bookcase in another, with a large antique wardrobe and dresser in between. The rest of the room, closer to the windows, was taken up with art supplies and paintings in various stages of completion. I was instantly drawn to his artwork, surprised by the variety of styles, which included traditional portraits and landscapes along with more modern abstracts. I looked at him questioningly and he shrugged.

"I do the portraits on commission – they pay the rent. I enjoy painting landscapes, but modern art is trendier and sells better.  It helps me get a foothold at the galleries."

"They're all beautiful in their own way. I'm duly impressed," I said.

He came up to stand behind me, enveloping me in his arms.

"If only I could paint you," he said softly, "It would be the most stunning work in my collection."

My heart fluttered and I sighed as I melted back into him, my head falling against his left shoulder as his lips traveled down from my right ear to my neck, sucking and licking my sensitive skin. His left hand stayed tightly wrapped around my chest as his right moved down to stroke my erection through my jeans. I ground my pelvis into his hand to let him know how much I loved his touch.

"I'd like to feel more of you, Jasper. May I . . .?" his hands moved to the bottom of my shirt, tugging it up gently but waiting for my permission. Instead of speaking I just lifted my arms, allowing him to pull my shirt up over my head and toss it aside. His hands roamed my chest and abdomen as his lips continued to nuzzle my neck. Needing to feel his skin against mine, I turned and grabbed his shirt, making short work of the buttons and slipping it off as well. I lowered my lips to his shoulder, then down his chest to suck in his nipple, feeling it harden beneath my lips, teeth and tongue. A low, rumbled purr escaped his throat and I lifted my head to suck at his Adam's apple before moving up further to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. He was reaching for my belt and I for his and soon we were standing in the middle of the room completely nude, our lips exploring our upper bodies while our hands focused below our waists. We were both groaning loudly, pressing up against each other, seeking more contact, our bodies slick with perspiration from the summer heat, concentrated in this higher level apartment. Laurent wrapped his hand around both of our hard cocks, pressing us closely together as he pumped us simultaneously. I thrust into his grasp, desperate for more friction and release, as I caressed his ass with both of my hands, focusing on the soft, sensitive skin right where his cheeks met the tops of his legs. I tensed when I felt I was almost ready to come, but he abruptly let us go and stepped away, earning a frustrated growl.

"Patience, my little novice," he chuckled. "Haste makes waste."

I watched as he walked to the windows, apparently unconcerned about the show he was providing anyone who cared to look into his apartment. I understood his lack of concern. His body was striking, and he moved easily and gracefully, almost like a dancer. I enjoyed watching the subtle rippling of his muscles beneath the taut, bronze skin as he reached up to unlock the windows and pulled them open to let in the night air. The light breeze felt good on my overheated skin, but I missed feeling him next to me. Still frustrated at the loss of contact, I watched him walk over to the sofa and lift up the front, reaching for the bedding hidden in a compartment underneath. He continued to push up the sofa until I heard a click and watched him turn it into a flat bed. He unfurled a sheet and, in a practiced move, draped it over the bed. He tossed a couple of pillows onto the bed and turned back to me.

Realizing I was feeling left out, he came to me and pulled me into another deep kiss. His hands moved to my ass and pulled me in, rocking his hips against me so that our cocks pressed against our stomachs and each other, inciting the most delicious frustration. I didn't know how much harder my dick could get, but I got seriously worried that I'd reached the point where the merest direct touch would be enough to make me explode, and I found myself praying for any extra ounce of control I could get. As if he sensed I was nearing the point of no return, Laurent pulled away again.

"Just a few more minutes," he said, leaving me overheated, hard and horny in the middle of the brightly lit room. He walked to the dresser and pulled out some candles from the top drawer, distributing them across the top of the dresser and lighting them quickly. He walked to the front door and flipped the light switch, plunging the studio into near darkness. I walked towards the dresser like a moth drawn to the glimmering flames, fascinated by my own candlelit reflection. Laurent walked up to stand behind me, his darkly tanned skin contrasting starkly with my paleness. I watched the mirror as his right hand slid possessively over my waist to pull me back into him.

"You're so beautiful. Your hair, eyes, lips, skin, body – all perfect. You're like a masterpiece come to life," he said. And in that moment I actually felt beautiful, not caring that the description was too fuckin' feminine to accept under normal circumstances.

Laurent reached forward to open another dresser drawer and pulled out some condoms and lube. Seeing my suddenly uncertain expression, he turned me towards him and kissed me gently.

"Just in case, but we won't do anything you're not ready for," he said, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

We walked over to the bed and he indicated that I should lie down, but I shook my head, motioning for him to do so instead. Despite my anxiety, I was still worried about my state of over excitement and I needed to feel back in control. I crawled over him, looking down between us to see our cocks rubbing together, before lowering my lips to his. We kissed, my tongue eagerly exploring the inside of his mouth. Breaking apart, I moved my lips over his chest down to his cock, sucking his head into my waiting mouth. He wasn't particularly thick but he was long, and I wasn't able take his full length even using the techniques I'd practiced last summer with Peter. I stroked the lower part of his shaft with my hand as I concentrated my mouth on his head, using my tongue and teeth to coax the most delicious sounds from him as I brought him closer and closer to his orgasm. Suddenly he used his hands to pull me off him and forced me to look up.

"I'm not as young as you, Jasper, and my recuperative powers are not what they used to be, so I need to know. What do you want to do tonight? How far do you want to go?"

Flushed with exertion and proud of the way I brought him to the brink, I found it hard to concentrate on his question. I knew he was asking if I wanted him to fuck me, and I still wasn't sure of the answer. As much as I had fantasized about it, was I really ready to let another man shove his cock up my ass? And, more to the point, was I ready to let this man, someone I had met less than 12 hours ago, be the first one to one to do it? What basis was I supposed to use to make this decision? If I was thinking this hard about it, did it mean I shouldn't be doing it yet? I was so confused.

"Perhaps," he said quietly as he pulled me up and turned us so that I was now lying beneath him, "you should take a little more time before you answer."

If he thought for one second I would be able to concentrate on any question as he wrapped his gorgeous lips around my rock hard dick, he was very much mistaken. All thoughts absolutely disappeared as every available milliliter of blood rushed from the rest of my body into my already engorged cock. He used his hands and mouth so skillfully, I couldn't keep any part of my body still. My head thrashed from side to side, my hands gripped the sheet tightly, my hips bucked into him, my legs tensed and my toes curled in anticipation as he licked and sucked and stroked my shaft, my balls and my aching head.

"Oh my fuckin' God, yes, that feels so good, Laurent," I encouraged him as he increased the suction and swallowed nearly all of my length.

He let me fall out of his mouth and my eyes opened with shock. He wouldn't get me this close and then let me suffer, would he?

"Do you want to come, Jasper?" he asked.

"Yes, please! For fuck's sake, yes! I'm so close. Please make me come."

Hearing the answer he wanted, his mouth was instantly back on me and he was sucking furiously now, faster than he had before, his hand cupping my balls and then tugging sharply. I felt that moment of nothing, of blackness, of complete lack of thought or sensation, and then everything that had been building inside me, both physical and emotional, was bursting, gushing out like freshly uncorked champagne, and I roared my gratification, my body spasming as Laurent swallowed my spurting cum.

When it was over I sunk back into the bed with a blissed out smile on my face. I felt Laurent move up to lie beside me, and I turned to him, still smiling and breathing heavily. He moved his hand up to caress my face, his thumb sliding over my lips.

"I know that felt really good, Jasper, but I can make you feel even better. Will you let me do that? Let me make love to you?"

I closed my eyes as I thought about his question. Making love sounded so much better than fucking, and somehow I knew Laurent would be a skillful lover. I supposed it was all a cliché. Having sex for the first time with a guy I barely knew, in Paris of all places. But then as locations went it was a better cliché than the back seat of a car, or an alley behind a bar, or an alcove in a dance club.

I opened my eyes to find him watching me, waiting for me to make my choice. I could see his eyes glinting with anticipation and desire, but I knew he would not pressure me to do anything. I was completely in control of what would happen. And instantly my mind was made up. I reached up to wrap my hand around his neck and gently moved my fingers through his short, coarse hair.

"Yes, please, Laurent," there was no doubt or hesitation in my voice. "I want you inside me tonight."

He lowered his head to kiss me, caressing my chest with his hand.

"It is your first time, yes?" he asked, though he knew the answer before I confirmed it.

"Just relax and follow my lead," he told me, "It may be a little painful at first, but that will pass, and then I swear it will be wonderful."

I nodded. I knew enough about gay sex to expect the pain, and not just the first time. But I trusted Laurent to do what he could to minimize my discomfort, and I knew his lack of girth would make things easier for me. Fuck, if that bitch Bella could take Edward's thick cock up her ass, I knew I'd be able to handle Laurent.

He reached down to the floor and brought up the lube and condoms he'd deposited there earlier. He kissed me again, deeply, then moved over me, spreading my legs with his knees. He slid down the bed to suck my cock and fondle my balls. I was surprised to discover that I was already semi-erect again, and growing harder under Laurent's ministrations.

He sat up, reached for the lube, and spread a generous amount over his hand. He pushed my legs up so that my knees were on either side of my chest to give him better access to my ass, then applied the lube to my opening and reached down, slowly inserting a finger inside me. I balked at the intrusion, tightening my muscle around his finger. It wasn't painful, exactly, just completely foreign. I saw he was watching me carefully, and when I nodded he began to move his finger in and out, inserting it deeper with each stroke. I nearly sighed with relief. This was definitely something I could handle. I wouldn't call it pleasurable, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected. I closed my eyes and moved my hips in rhythm with his finger.

Just as I'd gotten totally used to the sensation and actually began to almost enjoy it, I felt the pain increase. I opened my eyes in alarm.

"Two fingers," Laurent explained quietly. "I'm not huge, but a single finger wouldn't be enough." He kept his hand moving as he spoke. After a little while the pain receded and I started to relax again.

"Only a little more," he warned me, then started spreading his fingers to stretch me further. Eventually I got used to this too, and he finally pulled his fingers out of me. He shifted his body up over mine again, and pulled me into a long, passionate kiss.

"I wish you could see yourself right now. You're so beautiful, open and ready for me," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "I can't wait to slip inside you and make love to you, make you feel so good."

I moaned and shifted my hips so that our hard cocks rubbed against one another. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't fuckin' terrified of what was about to happen, but I wanted it too. Laurent kissed me again as he shifted up and reached for the condom. He ripped the package open and slipped the condom on. He covered it with lube and applied still more to my opening. He moved back down again and placed the head of his hard cock against my hole. I spread my legs as far apart as I could to make the initial entry easier on us both. The position made me feel extremely vulnerable, yet was strangely erotic.

He moved against my tight ring of muscle, pressing the head of his cock in and stopping to gauge my reaction. I winced at the intrusion, willing myself to relax. He reached with his right hand to stroke my cock in an effort to help me. When I nodded to indicate my readiness, he pushed himself a little deeper. Knowing how hard it was for him to exercise this much self-control while trying to stroke me, I reached for my own cock and balls and began to distract myself from the ache as he slowly continued to push into me. The diversion worked, so that when he was finally fully inside me I was used to the sensation. I watched him above me, his face tense with the effort to hold off movement until I was ready. When I gave him a small, encouraging smile, he began to slowly move.

Initially he retracted just a bit and pushed back in carefully, watching me the entire time for any sign of discomfort. I tried to relax and allow myself to fully experience the sensation of his cock sliding inside me. The discomfort was almost completely gone, and a new sensation was spreading through me, compelling me to lift my ass off the bed in an effort to pull him in deeper.

"More!" I said the only word that came to mind and he complied, increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts as he realized I was experiencing the pleasure of having him sheathed inside me. I closed my eyes and matched my own strokes on my cock to his tempo. He was softly grunting above me as his dick repeatedly hit the pleasure zone inside me. My need was growing and all thoughts of pain were gone as I groaned loudly, pleading for him to go faster, harder, deeper.

I cried out in frustration when I felt him stop his movements and lower himself over me to kiss me.

"Flip over," he requested, his voice slightly raspy, as he pulled his cock out and pushed himself back to a kneeling position. Understanding his intent, I quickly complied, positioning myself on my hands and knees in front of him. He spread my ass open with his hands and plunged his cock in to the hilt. This time my groan had nothing to do with discomfort or pain. In this position I could rock myself back into him, and did so in a rhythm matching his to feel his full penetration. The feeling of his cock filling my ass completely was indescribable. I turned back to look at him, loving the ecstasy I saw in his eyes as he drove into me over and over again, his hands tightly gripping my hips.

He leaned over me, pressing his lips to my back and grabbing a tight hold of my dick, his hand still slick with lube. He pumped my ass and my cock simultaneously, and I couldn't hold back my cries of enjoyment.

"You were made for this, Jasper. So gorgeous. So tight. So good." His voice was taut with exertion. "How do you feel? Tell me how this makes you feel." He commanded.

"It feels amazing. I love feeling your cock in my ass. I love when you plunge deep inside me. I love when you . . . Ugh," I groaned as he hit my prostate, "Right there. Oh my God. It's too good."

He continued fucking me hard and I knew we were both getting close to the end. His thrusts became wild and frantic. I stopped moving, no longer able to discern his erratic tempo, letting him do all the work.

"I'm so close," he grunted, "I can't hold out much longer. I want us to come together. I want to fill your ass as I milk your cock. Where are you?"

His words, the thought of us spilling out hot liquid at the same time, caused a surge of desire to shoot through me, and I knew my orgasm was imminent.

"I'm right there," I panted. "I'm right there too."

"Come with me," he ordered as he plunged into me with rapid strokes and fist fucked my head with his slicked hand at the same pace. "Now!"

He coupled a hard stroke of my cock with a hard thrust into my ass and I exploded onto the sheet beneath me as he filled up the condom inside me. He continued thrusting and stroking until we were finally spent and both collapsed onto the bed, thoroughly exhausted.

We lay there spooning for a few minutes, his fingers drawing a pattern on my hip. Then he pulled me up and we went to the surprisingly modern bathroom, where he disposed of the condom and we stepped into the oversized shower to rinse off our cum and perspiration. After we were both clean and dry, Laurent pulled me into his arms, kissing me hungrily and stroking my back.

"Did you enjoy your first time, Jasper?" he asked. I saw that he was serious, so I resisted my natural impulse to offer a teasing response.

"It was so much better than I ever expected," I answered honestly. "It truly was a night I'll never forget."

"I'll never forget it either," he said. "It's not every day that I get to introduce a beautiful boy to the pleasure of being with another man."

I blushed and looked away.

"Can I ask you why?" I said, hesitantly, "I mean, why, even after you knew . . ?"

"Why did I ask you to come to my flat even after I knew you had never done this before?" he completed the question that I could not. "Because once upon a time I was a young, inexperienced boy and an older, gentle man introduced me to this pleasure. I suppose I always wanted to be able to pass on the favor."

"Well, you certainly did that," I said. "And I am fortunate to have been on the receiving end."

We laughed and kissed again, this time a comforting kiss of gratitude and satisfaction. It was very late, and there was no time for more cuddling or conversation. We got dressed and Laurent slipped my chosen sketch into a cardboard tube container for safe transport, before walking me back to the hotel.

Not surprisingly, that wasn't the last time I saw him. In fact, my exploration of Paris suffered greatly in comparison with London, though I got to know Laurent's studio very well. And most days we did venture out to explore some part of the city, if only so that I would have something to tell my father if he decided to ask what I'd done that day.

As promised, I told Greg about what had happened, and he teased me mercilessly about what he called my Montmartre affair, but I could tell he was happy I was no longer an innocent. Undoubtedly he hoped this experience would help me deal with Edward when I returned home, and he was probably right. Now that I'd experienced lovemaking with another man, it would be difficult to return to my celibate pining for Edward. Sooner or later I was bound to meet someone who shared my preferences, and my hopeless love for Edward would have to make way for my physical needs. At least that's what I hoped.

When it was time to leave Paris there were no tearful good byes and no promises to stay in touch. We both knew our time together, special as it was, wasn't meant to last forever. Laurent presented me with a final memento, though. It was a postcard-sized abstract oil painting of a reclining blond nude. The lack of detail made it impossible to discern whether the figure was male or female, but I knew it was a representation of me in his studio, taking a post-coital afternoon nap while he worked. It was amazingly touching and beautiful, and it would forever remind me of my time with him.

Afraid to push my luck, for the rest of the trip I kept my cock in my pants and avoided any additional liaisons. Dad and I made shorter stops in Brussels, Berlin, Rome and Madrid, before returning to New York. Since these last stops were not as intense for him work wise, we had more time to spend together and re-connect. In fact, during one particular late-night dinner in Madrid, I very nearly came out when my dad cryptically told me that he knew my mother and Jerry could be very uptight sometimes and that I should always feel free to come to him with any problems or concerns, knowing that he'd always be there to listen and help without judgment. I only bit my tongue at the last second, remembering what Peter had said about there being no point in upsetting the apple cart for no reason. Just knowing that I would be able to talk to my dad when the time was right for me to do so made me feel so much better. And it was just like my father to know exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right time. It was precisely why he had always been my role model.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in just a few minutes. In preparation for landing please return your seat backs and trays to their full upright positions . . . "

The flight attendant's voice droned on in the background as I realized that I'd just spent the remainder of my flight reminiscing. The turbulence had disappeared without me even noticing and now we were about to arrive in Seattle. A slight shiver of anticipation mixed with dread went through me. Summer was officially over and I was about to start the next phase of my life.

Upon landing, everything happened pretty much exactly as I expected. I spent the entire lunch regaling Mom, Jerry and my sister with stories of everything I did and saw in Europe. Afterwards we went shopping and picked up some knock-down furniture that Jerry would help me put together once we got to the apartment. Apparently my mother had ordered my bed mattress ahead of time and it had already been delivered, so I would have a place to sleep tonight. Everything was going according to plan.

We arrived at the apartment in the early afternoon and my mom and sister went up ahead, carrying up my new bedding, towels and toiletries. Mom had outfitted the kitchen before I arrived, knowing I would be of no help and would have no interest in that kind of stuff anyway. Jerry and I were unloading my new desk and bookshelf when Edward came down to help.

My breath actually caught slightly at my first sight of him in nearly three months, and his reaction seemed similar. Neither one of us knew quite what to do. Finally Edward yanked me into a quick hug, pulling me close but slapping my back hard in an almost too obvious effort to make it clear that this was a purely heterosexual greeting.

"Hey, man, good to have you back," he said after we stepped apart.

"It's good to be back, Edward. How's the place shaping up?"

"Great," he replied. "My room, the living room and kitchen are all set up. Now we just have to put together the dinette furniture and your room. My dad's not going to be much help, I'm afraid, always worried about those surgeon's hands, but with the three of us we should be able to get it all done quickly."

He pulled out a box to carry from the van and the three of us took the first load into the apartment. After a few more trips everything was unloaded and we started working on assembling the furniture. As Edward predicted, his father wanted no part of the actual assembly, but he read all the instructions and separated the various nuts and bolts to make our jobs easier. By 5:00 everything was put together and it was time for the families to leave so they could make it back to Forks by a reasonable hour. We said our goodbyes and exchanged hugs, and then Edward and I were all alone in our new apartment.

"So," Edward said as we sat on the living room couch, both exhausted from the day's activities, "our moms made sure the kitchen was stocked, so we have everything except beer. We'll have to get some of that later. We could stay in for dinner and eat my mom's lasagna if you want, or go out to grab a pizza."

"Pizza sounds great," I admitted. I loved the European food I'd had all summer, but my body craved the all-American staple. "But maybe we can wait and rest a little? I'm really beat. Plus we can catch up. You can tell me more of what happened this summer."

"What happened? Here? You know better than to ask. Nothing fucking happened. As always. Why don't you fill me in on all the shit that happened to you. And don't tell me you spent all your time at fucking concerts and museums. You were there for over two months. Please, please tell me that you scored some European tail."

Thinking of Rick and Laurent, I blushed and turned away, but not before Edward noticed.

"A-ha," he pounced, "I knew you'd finally get laid this summer. Now give me the details. How many? Were they blond or brunette? Or maybe redheads? Did they teach you any European tricks?"

"Edward," I groaned, "please shut the fuck up. I really don't wanna talk about it."

"Oh, come on, Jasper. You have to tell me. I'd never keep shit like this from you."

I frowned. "We never talk about the girls you fuck."

"Maybe not, but only because you haven't ever asked. I'd tell you everything you'd wanna know."

"But that's the thing, Edward. I don't wanna know. I just don't wanna talk about that stuff. It's private."

"Seriously? You won't give up anything? Were they hot?"

I hesitated. This was a slippery slope, but it felt selfish not to tell him anything. How far could I go and still be honest?

"They were attractive," I admitted.

"Finally! Now we're getting somewhere. So there was more than one?"

"There were just two," I needed to nip this shit in the bud before his imagination got away from him. He was getting entirely too excited about this.

"At the same time?"

"No!" I looked at him, shocked. Did he think I turned into him overnight? "One in London and one in Paris."

He whistled. "So what happened? Come on, Jasper. Spill it."

It was sick, I knew, but suddenly I wanted to tell him. I wanted to actually impress him with something, even if everything I told him was a partial lie. He seemed to need this confirmation that I was straight, and I thought maybe if I convinced him with tales of my European conquests, he'd lay off trying to find me Seattle girls to fuck.

"In London I went dancing and . . . well, I got a blow job in the back of the club," so far, so true. As long as I stuck to the truth without revealing the sex of my partner, I was fine.

"Holy shit, Jasper! You're kidding me, right? You? You actually got head in public? No fucking way! How the hell did you grow your balls enough to do that?"

I cringed a little. Granted, I didn't have a lot of sexual experience, but he didn't have to make me sound like such a fuckin' prude, even if it was true.

"There were curtains," I explained, lamely. Edward smirked a little.

"OK. What happened in Paris."

"In Paris we had dinner and then, after, we did more."

"God, you're gonna fucking make me play dentist, aren't you? Fine. Where did you do it?"

"Um, in bed, in an apartment."

"An apartment? Was she a student?"

"No," I shook my head. "An artist."

"An artist, huh? I bet there were lots of candles, and romantic shit like that."

"There were a few candles," I admitted reluctantly.

"So how'd you do it? Missionary, doggie style."

I blushed again. "Both, actually."

"And?"

"And what, Edward? It was good, all right? Fan- fuckin'- tastic. I mean, do you really need a play by play? It's not like you don't know what happens. Fuck, you've been doing it for years. Why don't you tell me about all the chicks you fucked this summer?"

Edward frowned and looked away.

"Let's go get that pizza," he said.

No way in hell was I going to let him get away with that. Not that I wanted to hear about his whores, but he didn't just drag out the most intimate details of my summer only to shut down when it came to his own.

"Come on, Edward. You said you'd tell me anything if I asked. So who did you fuck this summer while I've been away."

He looked back at me, suddenly furious.

"Nobody, all right? I didn't fuck anyone this summer."

I sat back into the couch. Of all the things he could have told me, this was one I never would have guessed. I realized my mouth was hanging open in shock and I quickly slammed my jaws shut. I looked at him carefully, only now seeing the changes. They were subtle, but I noticed shadows under his eyes and a slight gauntness to his features. Something was wrong, something he wasn't telling me. Was he sick?

"Edward," I spoke quietly, "are you all right?"

He looked at me for a moment, noting how serious I was and, if possible, became even angrier.

"Don't look at me like that, Jasper, like I've got some sort of damn disease. I'm fine. I just didn't feel like fucking this summer. I've already tapped every worthwhile ass in Forks and once I broke up with Bella all those bitches just wanted to stake their claim. I didn't need that headache. Besides, I knew I'd get plenty of new pussy once I got here."

Coming from anyone else that explanation might have sounded reasonable, but since the beginning of our sophomore year Edward hadn't gone for more than three days without fucking someone. I supposed it was possible that he'd turned a new leaf or gotten tired of the girls in Forks, but it wasn't likely. Still, if Edward didn't want to talk about something, he didn't talk about it, so I knew I wouldn't get any more information from him. And I was getting hungry.

"All right," I said, "Fine. Keep your stupid secrets. Just don't ask me to tell you any more of mine. Now let's go get the fuckin' pizza."

Edward got up and headed into his room. He returned shortly and flipped something in my direction. I caught it and realized that it was one of the fake IDs we'd spoken about this summer.

"Just in case we get carded ordering beer," he explained. "Let's go."

We walked out into the hall and pressed the button for the elevator. Just then a door down the hall opened and two guys stepped out, heading in our direction. One was amazingly tall, with a football player's muscular physique, dark curly hair and dimples when he smiled, which he was doing as he walked towards us. The second was short and slight, with a much darker complexion, hair and eyes. There was a slight bounce to his step and a bright smile lit up his face. He wore super tight black pants and a shirt with transparent black gauze and silver vertical stripes that looked like it could have come out of Elton John's closet. I didn't need a gaydar to know he was as queer as a three dollar bill. But the other guy with him? I just couldn't tell.

"Hey," the big guy said as they got closer, "You must be the guys in 314. Welcome to the building. I'm Emmett and this is my roommate, Seth. If you ever need anything, just ask. This is our second year here, so we know our way around."

"Thanks," I said, looking at Edward with some concern. He was staring at Seth with the same jaw dropping look I was sporting earlier. All things considered, this wasn't a bad response. At least he wasn't violent or insulting. "My name's Jasper and this is Edward."

"So where are you guys going?" Seth asked, ignoring Edward's stare.

"We were just gonna grab some pizza," I answered, since Edward was still trying to snap out of whatever trans seeing Seth had put him into.

"Us too," Seth gushed. "We should all go together. Get to know each other, since we'll be neighbors and all."

I looked to Edward but got no response. I shrugged.

"Sure," I said. "Sounds good."

The elevator arrived and we piled in.

"So which pizza place?" Emmett asked.

"We're going to Sal's," Edward finally said.

"Aw," Seth whined, "Sal's pepperoni sucks. Let's go to Mario's."

"We don't eat pepperoni," Edward said, his voice hard, "and we're going to Sal's."

Suddenly we were all silent. Emmett and Seth exchanged a surprised look, then Emmett shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on, Seth, it's cool," he said. "You can live without pepperoni for one night."

Seth was pouting, and it was obvious that he was used to getting things his own way. It was also obvious that Emmett was the diplomat and a "glass is always half full" kind of guy.

"Sal's makes a good Hawaiian pizza, and you know how much you like that," he reminded Seth.

Seth crossed his arms and continued to pout for a few more seconds, but then dropped the little boy act and smiled again.

"Fine, Sal's it is. But next time I want Mario's."

"You got it," Emmett said and ruffled Seth's hair playfully. Seth scowled at him, pretending to be annoyed, but resumed smiling as he smoothed down his hair. I glanced at Edward, who had a look of pure disgust on his face, and my spirits fell. It was clear that, like me, he had figured out that at least Seth, and probably Emmett too, were gay, and his opinion of the two couldn't have been more obvious. This look, this absolute loathing of homosexuals, was precisely the reason why I never wanted him to find out about me.

But at least he had kept quiet for now, which gave me a little hope. He hadn't refused to go to the restaurant with Emmett and Seth, which mean that he might get to know them a little better. And if he got to know them, and maybe even like them, then maybe this bigoted side of him would soften? Maybe all his prejudice just came from the fact that he'd never actually met anyone gay. If he saw that we really weren't all that different from straight guys, maybe he'd change his mind? Granted, flamboyant Seth would not be much help in that department, but Emmett had potential. And if he only opened his mind a little, Edward probably could understand a guy like Emmett wanting to be with someone more feminine, like Seth.

We didn't talk much on the short walk to the restaurant. Once there, we settle into a booth and ordered. Edward and I got my favorite: Sausage, Mushroom and Tomato. Seth ordered the Hawaiian and Emmett got a Meat Lover's. Seth and I happened to look at each other when Emmett was placing his order and Seth rolled his eyes and winked, causing me to chortle. Edward looked at me, clearly annoyed. Thankfully, he didn't seem to get the joke.

"So, where are you guys from?" Emmett asked as we waited for our pizzas. I explained that we were from Forks and told them about how Edward and I met all those years ago and had been best friends ever since. Emmett and Seth were both juniors and met their freshman year at UW through a mutual friend. I got the distinct feeling that there was a story to the mutual friend, but it seemed neither Seth nor Emmett wanted to discuss it, so we went on to other topics, like majors and future plans.

I did most of the talking for our side of the table. Despite my repeated efforts to include him, Edward contributed minimally to the conversation, speaking only when asked a direct question. Still, he maintained a level of civility I hadn't seen him display before, perhaps brought on by Emmett's size and his obvious ability to defend himself and Seth against anyone's verbal or physical attack. After a while I stopped trying to force him to interact and just continued to talk with the other guys. From the corner of my eye I could see him get more and more sullen, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it until we got home.

Although Seth, Emmett and I were enjoying ourselves, I insisted that Edward and I head home as soon as we were done eating, using exhaustion from the move and all the traveling as my excuse. We separated, Seth and Emmett going on to a bar while Edward and I headed back towards the apartment. Edward still wasn't talking, which was a bad sign, but I didn't want to push him while we were in public. Halfway back, Edward veered off and led us to a convenience store, where he picked up a twelve-pack of beer.

Back in the apartment, still without saying anything, he opened a bottle and drained it quickly, then pulled open another bottle and went to sit on the couch. I opened a bottle for myself and joined him.

"Edward?" I asked, tentatively. "What the fuck's wrong?"

He drank more beer without looking at me. When he finally turned towards me, there was pure hatred in his eyes. "What's wrong? It's not bad enough that we've got damn queers living just down the hall from us, which undoubtedly means the place will be crawling with fags the whole year, but now we have to buddy up with them too? What the fuck, Jasper? What were you doing tonight, huh? Auditioning as their next girlfriend?"

I shrank back. I clearly didn't realize how deep his animosity went.

"Don't hold back, Edward, tell me how you really fuckin' feel. Why do you have to be such a bigoted dick? They were just a couple of guys, our neighbors. And I thought they were nice, especially since you were being such a douche. I don't give a fuck what they do in their fuckin' bedrooms and with whom, as long as they don't try to force me to do anything with them."

"Yeah, you wouldn't care about shit like that, would you? Must be all your fucking cosmopolitan experiences in New York and Europe. Plus you already have a dick smoker buddy, don't you? Shit! Maybe you should think about that, Jasper. Maybe you should ask yourself what it says about you, that you're so comfortable around these cocksuckers. You may not give a fuck what they do in the bedroom, but everyone else does. And if you hang around them, everyone will think you're one of them too. Is that what you want? Do you want for everyone to think you're a fag?"

I didn't respond. What could I say? I didn't want people to think of me pejoratively because of my sexual orientation, but yeah, a huge part of me wanted everyone to know that I was a fag. To know that I liked to suck cock and get fucked up the ass and that I wasn't any less of a man because of it. Most of all I wanted Edward to know it and not treat me any different because of it. But since we didn't live in Utopia, none of that was possible.

"You'd better fucking think long and hard about how you want to start off this college thing, and who you want to associate with," Edward said, getting up and heading to his room. "But if you want us to stay on good terms and keep living together, you better fucking stop fraternizing with the queer neighbors."

I sat on the couch and finished my beer. I sure as fuck hadn't expected things to come to this so soon, but there it was. Absolute confirmation that I could never let Edward know I was gay if I wanted to stay his friend. Hell, I couldn't even have gay friends if I wanted to stay his friend. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration, remembering everything Greg and Peter told me. I knew I couldn't keep this up forever. Pretty soon I would have to let him know and deal with the consequences. I just wasn't ready to do it tonight.

I went to my room and started unpacking my bags. When I finished I got into bed, but I couldn't sleep. My thoughts were all jumbled, confused. I hated having been weak enough to agree to this stupid living arrangement, which now felt even more like a prison with no way out.

After tossing and turning for an hour I was getting desperate and decided to get some warm milk, something that had always worked to put me to sleep in the past. I got up and padded out to the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, so I was startled to hear noises coming from Edward's room. I saw that his door was cracked open, and the grunts I heard were definitely sounds of sex. I briefly wondered if Edward had somehow left the apartment and brought back a girl, but that would have been impossible. Besides, as near as I could tell the sounds were all coming from the same person. That's when it finally hit me - I was hearing Edward jacking off.

I was horrified and embarrassed, but couldn't force myself to go back to my room. Instead, I quietly walked over to the couch and took off my boxers. I sat and started stroking my already hard cock to the sounds, thinking back to that night in my room when I was helping Edward achieve the same end. I covered my cock with my boxers and stroked myself to match the pace of his grunts and groans. A few minutes later I heard the unmistakable sound of him coming and let out a small moan as I soaked my boxers with jizz. Then all was quiet again, too quiet. I didn't even hear Edward's heavy breathing, almost as if he were holding his breath to listen. Terrified that he may have heard me, I got up as quietly as possible and slowly made my way back to my room, not bothering to close the door for fear of making too much noise. I tossed the boxers to the floor, slipped into bed and closed my eyes, slumber finally taking over.