Monday, June 6, 2005

**Brian's POV**

"Ladies and Gentleman, we are now beginning our descent into New York City. The captain has turned on the ‘Fasten Seatbelt' sign, and we ask that you please turn off all electronic devices and return your tray tables into their upright and locked position..."

"Hurry up," the trick I was fucking in the tiny airplane bathroom panted.

"I'm beginning my final descent," I said as I slammed into the guy, who was gripping the sink, in front of me.

Just as the trick came very noisily, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "We need you to return to your seat!" the stewardess - or flight attendant, whatever the P.C. term is these days - yelled.

After a few more thrusts, I filled the condom with a groan. "We'll be right out!" I answered as I pulled out of the trick and tossed the rubber into the trash. I then pulled up and zipped my dark-washed Diesel jeans and shoved the guy out of the way to wash my hands.

"That was amazing," the trick said as he cleaned himself up with a paper towel. "Definitely one of my top five fucks."

I roll my eyes. "Uh-huh."

"So, how long are you gonna be in town?" the guy asked as I dried my hands.

"A couple weeks," I answered, throwing the paper towels away.

"Well, how about I give you my card-" the trick said as I unlocked the door. Without a backwards glance, I walked back to my First Class seat and buckled up.

********************

I climbed out of the cab a little after twelve and pulled my large rolling suitcase out of the trunk. Asking myself for the hundredth time today just what the fuck I was doing, I walked over to the five-story building, which was located in the upper east side of Manhattan. After having a quick smoke on the sidewalk, I walked over to a call box next to the front door and hit the call button. A few moments later, a male voice asked for my name.

"Brian Kinney," I answered.

After a few seconds the man came back on and said, "Come to the third floor, Mr. Kinney." The door unlocked automatically, and once inside I walked over to the elevator and hit the up arrow. The car arrived a few seconds later, and I got in and hit the button for the third floor.

I chuckled as the elevator took me up to the floor. The Oak Ridge Boys' "Elvira" was quietly playing out of the speaker above my head. That Omm Poppa Mow Mow part always makes me wonder just what the fuck those Boys were smoking and/or drinking when they wrote that song. Sober people don't write shit like that.

The elevator doors opened when I reached the third floor. I walked over to a reception desk a few feet away, where a blonde woman around my age was expecting me. I couldn't help but notice that the woman, who was wearing a red button-up shirt and a pair of black dress pants with an employee badge clipped to her breast pocket, was very pretty. If I was straight, I'd probably fuck her.

"My name is Vanessa, and I'm the Resident Technician for this unit; basically, the ‘floor mom,'" she informed me as we shook hands. "Come with me, I'll show you to your room." She led me through a door and down a hallway, where we stopped at an open door.

My name and the name of a "Melanie Marcus" were written on a dry-erase board on the outside of the door. What the...

"Here we are," Vanessa said as I stepped into the room behind her, which contained two twin beds, a small table with two chairs, and two dressers. A petite brunette woman with a pixie haircut was lying on one of the beds on her stomach, reading a magazine. The woman looked up when we walked in.

"Who the fuck is she?" I asked Vanessa as I froze inside the doorway.

"This is your roommate, Melanie." Said woman looked back down and continued to read her magazine without saying hi or anything.

Bitch alert.

"I thought I'd be rooming with a guy," I said to Vanessa. Just from looking at her though, I could tell this Melanie was a raging bull.

Vanessa took my suitcase from me and hauled it onto the empty bed, which was covered in a navy blue comforter. "We have a full group and an uneven number of men and women in this term, and we thought that since you both said that you were gay on your applications that there wouldn't be any... um, temptations between you. I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

Yep, a dyke. My gaydar is never wrong, even with a snatch.

"Ugh, they stuck me with a fag..." Melanie grumbled, her top lip curled.

"I won't be sticking anything near you, Sweetheart, trust me," I informed her as Vanessa unzipped my suitcase.

"It's our policy to inspect the personal items of our patients during admission," Vanessa said as she took a pair of vinyl gloves out of the back pocket of her pants. "Melanie, would you mind stepping out for a few minutes?"

"Oh, don't worry, you're not bothering me," she answered, not budging.

"Alright then," Vanessa said as she first pulled my four-pack of Bic lighters and two cartons of Natural American Spirit cigarettes out of the top zippered portion of my suitcase. "Brian, I'm just making sure that you didn't bring in any prohibited items into the building. You can keep your cigarettes, but things such as drugs, alcohol, pornography, or any sexual paraphernalia are not allowed." She then opened up both cigarette cartons and looked inside to make sure I wasn't hiding anything in them.

"Yeah, she found my Pocket Rocket in a pair of my rolled-up socks," Melanie said, her eyes still on her magazine. "But, I got a lady-wood when she frisked me, so it's cool."

I made a just bit into a lemon face and watched as Vanessa started taking out my clothes, shaking out and refolding each item. "Although you're not here for drug or alcohol treatment, we have a very strict drug policy in our facility and require all new patients to take a drug test on the first day, along with any time we suspect that there may be drug usage. I'll have you give me a urine sample when we're done here.

“Uh-oh," Vanessa said when a little yellow bottle of amyl nitrite, a.k.a. what us gay men refer to as “poppers”, fell out of the pocket of a pair of my jeans and onto the bed. "That's a no-no."

I shrugged and tried to look innocent. "They help me sleep."

Vanessa picked up the bottle and looked at me with a bitch please face, and put the bottle into her pants pocket. "Yeah, and Melanie's vibrator was for a neck injury."

I looked over at Melanie, who was biting her lip and trying not to laugh.

After going through the rest of my suitcase and not finding any other "no-no's," Vanessa patted me down - producing no kind of wood there - and found a single extra-large condom in my back pocket.

"Let me guess: balloon animals?" Vanessa asked, putting the condom in her pocket with the poppers. I hope the rest of the staff here has a sense of humor like her, because they will certainly need one with me.

I gave Vanessa my piss sample a bit later, which tested positive for MDMA, or what is commonly known as “ecstasy’. I confessed that I took a couple pills the night before, and she said that it usually stays in your system for a day or so and that she would re-test me in a couple of days. If I failed the test again, they would throw me out of the program. I was sure that my well-exercised kidneys and liver would have it filtered out by then. I also had to give her my cell phone, which patients are only allowed to use for a few hours in the evenings. If we needed to call someone during the day, we would have to use the phone in the Common Room on our floor.

Once my checking-in process was over, I had about an hour to wander around before our first group meeting. Another rule of the facility was that once we entered the front doors, we were not allowed to leave the property unless we had a family emergency, or we wouldn’t be allowed back in. Fine by me- I knew that I could survive two weeks, even with my lesbo roommate.

Vanessa informed me that they had around-the-clock video monitoring all over the building, inside and out, except for in the patient rooms and bathrooms, so they would know immediately if someone tried to sneak in or out in the middle of the night. The people in our program were only allowed to go on the first floor and on the roof, where the only allowable smoking area was. We were also banned from going into any other patient room on our floor or any other resident floors- to prevent any funny business, I guessed.

One perk to staying in that facility was that there was a gym on the first floor, which we could use at any time. I rode the elevator down and peeked inside to look at what kind of equipment they had, and found a tall, tan brunette guy - just my type - running on a treadmill.

Damn, he had a fine ass...

Another perk to the place was the food. When researching different facilities, I paid attention to the types of food they served. The man on the phone assured me that they provided healthy meals and snacks (not typical hospital garbage... yuck) as well as fresh-ground coffee. I ultimately chose that facility over a couple of others because they were the only one that said they would stock guava juice for me, which I refused to live without. The kitchen and dining area were also on the first floor of the building, so I went in to grab a snack.

As I walked through the dining area, which had the look of a café, I saw several people sitting at a few tables together with their attention on a flaming queen, who was standing on a chair and dramatically reciting a monologue that I immediately recognized as being from Julius Caesar, since I had to read it once in high school then again in college. For the hell of it, I stopped to watch the rest of his performance.

"...my heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, and I must pause till it come back to me." To signal that he was done, the queen took a bow, which was followed by a round of applause.

"Bravo!" a woman with overly-highlighted hair yelled as she and a redheaded woman with obviously fake tits helped the queen off his "stage."

"Thank you, everyone, thank you," the man trilled, blowing kisses to his audience.

I was heading over to the snack area, puzzled by the random one-man show, when I ran into - I mean literally ran into - a gorgeous blonde guy who was looking down at the screen on his cell phone, which he dropped on the floor during our collision.

"Whoa, watch out," I said to the young man, automatically grabbing onto his shoulders to steady him. The two questions rolling through my head while we stared at each other were 1) where did this sexy creature with the beautiful blue eyes come from and 2) why the fuck does he get to have a cell phone when I had mine taken away?

"I'm sorry," the blonde, who was probably about six inches shorter than me, said as he pulled away and walked over to where his phone had skid to a stop.

"It's okay," I said as I shamelessly stared at his perky ass while he bent at the waist to pick up his phone. He quickly stood back up after someone wolf-whistled from across the room.

"Woo, the buns are fresh around here!" the monologue queen yelled.

The blonde smiled timidly and turned to leave. I watched as he strut his ass out of the dining area.

I had just finished the Granny Smith apple and bag of pretzels I had selected when Vanessa came into the room and asked for her "kids" to come with her to begin our first group therapy session. The monologue queen, the chick with highlights, the redhead with the fake tits, a balding, overweight guy, and I all got up to go to the therapy room.

We all walked down the hall with Vanessa in uncomfortable silence.

"Relax guys, you're not going to your execution," Vanessa said, which made us all chuckle. We all followed her into a large room, which had several chairs arranged in a circle around a round coffee table with a box of tissues on it. I imagine that they went through lots of those there, and not just when the guys secretly jerked off in the bathrooms.

Vanessa asked for us to keep four chairs together open for our counselors, and she left the room. After letting everyone else take a seat, I took the last chair available. Highlights Chick was on my left, and going clockwise after her sat Monologue Queen, Fake Tits, the four empty chairs, then my dyke roommate, a douchey-looking guy with a goatee, the guy with the hot ass from the gym, a nerdy-looking guy with black-framed glasses, and the balding guy from the dining room. Lastly, a sandy-haired guy was sitting on my right.  

We all sat in the room for a couple of minutes as Highlights Chick, Fake Tits, and Monologue Queen whispered and giggled with each other. Finally, the door opened and a middle-aged man with lightening blonde hair and glasses walked in, followed by a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a redheaded guy around my age. The last person to come into the room was the sexy blonde that I ran into in the dining room, who took the last empty chair across from me, between the older blonde man and Melanie. All four of them carried in clip boards.

The blonde gave me a small smile as the older man began to speak.

"Good afternoon, everyone. It looks like we're all here, so let's go ahead and get started. All of you are here because the answers that you gave on your treatment questionnaire that you mailed in with your application strongly indicated that you have some form of sexual addiction. We here at the East Side Treatment Center hope that today is the start of your recovery, and that you will learn how to make sex a healthy, normal part of your life in your fourteen-day stay with us. We also treat all types of other addictions in in-patient and out-patient programs, such as substance abuse, gambling and shopping addictions, and other behavioral addictions, so the ten of you in this room are certainly not the only people that are currently seeking treatment in our facility. If you haven't already, you may see other patients outside of this group in the common areas.

"We start off each new treatment term by going around the circle and introducing ourselves. I am Dr. Victor Grassi, but everyone here calls me ‘Dr. Vic.' I'm the director of the sexual addiction program, and I was the one who started the program back in '98. I earned my PhD in Counseling Psychology at Columbia in ’76, and I've worked in addiction treatment ever since. And just to let you know, I am a fifty-four year old gay man, and I've been with my partner Rodney for about two years now." He then looked at the blonde, who was staring down at the paper on his clip board, and asked, "Justin, would you like to go next?"

"Sure," the man said as he looked around at each person in the room. "Hi, everybody, my name is Justin Taylor. I'm twenty-two years old, and I only recently became a full-time counselor here. I just earned my Masters in Counseling from NYU, and I'll begin working on my PhD in Counseling Psychology in the fall. I always hoped to become an addiction counselor, and I performed my internship here under Dr. Vic last year. After only a few days, I knew that this was what I wanted to do with my life. So, the two of you who will be assigned to me during the next two weeks will be my first patients on my own."

"But don't worry," Dr. Vic said, reaching over to pat Justin on his knee. "Justin has already shown that he is an excellent counselor, so you're all in good hands with him."

I know where I want him to put his hands...

"Thanks, Doc. Oh, by the way, I'm also gay... and single," Justin added.

Yes, Blondie, I see you eyeballing me...

Next, the redheaded guy went. "My name is Eric Thompson," and blah blah blah.

I tuned him out as I stared straight ahead at Justin, who seemed to be looking at everyone but me after his little admission, which didn't surprise me at all. He was way too fucking pretty and his ass was way too fucking perfect for him not to be gay. It would have been such a waste if he had been straight. Also, he was probably too busy with his studies to have a boyfriend. But shit, he was still a kid, really, and too young to settle into one of those mock-hetero unions that they called "relationships."

Next up was the older blonde lady. "Hi, my name is Connie Sullivan," and blah fucking blah.

As she rambled on about her educational and work background, Justin finally looked at me again. We locked eyes for a few seconds, and I couldn't help but lick my lips, which caused him to look away again.

Damn, what I would do with him... I really should have gone up to the roof for a smoke before the meeting started.

After Connie was done talking, Dr. Vic said, "Okay, now that you all know a little about us, we'd like to hear a few things about each of you. Just remember that you're all here because you need some help in your lives, so please feel free to speak openly in this room. Tell us your first name, how old you are, where you're from, what you do for a living, and anything about your addiction that you would like to share."

He looked at the dyke and asked her to start.

**Justin’s POV**

I had a list of the names of the ten patients on my clipboard. There were only three women in the group, so the woman sitting to my left was either named Julie, Melanie, or Amanda.

The woman crossed her arms over her chest and began: “Uh, okay. My name is Melanie, and I’m a thirty-four year old lesbian. I’m from Clearwater, Florida originally, but I now live in Brooklyn. I am a corporate lawyer, and…”

She paused for a moment to rub her nose and sighed. “I’m here because, from what my shrink tells me, I’m a compulsive masturbater. He said that I have what is called ‘avoidant personality disorder,’ which basically means that I hate people and because of that, I’d rather just have sex with myself than with someone else. I’ve been single since my last girlfriend cheated on me six years ago, and I haven’t been able to trust anyone since then. It also didn’t help that my father, who was my idol growing up, disowned me when I came out when I was twenty. I use masturbation as a drug to help cope.”

As I made some notes on my clipboard, a young man with a goatee, spiky brown hair, and wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans with ripped knees went next. “Um, my name’s Cameron, and I’m twenty-four. Uh… I was born and raised in Queens, I’m a mechanic, and the only reason that I’m here is so my girlfriend won’t dump me.”

After a few moments of silence, I asked Cameron, “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

“Nope,” he quickly answered as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles.

Hmm… Reluctant to talk about why he’s here, I wrote next to his name.

The very attractive man to Cameron’s left, who looked like he was some kind of Native American in heritage, went next. “Hey, everyone. My name is Nick and I’m from East Orange. I’m twenty-eight and I play guitar in an indie rock band. I decided to come here for help with sex addiction for the reason that this dude,” he said, pointing at Cameron, “is here for, I’m guessing. I’ve already been divorced twice, ‘cause I can’t stay faithful. I travel a lot with my band, and there are always women all over me, you know? Like, everywhere.” He stopped for a bit to chuckle. “But, I’ve been with my girl for a few months now, and I really want this one to work out for me.”

I wrote down Cheats on girlfriends/wives with groupies next to Nick’s name on my patient list as a… uh, bookish-looking guy- I try not to label people with words like “nerd” or “geek”- began to speak. The guy was obviously very nervous, and wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone in the room as he fiddled with the bottom hem of his black t-shirt.

“Uh… my name is Freddie, and I’m twenty-six, from New Haven, Connecticut. I work in computer repair. I’ve… never actually had sex before, but I’m a porn addict. It’s gotten to the point where I’m about to lose my job, because I call in to work too often to stay home and watch porn. I don’t have any friends and I haven’t been on a date since high school.”

“Would you say that you’re scared of women?” Connie asked.

“Uh… probably, yeah,” Freddie answered, still not looking at anyone.

“When was the last time you asked a woman out on a date?” I asked.

Freddie bit his lip as he thought about it. “Probably my first year at college, so like, eight years. There was a girl I really liked, and I thought she liked me, but she turned me down when I asked her if she would like to see a movie with me. I felt like a total idiot after that, and haven’t had the guts to ask anyone out since then.”

I wrote 26 year old virgin, scared of women, porn addiction interferes with job on my list and dared to glance up at the handsome brunette in the black button-up shirt and jeans sitting across from me, who had been staring at me since I walked into the room.

Yep, still staring with what I saw in the dining room were hazel eyes. He licked his lips again, and I had to shift in my chair to give my growing erection extra room in my pants, which I hid with my clip board.

This is not the time or the place for you to be popping a chub, Justin…

Next to speak was a man who appeared to be in his forties, with a receded hairline and a beer belly. “Hi, my name is Joe, and I’m forty-six. I’m from the Cincinnati area and work in construction. I’m here because I’m addicted to prostitutes. My wife left me last year and took my son with her, and neither of them will speak to me.” His voice cracked as he said, “I just want my family and my life back. I… I can’t live like this anymore.”

I wrote Addicted to prostitutes, which ended his marriage on my list as Joe wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Without looking, I could feel the brunette’s eyes burning into me.

Dr. Vic asked Joe, “When did this addiction start?”

“Um, probably about five years ago,” Joe answered.

“And was there something that triggered this addiction? For instance, something in your marriage, or…?”

Joe rolled his lips in. “Well, it was around the time when I had to take a few months off from work, after I slipped a disc in my back. Although I was on paid leave, my wife started working more hours- she’s a nurse- because we started fighting more, since I was at home all the time. We kind of got sick of each other, and I started calling an escort service to make up for the lack of love I was feeling from her.”

“You said you started fighting more,” I said. “So, does that mean you fought before you injured your back?”

“Yeah, we had our share of fights before then, but I didn’t start cheating on her until after I got hurt.”

The next one to speak was the guy sitting between the handsome brunette and Joe, and was quite attractive. “Hello,” he began in a thick French accent. “My name is Henri.”

Not Henry like you would normally say, but pronounced On-ree. How fancy…

“I am twenty-eight years old, and I am originally from Montpellier, France.”

No kidding…

“I moved to America a few years ago, and I work at the French Consulate here in Manhattan. I decided to check in here after a doctor friend of mine said that I was probably a sex addict. I don’t bed random women, but I do tend to go from woman-to-woman, and those short relationships are always about sex.”

Lucky girls. Serial monogamist I wrote on the list next to his name.

“How long do these relationships normally last?” Eric asked.

“Normally a few weeks or months,” Henri answered.

“So, after the initial attraction ends, you leave them?” Connie asked.

“Uh… I guess so, yes,” Henri answered, not looking very guilty about that… the pig.

Up next was the handsome brunette, who sighed before he began to speak. “Uh… hi, my name is Brian. I’m thirty… four, and I own an advertising agency in Pittsburgh. I came here because…” Another sigh. “I’m a sex addict. Oh, and I’m also gay.”

Yes!

Whoa, wait… what? Why the fuck should it matter to me whether he’s gay? Well, obviously he’s gay- he’s been undressing me with his eyes for the last fifteen minutes.

I bit my lip to keep from smiling as I wrote Ashamed about his age, seems to reluctantly admit that he’s a sex addict.

“So, what’s your normal pattern, Brian?” Dr. Vic asked. “Do you have relationships, or is it only anonymous partners?”

Brian chuckled. “I’ve never had a ‘relationship’ before; I’ve actually never even been on a real date… okay one, but I first did the waiter in the linen closet, then I took my date home with me. I kicked him out the next morning, and that was that. But yeah, I prefer to keep things anonymous.”

Melanie curiously asked, “So, how many partners do you usually have, like, in a given month?”

Brian looked up at the ceiling, obviously trying to calculate in his head. “Uh… three or four a night… so at least a hundred.”

Jaws collectively dropped around the room.

“You fuck a hundred guys a month?” the redheaded woman asked.

Brian shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Like, a hundred different guys? Every month?” 

Brian looked at the redhead and smiled. “That’s usually the goal, although because of the limited number of fuckable fags in Pittsburgh, I have to do repeats sometimes.” He then looked back at me and licked his lips again.

I looked back down at my list and added Unashamed about having multiple sex partners next to his name.

A woman with badly highlighted hair and way too much make-up on, sitting to Brian’s left, went next. “Hi, everybody,” she said in a bubbly voice. “My name is Julie, and I’m originally from Toronto. I’m twenty-six, and I moved here to New York to pursue my acting career a few years ago. I’ve worked as an extra in a few projects and I’ve done some stage work. I decided to come here for treatment because it’s become obvious to me lately that I’m a sex addict. I’ve always believed that sex and love go hand-in-hand, but most of the guys I’ve dated don’t seem to feel that way, so I end up sleeping with a lot of guys in hopes of them falling in love with me.”

I wrote Love addict on my list.

Next was a guy who was quite obviously gay, as he was wearing a pink v-neck shirt with a floral-print scarf tied around his neck. And he may have been wearing foundation and eyeliner, too. “Hello,” he cooed, flashing a gap-toothed smile at everyone.

Hello, Dolly.

“My name is Emmett, I’m thirty, and I am originally from Hazelhurst, Mississippi. As soon as I turned eighteen, I got my buns on a bus and came here to become a star.” He stretched his arms over his head in a ta-da pose and continued. “I’ve done several plays and musicals over the years- the most recent being an off-Broadway run ofJulius Caesar.”

I thought I heard someone reciting Shakespeare in the dining room…

“And I’m here because I’m addicted to cyber sex. I’ve been very unlucky at love, and it’s just easier to chat with anonymous guys online… yes, I’m gay, if you can’t tell.”

No shit…

Cybersex addict I wrote as the last one in the group, the redheaded woman, who had boobs too big for her petite frame and obviously filled lips, said, “Hi, I’m Ginger… well, my real name is Amanda, but only my family and friends back home call me that. I’m originally from Oakland, California, and I’m twenty-two.”

Damn, she looks forty-two, with her sun-damaged skin.

“I’m a porn star,” that explains boobs... “but my therapist suggested that I come here to try to learn how to have a healthy sexual relationship outside of my career.”

We all chatted for about a half hour more, mostly about the facility rules, before Dr. Vic excused our session. I had about twenty minutes before my first individual session, which was to be with Brian (God help me) was to start, so I took the elevator up to the fifth floor with Melanie and Cameron to smoke a cigarette.

“Woo, that Brian sure is a whore,” Melanie said as she took her pack of Marlboro Reds out of her pocket. “And I’m stuck rooming with him.”

“Be nice,” I said before letting out a small chuckle. “It’s not rare for some addicts to have hundreds of sex partners a month.”

“Yeah, but where would he meet all these guys?” Melanie asked as the elevator door opened to the fifth floor.

As we walked down a short hallway towards the stairway leading up to the roof I answered, “From what I hear, there’s a large gay neighborhood in Pittsburgh with several gay dance clubs and bars, so I imagine he finds them there.”

When we reached the roof, there were a few patients from the other treatment programs, as well as a few employees, out enjoying a smoke at one of the five metal picnic tables bolted to the roof deck.

“Hey Vanessa,” I said, walking over to sit next to our Resident Tech as I lit up.

“I thought you were quitting,” she said, motioning over to my cancer stick with her own.

I rolled my eyes and blew out a plume of smoke over my head. “That lasted all of two days.”

Vanessa smiled. “Yeah, with all my previous vices I gave up, this is all I have.”

“What other vices?” a male voice behind us asked. We both turned around as Brian approached us. He lit a cigarette and sat down at the table across from me.

“Oh, I was a bad, bad girl back in my day,” Vanessa answered.

Brian raised an eyebrow. “How bad?”

“Well, it started out with an alcohol and cocaine addiction in high school, and then progressed into just about anything I could get my hands on. I eventually dropped out of school, ran away from home, and started turning tricks to pay for my drugs.”

“Shit,” Brian said as he flicked his ashes in the ashtray on the table. “Did you go to rehab here?”

“Eventually. This went on for about five years before one of my johns beat the shit out of me. I ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw, and when I was detoxing during the next few days, I had a few seizures from opiate withdrawal. I then went to a rehab center across town, but then I became addicted to methadone before finally quitting for good about six years ago. My last time in treatment was here, and I made friends with one of the techs. I went back to school and later got my job here. Me and the tech, Shawn, got married last year.” She held up her left hand and showed off her wedding rings.

“I’m glad things worked out for you,” Brian said with a genuine smile.

Vanessa looked at her rings. “Thanks. Me, too.”

Brian then looked at me and asked, “So, do you know who my counselor is going to be?”

I stubbed my cigarette out and silently raised my right hand.

**Brian’s POV**

“Have a seat,” Justin said to me, indicating the two upholstered arm chairs positioned at a slight angle towards each other in his small but nicely decorated office. I took the chair on the right, which was closer to the window overlooking Park Avenue below. Justin grabbed his trusty clipboard from the desk and took the other chair.

“Alright,” Justin exhaled as he crossed legs and leaned the clipboard against his knee. “Starting tomorrow and for the rest of your stay here, you’ll meet with the group in the mornings at nine, and then we’ll have an individual hour-long session at twelve. You’ll have a few hours of down-time while I’m with my other patient, then have another group session at four.”

“Who’s your other patient?” I asked as I stared at Justin’s luscious lips.

“Nick,” he answered, a slight frown on his boyish face. I would have taken him for a high school kid, rather than a young man about to enter grad school. The kid was downright pretty with his blonde hair, blue eyes, flawless pale skin, and dazzling smile.

“Ah, the groupie fucker.”

Justin snorted out a laugh. “Yeah… anyway, since you and I will be meeting daily for the next two weeks, it’s a good idea for us to first establish trust, so we’ll get off to a good start. Please feel free to talk about anything you’d like with me and know that nothing you reveal will leave this room. If you don’t feel comfortable sharing anything with your group members, that’s okay. I won’t ever push you to talk about anything in the group sessions, but just remember that everyone in the program with you has their own problems, too; things they may be embarrassed about or ashamed of.”

“I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of anything,” I said as I casually kicked off my flip-flops and crossed my ankles. “I’ve made some mistakes in my life, but I don’t waste my time living in regret or making excuses for my actions.”

Justin looked down at my bare feet, which I’ve been told are two of my best features, among many others. “Well… good. You shouldn’t have any trouble opening up to me, then.”

I gave him a small smile. “Just because I’m not ashamed of anything doesn’t mean I’m an open book.”

Justin looked back up and returned my smile. His teeth were perfect straight and pearly-white, unlike mine. “I’ll just have to see how much of the Brian Kinney operating manual I get to read.”

I laced my fingers behind my head and nonchalantly asked, “What would you like to know, Mr. Taylor?”

“Why are you here?”

I narrowed my eyes and put my hands in my lap. “This is a treatment program for sex addiction, so I obviously didn’t come here for a vacation.”

Another smile. “I know that. I read your application questionnaire, which clearly indicated that you are a sex addict. What I mean is what made you decide to seek treatment for it? People that come to addiction facilities don’t wake up one day and realize that they have a problem that they can’t solve on their own, and they usually don’t make the decision to get help easily.”

I thought about that for a few moments. “I’ve always prided myself in being in control of my life, but lately I haven’t felt in control.”

“And why is that? Have there been any significant changes in your life, things you didn’t feel like you had control over?”

I looked down at my Rolex and noticed that only two of the sixty minutes of our session had passed. Shit. “Well, a lot of things in my life have changed over the past couple years. I know that that’s the way of life, things can’t stay the same, but… sometimes I wish they could.”

I glanced over to see that Justin was looking at me, clearly immersed in what I was saying. “What things have changed, Brian?”

I started picking at my cuticles. “It seems like everyone around me is growing up, while I’m still the same childish son of a bitch I’ve always been.”

“Well, you shouldn’t expect to be on the same track as the other people in your life. We don’t all grow at the same pace; some of us need more time than others. Does it scare you that your peers are maturing faster than you?”

I frowned, but then tried to relax my face in fear of adding more wrinkles to the ones I already have. I may as well admit it, to myself and to him. “Yeah… I guess so.”

He wrote something down as he asked, “Tell me about your friends, how they’re maturing.”

“One of my best friends, Michael, got married last year in Canada to his lover and they’re fostering a couple of kids. And my other best friend, Lindsay…” I paused to sigh. “She took my son to Toronto with her in March.”

Justin looked at me in surprise. “You have a son?”

“Yeah. Back in ’99, Lindsay asked me if I would give her my sperm so she could have a baby. She’s a lesbian and didn’t want to use an anonymous donor, because although she wanted to raise the kid as a single mother, she still wanted him to have a real father. Gus will be five in September.”

“Why did she decide to move to Toronto?”

“Did you hear about the bombing in Pittsburgh back in February?”

Justin nodded somberly. “Yeah, at a gay dance club during a benefit to rally against a proposition that would severely limit gay rights in Pennsylvania. It was all over the news.”

“It was at a club called Babylon, which I’m the owner of. I wasn’t there when it happened, but Lindsay was. Thankfully she wasn’t hurt, but it scared her to the point of her not wanting to raise Gus in a country where gay people don’t have the same rights as straights. I gave her my blessing to leave, but I’ve regretted it every day since. The bombing was enough to get the state government to remove the proposition from the ballot, but she doesn’t want to come back.”

He thought about his next question for a bit. “So… you own a dance club.”

I blew out a breath of relief that he wasn’t asking any more questions about Gus and Lindsay. “Yeah, I bought it last year and was able to re-open it last month after rebuilding from the bombing damage.”

“Did you buy the club to help fuel your sex addiction?”

I chuckled a bit. “No, I still fucked a lot before I bought the club. Babylon was the main place where I used to go, since I was eighteen. The last owner had to close it after he was arrested for tax evasion, and I bought it for half of its appraised value.”

Justin looked down at his clipboard and asked, “Does this club have a back room?”

I tilted my head at him. “Are you planning on checking it out someday?”

He snapped his head up, taken aback. “No… I was just wondering if that was where you found your sex partners.”

Uh-huh... then why are you blushing? “Some of them,” I answered. “I’ve been spending more time cruising at other clubs and on the internet lately, though.”

“Is this a recent development? Did you only ever hook up with guys you found at Babylon?”

I went back to inspecting my nails. “No, I’ve always liked variety. Sometimes I’ll spend the evening in the back room at Babylon and go home alone, and sometimes I’ll bring one or two home with me. Or I’ll find guys at other clubs and fuck them there or bring them home. If I don’t feel like going out, I’ll find a guy online and invite him over.”

“So, although you’ve always had an active sex life, it’s increased ‘lately,’ you say?”

I wonder if Queen Emmett brought a manicure kit… I’d bet he did. “Yeah.”

“Was there something that happened to increase it?”

I stopped picking at my cuticles and sighed. “Last February, one of my tricks, who just happened to be a urologist, found a lump on my left testicle while he was blowing me. I had the ball removed and the lump was cancerous. I went through a couple months of radiation, which was absolute hell. I was unable to get an erection for a month or so after the treatment, but luckily everything went back to normal. I’m in remission now.”

“That’s great,” Justin said, smiling again. “So your near-brush with death caused you to become more sexually active?”

I rested my chin on my hand and said, “No. Even when I felt like total shit during the radiation, I never thought I was going to die. They caught it early and gave me a 95% chance of survival.”

“Okay… was it from a fear that you might not be able to get an erection and have sex again?”

I looked at my watch again. Fuck, it was only six minutes after. I could think of much better ways to pass an hour with this guy. “No. The doctors assured me that the impotence was temporary.”

Justin grinned, obviously in the middle of a lightbulb moment, and said, “Your surgery probably left you with a scar and I imagine that you probably now have a prosthetic in place of the cancerous testicle they took out. The cancer left you feeling vulnerable and taught you that you’re not immortal. I noticed in group earlier that you hesitated to admit your age. You’re scared about losing your youth and beauty, and you now use your sexual conquests to help suppress that fear, right?”

This kid is good.

**Justin’s POV**

“You’re scared about losing your youth and beauty, and you now use your sexual conquests to help suppress that fear, right?” I asked him, and nearly laughed when his previously lackluster expression suddenly turned into a flustered one. Uh-huh… gotcha, stud.

Brian is certainly not the first patient that I’ve worked with who thought they could keep secrets. I’ve observed sessions with people who refused to answer more than “yes” or “no” questions in hopes of not revealing too much, only for their counselor to get to the root of their problems with little help from them. If this guy thinks we’re going to sit here for the next two weeks while he bullshits me, he’s got another thing coming. Besides, I was always great at playing “Twenty Questions” when my parents and I went on road trips when I was a kid.

“Uh…” he said, scratching an eyebrow. “I… guess so, yeah. Shit, here I thought it was only because I was horny.”

That time, I did laugh. “Well, it’s normal human behavior to be ‘horny’ now and then, but we don’t all go out and have sex with three or four different strangers a night.”

Brian crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah? And how much action do you get, Sunshine?”

Now it was my turn to be flustered. My smile quickly faded. “We’re not here to discussmy sex life, Brian- we’re here to discuss yours.”

He clicked his tongue. “Oh, come on. I bet you can barely walk a block without getting propositioned. You’re a walking wet dream.”

I stared into his hazel eyes for a moment and felt my dick begin to stir again. Damn it, not now! I cleared my throat and looked back down at the notes on my clipboard, hoping like hell that he didn’t have x-ray vision. “So… earlier you said that you’ve been spending more time than usual cruising for sex. Is this time cutting into time you would otherwise be spending working or taking care of other obligations?”

Realizing playtime was over, Brian got serious. “Yeah, that’s one of the reasons I decided to come here. Although my sex life has always been a priority, I rarely let it interfere with my work in the past. Since my cancer recovery though, I normally take my lunch break at one of the clubs that’s open during the day. My office building actually used to be a bath house, and it’s right in the middle of the gay neighborhood, Liberty Avenue. Sometimes, if I’m too busy to go out, I’ll call an escort agency to send someone to the office.”

I looked at him in amusement. “You turned a bath house into your company headquarters?”

“Yep. The former police chief shut it down while he was running for mayor, in an attempt to ‘clean up’ Liberty Avenue, and the owner decided not to re-open after the guy lost the election. That was conveniently at the same time I was starting up my company. I kept the tile walls and the floor drains intact, just for the hell of it.”

“Now, when you said that you rarely let your sex life interfere with your work in the past, does that mean that it did interfere with your work before the cancer?” I asked him.

Brian sighed and went back to staring at his nails. “Back when I worked for an ad agency as an account manager, I would sometimes fuck clients to help ‘seal the deal’ with landing the account. I never got involved with co-workers though, until I fucked a new guy in my office one day, then again the next night at my place. I knew it was risky, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. But a few days after, he asked me to recommend him for a promotion that he wasn’t qualified for. When I refused, he filed sexual harassment charges against me and the company, saying that I retracted my promise of a promotion after I fucked him. About a week later, he was killed when he drove into a utility pole after getting loaded on booze and pills and attempting to drive home.”

“Wow. You got off lucky, there.”

Brian chuckled a bit. Yes, I said “got off”… oops. “Yeah. I didn’t wish for him to die, but it saved my job. Since then, I’ve maintained a ‘no fraternizing’ policy with clients and coworkers, especially now that I have my own company. The last thing I need is another lawsuit.”

“Is your sex life cutting into your productivity at work?”

“Yes and no. My company has been open for less than two years, but I’ve been doing very well. I was able to steal several of my last boss’s clients, as well as recruiting a few that my old boss couldn’t land. I’m making more money that I’ll ever be able to spend, even with my expensive tastes. I have several talented people working for me, and they do a pretty good job without me breathing down their necks. But because I’m usually up most nights fucking, I tend to come into the office late in the morning and spend the whole day drinking coffee. I’ll sometimes only work for a few hours before I leave to hit the bars. I try to stop in at Babylon every evening to make sure things are running smoothly, and I normally get a blowjob or two in my VIP room before going to another club to find someone to possibly take home.”

I looked down at his bare feet and asked, “But you said that you don’t always take someone home, right?”

“Yeah. Before the cancer, I would only take someone home a few nights a week, then I would kick them out after we finished. But lately, I bring someone home nearly every night, and I’ll even let some of them sleep over. If I’m too wasted to drive, I’ll sometimes go home with them, which I almost never did before.”

We spent the rest of the session talking about his life as of late. He revealed that he is a recreational drug user and enjoys adult beverages, typically Jim Beam, but he has limited his drug use and drinking since the cancer. Vanessa informed me before the session that he had MDMA in his system this morning, but Brian said that pre-cancer, many more drugs would have showed up on his drug screening, so it wasn’t a big deal. It doesn’t seem like he has a problem with drugs and drinking, but we will speak more about it in the future. He was telling me about his odd professional relationship with his executive assistant, a woman named Cynthia (who sounds like a saint, for putting up with him) when our time ran out.

“Alright, I’ll see you at tomorrow morning’s group session,” I said to him as he stood up and stretched his (nicely toned) arms over his head.

He dropped his arms and asked, “Oh, but what will I do without you in the meantime, Sunshine?”

I stood up and smirked at him. “What’s with the ‘Sunshine’ bit?”

“That blonde hair and radiant smile of yours light up the room,” he answered, flashing me a flirtatious smile of his own. He has crooked front tooth (technically called a Maxillary lateral incisor, which I know from living with a dental student), but it doesn’t take anything away from his handsome face.

I forced myself to look away from him and walked over to my desk to retrieve one of my business cards. “Here,” I told him as I handed the card to him. “My cell number is on there. If you need to talk when I’m not here, give me a call.”

He put the card in the back pocket of his jeans and smiled again before letting himself out of my office.

********************

After listening to Nick talk for an hour about his music career and all the “pussy” his career awards him with (he probably said pussy twenty times in our hour together), I typed up short reports about my first sessions with Brian and Nick on my office computer before leaving the facility for the day around five-thirty. I walked the block to my car, a silver Prius, and drove to my favorite sandwich shop in Midtown.

I ordered an Italian sub at the counter and made my way over to the small seating area, where I immediately spotted my roommate Daphne at a booth against the wall. She was wearing her usual school uniform of pink scrubs and her curly hair was gathered into a low ponytail at her neck.

“About fucking time,” she said around a bite of her turkey sub as I sat across from her.

“Oh shut up, you’ve probably been here all of ten minutes,” I answered as I took a French fry off her plate and popped it into my mouth. “Fries are still hot, you impatient bitch.”

She swallowed and smiled. “So, how was your first day as a licensed addiction specialist? Any kooks in your group?”

“Oh yeah, plenty. Both of my individual patients are interesting characters. One is a musician and the other…” I looked down and rubbed my salty fingers together.

“The other, what?” Daphne asked.

“He’s… probably the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Daphne looked at me with wide eyes. “Uh-oh.”

The man at the counter yelled out the number for my order, which I walked over and picked up. I brought my food back to the table, hoping that Daphne wouldn’t press me about my last sentence.

“So what about this gorgeous guy?” my inquisitive best friend asked as soon as my ass hit the bench seat. Shit.

I took a huge bite of my sandwich and took my time chewing while Daphne stared at me. A few seconds later, she picked up a fry and mumbled, “Fine, don’t tell me.”

After I swallowed, I said, “You know about patient confidentiality; I can’t tell you much.”

“I don’t need to know the guy’s life story, just some basics. What’s his name? Is he gay? Straight? Tell me!”

Like I said, impatient bitch. “His name is Brian and he’s definitely gay. He spent most of the day undressing me with his eyes, and he fucks more men per day than I do in a year.”

Daphne snorted. “Nearly every straight woman and gay man in the world fuck more men than you do. Hell, even I get more dick than you do.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled around my sandwich.

“What does he look like?” she asked, now ignoring her food.

I smiled a bit as I pictured him. “He’s probably about 6’2”, athletic build with just the right amount of muscle, brown hair, hazel eyes. He has beautiful feet-”

Daphne laughed. “What’s your deal with feet?”

“I don’t know. He wore flip-flops to our session, and I couldn’t help but notice that he has nice feet.”

“God, you’re such a freak. But anyway, although he sounds pretty hot, he certainly doesn’t sound like boyfriend material, being so promiscuous.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I don’t go to work hoping to find a guy, Daph; that’s the last place I’d find a boyfriend. Besides, it would be unethical for our relationship to be anything more than counselor-patient… at least until after he leaves the program in two weeks. But even then, he lives in Pittsburgh, and a relationship will be the last thing he’ll need to worry about. His addiction recovery should be his main priority.”

Daphne took a sip of her soda and said, “Well, you're gonna be in hell for the next two weeks, knowing that you can’t ever have him.”

I nodded sadly as I squeezed some ketchup onto my plate.

**Brian’s POV**

After dinner, we were allowed to have our cell phones for a few hours, and I took mine up to the roof to have a smoke. I sat down at an empty table and hit a number on my speed-dial.

Three rings later, a familiar female voice answered. “Hey, sweetie!”

“Hey, Linds,” I said back.

“Did you just land?”

I lit a cigarette and said, “Yeah… a little while ago.”

“Well, I’m glad you got there safely. I wish I had the time and money to go to Spain.”

I blew out the smoke and grimaced when Melanie sat down at the table across from me. “Yeah… well, I’m waiting for a cab to take me to the hotel, so I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Wait, say hi to Gus real quick,” Lindsay said. I heard her pass the phone over and waited as I listened to my son breathe.

“Sonny Boy?” I asked after a few seconds.

“Hi, Daddy!” Gus yelled into the phone. “Mommy let me have a Happy Meal for dinner! I got chicken nuggets.”

“That sounds great, kid. I gotta go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, Daddy. Love you!” He hung up before I could answer him.

I snapped my phone closed, and then Melanie asked, “Hotel?”

I smiled coyly. “Yeah, everyone back home thinks I’m on vacation in Ibiza.”

Melanie chuckled as she lit a cigarette. “Ashamed to admit that you’re in rehab, are ya?”

Instead of answering her, I stubbed out my cigarette and got up to go back downstairs.

**Justin’s POV**

I had just taken my clothes off to take a shower when my cell phone rang. Seeing an unfamiliar number on the display, I answered it formally. “Justin Taylor.”

“Hey, it’s Brian… you know, from rehab?”

I shivered slightly from the familiar smoky voice. He could have just said “boo” and I would know who it was. “Yeah, I remember. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m sitting here all alone in my room, and I thought I’d give you a shout. Is that okay?”

I sat my naked ass down on my bed. “Sure. You can call me anytime.”

“So…” Brian said, the tone of his voice dropping slightly. “What are you wearing?”

I looked down and blushed. “Um… the same clothes I had on earlier.”

“Well, that’s a shame, although you looked very nice in that baby blue shirt. It brings out your beautiful eyes,” he said in a sultry voice.

I squeezed my eyes closed as my dick instantly hardened. “Brian, we really shouldn’t talk like this. It’s inappropriate.”

Brian sighed. “Alright. I was about to take a shower, anyway. I’ll try not to jerk off to a mental picture of you while I’m in there. Later.”

My mouth dropped open as I heard him hang up.

Tuesday, June 7, 2005

**Brian’s POV**

*Snore*

“Mel,” I called out in the darkness of our shared room.

*Snore*

“Melanie!” I yelled, trying to wake the chainsaw, who I could faintly see the profile of from the streetlights shining through the bottom of the closed curtains.

*Snore*

“Christ,” I snarled as I threw the covers off and crossed the three feet between our beds. I grabbed the muncher’s bony shoulder and shook her hard. “Melanie!”

She took a choked breath and began flailing her arms and legs wildly. “What?!” she screamed.

I quickly pulled my hand back and jumped out of the way before her fist could connect with me. “You’re snoring. Roll over to your side.”

She hacked out a few phlegmy smoker coughs and rolled onto her right side so her back was to me. “I was dreaming I was at Coney Island, and Bob Barker was riding on the Tea Cups with me.”

I looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand between our beds, which read 3:17. “Fascinating,” I grumbled as I got back in my bed and flopped around on the creaky mattress. Christ, I miss my pillow-top already.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve watched The Price is Right… and it’s been even longer since I’ve been to Coney Island,” she sleepily slurred.

“I’ve never been to Coney Island.” I punched at the lumpy feather pillow. “I’ve been to Fire Island, though.”

“Of course you have. So, uh…”

“What?” I barked out after several seconds of silence.

I heard her bed creak as she rolled to face me. “About you lying to the folks back at home about where you are-”

“Mind your own fucking business,” I growled.

“Did you tell your counselor?”

“No, and keep your fucking mouth shut about it,” I answered as I pulled the blankets up around my neck, attempting to shield myself from the nosy bitch.

Melanie chuckled. “And they say I have avoidant personality disorder… who’s your counselor, anyway?”

I should have just let her choke on her phlegm. “Justin.”

More chuckles. “They put me with Eric, because he specialized in personality disorders before becoming an addiction counselor. You’re gonna go nuts, being locked in a room with that adorable kid for an hour a day and not being allowed to fuck him.”

I’m gonna go nuts, not being allowed to strangle you. “Goodnight, Melanie.”

“Goodnight.”

I laid awake in the dark for a while, replaying the session with Justin over in my head. I really hadn’t planned on revealing too much about myself to him or anyone else here, but I was surprised to find that once I started answering his questions, I sang like a bird. Very few people even know about the cancer, and I’ve never volunteered the information to anyone before. Michael only found out after overhearing a message from a doctor left on my answering machine, and the news made its way through the “family” grapevine- his mother Debbie, his partner Ben, Lindsay, and our friend Ted, who is also the CFO of my company. Debbie told my mother after running into the old cunt at church. I had to tell Cynthia, who demanded to know what the fuck was wrong with me, once I started getting sick during the radiation. I threatened to fire both Ted and Cynthia if my illness became company knowledge, because the last thing I wanted was for any of my employees or clients to feel sorry for me. It was bad enough that the family was treating me like a helpless child.

I also didn’t plan on telling Justin about the thing with Kip, that shithead that filed the harassment suit against me. I have done some questionable things that I’m not very proud of in my time, and fucking Kip is one of them. He would have been just another fuck, if only he hadn’t come to me with an agenda. Spending time with my dick is something of a status symbol in my neighborhood, and if someone only wants to get fucked by me or suck my dick just to be able to tell their friends that they did, I’m game. Even though the bastard suffered an untimely death, it still pisses me off that the little asshole nearly destroyed my career, only because he hoped that being with me would further his. I had to learn the hard way that I unfortunately can’t stick my dick anywhere I please. Luckily, the only fuckable guys that work for me now are all straight.

Thinking back to our session made me picture the sexy little blonde, which I had done several times since leaving his office. That silky blonde hair, those sparkling blue eyes, that cute button nose, the perfect smile. I’ll be seeing him again in the morning in less than six hours…

What the fuck? Hold on. Why the hell am I looking forward to seeing that twink again? And counting the hours, no less? And why am I mentally dissecting his features? I rarely even pay much attention to a guy’s face, usually because they are either on their knees or facing the wall. Sure he’s hot and has an amazing ass, but there are plenty more like him flouncing around. I could walk into any club in Chelsea right now and find a gaggle of skinny blonde boys. None of them know that I have a fake nut. I usually don’t even seek out little blondes, although my only requirement these days for my receptacles is that they have an eager mouth or ass, and that they don’t smell like a dirty jock strap.

And all I’m allowed to do when I’m around him is talk. Talk, talk, talk. The only “lip service” I enjoy is having lips around my cock. I’m apparently not allowed to talk about anything “inappropriate,” either, such as things about his looks or his sex life. All I did was tell him that he has beautiful eyes and he looks good in blue, and he shut me down. I rarely give compliments to anyone, unless I want to fuck them. Well, sure, I want to fuck him, but I know that it can’t happen while I’m locked up here under his “care.”

But then, why the fuck would I pay him compliments about his looks, when I know that I can’t immediately fuck him? What did I say to him? You’re a walking wet dream.What the fuck was that?

And calling him “Sunshine?” Pet names have always made me cringe. I can put up with Deb and Linds calling me “Honey” or “Sweetie,” because they call everyone else that without thinking about it. Sure, I’ve called Michael “Mikey” for as long as I can remember, but “Mikey” is a common nickname for the name Michael. It’s a childish nickname, compared to “Mike” though, but I’ve known him for twenty years and he still acts like he’s fourteen, despite being a married mother of two heathens. But “Sunshine?” It’s as if I walked into this place and immediately grew a twat.

I rolled over onto my back and felt my crotch through my shorts. Nope, dick’s still there, and rock hard at its full nine inches. I lied when I told Justin on the phone that I’d try not to jerk off to him in the shower. That was actually the first time in months that I’ve masturbated, mostly because I fuck or get blown so much that I don’t have to.

I took my hand off my cock and placed it on my chest. This is the last place I should be sporting a woody- within spitting distance of a woman… and a dyke, at that. Especially a dyke that says she’s addicted to fucking herself. Okay Kinney, think of that. Melanie, naked… wetting her fingers in her mouth… taking a trip downstairs… stimulating her g-spot, whatever the fuck that is… using the other hand to pinch her nipples… panting and drooling like a bitch in heat…

I reached back down and smiled. Ahh… Kryptonite for my little Superman.

********************

It felt like I was asleep for all of five minutes when the alarm clock blared at 6:30 AM.

Melanie groaned in protest as I reached over to turn the offensive thing off. “Why the fuck are you getting up so early?” she whined after looking at the time.

I climbed out of bed and walked over to the dresser to get out some workout clothes. “The gym beckons.”

“Ugh. I should have known that you were one of those.”

I turned to look at her before walking into the bathroom. “Do you think that this is an accident?” I asked as I gestured to my body.

She scowled at me and covered her head with her pillow.

After dressing and putting on my Nikes, I took the stairs down to the first floor and let myself into the small gym. Nick, the groupie fucker, was already in there, running on the treadmill. Unfortunately, it is a rule that we must keep our shirts on while we work out, which in Nick’s case, should be illegal. Straight or not, the guy was fucking hot.

“Good morning, Geronimo,” I said as I stepped onto the other treadmill beside him.

“Geronimo was Apache; I’m full-blooded Navajo,” he informed me, not the least bit out of breath. I glanced over at his machine and saw that he was running at eight mph.

“Oh,” I said as I set the treadmill on five mph to warm up. “My apologies. Do you have a tribe name?”

“No, my parents left the tribe to move to Jersey before I was born. We’re like, the only Native American family in East Orange. My last name is Ramsey, and my friends have always called me ‘The Ram.’” He pulled up his right sleeve and showed me a tattoo of a ram’s head on his upper bicep. “I’m an Aries, so it suits me.”

The Ram hit the button to increase his speed to nine mph. I hit the button twice so I was jogging at seven. Remembering that he was a musician, I asked him, “So what instrument do you play, Ram?”

“Lead guitar and backup vocals.” The fucker wasn’t breathing hard at all. I regularly weight train, but I’ve neglected cardio lately, mostly because I get most of my cardio in bed. I was breathing heavier already; I need to cut down on the smokes.

“I played guitar in a garage band in high school,” I said, feeling sweat break out.

He hit the button to ten. “That’s how my band got started. Were you any good?”

“No,” I admitted, chuckling as I increased my speed to ten. “We played New Wave covers, very badly. I gave up my dream to be the next Robert Smith and went to college, instead.”

We continued to run for the next several minutes before The Ram increased his speed to eleven mph. That son of a… I ignored the pain in my side and bumped mine up to match.

A few minutes later, The Ram noticed that I was struggling to keep up, as I was now wheezing like an asthmatic. “I was on my school’s cross country team, by the way,” he said.

“Is that so?” I panted as I decreased my speed to eight, my usual jogging speed. Asshole.

********************

As we all sat and waited in the group therapy room for our counselors to grace us with their presence, I tried to ignore the Powerpuff Girls (Julie, Emmett, and Ginger) as they whispered and giggled about who-knows-what. Emmett was wearing an outfit he must have stolen from a figure skater: a purple silk blouse with ruffles down the front, black bell-bottomed pants (which look like they’re made of velvet, from where I’m sitting), black heeled boots (which probably made him a couple of inches taller than me), and black wrist cuffs to match. He looked like he was ready for a night at Studio 54, not for a therapy session. He even had glitter in his hair, for fuck’s sake. If I saw this guy at Babylon, I wouldn’t give him a second look.

Dr. Vic, Connie, Eric, and Justin all came in at exactly 9:00 and took their seats. Justin was wearing a red polo shirt and khaki chinos, which hugged his ass perfectly. He gave me a tiny smile as Dr. Vic greeted us.

“Does anyone have anything they’d like to share or discuss before we get started?” Dr. Vic asked.

Melanie looked straight at me and said, “Actually, I think Brian has something he’d like to say.”

Huh? “No, I don’t,” I answered.

“Sure you do,” Melanie said, a mischievous grin on her face. “You know, that thing we talked about last night?”

That fucking bitch. “No… I’d rather not share that with the group,” I said sternly.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Emmett said. “Come on, tell us!”

Like a bunch of high school cheerleaders, the Powerpuff Girls started chanting, “Tell us, tell us, tell us…” Christ.

“Now ladies,” Dr. Vic interrupted. “And gentleman,” he added, smiling at Emmett. Nope, you had it right the first time, doc. “If Brian isn’t comfortable sharing something with the group, that’s completely up to him.” He turned to that cunt roommate of mine and said, “And Melanie, if Brian shared something with you in confidence, it should be kept between the two of you, unless he volunteers the information to others on his own.” I’m gonna like this guy.

“Well, it’s not like it’s a government secret,” Melanie griped. “Actually, it’s a secret he’s keeping from other people; not from us, really.”

“Yet another reason why it should be up to him whether he wants to share it with the group,” Dr. Vic countered. Take that, bitch.

I looked at Justin and noticed him writing something on his clipboard. Fuck, he’ll probably ask me about it in our session later. So fucking what that I lied to the people back in the Pitts about where I’d be for the next two weeks? It’s none of their fucking business where I am, and I sure as hell didn’t want any of them thinking that they would come over here to visit or, even worse, participate in my sessions. If they thought that I was on vacation in Ibiza, they wouldn’t expect me to call them very often, because I would most likely be too busy getting loaded and fucking my brains out.

“Is there anything that anyone would like to volunteer to the group?” Dr. Vic asked us, obviously emphasizing ‘volunteer’ to Melanie.

Emmett timidly raised his hand. “I would.”

“Great,” Dr. Vic said. “Go ahead.”

“Um, well I’ve been having a recurring dream for the past few years,” Emmett began. “I actually haven’t had it for a few months now, but I did last night. Maybe being here triggered it.”

“Was it a naughty dream?” Julie asked playfully.

“Yeah… I’ll leave out the filthy details, but it always has to do with….” Emmett bit his lip. “Okay, ya’ll are probably gonna think I’m nuts, but about five years ago, I decided that I was going to delete my profile from a local dating site I had been using for a while. I guess that was the first time I admitted to myself that I was addicted to cybering… plus, it costs like, thirty dollars a month. But, just as I was about to click the mouse to confirm the delete, I heard a voice behind me asking me what I was doing. I turned around and nearly pissed myself when I saw this smoking hot guy leaning against the wall. He was my screen persona, come to life!”

I rolled my eyes as a few of the others snickered.

“Nuh-uh!” Ginger squealed.

“Ya-huh!” Emmett confirmed. “I had… uh… embellished a bit on my profile…”

“You lied on it, just like most people do,” Freddie-the-virgin said.

Emmett smiled. “Yeah. I said that I had five percent body fat, that I was a brutal top, and that I… had a nine by six inch, uncut dick.”

That time, I and most of the others laughed heartily. This guy, a brutal top… right.

“But the guy standing behind me was exactly how I described myself in my profile… he even pulled down his shorts to prove it… Anyway, I only imagined him while I was awake a few times, and he even gave me the courage to hook up with one of the guys I often cybered with. Turns out that the guy had lied about himself, too, only he was actually a beefy top, not a hungry, submissive bottom like he claimed. His screen name was 'usemyhole27.' Nevertheless, he let me top him… and it was amazing.”

I would pay good money to see this queen top someone. It would be like watching a pig grow wings and flying.

“After that, I never saw my screen persona again, while I was awake. But a few months later, I started dreaming that I was him. Each dream is different, but they all have to do with me topping submissive bottoms.”

“It sounds to me like you’re using this guy as an outlet for your insecurities,” Justin observed.

Emmett nodded. “Yeah… I guess I am.”

“Have you topped anyone since your tryst with the ‘use my hole’ guy?”

“No. I’ve only been with a few guys since then, and they’re all beefy tops… like Brian over there,” Emmett answered, shyly looking over at me.

“You wish,” I said under my breath.

**Justin's POV**

"Taylor?" I heard a familiar voice say behind me as I pulled my lunch bag out of the employee refrigerator.

I turned around and looked into the cold eyes that I'd hoped I'd never see again. "Hobbs... what are you doing here?"

"I started here yesterday as a janitor," he answered, not looking very happy about it. I looked down at his uniform of a light-blue button-up shirt and navy slacks, with his employee badge clipped onto his collar. "And what are you doing here?"

"I'm a counselor here." I sat down at one of the two break room tables and began taking out my food. "Last I heard you were going to Norte Dame on a football scholarship."

"Obviously, you don't pay attention to college sports, although I'd be surprised if you did," he said, chuckling as he checked the trash can. "I was kicked off the team in my junior year after failing a random drug test. I lost my scholarship, and my parents were so pissed that they refused to pay for me to finish my civil engineering degree."

"Wow." I almost felt sorry for the asshole. Just then, Vanessa walked into the room carrying a bag from Wendy's.

"Hey, Chris," Vanessa greeted, a big smile on her face. "Are you liking the job so far?"

"Oh yeah, it's a blast," Hobbs answered sarcastically. "I have to go and finish trash duty. Bye, Ness."

She sat down at the table across from me and called out, "See you later, sweetie."

I waited until Hobbs rolled his cart away. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, he's a former patient here. He was treated for cocaine addiction last year, when I was working in that unit. I found him his sponsor, a friend of mine that I went through treatment with." Vanessa looked over at my untouched sandwich. "You're not eating, what's wrong?"

I let out a big sigh. "I went to school with Chris, from kindergarten through high school."

"I'm guessing that you weren't friends?" she said as she opened up a container filled with a colorful salad.

I put my food back in the bag, no longer hungry. "No. He had his friends and I had mine. He was the first guy that I ever developed a crush on, in middle school. That's when I realized that I was gay. I thought he was straight, since he seemed to have a new girlfriend nearly every week... until our senior year."

Vanessa's eyes widened while she chewed her food. "What happened?"

I smiled nervously, but launched into gossip-mode, which I often do with Vanessa. She loves to hear stories of my "gay adventures," as she calls them. "I'm not saying he's gay or anything, but one day..." I paused to look around, although I knew that we were the only two in the small room. "He was given after-school detention for playing around in English class. He had to clean up the athletic equipment room, and I went and helped him, since I knew that he was missing football practice. The whole time, he talked about different girls at our school, like who had a crush on him, who was a slut, or who he had fooled around with or fucked. We sat on the floor to take a break, and he told me about getting a hand job from some girl and started rubbing himself through his pants. Then... he let me jerk him off. He came just a second before our teacher barged in."

"Whoa," Vanessa said. "Then what?"

"After that day, he turned into a total asshole, probably because he felt guilty or dirty for letting a fag do that to him. He sure didn't try to stop me while I was doing it, though. If anything, he encouraged me to do it... I imagine that straight guys don't randomly rub their crotch like that in front of other guys. I wasn't really ‘out' at the time, but everyone knew that I had never had a girlfriend before, and I had always been kind of effeminate. We got into a fist-fight in the locker room a couple weeks later after he called me ‘fucking faggot' in front of everyone, and we both got suspended. We were warned that we would get expelled if it happened again, but he still would trip me in classes or in the halls, he sat my locker on fire and spray-painted ‘fags burn' on it, and constantly told me that I was going to die of AIDS. And he told me he'd kill me if I ever told anyone at school about that day in the equipment room."

"Jesus," Vanessa said, shaking her head. "I would have never thought that Chris was a bully... I always thought that he was a sweetheart. He even volunteers at a homeless shelter."

"Well, I'm sorry to tarnish your rosy opinion of him, but I think he's a total piece of shit." I looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was getting close to noon. I stood up to put my bag back in the fridge and said, "He just better not fuck with me here. Anyway, I'm gonna go find Brian, for our session."

She giggled. "I bet that an hour with Romeo will perk up your appetite."

I stuck my tongue out at her and left to track down the sexy brunette.

********************

"So, what was the deal with you and Melanie this morning?" was my first question, once Brian and I took our seats in my office.

Brian rolled his eyes. "I knew you were going to ask me about that. I don't know what the fuck her problem is. I told her to keep her mouth shut, but no..."

I smiled at his obvious annoyance. I know all about the drama that comes with living with a female roommate, although I've shared an apartment with mine for four years and he's only shared his room with Melanie for a day. All the same, Daphne loves to irritate me just for shits and giggles. "Do you want to tell me what your secret is? Or rather, the secret you're keeping from other people?"

He sighed and said, "I told everyone back at home that I was going to Spain for the next two weeks, so nobody knows I'm here. Melanie only knows because she overheard me talking to Lindsay on my cell after dinner last night. I was pretending like I was at the airport in Ibiza, waiting for a cab to my hotel."

"Hmm," I said, watching as Brian stared at a spot on the floor. "One of the first things you said to me yesterday was that you weren't ashamed or embarrassed about anything, so why would you lie about coming here?"

He thought about that for a moment and chuckled. "I'm guessing it's because I'm full of shit."

"I believe it's because you think your friends and family will consider you admitting that you have a problem you need help with as a sign of weakness. Your massive ego wouldn't allow for that."

Brian finally looked at me with squinted eyes. "My massive ego?"

"Oh, come on. I'll bet that you have excelled at everything in your life with little help from anyone else, and..." I stopped to get the words right before saying them, "the fact that you are extremely attractive and have no trouble finding a plethora of men to have sex with has probably left you with an ego the size of Texas."

He looked at me with what I assume are his bedroom eyes and drawled, "I'mextremely attractive, huh?"

Of course, that's all he took away from that sentence... "So am I right? Are you afraid of people thinking you're weak, because your sex addiction has gotten out of your control and you've sought help for it?"

He gave me a little grin and said, "I'll tell you what- I'll answer your questions, if you answer some questions I have for you."

It was my turn to squint at him. "That's not what we're here for, Brian. You're paying to be here, for me to ask you questions so that I can help you understand more about yourself and why you have a problem managing your sex life; not for you to get to know me."

He cackled in amusement. "Trust me Sunshine, what I'm paying to be here is less than how much I spent on socks last year, so I'm not concerned with money. I just figure that if I'm telling you my deepest, darkest secrets, things that I would never think of telling anyone else, I should get to learn some things about you... sort of like a ‘I'll show you mine, if you show me yours' kind of thing."

I laughed and rubbed my eyes. "I guess I can't argue with that logic... answer my question first, and if your questions aren't too out-of-line, I'll answer them."

Satisfied with that arrangement, he looked down at his lap and thought about his answer for a few seconds. "I guess it all leads back to feeling inadequate as a kid. My dad was an abusive alcoholic and my mom is a bible-thumping ice queen. I never felt like I was worth a shit to either of them, so once I decided that I wanted to go into advertising for a living, I did my absolute best to excel in college, then in my career after getting my degree. I wanted to prove to them that I was worth something... I figured the best way to say ‘fuck you' to them was to be as successful as I could possibly be."

I made a note on my clipboard and asked, "So, do you feel that exhibiting any sort of weakness means that you've failed?"

He looked at me with an annoyed expression on his face. "Hey, it's my turn to ask you a question now."

I smiled. "Well technically, that question was a continuation of my original question."

He sighed in defeat. "Fine... yeah Dr. Freud, I hate to show weakness to anybody. And yes, it's because I've excelled in my life despite never getting help from anyone andbecause I have an ego the size of Texas."

"Okay," I said, happy that we are now getting to the root of his problems. "What's your first question, Regis?"

"When was the last time you got laid?" he asked me, his eyes locked onto mine.

"Can I phone a friend?" Seriously, Daphne would know the answer, probably down to the exact date and time.

"Nope, no lifelines here," he said, amused at our little game.

I sighed. "Well, you have to take into account that I just earned my degree, as well as performing an internship here, and the time I spend volunteering at the LGBT Community Center-"

He interrupted me by humming the theme song to Jeopardy.

"Which game show is this?"

"Just answer the damn question."

I squeezed my eyes closed. "Sometime before Christmas, before me and my last boyfriend broke up."

I looked at him and saw that he had his lips rolled in, most likely trying not to laugh at me. Suddenly, in a fake female British accent, he said, "You are the weakest link. Goodbye!" We both laughed. I loved that show. "Seriously, you haven't fucked in six months?" he asked in his normal voice.

I groaned in embarrassment. "No, I just... haven't gotten around to it."

He snorted. "It's not like scheduling a dentist appointment or returning a shirt that don't fit. It's sex."

"Well luckily, I don't have to worry about scheduling my next dentist appointment. My roommate goes to the dental school at NYU, and she makes me go in there exactly every six months so she can clean my teeth. She found a cavity the last time I went, and she bitched at me for weeks for ‘letting that happen,' like I wanted to get a huge needle stabbed into my gum and a tooth drilled. She won't let me eat ice cream anymore, and she's always telling me to stop smoking."

"You live with a girl?" Brian asked, a slight grimace on his face.

"Yeah. Her name is Daphne, and we've been best friends since preschool. Instead of living on campus, we decided to get an apartment together in Chelsea."

"Aww... she's your sex-less wife, then?"

I chuckled and said, "I guess so... if it wasn't for her, I'd probably never go out or have any fun. Anyway, it's my turn- you said that your father was an abusive alcoholic and your mother is a bible-thumping ice queen. I'm guessing that your father passed away and your mother is still alive?"

"Yeah, the old man croaked four years ago, and I'm still waiting for dear old Mom to join him."

"So I imagine that you don't have a relationship with your mother?" I asked.

"That's a new question; it's my turn now," Brian playfully pointed out.

I sighed and said, "Alright."

"Are you a top or a bottom?" he asked me, completely serious.

I sputtered for a few moments, reminding myself that these types of questions were totally inappropriate for this setting. "I... I'm not answering that."

He finger-combed his bangs off his forehead and said, "I'd bet that you're a hungry, bossy little bottom."

Grr... fine. "Actually, I'm versatile. My last boyfriend was actually a total bottom; he was a virgin when I found him."

"I'd also bet that you give amazing head," he added, staring at my lips while licking his seductively.

Damn, it's hot in here... "Anyway," I said, trying to remember if I put on deodorant this morning. "Let's get back to you and your mother."

He looked out of the window to his left and said, "I have no more to do with that bitch than I absolutely have to. I believe the last thing I said to her was something like, ‘I'd rather spend an eternity in hell than one minute in heaven with you.' She said that the cancer was God's way of punishing me for being gay."

"Shit... that's harsh," I said.

"And my dad died of lung cancer... I wonder if she told him that it was God's way of punishing him for cheating on her and beating her and her children."

I absently looked down at my clipboard, my heart breaking for the pain that Brian must have gone through being raised by people like that. "My dad pretty much disowned me after I came out at seventeen, but before that I had a great relationship with him and had a great childhood. My mom has been great, though. She left him soon after I came out, because he was so hateful towards me for being gay and because she knew that he cheated on her, too, and she just got sick of him. She's the vice president of our local PFLAG chapter."

He smiled a bit and quietly said, "Debbie, my friend Michael's mom, is the president of the Pittsburgh chapter. Deb's a little extreme with how much she supports Michael's lifestyle and her campaigning for gay rights sometimes, but he has no idea of how lucky he is to have a mother like her... you're pretty lucky, too."

I then got up and grabbed a picture frame off of my desk. I walked back over and handed it to Brian. "That's me, my mom, my sister Molly, and Daphne at last year's Pride March." The picture showed the four of us carrying a PFLAG banner down Fifth Avenue, all wearing purple PFLAG shirts.

"Your mom's a beautiful woman, unlike my crypt-keeper of a mother. Your sister's adorable; she looks just like you." He handed the picture back and added, "Daphne's pretty, too."

I nodded in agreement and put the frame back on my desk. "Molly's fourteen, and my mom is terrified of her starting high school in the fall. She knows the crap I pulled when I was in high school- smoking cigarettes and pot, drinking, and sneaking out with Daphne to go to clubbing with our fake IDs. Daph would be the perfect woman for me... if I was straight, that is."

"Have the two of you ever..." he asked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

"Is that your next question?" I asked as I sat back in my chair.

**Brian’s POV**

“Is that your next question?” Justin asked as he returned to his chair. I could tell by the worried expression on his face that he was hoping it wasn’t.

Too bad, Sunshine. “Yeah- did you and Daphne ever make the beast with two backs?”

He flashed me that beautiful smile, his cheeks turning pink. “Once, during our senior year of high school.”

“Wasn’t that the year you came out?”

“Yeah; a few months after I came out, actually,” he answered, looking down at his clipboard in embarrassment. “She had known for years that I liked guys, and she knew that I had been with a few guys by that point, but she had been in love with me since we were like, eight. I slept with her on her eighteenth birthday, mostly because she begged me not to let her go to college a virgin. She said she wanted to lose it to someone that she loved and trusted.”

I pointed towards my open mouth in a “gag” motion, which made him laugh. “I know, gay guys fucking straight girls must be a sign of the world nearing its end,” he said.

“My friend Ted said something to that effect when I told him about…” Shit, I didn’t want to mention that. I snapped my mouth shut and looked back out the window at the street below.

“About what?” Justin asked.

I sighed and said, “About when I fucked my friend Lindsay when we were in college.”

“What?” he asked in disbelief. “You’ve had sex with a woman? Is this the same Lindsay that you said was a lesbian? And the mother of your son?”

“Yeah, it’s what we affectionately refer to as ‘The Summer of Madness.’” I looked at him and explained, “It was during summer break between our junior and senior years and neither of us wanted to go home to our parents’ houses, since her parents are almost as unbearable as mine were, so we stayed in the dorm. We both knew that we were gay, but one night after an all-day John Hughes movie marathon, we got reallydrunk, and…”

“You made the beast with two backs,” he finished for me.

I nodded and added, “We spent the next few weeks drinking and fucking, then called it quits when the semester started. She went back to pussy and I went back to cock, and we stayed friends.”

We spent the rest of the hour exchanging drunken college stories, including one where he danced on a pool table in his underwear at a frat party, and I was almost disappointed when Nick “The Ram” knocked on the door at exactly 1:00 for his session.

“Later,” I said to Justin as I passed by The Ram in the doorway. “Take good care of him for me, Ram.”

“I’m sure you plan on doing that yourself in thirteen days,” Ram said before winking and clicking his tongue at me.

Athletic, hot, and smart, that guy.

I walked past Connie’s office door on my way to the elevator just as Emmett was leaving, dabbing his eyes with a tissue.

“Oh, hey Brian,” he said as he stuffed the tissue in his pants pocket.

“You okay, Sugarplum?” I asked the man, who was still wearing his ruffled purple blouse. His fingernails were painted a plum color.

He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, Connie has a way of making me bear my soul.”

As we walked towards the elevator, I remembered to ask him, “Oh, do you have some nail clippers I can borrow? My hangnails have hangnails.” I lifted my hands to take another look.

He grabbed my hands for an inspection and gasped. “Oh honey… luckily for you, I worked as a manicurist before I started getting regular acting jobs. I have all the tools with me necessary to give you a desperately-needed manicure.”

“Uh… okay.”

********************

Emmett was doing the final buff on my nails when a rat-faced guy pushing a cleaning cart walked into the dining area. Emmett and I both gave the guy a cursory glance and looked back at each other.

“Classic breeder,” I whispered across the table. Emmett nodded in agreement and went back to the job at hand.

“I would have never pegged you as a Shakespeare fan,” Emmett said.

“During my sophomore year of college, I had a fuck buddy that was in the theater program, and he loved Shakespeare. He would read me sonnets after we got done, and I went to see him perform as Iago in Othello. I’ve seen several of Shakespeare’s plays since then.”

“I played Othello in a one-night production for the community theater in Jackson, a few months before I moved here. Only like, twenty people showed up, and we had four left at the end,” he said sadly. “Those hillbillies wouldn’t know entertainment if it bit them on the tit.”

Rat Face walked over to the table right next to ours and sprayed it with a cleaning chemical, splashing some onto Emmett in the process.

“Hey!” Emmett yelled at the guy. “There had better not be bleach in there, or my shirt will be ruined!”

“It’s just sanitizer,” he mumbled as he bent over the table and began to wipe it with a cleaning rag. The guy had a nice ass, but it was wasted on a straight asshole.

I stood up and said to the guy, “Aren’t you going to apologize to the lady?”

Rat Face stood up straight and smirked at me. He then looked over at Emmett and said, “Sorry,” in an insincere tone.

I took a couple of steps so I was toe-to-toe with the asshole. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, but was more muscular. No matter, I looked down into his grey-blue eyes and firmly said, “I think you can do better than that.”

He stared at me for a few beats, then looked back over at Emmett, who was putting away his manicure supplies in a pink carrying case. “Hey man,” Rat Face called out. Emmett looked at him and Rat Face continued, “I didn’t mean to spray that on you. I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” Emmett said. “Just be careful about spraying those chemicals around people.”

“Good boy,” I said to Rat Face, whose employee badge said “Chris” on it. I like Rat Face better.

Rat Face scoffed and went back to wiping the table. If we had been anywhere else, I probably would have stuffed that rag down his fucking throat. Straight guys…

I thanked Emmett for the free manicure, which was better than some I’ve paid big bucks for at salons or spas, and gulped down a glass of guava juice I got from the nice old lady working in the kitchen. I shot Rat Face, who was sweeping around the dining room tables, my classic “go fuck yourself” look and went back to my and the muncher’s room.

Melanie’s session with Eric was at noon, which was the same time as my session with Justin, so I was a bit surprised that she wasn’t in the room reading one of her law magazines. Figuring that she was on the roof having a smoke, I grabbed my Hot Rodmagazine from the top of my dresser and stretched out on my bed to flip through it.

I was reading an article about Hemi engines when I heard what sounded like a puppy whimpering come from behind the closed bathroom door. I listened for a few seconds and heard it again.

“Oh!” I heard a female voice groan. No…

I got up and knocked on the bathroom door. “Mel?” I called out.

“Uh… yeah?” I heard her answer.

“What are you doing?” I asked, knowing full well what she was doing.

“I’m just… uh…”

“Flicking your bean?” I guessed, trying not to retch.

After a few seconds of silence, Melanie turned on the sink and said, “I’ll be out in a minute, okay?”

I laid back on my bed with my magazine and Melanie emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, looking guilty as all hell.

“You’re supposed to abstain from playing zip-a-dee-doo-dah, aren’t you?” I asked her, trying not to look at her face.

She slumped her shoulders and stood at the foot of my bed. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?” she asked.

“You couldn’t wait to call me on my Ibiza story in front of everyone, so why should I keep a secret for you? Maybe I’ll just tell everyone about this little incident in group this evening.”

“Brian, please… I slipped, is all-”

“If I’m not allowed to stick my dick up any guys’ asses while I’m here, you shouldn’t be allowed to… do that to yourself,” I said.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you haven’t touched yourself since you’ve been here,” she said defensively. “You’re a man, after all-”

“I’m not the masturbating addict,” I reminded her as I recalled my wackfest in the shower the night before. “You need to let Eric know about this. The first thing Justin asked me about in our session earlier was what you were referring to this morning, and I told him.”

“Alright, I’ll tell Eric. I promise,” she said in a desperate tone.

“And how will I know that you told him?”

Melanie sighed and walked over to me. “His only other patient is Joe, and they should be done with their session by now.” She then grabbed my hand to try to make me get up. “Let’s go see if he’s in his office.”

I let her help me up and dramatically pulled my hand away. “Eww, I know where those hands have been.” I wiped my hand on my jeans for added effect.

“Oh shut up,” she said as she pulled the door open. “I could only imagine where yourshave been before.”

********************

“I’m just so fucking stressed out,” Melanie said in between her sobs. I’ve got to admit that I’m impressed with our little lezzie. Not only did she come clean to Eric, but she admitted on her own to the whole group during our evening session about her bathroom blunder.

Mel took another tissue of out the box at her feet and continued, “It’s hard enough for me to go to work every day and be around people that I know, but then I have to meet with clients, go to court, and do research at the law library.” She stopped to blow her nose. Christ, she’s an ugly crier. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t ever leave my apartment. And now, I’m expected to open up to a bunch of strangers.” She glanced around the room and added, “No offence.”

Justin, sitting in his usual chair at Melanie’s right side, patted her knee sympathetically. “We’re all very proud of you, Melanie. Unfortunately, this can be a stressful environment. That’s why I think it’s nice that we have these group sessions, so everyone can remind each other that you’re not alone in your journey.” Oh, how precious, Sunshine.

“We’re all here for you, sweetie,” Emmett said. Ginger and Julie voiced their support, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if the three of them broke out in song.

Instead, Cameron-the-Douche, who was sitting on the other side of Mel, went on a tirade. “Oh, give me a fucking break.” He continued in a mocking tone, “‘Waa, I have to go out in public and be around people all day, and then I go home and masturbate.’ Get over yourself.”

“Hey, fuck you, asshole!” Melanie yelled at Cameron as she stood up from her chair. Justin got up just in time and grabbed the little woman around her shoulders to stop her from going after Cameron while The Ram stepped between them. Good thing, because I’m sure Mel could rip the guy’s face off like a junk yard dog if given the chance.

“Alright, settle down, Melanie,” Dr. Vic said. Standing up, the doc told Cameron, “Let’s go to my office. The rest of you, please continue without us.”

Like a bunch of children, Emmett, Ginger, Julie, The Ram, Freddie, and Henri all “oohed” at Cameron for getting in trouble.

Once the door was closed behind them, Mel turned in Justin’s arms and began to hysterically cry into his chest. Predictably, Justin hugged her and murmured calming words to her.

“Do you want to go up for a smoke?” Justin asked her a few moments later.

Wanting to get the fuck out of there, I jumped out of my chair and said, “Good idea.” Justin told Connie and Eric that we’d be back, and the two of us escorted the sobbing lesbian out of the room.

**Justin’s POV**

Melanie blew out a plume of smoke and angrily wiped her red nose with the wadded up tissue in her hand. “I swear, I don’t know why I thought that a place like this was going to help me. I’m just wasting my time.”

“No, you’re not,” I said. “Don’t let the rantings of one insensitive asshole destroy the progress you’ve made here.”

“But I’m not making any progress!” she yelled, followed by a hiccup. “I couldn’t go more than a day without… you know.” She sniffled hard and took another hit off her cigarette.

Brian, who was sitting at the picnic table across from us, blew out some smoke and said, “Mel, we’ve only been here for two days. I’ve had some breakthroughs with Sun- uh, Justin in our two sessions, but still, if I had the chance, I’d gladly fuck just about anything with a dick attached to it right now.”

I stifled a giggle. “Yeah, you can’t expect immediate results,” I said to Melanie. “It will probably take months with a support group and out-patient treatment before you can resist your urges to… you know.”

“But masturbating is a normal part of life, just like sex is,” Brian pointed out.

“Yes, but the goal of sex-addiction treatment is to make sex and masturbation anormal part of your life,” I clarified. “You’re both here because your sexual urges are out of your control. It will take some time to get back on track.”

“It’ll take a little time, might take a little crime…” Brian sung softly.

I smiled and finished, “To come undone, now we’ll try to stay blind…” We both laughed as Melanie looked at us like we had both lost our minds.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked.

“Duran Duran’s ‘Come Undone,’” I answered.

Brian smiled at me and said, “I’m surprised you’d know that song; it doesn’t seem like your kind of music.”

“It came out when I was like, ten,” I said. “What kind of music do you think I like?”

“If I answer, do I get to ask you a question?” he asked in a flirtatious manner, obviously referring to our little game from our session earlier.

Melanie was looking at the both of us, baffled. She stubbed out her cigarette and got up. “I’m gonna go wash my face, then go back to the meeting. Play nice, boys.”

After the door closed behind her, I looked at Brian and said, “I’m still on the clock. Go.”

He chuckled and said, “I thought you’d like that rap shit that kids listen to these days.”

I laughed and said, “I’m twenty-two; I’m not a kid.”

“After you hit thirty, you’ll consider anyone younger than you to be ‘a kid,’ trust me,” he said.

“Well, I do like some of that ‘rap shit,’ but I like rock and pop music, too. What was your question for me?” I asked before taking one last puff of my cigarette.

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me after you’re ‘off the clock’ this evening.” He stubbed out his cigarette and lightly drew a circle on the back of my hand with his fingertip. “We have a choice of vegetarian lasagna or pork loin and garlic potatoes.”

I shivered from his touch and the sexy tone of his voice. Go away erection, go away! “Brian… that’s not a good idea,” I answered, pulling my hands out of his reach.

“Why not? It’s not like it’s a date… we wouldn’t fuck after.”

I chuckled and said, “Do you only consider it a date if it concludes with sex?”

He snorted. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve only been on one real date, at least five years ago, because the guy was really hot and said he’d only let me fuck him if I bought him dinner. I snuck off after we finished our salads to fuck the waiter in the coat closet, then I took my date home, fucked him until dawn, and never saw him again.”

“Wow,” I whispered. What a pig. I looked down at my watch and said, “The session’s over in fifteen minutes. We need to go back.”

********************

I parked my Prius next to Daphne’s red Honda Accord in the small resident parking lot behind our apartment building and let myself in. I slowly made my way up the stairs to the third floor and opened the door, where I was nearly knocked off my feet from the smell of curry.

“Christ, what the fuck are you cooking?” I yelled out as I walked into the living room.

“It’s this chicken recipe I got off the internet,” Daph answered from the small kitchen. “It just got done.”

I walked into the kitchen and looked over Daph’s shoulder at the yellow-brown mess she was stirring in a skillet. Despite the fact that all I had eaten that day was a bagel before the morning group, I’d rather starve than eat that. “It looks like baby shit. I’ll pass.”  

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked as she finished spooning out a portion for herself and covered the baby shit with a lid.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the refrigerator. “I insult your cooking all the time, why should there be anything wrong?”

“You usually insult my cooking in a loving manner. I’m not feeling any love, plus I’ve seen that ‘I’m not happy’ look on that pretty mug of yours many times before.”

I turned around and pulled the refrigerator door open, mostly so she couldn’t see my face. “What look? I’m not making any look.” I then reached in and grabbed a Diet Coke.

“Something’s bothering you,” she insisted. “Spill.”

I sighed and opened the can. I can’t hide anything from her. “Well, for one thing, I found out that Chris Hobbs just got hired on at the treatment facility as a janitor.”

“I thought he was going to Notre Dame to be an architect or something-or-other.”

“He was, but he lost his football scholarship for using cocaine and had to come back here.”

Daph snorted in amusement. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“Yeah.” I took a huge gulp of my soda and let out a burp.

“You’re such a fucking lady,” Daph commented with a smile. “What else?”

I leaned back on the fridge and close my eyes. “Brian.”

“Mr. Will-fuck-any-man-with-a-pulse?” she asked as she picked up her plate and carried it over to our small kitchen table.

“Pretty much, yeah.” If he’s bored and drunk enough, it doesn’t even have to be a man.

“What about him?”

I walked over and sat down in the chair across from her. “I don’t think I can continue being his counselor, since he has made it very obvious that he wants to fuck me.”

Daph stabbed a steaming chicken chunk with her fork and blew on it. “Why? Did he make a pass at you or something?”

“Well, he’s asked me a lot of personal questions; things about my sex life.”

“Isn’t he there for you to ask him questions about his sex life?” she asked before putting the chicken in her mouth. She chewed it a couple times before spitting it back onto her plate. “Blech! That shit’s nasty!”

I laughed. “It looked and smelled nasty, why would it taste any different?”

After taking a few sips of my Diet Coke, she got up and scraped the baby shit into the trash can. “Anyway, you don’t have a sex life, so why is that a problem?”

I groaned, since we both knew it was the truth. “It’s that I’m allowing him to ask me those questions, which is totally unethical for me to do.”

“Well, what did you tell him? That you haven’t had sex in like, six months?”

“Yeah… and that I was versatile, and that-” I sucked in my lips and looked down at the table.

Daph put her plate and fork in the sink and walked back over to the table. “That what?”

I sighed and said, “That we fucked on your eighteenth birthday.”

Just as I thought, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “You told him what?” she yelled.

“Hey, you told all your little girlfriends about it,” I reminded her. “And anyway, me telling him that made him admit… fuck, I’m not supposed to be telling you this stuff; it’s supposed to be confidential.” I reached into my front pocket and pulled out my cell phone. “I’m ordering a pizza.”

“What? Did he fuck a girl before?”

I nodded as I hit the speed dial for our favorite pizza place.

Daph chuckled. “Well, hopefully he requires a pulse, at least.”

********************

“And I just don’t think that it’s a good idea for me to continue to be his counselor,” I said into the phone as I sat in my chair at my small bedroom desk.

“Look, Justin,” Dr. Vic said back to me. “I’m not at all surprised that he would try to flirt with you like that, but I wanted to place him with you because I thought that he would be able to relate with you better than he would with me, Connie, or Eric.”

“Why, just because I’m gay? You’re gay, why couldn’t you have taken him?”

Vic chuckled. “Trust me kid, guys like Brian don’t talk to old queens like me unless they absolutely have to. I think that you should keep meeting with him for a couple more days, and if he doesn’t calm down, you can give his file to me. Now that Cameron has left the program, I only have two other patients.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t very surprised that he decided to leave. He wasn’t there because he wanted to get better; he was there to appease his girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t surprised, either,” Vic admitted. “So just hang in there with Brian a bit longer, okay? You said that you’ve been able to get him to open up to you, so at least you’re making progress with him. He’s beginning to trust you, which you know is important between a patient and their counselor.”

“That's true. Okay, I’ll give it a couple more days.” Just then, my phone beeped, signaling that I had another call. I pulled the phone away from my ear long enough to glance at the caller ID. Speak of the devil… “Hey, there’s someone on my other line. I’ll see you tomorrow, doc.”

“Alright, son, take care.”

“You too,” I said before hitting the button to answer the other call. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sunshine,” the smoky voice said.

“Hey,” I replied, my cheeks suddenly burning up. “So which one did you choose, the lasagna or the pork loin?”

“The lasagna, which was very good.”

“I ordered us a pizza, because the dinner that Daphne made was inedible.”

He laughed and said, “Sounds like the kind of stuff my mom used to make. I grew up on peanut butter and jelly.”

“Oh, I’m sure a strapping lad like yourself had to have someone feeding him better than that.” What the fuck did I just say? Strapping lad? Wasn’t I just complaining to Dr. Vic about him flirting with me?

He’s laughing. Good. “Well, my friend Michael’s mom- you know, Debbie, the one that I told you about that’s in PFLAG? She’s a great cook. I became friends with Michael when I was fourteen, and I spent more time over there than I did at my parent’s house. I still eat at her house every Sunday evening, and I eat several meals a week at the diner where she works as a waitress.”

“It sounds like she pretty much adopted you,” I said. “Did you mother ever resent the relationship you have with Debbie, or did she even care?”

“Is this becoming a therapy session? Because you’re off the clock, Dr. Taylor.”

I chuckled and said, “I won’t have my doctorate for another three years, unfortunately. But no, this isn’t a therapy session. We’re just chatting.”

“Good… but no, Saint Joan was always too busy with church shit to worry about where I was or who I was spending time with. Sometimes, I wouldn’t come home for days and when I walked in the door, she’d just go, ‘Oh, hello dear,’ and go back to reading her bible.”

“That sucks. If I ever left the house for more than a couple hours without her knowing, my mom would always give me the third degree when I got home.” I imitated my mom’s WASP-y feminine voice: “Justin, where on Earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick! I was about to call the hospitals! Where did you go? Who were you with? What did you do? Why didn’t you call?”

Brian laughed and said, “I don’t know which one of us had it worse, because Joan would have lit every candle in town if she knew what I was doing. And, she would have given me a lecture about how I was going to hell, and blah blah blah.”

“Is that what she did when she found out you were gay?”

“Yep. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing is a sin. The bible is clear- you’re going to hell,’” he said in a gravely voice.

I let out a “whew,” thankful that my mom was so supportive of my lifestyle. “So, are you in your room?”

“Yeah… why? Are you in yours?” he asked, his flirtatious, sexy voice returning with the second question.

I giggled nervously. “Yeah, Daphne is in the living room watching some crappy movie on Lifetime. I was wondering whether or not Melanie was in there with you.”

“No, she’s in the Commons, watching the Yankees game with the guys- minus Emmett, of course.”

“You’re a guy, why aren’t you watching the game?” I asked.

Brian scoffed. “Because I’m in my room talking to you, silly.” I laughed, and he added, “Plus, baseball bores the shit out of me. My old boss had company seats for the Pirates, and I sometimes had to take potential clients to the games to schmooze. It was about as exciting as watching grass grow.”

“I agree. My dad is a Mets fan, and he took me to a few games when I was a kid. He tried to get me interested, but he eventually gave up. Do you like any sports at all?”

“I played soccer when I was a kid, but I quit because I didn’t want to be a ‘jock.’ I fucking hate jocks.”

“Me too,” I said, remembering Hobbs. “Jocks are assholes.”

“But there was that time I blew my gym teacher…”

“What? You did not.”

“Oh yes I did. I was fourteen, and I was a lily-white virgin. Hell, I had never even had a real kiss before. He was about thirty, and I had always gotten a gay vibe from him. I saw him in the locker room one day after school, showering, and I went in there with all my clothes on and swallowed his monstrous cock.”

Lucky guy… although I’m pretty sure that little act broke a law or two. Still, I could feel the blood rush to my dick, just thinking about a teenaged Brian on his knees, giving someone head. Does that make me a pedophile?

“Tell me about your first experience,” he said.

“I thought that we established that this wasn’t a therapy session. There’s no quid pro quo here.”

“Oh, come on… you want something juicier than that? Alright: I lost my virginity to an alter boy at my mom’s church about a month later on Easter Sunday.”

“No way!” I said, laughing hysterically.

“Yep. My mom taught Sunday School, and I went in early with her to help set up for the main service. The guy gave me the ‘come hither’ look, and I fucked him in a confessional booth.”

“Wow.” I sighed and said, “Okay… when I was seventeen, I had Daphne drop me off in front of a gay bar in Chelsea. I had just gotten my first fake ID, and I was planning on trying to get into the bar when I saw this guy leaving the bar. He was absolutely gorgeous, and hardly said ten words to me before I was in his car. He took me to his place, fucked me a bit too roughly, although I told him that I was a virgin, and threw me out right after he came. I had to walk several blocks to a bus stop with a sore ass, and I cried the whole way back to Daph’s house in the Upper East Side. That was the most humiliating experience of my life.”

“Damn, that must have sucked.” He brought that sexy voice back and said, “If that had been me, I would have taken you home, rimmed you until you passed out, then after you came to, I would have-”

“Brian!” I nearly yelled. “We’re way past inappropriate now. I shouldn’t have told you that.” Christ, we’re almost in phone sex territory… and my cock is painfully hard, at this point. “I… I really don’t think you should call me anymore, unless you’re in some kind of crisis mode and need my professional advice or guidance.”

He sighed deeply. “Alright…” I could almost see him rolling those hazel eyes of his. “I guess I’ll get off of here. Oops, I said get off.”

“Brian…”

“Later.”  And he hung up.

Wednesday, June 8, 2005

**Brian’s POV**

*beep beep beep beep beep beep*

I groaned as I rolled over and turned off the alarm clock at 6:30 AM.

“Fuck you,” Melanie growled from her bed.

“Who, me?” I asked as I threw off the covers.

“You, time, this place, conservatives, the world…”

I chuckled and got out of bed, then went over and grabbed my workout clothes from the top of my dresser. They didn’t smell too funky, so I decided to wear them again. I shuffled into the bathroom and began to pull off my shorts to take a piss when I noticed that the material was stuck to my junk with dried jizz. I also had a hell of a morning wood that I would never be able to pee with.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, realizing that sometime in the night I had a wet dream, something I hadn’t done in years. I slowly pulled the shorts off, grimacing as some of my pubes were yanked in the process, as I recalled the dream I had last night.

Thumping bass. Flashing multi-colored lights. Silver confetti dropping onto my hair and clothes. A sea of men dancing around me. I must have dreamt that I was at Babylon, where I’ve had more than my share of orgasms.

“Where’s this backroom you told me about, stud?” I remember being asked. The body that the voice belonged to was pressed up against my back, his hard-on poking into my crack through my pants. Although I don’t remember ever seeing his face, I knew that it was Justin standing behind me. I don’t remember making it to the back room, either, but just feeling his body against mine must have been enough for me to blow my load in my sleep.

“Well, that’s damn disappointing,” I said out loud. “Not even in my dreams do I get to fuck him.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” I heard Melanie yell from the bedroom.

Ignoring her, I imagined what she was doing to herself in here yesterday, and soon I was able take care of nature. Thanks, Mel.

********************

“Good morning, everybody,” Dr. Vic said to us after we were all seated in our circle, minus that dickhead Cameron, who left the facility after his little outburst yesterday evening. “Our previous group sessions have been spent getting to know one another, but today, we are going to focus on what sexual addiction is, and how best to treat it.” He then turned to his little protégé Justin and said, “Justin, would you like to get us started?”

“Sure,” Justin said. “First off, it’s important to distinguish between a habit and an addiction. A habit is something you consciously choose to do, and it normally isn’t anything very harmful to yourself or anyone else. You can give it up whenever you want without any serious physical or psychological ramifications. For example, I used to have a habit of biting my nails. Although I wasn’t hurting myself or anyone else with my habit, it left me with unsightly hands. Walking around with your fingers in your mouth and spitting out gnawed-off fingernails all over the place isn’t very attractive, either. One day I decided that enough was enough, and I quit biting them without any outside help or any kind of withdrawal symptoms.”

“You have very nice fingernails now, Justin,” Emmett commented with a gap-toothed smile.

“Thank you, Emmett. An addiction, however, is a pattern of engaging in behaviors that have negative consequences to yourself and others, and you unconsciously continue the behavior despite the harm it causes. Unlike a habit, an addiction is something people often cannot discontinue on their own without help. Often times, when someone tries to refrain from the thing they are addicted to, they suffer withdrawal symptoms, such as changes in energy levels, sleep patterns, appetite, mood or temper, and/or difficulty concentrating.

“For example, Melanie admitted to us yesterday that although she tried to refrain from masturbating, she experienced anxiety and relapsed, despite knowing that she was letting herself and her counselor, Eric, down. Masturbating is an addiction, and not a habit, for Melanie because she feels that it is something she needs in order to cope with the stress in her life, despite the negative consequences it creates, and she feels that the urge to engage in the behavior is stronger than she is. All of you are here because you feel the same way about your sexual urges.”

I continued to watch Justin talk more than I listened. It was obvious that he was intentionally trying not to look at me. Today, he was wearing a crisp button-up shirt that had thin vertical pinstripes with different shades of blue, rolled to his elbows, and a pair of dark-washed jeans, which I had noticed when he walked in showed off his perky ass very well. He had styled his hair differently so that his bangs were swepted over to the side, showing off his unlined forehead, which made him look even younger than usual. I watched his pink lips move as he spoke, and imagined them around my-

Suddenly, he looked right into my eyes and said, “Don’t you agree with that, Brian?”

“Huh?” I replied, snapping out of my daze.

“I said that refraining from thinking about sex is much more difficult than refraining from physically engaging in sexual activity, right?”

Why is he bringing me into this little lecture of his? I’m just sitting here, minding my own damn business…“Uh, sure.”

“In fact, during our individual sessions, you often go off topic from whatever we are discussing to talk about sex. Yesterday, we were talking about sports, and you quickly changed the topic to sex.”

“Well yeah, sports are boring,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. The Power Puff Girls all nodded in agreement.

“Sex is a lot more interesting than boring-ass sports,” Ginger said.

Emmett held up his hand and said, “Um, unless you’re watching Zack O’Tool ream a football team for fumbling their balls.”

Beer-bellied Joe tilted his head and asked, “What team does he coach for?”

Emmett, Dr. Vic, Justin, and I all chuckled. “Not the team that you watch, pal,” I answered.

********************

I walked to Justin’s office at exactly noon and knocked on the door. Justin answered a few moments later, and greeted me with a “Hey” and one of his beautiful smiles.

“Hey, Sunshine,” I answered back before walking into his office and stopping dead when I noticed Dr. Vic sitting behind Justin’s desk.

“Sunshine?” Dr. Vic repeated, looking amused.

“Uh… yeah, it’s just a little nickname. You know, because he’s… blonde,” I said as I stood glued to the carpet. What the fuck is the old man doing here?

“Brian, since Cameron isn’t here anymore and he was Dr. Vic’s twelve o’clock appointment, Vic decided to observe some of our session today,” Justin said as he took his usual seat.

“Since Justin is newly licensed, I wanted to watch him for a little bit, to see how he’s doing,” the doc added. “But please, carry on like I’m not here.”

Yeah, right… “Okay,” I said before walking over and sitting next to Justin. I kicked off my flip-flops and tried to relax.

“Alright,” Justin said, stealing a glance at my feet before looking at his clipboard. “I spent some time last night coming up with some questions I wanted to ask you today. First of all, I believe there might be some things that you’re not telling me.”

“Like what?” I asked, trying to crane my neck to see his list of questions. It was all in chicken-scratch from what I could see, but there were several questions. Shit… I imagine that our “tit for tat” game is over.

“Like what ultimately influenced you to decide to see professional help for your sex addiction?”

I raised my hands palms-up and said, “I don’t know what else you want me to tell you.”

“Well, you told me during our first session that you’ve felt a bit out of control with some aspects of your life lately, and that your friends seem to be moving on in their lives while you’re stuck in the past.”

“Yeah…”

“And that you have noticed that you have become more sexually active since… you know.” He looked at me a bit uneasily.

I looked over at the doc and said, “I went through treatment for testicular cancer last year, which caused temporary impotence.”

“Oh,” Dr. Vic said, obviously hearing this for the first time. At least I know that Justin kept his promise of not revealing anything I’ve told him during our previous sessions, even to his superior.

“But I’m in remission now,” I assured him.

“Yes, since your cancer treatment,” Justin said. “But you said that the cancer didn’t scare you, and although you’re uncomfortable that your friends are progressing through their lives faster than you are, I’m not buying those as reasons for you deciding to come here.”

I stretched my neck from side to side and decided to just get this over with. “Alright… A few weeks ago, I found this, uh, bump-thing on my dick. I went to get it looked at, and the doctor said that it was a canker from syphilis. It was easily treated with a shot of penicillin and it cleared up in two days, but I had the unfortunate task of having to inform my recent sex partners of it, so they could go and get tested.”

“I imagine that took a while…” Justin said, biting his bottom lip.

I nodded. “Yeah… I spent the next few days hitting the bath houses and clubs I frequent to give everyone the news, and had to send out emails to the guys I had met online, along with calling the escort agency I use. It was fucking humiliating. Everybody fucks everybody, so it spread through the neighborhood very quickly. I’ve even started driving to other clubs out of town, so I will have a new pool to choose from.”

“So, that’s what made you decide to come here?” he asked. “Lack of clean sex partners in Pittsburgh and the humiliation of catching and spreading an STD?”

“Well, that and…” I sighed and said, “There’s this guy named Brandon- he’s pretty hot and probably a little older than you. He moved to Pittsburgh a few months back, and when I put the moves on him in the backroom at Babylon one night, he pushed me away. That rarely ever happens to me. He started making the rounds, fucking everyone in sight, establishing a reputation as a top. A couple times, I would be with a trick, and the guy would see Brandon and decide to get with him instead.”

“I’m sure that Texas-sized ego of yours was mighty bruised.”

I smiled at Justin and said, “Yeah. I mean, I’m certainly not the only popular top in town, but they all respect me enough not to step on my toes. Then one night at Babylon, I saw Brandon getting his dick sucked right in the middle of the dance floor, and it pissed me off enough to have him banned from the club.”

“Brian owns Babylon; it’s a gay dance club,” Justin informed the doc.

I nodded and continued, “He confronted me at a bar I often go to, called Woody’s, a couple nights later and told me that my place as ‘top dog’ on Liberty Avenue wasn’t going to last much longer. We came up with a little competition, where we made a list of ten men for each of us to fuck. If he fucked all ten first, he could go back to Babylon, and if I fucked them all first, I’d get to fuck him.”

“And you lost?” Justin guessed.

“No- I won, actually.”

Justin scrunched up his face and asked, “What was the problem, then?”

“Well, he came to my loft the next night for me to ‘collect my prize.’ He took off all his clothes and climbed ass-up onto my bed. I stood there for a minute looking at him, his tight little asshole mine for the night, and I had no urge to fuck him. I wasn’t even hard. It just felt so… empty, like what did I really win? The chance to fuck him? Big fucking deal.”

“So, winning that contest didn’t stroke your ego, since it only proved what you already knew.”

“That I can fuck anyone, anytime- a fact that I had known for two decades.”

“What did you do?” he asked me.

“I told him to get dressed and get the fuck out. Before he left though, I told him he could go back to Babylon, if he wanted to. I’ve seen him there a few times since then, and we always give each other little salutes.”

“Hmm…” Justin thought for a few seconds, tapping his pen on his lips, and said, “I think I’m starting to understand now- because getting the opportunity to fuck your competition wasn’t appealing to you, it changed the way you felt toward your lifestyle? Turning down sex isn’t something an addict does very often, and for you to turn down the opportunity to fuck another top…?”

“Exactly - it proved to me that I’m getting bored by the whole game. I’ve felt that way for at least a year; I guess that’s why the number of partners has increased.”

Justin clicked his tongue and said, “You’ve created a tolerance to it, like substance addicts do. You have to have more sex to get the same exhilaration you used to get.”

Dr. Vic chimed in and said, “And now that you’ve experienced the added of risk of STDs in your usual stomping grounds, having numerous anonymous sex partners has lost its appeal.”

“Yes!” Justin yelled, pumping his fist in victory. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

The doc and I both chuckled at the kid’s enthusiasm.

**Justin's POV**

"Yes!" I yelled, pumping my fist in the air like I was at a rock concert. "Now, we're getting somewhere."

Brian and Dr. Vic both laughed, and Vic pushed the chair back from my desk and said, "Alright Justin, it seems like the two of you are on the right track." He walked across the room towards the door and called out, "I'll see you two later at evening group."

"We'll see ya, Doc," I said. The door closed, and I glanced down at my watch and saw that we still had a half hour left in our session.

Before I could ask him another question from my list though, Brian looked at me and asked curtly, "So, what was with the baby sitter?"

I tried to play dumb and shrugged. "Like he said, he wanted to observe some of our session, since-"

"He only had the time to do it since that asshole, Cameron, left last night, and it was conveniently right after I asked you to have dinner with me and after you asked me not to call you anymore."

Shit... he's on to me. Dr. Vic did tell me after our morning group meeting that he would sit in on our session to try to re-establish a professional environment between Brian and I, and I had hoped like hell that Brian wouldn't see through the ruse. But he was right- if Cameron had not left last night, Vic would have never had the chance to "observe" me in action. Trying to divert his attention away from the doc, I timidly said to Brian, "I didn't ask for you not to call me anymore. I asked-"

"Don't bullshit me, Justin," Brian barked. "Did you ask him to come in here today or what?"

I stared at him with my mouth open, surprised that he was suddenly being so stern with me and that he called me by my first name. "Br... Brian-"

He scooted forward in his chair so that his right knee was touching my left, his darkening hazel eyes deadly serious. "Is your attraction to me preventing you from keeping in control? Were you just using him to try to establish who's in charge here?"

My heart thumping rapidly in my chest, I faked a laugh and said, "Don't flatter yourself, Brian. I'm a professional, doing my job... and you're just another patient."

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Sure," he said, clenching his jaw while staring at the clock next to the door.

I took a peek at Brian's toned, lightly tanned biceps, which were nicely shown off today with the black muscle tee he was wearing, for a moment before clearing my throat and looking back at my list. "Can we finish our session now?"

Brian gave me a silent shrug.

Great... "Will you consider letting someone, such as Lindsay or Michael, know that you're seeking treatment here?"

He continued to sit there like a bronzed statue. "Fuck no."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Well, I think-"

"It's none of their fucking business," he all but growled at me. "Next question."

We were obviously not going to get anywhere, as long as he continued to queen out over my rejection... which was of course a blatant lie. "What's your problem, Brian?"

"Is that question on your list?" he asked, still staring at the wall.

"No," I said, exhaling with a sigh. "I didn't ask Dr. Vic to come in here today, but I..."

He finally looked at me and asked, "But you what?"

I swiveled in my chair so I was facing him more. "I called Vic last night, right before you called me, and I told him that because you have shown interest in me, I didn't think it would be proper for me to be your counselor anymore."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I've shown interest in you?"

I scoffed and asked, "Well, you haven't been very subtle- you spend each group session practically eye-fucking me, and you've asked me several questions about my sex life. And, you tried to tell me what you would have done to me, if you had been the one to take my virginity before I stopped you."

He mocked me with his own fake laugh and said, "I'm a sex addict Justin, and we're both fags. Of course I want to fuck you... but I'll fuck almost anyone, so don't flatter yourself."

My breath caught in my throat, and I had to use every bit of strength I had to maintain an indifferent exterior. This really wasn't news to me. Hell, he admitted in the first group session that he normally fucks three or four guys a day, so whatever interest he had shown in me over the past three days just came natural to him. He probably had all sorts of tricks and pick-up lines he used on his conquests, and probably went into detail of what he planned on doing to them. Maybe he called every blonde twink he hooked up with "Sunshine," and regularly employed that sexy drawl of his- that buttery voice that shoots down my spine and never fails to make me hard- with everyone he fucked.

I looked back down at my clipboard, and suddenly my scrawled words began to swim around on the page. Goddamn it, butch up, you pussy! "Uh..." I blinked a few times to clear out the tears, and unfortunately one hit the paper with a "whap."

"Are..." Brian snorted a laugh. "Are you crying?"

"No," I said snapped. "My allergies always flair up this time of year- you know, pollen, mold. I must have forgotten to take my Claritin this morning." I sniffed hard to play it up, slid the clipboard under my chair, and got up to grab a tissue from the box on my desk. "Excuse me," I said before blowing my nose and wiping the remaining tears away before tossing the snot rag into the trash can.

My back to Brian, I took a few deep breaths before turning around to return to my chair. I grabbed the clipboard and tried to pretend like the last few minutes didn't happen. "So, we have talked about your mom a bit, but I wanted to ask you a few questions about your dad."

Brian sighed and crossed his left ankle over his right knee, so I had a view of the bottom of his left foot. I couldn't help but notice that he had no rough spots on his heel or toes, which led me to believe that he got regular pedicures. What's your deal with feet? I remembered Daphne asking me at dinner the other night. I believe that you can tell a lot from a person by how they take care of their feet, and Brian obviously pampered himself.

"What do you want to know about dearly departed Jack?" Brian asked me, snapping me out of my foot examination.

"How did Jack react to you being gay?" I asked, trying to avoid eye contact or looking at his feet.

He chuckled a bit before saying, "I didn't come out to him until a couple months before he died. Actually, I told him a couple days after he told me that he was dying of cancer."

I looked at him, surprised. "And you said that he died just a few years ago?"

Brian started playing with a loose thread at the cuff of his jeans. "Yeah, a couple of months before I turned thirty. Debbie suggested that I tell the old fuck the truth before he croaked. I'll never forget what he said." He dropped his voice to that of a raspy old smoker and drawled, "You picked a hell of a fucking time to tell me you were a fairy. You should be the one dying."

Despite the remaining hurt I was feeling from his earlier rejection of me, I couldn't help but feel terrible for him. "After my mom told my dad that I was gay, he spent about an hour trying to convince me that I wasn't. ‘It's just a phase... you can't be gay, I didn't raise you like that... you're sensitive, that doesn't mean you're gay.' I ended up stomping out and going to a drag bar with Daphne that night."

"Is it reciprocal sharing time again?" he asked sarcastically.

"I'm just empathizing with you. Unfortunately, a lot of parents don't react positively when their kid comes out, no matter at what age. Although my mom accepts my lifestyle now, she took me to a psychiatrist right after she first found out. The doctor assured my mom that yes, her son was a cock-sucking queer. My dad still doesn't want to believe it, which is a big reason why he's no longer a part of my life."

"Joan didn't find out until a year after Jack died, and it was only after she came over to my loft while I was ‘entertaining.'" Brian looked over at me, his brow furrowed. "Did you dad ever tell you that he wished your mom had gotten an abortion?"

Another pang to my heart. "No, but my mom once said she wished I hadn't been born, when we got into a fight one time when I was a teenager. I don't even remember what the fight was about, but after her anger simmered down, she got all upset, saying that she didn't mean it and begged me to forgive her."

"Well, Jack used to tell me that all the time... usually when he was beating me after he had knocked back a drink or ten. And I'm pretty sure he meant it."

All I wanted to do at that moment was climb into Brian's lap and hold him... but instead, I decided to cut our session short. "Why don't we stop for the day? You've made a lot of strides, but I don't want to overdo it."

Without another word, Brian slipped his shoes back on and walked out of my office.

**Brian's POV**

I was sitting on the roof finishing my third cigarette in a row when the muncher came over to join me at the table. Her session with Eric must have just ended.

"What's wrong with you?" Mel asked me as she lit a cigarette of her own.

I narrowed my eyes at her and grumbled, "Nothing's wrong with me."

Mel scoffed. "Oh please, you look like your dog just died."

"I'm fine," I snarled as I hung my head in an attempt to hide myself from the nosy lesbian. I lit another cigarette with shaky hands and let out a rattling cough. Since when have I been a chain smoker?

Don't flatter yourself, Brian. I'm a professional, doing my job... and you're just another patient.

Well good, that's how it should be, dammit. My ass will be out of here in eleven days, and I'll never have to see that little twink again. I'll be back in glorious Pittsburgh and he'll be here in New York, and I'll never think about him again.

So then why when he said that did it feel like someone drove a fucking knife through my chest?

**Justin's POV**

After spending an hour with Nick and listening to him give me a play-by-play of all the times he had cheated on past girlfriends and ex-wives (it was as if I was reading his diary; the man remembered dates, locations, and first names of every encounter), I went into the employee break room for a cup of coffee. Just my luck, this occurred at the same time that Hobbs had decided to take a break.

"Taylor," he said as I walked over to the coffee pot.

"Hobbs," I replied, pouring what I hoped was fresh coffee into a Styrofoam cup.

I dumped in a few sugar packets and was about to leave when Hobbs asked me, "So, uh... did you have any dinner plans tonight?"

I looked over at him as if he had asked me if I watched the game last night. "Huh?"

He chuckled and said, "I was wondering if you would like to grab a burger or something."

"Why the hell would I want to do that?" I asked him.

He sighed and said, "Look Taylor- Justin- I know that I was an asshole to you back in high school, and I figure that since we work in the same building, we need to clear the air. I'll treat."

I couldn't help but agree with him. Maybe Vanessa was right and deep down, Chris wasa nice guy. Besides, Daphne had a blind date that night with a guy that a classmate set her up with, so I most likely would have gone home to eat a TV dinner and watchThe Yellow Submarine for the millionth time. "Alright," I said. "When does your shift end?"

"I work from eight to five."

"We're usually finished with our afternoon session by five, and I always type up a short daily report before I leave. Do you have a car?" I asked him.

"No, I ride the subway."

"Okay, how about I meet you in here around quarter after five or so and I'll drive us? I can take you home after, if you'd like."

He smiled and said, "Cool. I'll be waiting for you here."

I nodded and turned to leave. 

This should be interesting...

**Brian's POV**

"I just don't know why my dad never loved me," Emmett blubbered as Julie and Ginger predictably fawned over him, patting his back and handing him tissues. "I tried my best to make him proud, but nothing I did was ever good enough."

I looked down at my lap as I tried not to roll my eyes at the drama unfolding in front of us during our evening group session. What began as a discussion as to what can cause addictions turned into Emmett giving us a history lesson of his childhood in the Bible Belt. I could feel Justin looking at me, as he knew that what Emmett was talking about was how I must have felt growing up with my asshole of a father that never loved me.

After smoking the rest of my pack on the roof that afternoon, I had a few hours before the evening session began to cool down and clear my head. Although I had a pretty good feeling that Justin was lying about me being "just another patient" to him, I decided to go along with his wish to keep things professional between us. No matter how badly I wanted to fuck him, the fact remained that the young man was my shrink, and I still had another eleven days under his "care." Hopefully, last night's dream was an isolated incident...

"Remember what we have talked about before, Emmett," Connie said to the bawling queen. "Your father was a conservative Southern Baptist man, and it was very hard for him to accept having a gay son."

"Well, even if Emmett had been straight, just the fact that he didn't want to do what his dad wanted him to do with his life may have been reason enough for him not to express love for him," The Ram said. "My folks wanted me to go to college and be a doctor or something, but all I wanted to do was music. Although I'm happy with my career, they feel like I'm throwing my life away."

Mel chimed in and said, "I went into law like my dad wanted me to, but he disowned me after I came out. I haven't spoken to him in over a decade."

"The same thing happened to me with my dad," Justin said. "I wanted to go to art school, but he said that he would only pay for my education if I went to his alma mater, so I started attending NYU just to make him happy." I looked up at him, surprised by this admission. Justin had always made it sound like being a counselor was his lifelong dream. "Although he was willing to shell out thousands of dollars for my schooling and housing, he made it clear that he doesn't want anything to do with me, since I'm gay. I was ‘undeclared' during my freshman year, and I only decided to choose counseling as my major after I had started going to counseling myself, to help cope with my fractured relationship with my father and the stress I was feeling in my life at the time. One reason why I want to earn my doctorate is so I can milk more money out of him." Justin and I both grinned at each other. It serves the bastard right, Sunshine.

"Do you think my parents were happy with me when they found out that I had started doing porn?" Ginger asked no one in particular. The ceiling I think, because that's where she's looking. "They thought I was going to nursing school, when really I used the money they gave me for school to get my boob job." What? You mean you didn't grow those triple D's yourself, Sweetheart? No... "When they found out the truth, they said they never wanted to see me again."

Emmett sniffled and asked, "So basically, you guys think that whether I was gay or straight, or whether I decided to work on the farm like he did or pursue a career as a stage actor, it wouldn't have mattered? My father still may not have loved me?"

"My old man didn't know I was gay until I was twenty-nine, plus he didn't give a fuck what I decided to do with my life, and he still hated me," I said to Emmett. "My mere existence was enough for him. If a parent truly loves their kid, then the details won't matter; they'll love them, regardless."

I met eyes with Justin again as the group all voiced their agreements with my statement. He nodded as Dr. Vic announced that our time was up for the evening.

Justin and I both waited for everyone else to leave the room, and he followed me out into the hallway. As we slowly walked down the hall, him towards his office and I towards the elevator, he said to me, "I wasn't expecting that."

"What?" I asked. "Emmett has cried at nearly every group session."

"No, not him. What you said about a parent's love... it was really nice. Actually, that was the first time you've ever said anything during a group meeting voluntarily," he said, looking down at his shoes. "I'm proud of you."

We stopped in front of his office door and awkwardly stood there for a few seconds. "Thanks," I said just above a whisper.

He looked up at me and gave a small smile. "You're welcome." Jesus, his eyes are amazing...

I looked away and was wondering where the fuck that lesbionic thought came from when Rat Face, the janitor I nearly punched out the day before, began walking towards us.

"I'll be ready to go in a few minutes," Justin said to the ugly bastard.

Rat Face smiled at Justin and said, "That's cool," as he walked past us.

Justin pulled his keys out of his pocket and turned away from me. "Uh... I'll see you tomorrow, Brian."

"Yeah... later," I said, walking away as Justin unlocked his office door.

What the fuck was that about?

**Justin's POV**

Hobbs and I handed our menus over to our big-breasted waitress, who was wearing a very low cut Yankees t-shirt and hot pants, and I watched as Hobbs shamelessly stared at the girl's ass as she walked away.

"We didn't have to come here, you know," Hobbs said after he managed to tear his eyes away. "I'm sure this isn't your kind of place."

He was absolutely right- since he was treating, I told him to pick the restaurant. So of course, he chose a sports bar in Midtown. There were at least a dozen TVs mounted to the walls, each broadcasting a different sporting event. A group of frat boys was intently watching a baseball game a couple of tables away from us.

"No, this is fine," I lied, taking a sip of my Bud Light.

Just as we did in my car on the way over, we sat in silence... well, as silent as it can be in a sports bar. As I was fishing for something to say, I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket.

I took it out and saw that Daphne had sent me a text message during her blind date.

The message read: THIS GUYS A DWEEB!! :(

I smiled and sent her back: Do u want the call?

A moment later, she replied: YES PLZ 10 MIN

I sat my phone on the table and saw that Hobbs was looking at me curiously. "Oh, sorry," I said, realizing that I was being rude. Ever the WASP... "That was Daphne. She's on a blind date, and apparently it's not going very well."

"You're still friends with her?" he asked.

"Not just friends; we've lived together since we got out of high school."

Hobbs raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The two of you were always joined at the hip. I hardly talk to anyone from high school anymore. I lost touch with most of my old friends when I moved to Indiana."

Another moment of uncomfortable silence. "Well, Daph wants me to give her a ‘fake-out' phone call in a bit... you know, when you call a friend when they're on a date, and if the date is going bad, they pretend like you're their mom and that someone had been in a car accident?"

Hobbs chuckled. "Yeah, my buddy back in college used to do that for me." Apparently, the umpire made a bad call, because the frat boys yelled at the TV for several seconds before Hobbs continued, "Justin... I want to apologize to you for treating you like shit senior year."

I shrugged as if it was no big deal. "It's alright... water under the bridge."

Hobbs looked down at his hands and said, "No... you didn't deserve it. They tell us in 12 Steps that we should make amends to the people we've wronged in the past. Although I can't blame my shitty treatment of you on coke, I thought that it was important for me to make amends with you. I took my teenaged insecurities out on you, and it wasn't fair. I'm truly sorry for that."

I recalled all the times he called me a faggot, all the times he shoved me up against the wall in the school hallway, and all the threats he gave me. It was a long time ago, but it's not easy to forgive someone for treating you so poorly. Still, I could hear the sincerity in his voice. As a counselor, I knew that it wasn't healthy to carry around ill feelings for another person, and that you should forgive them when they give you an honest apology. At least, that's what I was trained to tell my patients... so I should practice what I preach.

"Thank you, Chris," I said. "That was very mature of you to say."

It was time for me to call Daphne just as our busty server brought out our burgers. I hit the speed dial and she answered on the second ring.

"Hi Mom," Daphne said.

I held back a laugh and said, "So, you're ready to get the hell out of there, huh?"

"Yes, I'm sitting down," she answered.

In a breathy feminine voice, I said, "You always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop, don't you Daphne?"

Hobbs looked at me like I was nuts as he chewed his food.

Daphne gasped. "Oh my God, is Daddy gonna be okay?"

"So come up to the lab and see what's on the slab. I see you shiver with antici... pation," I said in a British accent.

"What hospital?" she asked, clearly faking tears.

I said dramatically, "Don't fuck with me fellas! This ain't my first time at the rodeo."

"Okay, I'll be right there," Daphne said before hanging up.

I laughed as I put my phone back in my pocket. I looked at Hobbs as I picked up my burger. "It's always more fun to try to make her laugh during the call."

**Brian's POV**

After dinner, I got my cell phone from the evening floor supervisor, an old bitch named Marcy, and took it to my room to charge it. After plugging the phone into the outlet next to my dresser, I saw that I had a few missed calls from the office, along with a voice mail left that afternoon by Cynthia to call her back. Before leaving the Pitts, I gave everyone strict instructions that I was only to be bothered while I was "in Ibiza" for emergency purposes only.

Knowing that she normally would be home from work by this time of the day, I called Cynthia on her cell phone. After the first ring, she frantically answered, "Brian! Thank God!"

"What happened, Cynthia?" I asked. "Did Starbucks stop making that Cinnamon Dolce Latte you love so much?"

She huffed out a breath and said, "No, although if they did, it would be a fucking tragedy. It's worse than that: Trevor Johnson was arrested early this morning."

I squeezed my eyes closed, knowing that she was referring to the "face of" one of our most lucrative campaigns, a menswear fashion label run by a conservative man named Ronald Carter. Trevor was the star of a very popular network TV drama and was regularly featured on the covers of celebrity magazines. Signing a squeaky-clean breeder like Trevor on to endorse the line was the only reason I was able to obtain the account.

"Arrested for what?" I asked Cynthia with gritted teeth.

"Well, for some time the FBI has been planning a sting operation on a whore house somewhere in Hollywood-"

"Don't tell me he was there when the FBI raided the joint," I pleaded.

"Afraid so, boss. Mr. Carter himself called this afternoon, demanding that we find someone else for the campaign, ASAP."

"Son of a bitch!" I yelled, kicking the trash can beside me across the room with my bare foot. I took a few calming breaths, trying to ignore the throbbing in my big toe, and asked, "Did you tell Carter that I'm on vacation?"

"Of course I did, and he said that it wasn't his problem. He's giving us until Monday to find someone to replace Trevor."

I shook my head, knowing that it was an impossible request. "I won't be back until Monday after next."

"I know that Brian, but you're just gonna have to cut your little holiday short. You know how much that campaign is worth to Kinnetik. It will really hurt us if Carter takes his business elsewhere... like Vangard."

Before I could respond, Melanie came barging into the room. "What the fuck was that noise?" I could see a few of the others gawking in the hall behind her.

"Hold on," I said to Cynthia. I put the phone against my chest and said to Mel, "There's a crisis back home with my company, and I took it out on the trash can."

Mel looked down and saw the dented metal can. "Just don't take it out on any of my stuff," she requested before walking out and closing the door behind her.

I put the phone back to my ear. "Cynthia, I can't leave-"

"Was that a woman's voice I heard?" she asked.

"Uh..." I said, thinking. "Just some lesbian at this party I'm at, wondering why I yelled."

"Oh. Well, you need to get back here; Spain will still be there, but Carter won't be if you don't bring your ass home."

I grimaced, and decided to do exactly what I had hoped I wouldn't have to do. "Cynthia... I'm not in Spain."

**Brian's POV**

"Wha... what do you mean you're not in Spain?" Cynthia asked. "Ibeeza is in Spain, right?"

"It's pronounced ‘I-bee-tha,'" I corrected. "And yes, Ibiza is in Spain, but I'm not."

"Then where the fuck are you, Brian?" she demanded.

I sighed and said, "I'll tell you, but I swear Cynthia, if you repeat this to anyone, I'll fire your ass."

"Okay, okay! I promise," she said. "You know you can trust me."

She was right. Cynthia had been my personal assistant since I had started working for my first boss, Marty Ryder, when we were both fresh out of college twelve years before. She could write a tell-all book with all the dirt she has on me, but I have never once heard of her ever uttering a word of my transgressions at the water cooler. The woman could have had a successful career as a CIA agent, if she had wanted to.

"Alright," I began. "I'm not on vacation. I am at a rehab facility in Manhattan. The program ends Sunday the Nineteenth, and I'll be on the red-eye back home that evening."

After several seconds of silence, Cynthia said, "Oh."

I waited a bit to see if she had anything else to say. "That's it?" I asked. "Just oh?"

Cynthia chuckled. "I can't say that I'm surprised, Brian. What with your drinking and the drugs-"

"Not for drinking or drugs. For sex addiction."

Another chuckle. Yeah, I'm a fucking riot... "Well, no matter, I'm just glad that you're getting some help for at least one of your vices. It will be a nicer workplace without call boys traipsing through the lobby three, four days per week. But, that doesn't help our problem with the Carter account."

I sighed and said, "You're just going to have to solve it without me."

"How?" she asked. "We have four days to find someone to replace Trevor. It's not like I have the phone numbers for talent agents in my Rolodex!"

An idea popped into my head. "Let me call you back, Cyn. It may not be on this number, because we're only allowed to have our cell phones for two hours in the evenings."

Cynthia gasped. "Wow Brian, you're actually following someone else's rules?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yes... bitch," I said playfully. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I sat my cell on the dresser to continue charging and walked down the hall to the Commons Room, where all of my co-group members were sitting around the TV watching Wolf Blitzer's news show on CNN. I wasn't surprised to see that the top story for the newscast was Trevor Johnson's arrest and the raid on the brothel in LA.

I stood next to the couch that Emmett, Julie, and Ginger were sharing and watched the news footage for a few minutes. I suppressed a groan when a shot of Trevor being led into a police car in handcuffs was shown. At the same time, Wolf announced that Trevor's manager had posted his $500,000 bail a couple hours before, and Trevor was now thought to be hiding out at his beach house.

"What a fucking dumbass," The Ram said. "That guy could bang any actress in Hollywood, and he pays to fuck some hooker."

"Hey, Hugh Grant was dating Elizabeth Hurley when he got caught with Divine Brown," Freddie the Geek pointed out.

"Yeah, and he was a fucking dumbass, too," Ram said. "Elizabeth Hurley is a fox."

"And dumb enough to forgive him for it. They dated for a few more years after that," Julie said.

Emmett scoffed and said, "Women are idiots." Surprisingly, the three women in the room nodded.  

I looked over at Emmett and asked him, "Could I speak to you in the dining room?"

He and his two sidekicks exchanged looks of confusion, shrugged in unison, and Emmett got up to follow me to the elevator.

**Justin's POV**

I pulled up to the curb in front of Hobbs's apartment building in the West Village and shifted into park.

"Thanks again for driving me home," Hobbs said as he unhooked his seatbelt.

"No problem," I said. "It's not too far from my place. If you'd like to save some money on train fair, I can give you a ride to and from work."

"Oh no, that's okay," he said, suddenly looking a bit apprehensive in the late-evening sunlight. "I don't mind taking the train."

I shrugged and said, "Well, if you change your mind, just let me know."

He looked over at me and smiled. "Thanks... uh, would you like to come up for a drink or something? My roommates both work in the evening, so..."

I scrunched up my face in confusion. "You said you didn't drink anymore, since going to rehab; you ordered an iced tea at the sports bar."

He chuckled nervously. "I know, but the guys I live with always keep beer in the fridge, if you'd like one."

"Uh... no," I said. "I had a beer with dinner, and I don't usually drink much anyway, unless I have a designated driver. Besides, Daphne should be home from her date by now, and she'll probably want to complain to me about it and how she'll probably never find a man." Not to mention that we had already spent almost two uncomfortable hours together, anyway. Why the hell would he want me to come up to his apartment?

I could swear that Hobbs looked disappointed. "Okay... that's cool." And it almost seemed as if he was hesitant to leave my car.

I placed my hand on the gear shift, indicating that I was ready to get out of there. "Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow at work, then."

"Yeah." He looked both ways out of the car windows, and before I knew what was happening, grabbed me by the back of my neck, yanked me across the center console, and crushed his mouth against mine. I opened my mouth to protest and felt him slip his tongue inside.

"What the fuck?" I yelled after shoving him off of me a moment later.

He stared at me for a few beats, his eyes and mouth opened wide in shock. "I... I'm sorry."

I looked straight out the windshield, trying to think of something to say, when he opened the passenger side door and slammed it behind him. I watched as he sprinted up the stairs and let himself into his apartment building.

**Brian's POV**

"I really appreciate this, Carol. You're a doll," Emmett said into his cell phone to his agent. "I'll talk to you later, Hon. Bye-bye." He ended the call and said, "Alrighty, she's going to make some phone calls in the morning."

I was so happy I could almost kiss him... almost, but not quite. "Thank you, Em," I said, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders.

"Well, luckily the agency that Carol works for represents lots of actors, singers, and athletes, so she should be able to find someone willing to sign on to replace Trevor." Emmett sighed and said, "Too bad I'm not known outside of the theater world, otherwise I'd love do it."

I placed my hand on his arm and said, "Unfortunately, Ronald Carter would never let a fag model his clothes. I was lucky that he hired me to market his clothes."

He smiled and said, "In that case, I'm sure he doesn't design club clothes or stage costumes, so never mind."

**Justin's POV**

I was in my bedroom working on a sketch when I heard Daphne unlock our front door. "Yoo-hoo!" she called out. From the tone of her voice, I could tell that she had been drinking. She must have taken a taxi, since her car was parked in its usual spot when I had gotten home.

A moment later, she appeared in my doorway in her Little Black Dress. "'ello darling," she slurred in a British accent.

I gave her a small smile and asked, "Was the guy such a dweeb that you had to liquor yourself up?"

"God yes," she groaned as she plopped herself down at the foot of my bed. "He still lives with his parents and works on the Geek Squad at Best Buy. And all he would talk about was the new Star Wars movie, which I told him I had not seen, so he proceeded to tell me about the whole fucking thing. I swear I have to stop going on blind dates. Besides, it seems that all the good guys are taken... or gay."

Instead of commenting, I continued to work on my sketch. "What's wrong?" she asked me as she sat up to take off her strappy heels.

"Nothing," I said in a dull tone.

"Bullshit. What happened?"

I signed and said, "I don't want to talk about it."

After removing her second shoe and dropping it onto the floor, she crawled over to me and took a look at what I was drawing. "Who's that?" she asked about the half-done portrait. "The famous Brian?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but he's not my only problem."

"Again, what happened?" she asked, breathing booze fumes in my face. I guessed that she had a few strawberry daiquiris before coming home.

"Although I can't tell you about our session, I can tell you that it got pretty intense today."

She snorted and said, "Who the fuck would I repeat anything you told me to? I'm an aspiring dentist, not a hair dresser."

"I know," I said. "But I've already broken the cardinal rule about falling in love with a patient, so I should try to obey the others."

She gasped and squealed, "You're in love with him?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "I'm afraid so. Although I lied to him today and told him that he was just another patient to me and that he shouldn't flatter himself. He then told me that since he's a sex addict, I shouldn't be flattered about the attention he's given me the past few days. I don't know if it's that simple, though."

"Hmm. Well, what's your other problem?" she asked as she leaned her head on my shoulder. I imagined that I would end up having to carry her drunk ass to her bed in the next ten minutes. Rum never fails to knock her out.

"Hobbs."

"Now what?" she asked in a groggy voice.

Knowing that Daph was fading fast, I chose to not go into details. I laid my sketch pad and pencil down on my nightstand and said, "I'm still trying to figure that one out myself."

Daph snuggled against my side and began to snore lightly about a minute later.

Thursday, June 9, 2005

**Brian's POV**

"Agree with me or not, Dude, but I think that the Dave Matthews Band is the greatest of our generation," The Ram said as we jogged on the treadmills during our morning workout.

I looked over at him with a scowl. "I don't know when the fuck your generation started..."

"Okay Grandpa, what kind of music do you like?" the prick asked.

"Zeppelin, Floyd, The Who, Hendrix. And of course The Cure, Duran Duran, INXS..."

He snorted. "Christ, are you sure you're gay?"

"Gay as blazes. Are you sure you're not deaf?" I fired back.

He laughed and said, "Don't get me wrong, those are good groups. But I thought you gay guys were supposed to like Madonna or Cher."

Speaking of ‘us gay guys,' Emmett walked into the room to join us. He was wearing a hot pink tank top and tight black bicycle shorts, which left little to the imagination. Wow, I must be horny if I'm checking out his package...

"Morning fellas," Emmett greeted.

"Since when are you up before the crack of eight?" I asked him, as this was the first morning that I had ever seen him awake before breakfast.

He climbed onto the stationary bike and began to pedal slowly. "I normally try to work out five days a week, but I've been lazy since I've been here. I don't want my ass to start jiggling, so I'd better get back into the routine."

With that statement, I tried to imagine how Justin's bubble butt would look au naturel... "So Emmett," I said, snapping myself out of my fantasy. "Who are some of your favorite singers?"

"Oh, you know. Madonna, Cher, Barbra, Whitney..."

The Ram and I looked at each other and chucked. "Touché," I said to Ram.

********************

After a boring morning session and lunch of a chicken Caesar salad (accompanied by Emmett reciting another monologue from the play), I knocked on Justin's office door at twelve sharp for our session.

"Come in," I heard him shout. I opened the door and found him sitting at his desk, typing something on his computer. I took my usual seat and kicked off my flip-flops, per usual. He turned off his computer monitor and joined me in the other chair with his trusty clipboard.

"So, how are you today?" he asked.

By that point I hadn't sex in three days, so I was horny as hell. I had woken up with another painful erection that morning, and not even thoughts of Melanie fucking me with a strap-on could make it go away. I had to jerk off before I could take a piss, but I was still walking around with a persistent stiffy. Plus, I'd been locked up in the building for the last three days, so I was feeling some cabin fever. Did I mention that I was horny as hell?

I shrugged. "Fine."

He didn't look convinced. "You didn't say a word during the morning session. You looked a bit distracted."

Well, there's the thing with the Carter account. I had called Cynthia after breakfast to see if she had heard from Emmett's agent. She had spoken to Carol that morning and said that Carol would make some phone calls today. Plus I was wondering what the hell Justin and Rat Face were up to yesterday. Although I was willing to bet my favorite Gucci loafers that Rat Face was straight, it was apparent that they at least had dinner plans. Then, I wondered why the fuck I cared. Whoever Justin wanted to spend his time with was none of my fucking business. In between thinking about those things, I played scenes of One Eyed Jacks in my head while Joe cried over his wife leaving him after following him to a motel one day and catching him fucking a hooker.  

I shrugged again. "Not really."

He still didn't look very convinced, but he moved on. "So, although it's still early in your treatment here, it seems like we have established what set off your addiction and what caused you to seek treatment for it. However, I'm not so sure that you are really invested in your recovery from your addiction."

I crossed my arms. "And why is that?"

"First off, you refuse to tell anyone in your personal life about you being here. Having a strong support system at home is vital to recovery, and they won't be able to help you if you won't even admit that you've sought treatment."

I smiled smugly. "Actually, I told my assistant Cynthia the truth about where I was yesterday evening."

He looked pleasantly surprised. "Really?"

"She had left me a message to call her, and she told me that there was an emergency at the office that required my assistance. I told her that I wasn't going to be back until the Twentieth and they'd have to handle it without me, but she told me tough shit, Spain would always be there. Then I broke down and told her I couldn't come home yet because I'm actually in rehab for sex addiction."

He flashed me one of his Sunshine Smiles. Christ... if I was a woman, I'd say he was adorable or beautiful. Since I am a fag, I'll say that he's fucking hot. "Wow, Brian. Although you only revealed the truth to her when you were under pressure, it's a big step forward."

I tried to downplay it. "I only told her because I knew that she'd take it to her grave if I'd asked her to."

"Still, I'm proud of you."

Shit, there he went saying that he was proud of me again. I could recall only a few times in my life when anyone had ever told me that I made them proud. My former bosses, Marty Ryder and Gardner Vance, had said they were proud of me after landing important clients, but it was a selfish pride, since they were financially benefitting from my accomplishments. Jack had only ever told me he was proud of me when I had given him money, and again that was a selfish pride. Hell, had anyone besides Justin ever unselfishly expressed pride in me? No one came to mind.

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. I may have even been getting teary-eyed, but I attributed it to that pesky springtime pollen he had mentioned the day before. As if I believed that...

"Will you now re-consider telling a friend about where you are?" he asked, his blue eyes glistening in the sunlight shining through the window.

I looked down and sighed. He had originally posed that question to me the day before, but I had flat-out refused out of the irritation I was feeling at the moment. But really, why had I gotten so irritated? All the boy had said was that I was ‘just another patient' and that I shouldn't ‘flatter' myself over any perceived attraction that I had thought he felt towards me. Which was bullshit. I knew that I wasn't the young buck I was in my teens and twenties, but I rarely had trouble finding someone willing to suck me off or bend over for me. Justin had told me that he hadn't fucked in six months, so he must have been ready to explode. If I found him in a club instead of meeting him here, most likely all I would have to say was "let's fuck" and he would drop his pants for me in a heartbeat.

"I'll think about it," I answered.

Another smile. "Good. That's better than ‘fuck no,'" he said, imitating me at the end.

We both laughed. "So, um... I realized after how badly our session ended yesterday that we work together best with a reward system," he said.

I thought for a bit. "Oh, you mean with the ‘quid pro quo' thing?"

"Yeah... although, can we keep the questions clean?"

I frowned. "Well, that's no fun."

He shrugged and said, "Take it or leave it."

"Alright," I said. "I remember you saying yesterday during the evening session that you had wanted to go to art school."

He looked a bit nervous. "Yeah?"

"Do you ever wish that you had gone to art school instead of becoming a counselor?"

He put his elbow on the armrest and rested his cheek on his hand. O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek... Damn you, Shakespeare.

After pondering my question for a moment he said, "Sometimes, yes. I always loved going to art museums and galleries when I was a kid. Hell, I still do, when I have the time. I took art classes and was in the art club all throughout high school, and I had many pieces displayed in the student art shows. I've donated a few pieces to the LGBT Center over the years, and it's always great to see them displayed on the walls. But I..." He sighed and shook his head.

"You what?" I asked.

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought. "It's my turn. Why are you so afraid to be perceived as a failure to your friends if you told them the truth about you being here?"

I couldn't stop my mouth from dropping open. "I'm not afraid of anything," I claimed, trying to keep cool. Yeah right Kinney, you're fucking terrified.

"I know you said before that because of the inadequacies you felt growing up with unsupportive parents that you hate for anyone to see you as a failure. But they way I see it, if your friends really cared about you, then they would be proud of the fact that you admitted that you're addiction has gotten out of your control and that you were man enough to seek help. If your friends ridicule you for being weak, then maybe those aren't the people you should be friends with."

Well Goddamn, the twink had a point. Who was the asshole that said that if a parent really loved their kid that the details of their life wouldn't matter? Oh yeah, that was me. I guessed that it shouldn't be any different with friends. Mikey, Ben, Theodore, Lindsay, and Deb were the closest thing to a real family that I had ever really had. I would probably be dead if it weren't for them. Hell, they may look down on me more for lying about going to Ibiza than for going to rehab.

"I guess you're right," I reluctantly admitted. "I need to man up and tell them the truth."

"Now, I'm not questioning your manhood," he said. "I said that you were man enough to seek help. That's one of the most important steps in recovery."

I remembered what I had read online. "Step One: Admit that you are powerless to your addiction and that your life has become unmanageable... or some shit like that."

"Yeah, that is Step One of the Twelve Steps program. Actually, I've always disliked the Twelve Steps, because it focuses too much on depending on a higher power to give you the strength to abstain from whatever you are addicted to. Those programs do help some people, but the failure and drop-out rate is very high. I believe the best way for someone to beat an addiction is to use their own inner strength, as well as working with qualified counselors in in-patient or out-patient programs to find a way to live their life without their drug of choice. I don't believe that seeking treatment is admitting that you're powerless or weak; it's admitting that you care about yourself enough to better your life*."

"Well, people have always told me that I'm a narcissist..."

He laughed and said, "I can tell that you don't spare any expense with yourself, with clothes and grooming. And we already established that you have a massive ego, but I don't believe that you're a narcissistic, in the medical sense. Because of your success in your career and your sex life, it's natural that you would be a bit supercilious."

"Supercilious?" I repeated.

"I think it's a nicer way of saying arrogant or pompous."

"And it makes you sound smart... and pompous," I teased.

"Hey, I scored 1500 on my SAT," he informed me superciliously.

"I scored like, 13-something."

"That's pretty good. Where did you go to college?" he asked.

"Penn State. Go Nittany Lions," I said, sarcastically raising my fist in the air. "Alright, it's my turn. What was with you and the janitor yesterday?" Not like I care... but I was trying to ‘keep it clean.'

All at once, his luminous countenance disappeared. I know fancy words, too; that means "sunny face." After the initial shock of my question wore off, he tried to act nonchalant... hey, there's another one. "Oh, that's Chris Hobbs. We went to high school together."

"I couldn't imagine the two of you being friends," I said.

He looked down at his clipboard. "We weren't. In fact, he bullied me after he found out that I was gay." Why doesn't that surprise me? "He just started working here this week, and he invited me to dinner as a peace offering."

"Did he take you to a titty bar?" The straight asshole...

"Close, a sports bar. Anyway, back to you. Are you afraid of commitment?"

There was that word again. "No. Why would I be?"

"You said before that you've only had one ‘real date,' but it turned out to be a one night stand. I'm assuming that means that you've never been in a committed relationship."

"No, but that doesn't mean that I'm afraid to commit to someone. I've just neverwanted to commit to someone."

He timidly asked, "What if you met someone you wanted to commit to?"

I licked my lips and looked at him like he was a piece of chocolate cake. "Why, Sunshine? Is that an invitation?"

His eyes bugged out as he sat up straighter in his chair. "No... I'm just wondering if you think you're even capable of committing to someone."

Uh huh... "Just because I've never been in a committed relationship, that doesn't mean I'm not capable of committing. That's just never been my goal. Besides, it's not like I had the best role models- Jack was a notorious womanizer and Joan always pretended like she didn't see it. He would flirt with random women in public, even in front of Joan, and women would call the house asking for him all the time. He probably had dozens of affairs throughout the years."

He nodded. "Yeah, my dad wasn't much better. Sometimes, he wouldn't come home from work until real late, and he always had some feeble excuse when Mom would ask him where he had been. He moved in with some woman right after she filed for divorce; Mom was devastated. But still, I've had three committed relationships before, in various durations."

"And how many random fucks have you had?" I asked.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "That's not a ‘clean' question."

I chuckled. "I beg your pardon... how many one-time sex partners have you had?"

"Rephrasing it doesn't clean it up... but I've never kept count."

"And when you had these one-time encounters, did you intend for it to be a one-time thing?"

He considered that for a bit. "Usually, yes. My last boyfriend didn't, though... but I guess that was my mistake, fucking a virgin. He showed up at the coffee shop I told him that I worked at the next day, asking if he could see me again. I told him no, but he didn't give up. He turned out to be a really sweet guy, so I gave him a chance. We dated for a few months, but he left me for another guy because he felt like I wasn't giving him enough attention."

"Was he right?"

"Yeah... I probably would have dumped me, too. It was during my senior year of college, so the timing couldn't have been worse. I was going to school full-time, working part-time at the coffee shop, and volunteering at the Center, so I had little time to spend with him. I was going to start my internship here the following semester, so knowing that would have given me even less free time, he dumped me after meeting someone at a Christmas party."

I stuck out my bottom lip. "Poor Sunshine."

"Shut up," he said, smiling. "I wasn't in love with him, so I got over it quickly."

For the hell of it, I asked, "Have you ever been in love before?"

He gave me a small smile. "Yeah."

**Justin's POV**

"Have you ever been in love before?" Brian asked me.

I felt warmth spread over my body. "Yeah," I said, smiling involuntarily.

I had thought a few times in the past that I might have been in love, and I had even said that I loved the guys out loud, but I was wrong. I realized the day before when Brian made me cry- no, my eyes weren't watering because of allergies- that I really did love him. Just the fact that his rejection, whether it was honest or not, had that effect on me showed how deeply I felt for him. It's common for a counselor to care for a patient, to feel bad for them and hope that they can eventually find happiness in their life, but this went way beyond that. I almost didn't care that I was setting myself up for heartbreak, since I knew that he would be going back to Pittsburgh in ten days and I would most likely never see or hear from him again.

"What's that like?" he asked. "I mean, I love my son more than life itself, and I love my friends, but..."

"Being in love is different," I said, looking into his mesmerizing hazel eyes. "It's... it's when you can hardly bear to be away from that person for even a single minute. When you're apart, you physically ache for them and count the minutes until you get to see them again. And when you reunite, you just feel... complete. Like there's nothing else in the world you need but them. You feel like your entire life up until the moment you met them was meaningless, and the only thing that matters to you is the time you spend with them."

Brian stared at me with an almost whimsical expression for a few more seconds before breaking into a smile. "Wow... that was the most lesbionic shit I've ever heard."

He chuckled as my heart crumbled. You know how sometimes you wish that the floor would split open and swallow you whole? Yep, that would have been just perfect at that moment. "Um... anyway." I bit my bottom lip to keep the flood gates closed. "Have you ever kept a journal before?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid. I mostly just wrote about what a bastard Jack was and how much I hated the kids at school."

I stood up and retrieved a spiral notebook from my desk. "Well, I think it would be good for you to start a new one."

"Are you gonna start giving me homework now?" he asked as I handed the notebook to him.

"At the end of our sessions, I'll give you a suggestion for something to write about that day, but it's up to you whether you want to write in it or not. I'll never ask to read your journal, because it'll be just for your thoughts. You can keep it in your room somewhere, or one of the techs can put it in a big envelope and lock it up in the security office, if you're afraid of someone reading it."

"Oh, I'm sure Mel would love to read my dirtiest secrets," he said as he sat the notebook on the floor next to his shoes. "What would you like me to write about today, Mr. Taylor?"

"You can write about the progress you feel you've made in your treatment so far, and anything else you hope to accomplish before you leave here. We can talk about those things tomorrow, if you'd like. Also, starting next week, we're going to be talking about your plans for the future, as in what you hope to do once you get back home. It's a given that you'll need to make some changes in your life, if you hope to get your addiction under control. You can start making a list of those things, including any short term and long term goals you have for yourself."

"Do you keep a journal?" he asked.

"No, when I feel the urge to put my thoughts down on paper, I draw or paint. I haven't painted anything just for myself in a long time, though."

He pointed to an abstract painting over my desk. "Did you paint that?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that was my senior project in my high school art class."

We both stared at the painting, which had dark shades of red, purple, and green splashed on the canvas in various shapes. "I'm guessing that you weren't in a good mood when you painted it."

"No. I started working on it right after my dad moved out and I had mailed my acceptance letter to NYU. My parents' marriage and my dream of being an artist were both officially over."

"Did you get an A on it?" he asked.

"Yep."

We spent the rest of the hour talking about art. He told me that his son's mother Lindsay used to teach art and now works in a gallery in Toronto, and that they met in an Art History class at Penn. He surprised me by naming some of his favorite artists, as they weren't well-known.

Nick, or "The Ram" as I had heard he likes to be called, knocked on the door a few minutes after one o'clock. "Sorry to interrupt, fellas," The Ram said as Brian put his shoes back on and picked up the notebook.

"That's okay," he said to The Ram. Brian looked over at me and said, "I have some phone calls to make."

********************

After The Ram and I were finished with our session, I walked around the building in search of Hobbs. I would have rather just forgotten about what happened in my car the evening before, but I just couldn't. I found Hobbs with his cleaning cart in the gym, which made me remember what had once happened between us while cleaning a gym. Luckily, there weren't any patients working out at the time, so we were alone to talk.

"Hey," I said to him as I pulled the door closed.

"Hey," he said quietly while wiping off the big mirror on the wall with a paper towel.

"So what the hell was that last night?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

He sighed and looked at his reflection. "I... I really don't know. I mean, I didn't plan for that to happen."

"But why did it?" I asked. "Are you gay or bi now?"

"No," he answered gruffly. "I'm not a fag."

I walked over to him so I was standing just a couple of feet away. "Well then, what were you doing kissing a fag last night, Chris? And why did you let that same fag jerk you off five years ago?"

He thought about it for a few seconds, but turned around and tossed the towels onto his cart. "I have to get over to the dining room."

Before he could start pushing his cart out of the room, I grabbed him by the arm. "Answer me."

He looked down at my hand on his arm, but didn't try to remove it. "I guess that I was just... curious," he whispered.

I tilted my head in confusion. "About what? What is was like to have another man touch you?"

He finally met my eyes. "What it was like to have you touch me... back then and last night."

I glanced up at the security camera in the corner of the room and pulled my hand away. "You were obviously ashamed about what I did to you back then, otherwise you wouldn't have acted like such a dickhead to me afterwards."

"I was only ashamed because I liked it, because I was afraid that it meant that I was gay. I've never wanted to do anything like that with any other guy, but I never stopped thinking about that day. Sometimes I've imagined what it would have been like to... do more with you."

I was about tell him that it was never going to happen when the door opened and a woman from another program walked in to work out. Without another word, Hobbs grabbed his cart and backed it out into the hallway.

**Brian's POV**

I was on the phone in the Common Room with Cynthia as she was telling me the good news. One of the other agents that worked with Carol contacted one of her clients, a singer that I had never heard of but one that Cynthia said was the lead of a rock group that had won a few Grammys that year, and said that he was interested in being the new face of the Carter campaign.

"Me and Ted will fly out to LA in the morning to meet with him at Carter's office. Hopefully, Carter approves of him and offers him a big wad of cash," Cynthia said. "I just wish you could come with us."

"Me too," I said.

"Well, I hope you're having lots of fun in Ibiza," she said.

"Theodore's in the room with you, isn't he?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Ah... well, tell him that I fucked a matador yesterday."

"Will do, boss," she said, giggling. "I'll give you a call after the meeting tomorrow."

I hung up the phone and paused with my hand over the receiver for a few moments. There wasn't anyone waiting to use it after me, and I figured that I may as well get it over with. After dialing the familiar number, I waited while it rang three times.

"Hello?"

"Hey Deb, it's Brian," I said to my surrogate mother.

"Hi Honey!" she yelled. "How are ya?"

"I'm fine. I almost called the diner, but I remembered that you're usually off on Thursdays."

I heard what sounded like a chair being scrapped across the floor. I pictured Deb on the old cream-colored phone attached to the kitchen wall and taking a seat at the table. "Yep, I've just been puttering around here all day, watching Lifetime. Carl won't be getting off from work for a few more hours. So, what's it like in Spain? Is it fabulous?"

I took a deep breath. "That's what I'm calling about, Deb. There's something I have to tell you."

"What, Honey? Are you okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

"If I tell you this, will you promise that you won't repeat it to anyone, especially Mikey? I want to be the one to tell him, and I don't want the whole neighborhood knowing about it until I get back."

"Brian, you're scaring me," she said. "Just tell me what the fuck is wrong."

"Promise me, Deb."

"Yes, Goddamn it, I promise! Did the cancer come back? Are you in the hospital again?" She had every reason to think that, as I had lied and said that I was going to Miami when I actually went to John Hopkins Hospital to have my ball removal surgery the year before.

"No, it's nothing like that," I assured her, and paused as she sighed heavily. "I had my last check up a couple months ago, and everything was fine. I'm actually at a rehab facility in Manhattan, in the sex addiction program."

Just like Cynthia did when I told her the day before, Deb responded with an "Oh."

"Yeah... I've decided that I need to make some changes in my life."

She snapped her gum. "Well, I'd say that it's about fucking time. You're not a kid anymore, Brian. You're too old to go be going out fuckin' and suckin' all over town, you know."

I shook my head at her bluntness. "Thanks, Ma."

"You need to find yourself a good man, settle down, and give Gus some siblings," she said in her authoritative tone.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't know about that, but I never thought I'd end up at a place like this..."

"See? That's why you should never say never," she said. "So are you doing okay there?"

"Yeah, it's a little boring, though. Plus, they roomed me with a lesbian."

Deb gave me her signature cackle. "You poor baby."

"Well, it's only for another ten days. But anyway, I'll let you get back to Lifetime."

"Okay, Honey. You take care," she said. "Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

I said good-bye and hung up. I gave her about a fifty-fifty shot of actually keeping mum about it.

********************

The evening session began with the topic of depression being a factor in addictive behavior and quickly turned into nearly everyone comparing shitty relationship stories, which of course left me out as I had never had a relationship before. I stared at Justin while the others bitched and moaned. One of Melanie's college girlfriends only messed around with her to piss off her parents. Nick's first ex-wife stole and pawned a guitar of his that was autographed by Aerosmith's Joe Perry when she caught him cheating. Julie's high school sweetheart broke up with her at their prom and left with another girl in the limo her parents rented. Connie revealed that her college boyfriend didn't tell her that he was married with a baby on the way.

After the session ended, I said bye to Justin, deciding that I would wait until tomorrow to tell him about my phone call with Debbie. I got a plate of baked chicken and garlic mashed potatoes and took it to my room to eat in private. I decided to begin writing in my journal between bites.

June 9

Justin suggested that I start keeping a journal, so here goes. Today, Justin made me realize how important it is to have a support system once I get back home to the Pitts at the end of next week. Trouble is, I really don't have a support system.

Sure there's Cynthia, who I rely on not just to help keep my company in order, but to keep me in order, too. But she is my employee, not my friend. We never "hang out" outside of the office, since work is the only thing we have in common.

It surprises me to admit that Ted has become a really good friend of mine over the past couple of years, as well as one of my most trusted employees. I bust his balls a lot, especially since he and Blake have gotten back together, about him being a silly old queen, but I envy him... a little. He worked through his crystal addiction and came out a better man at the end. Although they got off to a rocky start, he and Blake are very happy together. Yep, Ted Schmidt is actually happy, and Blake is a big reason for that. However, Ted shouldn't have to worry about me. He has his own sobriety to maintain, and these days he spends most of his free time at home with Blake.

I know that Deb will always be there for me, and she's never afraid to let me know when I've gone too far. Although she said that she would "slow down" at the diner, she still puts in 40+ hours a week. Plus she has PFLAG and Horvath to take care of. She shouldn't have to babysit me. I've given her enough gray hairs under that wig of hers.

I hate to say it, but I can hardly call Mikey my friend these days. He and the Professor are living in Heteroville with their kids. Hunter is a senior in high school and Mikey is the devoted sports dad, attending all of Hunter's track meets and soccer games. When he's not doing that, he's at home with their new adopted baby, up to his ass in dirty diapers and bottles. He even sold the comic book store to be a stay at home dad. He hasn't been to Babylon since we re-opened after the bombing, and even then he and Ben only stayed for an hour. He has no time to worry about me.

Although I know I will always have Linds and Gus, they've made their own little life in Toronto that doesn't involve me. I hoped that their move to Toronto would be just temporary, that Linds would realize that she overreacted after the bombing and would eventually come home. At this point, that doesn't seem likely. Linds found a job at a gallery in Toronto and she teaches art classes at a retirement home twice a week, and she loves it. She's even painting again, which she stopped doing for several years while living in the Pitts. Gus starts preschool in the fall, and Linds said he can hardly wait. Wendy left Neverland the day that Gus was born.

Justin said that I should start thinking about what I need to do once I get back home to keep my addiction "under control." I don't have the slightest idea of how I will do that. He said that I should make a list of my long and short term goals, but I really don't have any. Besides Kinnetik, I have nothing and no one for me waiting at home. I don't really know what's in store for me once I leave this place. I'm almost don't want to leave.

Friday, June 10, 2005

**Justin's POV** 

I sat my graphite pencil on my desk and rotated my cramped wrist. Looking down at the nearly-finished drawing, I smiled at the face of the beautiful man smiling back at me.

After falling asleep around eleven, I woke up around three and was unable to fall back asleep, my thoughts of Brian keeping me awake. It also didn't help that my dick was hard enough to beat someone to death with. I used the pool of pre-cum on my belly as lube and came hard and fast a few moments later as I pictured the way he often licked his lips enticingly from across the group therapy room while his intense hazel eyes stared into mine. I cleaned myself up with a handful of tissues from the box on my nightstand and closed my eyes, but the orgasm wasn't enough to knock me back out.

I told Brian the day before that when I felt the need to express my thoughts on paper, I draw or paint. Now sitting at my desk as the sun was rising outside my bedroom window, I had gone through several sheets of paper sketching Brian in different variations. The way he looked at me during our sessions after I asked him a difficult question. The almost-bashful expression on his face after I told him that I was proud of him for telling Cynthia the truth about where he was. One of him looking pissed a couple days before with his bare arms crossed over his chest... he looks so delicious when he's angry, while a bit terrifying at the same time. Another of how sexy he looked while smoking a cigarette on the roof of the treatment center, like James Dean. One sketch of just his eyes with some wispy bangs falling into them. Because I was such a whore for his feet, I had to draw them, too. I'd need to hide that one from Daphne, so she wouldn't nag me over my foot fetish.

When I was in high school and exploring my sexuality as a young gay boy, I used to sketch the naked bodies of the boys I had the pleasure to see in the showers after gym class. I would mostly sketch Chris Hobbs- before the fallout of my jerking him off that day and him turning into a complete douche, that is. Although Hobbs had a nice body and a decent-sized cock, I would often take artistic liberties in adding more muscle definition and a couple more inches in length and girth. It was when she found these sketches after snooping in my bedroom that my mom discovered that I was gay.

All of the sketches that I had done of Brian by that point had been of him fully clothed, as I hadn't had the opportunity to see him in all his glory... and probably never would. As good of an artist as I was, I would most likely not do him justice if I had tried to sketch how I imagined him naked. It was safe to assume that his body was flawless. His toned arms and shoulders were probably accompanied by impeccably toned pecs and abs. A fag couldn't establish the reputation of being the go-to top in town (as he had claimed he was) without owning a tremendous dick. I had seen many big, beautiful dicks in my time, both in person and in porn, but I imagined that Brian's dick was magnificent enough to make a man weep at its perfection. A dick so beautiful you would fear that you'd die if it wasn't in your mouth or up your ass right then and there. The scar from his surgery most likely just left him looking more manly- a battle scar from his successful cancer fight.

My own dick was once again painfully hard and tenting my sweatpants. I reached in and began to stroke it slowly as I thought about what it would be like to have the opportunity to personally get to know Brian's cock. I had spent the last five years perfecting my cock sucking skills, learning how to suppress my gag reflex to deep throat like a pro. I imagined Brian moaning in pleasure as I swallowed every inch of him and buried my nose into his pubes. I would probably get high off his natural scent. After he would cum down my throat screaming my name, I would crawl up his gorgeous body and give him a taste of himself on my tongue before riding him like a wild stallion.

My alarm clock blared moments after I came, announcing it was time for me to start my day. 

********************

"You look like shit," Vanessa said when I walked into the employee break room.

This was true. I had raccoon eyes after only getting a few hours of sleep, my hair would not cooperate that morning, and I had a scowl left over from a cab driver riding my ass all the way up Park Avenue (not the way I prefer to be ridden). Plus, I had not had a cigarette since before I went to bed the previous night, in an attempt to quit again. In no mood to make morning chit chat, I grunted as I poured my third cup of coffee of the day. At least caffeine doesn't cause cancer... coffee is even supposed to be good for you.

"So you're still coming tonight, right?" Vanessa asked.

I searched my memory for what she could be referring to. "For what?"

"My birthday dinner," she said. "You told me two weeks ago that you would be there... I hope that means you didn't forget to buy me a present."

"I didn't forget your present," I assured her, remembering that I had accepted her invitation to join her, her husband, and a few of their friends at a restaurant in Chinatown. I had actually spent the previous week working on a painting for her of a Chinese dragon. "I'll be there."

She turned to leave the room, but stopped as she remembered something. "Oh, I invited Chris. I asked him before I knew that you guys didn't get along..."

Of course she did. "It's your birthday," I said, plastering on a fake smile. "You can invite whoever you want."

"Are you sure?" she asked, worry on her face. "I don't want it to be awkward."

"No... it'll be fine."

Shit.

********************

"She promised that she wouldn't tell anyone, especially Michael, but I doubt she'll be able to keep it a secret for long," Brian said.

"Well, whether she repeats it to anyone or not, that was a big, important step you made, telling Debbie the truth," I let him know, barely able to keep from beaming with pride.

He looked down at his lap, that rare look of shyness poorly veiled. "Would you say that you were proud of me?" he asked in a near-whisper.

Without even thinking, I reached over and raised his chin to look at me. "Yes, I'm very proud of you, Brian."

He placed his hand around my wrist, his thumb resting over my pulse point, and gave me a light squeeze. "Thanks."

In fear of my arm catching on fire from the contact, I forced myself to pull away. "Um..." I said as I willed my heart rate to slow, "I wanted to give you something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, his voice husky.

I pulled out the piece of sketching paper from the bottom of my clip board. "You'll probably think it's silly, but I sketched you something."

"Oh." He almost looked disappointed. I could only imagine what he had hoped I wanted to give him... and it was probably something like I had fantasized about giving him while abusing myself earlier that morning.

Nonetheless, I handed the paper to him. "Remember how I told you that I draw or paint when I want to put my feelings down on paper?"

He smiled a bit as he looked at the sketch of himself, the one of him smoking at the picnic table. "Uh-huh."

I squeezed my eyes closed for a second... shit. I just admitted to him that I had been thinking about him. Good going, Taylor. How much bigger of a fucking idiot could I be? "I... uh, I-"

"I look a little like James Dean here," he remarked, chuckling in amusement. He then looked at me and smiled. "He's one of my favorite actors."

Okay... I feel a little less stupid. "I hope you like it."

"I like it... a lot," he said as he looked back down at the sketch. "You're really talented."

I smiled so wide I thought my face would split. "Uh... did you start writing in your journal yet?"

Still staring down at the sketch in his hands, he nodded. "Yeah, I wrote a couple of pages last night."

I waited a few moments to see if he was going to comment about what he wrote. "Good," I finally said, not wanting to force him to disclose his private thoughts if he didn't want to. "I'm curious about something."

"What's that?"

"Do you think you'll be able to handle owning a club, once you get back home?" I asked. "From what you've told me, that place is like your playground, your kingdom."

He sighed as he sat the sketch on the floor. "Yeah... I've been thinking about selling it, actually. There's a rich fag that owns a couple of the other clubs in the neighborhood, and he gave me a sizable offer the night that we reopened after the bombing." He looked at me and added with a wolfish grin, "And he said he'd like to buy the club, too."

We both chuckled at that. "So, did you take the first offer and turn down the second?"

"I turned them both down, because I don't bottom for anyone."

I bit my lip as I dared to ask, "When was the last time you did?"

He gave me that difficult question look that I had sketched that morning. "It's been a long time," he admitted. "I might have even still had a one in front of my age."

Wow... I'd bet his hole was as tight as a clam shell. Christ, there goes my dick again, wanting to come out and play. Later little fella, later... okay, maybe not little...

He continued, "Many have dared to ask me over the years, but none have been successful. Still, I've been able to nail many popular tops over the years."

I decided to try my luck in how much he'd reveal, to satisfy my own sex-deprived curiosity. "Do you give blow jobs?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Do you?"

"Yes," I answered proudly.

I heard him make a noise almost like a growl. He then took a deep breath and said, "I do, but not very often... and never in public."

I crinkled my nose. "I've never understood why it's such a thrill to fool around or fuck in public. I topped a guy in the back room of a club in Brooklyn a few years ago, and I felt so self-conscious I could barely keep it up. I felt like I had a thousand eyes on me, but it was probably only a dozen."

The wolf smiled at me again. "I would have paid to watch you fuck that guy... I bet you looked hot."

Holy... shit. After picking my jaw up off the floor, I said, "Okay... we obviously need to change the subject." And I needed to change my underwear.

Brian laced his fingers and put them behind his head. "Oh, I think the current subject is fascinating."

I dared to glance down at Brian's crotch. I could almost hear his zipper crying from the strain. Guh...

"Um..." I looked at my clip board for another question.

**Brian's POV** 

I couldn't help but laugh at how flustered the boy was, his cheeks red and his forehead damp with sweat. He looked like he was about to have panic attack... or an orgasm.

"Admit it," I said.

"Ad... admit what?" he stammered.

"I'm not just ‘another patient' to you."

He looked over at me, his eyes pleading. "Brian..."

"Say it," I demanded.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only little squeaks came out.

"Come on," I urged as I placed my hands in my lap. To make it more difficult for him, I put my right hand over my cock and began to rub it through my jeans. "Tell me you don't want me... that you don't want me tear your clothes off and fuck you right here on the floor."

He huffed out a few surprised breaths as he looked down to watch the show I was putting on for him. "I..." he began to say, his eyes glued on my hand.

"Don't..." I tried to coerce him to say.

He forced himself to tear his eyes away before jumping out of his chair and bolting for the door. 

**Justin's POV**

Oh my God... Oh my God... Oh my God. I didn't know where my feet were taking me until I reached the men's rest room at the end of the hall. I burst through the door, forced it closed, flipped the lock, and plopped myself down on the floor. I took several deep breaths as my body shook from head to toe. Tears were streaming down my face, but I made no move to dry them.

Tell me you don't want me... that you don't want me tear your clothes off and fuck you right here on the floor.

We both knew that I couldn't say that. Stevie Wonder could see how badly I wanted Brian, how he affected me.

"Shit," I said out loud as I squeezed my eyes closed. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"

The words were barely out of my mouth when I heard a toilet flush. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of legs under the last stall.

**Justin's POV**

I held my breath as I watched to see who would walk out of that stall, and saw Dr. Vic emerge a moment later. I didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified that it was him. On one hand, it could have been someone whom I wouldn't want seeing me in this state and whom I had no interest in talking about my problems with. On the other, being that he was a man with a PhD in psychology and had nearly thirty years of experience in the field, I knew that Vic wouldn't leave me alone until he got to the bottom of what was ailing me. I had no doubt that he had overheard my queen out, and I must have looked like a hot mess.

Vic walked over and looked down at me in concern. "Justin, what's wrong?"

"Oh, uh... nothing," I claimed as I picked myself up off the tile floor and began splashing water on my face. I looked at myself in the mirror... yep, hot mess.

"Nothing," he echoed dryly. "What happened, son? Shouldn't you be in your session with Brian now?" I pulled some paper towels out of the dispenser to dry my face and hands. Before I could think of what to say, the doc figured it out. "What did he say to you... or do?"

"He didn't do anything to me," I said.

"Well, obviously something happened in your session," Vic said as he washed his hands. "And as your supervisor, I think I should know about it, if it was serious enough to induce a breakdown like this."

I leaned against the wall and bit my bottom lip, hesitant to reveal anything that could get myself or Brian in trouble. After Vic had dried his hands, I unlocked the bathroom door and let Vic lead the way to his office. We passed by my office on the way, and I looked in to see that Brian had left. I closed and locked the door, and proceeded into Vic's office.

After closing the door behind us, I took a seat at a chair in front of Vic's desk. "Alright kid, spill."

Since meeting Dr. Vic the previous year when I began my internship at the treatment facility, I had developed an immense amount of respect for him, both as a doctor and as a man. Not only was he a brilliant psychologist who had helped dozens of people overcome their addictions and problems in their lives throughout his career, he was also a very proud gay man. I only wished that I could have had someone like him in my life as a child and teenager, when I felt so lonely after realizing that I was gay. I had hoped to be just like him someday.

I took a deep breath, knowing that I could no longer keep this a secret. "I'm in love with Brian," I sadly announced.

Vic sighed and gave me a slight nod. "I was actually afraid of this happening. Brian is a very attractive man with a vibrant personality. Any queer would either want to be him or be with him."

I knew that he was trying to make me feel less guilty, but I didn't. Fresh tears began to pour down my cheeks as I said, "No, I don't mean that I'm just attracted to him- I've been attracted to him from the moment I first saw him. It has gone way beyond that now. I think about him constantly. I can't sleep, I can hardly eat... I've never felt this strongly for someone in my life. Even with all his demons, he's everything I've always wanted in a man... a partner."

I paused for a moment to sniffle and clear my throat. I was preparing for him to scold me, but Vic was instead watching me silently, waiting for me to continue. "I... I don't know how I could have let this happen. I mean, I know all about the medical ethics within our profession, and I know that this is a flagrant violation of them. When I decided to do this for a living, I thought that I would be able to keep my personal feelings in check, to never let myself get emotionally involved with a patient... but I have with him. And I know that it would be completely wrong for me to pursue any kind of relationship with him, given that he's a sex addict..."

"Did he confess his feelings for you?" Vic asked. "Is that what set you off earlier?"

"No. Like I told you the other day, he's made no secret of the fact that he is attracted to me, too. I have no idea how he feels about me beyond the physical... I may just be nothing but a potential trick, in his eyes. I lost it earlier after he told me that he knows that I want him, too. As much as I've been trying to hide my obvious attraction to him my body nearly failed me today- that's why I ran out of there and hid in the bathroom."

Vic took off his glasses and laid them on his desk. "Well, you know that this means that he can no longer be your patient... I regret not reassigning him after you voiced your concerns before."

This made me fall apart. "I'm sorry," I sobbed like a little bitch. "I know that I've let you down-"

"No," Vic said, chuckling a bit. "You haven't let me down, Justin. It's never happened to me personally, but I know other doctors and counselors who have either dated or married former patients of theirs. Our job requires us to get to know our patients on a deep level, sometimes deeper than we get to know people that we date in our regular lives. We can't help who we fall in love with, even if the rules say that we shouldn't. Human beings are likely to want what they know they can't have."

I wiped my eyes and nose with a tissue. "So, what happens now? Are you going to tell Brian that you'll be his counselor for the rest of treatment term?"

"I'll call him into my office in the morning. Since it'll be a Saturday, we'll only have individual sessions."

I shook my head. "No... if you wait until the morning, I will spend the whole night worrying about how he'll react to this. He may not give a shit, or he might take it personally and think that I hate him or something."

"Okay," Vic said in an understanding tone. He looked at his watch. "Your session with Nick starts in a few minutes. I'll have Vanessa track him down and tell him to wait until 1:30 to begin your session, to give you some time to pull yourself together. Then I'll have her find Brian so I can have a talk with him."

"I don't want him to feel like he did anything wrong," I said miserably. "This is my problem, not his."

Vic smiled. "I'll break it to him as gently as I can."

**Brian's POV**

I sat there nodding my head as I felt as if I was in the principal's office at school. Apparently, Justin told Dr. Vic about our little exchange in our session today, and Vic now thought that it would be better for me if Justin was no longer my counselor. He also recommended that I refrain from talking to Justin outside of the group therapy room so he won't distract me from my progress.

Alright, I admit that I may have gone a bit too far, that my words and actions were inappropriate given the setting. I know that Justin and I are supposed to maintain a professional environment and blah blah blah. But every second I had spent with him over the past five days had only made me want to fuck him more and more. I so desperately wanted to throw him on the floor, yank down his pants, and fuck him until he passed out that it was nearly impossible for me to act otherwise. Listening to him talk about giving blow jobs and fucking made me so unbelievably hard, I thought my dick would rupture from all the blood pumping into it. Imagining him with his pants pulled down around his thighs while he pounded into some trick in a back room even made my nearly-virgin asshole twitch.

I was about five seconds away from pouncing on Justin before he ran out of the room like a bat out of hell. I sat and waited in his office for a minute or two before picking up his drawing of me and going back to my room, my dick screaming for release. I knew that Melanie would still be in her session with Eric, so I locked the door and took care of business. I swear, I haven't jerked off this much since I first discovered that I could ejaculate at age thirteen. That was a great summer...

"...So I'll be seeing you at noon tomorrow, okay?" Vic said, thereby dismissing me. I pressed my lips together and nodded.

I found myself up on the roof with a cigarette in my mouth without even remembering going up there. Although it was about ninety degrees out, I spent the next three or so hours smoking the rest of my pack, feeling numb, until it was time to go down to the evening group session.

I sat in my regular chair and stared at the floor while the others chitchatted with each other. When the four counselors walked in, I couldn't help but look at Justin, who seemed to be doing everything he could not to look at me. This aggravated me, causing me to openly stare at him as the doc started talking about whatever-the-fuck psycho-babble bullshit.

In between looking at the people around the room who were taking turns speaking, Justin would write something on his clipboard, still not even glancing at me for a second. I was almost happy to see that the kid looked pretty miserable. Good.

Good? Why the hell would I even care how the fuck the kid feels, or wonder what was going through that little blonde head of his?

And why the hell was I wondering exactly what he told Vic that effectively resulted in my being removed as his patient? Obviously, he ran to Daddy and told him that the big, bad fag was being mean to him, and that he didn't want to be my counselor anymore. He probably told Vic that I practically molested him before he ran out of the room clutching his pearls, shocked and appalled at my audacity.

I could feel my blood pressure rising as the minutes ticked by and Justin still avoided making eye contact with me. All the cigarettes from earlier left my throat feeling tight, and I could hear my rapid breaths wheezing in and out. Although I could feel cool air blowing through the vent above my head, I felt myself break out in a sweat. Steam must have been coming out of my ears or something, because Julie soon leaned my way and asked me in a whisper if I was alright.

No bitch, I'm fucking pissed was what I wanted to scream at her, but I instead gave her a tiny nod as my eyes continued to burn holes into Justin's frowning face.

The angrier I got from Justin not acknowledging my presence in the room, the angrier I got at myself because I was angry at the little twink. Why the fuck was I getting so worked up? Why should I even give a flying fuck whether what I said or did earlier affected him in any way, or that he told Vic on me, or that he was no longer going to be my counselor? He's just a little blonde twink is all, plain and simple. Yes, maybe he's the same blonde twink that I had pictured every time I had jerked off in the previous four days, and the same hot little blonde that I woke up thinking about the past four mornings, and the same gorgeous man that I went to bed thinking about for the past four nights, and the same unbelievably sexy creature that I had dreamt about...

Fuck.

**Justin's POV**

I could feel Brian's eyes on me, but I used every bit of strength I had to not look at him. I forced myself to pay attention to the conversation around me, taking notes here and there, but Brian's presence in the room was nearly suffocating me. Even when he's not making a sound, his presence is undeniable.

Suddenly and without any provocation, Brian stood up from his chair and stormed out of the room. As if there was some kind of magnetic pull on him, I got up and followed him, nearly running to catch up to him as he got to the elevator and pressed the up button.

"Brian," I called out. He looked over at me with a look of... I would say shock or fear, and shoved the door open to the stairwell.

I followed behind him up the two flights of stairs to the third floor, unable to stop my pursuit. He shoved the door to the hallway open and turned to the right toward what I assumed was his room. I technically wasn't allowed in this part of the building, but I didn't care at the moment. I followed behind him until he shoved a door open. He slammed the door closed before I could get to it, and I knocked.

"Brian," I repeated. "Come on, open up."

After I knocked a second time, he flung the door open. "What?" he growled.

"Talk to me," I said to him.

"About what?"

I sighed. "About... us."

He laughed sarcastically. "There is no us, Justin."

I bit my lip, knowing that I shouldn't do what I was hoping he would let me do. "Can I come in, please?"

He let out an angry breath and stepped aside for me to pass.

**Justin's POV**

I walked into Brian and Melanie's room, leaving the door open just to be safe, and saw that Brian had a suitcase open on one of the beds.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he opened the top drawer of one of the two dressers in the room and tossed an armful of clothes into the suitcase.

"What the fuck does it look like?" he snarled, turning to grab more clothes.

"It looks like you're packing."

"Ding ding ding," Brian sang out. "You're very observant, Sunshine."

"But why?" I asked, fighting tears from escaping. Christ, I haven't cried this much since the Friends finale. "Is it because I'm not going to be your counselor anymore?"

"I couldn't give a shit less who my counselor is," he stated as he slammed the dresser drawers closed.

Wondering if he was really telling the truth, I asked, "Then why are you leaving?"

"Because being here is a waste of time. I should have just gone to Ibiza like I told everyone I was. I could be on the Es Cavallet beach enjoying a piña colada and getting blown right now, but instead I'm in this prison. Hell, at least I'd be getting fucked regularly in prison."

"But..." I desperately searched my mind for something to talk him out of leaving. "Brian, you've admitted that you have a problem that you need help with, and you've already made so much progress-"

"Save your psycho-babble for someone who cares," he said as he shoved the rest of his clothes into the suitcase. "It's too late for me to change now. I'm too far gone... I'll always be Brian Fucking Kinney, a selfish, heartless son of a bitch that fucks everything that moves. And I wouldn't want to disappoint all my adoring fans back home now, would I?"

"No, Brian," I said, grabbing his arm. "It doesn't have to be like that. I may not know you very well, but I know that you're worth more than that. You can change, if you want to."

His eyes trailed from my hand on his arm and up to my eyes. "I don't want to change."

"I think you do," I said softly. "You need to change, because you're not happy with your current life. That's why you came here, because you wanted a fresh start. You want to learn how to live without fucking everything that moves."

He smiled and shook his head. "You want to know what I need, Justin?" he asked in his sexy rasp.

To answer the question, Brian strode over to the door, closed and locked it, grabbed me by the front of my polo shirt, and shoved me against the door. I gasped, causing my month to open a bit, and Brian used the opportunity to capture my lips with his. I could feel the anaconda in his pants pressing against my stomach.

I knew that I should have pushed him away, but I lost every bit of rational thought when I felt his tongue touch mine. I reached up and ran my fingers through the soft hair on the back of his head, moaning as his tongue explored the inside of my mouth. Despite the stress I had been under that afternoon, I hadn't had a cigarette all day, and I could smell leftover smoke on his clothes. Combined with the scent of his cologne, which probably cost more for a bottle than Daphne and I spend on groceries in a whole month, he smelled like heaven.

Brian broke the kiss a moment later and turned his head to suck on my neck, his hands roaming up my shirt to stroke my bare back. My mouth free, I gasped for air. "Brian..."

He hummed as his hands journeyed to the front of my pants, where he pulled the button free, his hot mouth still attached to the delicate skin on my neck.

"Brian... stop."

He drew back and looked down at me as he lowered my zipper. "We both know that you don't want me to stop, Sunshine... you want this just as much as I do." He then reached into my briefs and grabbed hold of my cock, which was pulsating along with my rapid heartbeat. "Oh, yeah," he groaned, feeling my response to him.

"Brian..." I whimpered, my brain barely connecting with my mouth as he swiped his thumb over my leaking slit and smeared my pre-cum around the head. God, that feels so fucking good...

He stuck his thumb into his mouth and groaned at the taste of me. His lips were soon back on mine and his hand was back on my dick. I was vaguely aware of him grabbing onto my shoulder with his other hand and steering me over to the empty bed.

I snapped back into reality when I felt my back hit the mattress and Brian climbed on top of me. "Brian."

"Hmm?" he sighed as his warm hand once again claimed my dick.

I turned my head as he bent down to kiss me. "We can't do this," I said. Although it was the last thing I wanted to do, I grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away. "Not here."

He propped himself up and raised an eyebrow. "We can go to a hotel... or to your place."

"No," I said as I pushed him off of me and stood up. I tucked my dripping dick back into my pants and zipped them up. "We can't do this ever, and especially not here. Even if you're not my patient anymore, you're still a patient here, where I work."

Brian sighed and got up to return to packing. "Well, I won't be a patient here in about five minutes."

I stood behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. "Brian, please don't leave. Just give it a few more days-"

"You know what? It's ironic," he said, shrugging my hands off before walking into the bathroom.

"What is?"

He walked out a few moments later with a toiletry bag. "Just last night, I wrote in that dumbass journal you gave me that I almost didn't want to leave, and now I can't wait to get the fuck out of here."

Before I could ask him about that, there was a knock at the door. "Brian, are you in there?" I heard Dr. Vic's voice ask.

I walked over and opened the door. Surprised to see me, Vic said, "Justin, you're not allowed in the patient rooms."

"I know, but-"

He looked over my shoulder and saw Brian standing behind me. "Brian, are you going somewhere?" Vic asked him as I heard Brian zipping his suitcase closed.

"Yeah, I'm hitting the road, Jack," Brian answered sternly.

"I'm trying to get him to reconsider," I said to Vic in an attempt to excuse why I was in Brian's room with him.

"Will you tell me why you're leaving?" Vic asked.

Brian put his suitcase on the floor and extracted the handle. "I've done more than enough talking with shrinks in the past five days to last me a lifetime, so no." He pulled his suitcase behind him towards the doorway, but was forced to stop when Vic and I stood in his way. "Move," Brian ordered, mostly directing the word at me.

"We can't force him to stay, Justin," Vic said to me, grabbing my elbow to pull me out of the room.

"You're not even going to try?" I asked Vic, my voice sounding angrier than I meant it to. This time, I didn't even try to hold back my tears. "The program isn't even half over yet!"

"He's here voluntarily, and has obviously made his mind up to leave the program for whatever reason," Vic said. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he said to me, "You have to let him go, son."

I lowered my head and followed Vic out of the room, with Brian not far behind me. Again feeling that magnetic pull that I couldn't resist, I started walking beside him as he made his way to the elevator at the front of the building.

"Will you please just tell me why you're leaving?" I pleaded.

"I told you why," he said, confidently striding forward.

"You say that you don't care if I'm your counselor or not, but you only decided to leave after Vic told you that he was taking over your case," I pointed out. "So cut the bullshit and tell me the truth."

"Psychoanalyze me all you want, Sunshine, but this bird, you cannot change."

We reached the front desk next to the elevator, where Vanessa was sitting and reading a magazine.

"Can I have my cellphone, please?" he asked her.

"Are you leaving, Brian?" she asked, looking down at his suitcase as she reached into a drawer to get his phone.

Brian pocketed the phone and hit the arrow for the elevator to go down. "Yep, for I must be traveling on now, ‘cause there's too many places I've got to see."

Vanessa squinted her eyes. "Uh... okay."

Brian smiled at her as the elevator door opened. "Skynyrd, Free Bird." He stepped inside the elevator and hit what I assumed was the button for the first floor on the panel, but I put my hand out to block the door from closing.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Oh... Maui, Paris, a gay bar in Brooklyn, who knows?" he said sarcastically. "Now kindly move your hand, so I can get the fuck out of here."

I sighed and stepped back, staring into his eyes until the door closed.

********************

"Oh, it's beautiful Justin, thank you!" Vanessa said after unwrapping the painting I made for her birthday. She sat the canvas on the table and hugged me, giving me a loud smoochy kiss on my cheek.

I plastered on a fake smile after she released me. "You're welcome," I said to her. While she was showing the painting off to the others at the table, I announced, "Well, I'm going to use the little boy's room, and then I'm going to get going."

"Okay Hon, thanks for coming tonight," Vanessa said.

I walked to the back of the restaurant and pushed open the door to the men's room. I was standing at a urinal taking care of nature when Hobbs walked in. Although there were three other empty ones to use, he chose the urinal right next to the one I was using and unzipped his pants.

"'sup," he said to me as he respectfully stared at the wall ahead of us.

"'sup," I mumbled back, wishing that we weren't alone in the not-so-nice-smelling room. After giving myself a shake, I quickly zipped my pants back up and hit the flusher.

I washed my hands, and I was drying them when he flushed and walked over to the sinks. "That was a really nice painting... I forgot that you were into that art shit."

"Thanks," I said as I tossed the paper towels into the trash and moved to leave.

"Hey, uh..." he said. "What were you doing after this?"

"Going home to bed," I answered, hardly able to wait to get outside and have a cigarette. This was not the day to try to quit.

He sauntered over to me, giving me a little smile. "Would you like some company?"

Christ... "No, I really wouldn't... and I wish that you would find some other fag to play out your latent homosexual fantasies with."

"What the fuck did you say?" he asked, as if he hadn't just propositioned me.

I walked over so we were nearly toe-to-toe. "I could never be desperate enough to fuck you, Hobbs. I have had much hotter," I paused to glance down at his denim-covered crotch, "and much bigger than you."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out of the restaurant. I had to park about two blocks away, so I pulled out my smokes and lit one while walking in the direction of my car. After taking a couple of puffs, I took my cell phone out of my pocket. I scrolled down to the number I wanted and hit the send button.

Three rings later, the familiar sexy voice answered. "Sunshine?"

"Hey... where are you?"

**Brian's POV**

I heard a knock on my hotel room door and smiled. I restrained the urge to jump off the couch to answer it, because I didn't want to appear too happy that he was there. I waited for a few seconds before getting up and strolling over to the door. I looked into the peephole, saw the familiar blonde hair and pouty pink lips, and pulled the door open.

"Hey," I said casually. "Come on in."

I held the door open as Sunshine walked into my spacious suite at the Bryant Park Hotel. "Wow," he said, looking around the living room area. "This is a nice place."

"I usually stay here when I come to the city for business and... pleasure," I said, purring the last word.

He bit his bottom lip and sat on the couch. "We need to get a few things straight," he informed me.

More talking? Shit, that's the last thing I thought we'd do when he got here. I sighed and sat at the other end of the couch, trying to keep my distance, otherwise I'd be bound to rip his clothes off at any second. "Such as?"

"Why did you leave the treatment center today?"

I grunted in annoyance. "Again, I told you why I was leaving. I don't know what else you expect me to say."

"Well, I noticed that you seemed to be irritated about something during the evening group-"

"And how would you have noticed that?" I asked sharply. "You didn't even look at me until I got up to leave."

"Okay... me and the others talked about your demeanor after you left the building," he admitted. "Julie said that you seemed fine when you walked into the therapy room, but as the session went on you started getting angry about something. It clearly wasn't over anything that was going on in the room; it was like you were in your own little world. Melanie said that you were looking at me with a snarl on your face... actually for a minute she thought you were snarling at her, but then she remembered that she was sitting next to me and figured that you were pissed at me over something. Then suddenly you got this panicked look on your face, and you got up and left."

I shrugged. "So?"

"So, there was obviously something going on in your head during the session, and then something snapped that made you get an overwhelming urge to get the hell out of the building. I want to know what it was."

I stood up from the couch and walked over to the mini bar where I had a bottle of Jim Beam that I had gotten sent up from downstairs. "Look, if you came here to shrink me, then you can just get the hell out of here," I said angrily as I poured myself a drink. I hope that's not all he came here for...

"That's not what I came here for," he said, standing up to join me by the bar. "I just want the truth. Did you leave because of me?"

I tossed back the whisky and looked down into his sparkling blue eyes. "Drink?" I asked him, sitting down my glass and picking up the other empty glass that was on the bar.

"Answer me," he said, almost a whisper. He pulled the glass out of my hand and sat it back down. "Did you leave because you have feelings for me? Romantic feelings, not just sexual ones?"

I scoffed. "Romance is for straight people and lesbians."

Sunshine sighed and ran a finger along my exposed collarbone. "I lied, you know... when I told you on Wednesday that you were just another patient. You knew I was lying, and you got all upset because I lied about it."

"I didn't get upset," I claimed.

"Yes, you did. You got pissed actually, which seems to be your usual response when your feelings get hurt. It's a natural defense mechanism to express sadness with anger, especially with dominant men like yourself. When you got pissed during the session this evening, I'll bet it was a response to being in the same room with me, and was probably exacerbated by me avoiding eye contact with you as the session wore on."

I looked at a spot on the wall over his shoulder. "Maybe."

He continued caressing my collarbone, which tickled a bit. The fact that he was touching me and standing so close was making me hard. "Just admit it: it hurt your feelings when Vic told you that I wasn't going to be your counselor anymore."

I closed my eyes and sighed.

"I thought so," he said. "And you decided that since I wasn't going to be your counselor anymore, that there was no reason why you should stay in treatment, so you bailed."

"No," I said. "That's not why I left."

"Then why did you?"

I started to nervously tap my fingers on the bar. Just admit it, Kinney... the worldprobably won't stop spinning. "During the session earlier, I realized that... I have feelings for you," I said quietly.

He gave me a sweet smile and asked, "And that scares the shit out of you, doesn't it?"

I sucked in my lips and nodded.

"Brian, you weren't going to be my patient anymore because I told Dr. Vic today that I have feelings for you, too," he said. "It would have been unethical for me to continue as your counselor."

"How unethical would it be if you fucked a former patient of yours that is an admitted sex addict, Mr. Taylor?" I asked as I reached up and trailed my finger along his jaw.

He pursed his lips as he began to unbutton my shirt. "Very unethical... but I've followed the rules my whole life... until I met you, that is."

After the last button was free, I pulled off the shirt and let it drop to the floor. "I've never been very good at following rules. I live by my own rules: no apologies, no excuses, no regrets, and anyone that doesn't like it can suck my dick."

"Well," he said as he ogled my pecs. "Maybe I should start living by your philosophy, Mr. Kinney."

Sunshine wrapped his hands around my neck and pulled me down to plant his lips on mine. After a few tender kisses, I felt him nibble on my bottom lip. I growled and grabbed the bottom hem of his shirt, which soon joined mine on the floor. He shivered as I ran my hands down his bare back.

He moved his hot, wet lips over to my neck, kissing and lightly sucking on the skin as he popped the button on my jeans. He made his way up to my ear and whispered, "Where's the bedroom?"

Without a word, I grabbed the boy around his thighs and hoisted him over my shoulder like Tarzan. I carried Sunshine into the bedroom and dropped him onto the bed, which had already been turned down by the housekeeping service.

"Oh, here it is," he said, his eyes wandering over the ceiling above.

I smiled and yanked off his tennis shoes and socks. Like a good boy, he unzipped his jeans and began to pull them down along with his little black briefs. I helped pull them off the rest of the way and stood back to marvel at the beautiful, naked young man. His pale skin shone flawlessly in the soft lighting of the bedside lamp and his thick cock stood proudly at attention. Of all the naked men I've seen in my time, this one was without a doubt the fairest one of all.

Sunshine propped himself up on his elbows as he watched me strip off my jeans, which I had worn commando. His eyes widened at the site of my dick, which was at full mast and throbbing in anticipation of sinking into what was most likely a very tight ass.

Suddenly, it dawned on him what was about to happen. "Uh, do you have any...?"

I opened the drawer of the nightstand and produced an unopened box of Trojans and new bottle of K-Y. "I had them sent up after you called." I sat my two favorite products in the world down on the bed and climbed on top of the beautiful young man.

"That was rather presumptuous of you, Mr. Kinney," he said as I was leaning in to possess his lips again.

"Now Mr. Taylor, we both knew that this was the inevitable conclusion of this evening," I said, giving him a tiny peck on the tip of his nose.

He smiled as he reached between us to take hold of my cock. "Yeah... it was."

After what seemed like a lifetime of kissing and rutting against each other- but was probably only about a minute or two- Sunshine whispered, "I want you inside me, Brian."

Tears almost sprang from my eyes as I popped the top on the lube and squirted some onto my fingers. Knowing that it had been a while since he last bottomed, I gently prepared him with first one finger, then two. The boy lay panting under me, digging his fingernails into my shoulders and upper back as he clenched his muscles around my fingers.

"Brian..." he whimpered. "Fuck me... please."

I removed my hand from his beautiful ass to tear into the box of condoms. I ripped one off of the strip and pulled the rubber out. Rolling it on in record time, I said to him, "As you wish."

I lined up with his hole and slowly pushed my way in as I sucked on his tongue. He lifted his legs and dug his heels into my butt cheeks to drive me in further. Once I was fully inside, I lifted my head to look at his gorgeous face. He gave me his Sunshine smile and wrapped his legs around my hips to signal that he was ready.

We began a steady rhythm of pelvic thrusts, as if we had been doing this dance together for years. As our tongues dueled for supremacy, we took turns moaning into each other's mouths. After a while I grabbed onto his perfect cock and began to pump along with our thrusts, and he was soon mewling like a kitten.

"Come with me, Sunshine," I said breathlessly as I felt him tightly clamp around me. A couple of pumps later, we both loudly hit our peaks.

"Brian!" he screamed before biting down on my shoulder. I felt his warm cum hit my belly as I filled the condom.

After I finished shaking like an old car on bad gas, I gently pulled out and tossed the condom into the trash can that I had conveniently moved to the side of the bed earlier. I rolled onto my back, still trying to catch my breath, and Sunshine cuddled up against me, all wet and sticky. I would normally go straight out of bed and into the bathroom to clean up, then tell the trick to get the fuck out. I instead wrapped my arms around the delicious little blonde and took a relaxing breath, the smell of his shampoo and cigarettes filling my nose.

I was about to ask Justin if he was ready for round two when I heard him begin to lightly snore against my chest. I chuckled a bit, then closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep with him.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

**Justin's POV**

I woke up to the sound of Janet Jackson's "Nasty" faintly playing, which meant that Daphne was calling me. I regrettably pulled myself out of Brian's arms and picked up my jeans from the floor. Reaching into one of the pockets, I pulled out my phone. Despite the noise and my moving around, Brian was sleeping like a baby. The alarm clock next to the bed read 7:14 AM. Shit, that means I slept for about ten hours straight.

Naked and covered in my dried jizz, I took my phone into the bathroom and answered it after pulling the door closed. "Hey, Daph."

"Where the fuck are you?" she yelled.

"Good morning to you too, Sweetheart," I said to her sarcastically.

"I just got up to take my morning jog, and I noticed that your bedroom door was open and you weren't in there. You never get up this early."

I took a wash rag from the towel rack and wet it in the sink. "That's because I didn't come home last night."

Daphne gasped as I rung out the rag one handed and began cleaning myself off. "You got laid didn't you?"

"We'll talk about it when I get home, okay? I'll be back in a few hours to change for work; I don't have to be in until later, since we only do individual sessions on the weekends. I'll see you soon."

"Wait, tell me who it is!" Daph said before I shut my phone off.

After taking a piss, I brought the rag and my phone into the bedroom and put the phone on the nightstand. I gingerly sat on the bed next to Sleeping Beauty, who was lying on his back. There was some morning sunlight shining through from under the closed curtains, and I could see Brian's chest slowly rise and fall with each slightly-wheezy breath he took. He must have either turned the bedside lamp off before going to sleep, or had woken up in the night and turned it off.

I pulled the duvet and sheet down to his waist and began to wipe his torso, which was covered with my dried cum, with the wet rag all the while marveling at his magnificent body. What had been hidden under his clothes at the treatment facility was just as perfect as I thought it would be. His pecs and abs were well toned, but not overly so. It was obvious that he worked out but he didn't look artificially enhanced, unlike many of the gym-bunny types I had seen showing off their bulging muscles at gay clubs before. I was expecting my touches to rouse him, but Brian was completely out. If it weren't for his little wheezes, I'd be checking for his pulse.

I took the rag and sat it in the bathroom sink, then returned to the bed. I pulled the covers down to Brian's thighs and looked at his morning wood. Ah... perfect. I had always been a bit of a size queen, and his cock was more than adequate. I wished that I had brought my sketchbook so that I could finally create an accurate drawing of his gorgeous naked body.

I climbed between his legs and put my mouth over the head of his cock. I could taste the remnants of the condom from the night before, but I ignored that as I took him deeper into my mouth. I started to suckle lightly, and I heard Brian gasp a little, signaling that he was awake. A few moments later I felt him run his hands through my hair, and he spread his legs a bit more to give me room.

"Sunshine," he sighed.

As I continued to suck his beautiful dick, I reached down to fondle his balls. Remembering his previous bout with cancer, I lifted my head to ask him, "Is this okay?"

"I'm good as new," he said. "Don't stop."

I went back to work, alternating between taking him deep into my mouth and licking the head and the shaft, all the while massaging his sack and perineum. He continued to play with my hair as he began to whimper a bit. When I could tell that he was close to shooting, I swallowed him and stuck a fingertip into his hole.

"Shit Justin!" he hissed, followed by a loud moan as he came down my throat a few seconds later. I cleaned him up with my tongue, making sure to get every drop of his salty, sweet load.

I laid down next to him and looked into his sleepy eyes. "'Morning, Sunshine," he rasped.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep on you last night," I said.

He smiled. "Well, you just made up for it... that was amazing."

I gave him a kiss, which he deepened as he rolled me over onto my back. I could feel his still-hard dick against my groin. He kissed his way down my chest, stopping to give each nipple a bit of attention. He got to my dick and quickly engulfed me.

"Oh!" I yelled out, surprised by his forcefulness. He claimed the day before that he didn't give head very often, but he was damned good at it! It only took about twenty seconds of him deep-throating me before I came. If the people in the neighboring rooms hadn't been awake before, my screams certainly did the trick.

"Roll over," Brian said after licking me clean. I obliged and balled a pillow up under my head. I felt him make a line of kisses down my lower back as he kneaded my cheeks. "Your ass is so perfect, Sunshine... it was made for fucking."

I smiled as he licked a strip from the top of my crack down to my hole. He spent a few minutes stabbing and licking around as I moaned and cursed into the pillow. I started humping the bed, needing some kind of friction on my cock. Taking the hint, Brian grabbed my hips and pulled me up onto my knees. I reached up to get a condom from the nightstand and tossed it over my shoulder.

Brian chuckled, and I heard him tear the wrapper open. He was soon inside me and grabbed my dick to stroke along with his thrusts. He grabbed onto my left hand with his, lacing our fingers together.

After we came, we ended up in the huge glass and marble shower, where we kissed and fondled each other as much as we washed each other. We jerked each other off before getting out to dry off.

"When do you have to be at work?" he asked as he rubbed my head with a towel.

"One. I'm having my first session with Nick and his girlfriend today," I said.

"Sounds like fun," he said sarcastically.

I decided that I had to acknowledge the elephant in the room. "Brian... what is this?" I asked, gesturing between us with my hand.

He sighed. "I don't know."

"What's going to happen after I leave here today?"

He tied a towel around his hips and turned to walk back into the bedroom. "I don't know."

I couldn't help but groan at his lack of answers as I followed him. "Well, what do you know?" He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "And don't say ‘I don't know.'"

He smiled, as I obviously caught him. "I know that I'm going back to Pittsburgh tomorrow evening. I booked a flight; it leaves at 8:15."

"Oh," I said, looking away so he wouldn't see the disappointment on my face.

"I talked to Cynthia yesterday when I was in the cab on the way here, and she said that we signed someone on to model for the Carter account."

"Congratulations," I said weakly, my attempt at showing some enthusiasm failing.

"So I really need to be there Monday morning to get things in order for the new campaign."

Keeping my back to him, I bent over to pick up my underwear off the floor. "I see."

Brian looked over at the clock. "You still have a least four hours before you need to head to work."

I stepped into my pants and said, "I need to go home to get some clean clothes first."

"Where the hell do you live, Philly?" he asked, chuckling. "Come on... I can order us some room service, and we can eat breakfast in bed."

I sat down on the bed to put on my socks and shoes, and he sat down next to me. "Justin," he said, grabbing my wrist to stop me.

I looked over at him. "I think that's only like, the third time I've heard you call me by my real name."

"Well, that sunshine smile of yours is missing at the moment."

I pulled my arm away and continued getting dressed.

"You know, you can come back here after you're done at work," he said.

"And do what? Fuck, eat dinner, fuck some more, go to sleep, and fuck until I have to go to work again tomorrow? Then I'll come back and we'll fuck some more until you have to go to the airport?" I asked in a grouchy tone.

"The eating and sleeping are optional," he said.

I tied my second shoe, pocketed my cell, and got up to go into the living room to find my shirt. "I should have known..." I grumbled.

"What?" Brian asked.

"That I was just another fuck to you. Just another trick to hump and dump."

"Justin, you're..." He looked down at the carpet as if the answer was written there.

"I'm what?" I asked as I pulled on my t-shirt.

"You don't really think that, do you?"

"What am I supposed to think?" I asked.

Suddenly, he started to get angry. "Well, what did you expect to happen? Did you think that I'd stay here forever? I have a life in Pittsburgh, Justin! I have two businesses to run-"

"And a kingdom of adoring fans to get back to," I finished for him.

"Fuck my adoring fans!" he yelled.

"Oh, and I bet you can't wait to get back home to fuck them all!" I yelled back as I headed towards the door.

Before I could open it, he grabbed me by my shoulders, spun me around to face him, and shoved me against the door roughly. He took several deep breaths as he stood inches from my face. "Justin... I'm not the same guy I was when I walked into the rehab facility last Monday. That guy... that guy would have never admitted to someone that he had feelings for him. Hell, before Monday, I didn't know that I could ever develop feelings for someone."

I looked down at his chest to avoid his beautiful hazel eyes. "Brian, I... I hope that when you get back home, you enroll in an out-patient program or support group, or at least try your best to cut down on your number of sex partners."

"Sunshine..." he whispered, cupping my chin to make me look at him.

"I'm sorry, Brian," I said, my eyes clouding up. "I can't spend any more time with you this weekend, because it will just be harder for me to say good-bye to you when you have to leave."

I reached up to pull his head down to me and gave him one last soft kiss. I then pulled away from his grasp and left without another word.

Monday, June 13, 2005

**Brian's POV**

I walked into the Liberty Diner Monday morning and took an empty booth. My ass hardly hit the seat before Debbie bustled over to me.

"Brian!" she screeched. "You're back early!"

"Yep. I couldn't stay away from glorious Pittsburgh," I said sarcastically as she bent down to give me a loud kiss on my cheek.

"But... I thought you still had another week to go in re- uh, with your vacation," she said, catching herself before telling a roomful of queens the truth about where I had been for the past week.

I took a napkin off the table and rubbed my cheek, which was undoubtedly now stained with red lipstick. "That was the plan, but plans change."

She stared down at me for a few beats as she chewed her gum, but refrained from questioning me further on the issue. "What do you want to eat, Honey?"

"Just some coffee."

She nodded and went to grab a pot behind the counter. After she returned to fill my cup, she looked in the direction of the door after the bell rang. "Well, look who's here!" she cooed.

I looked up and saw Mikey heading towards my table, pushing a stroller with the rugrat inside. Debbie sat the coffee pot on the table to pick up her granddaughter.

"So, how's little Elizabeth Deborah Novotny-Bruckner doing?" I asked Mikey, referring to his eight-month old daughter, who was named after both of her adopted fathers' mothers. That name is a fucking mouthful...

"Besides the teething, Lizzie's fine," Mikey said with a smile as he took the seat across from me. "I thought you were in Spain."

I looked up at Deb and tried to hold back my shock. Wow... she actually kept my going to rehab a secret, at least from Mikey. She gave me a wink before handing the baby back to Mikey and departing to deliver plates to one of her tables.

"Um... I didn't go to Spain," I confessed. "I went to New York."

"Oh. To go shopping? Meet with a client?"

"To go to rehab for sex addiction," I said. I didn't care if anyone overheard me, at that point.

Mikey froze with his mouth open. "Huh," he finally said several seconds later.

I nodded as I took a sip of my coffee, which tasted as terrible as ever. Why the hell don't I go to a real coffee shop instead of this dump?

"I only lasted five of the fourteen days before I left, though. I got back Saturday night."

After Justin left my hotel room on Saturday morning, I changed my flight from Sunday evening to Saturday evening, wanting to get out of that city as soon as possible. I had spent Sunday watching old movies and moping around. I hadn't been able to sleep for shit for the past two nights since being home. Although it was great not having to hear Melanie snore anymore and being back in my own bed, I ached to have Justin back in my arms. That night we had spent together was the best night of sleep I had had in a long time. Of course, waking up with him was even better...

"Why'd you leave early?" Mikey asked as he bounced Lizzie on his lap. "Was it too hard for you to keep it in your pants for two weeks?"

I snorted. He had no idea how hard... "Yeah, but the main reason I left was because I..." I stopped and sighed before mumbling the rest of the sentence, hiding my mouth behind my coffee cup.

"You what?" Mikey asked, tilting his head.

"I fell for my counselor," I practically yelled.

Just as I thought, Mikey's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Wha... you..."

I nodded.

"You fell for your counselor?" he repeated. "As in, fell in love?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. I'm here, he's in Manhattan."

"Does he know how you feel?"

"Yeah... well, the ‘L word' wasn't mentioned, but he knows I care about him beyond it being physical." But the physical was fucking awesome...

"And how does he feel about you?" he asked.

"He said he had feelings for me too, but..." I shook my head to finish the sentence.

Mikey looked at me in disappointment. "So that's it? You're giving up on him, just like that?"

"What the hell was I supposed to do? I'm not some pathetic little faggot that's gonna throw myself at his feet and beg him to be with me." I adjusted my tie. "I have a little more self respect than that."

Mikey snorted. "Well good thing I don't, because I wouldn't be with Ben otherwise."

I thought back to nearly four years prior, when Mikey convinced Ben to give him a chance after singing Michael Jackson's "Ben" on stage at Woody's. "Well, I don't think there's a song called ‘Justin.'"

"That's his name?"

"Yeah." I smiled as I imagined his angelic face.

"What's so special about this Justin?"

I thought about it for a few moments. I had asked myself that question several times over the past week, and still didn't really know. "Well, from my first session with him, I found it so easy to open up to him. I told him everything: things about my shitty childhood and how Jack beat me, about my cancer, my insecurities... things I've never even told you. And although he didn't have to, he told me things about himself, like how his dad disowned him after he came out when he was seventeen. It was the first time I've ever gotten to know a guy that I wanted to fuck."

"What's he like?" Mikey asked. "Is he hot?"

"Why do you want to know? You're a married woman." I reached over and tapped the ring on his left hand.

"So? Just because Ben and I are monogamous doesn't mean I'm dead."

I sighed. "He's fucking beautiful. And he's totally not my usual type- he's a skinny little blonde haired, blue eyed twink."

"The polar opposite of you," Mikey said.

"Right. He's twenty-two, and he sketches and paints in his free time. He's sensitive and caring, and he does charity work. He has the most amazing smile..." I felt myself getting hard thinking about that tight little body of his, with that delicious ass and perfect cock...

"Brian, I never thought I'd say something like this to you of all people, but if you really love this guy," Mikey said, shaking his head a bit at the ludicrous idea, "then you should do whatever you have to do to be with him. I mean, this is the first guy that you've ever really cared about, and you may never-"

"No... this is for the best," I said sternly, not really believing it. "He's going to start working on his PhD at NYU this fall and I have Kinnetik to run."

"And Babylon," Mikey added.

I shook my head. "I'm probably going to sell the club. The guy that owns Pistol and the Adonis is interested in buying."

"Really?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You would sell your playground?"

"Why not? I don't need it, especially now that I'm trying to cut down on my number of sexual partners. And I need to get away from all the drugs and booze. I'd like to still be around when Gus has kids of his own."

Mikey stared at me for a few moments. "Okay... who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?"

We chuckled, which made Lizzie start giggling.

"She's been doing that a lot lately," Mikey said as he smiled at his little girl. "She hears someone laugh, she laughs."

I smiled as I looked at the kid. "Yeah, Gus did the same thing when he was a baby."

"You miss him, don't you?" Mikey asked.

"He's my son Mikey, of course I miss him." We looked around at the assorted characters who were sitting at the counter and other booths for a few seconds. "Hey, do you remember that one guy Bob?" I asked him, referring to a popular top that we used to see around the neighborhood.

"Old Bob?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"Well, we were in our early twenties when we called him ‘Old Bob,' although he probably wasn't much older than we are now," I said. "Do you remember what else we called him, besides ‘Old Bob'?"

Mikey nodded. "The Over-the-Hill Club Boy."

"Exactly." Old Bob earned that nickname after hanging around the clubs way past his prime. Although he was once quite the stud, he eventually stopped clubbing a few years ago after finally realizing that his glory days were over and that nobody wanted to fuck him anymore. I fucked him long before it got to that, though. "I don't want to wake up one day and realize that I'm Old Bob."

"That's why I'm glad I have Ben and the kids, so I don't have to worry about that," he said a little too smugly.

"You're supposed to tell me that I'll always be young and beautiful, asshole," I said flatly.

"You'll always be young and beautiful, asshole," he repeated with a fake smile. "Whatever happened to Old Bob?"

"I don't know. One day he just disappeared... Hell, maybe he died," I guessed. "Anyway, I need to get out now before my balls start sagging to my knees."

Mikey laughed, which made Lizzie giggle again. Looking at his daughter, he asked her, "Uncle Brian's funny, isn't he, Honey Bun?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking hysterical," I mumbled.

**Justin's POV **

I had been in my office at the treatment center on Monday morning for all of five minutes when I got a phone call from Dr. Vic asking me to please report to Dr. Farrow's office immediately. This worried me, as Dr. Farrow was the director of the treatment center and had never requested a meeting with me before.

Several thoughts were going through my head as I rode the elevator down to his first floor office. I was fairly sure the topic of this meeting was about Brian. Did Dr. Farrow find out about my breaking ethics with falling for Brian? Did he somehow find out about me seeing Brian Friday night after he left the facility? Was I in trouble for going into Brian's room?

I knocked on Dr. Farrow's door, and Dr. Vic opened it for me to enter a few moments later. Dr. Vic took one of the two chairs in front of Dr. Farrow's massive desk.

"Have a seat, Mr. Taylor," Dr. Farrow said in his deep, booming voice. Dr. Farrow was a very large man with curly black hair and a full black beard. He was an avid hunter, evidenced by the numerous dead animals mounted on the walls of his office. There was a large elk's head on the wall right above his desk, which stared ominously at anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting across from the doctor. The elk's antlers were probably wider than I am tall. Needless to say, I was terrified of Dr. Farrow... and the elk.

"Yes, sir," I said as I quickly sat in the chair next to Vic. I took a quick peek at the elk before locking eyes with the doctor.

"Mr. Taylor, do you know a young man named Christopher Hobbs?" Dr. Farrow asked.

"Yes," I said. "He's a janitor here."

Dr. Farrow nodded curtly. "When I arrived at my office this morning, I found a message from Mr. Hobbs's lawyer on my voicemail pertaining to you."

"Me?" I asked. "About what?"

"Well, I returned the phone call to his lawyer, a Mr. Sears. Mr. Sears informed me that Mr. Hobbs is seriously considering suing you and the treatment facility for sexual harassment."

My mouth dropped open. That son of a bitch. "Sex... sexual harassment?"

"According to Mr. Hobbs, you have propositioned him for sex on three different occasions over the past week since he began working here," the doctor informed me. "Once in your vehicle, another time in the workout room here in the building, and finally in a men's room at a restaurant."

"That's bullshit!" I yelled. "He propositioned me!" I then knew exactly how Brian must have felt when that guy from his old job sued him, although nothing happened between me and Hobbs, besides that kiss he forced on me in my car.

"Justin," Vic said as he placed his hand on my arm. "Calm down."

"In these types of situations, Mr. Taylor, it's your word against his," Dr. Farrow said. "However, Mr. Sears offered me a deal: if I terminate your employment immediately, Mr. Hobbs will not pursue legal action against you or the treatment center."

I took several deep breaths, trying not to puke or faint. "And what did you tell him?"

Dr. Farrow sighed. "Mr. Taylor, any publicity from this type of lawsuit could hurt the reputation of this facility. To spare us from that, I am requesting that you resign from the company immediately."

"So you agreed?" I asked Dr. Farrow. "Whatever happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty'?"

I looked over at Dr. Vic, who was looking back at me sadly. "I think this is for the best, Justin," Vic said.

Dr. Farrow then handed me a piece of paper. I scanned it quickly and saw that it was a formal resignation request. "Please sign this," the doctor said as he handed me a pen. "Reasons for your departure will remain confidential, I assure you."

I rolled in my lips as I scribbled my signature on the bottom of the page. I stood up and smacked the paper down on his desk.

"Please have your personal things cleared out of your office within the hour," Dr. Farrow said.

I nodded before turning to march out of his office.

"Justin!" Dr. Vic called out behind me as I made my way down the hall towards the elevator. I stopped and turned to look at him.

"Justin, I'm sorry about this," he said.

"Hobbs is the one that tried to fuck me," I told him as I tried to hold back angry tears. "He's only doing this because I turned him down."

"I believe you," Vic said. "If he was only suing you, I would tell you to fight it with your life. But Dr. Farrow's right, unfortunately- especially given that you are a sex addiction counselor, we can't risk any future patients finding out about a lawsuit of this nature."

I leaned up against the wall. "You know, because of the whole Brian thing, I've been questioning whether or not I was cut out for this job- in this specialty, at least."

Vic placed his hand on my shoulder. "Don't let what happened with Brian or this thing with Hobbs deter you," he pleaded. "You're a great counselor, Justin. Please use me as a reference in the future, okay?"

I nodded and pulled Vic in for a hug. "I'm gonna miss you, kid," he said into my shoulder.

"You too, Doc," I said before pulling away to go back to my office for the last time.

Who do you need?

Who do you love?

When you come undone?

"Come Undone"- Duran Duran

**Justin's POV**

"So what are you gonna do now?" Daphne asked me the evening after I got fired. It didn't matter if the record showed that I "formally resigned"- they fired my ass to save their own.

"Fuck if I know," I said as I scraped the bottom of a Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey carton with a spoon.

I had ignored Daph's silly "no ice cream in the house" rule on the way home from the treatment facility and bought two cartons to cheer myself up. I had spent the afternoon making my way through them while Daphne was at school taking her summer classes. I told Daph that it was either ice cream or cigarettes. She said that she would rather see me rot my teeth with sugar than slowly kill myself with cigarettes, so she was bending her rule for me today.

"Ooh, I know!" Daph said, grabbing my shoulder. "We ought to go find Hobbs and beat the shit out of him."

I chuckled. "Yeah, that'd be fun... but I still wouldn't have a job afterward."

"Well, at least that homophobic asshole you call your father said that you didn't have to work while you're still in school," she said.

"No, the homophobic asshole only pays for my tuition and living expenses because it's part of my parents' divorce agreement," I reminded her. "Not because he wants to out of the kindness of his heart or anything."

Of course, part of the agreement was that I had to attend NYU to get the money. But it wasn't as if he couldn't afford it- Craig was a multi-millionaire with a chain of electronics stores all along the east coast. He made a ton of money in the stock market during the "dot-com bubble" and sold his stocks to expand his company before the bubble burst in 2000. Even with what he paid for my and Molly's tuitions and expenses, along with our mom's sizable monthly alimony, Craig could still easily afford his million dollar penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side, a villa in France, and according to Molly, to keep his new bimbo wife in furs and diamonds.

"But it's still nice to make my own money," I said. "It gave me some independence from the old bastard."

"So get a new job," Daph said. "Or just devote your time and energy to earning your PhD."

I stared into the empty carton. "I'm not sure I want to do that anymore."

"Do what?" she asked, a worried look on her face. "Earn your PhD?"

"Yeah."

"Wh... what?!" she sputtered. "You get fired from your first counseling job, and now you don't even want your doctorate anymore?"

"No... I've been thinking about this for the last few days, and I-"

"The last few days since he walked into your life," she said accusatorily. We both knew which he Daphne was referring to. He had been the main thing on my mind for the past seven days. Knowing that he was now almost 400 miles away from me was torture.

"I've been thinking," I said, ignoring her last statement, "that it's about damned time that I start doing what I want to be doing with my life. The only reason that I got into psychology in the first place was because Craig forced me to go to NYU instead of SVA like I wanted."

SVA stood for the School of Visual Arts, which I had applied to in my senior year of high school. Out of thousands of applications submitted for the one hundred slots available for the fall term, I got accepted. It broke my heart the day I mailed in the letter saying that I wouldn't be attending, after Craig refused to pay for it. The campus was just a stone's throw away from our apartment, and I drove past it nearly every day. I almost always glanced over at the building and dreamt of what could have been.

"Psychology was the only thing that interested me. If I earn my doctorate, then that's it; I'll be a psychologist for the rest of my life. Sure, I'll be making a comfortable living, but I won't be happy. Art makes me happy."

"You could combine your counseling degree with your artistic skills and be an art therapist," Daphne said.

I nodded. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Maybe one day I'll be able to be an artist full time, but then I'd still have my counseling degree to fall back on."

"But you know he still won't pay for you to go to art school, especially if that means forgoing your PhD," she said.

"I know, but I can't rely on Craig's money for the rest of my life. Besides, I'm old enough to file for student loans on my own now, and I could probably get some grants, too."

"It's too late for you to be accepted into any school for the fall. Maybe you could start going in January, if you get a portfolio together and apply to all the art schools in the city now," she suggested.

"Well, there is one school in particular that I've been looking at online for the past couple days," I said, still staring into the empty carton of ice cream, as if I could magically make more appear.

"Which one?"

"PIFA."

I looked over at Daph and saw her crinkle her nose. "I don't think I've heard of that one. What does that stand for?"

I bit my lip before saying, "The Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts."

Three Months Later...

**Brian's POV**

Less than a week after getting home from Manhattan, I decided to take Justin's advice and enroll myself in out-patient treatment for my sex addiction. I wanted to believe that I could control my urges without any help, but the first night I went to Babylon to "check on it," I was three tricks in before the truth really hit me. No matter how much of a stubborn asshole I was, I couldn't do this alone.

Knowing that they had both overcome addictions of their own, I asked Theodore and Blake to come to my place for dinner the evening after my epiphany. After telling them the truth about where I had been during my week away, they both assured me that I would not have to go through this alone, that they would be there for me whenever I needed someone to talk to. Blake recommended me to a sex addiction specialist named Sarah Bates, who worked at the treatment center he worked at.

Although it was a bit difficult for me at first, I soon warmed up to Sarah. Besides Deb, who was basically a fag minus the genitalia, I had never talked to a straight woman about my sex life before. After a few sessions, Sarah began urging me join a sex addict's support group, which I at first refused to even consider. She also recommended that I try to abstain from sex for thirty days. I challenged myself to do it, but started losing my mind after the first week.

I then broke down and started attending meetings with a group that met at the Gay and Lesbian Center every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening. I used to joke with people and say that the GLC was only for fags and dykes that couldn't get laid. Turns out, it's also for fags and dykes that want to stop getting laid so much. With my twice-weekly sessions with Sarah, attending every support group meeting, and avoiding every club and sexual establishment on Liberty Avenue, I made it through the first month without sticking my dick into another person. It was also during that month that I sold Babylon, and I anonymously donated the proceeds of the sale to the GLC and the local AIDS hospice.

Following Sarah's advice after my thirty-day vow of chastity was over, I began going on dates a few times a week. Yes, Brian Kinney has actually gone on real dates. Once I told Mikey, Deb, Theodore, and Cynthia of my plan, they started throwing eligible bachelors at me left and right. Believe it or not, some of those dates didn't even end in sex and I never fucked a waiter during any of them. While I did meet a few decent guys- some I saw more than once- I didn't feel a real spark with any of them. No matter how nice he was or how great he was in bed, there was always someone else on my mind.

I had spent the last three months trying to forget about Justin, telling myself that anything I thought I felt for him during my six days in Manhattan was nothing but sexual attraction and temporary insanity. However even after three months, I still couldn't get him out of my mind. I saw his face on every blonde twink I passed on the street. I thought about him while fucking another man and couldn't help comparing the man to him. I dreamt about him numerous times. I would picture his beautiful sunshine smile to help quell stress at work. I hoped that it was him nearly every time my cell phone rang. Although I thought that time would make me forget about him, it only made me miss him more.

No matter how much I missed him though, I forced myself to leave him alone. I still had his cell number programmed into my phone and his business card was still in my wallet. Besides my memories, that card was the only piece of him I had. In my rush to get my suitcase packed at the treatment center, I forgot to grab the sketch he drew of me. I would often take the card out and look at it, no matter how much of a lesbian that made me. I tried to either delete his number or throw his card away several times, but I couldn't. Even if I did, I still had the number committed to memory.

I would often remember when the subject of being "in love" came up during one of my sessions with Justin. At the time, I truly didn't know what being in love with someone was like. He told me that when you're in love with someone, you physically ache for them when you're apart. I thought that was impossible at the time, but now I know exactly what he was talking about.

"Brian?"

"Huh?" I asked, snapping out of my thoughts and looking up.

"Did you have anything to share with us today?" a femme named Lisa, the leader of the support group, asked me from her place at the podium.

"Um... no," I said. When I first joined the group, I thought that I would be merely an observer. I've never really minded public speaking, as long as I wasn't talking about anything about myself personally. During my fourth time at group however, I gathered the guts to get up there and share a few things about myself. I forced myself to get up there at least once every three or four meetings. Tonight, I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Okay," Lisa said. "Anyone else?"

When no one else volunteered to speak, Lisa dismissed our meeting.

I walked down the hallway towards the front of the building, which passes through a large room where banquets and other events are held. From seeing the flyers and signs posted for the last couple of weeks, I knew that there was going to be an art show held there the next day. As I walked into the room, I saw that there were several people setting up for the show. Many of them were hanging drawings, paintings, and photos on the walls.

Since I wasn't planning on coming to the show, I stopped and looked at a few of the things that were already displayed. Not surprisingly, many of the pieces were of naked men and women. I diverted my eyes when I came across a painting of two naked women kissing. Gross...

I looked across the other side of the room and gasped slightly when I saw a trim blonde man in a red t-shirt and jeans that had his back to me as he hung what appeared to be painting of a naked man on the wall. Much like I had with nearly every blonde man I had seen from a distance over the past three months, I wondered for a few seconds whether or not it could be Justin.

I shook my head, knowing that Justin was in Manhattan, most likely back at school. Itching for a cigarette, I started to head to the door.

"Brian!" I heard the unmistakable voice yell behind me.

I stopped in my tracks, but refused to turn around for several seconds.

"Brian," he repeated. I could hear his footsteps coming towards me.

Slowly I turned around. "Sunshine?" I asked, wondering if I was dreaming as I stared down into his beautiful blue eyes.

"Hey," he said before reaching up to wrap his arms around my shoulders.

I took a deep breath and immediately recognized his smell. I returned his hug, squeezing him tightly as if he was going to disappear any second.

After telling myself that I was definitely awake, I pulled away from him as I shook my head in confusion. "What... how...?"

"Come here," he said as he grabbed onto my hand. "I want to show you my stuff."

He pulled me over to where he had hung the painting. I stared at his profile with my mouth open as he looked at it, our hands still clasped together. Christ, he's acting as if we haven't been apart for the last three months, like he's been here all along!

"What the fuck are you doing here, Justin?" I asked him, finally able to put a sentence together.

He turned his head to look at me. "I live here now," he said almost nonchalantly.

I felt my eyebrows go halfway up my forehead. "Since when? And why?"

"Well, I don't work at the treatment center anymore-"

"Why not?" I asked, almost yelling even though he was standing right in front of me. "Did you quit?"

"Eh... yes and no. That's not important," he said, waving his other hand to dismiss the question. "Anyway, I decided that I wasn't going to get my PhD and that I wanted to go to art school instead."

"But that doesn't explain why you're here," I said.

He shrugged. "I heard that the PIFA was a great school-"

"There are several art schools in New York," I interrupted again.

He gave me that sunshine smile. "I know."

"Then why did you come all the way to Pittsburgh to go to art school?"

He dropped my hand and reached up to place both hands on the sides of my neck. "I came here to be with you, dumbass."

Despite the insulting name, I couldn't help but smile. "You did?"

He nodded as his eyes started to glisten with tears. "I told my dad that I wasn't going back to NYU, and he cut me off just like I knew he would. Luckily Daphne was able to find a new roommate, and I moved into my mom's spare room. I got my acceptance letter for the PIFA's winter term about two weeks ago, and I packed all I could fit into my car and drove here. Once I got here though, I was too chicken shit to call you until I found a job and got my own place. I was afraid you might tell me to stop being a silly little faggot and to go back home."

"I wouldn't have said that," I told him before pulling him into another hug. "I wish you would have called me when you first applied to the school. Where've you been staying?"

"I stayed at a motel for a couple nights before coming here to see if they could hook me up with some cheap housing. That's when I heard about the art show. I'm staying at the Vaseline Tower now."

I pulled away to look at him in horror. "That shit hole?"

"It's all I can afford. Campus housing isn't available until the first week of January."

"No, no, no," I said, shaking my head. "You're coming home with me."

Did I really just invite him to live with me? I sure did... and I wanted nothing more.

He put his arms around me again as he whispered into my ear, "I couldn't live without you, Brian. Well, I could... but I don't want to."

I had to squeeze my eyes closed to hold back tears of my own that were threatening to fall. "Good." I grabbed his face to give him a kiss.

After I released him, he used his sleeve to wipe his eyes. "Uh... you gonna look at your painting now?"

My painting? I turned to look at what he was talking about and saw that the naked man on the canvas was me.

"Wow," I said. Even from memory, the painting was a perfect likeness. It showed me lying on my back in bed asleep, the blanket pulled down to reveal my fully engorged cock. I turned to look at the sketch next to it, which showed me in the midst of unbuttoning my shirt, my toned chest peaking out. There were two other sketches on the other side of the painting. One showed me without a shirt on with a slight smile on my face, and the other appeared to be of myself and Justin with me standing behind him with my arms around his bare torso. His head was turned to the side to kiss me on my neck.

"What do you think?" Sunshine asked me.

"The PIFA will be lucky to have you," I said as I looked back at the painting. I then turned and asked him, "Are you done here?"

"Yeah."

I put my arm around his shoulders. "Let's go home, Sunshine."

December 24, 2005

**Justin's POV**

"Which one do you want to open next, Sonny Boy?" Brian asked as we sat on Debbie's living room floor on Christmas Eve. Lindsay and Gus had flown in to Pittsburgh for the holidays and planned to spend the next day with her parents and sister. Brian and I were set to fly out to Manhattan that night to spend Christmas Day with my mom, Molly, and Daphne.

"Um... this one!" Gus yelled out before grabbing a box wrapped in Mickey and Minnie Mouse-themed holiday paper.

"This one's from Justin," Lindsay said, making sure to look at the gift tag before Gus ripped it apart.

A few days after moving in with Brian the night that I ran into him at the GLC, I was called into a job interview at the children's hospital at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center for a position as an art therapist. I got the job and I have loved it so far. I spend my days working with sick and injured children, helping them cheer up and recover through art. Even if I mostly just help the kids make stick figures, it is very fulfilling. I will be dropping down to part time once I begin my classes at the PIFA in a few weeks.

"Oh cool!" Gus said as he freed the Doctor Dreadful Zombie Lab I bought him. "Thank you Justin!"

"You're welcome." I looked at his mother and said, "I was hoping that he didn't have it already."

"No," Lindsay said as she looked at the zombie on the box wearily before smiling at me. "He certainly doesn't. I'm sure he'll have lots of fun with it."

"Well folks, Justin and I need to get going," Brian said as he picked himself up off the floor. "We have a plane to catch in a few hours."

I stood up and exchanged handshakes, hugs, and kisses with all of Brian's family members, which included Lindsay, Gus, Debbie, Carl, Ted, Blake, Michael, Ben, Hunter, and baby Lizzie. I guess that they are all my family now, too.

After putting on our coats and gathering up the presents we had each received that day, Brian and I walked out of Debbie's house and began making our way down the street toward Brian's Corvette.

"We could have stayed a bit longer," I told Brian.

"I wanted to make love to that sweet ass of yours before we left for the airport," he said before leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek.

I was so proud of the progress that Brian had made since leaving the treatment center in Manhattan. He still regularly attended counseling sessions with his therapist, mostly to resolve his unsettled issues from his childhood, and group meetings at the GLC. Brian still enjoyed having sex on a daily basis, but it was always with me.

We put our presents in the trunk of the Corvette. Before I could walk over to the passenger side door to let myself in, Brian grabbed me and planted a hungry kiss on me.

"Have I told you how much I love you lately, Sunshine?"

"Mmm... I remember hearing you screaming it this morning in bed," I answered. "But it's always nice to hear it again."

"I love you, Mr. Taylor."

"I love you, too, Mr. Kinney."

**THE END**