The Art of Hero Worship (15 page)

Before we lie down, we sit beside each other
on the edge of the bed. The kiss he places on my lips is something
about which I could write poetry, and I’m no flowery lyricist. But
with proper motivation, such as the brushing of his solemn lips to
my eager ones, I might very well be inspired to give poetry another
try.

After the kiss, his fingers are on the
buttons on my shirt, and he never looks away from my eyes as he
unbuttons each one. He pushes it off my shoulders, and pulls my
thin white T-shirt over my head with a swift stroke and then
studies me. I know what he’s thinking as it shows in his
wider-than-usual eyes. He’s thinking that he has never seen
anything as beautiful in the world as my naked chest, and he’s
remembering how close he came to losing me, on more than one
occasion, for more than one reason. The way he touches me, a
feather-light touch I had no idea he was capable of, shoots tremors
of desire though my limbs, and everywhere else too.

I want to remove his T-shirt, as I would do
right now if he were a woman. But my motivation is different with
Liam than it was with Ginny; I need to see his chest… to touch the
thick curls there, to lose myself in his strength and masculinity.
Without a hint of drama, he rips his own shirt over his head and
the deed is done without my assistance. And I’m surprisingly fine
with my lack of participation.

What happens next comes from pure instinct
on both of our parts. At the exact same moment we spontaneously
clutch each other with tightened fists and drag our bare chests
together so we can feel the joining of our bodies in a way that
isn’t so much sexual as it is spiritual. When we finally release
each other, our pants and boxers come off in a heated rush, each of
us hurriedly removing our own. I don’t think any buttons or zippers
were undone in the process. Everything was just yanked off and
dropped to the floor.

I’m the first to reach out and touch.
Although I want Liam to take charge, as he did that night last
summer, it needs to be this way tonight. I need to initiate the
intimacy, to prove that this
is truly
what I want... and
that him being male isn’t too much for me to handle.

When my fingers tentatively wrap around his
swollen dick, Liam groans deeply, which breaks the spell of
silence. He returns the gesture, reaching out to hold my dick that
is as ready for action as his, and I allow a similar sound to
escape my lips. There we sit, our hands and eyes on each other, and
I can’t deny that it’s very different from anything else I’ve
experienced, even from the single night we were intimate last
summer. But maybe this kind of
different
is also
better
.

“I wanna make love to you tonight, Jase. Can
I?” His voice doesn’t tremble or break on the words, and I’m
impressed. I couldn’t have asked with such confidence.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.” He sighs
once and I can tell he means, “Who’s gonna do what to who?”

I answer with honesty. “I want you to fill
me.”
Isn’t being on the receiving end of penetrative sex the
ultimate in hero worship?
It’s actually giving myself to him,
and it’s what I want. His closed-lip smile indicates that he knows
my desires, and was hoping that this would be my preference
tonight.

“Jase….” He whispers into my ear and prickly
chills rush to cover every inch of my skin. “I haven’t ever done
this with a man.”

“You’ll know what to do.” I don’t whisper,
instead I speak softly, as I want to relay my confidence with the
tone of my voice.

“Yes… you’re right… I’ll know.” He smiles
again and this time it’s more deliberate, and I believe him. And I
suddenly feel certain that I love him. A long list of logical
reasons for this love doesn’t come rushing into my mind at this
abrupt recognition; it’s more of just an inner knowledge. I wonder
if I’ll be honest enough to tell him so before the night is
over.

Liam is prepared. He leans to his bedside
table and pulls from the top drawer the things we’ll need. Without
a word he pushes me onto my stomach and squirts something cool and
moist on his fingers, which he applies to my ass without expertise,
but making up for it with determination. I feel shy and awkward and
probably a lot like a sixteen-year-old virgin as Liam’s unwieldy
fingers massage and then enter me. It’s incredibly intimate to be
touched this way. I blurt out, “I think I might come.”

“Me too.” He says, and in the middle of this
clumsy and intimate moment, we’re able to look into each other’s
eyes and laugh. I think that we can do this is a positive sign, or
more likely, a gift. Liam clears his throat and utters, “Let’s slow
down… there’s no hurry tonight. And when I come, I want it to be
inside you.”

“Words like those are not going to help me
to slow down, Liam.” We laugh again.

Then he takes control in the same way he did
last summer. He explores me thoroughly with eager fingers, until I
can tolerate the new sensation without too much squirming.
Eventually the probing eases and Liam lies on his stomach beside
me, and we again start to kiss. He breaks away from me after every
third or so kiss, to study my expression, to kiss my eyes, to watch
my face as he inserts a single finger, or two, more deeply. “I want
you so much,” he confesses.

“I’m ready… I’m ready for you now.” My voice
is shaky, but he gets the message.

I assume he’s going to climb onto my back to
enter me from behind, because it fulfills my mental image of two
men making love, but he doesn’t. Maybe he’s afraid that the
position will bring me back to the worst of days, when he climbed
on my back to save my life. Gently, Liam pushes on my side and I
roll again onto my back. “I want to look into your eyes.” He kneels
and lifts my ass onto his thigh and only then does he quickly pull
a condom on. Without a word he raises my left leg to his strong
shoulder and guides himself inside me, his expression tense with
need and concentration.

I feel the pressure of an invasion that my
body tries to fight. But Liam’s gentle persistence is greater than
my body’s resistance, and once he gets to a certain point the
struggle ends. His need has won this brief, but intense, battle,
and he slides fully inside me.

“Oh, God… you’re in me.” Not the most
intelligent of observations, but my remark seems to work for
him.

His eyes are wet, but it’s with the
intensity of his pleasure, not sadness. “Yeah… please say it’s good
for you.”

I’m awed by the full, stretched sensation
but I’m not sure “good” is the right word for it. Before I respond,
I take myself in hand and begin to rub. With the unique dual
sensation of Liam deep inside me and the friction where it counts,
I’m able to say honestly, “Move inside me… and it will feel better
than good.”

He seems to struggle to keep his eyes open
because of how good he feels. “I need to go fast….” His words come
in a rush.

“Yeah… I do too.” He immediately quickens
his pace and I try to pump myself to match his thrusts but soon any
rhythm we’d established disappears; the result can be called
nothing but a frenzy of movement.

When he sees me start to come, he stiffens,
squeezes his eyes shut, and lets go as well. The moment of release
seems to last longer for me than ever before; there’s time enough
for the magic of this moment to leave a lasting imprint on my
brain. After we finish, his breathing doesn’t slow right away as I
expect. Instead he sucks in a breath, swallows deeply, and says,
“I’m going to tell you something… that maybe I shouldn’t.” I have
no idea how he can talk at a time like this so I know that whatever
he has to say is very important. “I’m gonna… say it… I love you,
Jase.”

I haven’t cried since last summer. I’ve
wanted to, plenty of times, like when I got back to school and was
missing Ginny because she should be here and not in a grave. And I
wanted to cry when I thought I’d lost Liam for good. But I always
held back my tears. Right now I just let go and cry out the depth
of my passion for this man. “I wanted… to tell you I love you too…
so much… but I was afraid….”

“No more fear.” These are Liam’s last words
to me before he falls asleep.

Time to live
life fully because
you never know when it’s all going to be over.

The most unique and meaningful and maybe
even awkward experience so far in my life concludes the way it
started, with an adoring kiss worthy of inspiring lyrical verse. I
guess now I’m a poet.

I look down at his head that’s resting on my
lap. He’s asleep, and I know I should wake him as he’s in the
middle of studying for an Information Systems quiz that he wants to
ace. But he looks so peaceful, and when he’s sleeping I don’t see
the haunted look in his eyes. It hurts so much to see it; I hate
the thought of Liam being in any pain. But worse is the awareness
that he’s witholding something important from me. And maybe I
haven’t known him all that long, but it’s clear that he needs to
come to terms with whatever is bothering him. So instead of waking
him up, I reach down and push back his blond hair that is
surprisingly silky, like a child’s hair might feel.

Liam and I have tumbled more easily and
naturally into “coupleship” than I’d anticipated. Last summer, when
I realized I’d developed intense feelings for him, I avoided him
completely because I couldn’t imagine how two straight guys could
function effectively as boyfriends. I thought a romantic
relationship would be impossible, and trying to establish it could
be torturous.
Maybe my need for him has nothing to do with
romantic love,
I’d decided at the end of July,
and if I
leave it (him) alone the need will go away.

First of all, there’s the issue of sex, and
being young and male, this topic is of primary concern. I’ve always
liked the way girls looked, smelled, sounded, and tasted. And it
might be true that I’ve never gone for the softest and sweetest of
girls, but no one would ever question their femininity. I had a few
girlfriends in high school, Carrie Dodd being the girl I dated the
longest, and she was known as the prettiest girl in town. Carrie
worked very hard to be beautiful but I knew she was as tough as
those fake nails she wore, which was honestly part of her allure.
For two years, I made a huge effort to think of her as challenging
and free-spirited, but eventually I had to admit that she was
really obstinate and narcissistic.

Then there was my college love, Ginny, who
prided herself on being edgy and unconventional. Ginny was
attractive in an alternative sort of way—she wore beat up old
clothes found at thrift shops, although her parents were quite well
off, sported long ratty dreadlocks, and the dark skin on her hands
and legs was covered with bumps and bruises from her favorite
pastime, rock climbing, as well as scars from frequent falls from
her mountain bike. And she was cynical, even distrusting, of
certain aspects of society, which intrigued me beyond belief. I was
fascinated by her complex mind; I wanted to learn from her. I’d
even say I admired her. And we had great sex, even if I wasn’t
completely transparent with her about all of my innermost desires.
Before I met Liam, though, I really hadn’t been fully aware of what
I’d wanted in bed.

As far as Liam goes, he hasn’t told me too
much about his past relationships, other than that he’d taken two
different girls to the junior and senior proms in high school, and
had spent a lot of time with a girl he’d met at a summer second job
painting houses between sophomore and junior years in college. He
said he’d mainly participated in “physical relationships” with
women, which I understood to be no-strings-attached hook-ups. From
the very casual way he mentioned the ladies in his life, it seemed
to me that romance hadn’t ever been his top priority. He informed
me that he’d never considered the possibility that he could be gay
until he met me.

Sex hasn’t turned out to be a problem for
us. I always figured that sexual desire was based on how sexy my
partner looked, but it isn’t that way with Liam—not that Liam
doesn’t look good, because I think he’s about as good-looking as a
guy
can be. But it’s his protectiveness, gentleness,
selflessness, and love for me that take me to a place where I’m
emotionally moved to feel sexual desire, which I wouldn’t have
believed was possible had I not experienced it firsthand. Maybe
it’s easier for me, as a man, to think of making love to Liam as
worshipping my hero. I want to see the tender expression on his
face when he gets turned on and I want to see the awe when I touch
him and he can’t believe it feels so good.

I’m drawn to his inner strength. And I can’t
deny that the romance started because of the intense violence we
survived together—from which he rescued me—but what I found with
him I can’t afford to lose. I bonded easily with his heart; from
there, bonding with his body wasn’t a huge leap.