Less than a couple of months after HERO died - I had an opportunity to fuck the hottest guy I have ever known. We used to always run into each other in my circuit party days and while the G - or K - or E played with my seratonin - I felt inextricably drawn to him. He was movie star handsome - but in an indie movie way - he was quiet, intelligent, confident and full of a sexual fire. He was italian - dark, thick hair and knowing brown eyes, he spoke slowly and would as soon as discuss Dick Cheney's multiple short-comings as whisper "I want you to fuck the shit out of me".

I knew him when I was still with Lucky and Lucky would allow me to flirt, even once let us flirtatiously compare cocks in a bathroom stall - but cut me short when my mouth wanted to do the measuring.

As luck - or lack of - would have it, he happened to be visiting Phoenix one weekend and casually cruised me at Padlock, not realizing for a brief second that I was me. Does grief physically change you, or was it my need to be drunk by 9pm every night after Hero's death. When we connected it was fully-charged, and I realized how badly I wanted to feel a man next to me, to pull my arms around him, slide my cock in his mouth, fuck him holding his hips as I pushed into him again and again and again.

We passed our phone numbers to each other and went on our ways.

The next day - hanging in the yard playing catch with Hope, I hear my cell phone ring - I ignore it, I always ignore it, I've become some sort of apparition in my own home - unsure if my ghostly fingers can hold the ringing phone to my face. My curiosity always begs the lesser of me and the ghost finds a way to pick-up the phone. The message is from him and he isn't shy about asking for what he wants - would I like to have sex with him this afternoon ?

My well-worn heart races, my unsettled stomach flips - I think, I'll have shot my load before I even return the call. I call him back - the conversation uses only enough words to seal the deal. I pick him up and bring him back to my house - we begin to talk and talk and talk and suddenly, I worry - oh shit this is way too much talking - nervously trying to remember how to make a move - suddenly, irrationally, I stammer - would you still like to do what you came here for ???

Before he can answer I've crossed the room, my mouth and tongue exploring his - he pulls his shirt off, I push his pants to his knee's - I take his perfect, beautiful cock in my mouth while fumbling with my own clothes - it's hot, it's fucking red hot - but I keep issuing commands to myself inside my head - "don't freak out, don't freak out - you've always wanted this - oh God he's so fucking perfect".

We move to my bedroom and I push him face down - I tease him, rimming his hole - knowing how hungry he his - and as I rise to pull a condom over my hard-on - I begin to weep.

Suddenly, I'm unable to breathe - "oh my god what kinda bastard am I - what am I fucking doing - I'm horrible, this is horrible, I haven't fucked anyone but Hero since, since...fuck, oh fuck"...

I feel his perfect, muscular back tense, this is one of those moments, sexual humility - shame...disgrace.

My dick recedes, erection-regression...the hottest moment of my life is about to become the most humilating. He looks back at me over his shoulder - he seems so beautiful - pained, confused, horny; he wants to give a shit - but I can see in his eyes, he didn't come here to see me fall apart.

Without a wasted word, I push him back down and pull his ass to my face, and with tears still streaming down my cheeks, I alternate rimming him and sucking his beautiful cock - mindlessly working my way back and forth - fucking him with my tongue, then working my tongue to the fat head of his cock - I keep thinking, if I make him cum I can be alone, I can cry alone. After several minutes of dedicated effort his knees buckle and he shoots between his legs on the brown fur of my summer-tanned chest.

I sense that we both have found relief.

I drive him to where he's staying,
I apologize,
he tells me it was hot.

He waves as I drive away, I turn up the radio to drown out the sound of my own tears.