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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded 
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to 
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as 
there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of 
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   (Copyright 2005, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

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THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME III

A Novel

by R.C. Mather



- 37 -

INTO THE STORM



Erin, Alex, and I were sitting in a booth at a twenty-four hour
truck stop up on I-75. We had ordered hotcakes, eggs over easy,
grits, honey-cured ham, huge amounts of hash browns, orange juice,
and coffee. Lots of coffee. There were still a lot of people at Jack
Hammer's when we left, but it was late and we felt like acquiring
some nutrition. Nothing caps off a night of drinking and dancing
quite like a truck stop breakfast.

The girls had their cloaks back on, and they kept them closed around
them in an effort at modesty as we sat in the booth.

Erin set down her coffee cup and looked across the table at me.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Sean," she coaxed.

I shrugged. "I'm just a little in shock, I guess."

Alex peered at me over her cup. "Does it change anything?"

I thought about it for a minute. "Probably not," I said. "He's my
roommate, he's my friend. I'm just wondering why he couldn't tell me
about this first."

Alex shrugged. "Again, does it change anything? I mean, so what if
he's gay. Did he ever come on to you?"

"No."

"Your roommate from last year. He's Catholic. He ever try to get you
to go to church with him?"

I had to bark a laugh. "The only church Westy is a diligent member
of is the Church of Lustful Intent. And, yes, he tried to get me to
join that one."

"Okay, bad example," said Alex. "How about your friend Eric."

"What about him?"

"Did he ever try to turn you black?"

"What? That doesn't make any sense," I said.

Alex shrugged again. "Makes about as much sense as thinking knowing
Spencer is probably gay is going to change anything. Some people are
gay the way other people are black, or Hispanic, or Jewish, or
female. Sometimes you're born that way, and that's how you will be
until the day you die."

"Yeah, okay," I admitted. "So I guess it doesn't change anything. I
just wish he'd told me."

Erin laughed. "Do you tell him about your love life?"

"Well... no," I said.

"You'd better not," murmured Alex, but she was smiling.

"So why should he tell you about his?"

"Uh..."

"Case closed," said the future lawyer.



* * * * * * * * * *



Alex dropped Erin off at her dorm. I walked Erin up to the door and
gave her a kiss goodnight while Alex waited in the car. Alex then
dropped me at my apartment, and I leaned in through the driver's side
window to give her a kiss, too. With a wave, she drove off.

I was tired to my bones. It was nearing dawn, and I had to meet with
Eddie at noon to go over film of our next opponent, West Florida. It
was all part of my employment package for the year, instead of
working the concession stands. It was a much better deal for me,
though right at that moment I wasn't thinking in those terms. I was
thinking more of sleep.

I opened the door to my apartment. The light in the kitchen was on.

"Sean?" Spencer sounded hesitant and depressed, a lot of emotion
packed into one word.

"Yeah, it's me," I replied.

Spencer came out of the kitchen, holding a cup of tea. He looked a
little scared.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked quietly.

I looked longingly toward my bedroom, and then nodded. I slumped
down in the recliner and rubbed my eyes. Spencer took the couch. He
set his cup of tea down carefully on the "TV Guide" on the coffee 
table.

"Look, I'm sorry about tonight," he began. "I should have told you
before..."

"Wait," I said. The girls and I had talked about this, and I had
been thinking about it since seeing my roommate at the bar. "Before
you start, let me say something. Please?"

Spencer shrugged and sat up, his shoulders hunched. I knew he was
expecting the worst.

"Okay," I began, "here's where I'm at. First of all, I don't care if
you're gay, or you're just experimenting, or you're straight and you
were in there on a lark."

I could see him visibly relax. He reached for his teacup, his hands
shaking just a little.

"Just for me, what is the story, Spence? I mean, if you really don't
want to tell me, that's fine. But I wouldn't mind knowing what's up
with my roomie."

He wouldn't meet my gaze. I had the feeling this was a question he
had been asking himself quite a bit lately, and to verbalize it to
one of his best friends was going to make it real. I was sure it
scared him. "I guess... yeah. I'm gay." He took a deep, shuddering
breath.

"Okay," I said nonchalantly.

He looked up at me in surprise. I didn't know what he was expecting,
but obviously it wasn't immediate acceptance of the fact.

"You're okay with it? Shit, Boss, I'm not sure I'm okay with it." He
took a sip of his hot tea and set the cup back down again.

"You want to talk about it?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know what I would say," he replied.

"Well, when did you first think you might be..."

"Queer? You don't have to mince words with me, Sean. You couldn't
call me anything worse than I've called myself."

"I wasn't going to call you any names, Spencer."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm a little defensive right now. And a
little nervous."

"If it's any help, you don't have to be defensive with me. Or
nervous. Hell, Spence, we've known each other a long time. You're one
of my best friends. Bi, gay, straight, they're just tags. They're
nameplates for somebody else. That's not how I think of you. It's not
how I will think of you. You're Spencer. That's all. That's enough."

"Easy to say now," he muttered.

"When did you first think you might be gay?" I asked again.

He shrugged, not looking up. "Maybe I've always known," he said
quietly. "I don't think it really entered into my conscious brain
until last year."

"What happened last year?" I prompted.

He gave a short bark of humorless laughter. "Cynthia happened."

"Cynthia?"

"You remember her. Little Japanese girl I went out with last year?"

"Sure," I said. "I thought she was cute."

"So did I, actually. Then, one night we were at a place in town,
disco night at a hotel. She was in a mood, feeling wild. We got a
little drunk, and she picked up another guy. Took us both up to our
hotel room." He looked chagrined, even gazing down at his forgotten
cup of tea. "I discovered I liked being with the guy more than I
liked being with her that night. That pissed her off, believe me. But
it kicked off a period of discovery for me."

"That's when you broke up with her?"

"Right after that, yeah. I stumbled around and found a couple of
places I could... hang out at. Tried to figure out what the hell I
really was." He snorted. "I found out, all right."

"Okay," I said. "No big deal. Anybody special?"

"Nah," he said. He finally noticed his cooling tea. He picked up his
cup and took a sip. He made a face and put it back down. "Cold," he
said. "Anyway, I fell in with a group, we kind of pal around
together. A few guys, a couple of girls. We kind of mix it up."

"Friends with benefits."

"Yeah. No pressure, we can bring along pals and nobody hits on them,
just a bunch of friends going out for good times."

"I understand."

Finally, he glanced up at me. "I know you do. Alex and Erin."

"You know about them?" I really wasn't surprised, even though I
tried to keep my confusing relationships with them to myself as much
as I could.

Spencer smiled for the first time. "Yeah. Even on a campus as big as
UF, the gay community is like an extended family. We all know what's
going on."

"That's a little frightening," I said.

He looked at me with his head cocked. "You're right to be a little
scared. You're in deeper than you think."

"How so?"

"You've got a great girl at home you're trying to keep," he said.
"But she's got some competition neither Kayla nor you know about,
right here."

"Alex and Erin."

"Alex is really into Erin, Sean."

"Yeah, I know."

"But what you don't know is Erin is more into you than she is into
Alex."

"Oh, man," I groaned. "I don't need that complication."

"She's not in love with you like Kayla is, dude. She likes Alex but
she likes you better. She's always been more into boys than girls."

"How do you know this shit, Spencer?"

He laughed again, sounding a little more at ease. "Like I said, it's
like a big, extended, dysfunctional family."

I got up and stretched. "It's too much to think about," I said. "I
need to get some sleep."

Spencer got up, too. He picked up his teacup. Without looking at me,
he said, "Thanks, Sean."

I held out my hand. He looked up, saw me standing there, and he
reached out and grasped my proffered hand.

"One thing," I said, smiling. "If I'm playing up from you, you're
not checking out my ass, are you?"

He laughed, a friendly and relaxed sound after the tension he had
put himself under. "You wish," he said.

Before letting go of his hand, I said, "Seriously though, Spencer.
This conversation goes no further, as far as I'm concerned. I won't
say anything to anybody. If you come out, I'm beside you all the way.
Until then, this is just between us."

He pulled me in and gave me a hug. "That's why you're the Boss," he
said, his voice rough.

"Goddammit, will you cut that out?" I said.

He was grinning as he let me go. His eyes were shining. "Not a
chance," he said.



* * * * * * * * * *



Those were big words, but I still found myself tending to avoid my
roommate over the next week. After practice, I found several excuses
not to go back to our apartment, opting instead to study at the
library, or meet friends by Lake Alice, or hang out over at Alex's.

We were playing a home game the next weekend against West Florida.
Lightspeed had picked up a lot of the nuances of our movements over
the two weeks of practice, and having Spencer as a mentor really
helped him out. We were able to cut the tethers, and he followed
instructions from the field generals. Bryan, Jesse, Eddie, and I had
begun talking about how we could exploit Harlan's incredible speed,
and we designed some plays off throw-ins and free kicks that could
take advantage of the quickness we had acquired up front. We took the
best of them to Pick, and he began to incorporate some of them into
our practices to see how they worked. It was tougher to see when we
were doing intra-squad scrimmages, though, since everybody on both
sides pretty much knew what to expect. The real test would be against
a quality opponent.

An opportunity came early in the first half of our game against West
Florida. The referee whistled a blocking foul against our opponents,
and we quickly set up with Frenchy and Lightspeed side by side.
Lightspeed feinted at the ball and took off downfield as Frenchy,
following on his heels, took the kick and dropped a picture-perfect
pass over Lightspeed's head, leading him by a few meters. Harlan
picked up the ball in stride, and within about three-tenths of a
second he was across the midfield line and into attack mode. He juked
a very good defender, making him look flatfooted, and angled in
toward the goal. He took one step too many, however, and he got cut
off from in front by the stopper, and from the side by a midfielder,
boxing him back out toward the sidelines. He tried to knock the ball
against the shin guard of the stopper and out of bounds, but the
Argonauts defender was too quick. He leapt out of the way, and the
ball squirted out of bounds for a West Florida throw-in.

As we reset, he looked over toward me and shrugged. "Next time," he
said.

I nodded. "Keep working it," I encouraged him.

"Will do, Boss."

A few minutes later, we used an old junior rec team trick against
the Argonauts. We had a throw-in on our side of the field, near the
midfield stripe. I picked up the ball and gave a quick hand signal to
Harlan. He trotted up near me, as if he was going to take the toss,
and one of the West Florida midfielders came up to defend. As I
cocked my hands back over my head, Harlan took off down the
sidelines, leaving his defender in the dust, and I heaved the ball
down the sidelines ahead of him. I had to throw it hard to lead him,
but it worked. Lightspeed picked up the ball before another defender
could get to him, and he carried it all the way down toward the
corner. He managed to buy himself enough space to loft a crossing
pass. Bryan was in position in front of the net, inside the box, and
he jumped up to head the ball. Instead of trying for a goal, he
wisely guided the ball to his left, where Jeremy was set up. Jeremy
took the ball on his knee, popped the ball up, and side-kicked it
into the net with a powerful snap for our go-ahead goal. The entire
series took about fifteen seconds from throw-in to goal, and it gave
the coaches over on the West Florida sidelines quite a lot to think
about.

As we trotted back to reset for the kickoff, Harlan held out his
hand. I slapped it lightly.

"Nice cross," I said. "Good assist."

"Nice throw," he countered.

I slapped Jeremy on the back and congratulated him on a highlight
film goal. He smiled.

"Thanks," he said. "It was nicely set up for me."

"You can thank Bryan for being generous," I said.

"Oh, I will," he said. "And, Boss? Thanks."

"For what?" I asked, but he just smiled.

At the end of the game, after going through the greeting line and
congratulating the Argonauts on a good effort, we gathered up our
stuff and walked toward the doors to our locker room. Bryan and Dan
had stopped to be interviewed by a sports reporter from the
Alligator, the unofficial campus newspaper. I was walking by myself,
watching my feet as I was thinking about how we could have improved
on our 2-0 win. I felt somebody come up beside me and drape his arm
across my shoulder. I glanced up to see Spencer at my side.

He smiled. "I took your advice and checked you out while you were
playing up," he said softly. "You know, you might have a nice ass if
you weren't so damned skinny." 

It caught me by surprise, and I couldn't help myself. I laughed out
loud. I laughed so hard I couldn't walk. I had to stop, lean over,
and support myself by my elbows on my knees. Spencer was on the
ground, infected by my laughter, clutching his stomach, and we
gathered a small crowd of teammates who began smiling and chuckling
from watching us.

"Hey, Boss, what's so funny?" asked Sugar.

I was gasping by then. I waved at him as I tried to catch my breath,
tears streaming down my face.

"Private joke," I managed at last.

Finally, I was able to compose myself enough to put out my hand and
haul Spencer to his feet.

"You are a real piece of work, my friend," I said.

"We make a helluva team," he replied.

'We do indeed,' I said to myself. What tension there had been between
us was shattered and crumbled into dust, scattered to the four
corners by our laughter at ourselves.



* * * * * * * * * *



A couple of weeks later, we were scheduled to travel to North
Carolina State for a weekend game. On Tuesday, Coach called a team
meeting before our scheduled practice. It was nasty out, rainy and
very windy. A tropical storm had formed off the Bahamas and moved
toward the Florida coast, and it was moving north and staying just
offshore. We were getting a lot of backlash weather off it inland,
heavy rains and strong winds.

"Fellas, this storm is turnin' into a hurrycane, sure as shit. It
looks like it's gonna miss Florida, but eventually it's gonna make
landfall. Prolly South Carolina, maybe North Carolina. Either way, we
ain't takin' a bus up into that thing." He favored us with a tight
smile. "Looks like you boys got yourselves another bye week."

And it turned out the decision was a good one. The tropical storm
turned into Hurricane Diana by midweek. It continued to skip up the
coast, threatening but never quite completing a cross onto the
mainland.

By Friday, the weather around Gainesville had calmed, though it was
still rainy. There were a lot of branches and leaves down, especially
by the lake and in the Plaza, making it messy and uncomfortable for
eating outside. Instead, I was meeting the girls for lunch at
Krystal, one of the many fast-food joints near campus. Their food was
abundant and reasonably priced, if a little tasteless. But abundant
and cheap were good enough for the average starving college student.

"So you're free for the weekend?" asked Erin.

"Yup," I said. "I should look at some tapes, but since we were going
to be on the road, we really don't have anything scheduled."

"Good," said Alex said. We were walking out of the restaurant. I
held the door open for the girls, and a group took advantage of my
good nature and walked in as I was manning the door. "Go home, pack a
bag."

"Really? Why?"

"We're going hurricane chasing," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked with some
trepidation.

Alex laughed. "I've lived through a couple," she said. "They can be
fun."

"If you say so," I said doubtfully. Even so, I let myself be pushed
in the direction of my apartment.

"We'll be by in half an hour," said Alex, ever in charge.

I really wasn't sure I wanted to be away for the entire weekend. I
owed Kayla a letter, and I wanted to work on my business plan for
Porter Enterprises for one of my business classes. I fumbled around
the apartment, trying to figure out how to tell Alex I wasn't going.

The girls got there a few minutes later, and Erin came to my door. I
opened it at her knock.

"You know," I began, "I think I'm going to skip the road trip. I've
got a lot to do..."

That was all I could get out. Erin grabbed my arm and pulled me out
of my apartment.

"If you aren't packed, you'll have to live in what you've got on,"
she said as she dragged me down the stairs and outside. I tried to
resist, but she was insistent. 'What can I do?' I rationalized. 'She's
not going to take no for an answer.'

"Okay, okay," I said. "At least let me grab my bag."

"Too late," she said. She practically threw me into the back seat
and closed the door. 'She's strong for such a Georgia peach,' I 
mumbled inside my head. She clambered in after me, and Alex took off, 
taking the corner practically on two wheels. "You aren't ready, maybe 
you'll have to spend the weekend naked."

"No, not a good idea," I said.

"Works for me," said Alex. She took her eyes off the road to look
back at us.

"Watch where you're going," I cried in panic, but Alex just laughed
at me.

"What's the matter, Porter? You a pussy?" But she turned around
anyway and paid a little more attention to her driving.

"Maybe I am," I grumbled.

Alex drove northeast, toward Jacksonville. We stopped for gas and
snacks before we got onto I-10, and then she bypassed the city, going
around the outskirts toward I-95. The girls relented and let me buy a
couple of t-shirts, a cheap plastic poncho, some deodorant,
toothpaste, and a toothbrush. They didn't have any shirts that read
"Help, I'm being abducted by Southern Belles," so I had to settle for
two that proclaimed "The Fountain of Youth, St. Augustine Florida."
When we got back in the car, Erin took the wheel. I sat up front with
her, and Alex sprawled in the back seat to take a nap.

We continued north, into Georgia and into the rain and wind, for
many, many hours. Traffic was light, but we still moved at a slow
crawl. The weather was awful, with the rain coming in horizontally
across our fender. There was a lot of debris in the wind along with
the rain, leaves and paper and the like. It was blowing so hard I was
on the lookout to make sure small vehicles weren't dancing in the
wind and heading for us. We passed over bridges covering gray and
angry water, and we could feel the wind buffeting the car, making it
sway on its shocks. It was difficult as the shotgun passenger, and I
was sure it was exhausting for Erin as the driver, but she didn't
complain. She merely leaned forward, peering through the windshield,
trying to penetrate the curtains of rain with her stare.

"Where are we going?" I finally had to ask.

Erin risked a glance over at me. "A friend's cottage," she said.
"Near Savannah, on Tybee Island. It's a resort island."

"A resort island, as in an island in the ocean? The ocean where
there is currently a hurricane going on?"

She laughed, but kept on driving. "Yes sir, that's right."

"And, like, is there a bridge at least? Please tell me we won't be
crossing in a ferryboat."

She laughed again, and I could see her relax a little. The diversion
did her good. "No, no ferryboat," she reassured me.

All the way through Georgia, driving closer toward the center of the
storm, we kept on.

"You know," I suggested after about four hours, "I can drive on the
freeway for awhile. Why don't you rest?"

Erin just shook her head. "I'm okay," she said, though I could see
the strain of driving etching her pretty face.

Finally, just outside Savannah, she turned off the Interstate. She
headed east, toward the coast.

"Keep an eye out," she said. "We need the turnoff to Tybee Island."

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Riding out this hurricane on an
island?" I asked. That didn't sound like a very good plan to me, but
I wasn't in charge. I was along for the ride, come what may.

Erin risked a glance over at me. She grinned tightly.

"Only way to fly," she replied.

I could hear Alex chuckle from the back seat. I turned around and
looked at her. She was smiling, having a good time watching my
nervousness.

Erin drove slowly along, keeping the car centered between the dashes
in the middle and the white stripe indicating the edge of the
shoulder. Sometimes the edge was impossible to see, and she
concentrated on driving down the middle of the road. Fortunately,
there weren't any other damned fools out driving around.

We found the road that led to the bridge to Tybee Island, and we
withstood all the storm could throw at us as we crossed. Once on
relatively solid ground again, I began to breathe a little easier.
Only a little, though. Being this close to a hurricane was not my
idea of a great way to spend a weekend.

"We're looking for Dalton Road," she told me once we reached the
island. She shook her head, muttering to herself. "It's a lot easier
to find in the daytime."

"When you're not trying to navigate through a hurricane," I added.

"That, too," she agreed.

We found it, though. She turned and drove along the road until we
began to see signs of civilization. Gingerbread houses, modest
bungalows with huge porticos, and gated estates were side by side in
what looked like a resort community. She turned down one of the main
streets in town, heading north again, until we got to the very edge
of the community. She made a number of confusing turns, until she
finally pulled into a muddy drive that led to a small summer home of
white stucco. There were shutters on each of the windows, but we
could see a small amount of light from a hallway fixture.

"Are you sure this is okay?" I asked.

"Of course. These are friends of the family," she said. "I've been
here quite a few times."

"There's a light on," I said. "Maybe they're here."

"I doubt it," she replied. "They live in Savannah. They wouldn't
come here to ride out the storm. They'll stay at home instead."

She grabbed a rain jacket from the floor of the back seat and put it
on. She pulled the hood up and opened her car door.

"Besides, the lights are on timers," she said over the sound of the
wind. "Keeps the riff-raff away."

"Except for us," said Alex from the back as Erin slammed the door
closed. "I think you're Riff, and I must be Raff."

"Better than being Frick and Frack, I guess." I was turned with my
elbow on the seat back so I could look at Alex. It was something that
was never hard to do.

"Or Freak and Geek," she said, smiling.

"Wrack and Ruin?"

I saw Alex look up beyond my shoulder. I twisted around and saw
Erin, standing under the eaves, waving for us to join her. Alex
grabbed her raincoat and I unfolded my new poncho and slipped it on.
We ran from the car to the back of the house, and Erin led us around
to the front. The rain was lashing us, but Erin already had the house
unlocked. She opened the door and we all scrambled inside. I shook
water from my poncho as Erin closed and latched the door against the
wind.

"I'm thinking this might not have been such a great idea," I said.

"Well, aren't we the party-pooper tonight," said Alex.

"Freak."

"Geek."

"That's enough, children," said Erin. She opened the refrigerator.
"Ah, well stocked," she said satisfactorily. She pulled three bottles
of beer out and handed one to each of us.

"To a cozy weekend," said Alex, tilting the neck of her bottle
toward us.

"A cozy weekend," agreed Erin, and we clanked our beer bottles
together in a toast.

"This place belongs to friends? And they're not going to have a
problem with you just walking in and making yourself at home??" I
asked.

"It belongs to the Fontanas," she said. "Mandy was my very best
friend while we lived in Savannah. We were practically inseparable
from about the time we met, in kindergarten, until we moved away. I
came here with them a lot."

"When did you move to Atlanta?" asked Alex.

"Let's see," said Erin, thinking. "I was in fifth grade... that
would make me eleven."

"Quite a while ago," said Alex. "You kind of took a chance they
would still own it."

"Oh, Mandy and I keep in touch," said Erin. "We send each other
birthday gifts, our families visit during the holidays, that kind of
stuff." She paused, and I watched her thinking. She was focused on
something Alex and I couldn't see. "I wonder..." she whispered to
herself. Then she shook her head, as if to clear out some cobwebs.
"Anyway, Mandy and I make sure we get together, go shopping and
stuff, a few times a year. I can hop on a plane and be in Savannah in
an hour. Mandy and I used to come out here to the beach together for
weekends, and once for Spring Break when I was in high school.
Actually, she's in Athens now."

"Really?" I asked. "Greece? That must be exciting."

Erin laughed, and Alex joined in. "No, silly," said Erin. "Athens,
Georgia. University of Georgia?"

"Oh, yeah," I mumbled, a little chagrined. "I knew that." I emptied
my beer and got up to get us all another helping.

A couple of beers went a long way toward improving my attitude about
the weekend. It improved even further when Erin pulled a couple of
pizzas out of the freezer. As she turned on the oven, I realized I
was very hungry. Alex switched the television on to get the
continuous weather reports that were all the local stations were
carrying. I opened cabinets in the kitchen until I found paper plates
and napkins. I got those ready while the pizzas were cooking,
bringing them in by the television. Erin found a rolled-up mat and a
couple of sleeping bags, and we decided to camp out in the living
room for the night.

We devoured the pizzas while we watched the storm bounce along the
coastline. It was looking like the Carolinas were going to be hit
hard. We cleared the remains of our dinner out of the way and spread
out the sleeping bags on the floor next to the mat. Erin, as hostess,
got the mat, and Alex and I opened our sleeping bags. It was very
warm, so we lounged on top of everything. I took off my shirt and lay
back, propping my head in my hands. The droning of the television was
nearly hypnotic, and I found my eyes wanting to close. I fought it
for a few minutes, and then finally gave in to the desires of my
heavy eyelids.

I dozed, only peripherally aware of the television and my
surroundings. I heard Alex and Erin moving around, getting
comfortable, but I was pretty much out of it.

Sometime shortly after dozing off I shifted, turning to be on my
side. My arm fell forward, and my hand found a warm body. An
interrupted dream from before picked up where it had left off...




   ...my hand slips beneath Alex's shirt. The skin of her abdomen is
warm and soft, my fingers sending their tactile signals as they revel
in the touch. My hand begins the interrupted journey, moving up her
body. They feel the raised flesh, the underside of her small breast,
and they pause, sensing, measuring temperature and firmness and
sensitivity, the animal part of my brain collating and interpreting
the information. Signals fire back: desire.
 
My hand continues its exploration, now moving up the mounded flesh
to the peak. A small nub expands as I hold it, pressing into my palm.
I press against it and squeeze gently, feeling the springiness of the
young breast. My fingers explore the valley of the sternum and
discover another mound with another swollen nub at the pinnacle, and
they squeeze and test that one, just as they did the first.

I feel her warm body nestle back against mine, and I am not
surprised, as in dreams you are so rarely surprised, to find my cock
is standing proud and firm. Alex wriggles her backside against me,
nestling my cock between her ass cheeks as she snuggles up. She wraps
her arm around my hand, trapping it against her breast. I am
comfortable, warm, and willing to stay asleep against her just like
this.

And then, I am not surprised, as in dreams you are so rarely
surprised, when another hand, one not belonging to Alex, comes to
rest on my hip. I flex just a little in my sleep, pressing my cock
against Alex, and the hand slips to my waist, under the elastic, and
down beneath my shorts, working its way between Alex's body and mine
to lightly grasp my rod.

I groan as the hand insists I roll over. I don't want to move away
from the comfort of Alex's body, but the hand is tolerantly pulling
on me, inexorable. I feel my hands slipping from Alex's breasts and
across her side as I turn to lie on my back, subservient to the
insistence of the hand. I put my arm over my eyes, my other arm at my
side, as I feel another hand on my body. The two hands together pull
on my shorts until they feel like they are around my ankles. The hand
returns to hold the base of my cock, and then something warm and
moist envelopes me. I groan again as I struggle to swim to the
surface of consciousness, knowing somehow the dream has laced
together with a more substantial reality. There is movement of the
warm and moist environment against the hot skin of my aching cock,
and I know I will not hold off for long, dream or real.

I feel my body tense in anticipation of the release. I am in that
twilight zone, somewhere between sleep and waking, not cognizant
enough of what's going on to give warning, and I shoot. My hips bump
up, trying to bury my cock further into that warm and inviting
environment, that moist pressure being applied, the hand now cradling
my tightening balls.

I think I might have cried out as I spurt, my body tensing and
preparing each series of ejaculations into that environment. Three
times, then four, and then five, the first three strong and powerful
and the next few gradually weakening, until there is just a dribble
leaking from the tip of my cock. The entire process, seconds in its
climax, is enough to force me to consciousness, and as I come up from
the depths, I hear a muffled coughing...




"Good God, Porter. You've really been saving up, haven't you?" Erin
said softly between coughs.






(Continued in Chapter 38)


  
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