a business story on the computer convention."

"But that isn't all you're here for. There's something else, isn't there? You're waiting for…someone."

He almost blushed, recalling his nervous phone call to Josh. He had struggled to make that call only to reach his voicemail. He had stammered something about being in town for only a couple of days and maybe getting together before concluding with the name of the hotel and his room number then hastily hanging up.

"A man," he explained.

"Isn't it always?" she smiled knowingly. "Don't worry, he'll be here, just…" she paused, "not the way you expect." And he watched her walk regally back inside before he could ask what she meant and realizing they hadn't even introduced themselves.

2. GOING

The package had arrived days ago but he hadn't bothered to open it. It sat on his desk, carefully wrapped in brown paper and twine and inconveniently covering half the space. Josh knew he had to unwrap it sooner or later, find an ideal place for it. But he had other things in his mind. Then again, when did he ever not? And then there was Marc.

He kicked his sneakers off, having just arrived from the gym, and pulled off the sweaty shirt that stubbornly clung to his body. Then he stripped off his shorts and the jockstrap beneath it, feeling the cool air surround his naked body. He let himself fall into bed and stretched his six foot frame across the Egyptian cotton covers. He surveyed his room, his eyes sweeping around from the carved armoire in one corner to the etagere at another upon which sat old photographs in silver frames. He had practically lived here most of his life. He had been brought here straight from the hospital after his premature birth and it had been his not-so-little corner of the world ever since. Now though, with his parents both deceased, his corner had grown to include this entire house crowded to the very rafters with things old and precious along with some good acreage of land surrounding it. All of this had been in his family for generations, mute yet undeniable testaments to tradition and permanence and every bit of perfection that was demanded of him. How could he ever live up to that? How could anyone?

Josh thought about Marc and the hurried phone message of him being in town. He wondered if Marc remembered the time he casually mentioned that one of his fondest fantasies was to get lost in the crowd, to just, well, vanish. All his life, eyes had been trained upon him, assessing, critical, expectant. The one time he had ever felt removed from this life so meticulously created for him was the day he had caught Marc spying on him. Well, not spying exactly. But Marc had walked in on him toweling down after a shower in the gym. He never mentioned to Marc that he knew he was watching him from behind one of the lockers. And it gave him a lewd charge to feel those eyes on his body. From across that locker room he could swear feeling the intensity of Marc's stare trailing from his pecs to his butt, to his cock. For once, it had nothing to do with his name nor his family. It was pure lust. And it felt exhilarating and liberating and hot. He felt blood surging to his cock and thought part of him was definitely showing off for Marc.