time and had finally succeeded in getting him out, and just after dumping the martini in his lap he got a call on his cell phone that his dog was sick and would have to be taken to the vet immediately. He made his apologies and headed out, and as I drained what remained of my drink I saw Loki through the bottom of my glass, standing by the door and laughing (the oak leaves in his hair gave him away). I raised my glass to him and had several more libations before going home myself to sleep it off.

Loki, however, was not through with me yet. Apparently he was pleased by my response to his attentions, because when I got home to my silent condo, and got into my quiet, still bed, I fell immediately into a deep sleep – or so I thought.

It seemed that I snapped suddenly awake – I looked over towards the digital alarm clock but it was flashing bright red lights that indicated a power failure. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but every sense was on the alert, nerve endings tingling, pulse pounding with excitement but comfortably, exuberantly so – no fear. I became aware that there was someone in the room with me, and from the corner near my closet a figure loomed into view!

It was Brian Westenra – one of my college chums, whom I had not seen in several years. He stood before me just as I remembered him from the last time I saw him – barefoot and bare-chested, with only tight jeans covering – and accentuating – his perfect bubble butt and with the front of them pushed out by the sizeable cock that they strove to contain. His lean and muscular torso – hardened from both soccer and hockey – tapered down from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, flaring again to the muscular thighs and well-shaped calves that made him the fastest on either grass or ice, and the highest scorer on both teams. His flowing mane of brown curly hair was held back by his usual headband, but tonight there seemed to be grass or flowers or something – leaves? – woven in with the headband. He had his trademark wicked grin on his face, and he walked over to the foot of the bed and climbed up on it, straddling me, leaning over me and resting on his extended arms. He loomed over my face and said softly “Hey, buddy – seems like we got some unfinished business to take care of.” And he leaned forward and kissed me, softly but firmly, full on the mouth.

As I said, he was in my bedroom now just as I remembered he was when I last saw him in another room in another house, about five years ago, at a party – drunken orgy, really – to mark the end of the spring term. There were about 25 or 30 of us there at various times throughout the weekend – I don’t really remember who-all was involved, but I remember Brian. He was, as usual, fucking and sucking and being fucked and sucked by anyone and everyone within reach. I had my own