hands now."

Tim didn't even ask where we were going, and didn't even notice that I had worked my way back to near the university grounds, in a residential area, until I was parking.

"There's a coffee shop around here?" he asked, as I turned off the engine. "I hope it's not far. I can't move too . . ."

"I thought we might as well just come back to my place," I said. "I make a good pot of coffee—certainly cheaper. And, no, it's on the ground floor. Just over there. I'm sure we can manage, if you'll let me help you."

Tim seemed a little self-conscious about my supporting him to my front door, all tense and apologetic. But I did my best to help him feel he was doing most of the work in moving himself.

As we sat at the table, leaning over cups of hot coffee and a plate of cookies, I managed to get him to open up to me. I didn't say anything about being curious because I needed to collect case stories, but I'm sure that's what he thought I was doing—collecting case studies and giving back pat advice from the textbooks I was reading. In this, I couldn't help but thinking that he was being incredibly patient and tolerant with me. He was either a very nice man or he was so clinically depressed that he had no pride left.

I could see his eyes moisten up as he, eventually, told me about his accident and the lover of his who had been killed in the car wreck. Getting to this point, however, admitting to me that he was gay and that his lover had been a man, seemed to be his greatest hurdle in our conversation. Once he saw that I didn't react negatively to that information, his story just gushed out of him. All of the loneliness had been bottling him up, and I could see the tension melt away from him in having someone to tell of his tragedy.

"And how long ago was this accident?" I asked

"Two years. Two years, two months, and three days ago." It flowed out in such sadness and despair. His hazel eyes turned to me and the sadness just brimmed over in them.

"And you've had no lover since then?"

"Of course not," Tim said, with a snort. "Look at this leg. Look at this arm. Useless. I'm useless. Who would have me now?"

I looked deeply into his eyes, drinking in all of the despair I saw there. Then I stood up from the table and came around to his side, leaned down, and took his lips with mine, kissing him deeply and searchingly. He was in shock and immobile at first, but then his lips quivered and were devouring my mouth. A moan came up from deep within his chest. Eventually, however, he seemed to wake up and pulled abruptly away from me.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," he stammered. "I shouldn't have . . . you shouldn't have . . ."

I shushed him then, gently pulled him up from his chair and nearly carried him the short distance from the table to my bed. I sat him down on the end of the bed, and shushing his weak exclamations, knelt between his legs, unbuttoned his shirt and buried my face in his chest. His pecs were covered in a short, curly dusting