What his intentions were when he asked me to teach him how to play guitar? I’m not quite sure I know, or that I’ll ever know, and after that day I’m not sure it mattered. Whether he was straight or not, whether he wanted to or not, whether he himself cared or not.

I had liked Eli for about a year after I first saw him in my engineering class, sitting and just in a daze, lost but sure he was where he needed to be. A whole year of silence from him; the guy with the thick brown hair, light hazel eyes, light skin, half built arms and the delicate yet strong, soft hands that I now watched move across the fretboard of my guitar. That same guy sat in my apartment with me; the best piece of decoration in the room.

“No, listen to the song. You gotta slow down a bit or your timing will go all retarded.” I told him, helplessly smiling.

“Yeah I’m sorry, I’m just a bit of a slow learner.” He replied with a semi-chuckle.

“No it’s no problem, I have lots of patience” another helpless smile escaped me, and I turned my head away to avoid making it too obvious that I was more than glad to sit right there, in front of him and just watch him be himself.

He noticed it, or maybe he didn’t all I knew is that he looked at me shortly before turning his concentration back on the music and flashed me that smile that I always wanted to be the author of.

“Here you play something, I’m going to take a break.” He said playfully and handed the guitar over to me. He sat up from the chair next the stereo and threw himself on the carpeted floor, holding his head up with his arms, his chest facing the ceiling.

“Well what are you waiting for? Play something.” He said looking at me.

“Ha! I play whenever I want, but sure if you insist.” I said –and this I admit- with a teasing tone. I started improvising and just playing the first thing that came to mind. The room was silent, except for the sound of the strings, and Eli’s breathing.

The energy simmered down, and the burning desire that I had to kiss him just grew more intense, transcending arbitrarily into the notes my fingers played. The tension boiled, I had to stop.

“Eli?” I asked.

“Yeh?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?” he cocked his head my way and left his mouth half opened; half smiling.

Like word vomit:

“Can you not lie like that, because it’s making me really want to kiss you and I’d rather not do that.”

All there was now was dead silence, and that half smile turning taunting. I could have sworn he whispered the next words right in front of me.

“I think I’d rather have you say the truth.”

That was it.

I put the guitar aside careless as to where it landed, and crawled on the carpet all the way till I met his lips. My heart was pumping boiling blood that would steam up had my skin not been impeding it and on my way up through his body up to his lips my hands found their way to his cock. Still through his pants I could feel the bulge pulsating beneath.

Our