himself obviously was the narrator of the tale, the young student of the manuscript. I felt a stirring inside me that I hadn't felt for three years.

I looked up sharply at Samir. He was favoring me with a sensuous-lipped smile. I was a little shocked and confused. This was strongly homosexual material. Wonderfully written, but leaving little to the imagination. I'd never written anything but the most mainstream novels. Yet, this student was sitting here, watching me read his explicit prose without the least bit of embarrassment about how I might be reacting to the material.

"Excellent work, Samir," I said. "But these characters . . . some of this phrasing. They seem so familiar. Is this all your work? I can't place it, but . . ."

"Perhaps it is because of who I . . . studied . . . under."

I was confused. Why the hesitation? And why that languid grin?

"Riyad Munif." Samir explained as he gracefully unwound himself from a semisuppine position on the couch and sat up on the edge, very close to me now. "My undergraduate work was at the American University of Beirut—under Professor Riyad Munif. And I mean under professor Munif in more ways than one. Professor Munif told me about you when he learned I was coming to the States to study."

I sat there, dumbfounded, not able to say a thing. Old memories and emotions stirring. A sign of spring returning for the first time in three years.

Samir stood and took my hand in his and simply said, "Would you mind terribly if I took you into your bedroom and made love to you? It would mean so much to me and to my writing."

Shock. A complete lose for words or action. I dumbly rose as he squeezed my hand and followed him to my bedroom, where he slowly undressed me with his hands, covering me with his gliding and searching hands and mouth as he did so. When I was naked, he pushed me down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and started working my cock with a soft and searching mouth. My fingers went to his head, wandering through his black, curly hair, and holding him to my crotch. I was having trouble breathing and gave him quite an audible show with my groans and moans as he brought me back to life after so many months and years of dormancy.

He pulled away only long enough to murmur, "Riyad was so right. He said you were huge and so thick. He was right. You don't know how I've dreamed about this cock." And then he was swallowing me again, deep-throating me, making me hold my breath to the point of blacking out. I shuddered and came down his throat in several spouting fountains of long-unsummoned semen.

The young, vigorous Samir popped right up, quickly stripped off his clothes, revealing a perfectly shaped body, lovingly built and maintained, and jumped up on the bed on his knees. Pulling me with him, he positioned us on the center of the bed and devoured me with kisses. His hands were everywhere, exploring my every curve and cavity, entering even my ass deep enough to reach my prostate and make my cock, so recently drained, harden up again and begin to burble precum. All the time he was telling me how wonderful my body was, sweet words of a fifty-year-old has been, even