Hiking Buddy Pt. 02

Every time I bathed Dan, I used the same procedure. He never asked me why I didn't employ the sprayer to rinse all of him instead of using it only on his hair.

After the first bath, Dan would get hard not only when I was working on his penis, but also when I was washing his inner thighs and his beguiling rear end. His nervousness was now gone completely, and he was so relaxed that often as I was lathering him I would look up and see that his eyes were closed and his face held a blissful expression. He did, however, try to stifle his murmurs of pleasure, with varying levels of success. And once, he said: "Uh, I think I'm going to shoot."

I moved my hands to a less sensual site, and nothing happened.

But I would like to have seen a volley of thick white jets spurt from that breathtaking penis.

I had my own troubles with arousal, and one time I got so lost in soaping my favorite places on Dan that I was unaware of my own impeding climax until it was too late. I was glad that the trunks hid the darkened front of the jock strap, and was relieved that nothing ran down my leg; it would have been awkward.

I hoped that Dan didn't notice the extra time I spent on his erogenous regions, but since he never said anything I concluded that either I was not being blatant or he was enjoying it too much to care. I hoped it was the latter.

Dan's baths were the highlights of my week.

At the office, I often found myself thinking of him. Whenever I hadn't heard from him by late morning I always had a powerful urge to call, just to ask how his day was going. But I didn't want to risk waking him, or worse, causing him to fall as he rushed to answer the phone. I decided to augment the apartment phones with a cordless model.

Dan wanted to pay me for room and board, but I refused, reminding him that I was earning my full salary while he was on a reduced, medical-leave income. "I'd be one son of a bitch to accept money from you."

"But" he protested, "I feel that I'm mooching."

"Look" I countered, "My rent is no higher with you here, so it's just the small incremental cost of your food. I'd feel awful if I took money for that. So please, as a favor, just let me help my best friend by covering that modest expense."

He laughed and said: "Ok, I won't argue about it anymore. But only you would do a favor for someone else and portray it as a favor to you."

His offer to pay having been refused, he was more determined than ever to make himself useful. Each evening when I got home from work it was obvious that he had been hobbling around, cleaning and straightening up and organizing things, even though I had ordered him not to be so active. I tried to get him to stop, and once I even threatened to handcuff him to the bed, but of course he knew I would never do anything like that.

I had never before been quick to leave the office at the end of the official workday, but now I began exiting promptly so I could hurry home to make dinner for Dan and find out whether he needed anything. I would then spend the evening with him, and I also began staying home on weekends.

When friends commented that I had become a homebody, my excuse was that there was a lot more housework due to my handicapped guest. But the reality was that except for preparing food, I hadnohousework, because Dan was doing it all. He kept the place immaculate, meticulously neat, and better organized than I could ever have made it. He even maintained a supply of fresh clothes for us, managing somehow to get our laundry back and forth to the washing machines in the basement of the apartment building.

The excuse I gave tomyselffor my housebound existence, was that since Dan was alone all day, it would be unkind to also leave him alone evenings and weekends.

He encouraged me to go out. He said that having him in my apartment was keeping me from seeing my other friends. One evening he said: "You seem to believe that it's your responsibility to provide me with constant companionship, but it's not. I like being with you, but I'm fine by myself too."

I told him that I was staying home by choice, not out of obligation: "I spend evenings and weekends here because I enjoy your company. I'd rather spend the time with you."

I had said it so he wouldn't feel that he was monopolizing me, but as the words echoed in my mind, the full truth crashed in on me: The fact was that whenever I was away from Dan, I missed him. I was not just fond of him and it was not just physical attraction: I could no longer avoid recognizing that I was in love with him, and that I had fallen in love with him long before the accident.

My mind snapped back to the present when I heard Dan replying "Yeah, sure. It must be my scintillating personality."

"You underrate yourself" I said.

"Thank you, but no matter what you say, I'm an impediment to your seeing other people."

"I'm with other people all day. If I wanted to go out at night or on the weekend, I would. And remember, we were spending most of our leisure time together even before you broke your ankle."

"Yeah, but you also spent time with other friends."

"You did too. Which reminds me: Have you called your friends to tell them what happened and how you're doing? You're welcome to invite them over."

"I'm not a social kind of guy."

Something suddenly occurred on me: "Youdohave other friends?"

"Not really."

That was a revelation. I had never thought about what Dan did in his spare time when we weren't together. I found him to be very personable and had always assumed that when he was not spending leisure time with me he was with other friends. But therewereno other friends.

I'm ashamed to say that selfishly I was not sorry.

Dan was always thanking me for even the most minor things. The first few times, I just responded: "You're welcome," but one day I said: "Dan, I've told you there's no need to be thanking me all the time. Stop it."

"I keep thanking you because you're so generous" he replied. "You do so much for me, and you won't even let me pay you for the food I eat, much less for living in your apartment. To say nothing of the care; that's priceless. Thanking you, and keeping the apartment neat and clean, are the only ways I have of showing how much I appreciate you and all the things you do."

I reminded him that I'd already said Ilikeddoing things for him. "And anyway," I added, "that's what friends do."

He slowly shook his head. "There aren't many people who would do what you do."

"Anyone who doesn't go out of his way for a friend" I said, "probably doesn't like the friend as much as I like you." Then, afraid that I might just have revealed more than I should, I quickly looked around and asked "So what did you do here today that I've told younotto do?"

Having Dan next to me in bed was starting to eat away at my inhibitions. Sometimes I would wake during the night, and against my better judgment I would gingerly put my arm around him and cuddle up to him as he slept. If that woke him, I would pretend that I too was just waking up and had been dreaming. I would apologize, but he would smile and say: "That's ok. I hope it was agooddream."

He would hold my gaze for a few moments before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

Giving Dan baths was a partial outlet for my desires, but as my feelings for him grew more intense, I found that as much as I enjoyed the baths they were not enough. Near the end of the third week, I told him that I was concerned about how severely the cast was limiting his physical activity and that he would slowly lose flexibility. "But there's something that can help. I know how to do deep massage. Would you like that?"

He accepted immediately.

I took him into the bedroom and told him to lie down on his stomach while I went to change clothes.

I put on the baggy pants.

I began at his shoulders, slowly but firmly kneading the yielding flesh.

"Mmmm" he purred, "That feels good."

I was familiar with Dan's body from the baths, but the massage provided another level of intimacy and knowledge: As I moved my hands over his soft skin, working my way along his broad shoulders and down his muscular back, kneading and pressing as I could not do when I bathed him, I learned the details of every muscle. I could feel which ones were pliant and which were knotted. I could work the knotted ones and feel them soften in response.

I was enthralled.

From the small of his back I proceeded to his behind. "There are muscles here too" I told him, in case he was aware that massages do not ordinarily include the butt.

He just grunted in acknowledgement. Apparently he liked what I was doing.

As I squeezed and manipulated those pliant cheeks through the fabric of his briefs, prolonging the task as much as I thought would seem reasonable, I glanced at his face. It looked very much the way it did during the baths: His eyes were closed, and on his face was a beatific smile.

This was even more tempting than when I dressed and undressed him each day. I wanted to pull down the back of the briefs and kiss each cheek. I wanted to plunge my face into the cleft and lick his warm rectal aperture, maybe even push my tongue a little way inside. It was all I could do not to give in.

Finally I decided that I could no longer draw out my stay at his bottom. I continued down his well-developed thighs and legs, giving them a thorough work-over, and then did his uninjured foot. After that, I massaged his upper arms.

When I told him that I was finished, he said "That was fantastic! I don't think I've ever felt this limber! Or this relaxed! You never told me you were a talented masseur."

"Thanks for the compliment" I said. "We can do it again next week."

I asked him to turn onto his back so I could help him get up and dress, but he said that he wanted to lie there a little while longer and just 'chill'.

"Ok" I said. "Give me a shout when you're ready."

I was turning away, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed him raise his hips an inch or two off the bed. A mental light flashed on: Several times during the massage he had said that he needed to adjust his position. I had paused, at which he had raised his hips a little and then lain back down. I had thought nothing of it at the time, but now I knew that he must have been releasing a growing erection. That's why he didn't want to turn over now until I was gone: He didn't want me to see.

I left the bedroom so he could get up without embarrassment.

When I came back a little later, Dan was trying to dress himself. I went over and helped. He smiled at me and said: "I didn't know how tight I'd gotten. Wedefinitelyhave to do this again."

"I'll be happy to" I offered. "It will keep you supple."

A week later, as I was about to start his second massage he startled and delighted me by suggesting that it might be easier if he were completely naked.

So that's how I did the massages from then on. It was evident that he liked them a lot, maybe as much as I did.

I always left the room afterward so that he could let his erection go down before I dressed him.

Dan had been staying with me for a little over six weeks when everything changed:

It was about three hours after we had gone to bed, and my cuddling had awakened him. I was starting to apologize as usual, but he stopped me: "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

That sounded ominous. "OK" I replied, a bit tense.

"The day I broke my ankle?"

"Yes?"

"While I was asleep under those rocks." He paused. "I had a wet dream. Someone was ... doing stuff to my ... penis ... and my balls. They kept on until I came. I think they kissed me too."

That was it?I relaxed. He had thought it was a dream and must want to know whether it was abnormal. And he's so shy that he had even been reluctant to say 'penis'.

"So?" I said. "We all have wet dreams. It's perfectly normal. Nothing to be concerned about."

Then he floored me: "But it wasn't a dream, was it?"

Oh my God.He knew. He had figured it out.

I tried desperately to think of a credible reply as I stammered a delaying return question to his question: "W-what makes you think it wasn't?"

"It was a long time before I began to suspect, and even longer before I was sure."

He paused, for what seemed an eternity.

As I awaited the outraged rebuke, I was consumed with sadness at the thought that I had lost him.

Itseemedlike an eternity but after what was probably only a short silence he said, in an unexpectedly quiet voice: "I've been sharing your home, and your food, and your bed. Did you ever consider that I might also share your feelings?"

Again I waited, but now with some hope.

"I love you, Brandon."

The relief and joy that washed over me at that moment is indescribable.

I couldn't speak; I needed a minute to take in what Dan had just said.

My silence unnerved him. Even in the dim light I could see his face turn pale. I started to say something, to dispel his doubt, but I had not uttered two words when he broke in and began to speak at a rate that betrayed a determination to finish before he lost courage:

"I've been in love with you almost since the day we met, and I hoped you would fall in love withme.From time to time I thought that maybe you had, but I always ended up deciding that it was too good to be true."

Again I tried to interrupt him, and again I was stopped by a rush of words.

"While I've been living here I've had a lot of time to think, and as I mulled over the past few months it seemed to me that there have been clues. Like that day in the woods when I broke my ankle: You were not just sympathetic, you were ... affectionate. I'm sure I even felt you petting me as I was falling asleep. And in the hospital, whenever you looked at me I could see the tenderness in your eyes. A couple of times I almost told you right then and there."

So my guess about those pauses had been correct.

"Now you've brought me here, and have been caring for me in a way that I can only describe as lovingly. So I began to believe that itistrue. But I still had doubts. I thought maybe you love me only as a little brother. ... Until I remembered that you said you would rather be with me than with anyone else.

"I desperately wanted to say something. But I couldn't, because I was afraid of how it might change things if I was wrong. What if you were horrified to learn that the man who's been sleeping next to you every night is in love with you?"

Once more he stopped briefly, but this time I didn't try to interrupt.

"What finally made me decide was my bath today: You've always been gentle, and you go slowly, as if you want it to last as much as I do. But today as you bathed me I felt that I was being ... caressed. It convinced me that I was right. I resolved to tell you that I love you. I was going to do it tomorrow morning, but when I woke up and felt you nestled against me, I couldn't hold back."

I lay there, open-mouthed, in case there was more.

Getting no response from me, he asked: "Well,wasI right?"

I was overwhelmed; his torrent of revelations had me dumbstruck.

He took my silence and my astonished expression as revulsion. I could see tears in his eyes as he said "So I was wrong. Youarehorrified. Well you won't have to put up with me anymore. It'll only take me a few minutes to pack."

He pushed back the covers and began to get out of bed, saying: "If you want nothing more to do with me after this, I'll understand. I'll miss you more than words can tell, but I justhadto know."

My mouth still refused to work.

Trying to get to his feet, having difficulty because of the cast, he asked mournfully: "Won't you evenyellat me? Am I that repulsive to you?"

The words stabbed at my heart and overcame my mental paralysis. I grabbed his arm.

He froze, probably thinking I was going to hit him.

I pulled, toppling him back onto the bed, where he lay in terror as he looked up at me.

I put my arms around him and gave him a long, passionate kiss. "Does that answer your question?"

His response was a rapturous smile.

I gave him another kiss.

"Mmmmm" he murmured. "So that wasn't a dream either." And looking into my eyes, he said: "You have no idea how happy I am."

"Andyouhave no idea" I replied, brushing his tears away with the back of my hand, "how I've longed to hear you say that you love me. I fell in love with you while we were still only casual friends. I kept trying to deny it because I couldn't face the fact that I was in love with another man. But eventually I had to admit it, and since then I've been tortured wondering whetheryoulovedme. Tonight when you told me you do, I was stunned. And when you went on to say all those other things, you struck me speechless. That's why I didn't answer you; I couldn't."

Dan rested his head on my chest. "That's ironic" he observed.

Dan was briefly silent, but then he again brought up the time he broke his ankle: "That day, even with all its pain and fear, I was glad it happened."

"Why?"

"Because it was the first time you held me. I used to fantasize about being in your arms, I even had dreams about it. That day, those dreams came true. It was worth the price."

For a few minutes we just lay there, basking in each other's closeness. Then Dan said: "You might not remember this, but you touched my face as you told me you cared about me, and the way you looked at me made me think you were going to kiss me. But you didn't; you just took your hand away. I was so disappointed."

"OfcourseI remember it!" I told him. "I wasachingto kiss you! I wanted to plant one right on your adorable mouth. But I didn't know whether you wanted me to. You were completely dependent on me out there, and I was afraid that no matter what I did you wouldn't protest even if you hated it. So if I kissed you I would have no way of knowing whether I was taking advantage. That's why I pulled back."

I stopped for a moment, thinking about that day, and said: "But as you eventually figured out, when I thought you were asleep I didmorethan kiss you."

He chuckled. "Yeah. That wet dream."

He was quiet again, apparently lost in thought. Then he said: "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything. Wellalmostanything."

"Those times you put your arm around me during the night - were you really asleep?"

"No. I was awake and resisting temptation but not entirely succeeding. Ever since I sat holding you under that rock formation l I'd been aching to hold you again. I realized it in the hospital when they brought you into the room following the operation. I looked at you lying there asleep, looking so helpless, and wished I could be cradling you in my arms when you woke up.

Dan's face took on a dreamy expression. "Oh that would have been so wonderful. I can't imagine anything better than waking up in your arms."

"But I didn't know that's how you felt. You had welcomed being held that day, but I thought it might just have been that you needed comforting. So I was keeping away, but it hadn't been easy, and in bed at night with you so close that I could feel the heat of your body, the urge was too strong. I've always wondered whether you believed me when I claimed I had been asleep."

"I was never sure" he said.

He paused before adding: "And that's ironic too, because whenever I found your arm around me and felt your body pressed against mine, I always tried to pretend thatIwas asleep so you wouldn't back away. I was always unhappy when something alerted you that I was awake, because I wanted that contactsomuch. And there were times I would look at you lying beside me and be so filled with love that I could hardly keep from doingthis:"