Silver Heat Ch. 04

The men are silent for a time. Neal has shared much. Lance is awed. He feels anything he adds will be overkill. He reaches to place his palm gently on Neal's cheek. Neal turns his head, brushes Lance's hand lightly with his lips. Their eyes lock in a way as close and intimate as the joining of their bodies has been, so intense that both have to look away.

"How about you? What were you crying about?"

"I think it was because you allowed it," Lance declares, "because you were so willing to take me in, take everything in. I was so needy, so full of grief and anger and worry. Somehow, what I, what we did, enabled me to pour it all out. Pour it into you as it were, as if you were made as a receptacle to suck away all the negative and leave me open, whole, clean again. My tears were tears of relief," Lance says.

"Whew, that was heavy," Neal says. "Leave it to a writer."

"Yeah, whew."

After a few more minutes, both rise from the bed, take their turns in the bathroom washing up.

The men wander through the living room into the kitchen, like cattle browsing for feed. "Whatcha wanna eat?" Neal asks.

"Whatcha got?"

"Ahdono, let's look."

A stranger, entering the little house at that time, would have been mightily amused to see two scrawny old butts sticking out of an Amana, two very different penises dangling and dancing between their slightly spread legs, as if performing in the glow of the fridge's interior light.

"Aha!" Lance cries, Ham and cheese."

"And Rye bread and butter and dill pickles and spicy mustard."

Having cracked two diet dews and slapped together giant sandwiches with the addition of onion and lettuce and tomato, and grabbing a bag of crunchy, curly Cheetos, they move to the sun porch to consume their impromptu repast. They sit and munch in serene solitude, watching the grey sea nibble at the shore and listening to the symphony of surf and gulls, once more oblivious that they could be easily observed by anyone walking down the beach.

Taking a big munch of his fat sandwich, Neal dribbles a daub of mustard which falls directly onto his long thin penis.

Hopping up, Lance calls out. "I'll get that!"

Sensing Lance's intention, Neal opens his arms and remains motionless. Lance bends and licks the brown mustard directly off Neal's long thin cock. "Delicious! Lance exclaims, laughing. Both men giggle like schoolboys. "Only two times in a man's life does he have the time to fall in love," Lance philosophizes, easing back into his deck chair, "youth and old age. Though in the young it seems vastly more intense."

"Yeah and much more short-lived."

"Don't forget that the young are much more physically able, longer and stronger."

"Huh. You, in fact we, don't do so bad."

"I don't know about me, but you do damn well!"

"Yes, Neal says, yes lover, we do." He pauses long. "How did that make you feel"

"What? How did what make me feel?"

"Right then, I called you lover?"

"I didn't notice."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"Maybe, yeah."