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© 2003 by Nikki Isaak



Their eyes widened as they recognised each other. They were between the "Masturbation (Healthy Vs. Compulsive)" and "Deepest, Darkest Secrets" placards outside the meeting rooms.

"Paul," said Jeremy, his surprise melting into an honest smile.

"Jeremy," said Paul. Their smiles turned into laughter as they awkwardly shook hands. That brief touch sparked a flurry of weekend memories: insatiable fucking and drinking, clubbing, an amiable parting lunch at Café Flore. Jeremy nearly flinched at the memories; Paul masked their impact with a wider grin.

For a second, they floundered. Then Jeremy dispelled it with: "Which meetings have you attended? And more importantly, which ones will you be attending?"

Paul indicated the two meeting rooms. "I just got here."

His pretty brown eyes elided Jeremy's. Jeremy wondered if he was remembering their first night at Badlands, where they danced, their erections rubbing through leather and jeans. His hands were calloused, experienced; his thighs and ass were like a football player's: tight.

Jeremy's long brown hair shifted as he shook off the thought.

"Don't do that," Paul said. "It's passed. Now we're just friends ­ recovering sex addicts." His smile softened his reprimand.

Jeremy wanted to kiss that smile off Paul's face, his scratchy, light beard against Paul's cherubic flesh.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy replied. "It's just... difficult sometimes."

"I know. Have you seen John or Aaron lately?"

"They left for the East Coast last week to visit John's parents. Apparently, it suddenly became ‘cool' that their only son is a fag."

Paul laughed. He'd forgotten about Jeremy's dead-pan humour.

People were moving around them. Noting this, Jeremy asked, "You want to get some coffee? We look like gits just standing here."

Paul shook his head lightly. A faint blush lit up his angelic face. "You wouldn't be trying to get me up to your ‘luxuriously appointed' room? You know, I've been sober for seven months now."

Jeremy's cock stirred at his Paul's soft tease. He tried to ignore it, remember the shame he'd felt after his empty trysts.

Paul hadn't been like the others. That made him more dangerous.

"Five months for me." The waiter at Sparky's had been too cute to resist, with his Jack the Pumpkin King tattoo and his boyish grin. Jeremy smiled at the memory, in spite of himself.

Paul drew him back. "Maybe later. Are you attending either meeting?" He indicated the two placards outside the meeting rooms.

Jeremy nodded. "I'll be attending ‘Deepest, Darkest Secrets.' It's always fun to watch the newbies fuck up and get specific about their tricks and desires."

Paul laughed, edged away from him.

"That starts in a couple of hours. I'll be" ­ Paul smiled at a passing man sporting an Augustine Fellowship badge, like them ­ "busy until then. But afterwards, maybe. . . as long as we keep it friendly, not sexual."

The man Paul had smiled at was cute. Buzz cut blonde in black khakis and a wife-beater. His wallet chain jingled as it swung about against his inner thigh.

"So, are we on for coffee later?"

"Yeah," Jeremy replied, recovering himself. "That sounds good. Just us, or will others be there?"

"Let's play it by ear." Paul winked, lightly clasped him on the shoulder. Electric tingles lingered after his hand was removed.

Then he was gone, swallowed by fellow sex addicts and other hotel guests.

Jeremy's cock ached. It wanted release. Now. He darted toward the elevator, down the hall.

Five minutes later, he was in his room. Safe. The ache in his heart was set aside; his erection had seen to that. He stroked its burning girth, teasing its head and sides with his forefingers.

He didn't want to come too fast. He wanted to relish the moment, imagining Paul's sweet lips wetting, licking, swallowing his cock, like he did the morning after they met. The mingling of sweat, cologne, sex and lube had tickled their noses, arousing them again, even as they woke.

When he came in Paul's mouth, Paul winked. At that moment, Jeremy had seen something reflected in that wink; it was a semblance of love, a mirror of his own feelings ­ feelings that were all-too fleeting in the wake of time and mutually unhealthy desires.

He frowned as he wiped his cooling jism off his thighs and belly.

Next week, he'd probably be alone. But hopefully, not tonight.


© 2003 by Nikki Isaak. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.


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