"Ben! I'm home!"

Josh's yell was at its normal full volume and was accompanied by the slam of the front door. I'd pretty much given up trying to get him to quit slamming it when he came in. All that energy had to go somewhere. "In here!" I called back from the kitchen, where I was starting dinner. I heard his rapid footsteps and then the kitchen door burst open and there he was, his face lit up with its normal happy grin and his eyes alight with the delight of seeing me.

I turned from the refrigerator where I was pulling out ingredients for that night's dinner and returned his smile. "Hey, sweetheart," I greeted him, opening my arms to him. "How was your day?"

"Great!" he exclaimed. He crossed the room to me in two big strides and flung his arms around me, and we exchanged a hard hug and a kiss. "How about yours?"

"Can't complain," I answered.

It was only then that I looked past Josh and noticed the young man -- Josh's age, mid-20s -- standing in the kitchen doorway looking uncertain. Josh took my hand and towed me to him, saying, "This is James, a friend from work. James, this is my partner, Ben."

I offered my hand and we shook and exchanged greetings. James was obviously shy and his greeting was awkward. He seemed so different from my own gregarious boy that I wondered over Josh befriending him.

"I was going to help James look up a couple things on the web. They don't have a computer," Josh said.

"Okay. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."

"Okay, we'll make it quick," Josh said, and after planting another kiss on my cheek he said, "Come on, James," and headed up the stairs with James trailing in his wake.

Ten minutes later they were coming back down and Josh yelled, "I'm going to run James home!Be back in five!"

"Okay," I called back. "It was nice meeting you, James!"

"Um -- nice to meet you, too," James agreed, although he didn't sound entirely convinced of that. And then the front door slammed again and they were gone.

Josh actually took about ten minutes to make the round trip, arriving back just as I took the stir-fry off the stove. "Smells good. I'll set the table," he said, tossing his keys on the counter.

"Keys on the hook," I reminded him automatically, knowing we'd lose ten minutes tomorrow morning looking for them if he didn't get them onto the hook, now.

He gave me a sheepish grin, grabbed up his keys, and hung them on the designated hook on the wall by the kitchen doorway, then rummaged in the cupboard for plates.

Over dinner, I said, "James seemed nice. Quiet, though."

"Yeah, he's a really nice guy, but he's really shy. He's gay, lives with a partner, but kind of keeps that fact under his hat. He heard me talking about you, and later came up to me and told me he admired how open I was about being gay. We got talking further,and started having lunch together. I like him." He paused a moment as if mulling something over, then said, "I don't know what the deal is with his partner, but I suspect things may not be entirely okay in that arena -- that they may not be getting along too well right now. He seems really lonely."

Well, that explained, at least in part, why Josh had befriended James. He was a major soft touch for people he perceived as lonely or outcast. "Well, I hope you let him get a word in edgewise sometimes," I said with a smile -- although I knew that as much of a talker as Josh could be, he was a good listener, too. It was one of the very long list of things I loved about him.

He grinned and said, "Yeah, sometimes." And then he began to regale me with another chapter in the continuing saga of what an idiot his boss was, and I didn't think any more about James.

When I got home from Josh's, the house was dark and I felt a mingled sense of regret and relief that Lance wasn't there. Regret that there was nobody there to welcome me, the way Ben had welcomed Josh; and at the same relief because I knew that even if Lance had been there when I arrived, he was far more likely to grouse at me than to welcome me. I couldn't help but think about Josh's arrival home to Ben's warm greeting. I remembered the smile on Ben's face and the light in his eyes when he looked at Josh, and the enthusiastic hug they had shared. I couldn't remember Lance EVER looking at me that way, let alone recently.

With that depressing thought weighing on me, I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes and have a quick shower. When I got downstairs I found that Lance had come in. He was looking through the mail and his first words were, "Did you pick up the package from the post office?"

"Fine, and how was your day?" I thought, a bit resentfully; aloud, I said, "The package?"

"Yes, Christ, the package! I left you a phone message, didn't you hear it?"

I looked over at the phone and my heart sank a bit at the sight of the blinking light. "I'm sorry, I didn't check the messages."

"How could you not check the messages? You know that's supposed to be the first thing you do when you come in. And why didn't you answer the phone when I called, in the first place?"

"I -- I got home late today," I admitted.

"Why?"

He seemed so annoyed that I thought briefly of lying, but the truth seemed harmless enough. "I stopped by a friend's house on the way home," I said.

"What friend?"

"Just a guy I work with."

"I didn't give you permission to stop somewhere on the way home," Lance pointed out. I wanted to object; there was no standing rule that I needed to be home at any particular time. I supposed it just fell under the general rule that he had to approve just about every breath I took – something I'd never concurred with, but my opinion on the subject had never entered into it. Anyway, it was clear he was in a rotten mood and any argument from me would only make things worse, especially when he added, "And now the post office is closed, and I really NEEDED that package for work tomorrow!"

"I'm sorry," I said. And I really was sorry that Lance needed the package and I hadn't been around to pick it up. But I considered it an honest mistake, so I was completely taken aback when, after glaring at me for a few moments, he snapped, "Fetch the paddle."

"What?" I exclaimed indignantly. I couldn't help it; it seemed such an overblown reaction to what I'd done. I didn't feel it was my fault that Lance didn't have his package. I'd had no way of knowing I'd needed to be home on time that evening. Anyway, I thought, if he'd needed it so much, he should have picked it up,rather than just leaving me a message and assuming I'd take care of it.

"You heard me!" Lance barked. I just stood there for a short while, frozen with indecision. I wanted to argue with him, to object that I didn't deserve the paddle over something like this; but I knew the look on his face, knew him well enough to know that crossing him right now would only escalate things. Finally I reluctantly, resentfully, fetched the hated implement from a kitchen drawer and brought it to him.

"Bend over the table," he said, putting the paddle down long enough to take off his suit jacket and roll up his sleeves while I dropped my jeans and underwear and bent over the table. Lance picked up the paddle, came up behind me, and said, "From now on you get straight home after work, and check the messages!"

Then without another word he nailed my bare butt again and again with the board, driving strangled cries through my clenched teeth and bringing tears of pain to my eyes. He signaled the end of the ordeal by dropping the paddle onto the table with a clatter. "Dinner had better be ready in a half hour," he growled, and left the room.

Breathing hard, I spent a minute pulling myself together before straightening slowly and easing my jeans back up. My eyes had watered to the point where a couple tears had started down my face and I rubbed them away -- and then felt new tears well up. Not from the pain this time, or not directly, anyway. I just thought again about what a contrast my homecoming had been compared to Josh's and a lump formed in my throat.

Lance hadn't always been this demanding and irritable. Early on in our relationship, he'd been downright charming and attentive. I'd known from the beginning that he had a "take charge" aspect to his personality, in all areas of his life, including his relationship to me,but I didn't mind that. In fact, I'd found it part of the attraction. I was drawn to his confidence and his competence, and to the orderliness of his life, such a contrast to the chaos that always seemed to swirl around me. And I could hardly believe it when such an attractive, successful man turned out to be attracted to ME.

I quickly found out that his orderliness came with a definite rigidity. Lance pretty much thought that the way he did things was the ONLY right way to do them, and he expected me to do things his way. There wasn't any room for negotiation on this, but I went along with it willingly enough in those early stages of the relationship. I was very attracted to him, and found a certain security in letting him take control of my life. I accepted that he probably knew best on just about everything -- in part because he told me he did, and he could be extremely persuasive.But it had taken some time to get used to Lance's expectations for my behavior. I had some wild friends and a lot of bad habits, and as much as I wanted to make myself into someone Lance could be proud of, it was a struggle.

A major turning point occurred fairly early in our relationship --considered him my boyfriend by that time, but hadn't moved in with him. I was at a party that ended up getting raided by the cops. Luckily for me I wasn't actually in possession of anything illegal at the time of the raid, but the two friends who I'd gone there with had been carted away, and I'd been left without a ride home. After unsuccessfully trying to bum a ride off someone else, I finally, with great reluctance, phoned Lance. I knew he took a very dim view of the kind of parties I went to and the friends I hung out with, and that he was going to be very unhappy to find out what I'd been doing with my evening.

Lance did come to pick me up, and I was really grateful, but he barely responded to my effusive thanks. He was obviously furious with me, and I'll admit that I was pretty ashamed of myself -- or at least, ashamed that he'd found out about it. But that didn't prepare me for what happened when we got back to Lance's house.

We'd barely gotten in the door when he rounded on me and snapped,"Okay, that's it. I'm not allowing this kind of idiot behavior anymore." Then he took my wrist, towed me into the living room, sat on the couch, and to my complete bewilderment unfastened my jeans and tugged them down. While I was still wondering why he'd be in the mood for sex when he was so angry, he unceremoniously hauled me facedown over his lap, yanked down my boxers, and began to smack my ass -- hard-- with the flat of his hand.

Shocked, I exclaimed, "Hey! What are you doing?" and automatically tried to twist away from the stinging slaps, but he pinned me down and just kept walloping me. "Stop it!" I shouted, trying to get a hand back to protect myself, but Lance was a big guy -- it had been one of the things I'd found attractive about him -- and he managed to hold my hand out of the way and keep me in place despite my frantic wriggling and loud protests, all the while dealing out those searing slaps to my bare butt.

I was completely astonished by the pain, and even more shocked at the idea that he would do this to me. He was SPANKING me, for godsakes, like I was a little kid or something– and he was really laying into me! By the time he released me I was seriously hurting and absolutely furious with him.

"You didn't have any right to do that!" I shouted as I hauled my boxers and jeans back up, wincing as the jeans rubbed my blazing backside.

"I had every right," he said calmly. "You had it coming, and I'm the logical person to give it to you."

His calmness made me even angrier. "Well, you'd better not do it again!"

"I certainly WILL do it again if you do something to deserve it."

I stared at him, and finally said, "Take me home."

"I think you should stay here tonight. You're pretty wound up."

"I wonder why?" I shot back sarcastically. "Anyway, I don't want to stay here, I want to go home!"

"And I said," he repeated, with an edge creeping into his voice,"that I want you to stay here."

"So you won't take me home?"

"No."

"I'll walk, then. Or I'll take the bus."

After regarding me solemnly for a moment, he said, "If you take one step out that door, you're going back over my knee."

I stared at him. He meant it; I knew the look on his face. But while I was standing there trying to decide whether to fight him and leave anyway, his expression suddenly softened.

"You know I'm just doing this for your own good," he said. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't care about you."

That sudden softening took a lot of the fight out of me. And because I admired and respected him, and didn't want to oppose him, and thought that maybe he really did know what was best for me, I gave in and stayed the night.

As it turned out, I had stayed for the last two years. Lance decided that I should be living with him so he could supervise me full time,and moved me out of the apartment I shared with three friends, all of whom he disapproved of.

Gradually he cut off my contact with all of my friends, citing them as bad influences. And I found myself living my life in an entirely Lance-mandated manner -- or suffering the consequences if I didn't. I became extremely familiar with the pants-down-butt-up position over Lance's lap that I'd first experienced after that fateful party, and equally familiar with the pattern of the wallpaper in one corner of the living room where I spent a considerable amount of time contemplating what Lance considered my misdeeds.

The punishments were fairly frequent at first; I had a very difficul time remembering and adhering to his multitude of rules, and I staged frequent small rebellions when the restrictions started to chafe. Lance abandoned hand spankings early on in favor of a thin but sturdy maple paddle that stung like a snakebite, augmented on rare but memorable occasions with a thick leather strap. I never learned to accept being spanked, although I learned to act as though I did, since showing my anger and resentment only made things worse. For a while I continued to argue and protest against every punishment, but Lance just took the unshakeable stance that I was being willful and stubborn, that I had earned what I was getting, and that if I didn't want to be spanked, I had only to behave myself. And if I outright refused to take the spanking, he had absolutely no qualms about physically forcing me to do so, and punishing me more severely, for daring to defy him.

I thought many times in those months about leaving Lance, but a combination of several things kept me there. One was that I didn't actually have the means to get myself a place to live. Although Lance handled the lion's share of our living expenses, I contributed what I could out of my own meager salary. It was an amount we'd agreed upon, but it left me pretty much perpetually broke; there was no way to save for all the expenses of getting an apartment. Early on, one of my friends would probably have been happy to let me camp in their living room while I got some funds together, but now I had severed my ties with all of them, and I had no family to turn to. But perhaps even a greater factor in keeping me with Lance was Lance himself. There was a reason he made his living in advertising: he could sell anything to anybody. And he was very persistent in selling me the idea that the way he treated me was for my own good. For all I knew, he believed it himself. In any case, most of the time he had me believing it, too.

I bought into the story he wove around our relationship: that I was naturally wayward and self-destructive, so he had to keep me under control for my own safety, and that he had to be particularly strict and sometimes extremely harsh in his punishments because I was so willful and stubborn. According to Lance, I simply left him no choice but to do what he did – and most of the time, he had me believing that.

And in between the punishments, Lance gave me a lot of attention and, when I was doing well in adhering to his expectations, a lot of approval. Both of these were things I hadn't had much of in my life and I was willing to put up with a lot to get them. I had to admit to myself that his rules did keep me out of trouble, and provided me with a structure and security that had been lacking in my life before. And if I had occasional doubts over whether what I gained was worth what I'd given up, well -- he spent a lot of time convincing me that it was, and as I've said, he was very persuasive.

Lately, though, things seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. Lance's job as partner in an advertising firm was taking an increasing amount of time, keeping him away from home most evenings and making him increasingly irritable with the pressure.

Having been forced to sever all my ties with my own friends, I was lonely and isolated most of the time, completely dependent on Lance for company -- and when he finally did come home he seemed pretty much limited to being preoccupied with his job and finding fault with me. And when he found fault with me, it usually led to him sending me for the paddle, as he had tonight. His patience was zero for any of life's normal setbacks, and I seemed to be getting the blame for all of those setbacks, and that was translating into punishments all out of proportion to my infractions.

I didn't have to look at my butt in a mirror to know that I had a few new black-and-blue marks from tonight's assault; it had gotten so I pretty much always had some bruises, since he added new ones before the old ones had really had a chance to fade. I was getting sick of it, no doubt, but I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. There would be no reasoning with him, there never had been.

I finished fixing dinner just as Lance arrived back down the stairs. We ate in silence, Lance reading some papers from work and me keeping counsel with my own thoughts while fidgeting on my sore butt. I reflected on how, in my short time at Josh's house that evening, it had become crystal clear to me that something had always been missing from my relationship with Lance. Lance had been quite wrapped up in me at the beginning of our relationship,and he had been so charismatic that I'd been flattered by his attention, and he had provided a definite sense of security by wrapping me so tightly in his rules. But there had never been any real warmth in our relationship, nothing like the warmth I'd instantly sensed radiating from Ben to Josh in the few minutes I'd been around Ben.

I knew now that I didn't just want safety and security from a partner -- I wanted genuine affection. I wanted to be cherished, like Josh was. I knew I didn't love Lance any more,and wondered now if I ever had, or if I'd confused need and respect with love. And while at one time I would have said he loved me,now I wondered if I'd always just been a project to him -- shades of Pygmalion.

That night in bed, with Lance lying an arm's length from me with his back turned -- we hadn't had sex in quite a while, hadn't slept cuddled up since I could remember -- I lay there and stared at thr ceiling and wondered how I'd let my life come to this. And more particularly, what the hell I was going to do about it. ****************************************************************************

A couple days later, a Friday, Josh and I were on our lunch break and he asked idly, "So, any fun plans for tonight?"

"No. Lance won't be home until really late tonight -- he's having dinner with some clients. So I guess I'll just be hanging out at home."

"Oh, yeah? Then why don't you come have dinner with us?"

I was taken aback by the offer. "Oh, I don't know…" I waffled. I didn't want to insult Josh by refusing his invitation, especially when I'd already revealed that I had no other plans. But I also didn't see how I could accept. Lance surely wouldn't permit me to have dinner with guys he didn't know -- but I couldn't bring myself to tell Josh that I couldn't go because my partner wouldn't let me.

"Come on! It'll be fun! Our friend Logan will be coming over, too-- you'll like him."

Now I had even more reason to refuse. I was uncomfortable enough about the idea of spending the evening with Josh's partner Ben. I just wasn't very good at social situations, and the idea of another stranger being there at dinner really put me off. "But Ben's not expecting me for dinner," I pointed out. "Maybe there won't be enough food or something."

Josh immediately took out his cell phone and, ignoring my protests, called Ben. Even just listening to Josh's side of the conversation, it was apparent that Ben had no problem at all with the idea of Josh bringing me along to dinner. I tried a couple more feeble excuses, but Josh wasn't the type to take no for an answer without some argument, and he kept cajoling me until I heard myself accepting. He was the only real friend I'd had since I'd moved in with Lance, and I didn't want to risk alienating him by refusing his invitation.

I decided not to say anything to Lance about it. He wouldn't be home until quite late, and there was a chance he'd never know I'd gone. If he found out, my punishment would undoubtedly be swift and severe, but he had been so punitive lately it hardly seemed to matter. Staying friends with Josh was more important to me right now than avoiding Lance's anger.

Having obtained my agreement, Josh was now planning the logistics of the evening. "How about I just run you home right after work, and you can shower and change," he suggested. I didn't have a car -- I couldn't afford one -- and I appreciated his thoughtfulness in making the offer.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," I agreed, although I was still far from convinced that any of this was a good idea.

I spent the afternoon thinking about the coming evening. I was still nervous about the idea of having dinner with Josh's partner and their friend -- suppose one of them decided he didn't like me? Would that affect Josh's opinion of me? And I was still worried about Lance finding out that I'd gone. I reminded myself firmly that Ben had seemed really nice when I'd met him, and that the odds were, their friend was a nice guy, too. And that I had a right to have friends of my own, and Lance had no right to expect me to sit home alone when I could be out enjoying myself. And for a while I was able to convince myself that accepting the invitation had been the right thing to do.

But by the end of the workday, I was back to wondering what the

hell I'd been thinking of to accept. I would undoubtedly do something to screw things up, and Ben or Logan -- or both --wouldn't like me. And Lance would probably find out, and he'd have a fit. But there was no way I could back out now; Josh was just too enthusiastic about the whole idea.

At the end of the day we made the run out to my house for me to shower and change clothes, and we arrived at Josh's house to find Ben busy with the dinner preparations. To my surprise he seemed genuinely pleased to see me again. I had a few moments of panic when Josh took off upstairs to shower and change, leaving me alone with Ben, but I managed to pull myself together enough to ask if there was anything I could do to help, and was immediately put to work preparing vegetables for a salad. The familiar task, along with Ben's geniality, helped take my mind off my nervousness.

In a short while, Josh came back down, and joined in with the preparations. Everything seemed a bit livelier whenever Josh was around, he was so enthusiastic about everything, and always clowning, and he obviously amused Ben as much as he did me.

I was just starting to really relax when the doorbell rang, signaling Logan's arrival. Josh ran to answer the door and a minute later he came back into the kitchen -- towing by the hand one of the most attractive men I had ever seen. I felt a warmth curling deep in my belly just at the sight of him.

Like Lance, Logan was a big guy -- tall, deep in the chest and broad in the shoulders. He wore jeans and a polo shirt that showed him to be in overall great shape, but he didn't have the muscle-bound look of the gym rats that Lance hung out with. There was no swagger to his walk, no sense that he was trying to impress anyone. Instead he moved with an easy, masculine grace that mesmerized me.

He and Ben exchanged a hug of greeting, and then Josh grabbed his hand again and pulled him over to me, saying, "And this is my friend James. James, this is Logan."

With Logan's full attention on me I felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. I was sure I was about to do something stupid and Logan would think I was an idiot. And for some reason it was very important to me that Logan not think me an idiot.

"Nice to meet you, James," Logan said in his deep voice, and he held out a hand to shake. Somehow I managed to return the gesture -- but when Logan's big, callused bear paw of hand closed around mine, and he looked right into my eyes and smiled, I swear I thought my knees were going to give way on the spot.

"Nice to meet you, too," I managed to say, and was amazed that my voice didn't quaver or crack, that I actually sounded relatively normal despite my nervousness. I expected him to drop my hand then, but for some reason he held it for several long seconds more and continued to look into my face -- his smile fading a bit, and his gaze sharpening as if he was looking right into me, as if he could see straight to my soul and knew everything I was thinking. For a few moments I felt suspended, losing track of time, of my surroundings. It was, for that few moments, as if he and I were the only two people in the universe. I'd never experienced anything like it before. And then he released my hand, and Ben and Josh swept him into the dinner preparations, and the moment passed. At least, for everyone else, it did. I had been so affected by it that I had a hard time even remembering what I'd been doing before Logan had arrived, let alone mustering the attention to start doing it again.

When we finally sat down to eat, I couldn't help but compare the occasion to the dinner parties Lance sometimes gave. Lance's were formal, upscale parties, and he always had them catered, declaring me incapable of cooking up to the standards his friends expected -- and the truth was, I was relieved not to have that responsibility. During Lance's dinners, the conversation seemed to be a constant competition between all the participants to impress each other -- who'd gone to the most exotic place for their vacation, or who rubbed elbows with the most famous or influential people, or who knew the most about wine or art or politics. I would remain silent the entire time, knowing I had nothing to contribute -- and knowing that Lance's friends all considered me beneath their notice. I'd heard more than one of them ask him what he was doing with me, when he could "do so much better".

By contrast, dinner with Josh and his friends was noisy and cheerful, as they caught up on each other's lives, and talked about sports and about movies they'd seen, and argued genially about current events, trading friendly jabs and insults the whole time. I was pretty much silent during this dinner, too, not having nearly the confidence it would have required to join in, but somehow I didn't feel left out. They all behaved as if I was part of the group--making eye contact with me when they were telling jokes and stories, soliciting my opinions, that sort of thing. And my lonely, attention-starved soul soaked it all right up.

I was watching Ben and Josh very carefully through all of this. I was looking for clues as to what a relationship should be like, and comparing it to my own situation. But I quickly realized that if I was looking for an example of what a couple behaved like when their roles were equal, rather than the sir/sub nature of my relationship with Lance, I wasn't going to find it here. Ben was obviously the head of this household, and Josh obviously saw him as an authority figure as well as a partner.

At first I wasn't sure I was interpreting the situation correctly; I thought maybe I was superimposing my own expectations, from my setup with Lance, onto what I was seeing. But the more I watched, the more I was convinced that I was right. Josh consistently deferred to Ben on even trivial decisions, like whether it was warm enough to have the windows open (Ben said no); Ben routinely, if gently, corrected Josh about things like whether he was putting too much salt on his food (he was, according to Ben);and when Ben asked Josh to do something, Josh did it. In fact,Ben looked as completely in charge of things in this house as Lance was in ours. But there was another part of it that wasn't similar to my relationship with Lance, which was the way Ben doted on Josh.

It was obvious in the pride and warmth in his gaze when he looked at Josh, in the attentive way he listened to him. He made requests of Josh rather than issuing orders, and was liberal with his thanks when Josh complied. And Josh himself appeared to be completely comfortable with the setup. When Ben asked him to fetch the butter, which had been left in the kitchen, he leapt to obey with a cheerful, "Sure thing!" And when he came back into the dining room, and Ben observed that he'd left the light on in the kitchen, he gave an apologetic grin before heading back to turn it off. There wasn't any sign of resentment on Josh's part -- or, for that matter,any sign of power tripping or condescension on Ben's part. It seemed an entirely natural and comfortable form of relating to each other, for both of them.

Even more than I was watching Ben and Josh, though, I was watching Logan. I couldn't remember ever meeting anyone quite like him before. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that fascinated me so much about him. I was physically attracted to him, no question; it made my teeth hurt just to look at him. But it went well beyond that. I had never known anyone who seemed so completely comfortable with themselves. Not in an arrogant or self-centered way; just the opposite -- it was as if he was so totally confident in himself and his abilities that he didn't need to impress anyone else. He was relaxed and genial, smiling and laughing easily, and while you always knew where he stood on things,he didn't try to ram his opinions down anyone's throat. When someone spoke, he gave them his full attention -- including me. It made me extremely self-conscious, in those first couple of times I dared to join in the conversation, to have his attention suddenly focused on me, to the point where it made me lose my train of thought and stammer. But he never made me feel stupid,so I gained a little confidence every time I spoke.

Logan's relationship to Josh seemed almost that of a young uncle or older brother. Josh obviously looked up to him, admired him greatly, and saw him as an authority figure second only to Ben. And Logan obviously felt great affection for Josh: he laughed at Josh's clowning and tousled his hair and called him nicknames like "sport" and "brat" with obvious fondness. And when Josh mentioned that his car was making a funny noise, Logan immediately offered to take a look at it for him.

Although I didn't begrudge Josh his happy situation, I envied it intensely. He had not just one but two, for lack of a better word,caretakers -- two strong, capable men who cared about him and watched over him, buffering him against life's hard knocks and showering affection on him. This was just what I had been seeking when I'd let Lance suck me in, I realized -- what I had kept hoping to get from him. I'd seen glimmers of it in Lance, which was the main reason why, I supposed, I had stayed with him as long as I had -- although I hadn't really seen it in a while, and I had never seen it to anything like the extent I saw it here. Josh didn't need two caretakers, I found myself thinking. He should let me have one of them. Logan, obviously, since Ben was Josh's partner. And Logan could look at me the way he looked at Josh, and he could rumple my hair and call me pet names. And at the end of the evening we would go home and go to bed and …

I realized where my thoughts were going and quickly curtailed them. I was officially in a monogamous relationship, and even if I wasn't too happy with it at the moment, I figured I ought to leave it before I took up with someone else. Besides, I had no reason to believe that Logan was attracted to me.

As we were finishing up the meal, Josh said, "Hey, why don't we play Pictionary."

"After we clean up," Ben said.

"I'll handle the cleanup later," Josh offered. Ben sent him an admonishing glance, but he persisted. "Honest, as soon as they've gone -- and I'll do it all myself!"

Ben contemplated the offer, then relented. He and Josh spent a couple minutes putting the perishables away in the fridge, while I fretted about the upcoming game. I'd heard of the game but had never played it, and I was nervous that I'd make a fool of myself. I got even more nervous when I was paired with Logan -- what if I was terrible at the game, what if I let Logan down? I knew it was just a game, but Lance had conditioned me to take games very seriously. He literally couldn't bear to lose, and if I was partnered with him in a game or on his team in a sport, and did anything to contribute to us losing, I would hear about it for days.

We went into the living room to play, sitting on the floor in pairs on either side of the coffee table -- which brought me into very close proximity with Logan, but I was too nervous to be able to enjoy it. Josh explained the game to me, and when I found out it was a drawing game, I was doubly nervous. "The thing is -- I can't draw very well," I protested feebly.

"I can't draw at ALL," Logan said with a grin. "That's why you're on my team -- those two know how bad I am at this and neither of them wanted me. Anyway, you only need to draw stick figures and basic shapes."

"Yeah, don't try anything fancy, it takes too much time," Josh advised.

It was with dry mouth and sweaty palms that I started the game,but within about ten minutes I had forgotten my trepidation and was having a great time. I actually had quite a bit of talent for the game, I discovered to my own surprise. Logan's drawings were truly awful, but I still managed to guess them correctly more often than not, leaving Josh to shake his head and say, "How did you DO that?" in a tone of wonder. And my drawings weren't bad, either, and Logan was a lot better at guessing than at drawing, so before I knew it we'd pulled ahead by a comfortable margin. But it wasn't the winning that I was enjoying so much; it was the playing of the game itself. It was one of the funniest things I'd ever participated in. The goofiness of some of the drawings, the lameness of some of the clues and some of the guesses, had us all in stitches most of the time, and I completely lost my self-consciousness while we played. Even better were the little "victory celebrations" that Logan began to observe when we won a round, especially against the odds -- that is, when his drawings were particularly terrible, but I guessed them anyway. At first it was just high-fives, but then he was squeezing my shoulder, patting my back, and -- shades of my fantasies -- rumpling my hair, and exclaiming, "Good boy! Get 'em, James!" And when we won the game, he set my heart to galloping my taking my head between his hands and giving me a big kiss on the forehead.

"That is the FIRST time I've ever been on a winning team in this damned game!" he said. "Thanks!"

Okay, I told myself, that hadn't been a serious kiss, it had just been a friendly one. Congratulatory. Right? He hadn't meant anything by it. Had he?Besides, it didn't matter. I was with Lance, and until I took care of that situation one way or another, I couldn't contemplate taking up with anyone else. And I couldn't read too much into one kiss. But on the other hand, I didn't think I would ever forget it, not if I lived to be a hundred. And to cap off a fantastic evening, it was Logan who drove me home. In a way I almost couldn't enjoy it; it was almost overwhelming to be alone with him in his car, sitting so close to him and trying to respond, as he chatted to me, without stammering or sounding like a brainless dunce. But I was still happy to be with him for those few minutes more.

I had a few moments of anxiety, as we approached the house, that Lance might already be there. I had various excuses planned in case he was there, or in case he'd tried to call me during the evening, but I wasn't very hopeful he'd accept them. So I was very glad to see that the house was dark -- although that might simply mean he'd already gone to bed. But after saying goodnight to Logan and basking one more time in the warmth of his smile, I went in to find the house and garage empty. I still wasn't home free, but I was having better luck than I usually did.

When Lance finally did arrive home, at almost midnight, it was obvious he'd been drinking. In fact, if I'd driven a car while in the state he was in, he'd have skinned me. But it put him in a pretty mellow mood and he didn't question me about my evening, so apparently he hadn't tried to call the house or anything like that. He was out like a light in no time, and although he woke surly and hung over, and I got swatted over the weekend a few times when he was particularly irritated about something, I completely got away with my evening out. This was a fairly new experience for me; maybe, I thought, my luck was improving.

After dropping James off and waiting until he disappeared into his

house, I drove home, but during the drive I was completely

preoccupied with thoughts of him. From the moment I'd first laid

eyes on him I'd felt a hard tug of attraction -- he was seriously

adorable, at least for my tastes -- and when I'd shaken hands with

him, and looked into his eyes, I had felt a strange, very intense

sense of connection. I'd never felt anything quite like it before,

and I couldn't explain it. I had watched him surreptitiously all

through dinner, and I could see that he was in turn watching Ben

and Josh -- and sometimes, I thought, he was watching me,

observing us all intently as if we were some kind of foreign culture

he was studying.

Josh had warned me that he was shy and probably lonely, despite

living with a partner. His shyness undoubtedly accounted for his

reserve during dinner. But he came out of it as we played the

game afterwards, and his enjoyment and enthusiasm were a delight

to watch. A couple of times when he turned a full-amplitude grin

on me, it was all I could do to keep from grabbing and kissing him.

I contented myself with rumpling his hair and patting his back -- in

the guise of congratulations, but really because I wanted so much

to touch him. And at the end of the game I did allow myself the

treat of giving him a kiss, but I planted it on his forehead instead of

on his mouth, where I really wanted to. He DID have a partner,

after all, and I had to respect that.

But I wasn't above wondering just how solid his partnership was.

Otherwise, why would he be lonely?

I spent the next few days preoccupied with thoughts of James,

which wasn't like me at all, and when Ben called to invite me to

dinner againthat next Friday, and told me that James would be there

again, I jumped to accept the invitation.

In fact, I was so eager for the get-together that Friday that I arrived

at Ben's a bit early, only to find I'd arrived in the middle of an

unpleasant scene between Ben and Josh. Ben had apparently

called Josh at work that day only to be chirpily informed by the

woman answering the phone that Josh wasn't available because he

was out trying out his coworker Ron's new motorcycle. Ben,

who'd had a close friend die in a motorcycle accident, was an

absolute bear about Josh staying off of them, and he was furious

that Josh had ignored his orders.

"I need to take care of this now, Logan," he told me apologetically.

"I don't want it hanging over his head all evening."

I knew what he meant by "take care of this": Josh was in for a

spanking, and from the level of Ben's anger, I guessed it would

involve the paddle. This was an aspect of Ben and Josh's

relationship that I'd never quite gotten used to. Ben swore to me

that it was the best way to keep Josh from self-destructing, and I

knew Josh was in complete consent with the arrangement, and that

Ben would never really be abusive, even when he was in a temper -

- but it still didn't seem quite right to me.

Still, given that I knew it was a consenting arrangement on both

sides, I accepted it as really none of my business. But that didn't

mean I wanted to listen to the process. I'd stayed in the house once

while a paddling was going on and it had not only unnerved me,

listening to the loud crack of the paddle swats and the unhappy

yelps from Josh; it had also made me feel a kind of low,

simmering anger at Ben for several days, from actually hearing

him do that to Josh, whom I loved like a little brother. So now,

faced with the fact that Josh was going to get walloped and there

wasn't anything I could do about it, I said, "Okay, I'll be outside,"

and headed out to sit on the porch.

I hadn't been sitting there two minutes when I saw a figure

approaching from down the street that I immediately recognized as

James. He was early, too. Lucky I was outside to intercept him, I

thought, given that Ben and Josh were ... busy.

I stood to greet him and saw him falter when he caught sight of

me. That bothered me more than I cared to admit; Josh had told

me how shy he was, but I'd thought we'd made a connection at

dinner the previous week, especially over the Pictionary game.

But apparently he still felt uncomfortable around me. Trying to

put him more at ease, I smiled and waved at him. He awkwardly

returned the wave and gave me a shy smile that made my chest

clench a little, it was so cute.

"Aren't they home?" he asked as he neared -- obviously he was

confused as to why I was on the porch. "I guess I'm kind of early."

"No, it's okay -- they're here. They're just -- having a bit of a

discussion right now, so I came out here to give them some

privacy."

He fidgeted. "Maybe I should leave," he said. "I don't want to

intrude." I wondered if that was the real reason he was considering

leaving, or if it might be because he realized he was going to have

to spend some time alone with me.

"You don't have to leave," I said quickly. I definitely wanted him

to stay. "They'll work it out pretty quick, they always do."

He still looked uncomfortable, but he stayed. I sat down again and

after a hesitation he sat next to me. I searched for some small talk;

I didn't find the silence awkward, but thought maybe he did. But

before I could say anything, I heard a faint, rhythmic percussive

sound from in the house -- the paddling was underway. It wasn't

loud, it was really barely audible, but James glanced back over his

shoulder at the front door with a bit of a frown. I wondered if he

might have guessed what the noise was, but thought it improbable -

- surely he would never guess that Ben was spanking Josh; it just

wasn't the sort of thing that would occur to someone.

"So, how was work today?" I asked, as much to get my own mind

off of what was happening to Josh as to divert James's attention

from the sound. I knew that Josh was working for the summer in

the warehouse of a parcel delivery service, although in the fall -- if

Ben had his way -- he'd head back to classes at the local university.

James fidgeted a bit. "Um -- not too bad." He glanced worriedly at

the door again, where the faint sound of the paddle whacks

continued.

"Josh says your boss is a bit of an idiot."

He cast me a startled look, and then a bit of a smile crept onto his

face. "Yeah, he can be pretty irritating sometimes."

Oh God, that smile was so appealing. I wanted to see more of it,

so I fed him one of Josh's particularly funny stories about their

boss, coaxing James to elaborate on it. And sure enough, I got a

real grin out of him as he added his own point of view to the story.

I was so completely wrapped up in him by that time -- trying to

stifle a strong urge to lean over and kiss him while I enjoyed

looking at him and listening to him -- that it startled me when the

front door opened.

"Okay, Logan, you can come back in now, it's over," Ben said, and

then apparently noticed James sitting next to me. "Oh -- hi, James!"

he greeted. "How've you been?"

"Fine, thanks," James answered, but his tone was very neutral, not at

all the friendly tone he'd just been using with me. Almost frosty, I

thought.

Kind of like, I realized, the tone I had used with Ben, the first time

I'd heard him give Josh a spanking.

If Ben noticed James's attitude, he didn't let on. "Well, come on in,

you two. Josh's upstairs having a shower, he'll be down shortly."

I stood, and offered my hand to James to pull him to his feet. He

looked into my eyes for just a moment, and I felt that sense of

connection again; then he shifted his gaze to my outstretched hand

and after a moment reached up and put his hand in mine. I helped

him up, but then didn't want to let go, and I followed that impulse,

leading him by the hand into the house. I felt him draw up short

for just a moment at the doorway, as if he didn't want to go in, but

I gave the barest tug and he followed me in.

He was noticeably cool with Ben for the rest of the evening,

though, and more than once I saw that he was watching Josh with

a frown of concern. I could understand why he might be

concerned over what he'd heard, worried that Ben was abusing

Josh. I didn't know if it would ease his concern to know that it

was consensual, and I didn't feel I could discuss the inner workings

of Ben and Josh's relationship with him, anyway. But I thought

maybe I'd mention to Josh that James may have overheard and

seemed upset about it.

In any case, it was a pretty dismal evening compare to the week

before, and as much as I wanted to be around James, I was kind of

relieved when he said he should be going, and I volunteered once

again to drive him home. He was pretty quiet on the way to his

house, and when I pulled up to the curb I contemplated whether to

give him a good-night hug or even a kiss. But he seemed kind of

nervous, and I decided not to push it. I contented myself with

giving his shoulder a squeeze and saying, "It was nice to see you

again this evening, James."

"Yeah, um -- you, too," he replied, appearing a bit flustered.

"Well, good night," I said.

"Yeah, good night. Thanks for the ride." I watched as he got out

of the car and headed up the walk, and felt a definite pang as I

watched him disappear into the dark interior of the house.

What a completely strange and disappointing evening it had been.

I had been so looking forward to it, looking forward to a repeat of

the previous week, when I'd felt accepted and comfortable with a

group of friends for the first time in ages. Actually I couldn't

remember EVER feeling as comfortable with friends as I'd felt by

the end of that evening.

And perhaps even more, I was looking forward to seeing Logan

again. I'd been thinking about him all week. At first I had resisted

letting my mind go there, but it was persistent, and I had finally

given in and let my mind spin its fantasies. Many of them were

sexual, but a good many of them were simply warm and

affectionate. I daydreamed of coming home to Logan's warm

greeting at the end of the day, of spending evenings cuddled

together in front of the TV, of sleeping at night with Logan's big

body curled around mine. Of course, I had no idea if it would

really be like that if I was with him, but that didn't keep my mind

from spinning those scenes almost endlessly.

This evening, because we had gotten off work early, and the

weather was good, I'd taken the bus home to shower and change,

and then had taken another bus to near Josh's house and walked

the rest of the way. And I had been startled to see a man stand up

from one of Josh's front porch steps as I approached -- as if he had

been waiting for me.

My first thought was that it was Lance, that he'd somehow found

out that I was going to Josh's without his permission and had been

lying in wait for me to show up. The thought didn't really make

sense, since Lance had no idea where Josh lived, or even what his

name was; but he'd shown up to ambush me at other places where I

wasn't supposed to be, and the results hadn't been pleasant. In my

surprise at seeing him, I stumbled and came to a stop before I

realized that the guy on the porch was Logan.

My heart had sped up at the thought that it was Lance, and now it

kept pounding -- but for another reason entirely. Logan was even

better-looking than I remembered, impossibly sexy in faded jeans

and a snug heather grey T-shirt, and I was once again struck stupid

with infatuation. He lifted his hand and waved, grinning that

spectacular grin of his, and it took me a moment to gather myself

together to respond with a hesitant wave and smile of my own.

Then I had to make my feet start moving again, making the

journey to the porch despite how self-conscious I felt. I

remembered that I'd felt pretty easy around him by the end of our

last evening together, but right now, with him watching me, I felt

like an awkward kid. Still, I wanted to be near him -- had wanted

it all week, despite my efforts to tamp down on the feelings -- and

somehow I managed to make it to his side without falling on my

face.

When I wondered aloud why Logan was out on the porch, he told me

he'd come out to give Ben and Josh some privacy for a discussion.

I assumed he meant they were arguing, and immediately wondered

if I should leave. I had a hard time imagining either Ben or Josh

mad enough to argue, but if they were arguing, then surely they

wouldn't be in the mood to be entertaining guests this evening. I

certainly wouldn't be ready to face guests after an argument with

Lance, but then I always ended up with a red-hot backside these

days whenever I dared to argue with him, which tended to make

me anti-social.

But Logan assured me that they would work it out pretty quick, and

we sat on the porch to wait.

It was while I was sitting there, hyperaware of Logan's substantial

presence next to me, that I heard the sound. At first I thought I

was imagining it, but it kept on. I might not have noticed it if I

hadn't been so damned familiar with it myself: the sharp, rhythmic

pop of a wood paddle swatting a bare butt. Faint, but definitely

there -- and definitely coming from inside Josh's house.

I couldn't keep from glancing back over my shoulder at the door,

although of course that didn't offer up any clues as to what I was

actually hearing. Then Logan started talking to me, which distracted

me from the sound, although once or twice it intruded again,

drawing my attention back to the closed door.

A short while later the front door opened and there was Ben,

saying something to Logan about how he could come in now,

because it was over. I wondered darkly what "it" was -- although I

was pretty sure I knew. And where was Josh, anyway?

Ben noticed me then, and greeted me genially, but I was feeling a

definite suspicion towards him by that time and my response was

cool. When he invited us in, I almost didn't want to go, didn't want

to enter another household where young men got walloped by their

bigger partners if they didn't obey. I had been okay with the idea

that Ben was head of household, but I was upset that the

relationship might include corporal punishment. I was having a

hard time reconciling the warm, friendly Ben I remembered from

last week with someone who would hit Josh the way Lance hit

me.

But then Logan was standing in front of me, offering me his hand,

pulling me to my feet -- and drawing me along behind him as he

headed into the house. I liked the feel of his hand engulfing mine,

so although I hung back just a bit as we approached the door, I

didn't attempt to pull away and soon found myself sitting next to

Logan on a couch in the living room -- where, to my disappointment,

he let go of my hand.

Ben had told us that Josh was in the shower. He came down

shortly, his hair still wet, and I watched him carefully for clues as

to what had happened while Logan and I had been out on the porch.

His eyes did look a bit red, but that could have just been from his

shower. Or maybe he had been crying, but only in emotional

response to having an argument with Ben. He definitely seemed a

bit subdued, shaking my hand in greeting, but not with his normal

enthusiasm -- but once again, he could still be upset about having

had an argument. When he turned to greet Logan, he reached out his

hand to shake, but Logan stood and opened his arms for a hug. Josh

apparently welcomed the offer of comfort because he immediately

wrapped his arms around Logan's ribs and burrowed into him, hiding

his face against Logan's chest for many long seconds as Logan held

him.

I was astonished at the intensity of the dark wave of jealousy that

swept over me as I watched Josh press against Logan, watched Logan

hug him and rub his back. Logan bent his head and whispered

something into Josh's ear that I couldn't hear, and Josh nodded a

couple times, and finally they ended the hug and Josh stepped

away. I realized that although I was envious, I wasn't really

resentful of Josh taking comfort from Logan. It was just that I

wanted to be able to do it, too. I wanted Logan to hold me and

whisper soothing things to me. Josh already had someone, after

all.

So do you, my rational mind whispered to me, but I ignored it.

There was a time when I could turn to Lance for comfort, but that

time seemed to have gone.

In any case, Josh's behavior confirmed my suspicion that he was

upset about something, but once again, it could have just been an

argument rather than a paddling that had put him in this state.

But then, what accounted for the noise I'd heard through the door?

Josh sat on the couch easily enough, but that didn't mean anything

as far as I was concerned; I could usually sit on a soft couch

cushion without much problem, soon after even a fairly severe

paddling. We sat and talked for a while; Ben explained that he had

sent out for pizza, and we were waiting for it to be delivered.

When it arrived, I nervously offered Josh some money for my

share, but he turned it down.

We headed into the dining room then, and I noticed that Josh

lowered himself pretty carefully onto the sparsely cushioned seat

of his wooden chair. And I was almost certain then that I'd heard

what I'd thought I'd heard. He seemed restless and fidgety, too. I

could sympathize; I knew well enough just what he was going

through.

So I spent the evening experiencing a strange mix of emotions. I

was growing ever more infatuated with Logan, but that was feeling

more and more like an exercise in frustration; I loved being near

him, but I hated that I couldn't be even closer, and pretty much

assumed none of it could ever come to anything, anyway. I was

jealous of Josh's relationship with Logan, but I still liked Josh very

much, and I was angry with Ben for hurting him -- and in some

ways, even angrier at him for ruining my fantasy of Ben and

Josh's perfect couplehood. And the conversation and general

atmosphere weren't nearly as lively as they had been last week,

what with Josh in such a subdued mood.

I stayed for a while after dinner, but nobody seemed to be in much

of a mood for socializing. Finally I said that I really should be

going, and Logan seemed to jump at the chance to escape, also, by

offering me a ride home again. But in keeping with the rest of the

evening, the short trip to my house passed mostly in silence.

When Logan dropped me off, I was relieved to see once again that

Lance wasn't home yet. Only this time I didn't get away with

things quite so cleanly as I had the week before. This time, Lance

came home sober and irritable -- things hadn't gone well with the

prospective client -- and he immediately noticed that I'd failed to

do a couple of chores I

normally would have done during the evening.

"Just for that, you can spend tomorrow painting the spare room, in

addition to getting those other chores caught up," he told me. I

really didn't mind painting, and considered myself lucky to have

escaped another round with the paddle, so I didn't object.

It was a long day the next day, though, getting that room painted.

First I had to move the furniture out of the room or move it to the

middle and drape it, then I had to mask the windows and the crown

moldings and baseboard, and then I had to go down to the local

home improvement store to buy the paint in Lance's chosen color.

It was past noon before I even started painting, and then Lance was

hovering, finding fault with everything I did. I hadn't covered the

floor well enough, I was splattering with the roller, I wasn't stirring

the paint often enough, I was missing spots or leaving brush marks.

I tried to ignore him at first but soon got tired of his grousing and

started telling him to lay off. That really got his back up and he

accused me of bad attitude and sulking -- and he was right, my

attitude was pretty terrible by that time, but I would defy a saint to

remain patient with Lance breathing down their neck all day.

It was well after dark when I finally finished with the walls -- I

would do the trim tomorrow, probably an even worse chore. I

cleaned up, leaving the brushes to soak, showered, and went right

to bed, not bothering to say good-night to Lance, who was out in

the living room watching TV and working on his laptop.

The next morning I got up before Lance and was well into

prepping for painting the trim by the time I heard him come down

the stairs. He went into the kitchen and I heard cupboard doors

banging as he got himself some breakfast, and then there was

silence for a while. And then, suddenly, Lance's voice came

blasting through the stillness. "NICHOLAS JamesS MONROE!

GET IN HERE!"

I jumped, startled, and my stomach clenched. Shit, he sounded

furious. I had no idea what the problem might be but I knew that I

did NOT want to go to him. But delaying would only make things

worse, so I headed reluctantly for the kitchen.

I entered to find Lance holding his favorite leather jacket, which he

shook in my face. "You did this on purpose!" he shouted.

Totally baffled, I said, "Did what?"

"Dripped paint on my jacket!" He shoved the jacket in my face

again and this time I could see several spots of apricot-colored

paint on the jacket.

"I didn't do that!" I objected automatically.

"Well who the fuck else could have?" he demanded, and he had a

point. I'd been the only one who had touched the paint.

"But I wasn't anywhere near your jacket, that I can remember!" I

argued.

"It was hanging on the back of this chair," he said, indicating one

of the chairs around the kitchen table.

Uh oh. It was distinctly possible that, in bringing the brushes out

to clean them, I'd inadvertently dripped some paint on his jacket. I

caught myself before pointing out that he shouldn't have left his

jacket in the kitchen; that wouldn't help anything. It would

probably only make him angrier -- Lance didn't like to have any of

his errors pointed out, even though he was quick enough to point

mine out to me.

"This is NEVER going to come out!" Lance snarled. "And you

KNOW this is my favorite jacket! It cost me a fortune, and I don't

know where I'd even find another one like it!"

"I'm sorry!" I exclaimed. "But -- it was an accident, I didn't even

know I'd done it!"

"Don't give me that!" he shot back. "You were sulking all day

yesterday because I made you paint that room. So you saw my

jacket and thought you'd get a bit of revenge, huh?"

"No! I swear! It was an accident!"

"Well of course you'd say that NOW," he sneered. "Trying to get

out of what you've got coming -- what you've HAD coming all

week."

"All week?" I repeated, baffled.

"Yeah, you've been walking around like you're in some sort of a

trance, ignoring me, ignoring your chores," he said -- describing

fairly accurately, I realized, a picture of me spending the week

mooning over Logan. "And I give you a simple job to do as

punishment, and you spend the whole damned day sulking. I

should have taken the paddle to you several days ago, but this has

gone way beyond that."

"But it was an accident!" I repeated, seriously worried now about

just how severely Lance meant to punish me.

"Even if it was, which I'm skeptical about, it was just another

example of your damned carelessness, letting paint drip all over

everything. You probably weren't paying attention to what you

were doing, your mind is always wandering off somewhere and it's

been worse than usual lately. I intend to put a stop to it." He

studied me, as if trying to decide how to deal with the situation,

and finally he said, "Get into the study. I'd better find you stripped

naked with your nose in the corner when I come in to deal with

you."

My gut clenched hard. When he sent me into the study and

required me to strip completely, it almost certainly meant I was

due for a strapping. Which I clearly did NOT deserve. "It was an

ACCIDENT!" I repeated once again.

Lance's eyes narrowed. "Believe me," he said, "you do NOT want

to make me any angrier than I already am. You get your defiant

little ass into that study NOW, because if I have to put you there

myself, you WILL regret it."

He spoke slowly, biting out every word, clearly fighting to control

himself. And somehow that was scarier than his shouting had

been. I decided I'd better get to the study. Once I was there I

would have a little time to figure out what to do.

The study was Lance's sanctuary, an ultra-male retreat of dark

wood bookshelves, leather furniture, and a big desk. I never went

in there except to be walloped, so my associations with the room

were entirely negative, and as I entered now, a shudder went

through me. My stomach was already churning, my palms sweaty,

my whole body vibrating with tension as I contemplated my

situation. I was seriously afraid of what was coming -- a strapping

from Lance typically left welts that hurt for days -- and intensely

angry at the same time. It wasn't fair, it had been an accident, a

simple mistake! And anyway what gave him the right to pass

judgment on me, to punish me? And if my attitude was bad, well,

he was the one who'd made it that way.

I did NOT want to stay there and wait for him to come in and beat

my backside. I wanted to leave. But where would I go?

I immediately thought of Josh. He was a friend. A real friend, I

thought. Would he take me in? But there were so many problems

with that idea. It would be okay if he lived alone, but he lived with

Ben. Ben would make the ultimate decision about whether I could

take refuge there, and my feeling was that he would probably say

no. Not if the reason I needed refuge was to escape from my

authoritarian partner. After all, Ben apparently had no problem

with the idea of one partner being in a position of authority, and in

that role administering corporal punishment to the other partner.

He clearly expected Josh to obey him and take what he had

coming, so he would probably feel that I should do the same with

Lance. And even if I felt the punishment was unfair, undeserved

and far too harsh, I thought Ben would probably tell me, as Lance

had done dozens of time, that it wasn't my call as to whether the

punishment was fair; it was Lance's decision as to when I'd be

punished, and why, and how severely, and it was my duty to accept

his decision.

And even in the unlikely event that Ben was okay with me

showing up there, what would happen then? I couldn't just move

in with them. And if I ran out on Lance now, I couldn't come

back. I couldn?t imagine what he'd do to me for running away if I

tried to go back to him. He'd probably try to come after me and

take me back, even if I didn't want to go. Anyway, for the

moment, this was the only home I had.

No, I had to concede, running away was not an option. With

infinite reluctance, I began the process of stripping down as Lance

had ordered me to.

An hour and a half later, I was back to painting the spare room.

But I was moving slowly; despite taking painkillers, despite that I

was wearing my softest flannel pants, my butt and the backs of my

legs were still ablaze from the thrashing Lance had given me. He

had obviously wanted to make every lick count, and I swear that

the strap had raised a welt every time it had landed. I'd had

absolutely no fortitude to face it and had been yelling from the

very first blow, and had broken into tears by the fifth one. Not so

much from the pain, although it was intense; and not, as early in

my relationship with Lance, out of guilt for disappointing him. My

tears were more tears of anger and frustration that Lance would do

this to me and that I had no option but to take it. But my very

genuine sobs seemed to have no effect on Lance's resolve to make

sure I was learning my lesson, and when I couldn't make myself

stay in place any more and tried to break away, he held me down

with a knee in my back in order to finish the job.

As it did so frequently these days, my mind, trying to escape from

the depressing reality of my life, occupied itself with thoughts of

Logan. I fantasized about running away and going to him, and

telling him what Lance had done to me, and having him put his

arms around me and comfort me and tell me it was going to be all

right. The daydream was so absorbing that I just ran the same

scene in my mind over and over. I missed Logan all out of

proportion to the amount of time I'd known him. In fact, it got to

the point where the fantasy was more painful than soothing, but I

couldn't seem to let go of it.

So now, as I worked, the tears kept welling up anew as I thought

about how unfair it all was, and how much I was hurting, and how

miserable I was with Lance, and how I didn't know how to get

away. I felt well and truly trapped, and didn't have a clue what I

could do about it.

James was very quiet at work on Monday. In fact, he seemed

downright depressed, moving slowly, showing little interest in

anything. I tried to joke him out of it a couple of times, but he

didn't show any sign of amusement.

I wondered if it had anything to do with Friday night. He'd been

pretty quiet and reserved that evening, too. Logan had told me the

next day that he thought James may have overheard me getting my

butt paddled for borrowing our co-worker Ron's motorcycle and

going for a ride. I had been pretty embarrassed to think of him

overhearing that, and all the more puzzled as to why that would

make James so quiet during the evening. Logan suggested that it was

because James could be angry with Ben for spanking me. I still

remembered how frosty Logan had been to Ben for several days

when he'd first heard Ben giving me a paddling, so I thought this

was a definite possibility, and it warmed me to think that James's

anger might have been on my behalf.

But if that was still the problem, he was taking it a little far, I

thought, holding on to it over the weekend. And why would he be

so cool towards me if he was mad at Ben?

At lunchtime we sat in our customary spot, a picnic table under a

tree at the far side of the parking lot. James ate in silence while I

tried to start up a conversation. Finally I'd had enough, and I put

down my can of Coke and said, "James, what's up?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I can't get you to respond to anything I say. Is something wrong?"

He sat staring at the table in silence for a while, and his silence told

me that something definitely WAS wrong. I decided not to push,

to let him have time to decide whether he wanted to tell me what

was going on. It took a couple long minutes before he finally

spoke, and when he did, he went right to the point. "Does -- does

Ben hit you?" he asked.

Although I'd kind of been expecting something along those lines, I

was surprised by how defensive I felt when he actually asked that

question. I never thought of what Ben did to me as "hitting" me.

That somehow sounded abusive. I thought of it as him correcting

me, disciplining me -- but of course, when you came down to it he

WAS hitting me when he spanked me. "You must have overheard,

on Friday evening, huh?" I said.

He nodded silently.

"He found out about me taking Ron's motorcycle for a ride," I said

by way of explanation. "But I'm forbidden to ride motorcycles, so

?" I paused, finding it difficult to admit to the rest, but finally

finished, "he spanked me. With a paddle."

James looked genuinely shocked, and I assumed the shock was from

the revelation that at my age I was getting spanked by my partner.

But what he said was, "I can't believe he hits you -- he seems like

such a nice guy!"

"He IS such a nice guy. He's the best," I responded emphatically.

I didn't want there to be any question on that issue.

"But -- if he's so nice, how could he hit you like that?"

"Because a while back, we both agreed that I head off down a

wrong path, sometimes. And that getting my butt swatted would

be a good way to remind me to stay on track."

"You agreed to it?" he repeated incredulously. "You mean, he

wouldn't do it if you didn't agree?"

"No, not if I didn't agree. We talked about it quite a bit before we

started trying it. He wanted to make sure he had my full consent."

"But why would you consent to it?" he demanded, obviously

baffled.

I struggled to find a way to explain it. I felt like it was one of those

things a person either got or didn't get. "I don't know -- for a lot of

reasons," I said. "Because I trust Ben completely, and want to

learn the things he wants to teach me. Because for me, it's a really

effective way to learn those those things. Because it's over quick

and keeps small problems from turning into big ones. For a lot of

reasons."

James absorbed that, then asked, "So -- if he was going to spank

you, and you thought he shouldn't, and you told him 'no', would he

do it anyway?"

"No. He'd never do it if I told him not to. But I have to say, that's

never happened. He's really fair, and he's never given me a single

swat I didn't agree I'd earned. I know it probably seems kind of

strange, but it works for us."

He appeared to be trying very hard to understand what I was

saying, and I wondered why he cared so much. What did it matter

to him what Ben did to me, so long as he knew I was okay with it?

But suddenly, something clicked. I thought about the way James

had somehow recognized the sound he'd heard Friday night as the

sound of a paddling underway -- as if he'd been familiar with the

sound. And I thought about how he'd moved so slowly all

morning. Stiffly, I realized now. Carefully, as if he was hurting.

And it suddenly sunk in how very slowly he'd sat down on the hard

wooden bench

Acting on my hunch, I asked softly, "James, why are you asking

this? Does Lance hit you?"

After a pause, he nodded.

"Is that why you're moving so slowly today? Because you're still

sore from the last time he hit you?"

He nodded again.

"What did he do to you?" I asked. I knew it was an intrusive

question, but I wanted to get some idea of just what James was

dealing with.

It didn't look like he was going to answer. But finally he said, with

an edge of anger in his voice I'd never heard before, "He beat my

bare ass with a leather strap."

I winced at the thought. "Shit. That sounds bad."

All it took was that little bit of sympathy from me for the story to

come pouring out. "It IS bad, it left welts and it still hurts like

hell!

And I didn't even deserve it! I got paint on his fucking leather

jacket, I still don't know how, I was just painting the spare room

and went into the kitchen to clean the brushes, and his jacket was

hanging on the back of a chair, and maybe I dripped on it or

something, I don't know -- but I didn't fucking MEAN to, it was an

accident! And next thing I know he's telling me to go into his

study and strip and get into the corner, and then he comes in and

just beats the crap out of me with that fucking strap of his!"

James never swore; that he was doing so now, gave me a good idea

of how upset he was. I was pretty upset myself. What Lance had

done sounded genuinely brutal and completely uncalled for. "Did

you tell him you didn't think you deserved it?"

He snorted. "That doesn't work with Lance. He knows all, he's

God, he never listens to me. If he says I'm getting it, that's the end

of it."

"What if you say no?"

"Then he forces me to take it, and it's even worse because I defied

him."

"That's not right, James. That's abuse. If it's something you haven't

consented to, and he's doing it anyway, it's abuse."

He didn't respond to that, but seemed to be contemplating it.

Finally he admitted, "I -- I almost headed out the door, when he

sent me to his study."

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Nowhere to go, I guess."

"You could have come to our house."

"But -- what about Ben?"

"What ABOUT Ben?" I asked. "He would want you to come,

too!"

"But he might be on Lance's side! He hits you, why would he have

a problem with Lance hitting me? He might say, Lance is my Sir,

so it's his call what punishment I'm going to get. He might think I

should go back and take what's coming to me!"

"He wouldn't!" I exclaimed, a bit indignant that James would even

think Ben would do such a thing. "He's a bear about consent. He'd

never think you should take a punishment just because Lance

thought you should. You can always come to our house. Okay?

Next time it happens, you'll come, okay? Or you can call and I'll

come get you. Right?"

He nodded, but he still looked doubtful.

I knew it had probably taken a lot of courage for James to open up

to me like this, to admit to what was happening to him, and that he

probably didn't want to talk about it any more. But I wasn't willing

to drop the subject quite yet. "James, I have to ask you," I said, and,

despite his wary look, I pushed on. "Why do you stay with him, if

he treats you like this?"

He thought about it, then shrugged. "It's complicated." And then

he went silent. After a bit I figured that was all I was going to get

from him, for now. But now I felt that I had to do something about

it, and I was at a loss as to what.

"Maybe Ben would have some ideas of what you could do about

your situation," I suggested finally.

His eyes widened. "No! You can't tell him about this!"

"But he might know what to do!"

"PLEASE don't tell him. I don't want anyone else to know."

I felt torn between my duty to a friend and my feeling that Ben

could help. Plus, I didn't like to keep things from Ben, especially

things that bothered me -- and this really bothered me. Finally I

said, "Well, I won't volunteer the information, but if he ever asks

? I can't lie to him, James. I'd have to tell him the truth."

"Okay, but only if he asks," James conceded. "And -- don't tell Logan

either, okay?"

"I can't lie to him, either. But I won't say a thing unless he asks." I

was uncomfortable with what I was promising. I wanted to run

home and pour out the story to Ben and Logan. I was confident that

they could deal with a problem like this, while I didn't have a clue

how to deal with it. But for now, I would have to keep my mouth

shut and worry about it on my own, although I knew that it was

going to eat me alive to keep it to myself.

After hearing about the strapping Lance had given me, Josh was

very solicitous the rest of the day at work, doing everything he

could to make sure I didn't have to move much -- doing,

essentially, his own job and half of mine.

After work, Josh drove me home to spare me the pain of having to

walk to and from the bus and sit on those hard plastic seats. The

car seat was bad enough. Unfortunately, Lance was already home

when I got there -- he must have gotten home unusually early.

Since his car was in the garage, I didn't know he was home, and sat

talking with Josh for a few minutes at the curb. I could see he was

still worried about me but was refraining from mentioning the

subject again.

Then, to my surprise, Lance suddenly stepped out of the house

onto the front porch and stood there watching us curiously.

"Is that Lance?" Josh asked. "Jeez, he's as big as Logan!"

I was thinking that he looked even bigger than usual, standing

there with his arms folded across his chest. Last night's whipping

had made me more wary of him than ever, perhaps even genuinely

afraid, and I said, "I gotta go. Thanks for the ride," and was out of

the car before Josh could say anything else.

I approached Lance with trepidation, wondering if for some reason

he'd be irritated that I'd gotten a ride home. But he actually

seemed pretty genial tonight. "I brought home Chinese food

tonight," he said.

I was relieved that he didn't seem angry, but at the same time his

light tone made me resentful; I still hurt with every step from the

beating he'd given me the night before, and here he was acting like

nothing had happened. But I didn't want to risk irritating him so I

matched his tone and responded, "Sounds good."

I was grateful that he hadn't asked about Josh, but my gratitude

was premature. No sooner had we sat down to eat when he asked,

"Was that guy in the car your friend from work? The one whose

house you stopped off at on the way home a while back?"

I did NOT want to go there, but had no choice. I nodded.

"What's his name?"

He sounded friendly and interested, but I suspected a hidden

agenda. I didn't want to answer his question, but didn't see that I

had a choice. "Josh," I replied.

"I'd like to meet him," he said.

"He's a really nice guy," I assured him quickly.

"I'm sure he is," he replied, managing to sound completely

unconvinced. "But, you know, young guys like yourself can be --

impulsive. I'd like to make sure he's fit company for you."

I thought, I'd like to see him TRY to break up my friendship with

Josh. But I only said, "He's a good guy, a hard worker." He was

silent, but somehow still conveyed his skepticism. I searched for

something else to convince him that there was no reason to worry

about my friendship with Josh. "He's got a partner probably a few

years older than you," I said, trying to convey a sense of maturity

and stability around Josh. "His name is Ben."

Lance showed a bit more interest now. "So, does Ben make sure

Josh stays out of trouble?"

In other words, he wanted to know if Josh was under Ben's thumb

like I was under Lance's. I really didn't want to reveal any part of

Josh's private life to Lance, but I thought that Lance might quit

with the inquisition if he thought a fellow control freak was

keeping a tight rein on Josh. "I get that impression," I said. I

certainly didn't want Lance to know I'd spent time at their house,

so I came up with an inspired lie to support my "theory". "Like,

today, he said that he'd wanted to go out to see a band he likes, and

Ben wouldn't let him go because he didn't like the nightclub where

they were playing."

"Good for Ben," responded Lance, predictably enough. He looked

meditative as he took a couple more bites of chow mein, then said,

"I want to meet them."

I hadn't anticipated that, and I definitely didn't want it to happen. I

sat in silence, trying to figure out what to say, and finally offered,

"I don't know, I think they're pretty busy."

Lance shot me a look that clearly said he didn't want to hear any

excuses. "Young man," he said, "if you want to spend any more

time with your friend Josh, you arrange for me to spend some time

with him and his partner. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," I responded, trying to keep the resentment out of my

tone.

Lance, having gotten his way yet again, was content, and turned

his attention back to his chow mein, while I sat and stewed over

how much I did NOT want in any way to bring Lance into contact

with Josh or Ben. But as usual, it didn't appear that I had any

choice in the matter.

The next day at work, I was feeling better, but still not quite up to

par, and Josh continued to pick up my slack. When I thanked him,

he shrugged it off. He was, without a doubt, the kindest friend I'd

ever had, and I was all the more determined that I was NOT going

to let Lance interfere with that friendship, no matter what.

At lunch, when we were away from our other co-workers, Josh

asked, "Was Lance okay with you last night?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew

what he meant.

"I don't know, he looked kind of -- like he wasn't happy about

something, when he came out of the house last night. Was he mad

at you?"

I shrugged. "He was okay. Usually, after he's punished me really

severely, he's not too bad for a while. It's like, he's made his point,

so he doesn't have to keep making it."

"I'll bet he made his point," Josh agreed with a bit of a shudder.

"He's really big, and it looks like it's all muscle. I can't imagine

being on the receiving end of a strapping from a guy that size."

I didn't think that needed a response. Josh, of everyone I knew,

could actually imagine best what it felt like, although even he

couldn't know it until he'd been through it. "Does Ben ever use a

strap?" I asked. I still felt a bit uncomfortable talking about this

subject, but I really needed to know how my situation compared to

Josh's. I was desperate for some perspective on the whole thing.

"No, he never has. He's threatened with his belt a couple of times,

but I don't know if it's in him to really use it." He paused, seemed

to be lost in contemplation for a bit, then said, "It's like ? the

spanking isn't really the punishment. His disappointment is the

punishment; the spanking is just a way for me to really FEEL his

disappointment. I mean, getting spanked really hurts, and I do

want to avoid that, but there's no way it hurts enough to be a

deterrent if I really want to do something. He'd have to risk

injuring me, for it to hurt that much. And that's not really the point

when he spanks me, I don't think. It's more like -- he's using the

paddle to get it into my head EXACTLY how upset he is with me.

And by voluntarily taking the punishment, I'm acknowledging that

I understand how upset he is and showing him that I'm sorry. It

kind of -- sets things square again, I guess."

He had been speaking as if he was thinking aloud, and now he

went silent, but he still appeared to be thinking about it. I wasn't

sure how to respond. I was pretty sure that Lance's strategy was to

use pain as a direct deterrent. There was a time when he would tell

me he was disappointed in me, and that had upset me, but over

time that had faded. And he must have recognized that he no

longer had emotional influence over me, so he switched over to

brute force as a means of making me do what he wanted. And if

that still didn't seem to be working, he just escalated it, hitting me

harder and more frequently. He wanted to control me, plain and

simple.

Hearing Josh's description of the dynamic between him and Ben

did have the effect of making me feel a bit better about Ben. Ben

sounded genuinely concerned about Josh, and I'd already seen how

close they were. But one question was still bothering me. I didn't

know whether I should ask it, but before I knew it I was blurting

out, "Does -- does Logan ever spank you?"

Josh looked taken aback. "Logan? Of course not!" he exclaimed.

"Sorry," I said hastily. "I just thought -- it seems like he's kind of -

- kind of, like, an authority figure with you?"

"Yeah, he is that," Josh agreed. "It's partly just the way he is, an

in-charge kind of guy. It just feels natural to follow his

instructions and advice. But he'd never insist that I do what he

says. And as for spanking me ? he doesn't even like it when Ben

spanks me. The first time he overheard me getting my butt

paddled, he barely talked to Ben for what seemed like days. Since

then he's always left the house when I'm about to get it."

Josh sounded kind of amused about Logan's reaction, and I

realized that my own reaction was one of relief. I didn't want to

hear that Logan ever spanked Josh --although when I got right

down to it, I wasn't sure exactly why not. I knew that I didn't want

to think of Logan as being in remotely the same category as Lance

-- didn't want to think of him as being willing to use his size and

strength to impose his will on others by causing them pain. But

ironically, I also didn't want to think of Josh having the level of

intimacy with Logan that being spanked by him implied -- in other

words, I would have been JEALOUS of Josh if I'd known Logan

spanked him. Which confused me completely. How could I

possibly be jealous over the idea of Josh getting something I didn't

even want?

On the other hand, if I was completely honest with myself, I knew

I would accept a spanking from Logan in a heartbeat if it meant

staying in his good graces, if it was an indication that he cared

about me. I wouldn't want it, but I'd accept it, no question.

I smiled in response to Josh's amusement, but sobered again when

I remembered the favor I still had to ask. "I do have a problem

with Lance, though, and it concerns you," I told him.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"He says -- he's not sure if he approves of you being my friend."

"What? He doesn?t even know me!" Josh pointed out indignantly.

"And anyway, who does he think he is, picking your friends for

you?"

"He's always done it," I offered, a bit lamely. "I mean, I wouldn't

let him keep me from seeing you any more, I'd sneak if I had to.

But it would be easier if I didn't have to."

"So -- what's involved in getting Lance's stamp of approval?"

"He wants to meet you. Both of you, you and Ben. And I think --

if he thought that, you know -- that Ben was watching over you, to

make sure you didn't get into trouble -- I think he'd be a lot more

likely to approve of you."

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard, given that Ben DOES work pretty

hard at keeping me out of trouble. Not that he's completely

successful, but he tries. Okay, tell you what. Logan can't come to

dinner this Friday, so I'll talk to Ben about inviting you and Lance

instead. If he's available, that is."

"Yeah, as far as I know he's available this Friday." I wasn't

enthusiastic about the whole idea but I knew I didn't have much

choice, and I was grateful to Josh for being so cooperative. "Let

me know what Ben says, and then I'll let Lance know. And, hey --

thanks. I know you don't want to spend your Friday evening with

Lance."

"If it makes things easier for you, we're happy to do it," Josh

assured me.

"And -- it would be best if he didn't know I've been to dinner with

you before."

Josh grimaced a little at that. "That's going to be a hard one to sell

to Ben. Would you be in trouble if he found out?"

"OH yeah," I agreed. "BIG trouble."

Josh thought about it, then sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"It would probably be better for us not to come to dinner, if it

meant Lance finding out I'd been there before," I pressed. If that

happened, I'd certainly be forbidden to hang out with Josh and

almost certainly get the strap again into the bargain.

Josh studied me thoughtfully for a short while and then said,

"Okay, I get the picture."

It was only after I was back at work, during the afternoon, that I

thought about what a strange conversation I'd had with Josh: two

grown men comparing notes on the spankings they received from

their partners. I had never imagined that I would meet somebody

else in the situation I was in -- although Josh's situation, although

similar, was clearly NOT identical to mine. I didn't even think of

Lance's punishments as "spankings" -- that seemed far too mild a

term for the wallopings he gave me. "Beatings" came closer in my

mind, at least lately, and I was sure that Josh would never apply

that word to the punishments he got from Ben.

I also mulled over the prospect of dinner at Josh's with Lance. At

best he would bore them to death with his constant talking about

himself. And Josh would undoubtedly wonder how I could have

tied myself to a guy like that. It might even lower his opinion of

me, seeing what a terrible choice I'd made in a partner -- and

watching the way I said "how high?" when Lance told me to jump.

I knew that I didn't have much of an opinion of myself, that I'd let

myself get into this situation.

And there was always the possibility that they would let slip to

Lance that I'd been to dinner there before. I shuddered to think of

Lance's reaction to that little revelation. Maybe, I thought, I

should call it off, tell Josh not to bother. But I knew Lance

wouldn't let it slide. He was more persistent than any bulldog once

he got an idea in his head, and now that he'd decided he wanted to

meet Josh and Ben, he would be determined to meet them. Even a

promise on my part not to see Josh any more wouldn't help things;

it would o only make Lance suspicious that I was hiding

something.

I was going to have to see it through, and hope that it went okay.

When Josh suggested that we invite James's partner Lance to

dinner on Friday, I didn't think twice about agreeing. But then he

added the caveat that I couldn't mention to Lance that James had

ever had dinner with us before, I started feeling uncomfortable.

They were having trouble in their relationship, Josh explained.

Lance was never home in the evenings, but he didn't like for James

to go out. So James hadn't ever told him about his visits with us,

and asked that we not bring it up.

I reluctantly agreed, as a favor to James, not to mention it. But I

still felt a stirring of uneasiness around the whole thing. And it got

worse when Josh made a point of reminding me, the evening that

James and Lance were due to come over, that I could NOT let slip

to Lance that James had been there before. I wanted to demand

what the hell was going on, but there wasn't time for that now. I'd

have to get it out of him after they'd gone. For the moment I

would go along with it, but only for James's sake.

The dinner, to put it mildly, was not a success. Lance turned out to

be an arrogant, self-impressed, sanctimonious prig, rubbing me the

wrong way almost immediately. Oh, he had a veneer of charm, all

right, but I saw through it right away. Josh, who normally got

along with everyone, also took an instant dislike to him. I knew

that immediately, despite the fact that Josh was obviously

struggling to be polite -- for James's sake, I supposed. But his

politeness had a brittle, frosty tone to it, and in any case it wasn't

ten minutes before his fa‡ade started disintegrating and his

interaction with Lance started veering from polite to sarcastic. The

sarcasm was disguised as politeness, but it wasn't very hard to see

through it.

The truth was that Lance gave me the urge to be rude, too, but I

didn't want Josh getting the idea he could be rude to guests -- and

beyond that, it was obvious that the whole situation was

embarrassing the hell out of poor James, who didn't say a word but

looked increasingly uncomfortable as things got tenser between

Lance and Josh. So I kept shooting dark looks at Josh, but he

ignored most of them, and even when a particularly sharp glare

subdued him for a minute or two, some egotistical statement of

Lance's would set him off again.

When we were finally through eating I attempted to defuse the

situation somewhat by suggesting to Josh that he show James his

latest computer game. I didn't even know if James was interested

in computer games; I just wanted to get Josh away from the table

and away from Lance before things blew up. I saw James look to

Lance, as if in inquiry, and when Lance gave a short nod, James,

with obvious relief, was instantly out of his seat and following Josh

upstairs.

There was a brief silence between Lance and me, which Lance

finally broke by saying, "I would suggest you think about teaching

that boy of yours some manners."

I was so taken aback by his statement that I just stared at him for

several long moments. "What did you say?" I finally asked. Josh

would have known right away that my quiet, controlled tone meant

I was barely holding on to my temper, but Lance was apparently

oblivious.

"He was rude to me. You know that as well as I do. I think you

should have stopped it while it was happening, but since you chose

not to, I hope you're at least going to teach him a lesson about it

after we leave."

"You think what?" I demanded, struggling harder to control my

temper.

"Oh, for christsakes, Ben, don't pretend you don't know what I'm

talking about. I saw the looks you were giving him when he was

making his sarcastic little comments. It's pretty clear you wear the

pants in this household, and that's definitely a good thing -- that

boy of yours obviously needs someone to keep him in line. But it's

also obvious you aren't keeping the reins as tight as you should --

he doesn't seem to be afraid of you at all. No wonder he thinks he

can get away with whatever he pleases. Now, take me and James.

If he behaved to you the way your brat behaved to me, I'd take him

into the next room and apply my belt to his bare backside until I

was completely sure he got the point. It'd be a couple days until he

could sit comfortably again, believe me -- but he'd sit anyway, and

finish his meal. And he knows that's what would happen, so he

does what I tell him to. Anyway, it's pretty obvious that Josh could

benefit greatly from having his smart little ass blistered now and

again. Believe me, voice of experience talking here."

He had delivered that little speech with barely a pause for breath

and with no regard whatsoever as to how I was reacting. It

astonished me that he would talk so freely about hitting James with

a belt, considering how most people would react to such a

revelation. If James wasn't in accord with that plan -- and it was

hard to imagine how he could be, given Lance's authoritarian

attitude about it -- then, as far as I was concerned, it wasn't the

domestic discipline that Josh and I practiced. It was domestic

abuse, a criminal offense as well as being completely unethical.

And he was perpetrating this crime against someone I had come to

care about.

And his arrogant assumption that he knew best for my relationship

with Josh really got my back up. I wanted to throw him out the

front door -- with James still safely upstairs -- but I controlled my

temper, clinging to the rational adult in me long enough to say,

with what I felt was admirable calm, "I fail to see how you think it

is the slightest business of yours how Josh and I handle our

relationship, or how I respond to his behavior."

"Hey, he was being rude to ME. That makes it my business, in my

book."

"Josh is an adult. If you have a problem with the way he behaves

towards you, take it up with him," I said. I wasn't going to admit

to this odious man that he and I had the slightest thing in common

regarding how we related to our partners, despite the fact that his

conclusion about me being in charge of the household was, in fact,

accurate.

"What, you want ME to take your boy into the next room and teach

him a lesson?" he asked. "Maybe I could show you how it?s done,

since you don?t seem to be up to it yourself!"

My frayed self-control just about snapped. "If you lay so much as

a finger on him, you'll regret it," I snarled.

He regarded me through narrowed eyes for a couple of seconds,

then got to his feet and headed to the foot of the stairs. "James!"

he yelled. "Get down here, we're leaving!"

James appeared at the head of the stairs with alacrity, and my chest

clenched at the apprehension in his eyes as he came down towards

us. I wanted to tell him he could stay with us, he didn't have to go

home with Lance -- but the odds were remote he'd accept an offer

like that on the spur of the moment, and it would undoubtedly only

make things worse for him with Lance. I could only hope that

Lance wouldn't take it out on him because he was angry with Josh

and me.

Lance wrapped a big hand around the back of James's neck and

hustled him towards the front door as Josh appeared at the top of

the stairs, biting his lip and watching the scene with a worried

frown. Nobody said a word as Lance opened the front door and

pushed James ahead of him through it, slamming it behind both of

them.

Josh and I both jumped at the sound of the slam, then stood there

staring at the door. I gazed at Josh thoughtfully, wondering how

much he knew about James's situation. "Come down here," I said.

"We need to talk."

He didn't appear to be in any hurry to obey. "Are you going to

spank me?"

"For what?"

"For the way I behaved with Lance."

I was still debating that with myself. "Do you think I should?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. I really blew it,

didn't I? I tried to be polite, at first, but I just couldn't keep it

up, I

couldn't STAND him -- but I should have tried harder, for James's

sake!"

He was obviously really upset, and any inclination I might have

had to take him to task for his behavior faded in the face of his

obvious remorse. "Okay, you behaved poorly," I admitted, "but

the provocation was intense and I can see you're beating yourself

up over it, anyway. If it makes you feel any better, I kind of lost it,

too," I said.

Josh didn't look cheered. "But poor James had to go home with

him," he said. "And Lance is probably in a bad mood now."

I didn't want to contemplate that picture any more than he did.

"Come down here," I repeated. He still hesitated. "I'm not going

to spank you," I said. "But we do need to talk."

Settled on the couch in the living room, I got right to the point.

"While you were upstairs, Lance told me he would beat James's

bare backside with a belt if he behaved the way you did."

Josh winced and tried to hide his face against me. "I'm sorry, I

know I behaved badly," he said in a small voice.

"That's not the point I'm trying to make. I'm concerned about

James. I'm thinking maybe he hasn't consented to this

arrangement."

After a moment Josh said, "You're right, he hasn't."

I took Josh firmly by the shoulders and pushed him away from me

so I could look him in the eye. "So you knew that James was

being punished by Lance against his will?"

I expected to see the guilty look that always came over Josh's face

when he'd been keeping something from me. Instead, I saw relief.

"Yeah, I've known about it for a few days," he admitted. "I wanted

to tell you SO bad, but he begged me not to, so I promised I

wouldn't unless you asked me. I told him I couldn't lie to you, if

you asked me -- that I'd have to tell you the situation." He paused

a moment to take a breath, then added, "I wanted to tell you, really

I did, and if you want to paddle me for not telling you, I

completely understand, but he seemed so upset, and he insisted, so

I promised!"

I spent a few moments absorbing this. I was okay with Josh

keeping things to himself, unless it meant putting himself in

danger. This didn't seem to fall into the category. I also didn't like

him to keep things to himself that bothered or stressed him, but

even if I didn't like it, I figured he had a right to do it. And in this

case he was keeping a promise to a friend -- and he had drawn the

line at lying to me. So I said, "I guess it's your lucky night. I'm

not going to paddle you, I understand why you did it. But I do

want you to tell me what you know."

He did so, eagerly, and I knew that it had been eating him up not to

tell me. The story got grimmer and grimmer, especially when he

described James coming to work barely able to move from the

aftereffects of a strapping Lance had given him. By the time he

was done unburdening himself, I was wishing I'd at least taken a

swing at Lance instead of just snapping at him. I had a satisfying

vision of breaking his nose; I could almost feel the crunch. Only

he was bigger than me, so things probably would have gone south

at that point, and it would have been a horrible example for Josh ?

but I still kind of wished I'd done it.

I could see that Josh was watching me intently. "So?" he said

finally. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?" I repeated. "About what?"

"About James! Now that you know, what are you going to do?"

"Honey, I don't see that we can really do anything. Not until James

decides what he's going to do, anyway."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, sounding upset.

"Has James said he wants to leave Lance?"

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

"Okay, well -- it would be arrogant on our part to decide for him

that he should do that. It's got to be up to him."

"But if he decided to, we'd support him, right?" Josh asked.

"Because -- I already told him that if he needs our help, he can call

any time."

"Absolutely," I assured him. "If he calls us for help, we'll be

there."

Josh seemed satisfied with that. "You're the best, Ben," he said,

hugging me hard. And I was suddenly very glad that I'd decided

not to paddle him. Maybe I was softening in my old age.

Then again, maybe I just wanted to assure myself that I was

NOTHING like that sadistic control freak we'd had at our dinner

table that evening.

In the car leaving Josh's house, Lance was quiet for a while, but I

could tell that he was brooding. The evening had clearly been a

disaster. Ben and Josh were probably both wondering why the hell

they'd let Lance into their house and they were probably having

second thoughts about me, too, for ever having taken up with him

to begin with.

"I don't want you see Josh any more," Lance suddenly announced.

"What?" I demanded, although I had known this was coming.

"Why not?"

"Because I said so, that's why,? he responded implacably. ?And

you really need to learn to stop questioning everything I say and

just do what I tell you to."

"But he's my friend! I've got a right to have friends of my own!"

"He's a bad influence."

"He is not! He doesn't drink too much, he doesn't use drugs, he has

a steady job?"

"He's a snot-nosed brat. He could use some major attitude

adjustment -- and that partner of his seems reluctant to keep him in

line. You aren't to see him any more, and that's final."

"How can I not see him? I work with him!"

"Well then, I don't want you talking to him at work any more than

you have to, and I don't want you seeing him outside of work at all.

And that includes breaks and lunch. You're not to spend time with

him, am I making myself clear?"

I should have shut up then and quit pressing it and just continued

to see Josh on the sly. But I was furious and couldn't contain my

indignation. "He's my friend, and he's a nice guy!"

We were at a stoplight, enabling Lance to turn and fix me with a

steely glare. "If you keep talking to me like this, you will be very

unhappy with the consequences, I assure you," he said. "Ben might

permit that kind of attitude, but I won't.

His razor-sharp tone should have shut me up. But I was past that.

I was completely sick of his highhandedness and angry past the

point of common sense. "I have a right to pick my own friends!" I

insisted. "I'm an adult and it's about time you started treating me

like one!"

Lance didn't respond to that, other than to spear me with a very

meaningful look. And even that didn't stop me.

"I'll keep seeing Josh if I damned well want to!" I snapped. "And I

want to!"

Lance didn't say another word, didn't even look at me. When we

got home he hit the button on the garage door opener and while we

waited for the garage door to open I looked over at him. I could

see a muscle working in his jaw, his hands clenching the steering

wheel. He was obviously furious with me. I considered exiting

the car and making a run for it, maybe back to Josh's house, but

that was pointless. He'd catch me before I'd gone a block.

He pulled the car into the garage and let the door shut behind us

before getting out of the car. I didn't move. He came around and

opened my door. When he reached in I shrank away and

considered scrambling into the backseat, but once again, what was

the point of that?

He took my arm in an iron grip and marched me into the house and

into the study. "Strip," he said bluntly. "I'll be back shortly."

Where was he going, I wondered? The strap was in his desk

drawer. I once again briefly considered making an exit, but the

fight had gone out of me. Hopelessly, I got out of my clothes and

took up a place in the corner, knowing he'd expect me to be there

when he got back.

It turned out he'd gone to fetch a new implement: a rattan cane, of

the type used to whip errant schoolboys in English schools a

generation ago. I went into a serious panic when I saw it. It didn't

take a genius to figure out that if the full force of a blow from

Lance was concentrated in that narrow strip of cane, it was going

to raise one hell of a welt.

He made me turn to face him and flexed the cane while he said, "I

don't know what's gotten into you, but for the last few weeks

you've been more and more defiant. I suspect it has something to

do with your friendship with Josh. In any case, I intend to put a

stop to it. I ordered this through the mail, it came a couple of days

ago. I figured that if the strap wasn't getting through to you any

more, this just might."

I was sick with fear, and the fear turned out to be justified. Lance

gave me ten strokes with the cane -- it was supposed to be six, but I

got four extra for not holding still. But it was impossible to hold

still. I'd never felt anything that hurt like that in my life. Every

stripe burned like he'd struck me with a red-hot poker, every one of

them raised a livid welt and a couple even broke the skin and drew

blood, and hours later they were still burning as if he'd just given

them to me.

And to top it all off, in addition to forbidding me to see Josh and

imprinting those lines of fire across my butt, he drove home the

point that he was in charge by making me do a full complement of

chores over the weekend, including yardwork in the hot sun,

despite the fact that every move I made hurt like hell.

The bruises from the cane still hurt when I left for work on

Monday, with Lance giving me a firm reminder that I wasn't to

associate with Josh any more. But at least I wasn't moving so

stiffly any more, and I could sit down without wincing if I thought

about it. I didn't want Josh to know I'd been beaten yet again; he'd

undoubtedly blame himself for putting Lance in a temper. I knew

well enough that these days, anything could put Lance into a

temper, and it had been mostly my defiance that had done it this

time.

But I did have to tell him that Lance had forbidden me to hang out

with him any more. He was outraged on my behalf and

immediately agreed to be very circumspect about any time we

spent together, even during the workday. I let him know that I

wouldn't put it past Lance to spy on me, to try to catch me

disobeying. So for the next several days, we had lunch in the

employee lunch room, a cramped, depressing place where we

couldn't talk about anything important.

During the week, Josh asked me if by any chance Lance was going

to be busy that night, and did I feel up to sneaking out and coming

to dinner. I said he was going to be at dinner with clients, but that

I didn't dare sneak out -- he would be checking up on me for sure.

Josh nodded and said, "I figured as much, but thought I'd ask

anyway -- didn't want you to think that we didn't want you to come

over any more, or something." And he reminded me that I could

call them any time if I needed something.

I nodded, and after a moment asked, "Will Logan be there? At

dinner?"

"Yeah. Did you want me to -- give him a message, or something?"

"Just tell him I said hi," I said. But now I was even more

disappointed over missing the evening. I had really missed seeing

Logan these past couple of weeks; I'd thought about him

constantly. But I just couldn't go; Lance would be checking up on

me for sure, and I simply couldn't face the idea of risking another

round with the cane.

Friday morning, I had barely greeted Josh when he was hustling

me away from the others. Once we were a couple of aisles away

from anyone else, he said softly, "Do you think Lance is spying on

you today?"

"I doubt it," I admitted. I was pretty sure he was golfing with some

colleagues today. He wasn't going to miss that in order to spy on

me.

"Do you feel up to going somewhere for lunch, then?"

I was really curious now. "Where?"

"Logan's invited us to his house for lunch."

"Logan -- what?" I repeated stupidly. My heartbeat had sped up

just at the sound of Logan's name.

"He's working near home right now, going home for lunch, and he

lives near here. When he found out you weren't going to make it

for dinner tonight, he invited us both for lunch." Josh grinned.

"He said he'd barbecue hamburgers or something. How does that

sound?"

I had been dubious about whether it was worth risking a trip out at

lunch, but now that I knew it was to see Logan, there was no

further question in my mind: I was going. "Sounds great!" I told

Josh, and he grinned in response.

"I think so, too," he said.

The morning dragged by as I anticipated the thrill of seeing Logan

again. And when the time finally came, the occasion was every bit

as special as I'd anticipated.

Logan lived in a beautiful old brick house on a tree-lined street of

beautiful houses. Inside, it was even more incredible, all wood

floors and warm colors and wainscoting and wood moldings, and I

could hardly believe it when Josh told me it had been a mess when

Logan had moved in; Logan had restored it all himself. Given that

I knew that this was what Logan did for a living, I guess it

shouldn't have surprised me that he'd done such a beautiful job, but

actually seeing it, knowing that Logan had pretty much single-

handedly created this warm and welcoming environment, I'd been

dazzled.

His backyard, where we had our lunch, was just as nice. It was a

small yard, well shaded with a big tree of his own and several of

his neighbors' trees, and he'd walled off a brick courtyard that was

full of palms and ferns and flowers. He barbecued some burgers

and we ate them at a table in the courtyard.

It was all a slice of heaven, but the best thing, of course, was

Logan's company. He was as warm and genial as ever, never

making me feel stupid despite the fact that I was once again struck

almost mute with infatuation in his presence. He was attentive

when I did manage to say something, and he was always smiling.

When it was time to go, I had to once again stuff down my envy as

I watched him give Josh a big good-bye hug. But then, wonder of

wonders, he turned and did the same to me. His strong arms

wrapped around me and he hugged me to his chest, and I was so

astonished -- and gratified -- that it took a moment before I

remembered to hug him back.

I spent the afternoon at work in a daze, playing back every detail of

that lunchtime in my head -- especially the hug, over and over. I

wasn't sure if Josh knew why I behaved as though I was in a fog all

afternoon, but he was extremely tolerant of my inattention and

mistakes.

At home with Lance that weekend, I had to work very hard on not

moping around, mooning over Logan. I was walking a fine line

with Lance and I knew it. I didn't want him to become suspicious

that I was sneaking anything behind his back, which meant I had to

strike the perfect balance in my behavior between compliant and

resentful. I wanted Lance to believe that the session with the cane

had curbed my defiance, at least for a while -- and in a way, it had.

No way did I consider for a moment arguing with him, as I might

have done normally; it just wasn't worth the risk, the cane hurt too

damned bad. But when I was out of his sight I was anything but

compliant -- I just couldn't let him find out about that.

Still, I couldn't go to being totally cooperative in his presence, or

he'd get suspicious that I was being TOO good, and therefore that I

was hiding something. So I had to put on a slight air of

resentment, just enough that it would appear that my compliance

was forced, not so much it would get me into trouble again. It was

an exhausting juggling act, especially given my preoccupation with

Logan, and on Sunday I got a hand spanking followed by an hour

of corner time for what Lance said was general shoddiness in the

way I was performing my chores. But I considered that being let

off lightly compared to how things had been going lately.

Back at work on Monday, Josh informed me that if it was okay

with me, Logan planned to join us for lunch again that day. Not at

his house; he would come here, to where we worked, and we

would try to find and out-of-the-way spot where we could get

away from our coworkers and eat, without having to worry about

Lance spying on us. I couldn't imagine anything that would be

more okay with me, and I was touched by Josh's willingness to go

to great lengths to keep me from getting in trouble with Lance.

After all, he could head off for lunch by himself any time, but he

always made sure his plans included me.

Logan actually showed up for lunch both Monday and Tuesday,

bringing tacos with him on Monday and pizza on Tuesday, and

Josh, charmer that he was, managed to get the office assistant to let

us use one of the meeting rooms to have our lunch in on both days.

And every day I grew seriously more attracted to Logan. But I still

had no clear picture of his feelings for me. I knew he liked me, at

least some, but I had no idea if it went any deeper than that. And I

really had no idea what I'd do if I found out it DID go deeper.

Would that knowledge give me the courage I would need to try to

leave Lance? I wasn't sure. But until I knew one way or another,

it didn't really matter.

I was becoming seriously addicted to seeing James at lunchtime, I

realized, when I had to skip joining him and Josh for lunch on

Wednesday. It threw me out of sorts for the whole day, and I

called Josh that evening to invite them both to my house for lunch

again the next day, Thursday.

I could no longer deny to myself that James had gotten under my

skin in a big way. Well, I'd never really denied it, but I hadn't

really faced it, either. The couple of times I'd allowed myself to

start really facing my feelings, I had run straight into the brick wall

of James's already having a boyfriend. I got the impression that

the relationship was going through a difficult patch but that didn't

mean he was ready to leave. And I wasn't sure how he felt about

me. He always seemed kind of quiet and nervous around me.

On Thursday, we had another nice meal out in the courtyard and I

couldn't help but note that James seemed less shy than he had in

the past. Maybe he was finally getting comfortable around me. I

actually got him to laugh at my jokes, lame as they were, a couple

of times, and it seemed much too soon when Josh announced that

they'd better be going.

I'm still not quite clear how the accident happened. We had

stopped in the living room so I could fetch a book that I'd promised

to loan to Ben, and James was admiring a lamp of mine with a

stained-glass canopy. I had bought it from an antique dealer in one

of the gold rush towns up in the foothills, and it was a favorite of

mine, handmade and really artistic. But when he turned away,

somehow his foot got tangled in the electrical cord to the lamp, and

he lost his balance, which gave the cord a yank, which seemed to

set him into a confused panic so he yanked even harder. And

despite both Josh and I making a mad lunge to catch it, the lamp

crashed to the floor from the table where it sat, the stained glass

canopy shattering on the tiles.

I stood there looking at the remains of my lamp and felt a twinge

of disappointment at the loss, but I forgot all about that when I

looked up from the floor and saw the effect it was having on

James. He stared at the glass shards on the floor in total disbelief

for several seconds, and then he looked up at me with an

expression of complete horror on his face.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped.

"It's okay!" I assured him quickly, but he didn't seem to hear me.

He dropped to his knees right there among the broken glass. "I'll

clean it up, I'll clean it up," he was muttering, almost to himself,

and he started gathering up the pieces of glass into a pile with his

bare hands.

"James, stop, it's all right -- I'll get a broom to clean it up," I

said.

But he paid me no attention. He appeared to be completely

panicked, unable to hear me. "James, STOP," I repeated, more

loudly, but still he ignored me. Finally I took action, stooping to

grab both of his wrists and forcing his hands still as I snapped,

"James, I said STOP!"

He froze and stared at me, anxiety and fear written all over his

face.

"Drop the glass. NOW," I told him, and after a moment his hands

opened and the pieces of glass he was holding fell back to the

floor. I turned his hands over and wasn't surprised to see blood

streaming from a cut on one of his fingers. "Christ, you've cut

yourself," I muttered, and pulled a handkerchief from my back

pocket. I wrapped it around the cut finger and curled his fingers to

his palm to hold it in place.

I took him firmly by the arms and stood, pulling him up with me.

He appeared to be going into a real panic attack by now; he stood

with shoulders hunched and forearms clamped across his belly, as

if he was trying to pull into himself, and his breath was coming in

short, strident gasps. "Breathe, James," I ordered, giving him a

little shake to get his attention as I continued to hold him by the

arms. "It's all right. Breathe. Come on, deep breaths, in and out

? that's better. Slow it down. That's good."

He seemed to be responding to my instructions, and his breathing

slowed, but he was starting to shiver now, and his face was

alarmingly pale. I looked past his shoulder to where Josh stood

watching, wide-eyed with worry.

"I'm going to go doctor up James's cut finger," I told him. "Could

you go get the broom and dustpan and deal with the broken glass?"

"Sure thing, Logan!" he agreed quickly, obviously glad to have

something to do.

"And BE CAREFUL. Ben will have my head if you cut yourself."

"I'll be careful," he agreed, and headed off to fetch the broom.

I put an arm around James's shoulders and guided him, silent and

shivering, into the bathroom. I sat him on the sink counter and

dealt quickly with the cut on his finger, rinsing it under the sink,

checking it for any bits of glass, and, finding none, dabbing it with

a little ointment from the medicine cabinet and putting a Band-Aid

on it. With that out of the way, I looked back into James's face to

find him watching me intently, his eyes looking darker than normal

in his solemn, pale face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

My chest clenched in sympathy, and without giving it a moment's

conscious thought, I stepped between his knees as he sat there on

the counter and put my arms around him. "It's all right, honey,

honest to God it is," I told him. "I'm not angry. I know it was an

accident." He was rigid in my arms, still trembling hard, still

hunched over as if his stomach hurt, but I didn't let that deter me. I

gently but insistently drew him as close to me as I could, then

stroked his hair and repeated, "It's all right."

He stayed as he was -- not resisting, but not surrendering -- for a

bit. Then suddenly he spoke. "I'll pay for the lamp," he said.

"Really I will, but ? it could take a while. I don't have much

money. But I could make payments."

"Don't worry about it, James."

"But I BROKE it! I should pay for it somehow!" he insisted, the

pitch of his voice rising. "If you won't let me give you money for

it, then maybe you would want to ? to take a belt to me, or

something like that, for breaking it?"

That shocked the hell out of me. I drew back enough to see his

face, although I kept my arms around him. "What are you talking

about?" I demanded.

He recoiled a bit at the sharpness in my tone, and his voice was

little more than a whisper when he said, "I know I deserve to be

punished, so if you want to -- you know, give me a whipping ? I'll

take whatever you think I should get."

"You most certainly do NOT deserve to be punished, and I most

certainly do NOT want to give you a whipping!" I replied

emphatically, wondering where the hell he'd gotten such an

outrageous idea. "It was an accident! And even if it wasn't, no

way would I take a belt or anything else to you! The last thing on

earth I want to do is hurt you!"

Somehow he seemed, if anything, a bit MORE miserable at

hearing that. When he spoke again, I was once again completely

taken aback by what he said. "If you told Lance I broke the lamp,"

he said, "he would probably pay for it."

"And then I suppose HE would take a belt to you?" I asked, on a

hunch. From what Ben had told me about Lance, he struck me as

just the type who would try to control James and who would

punish him for any deviation from his rigid set of rules.

After a pause, James answered softly, "Probably." And my dislike

of Lance kicked up to a cold, intense loathing.

"Well, don?t worry, he'll never know," I stated emphatically.

"Nobody's going to hurt you over this." I drew him close again,

cradling the back of his head with my palm to bring it down to my

shoulder, stroking his hair. "Easy, James. It's okay, really. Don't

worry about it, please."

He was silent for a while, still holding himself a bit away from me,

his body tense. And then I heard a distinct sniffle, followed by

another, and then by a hiccupy breath. I eased away from him

again to see his face. He kept his head ducked in embarrassment,

but there were tears on his cheeks.

"Sweetheart, it's all right, really!" I said. "Please don't get so

upset,

I'm not angry!"

"It's just?" he said, his throat catching, the pitch of his voice

rising, "it's just -- that -- I wanted you to like me! And -- and now

I've shown you what an idiot b-brat I am!"

My heart was breaking at the despair in his voice. "Oh, James, I

DO like you!" I assured him fervently. "Oh, sweetheart, I like you

SO much, and this hasn't changed a thing! You're not in any way

an idiot brat, you're absolutely adorable!"

The tears were starting to flow faster now, and I swiped them off

his cheeks with my thumb. He still had his arms clamped over his

middle, and I firmly took his wrists and peeled them away from his

belly and pulled them up around my neck. To my delight, after a

brief hesitation his arms tightened around my neck and he pressed

into me. I held him tight against me, rubbing his back, caressing

his head, and whispering, "It's all right, honey. I've got you, it's all

right."

I could hear him fighting to control his tears, and continued to pet

him and murmur soothing nonsense phrases. Gradually his

breathing calmed and his body relaxed, but he stayed nestled close

to me, his arms still snug around my neck. I had a hard time

remembering when I'd experienced anything sweeter than this, this

experience of being able to offer James comfort, of being able to

ease his distress and feel the tension leaving his body as I soothed

him. It felt absolutely just right to have him in my arms, to feel his

arms around me and his face pressed against my neck.

I don't know how long I'd been standing there holding him like that

when Josh's voice came suddenly from behind me. "Hey, honey,

are you okay now?"

James jumped and immediately tried to push back away from me,

apparently flustered for Josh to have caught him cuddled up to me,

but I was having none of that; I kept my arms firmly around him,

and after a few moments he quit struggling, but he was tense and

wary again.

"Are you okay?" Josh repeated, and I could hear the worry in his

voice. He was such a sweetheart, watching out for his buddy.

"Yeah," James answered.

Josh fidgeted a little, then said, "James, we need to go back to

work. I could -- go back without you, make an excuse for you, if

you want to stay here."

As much as I liked the idea of James staying with me for the

afternoon, I didn't argue when he said, "No, I'd better go, too."

"Can I just have a few minutes with James, Joshy?" I asked. "Then

you can go."

"Sure," Josh agreed, and withdrew from the room.

As soon as Josh was gone, James let me draw him close again,

resting his head on my shoulder and looping an arm back around

my neck. I just stood there with my arms around him for maybe

another full minute, enjoying the closeness, and he seemed fine

with that ? if anything he burrowed into me a bit closer and his

hold tightened around my neck. Finally I ran my hands up and

down his arms a couple times before taking him by the shoulders

and easing him away from me. His face was still only about a foot

from mine and I looked very intently into his eyes. "Honey, I want

you to make sure you understand a few things," I said. "The first is

that I am NOT angry about the broken lamp. And the next is that I

like you VERY much. Do you understand that?"

His eyes were bright and he swallowed hard as he nodded.

"And the other thing I want you to understand," I said, "is that if

you ever need me, for ANY reason, no matter what time of the day

or night, I want you to call me. I'm going to write my phone

number down and give it to you before you go, and Josh knows my

number, too. And if you ever need me, ever, I want you to call.

Can you do that?"

The tears had welled up in his eyes and were starting down his face

as he nodded again.

I gave him a hard hug, then said, "Here, let's wash your face." I

grabbed a washcloth from the cupboard under the sink, wet it with

warm water, and very gently washed his face while he struggled to

get his tears back under control. Once I was done, I put a hand

behind his head, drew him close, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Any time you need me," I repeated. "Right?"

He nodded once again, and managed to choke out, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," I said, and kissed him again before reluctantly

taking him back to where Josh was waiting for him. I wrote out

my phone number for him and watched him tuck it into the pocket

of his polo shirt, then saw them out to Josh's car. As they drove

away, I felt that same pang of loss I always felt when separating

from James, only it was worse this time. I felt closer to him than

ever, and I also knew that his partner was probably abusive -- a

combination that left me in a state of high anxiety, out of worry for

his welfare. I felt as though I should do something about his

situation, but for the moment I wasn't sure quite what.

All I knew was that I was going to have to figure out something

soon, because it was starting to really get to me. Oh, who was I

kidding. It had completely and totally gotten to me. I just wasn't

sure how to deal with it.

On the way back to work, I was so completely preoccupied with

my own thoughts that I jumped in surprise when Josh finally

asked, "James, are you all right?"

I had no idea how to answer that question. Part of me was in

agony, part was in ecstasy. The agony was because I had, through

my typical clumsiness, destroyed a valued possession of Logan's. I

had expected him to be furious, and had been in a complete panic

over it. Not over the fear that he might hurt me -- I knew he wasn't

disposed to violence, and besides, I felt I deserved to be punished.

But I felt an awful guilt over the idea that I had caused Logan the

pain of losing his lamp. And I had been terrified that he would

hate me now, or at least see me for the clumsy idiot that I was.

Then I had compounded the agony by doing everything wrong

from that moment on. I had tried to clean up the broken glass,

ignoring his orders to stop until he had to grab me and yell at me.

I'd cut myself so he'd had to tend to that, I'd hyperventilated so

badly that he'd had to spend a couple minutes getting me breathing

again. And maybe worst of all, I'd blurted out an offer to let him

take his belt to me for breaking the lamp. I had been so upset, and

feeling so guilty over how long it would take me to pay for the

lamp, that I'd had to offer something. But Logan had seemed

outraged by the offer -- and a damned good thing, too, I realized

now, because Lance would certainly go ballistic if he found bruises

on me that had been put there by someone else.

I'd felt so guilty I'd even offered to tell Lance what had happened,

to get the lamp paid for, and when Logan had emphatically turned

me down on that, too, I'd embarrassed myself further by starting to

cry. I couldn't believe he was being so kind to me after what I'd

done. And then to my horror I heard myself confessing how much

I'd wanted him to like me and now I'd ruined it all. It was hard to

imagine how I could have behaved any more like a pathetic idiot.

By all rights he should have been completely disgusted with me by

then, but instead of treating me with the contempt I deserved, he

had taken me into his arms and held me, really tight; and he'd

rubbed my back and stroked my hair and had reassured me, very

firmly, that it was okay, that he wasn't angry, and that he DID like

me, a lot, even after what I'd done. And that experience, of being

wrapped in that warm, comforting embrace when I was in such

distress, had been, beyond all doubt, an ecstasy the like of which I

couldn't remember ever experiencing before. I thought about the

way he'd wiped away my tears, the way endearments like "honey"

and "sweetheart" had rolled so easily off his tongue, the way I'd

felt so safe and protected -- so wanted -- while he'd held me. It had

been so much like the fantasies I'd played in my head over and

over in the past weeks since I'd met him, but so much more at the

same time. Pulling away from him when it was time to go back to

work, I had felt as though I was leaving part of myself behind.

But I couldn't take up any more of his time. And in the end, the

whole episode had just been an unreal interlude in my miserable

life. Logan had been unbelievably kind to me, especially

considering what I'd done to his lamp, but he was probably the

kind of guy who would be kind to anyone. There was no reason to

read any more into it.

"James?" Josh prodded gently. I started; I'd forgotten he was

waiting for a reply. "I said, are you all right?"

Did the combination of agony and ecstasy I'd just been through

balance out to "all right"? Somehow it didn't seem like it did. My

emotions, both good and bad, were still roiling in my head and my

chest and my gut. "I'm -- not sure," I admitted. "I still feel really

terrible about breaking that lamp."

"Yeah, I know, but it was an accident," Josh said. "Logan knows

that. It could have happened to anyone, James."

I was doubtful about that. Somehow it always seemed to be me

who slipped up, who forgot things and ruined things. Like when

I'd dripped the paint on Lance's jacket. Only that time I hadn't felt

I'd deserved to be punished. This time I DID feel that I deserved it

-- because, I supposed, I felt so incredibly guilty. But Logan

definitely hadn't shared that opinion.

When I didn't respond, Josh added, "And it's pretty clear he wasn't

mad at you, James. I mean, that was quite a hug he had you

wrapped in when I came in, wasn't it? And Logan's not a

demonstrative guy with most people, believe me. If he was

holding you like that, it means he really likes you."

Although Josh's words echoed what Logan himself had told me, I

was still having a hard time absorbing the idea that Logan liked

me. "Do you really think so?" I finally asked.

"Absolutely."

I took hope at the conviction in his voice, but I couldn't hang on to

it during the afternoon. While I worked I brooded over what had

happened, and came to the conclusion that it had all been a fluke.

And even if he had, for a short while, felt some kind of special

fondness for me, that would have to fade once he'd had a chance to

think about it some more and realized how completely useless I

was.

It was even worse at home that evening. I couldn't seem to keep

my mind on anything, it just kept heading right back to thoughts

about what had happened, dwelling first on how guilty I still felt

about what had happened, then swinging back to how good it had

felt to be held by Logan. Lance grew increasingly irritated at my

inattention and finally sent me for the paddle. After administering

a thorough walloping he made it clear that if I continued to walk

around like a zombie ignoring everything he said, we'd have

another round with the cane. I knew he meant it and that threat

managed to bring me back down to earth, at least for the rest of the

evening.

When I got home that night, I'd barely gotten through the front

door when I was pouring out the story to Ben, of what had

happened that day with Logan and James and the lamp. He, in

turn, immediately got on the phone to Logan, and I wasn't

surprised when a few minutes later he handed it to me and said,

"Logan wants to talk to you."

I'd no sooner said, "Hi, Logan," when he got right to the point.

"How was James this afternoon?" he asked. "Did he still seem

upset?"

"Kind of. He was really sorry for breaking that lamp."

"I know, poor guy -- I don't know if I convinced him that I wasn't

upset."

"I think he believes that YOU weren't upset, but that didn't keep

him from feeling really guilty about it."

"Christ, don't I know it. He felt so bad that offered to let me take a

belt to him."

I hadn't known that, and it surprised an, "Oh, shit!" from me.

"And when I turned him down in no uncertain terms, he suggested

that I could tell his partner, so HE could pay for the lamp."

"Oh, Christ, you can't tell HIM!" I burst out.

"Why not?"

I thought of my promise to James not to tell Logan how Lance

treated him, and while I was wondering whether to evade

answering, or finally admit to the situation, he said, "Okay, I know

why not. He admitted that Lance probably WOULD take a belt to

him, if he found out about the lamp." He paused, and when I

remained silent he demanded, "Did you know about this, Joshy?

That his partner beats him?"

"Yeah," I admitted. I felt the same way as I had when I'd told Ben:

guilty that I'd kept it to myself, relieved that I could finally share

it.

"Is it something he's agreed to, part of their arrangement?"

"No. He hates it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Logan sounded genuinely upset with

me. It was rare that he used that tone with me, and it always made

me feel terrible.

"He made me promise not to," I explained defensively. "But I told

him that if you asked me point blank, I couldn't lie to you."

Logan absorbed that, and his voice softened. "Okay. I can see

that. But now that I know, I need to ask a favor."

"Name it," I said quickly.

"I told him to call me anytime he needed me. Day or night. But

here's the thing. I'd forgotten I was going to be at my sister's this

weekend. I'm leaving in the morning." His sister lived a three-

hour drive away, in Redding. "Could you please tell him that? He

can still call, if he needs to, but I won't be able to get there right

away."

"Yeah, I'll tell him," I agreed.

He sighed. "Christ, maybe I shouldn't go."

"No, you can go," I assured him. "I've told him the same, that he

can call us any time he needs to. So we'll be here if he needs

something. And anyway, he's lived with the guy for over two

years. What are the odds that something terrible will happen

during the time you're gone?"

"Yeah, you're probably right, but I'm still glad you guys are on call

to him. That's a load off my mind. Thanks, honey. Hey, is Ben

still there? I need to talk to him now."

"Sure, Logan."

Ben confessed after hanging up that he'd gotten a real earful from

Logan for not telling him about James's situation. After all, I may

have promised James not to tell, but Ben hadn't. Ben looked so

chagrined over the thorough chewing-out he'd gotten from Logan

that I had to grin.

"I just didn't realize that he would be upset with me for not sharing

that with him," Ben said, shaking his head. "I knew he liked

James, but I didn't realize his concern went so deep."

My smile broadened. Ben was a smart guy with a big heart, but he

wasn't very adept at interpreting other people's feelings from their

behavior. I, on the other hand, had been pretty sure from the first

time that Logan and James met that there had been a spark between

them, and every time I'd seen them together I'd gotten the feeling

that there was some bonding going on.

I thought about the scene that had met my eyes when I'd walked

into the bathroom where Logan was tending to James after James

had cut his finger on the broken glass. I'd wondered why they

were taking so damned long, and had gone in search of them. But

when I got to the open doorway of the bathroom, my curiosity was

answered. James had been sitting on the sink counter, and Logan

was standing between his knees, and James's arms were wrapped

tight around Logan's neck, and Logan was holding James snugly

against him. Neither of them was saying anything; they were

obviously just lost in the moment. Logan's hand moved slowly up

and down James's back and I heard him murmur gently to him a

couple of times. James had sprung away from Logan when I'd

spoken, but Logan hadn't let him go, and as I left the room I'd been

happy to see James settling willingly back into Logan's embrace.

I smiled to myself now, just remembering it. If James and Logan

got together, that would be absolutely fantastic. We could all hang

out together, it would be great -- and more importantly, it would

get James away from that bastard Lance. Logan would take really

good care of James, and James deserved a guy like Logan. Now

if only I could figure out how to get everyone to take some action -

- for James to leave Lance, for Logan to step in and help James

take his life back -- something had to happen, and soon, or I was

going to go out of my mind fretting about it.

It was just before five A.M. Saturday morning that Josh's cell

phone, sitting on the nightstand next to him, started ringing. He

groped his way over to it, managed to hit the "talk" button, and

said groggily, "Hello?"

I was wide awake by that time, assuming that unless it was a

wrong number, a call at that hour couldn't be good. And I went

from awake to on alert when I heard Josh's voice sharpen as he

said, "James? Is that you? … Yeah, you woke me, but it's

okay…really, it's okay! Just, please, tell me what's up!" His tone

had an urgency to it that made me want to demand what was going

on, or reach out and take the phone from him, but I made myself

wait and let him handle it. He listened, a couple of times

exclaiming "Christ!" in a tone of real distress. Then: "James, stop

apologizing, I'm glad you called, I told you to call, I just wish

you'd done it last night! We'll come right now…Yes, I mean 'we',

Ben is coming, too! … No, James, it'll be all right, I swear! Ben

will know what to do. Anyway, he already knows -- he's right next

to me, listening to every word!" A pause, and then, "James … James,

really, it'll be okay. We'll be there in fifteen minutes, max. And if

you aren't at the gas station, we'll come to the house and get you …

Yes, we WILL! You think we'd leave you there with him? …

Okay, I'm hanging up now, but we'll be there. Fifteen minutes.

You just get out of there, okay?"

Finally he clicked off and turned to me. "You've probably figured

it out, but it was James. I guess Lance went after him last night, and

he thinks his wrist might be broken." He had managed to sound

pretty calm long enough to say that, but now his control failed him

and his voice went hoarse with distress. "He waited all night to

call!" he exclaimed. "All night, with maybe a broken wrist! And

now … Lance is asleep, and James's sneaking out, he needs for us to

pick him up!'

I didn't need to hear any more. "Let's go," I said, and we were into

our clothes in record time. In the kitchen, Josh grabbed his keys

off the hook, but I held out a hand and said quickly, "I'll drive,

you're too rattled." He relinquished the keys without a word and

we headed out.

I pulled into the gas station where Josh said James would be, but we

didn't spot him. Josh looked around anxiously. "Where is he, he

said he would be here!" he exclaimed. "We have to go to his

house, go get him!" I was admittedly worried, too, but was trying

to keep Josh from getting too agitated.

"We'll just wait a couple minutes and see if he turns up," I said. "If

we head to his house now, we could miss him completely."

But it was only a few agitated seconds later that Josh cried out,

"There he is!" as a figure about James's size stepped out from the

shadows near the main building of the station. Josh was out of the

car in a flash, but only slightly ahead of me.

It was James, and the relief on his face at the sight of Josh was

obvious; but then he looked past Josh's shoulder and spotted me,

and I could see the wariness come into his eyes. My breath caught

at the sight of him: his face was bruised, his lip was puffy, and he

was cradling one arm against his belly with the other arm. The

wrist of his supported arm was swollen and discolored.

Josh had come to an abrupt stop when he'd gotten a good look at

James and now just stood there staring in obvious horror. So it was

left to me to go put an arm gently around James's shoulders and say,

"Let's get you to an emergency room, James, and have that wrist

looked at."

He looked up at me with a worried frown. "I -- I can't pay for

that," he said hoarsely. "I've got insurance, but it's not very good, I

don't know if it covers emergency room visits…"

"Don't worry about that right now, honey," I said. "You need to

see a doctor, and then you're coming back to our house. It's going

to be okay."

He swallowed hard, obviously still worried. "Lance will probably

come after me," he said. "He'll probably come look at your house,

and he'll be mad."

He's not the only one, I thought. I was on a slow boil myself,

seeing what that bastard had done to James. But right now my

priority was tending to James's injuries. "We'll deal with that when

it happens, but believe me, you won't be going back to him if you

don't want to. Okay?"

He stared at me, then swallowed again. "Yes, sir," he finally said.

"Thank you, sir."

We had about an hour's wait in the emergency room before they

took James in, and Josh paced and fretted the whole time. "What

are they doing in there? Why haven't they called him yet? Can't

they see he's HURT?" he demanded, ignoring my requests for him

to sit and chill out. I didn't press too hard, though -- I could see

how upset he was, and I shared his feelings even if I didn't express

them like he did.

James was very quiet; he spent most of his time standing in front of

the window, watching the sun rise. When I asked him how he was,

he always said, "I'm all right, sir", but his face looked pale and

drawn with pain and fatigue. And he repeatedly declined my

suggestion that he come sit down and take it easy. I supposed he

was stunned over Lance's attack and wanted to deal with it alone,

so I didn't push, but it was killing me to watch him stand there

looking so alone and miserable.

Finally they called him in, and then it was another hour and a half -

- with Josh fidgeting and pacing and asking me, "What do you

think is happening? Do you think he's going to be okay?" the

whole time -- before James finally emerged with his left arm in a

cast from hand to elbow, confirming that his wrist had, in fact,

been broken. He looked exhausted and told us they'd given him

some painkillers that were making him kind of spacy. It took a bit

more probing before he admitted that they'd given him a

prescription for more painkillers which I insisted that he give me

so I could get it filled.

"But -- I can't afford it," he said unhappily.

"Don't worry about that right now," I said. I hadn't told him that

I'd put myself down as his guarantor for the ER visit, so the bill for

whatever his insurance didn't cover would come to me. And if

figured I probably never would, unless he really pressed me on it.

"Let's get you home and into bed, you look wiped out."

At home, Josh found a pair of flannel sleep pants for James to wear

and showed him to the guest room. I let him handle it; my

presence still seemed to make James nervous, and Josh needed to

feel that he was doing something to help James out. When he came

back downstairs from his mission, I took one look at his face and

opened my arms to him. "Come here, baby," I said, and he came

into my arms and buried his face against me and just held on to me

for a bit. Finally he turned his head and laid it on my shoulder

with a sigh. "I don't know if he's going to get any sleep. He's

exhausted, but he's really wound up, too."

"Did you find out any more about what happened?"

"No, not really. Just that Lance got mad at him and came after

him, and he fought to defend himself. He says he broke his wrist

by falling on it. So at least it wasn't, you know, Lance actually

breaking his wrist. But those bruises on his face! I don't think he

got those falling." He stopped, overcome again by his shock over

what had happened. "I can't believe Lance would do that to him.

It must have been awful, being attacked by such a big guy in such

a temper. Especially when it's your partner, someone who's

supposed to care about you!"

"Yeah, it must have been pretty traumatic," I agreed.

"I just wish there was something I could DO."

"I know, honey, but you've done all you could. He's here safe

now, and he'll be okay after he's had some time to recover. You've

been a really good friend to him, babe. I'm really proud of you."

Josh sighed, clearly not appeased. After a bit he said, "What did

Logan say?"

"Logan?" I repeated.

"Yes, you know -- your best friend? What did he say when you

called him?"

"I haven't called him."

Josh sat up straight, astonishment on his face. "What? Why not?"

"Josh, he's in Redding with his sister. Why worry him when

there's nothing he can do?"

"Ben, do you REALLY not remember the lecture he gave you just

a couple of days ago, for not telling him about James's situation?

And how would you feel if you were away and something

happened to me and Logan didn't call and tell you?"

Of course he was right. I cringed a little just remembering how

upset Logan had been with me for not telling him about James's

situation with Lance. I grabbed my cell phone off my belt and

called him.

I had expected him to be upset when he heard the news, which he

was, grilling me intently about James's condition, repeatedly

demanding assurance that James was, in fact, all right. What I didn't

expect was for him to then announce, "Okay, I should be able to

get there in -- three hours, maybe? Maybe less."

"You're coming down?" I asked in surprise.

"Of course I am!"

"But you don't need to interrupt your visit, Logan -- I've got him,

he'll be okay."

"I sure as hell DO need to," he assured me, "if only for my own

peace of mind. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I knew that tone; there was no point in arguing. "Okay, then -- see

you in about three hours," I acknowledged. After signing off, I

turned to Josh. "He's coming here."

"When?" Josh asked.

"Now. Says he'll be here in about three hours."

Josh smiled for the first time since he'd gotten the call from James.

"I knew it," he said.

"You knew what?"

"That he'd come. I'm going to go tell James."

"Josh, leave the poor guy alone. He needs his rest."

"But he would want to know that Logan's coming!"

"He'll know soon enough, when Logan gets here. And suppose

Logan can't come after all, or gets delayed? Then James would be

disappointed."

"Oh, all right," Josh agreed with a sigh. But he definitely looked

more relaxed than he had since we'd first gotten the call from James.

Finally I was alone.

Josh had been sweetness itself, as good a friend as anyone could

ask for, hovering over me and asking repeatedly what he could do

for me. But I really only wanted to be left alone, and I was

relieved when he finally said he would let me get some sleep.

When he left the room, I felt guilty for wanting to be rid of him,

but I really wasn't up to interacting with him right now.

I got into bed, but didn't have any hope of getting any sleep. My

wrist ached despite the painkillers they had given me at the

hospital, but what hurt even worse were the cane stripes that went

from my waist to my knees. I hadn't told anyone about those; I

hadn't wanted to deal with their reaction. Josh would have been

even more upset if he'd known about them, and Ben might have

wanted to see them, might have insisted I tell the doctor about

them, and I'd have to explain to the doctor how I'd gotten them,

and I just hadn't felt up to facing any of that. I'd told the doctor I'd

gotten my facial bruises and broken wrist from being in a fight,

and while he had looked kind of disgusted, he'd accepted that

without any further questions.

And that hadn't been an outright lie. I actually had been in a fight:

I'd fought with Lance, trying to keep him from using that fucking

cane on me again.

Our confrontation had built up through Thursday and Friday

evenings. I'd been a total space cadet since I'd broken Logan's

lamp; I just couldn't get my mind off of him for a moment, couldn't

keep from replaying how it felt to be held and kissed and fussed

over by him, and how he had so readily forgiven what I had done.

Lance had grown increasingly irritated as he had to keep repeating

things, and at the same time I had grown increasingly unable to

tolerate his constant harping. I didn't want to be here any more. I

didn't want to be with Lance any more. Emotionally, I realized, I'd

checked out of this relationship months ago. I'd continued to obey

him out of a combination of habit and fear, but now my old

thought patterns had been shaken to the roots, and the angrier I

grew over the whole situation, the more my fear faded into the

background. Lance was obviously shocked by the level of my

defiance and as our argument escalated he said, "One more

outburst from you, young man, and you'll be fetching the cane for

a hard whipping!"

"You know what?" I shouted back, heedless, too angry to care.

"You can take that fucking cane and shove it up your fucking ass,

if it's not up there already! God knows you ACT like you've got a

stick up there!"

He slapped me, so hard that it knocked me over. He'd never done

that before, and I realized I had triggered a level of temper I'd

never seen before. But somehow even that knowledge couldn't

keep down my own rage. I staggered to my feet, the side of my

face burning, my eye throbbing, and shouted, "Keep your hands off

me, you son of a bitch!"

He hit me again, and when I recovered my balance this time I

could taste blood on my lip. Lance was in a black fury, and he

grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to his study, reaching up to

where the cane occupied a place of honor on a high shelf. But I

wasn't about to go meekly to the slaughter this time. He told me to

drop my drawers and bend over the desk, and when I refused to

obey he tried to force me to, and I fought him, twice wrenching

from his grip and fleeing from the study. The first time he caught

me and took the fight out of me with a punch to my gut before

dragging me back into the study, but as soon as I caught my breath

I got away from him and ran again.

He was after me in a flash, and when I turned my head at the sound

of his pounding footsteps, I tripped over a footstool and landed on

my arm with my hand bent awkwardly. Pain spiked through my

wrist even as I heard a sickening crunch. But before I had a

chance to even take a look at the damage, Lance had grabbed my

hair again and was towing me back to the study.

The pain in my wrist made it hard to struggle and took a lot of the

fight out of me. Lance, ignoring my protests that I thought I'd

broken it, made short work of stripping me down and bending me

over the desk. I just couldn't resist much with one hand out of

commission and causing blinding pain every time pressure was

applied to the wrist. Lance was holding me by my injured arm and

I couldn't struggle, could barely move without feeling a stab of

pain in my wrist. But when Lance slashed the cane across my bare

butt using what felt like the full strength of his arm, I struggled

anyway. The cane came down again and again, and I couldn't help

it, I yelled my head off, swearing and cursing and just plain

howling with the pain of the strokes and the answering pain in my

wrist when I would try to twist away.

By the time he'd decided I'd had enough and sent me up to bed

without supper -- not that I had the least appetite, but it was one

more reminder of his power -- I could barely walk, and my wrist

had started to swell. Lance dismissed my complaints about my

wrist, insisting I'd just sprained it. He relented enough to wrap it in

an ice pack and told me that if it was still bad in the morning we'd

see a doctor. But I knew he really didn't want me anywhere near a

doctor with those welts all over my backside.

I was in far too much pain to sleep but not so much that I couldn't

plot my escape. I was, I decided, going to sneak downstairs after

Lance fell asleep and call Josh to come and get me. I was

determined to do it this time; I was getting out of this nuthouse

once and for all.

While Lance was still downstairs I got up and, working awkwardly

with my one good hand, got out some clothes and stuffed them

under my side of the bed so I could retrieve them quickly once I

had an opportunity to go. But it was past midnight before Lance

came to bed. I had, for weeks now, wanted to sleep in the guest

room, away from Lance; but he insisted that I share the bed with

him every night, although our sex life had been nonexistent for

several months. Making me share the bed with him was not a

gesture of fondness. It was an act of control, of ownership, pure

and simple. And tonight it made my escape plans that much

riskier, as I had to slip out without waking him.

I lay there pretending to be asleep -- no easy thing considering how

much I hurt -- but by the time Lance started snoring, I figured it

was too late to call Josh. It was enough to ask him to come get me,

I couldn't wake him on top of it. I lay there through the long night,

hurting just about everywhere, watching the minutes tick slowly by

on the alarm clock, waiting for it to be morning so I could call him.

Finally as it approached five AM I decided I couldn't wait any

longer; Lance could wake up and then I'd be stuck. I was going to

have to make my move.

The next half hour was one of the scariest of my life. If Lance was

capable of doing what he'd done to me last night just for defying

him, God knew what he would do if he caught me trying to run

away. My heart was in my throat as I eased out of bed and

grabbed my clothes from their stash. I crept out of the bedroom

and down the stairs, wincing in horror at every squeak of a

floorboard, but finally made it to the kitchen, where I put in the

call to Josh.

I was so paJamesed by that time that I wasn't very coherent but

somehow I managed to convey, between apologies for waking

him, that I was sneaking out and going to the gas station around the

corner and needed him to pick me up. I was flooded with relief

when he quickly agreed to do so, but the relief shifted to

apprehension when he told me that Ben would be coming, too. I

still wasn't sure about Ben, about his opinion of my situation. I

was still a bit worried he would insist I go back to Lance. But right

now, I had no choice but to trust Josh's judgment and accept that

Ben would be willing to help me. I had to get out of there.

I got into my clothes and shoes as quickly as possible, although all

my movements were hampered by the fact that I couldn't use my

left hand and pulling on my jeans hurt like hell. And finally, I

slipped out the back door. It wasn't far to the gas station, but every

step of the way I imagined Lance coming after me. Fear made me

break into a run even though between my jeans rubbing the welts

left by the cane, and the jolting to my wrist, tears were trailing

down my face from the pain.

I hid in the shadows, hoping desperately that Josh would get there

before Lance did, and almost cried with relief when I saw Josh's

car pull up. Sure enough, though, Ben was with him, and it took

me a couple of minutes to get up the courage to step out of the

shadows so they could see me.

But it had turned out all right. Josh has been absolutely right about

Ben, who had been completely sympathetic and supportive. Josh

was actually too much of a wreck to be much help, but Ben was

solid and calm and reliable and extremely kind. He insisted on

taking me to an Emergency Room to see about my wrist, despite

my protests that I couldn't afford it -- and for once I was very glad

to let a toppish sort of guy insist that do something, since I was

pretty sure my wrist needed medical attention. I also suspected

he'd picked up at least part of the tab for the visit, something I was

going to have to arrange to repay as soon as I could, although to

tell the truth I had no idea where I'd come up with the funds. Right

now I didn't even have a home.

While we waited for me to be called in to see a doctor, Ben worked

on calming Josh and allowed me to stand off by myself, over by

the window. I was grateful that he hadn't insisted I come sit down,

because I really couldn't sit on those plastic waiting room chairs,

but also because I simply wasn't up to interacting with them much.

And after I'd had my wrist seen to, he'd brought me back to their

house, and put me in their guest room.

Josh had taken over then, fussing over me, bringing me some

flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt to wear, asking if I wanted

anything to eat. I appreciated his efforts, of course I did, but by

that time I just wanted to be left alone. It was exhausting me to

keep him from knowing how much I was hurting. I'd already been

awake all night and didn't have much fortitude left and didn't know

how much longer I could keep up the stoic act. So I told him I

really just wanted to get some rest, and finally he had left the

room. I changed awkwardly and slowly into the sleepwear he'd

provided and crawled into bed, glad to finally be alone.

No, that was wrong. I didn't really want to be alone. I wanted

Logan. He was the only person whose company I really wanted

right now, and I wanted him desperately. But he wasn't available.

He was three hours away, at his sister's. He might as well have

been on the moon, I thought dismally. He didn't even know what

had happened to me.

I'd known that calling him for help, instead of Josh, hadn't really

been an option that morning; I'd known he was out of town. Now I

wondered whether I would have called him even if he'd been

around. Would I really have had the courage, the temerity, to ask

Logan for help, to ask him to come and get me? He'd sworn I

could call him for anything, any time, and I believed he meant it,

but I doubted that I'd have been able to do it. In any case, I hadn't

had that choice this time.

But I wanted him now. I wanted him so badly that the ache of it

was worse than any of my physical hurts. It was a longing that had

really started when I'd first met him, and had gotten worse over

time. It had spiked up at lunchtime Thursday, when he'd been so

unbelievably sweet over the broken lamp, when I'd experienced

what I'd only imagined up until then: namely, what it felt like to

be held by him, to be the object of his concern. I wanted that again

now. I would have missed him and wanted him even if I wasn't

exhausted and hurting, but the fact that I was just put that much

sharper an edge on my longing.

I would have liked to escape into sleep, but although I dozed off

now and again, my sleep was fitful. I hurt too much, I was too

anxious, and the painkillers kept giving me weird, incoherent

dreams. Josh came into to check on me a couple of times, but I

pretended to be asleep, still not up to any interaction.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I came alert from a

doze to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Lance, I

thought, as panic flooded through me. He had come for me. Don't

let him in! I wanted to shout, but even if they could have heard me,

I couldn't force any words through my clenched throat. I heard the

door open, and voices that I couldn't quite make out -- and then

heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs, sending a cold shiver of

dread down my spine. I scrambled out of bed but then just stood

there, having no idea what to do next. I was determined not to let

Lance take me out of there, but I was in no shape to fight him. I

wondered if Ben and Josh would intervene on my behalf -- but

how could I expect that from them? This wasn't their battle, and I

couldn't in good conscience bring them into it.

I stood there, frozen in terror, trying to muster some kind of

backbone to face Lance, as the footsteps came down the hall

toward my room. And when the door burst open, I just about

jumped out of my skin.

But the big, angry-looking guy standing there wasn't Lance.

"Logan," I breathed in complete astonishment, but even as I said

his name, I didn't believe it was really him. It couldn't be him. He

was in Redding. I was imagining this, I thought. I wanted Logan

so much that my overstressed mind had created this apparition of

him. Or maybe the drugs had done it. Or maybe I was still asleep,

dreaming.

Suddenly he was striding towards me with a furious frown on his

face. Even if he was just a figment of my imagination, he looked

plenty scary, like he wanted to kill someone – but he provoked no

fear in me at all. "God, James, what did that bastard DO to you?"

he demanded. He reached me, took my head carefully in his

hands, and intently scanned my face, brow furrowed as he took in

the bruises and swollen eye and puffy lip. All I could think was

that for an apparition, he sure looked real, and his voice sure

sounded real, and his hands sure felt real. I stared at him, still

trying to comprehend what I was seeing. When he finally looked

into my eyes, though, I knew that he was real. His expression

softened, his gaze warming as it met mine, and his hands dropped

to my shoulders and squeezed. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry I wasn't

here when you needed me, I came as soon as Ben called, I got here

as soon as I could."

I swallowed hard. "But you were … visiting your sister …"

"Yeah, but I told you I'd be here if you needed me, and when Ben

told me what had happened, I -- I thought you probably needed

me. So I came." He paused, and I was astonished to hear the

uncertainty in his voice as he added, "I -- wasn't wrong, was I? Do

you want me here?"

I nodded my head quickly and emphatically. I was still struggling

to absorb the fact the he was here, that he'd left his sister's to come

as soon as he'd heard, and that he'd called me "baby", which

seemed to me to be something beyond a casual endearment -- it

seemed to show a special fondness for me. He was here for me. I

still couldn't imagine why he was here, but I was completely

overcome with gratitude, along with the intense relief of having

him there when I needed him so badly. And the tears that I'd been

holding back through the long night, the hospital visit, and the

uneasy dreams I'd been trapped in all morning -- through the hours

of longing for him -- wouldn't be resisted any longer. I could feel

them filling my eyes, could feel my face contort with the effort of

holding them back, but despite my struggles a sob burst out of me,

and to my great embarrassment I started crying, hard. Oh God,

why did I always react to Logan's kindness by bawling like a little

kid? I turned my head away and hid my face in the crook of my

arm, ashamed of my tears, fighting them, but completely unable to

control them.

His next actions were gentle, but very firm at the same time. He

took my wrists, handling the cast on my left arm very carefully,

and drew them up around his neck. I didn't need any further

encouragement to tighten up with my good arm and hold on,

pressing into him, hiding my face against him as the sobs shook

me. He wrapped strong arms around me, pulling me snugly

against his broad, solid chest. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" he

asked softly.

I shook my head again. I couldn't imagine how anything could

hurt less than this. His hold tightened a bit and he kissed my head

and said, "You cry all you need to, babe, but understand that it's

okay now, it's okay. I'm here now. I'm here and I've got you and

everything's going to be all right now."

At that, I quit fighting my sobs and just let them come. It was

clear they didn't bother Logan, and I really needed the release. The

emotions washed over me, so intense at times that I thought I

might fly apart if it hadn't been for Logan's solid embrace and

deep, soothing voice. He showed no sign of impatience, just held

me and rubbed my head and assured me again and again that

everything was going to be all right.

As soon as I showed signs of calming a bit, he said, "Tell me what

happened, honey," and to my own amazement the story came

pouring out, between sniffles and hiccupy breaths. I hadn't wanted

to tell the story to Josh or Ben or the emergency room doctor, but I

wanted to tell it to Logan. The infatuated nervousness and

reticence I normally felt when I was with him were completely

gone. There was something about deep intimacy of this moment,

sobbing my heart out in his arms, that made me want to confide in

him, to tell him everything. I wanted to completely give myself up

to him, put myself in his hands, trusting completely that he would

take care of me. I'd never felt like that with anyone before -- had

never remotely felt it with Lance.

I told Logan about the argument with Lance, and how I'd fought

him, and how my wrist had gotten broken; I told him about the

whipping Lance had given me and how much it had hurt -- and still

hurt; and of the long night waiting to be able to call Josh, and how

I'd snuck out and how Ben and Josh had shown up and rescued me.

Logan stroked my hair and made "mm-hmm" noises to show he

was listening, but other than that he didn't say anything, and I lifted

my head a couple of times to see how he was reacting. His

expression was getting grimmer and grimmer, but I knew that his

anger wasn't aimed at me.

When I finally went silent Logan remained silent, too. After a bit

he cuddled me even closer and kissed me on the head a couple of

times. Then he said, "Let's see what he did to you, babe." He

helped me carefully out of my T-shirt and frowned over several

bruises I'd gotten during my struggles with Lance. I was amazed,

looking down at my own torso, at how banged up I was. Then he

drew me over to the bed, where he sat, stood me between his

knees, and turned me to face away from him. He eased my pants

down, taking care not to scrape the elastic waistband against my

tender skin, and I heard his breath catch as he first caught sight of

the livid, swollen purple bruises crisscrossing my butt and legs.

He lowered the pants to my knees, and as he surveyed the full

extent of the damage, I heard him mutter, "Oh, Christ. Oh,

sweetheart, that looks SO sore." He inspected the damage,

touching gently in a couple of places, then carefully pulled my

pants back up.

He turned me back to face him but for a few moments he couldn't

seem to look at me, sitting with his head bent. He took my hand,

and after a moment raised it to his face and gave me a solid kiss on

the knuckles, all the while with his head still bent. While my heart

was still flip-flopping over that, he finally raised his chin and met

my gaze, and I saw tears standing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby," he

said. "I never should have let you go back to him. On Thursday, I

mean -- when you told me he would whip you with his belt if he

found out you'd broken the lamp … I knew then what he was like,

and I had you right there in my house where I could keep you safe,

and I let you go. I'm so sorry."

I didn't know what to say. It was Lance who had hurt me. Logan

had cut short a visit with his sister and driven for three hours to

make sure I was all right. It was beyond my imagining that Logan

thought he had anything to apologize for.

After waiting for a reply from me for several long seconds, he said,

"Forgive me?"

"There's -- nothing to forgive!" I managed to stammer. Logan

smiled and shook his head, but instead of saying anything more he

just stood and took my head in his hands and kissed me, several

times, on the face -- kissing my bruises tenderly, like a parent

might "kiss it better" for a child; kissing a little more solidly in the

unbruised spots; and finally kissing the corner of my mouth where

my lip wasn't swollen and touching the spot lightly with his

tongue. While I was still reeling from that he folded me back into

a strong embrace, otherwise I swear my knees would've probably

given way. I wrapped my good arm around his ribs and grabbed

up a handful of his shirt and pressed into him.

"Believe me," he said into my hair, "I won't make that mistake

again. I'll keep you safe this time."

I wanted to crawl right into that cocoon of safety he was offering

and zip it up around me, but I knew I couldn't. In the end, it was

my battle. I couldn't ask Logan to fight it for me. Just by

harboring me in their house, Ben and Josh were inviting trouble,

and I figured they all needed to be clear on that. "Lance will

probably come after me," I heard myself saying. "He'll guess I've

come here, and he knows the way."

"I'm aware of that, but don't worry -- I won't let him take you."

That was vastly reassuring, but it hadn't been why I'd brought up

the topic. "He'll be mad," I tried to clarify. "Really mad."

"I guessed as much," Logan replied. "Well, that makes two of us.

I want to take him apart for what he's done to you."

"But -- it's not your fight! It's between Lance and me. You don't

need to be involved."

"I sure as hell do! I've chosen to be involved and that's just how

it's going to be. I will keep you safe from him -- I'm capable of

doing it and by God, I mean to do it. And if you want to make it

easier for me, you'll do what I tell you to. I can't and won't

demand obedience from you, but it would help the whole situation

quite a bit if you just leave things to me and do what I tell you."

I suppose it should have alarmed me that Logan was already

deciding how it was going to be with me, and telling me that I

ought to obey him; I guess I should have worried that I was getting

right back into the same situation with him that I'd been in with

Lance. But it couldn't have felt more different. I was still

uncomfortable with the idea of Logan taking on the battle with

Lance, but I was completely prepared to obey Logan's orders

regarding that or any other situation. So I answered simply: "Yes,

sir."

"You don't need to call me that," he said quickly, a bit sharply.

"Sorry!" I responded, wondering if I'd insulted him, like when I'd

offered to take a belting over the broken lamp.

"No -- no, it's all right. Call me whatever makes you comfortable.

It's just that -- I don't mean to be a 'sir' to you. I just want to keep

you safe." He kissed me again and gave me a squeeze before

setting me away from himself a bit to look into my face. "You

look exhausted," he said, stroking my bangs back from my

forehead. "Why don't you get into bed, and I'll go see if Ben has

anything that would help you feel better."

I wanted to cling to him, feeling an irrational fear that if I let him

out of my sight, I'd never see him again. He'd come to his senses

and take off. But instead I cooperated with his request, getting into

bed and as he held the covers open for me. He bent and kissed me

again, said, "Back shortly," and left the room.

He really wasn't gone long, but it seemed like quite a while, before

he came back, carrying supplies. "Ben had some ointment with a

topical anesthetic in it that might help those welts," he said. "And

Josh had gone out and got your prescription filled, for the

painkillers, so you can have another dose of those." He helped me

take the pills, then had me lie on my belly and carefully pulled my

pants back down around my knees. He sat on the bed and applied

the ointment, murmuring to me the whole time, assuring me I'd

feel better soon, apologizing and pausing to rub my back when he

touched a particularly tender spot and I flinched.

It was really an amazingly soothing process, his big fingers

surprisingly gentle on my raw skin, although I think I was more

soothed by the fact that it was Logan fussing over me than over the

treatment itself. By the time he was done I was feeling relaxed and

a bit sleepy. He pulled my pants back up and then laid his hand

very lightly on my flannel-clad bottom. It was clearly a protective

gesture, and I thought again about his pledge to protect me. I was

grateful for his protection but I still wasn't really reconciled to the

idea of him putting himself at risk in any way for me. Then again,

it wasn't as though I'd asked him to protect me. He'd made that

decision for himself and he showed no signs that he might change

his mind.

"Feel any better?" he asked. I wasn't sure if it was the painkillers

or the ointment or Logan's presence, or a bit of all three, but I

realized I didn't hurt as much any more. I nodded and he smiled.

"Good," he said. "Are you hungry at all?"

I shook my head.

"Okay then, you should try and get some sleep."

I wanted to protest, to object that I didn't need any sleep --

anything to keep him from leaving me alone again. But I didn't

dare. I didn't want to risk annoying him in any way. I didn't even

have the nerve to ask him if he would stay here at Ben's house

while I slept, if he would still be here when I woke up. I wanted to

know what was going to happen now, but I was afraid of alienating

him or making demands on him. I caught myself just before

saying "yes, sir" and instead said, "Okay, I'll try."

He regarded me for a few moments, chewing his lip thoughtfully,

and finally said, "Honey, would you mind -- would it be okay if I

got into bed with you for a while? I'd just like to -- well, to cuddle

with you for a bit, if that's okay with you."

Nothing could possibly have been more okay with me, and I

vigorously nodded my agreement. Logan grinned, toed off his

shoes, and then followed that with his jeans. In T-shirt and boxers

he slid into the bed next to me, pulled the covers over both of us,

then slid an arm under me and gently but insistently nudged me

over towards him until I was nestled against him -- lying half on

top of him, really, my head and my left arm in its cast resting on

his chest. He wrapped his arms securely around me and kissed me.

"How's that?" he asked. "Are you comfortable?"

I nodded, but I was thinking that "completely overwhelmed" was

more like it. After all, I was shirtless, clad only in a thin pair of

flannel pants, Logan was in T-shirt and boxers, and my body was

pressed all along the length of his muscular frame. All of my

senses were filled with Logan: the solid warmth of his body under

mine, of his arms around me; the rumble of his deep voice inside

his chest when he spoke; the subtle smell of him; the sight of his

bunched bicep and his powerful forearm, furred with dark hair, as

he reached up to cradle the back of my head with his big palm.

Both physically and emotionally, I felt as though I was wrapped in

him, wrapped in his body, his strength, his caring. I also felt

something I hadn't felt in quite a while, and could hardly believe I

was feeling now: a mild buzz of sexual arousal. Tired and sore as

it was, my body was registering its approval of being nestled up in

bed half naked with the man who had occupied my thoughts

almost continually since I had met him.

All of the events of the last eighteen hours or so seemed unreal:

Lance's attack, my anxious night, my flight, Ben and Josh's early

morning rescue mission, Logan showing up and saying he had

come because he thought I might need him. But nothing was as

unreal as this, lying here with Logan. It didn't matter that I'd

imagined something like this dozens of times. I'd never seriously

thought that my daydreams about Logan could actually come true.

I was in love with him, I thought. I couldn't deny it to myself, and

I didn't want to. Even if I never saw him again after today, I'd love

him forever.

Logan splayed a hand across the small of my back, creating a

warm spot at the base of my spine, and then he slid it slowly up my

bare skin of my back, then down again, over and over, steady and

soothing. "Okay, you get some sleep now. Don't worry about a

thing, I'll keep you safe. He's not going to hurt you again. All

that's over now."

I wanted to ask him exactly what he meant by that. Did he mean

he'd keep me safe during my nap, or did it extend out beyond that?

When he said "all that's over now" it implied a certain permanence

-- a willingness, at the very least, to watch over me until he was

sure I was free of Lance. But what did that entail, exactly? Would

he be in my life just as a friend and protector, or could it turn into

something more?

Resolutely I put those doubts and fears aside and focused back on

the moment. I wanted to lie there wide awake and enjoy every

sensation of lying here cuddled up to Logan, since I didn't know

how long it would last or if I'd ever get a chance to do it again.

But I was lulled by the slow, rhythmic movement of Logan's hand

sliding so smoothly up and down my back, by the rise and fall of

his chest under my head and the steady thump of his heart beneath

my ear. And in no time I was sound asleep.

I had never felt this way in my life before, never. Never had I felt

so many emotions at once, and so keenly.

James's body was warm and heavy with sleep, utterly relaxed

against mine, his breathing slow and deep. I continued to caress

his back for a while longer, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin

under my palm, my fingers idly exploring the knobs of his spine

and the wings of his shoulder blades and the corrugated ridges of

his ribs, and felt a sharp stab of lust and longing for him.

But of course, I couldn't act on it right now -- not for a while yet.

A picture leapt into my mind of those ugly swollen stripes

crisscrossing his perfect little butt, and my lust transmuted to a

fierce protectiveness -- and a cold black fury at the man who had

done that to him. My anger was almost frightening in its intensity.

I had told Ben to keep the guy away from me, and I had meant it;

if I saw him right now, I would have nothing less than homicide on

my mind, and I wouldn't be much help to James if I spent the next

20 years in prison. There would be a reckoning with the man, I

knew that. I would make sure of it. But I had to cool off a bit first,

get at least partially back in touch with my rational side.

My rational side was certainly not in evidence in any way now. I

was completely at the mercy of my emotions. The curve of James's

jaw, a stray strand of hair hanging over his forehead, the way his

lashes lay dark and thick against his cheek, all sent waves of

adoration flowing through me. The sight of the bruises on his face

caused another spasm of anger. The two emotions -- the adoration

and the fury -- were inextricably entwined, both springing from the

intensity of my feelings about James.

I was clearly lovesick, and I felt no desire whatsoever to be cured.

I lay there for quite a while even after I was sure that he was

asleep, savoring the feel of his body against mine. Now that I was

past the first frantic stages of worry and anger and desperate

sympathy for him, my body was responding predictably to the

stimulus of having a really beautiful young guy practically lying on

top of me.

After a while I eased myself out from under him so that I was lying

facing him, his head still pillowed on my arm, and I just lay there

and watched him sleep. After a while I couldn't resist touching his

face, tracing light fingertips along his jaw, down his nose, through

his hair. He stirred a bit but settled back down immediately, his

body completely relaxed, his beautiful, bruised face free of pain

and worry, his breath deep and steady.

It was a good hour before I finally slid my arm out from under

him, pulled my jeans back on, and headed downstairs to have a talk

with Ben and Josh.

Logan had been upstairs with James for over an hour. I was simply

dying to know what was happening, but I was forbidden to go up

and disturb them. I'd thought of a half dozen reasons I ought to go

check on them, but Ben had finally gotten fed up with my constant

hounding for permission and had made it clear that the discussion

was over, and if I so much as listened outside James's door, he'd

spank me -- hard. That threat struck me as needlessly redundant,

given that he never spanked me anything BUT hard. But Ben

never issued hollow threats, so I stayed away from James's room,

although it was killing me not to know what was going on.

Logan had been in a quite a state when he'd arrived at our house

from Redding. I could easily imagine that he'd been obsessing

over James for the last three hours straight, during his entire drive,

so that by the time he reached us he was frantic with worry and

insisted on seeing James immediately. Ben had been telling me for

the last three hours to leave James alone and let him sleep, but he

sent Logan up there without a moment's hesitation. Logan took the

stairs two at a time, and I started to follow, only to hear Ben's

voice behind me snapping, "And just where do you think YOU'RE

going, young man?"

"With Logan, to see how James's doing!"

"Wrong, You are staying down here and letting Logan handle it."

"But I want to know how he is!"

"You'll know soon enough. Now get back down here."

"But…"

"I will NOT repeat myself," Ben said very distinctly. I knew that

tone. I trudged back down the stairs. Ben softened a bit at my

forlorn expression. "You were the one who wanted to call Logan,"

he pointed out, not unkindly. "Now we need to let Logan handle

this. You know he'll do whatever needs to be done. It'll be fine.

Come on, let's just go sit and relax for a while."

Reading between the lines, I realized that Ben was telling me I

needed to give Logan some time alone with James, so the two of

them could bond. Well, even if that wasn't what Ben was trying to

tell me, it seemed like a smart thing to do. So I followed Ben into

the living room and forced myself to pick up a magazine and leaf

through it, although I wasn't actually reading a word.

Logan came down about fifteen minutes later, his expression grim

and his movements agitated. "Christ!" he snapped, under his

breath -- presumably so James wouldn't hear him. "Christ! Ben, if

that son of a bitch who did this to James shows up here in the next

few hours, you had better not tell me he's here, because I'm not

entirely sure I could keep from killing him."

"I know -- James looks pretty bad, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it. The fucking bastard beat the hell

out of him with a cane. His poor little backside is covered with

welts, down to his knees. That's why I'm down here, to see if

there's anything you have that I could put on it."

I felt sick at Logan's news. "He didn't tell us that Lance caned

him!" I exclaimed.

"I didn't think he had, otherwise you would have mentioned it."

He sighed heavily. "Poor little boy, he's hurting bad." And I felt

even sicker.

"Josh's gone out and gotten James's prescription filled, for

painkillers. James's due for a dose. So that ought to help," Ben

offered quickly. "I'll see if I've got something for the welts on his

bottom." He headed into the kitchen where we kept our first aid

supplies, and Logan waited with me.

I couldn't remember when I'd ever seen him so agitated or

distressed before. He'd always seemed completely unflappable,

but this had gotten to him in a big way. He paced, flexing his fists,

trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders, his jaw set. I took it

as an indication of how much he cared about James so in a way I

was glad to see it, but I was getting even more worked up myself,

just watching him.

Ben came back out of the kitchen with a tube of ointment, some

bottled water and James's prescription. Logan took them and tossed

out a distracted, "Thanks, buddy," before heading back up the

stairs, taking them two at a time. I knew better than to even try

and follow him this time.

It was a whole hour later before Logan came down again. But he

looked a lot more relaxed now. I noticed that he was barefoot and

his T-shirt was rumpled and untucked. I speculated on why,

thinking that Logan's state of disarray must mean that he'd at least

crawled into bed with James for a cuddle. I smiled to myself. This

was going well. "How's James?" I asked.

"He's asleep."

"That's good," said Ben. "He was exhausted, poor guy." Logan

dropped on to the couch with a sigh, propping his bare feet on the

coffee table and letting his head drop back. "How are YOU

doing?" Ben asked.

"Me? I'm fine, nobody's beaten ME lately, or broken MY wrist."

"You know what I mean. You're upset over James, that's obvious.

In fact, I can't remember the last time I've seen you this upset."

"I'll be fine. And at least James is here, instead of with that maniac

he was living with. Thanks to you guys. I was no help to him at

all."

"Don't be ridiculous. You came as soon as you heard, and I'd

wager that having you here means more to him than having Josh

and me combined."

I felt a little twinge of jealousy when Ben said that. James had been

MY friend first, after all. It didn't seem quite fair that he was more

attached to Logan, who he'd hardly spent any time with. But my

jealousy subsided when I considered that James's feelings for Logan

were probably more like mine for Ben. I would never have a

friend who meant more to me than Ben -- would never have one

who came close. If James could have with Logan what I had with

Ben, far be it from me to begrudge him that. He certainly deserved

it.

Logan brightened a bit at Ben's comment. "You think? I mean,

you think he feels that strongly about me?"

"Look at it this way," Ben responded. "You've been up there with

him an hour and a half, and I'd wager that if he hadn't fallen asleep

you'd still be up there. And I don't get the impression that at any

point he was acting like he wanted to be rid of you. Whereas with

me and even with Josh, he obviously really wanted us out of his

hair as soon as possible."

"Yeah, Ben's right," I agreed, thinking about how gently insistent

James had been, when I'd been hovering over him, that he really just

wanted to get some sleep now. "And another thing," I added. "He

told you about the welts on his butt, but he hadn't breathed a word

of it to us. Plus, he told you the whole story of exactly what

happened, and I couldn't get it out of him no matter how I tried."

"Which says to me," Ben concluded, "that you are in a category all

your own as far as the way he feels about you."

"Well, frankly, so is he, for me," Logan admitted, and I felt a thrill

run through my romantic soul. This was working out even better

than I had hoped. "Which leads me to my next question: what do

you see as happening next, with him?"

"Interesting that you should ask us that," Ben said. "I kind of

thought that was more your call. Yours and James's, that is."

"Well, were you planning to have him stay here?"

"Sure, if he didn't have anywhere else to go," Ben acknowledged.

"So if I wanted to take him back to my place…"

"I think he'd like that very much, and I'll risk speaking for Josh as

well as myself when I say we both would be really pleased with

that."

"Yeah!" I agreed quickly. "But -- for how long? I mean, is he

going to live with you now?"

"That's pretty much entirely up to James," Logan said. "He can stay

with me as long as he wants to, as far as I'm concerned."

"That's quite a commitment," Ben commented. "He might never

want to leave."

"Truth is, I like the sound of that," Logan mused. "And you both

know what a big step that is for me, to want to live with someone."

He could say that again. I'd never seen anyone who "needed his

space" like Logan. On the other hand, I'd never seen him this gone

over anyone. And from what I knew about Logan, he was

completely capable of making the kind of deep, long term

commitment that James would need.

Logan and Ben discussed the situation a bit longer, trying to decide

how long Logan and James should stay at our place. If they stayed

a while, we could help him out, running errands and making meals,

that sort of thing, so Logan could focus his full attention on James.

On the other hand, if they went to Logan's house, then James would

be out of our house when Lance showed up. We were all sure he

would show up. I was surprised he hadn't already. But he almost

certainly didn't know where Logan lived, probably knew nothing

about Logan at all, so James might be safer at Logan's house.

Logan mulled that, and decided that he rather liked the idea of

being here when Lance showed up. "That way I can make it clear

to Lance," he pointed out, "that he'd better not bother James again."

Ben and I both had a pretty good idea of what Logan meant by

"make it clear". I was pretty pleased by that idea, but Ben wasn't.

They argued about it a bit, and finally Logan said, "Here's the deal,

Ben. I don't want James having to watch over his shoulder for the

rest of his life, wondering when Lance will show up to take him

away -- or take his revenge. I need to make it clear to Lance that

he's NOT to bother James, ever again. And I think the sooner the

better."

Ben thought about it and finally, reluctantly, gave in. I was

pleased on two counts: one, that Lance might actually have to

have an, um, discussion with Logan; and two, that James would be

staying a while longer.

Logan went and checked on James maybe every fifteen minutes. I

wanted to go with him, but Ben forbid it. I was getting irritated.

He was MY friend, too. I didn't think it was fair that I couldn't

even go look in on him.

Logan must have eventually caught on to how anxious I was to see

James, because finally, after a couple of hours, he said to me,

"Joshy, why don't you go check on James this time."

I glanced quickly at Ben, who smiled and gave a quick nod. I flew

up the stairs, remembering at the last moment that I needed to be

quiet. Carefully, I opened the door and peeked in.

James was awake. He was lying there curled up, the pillow

gathered up in his arms, staring out the window at the sky, but

when he heard the door open his gaze quickly shifted to light on

me. I thought I saw a frown cross his face, but then it was gone.

"Hey, James," I said softly.

"Hi," he answered.

"I guess … you're awake?"

He smiled faintly. "Yeah, I guess I am."

I entered the room and went to his bedside. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

"You look better," I assured him, lying through my teeth. The

bruises on his face were still clearly visible, and I was shocked

again at the sight of them. And now I had a mental picture of a

considerably worse mess of bruises on his butt and the backs of his

legs. I felt terrible for him.

There was an armchair in room, with a footstool; I pulled footstool

up by the bedside. I didn't know what to say, exactly. James was

fidgeting a bit, too, glancing at the door, and suddenly he asked,

"Is he still here?"

"Who?" I teased. Of course I knew perfectly well who he meant.

But when I saw his brow furrow at my question, I felt bad about

teasing him; he wasn't in any condition for that right now. "Yeah,

Logan's here," I said quickly. "Of course he is. He's been coming

up to check on you every quarter hour or so."

"Really?" James asked hoarsely. He seemed truly surprised.

"Of course, really! He's really concerned about you, James. We all

are."

James contemplated that, then asked hesitantly, "How -- how much

longer do you think he'll stay?"

The wistfulness in James's voice was obvious, and I wanted to spill

the beans, to tell him all the feelings and plans that Logan had

shared with us. But I had a strong hunch that Logan probably

wanted to be the one to tell him how much he cared, to give James

the news that he could live with Logan as long as he wanted -- and

that Logan would be very unhappy with me if I told him first.

Plus, Logan could still change his mind about his plans. I didn't

think it likely, but I didn't want to risk getting James's hopes up. So

I simply said, "I don't know, he hasn't said. But I don't think he'll

be leaving any time soon. I mean, I can't imagine that he left his

sister's and drove down here like a bat out of hell just to say 'hi' to

you and then head on home."

James contemplated that, but it didn't seem to reassure him, judging

from the way he sighed and buried his face in the pillow he was

hugging.

"What's wrong?" I asked in alarm. "Are you all right?"

After a silence James lifted his head so he could see me. "I don't

know. It all depends on what Logan does. I -- I really feel

something for him, Josh. Something BIG. I really need him. I

mean REALLY. And not just right now. I want to be HIS."

Suddenly he seemed to catch himself, and he turned his head into

the pillow a bit again, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I know it

must sound ridiculous, given he's so perfect and I'm such a pitiful

slob."

"No!" I protested quickly. "You're a great guy, James. A great guy,

a great friend. Logan would be lucky to have someone like you."

I desperately wanted to tell James exactly what Logan had said, but

once again restrained myself from doing so. Which was pretty

remarkable, I realized, given how unreliable I usually was in the

restraint department. But I knew how important this was, to Logan

and to James, and I didn't want to do anything to ruin it.

My comments seemed to have the opposite effect from what I

intended, though. "Are you kidding?" James responded with a

sharpness in his tone that was completely unlike him. "I'm a total

loser, and he'd best be rid of me as soon as possible!"

I was shocked by his opinion of himself. "That's not true!" I shot

back. And to my horror, James's eyes filled with tears. He quickly

hid his face in the pillow again but I could tell he was crying; his

shoulders shook, and I could hear his breath hitching. "What's

wrong?" I asked urgently, dropping to my knees by the side of the

bed and putting a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, James, does

something hurt? Or was it something I said?" He didn't answer --

if anything, he only cried harder, drawing up his knees, clenching

the pillow tighter in his arms. I was starting to panic, thinking that

Ben had been right not to let me pester James, because here I'd been

with him only a few minutes and I'd already made him cry. "I'll go

get Logan," I said finally, although I dreaded the idea of having to

admit to Logan and Ben that I'd managed to upset James so quickly.

I started to rise, my hand falling away from James's shoulder, but he

choked out "No!", lifting his head from the pillow and seizing my

wrist to stop me.

"But -- if something's wrong, I should get Logan…"

"No. I'll be okay -- in a minute."

Relieved and reluctant at the same time, I sunk back to my seat on

the footstool. James sniffled hard and wiped his eyes with the back

of his hand, and I offered him a couple of tissues. When he had

gotten himself calmed down somewhat again, I said, "I'm sorry if

something I said upset you."

"No, it wasn't you -- wasn't anything you said. You've been best

friend I could ever ask for, and I'll never be able to tell you how

grateful I am for you coming so fast when I needed help, and for

letting me come here."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I just -- I don't know what's going to happen now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm homeless, aren't I? I can't go back to live with

Lance."

"Of course you're not homeless. No matter what else happens, you

have a home here as long as you need one. We have plenty of

space." I figured it was almost inevitable he'd end up living with

Logan, but as I still didn't feel I should say that, I offered what I

was sure of, as reassurance.

James wiped his eyes again, apparently touched by my offer. "I'd

pay rent, you know. And I'll pay all my medical bills, as quick as I

can."

"Well, that would be something you'd have to discuss with Ben.

But don't worry about it. You're not homeless, James."

"Thanks," he said. "That's really -- one big worry off my mind,

and like I said, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am. But

there's still…" He paused.

"Still what?" I prodded.

"There's still Logan. I just -- I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't

want me."

"As far as I can tell, he wants you plenty," I said.

"Really?" He regarded me intently. "What makes you say that?"

"I know Logan, James! I know he's crazy about you."

James contemplated back, then swung back to pessimism. "But he

doesn't even know me! When he finds out what I'm really like…"

"Then as far as I can see, he'll want you even more," I finished

firmly. "You really are a great guy, James."

"And then there's Lance," he went on, almost as if he hadn't heard

me. "He's going to come after me, I know he is. He'll come here

and want me back."

"Ben's already told you you're not going back to him. And I know

Logan feels the same way."

"But you guys shouldn't have to fight my battles!"

"To tell you the truth, that's one battle I think Logan would LOVE

to fight. I think he really wants Lance to turn up here and try to

take you, so he'll have an excuse to beat the crap out of him."

I was immediately sorry I'd said that, because James looked really

upset again. Couldn't I get anything right? "I don't want him to

fight Lance!" he exclaimed. "He could get hurt!"

"Well if that's what you're worried about, you can quit worrying," I

assured him immediately. "Logan can take care of himself in a

fight, believe me."

"But you don't know how mean Lance can be!"

"It won't matter. Logan boxed in college, and from what I can

gather he was really good. And he has a cop friend who's taught

him all sorts of hand-to-hand combat moves -- he told us about it

once. And anyway, he'd be defending you. Lance hasn't got a

chance."

James didn't answer, and I could tell he was processing what I'd told

him. But he didn't look quite so worried any more.

I jumped at a soft knock on the door, followed by Logan sticking

his head in. When he saw that James was awake he smiled and

came into the room. I was glad James wasn't still in tears so I didn't

have to explain how he came to be that way.

Logan came over and dropped onto the bed next to James, then bent

to kiss him solidly at the corner of his jaw, one of the few places

on that side of his face that wasn't bruised. "Hey, babe," he said.

He took one of James's hands and feathered his fingers through

James's hair, brushing it back from his forehead. "How are you

feeling?"

"I'm -- I'm fine," James answered, but it was like he could barely get

the words out. He was gazing at Logan with such naked adoration,

and Logan was smiling at him with such complete and utter

tenderness, that I had to turn my head away because I felt as

though I was intruding on a deeply private moment.

I excused myself and left the room, but to tell the truth I'm not sure

they noticed that I'd left. I wasn't resentful of James being so

wrapped up in Logan any more, though. I was thrilled that my two

favorite people, outside of Ben, had found each other.