“It’s like the whole world’s come down with a rash,” Nick said, pouting at his martini. “You can’t pick up the paper without seeing another damn wedding announcement. Or three. My mail’s been nothing but save-the-date cards and invitations for the last six months, and my e-mail is all about rehearsals and gift registries and showers and bachelors’ nights. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were about to run out of single men.” He picked up the glass and took a sip. “When did we get so damn conventional and hetero? And why? Most of us are old enough to be grandfathers, but you’d think these guys were all twenty-two again, and virgins, they’ve gotten so giddy about marriage.”

“Oh, come on, Nick. It’s not as bad as all that, is it?” Tony said, lifting an eyebrow. “Lots of guys aren’t getting married. Look at Tom. He’s still single.”

“Didn’t you get the invitation? He and Joe are doing the deed the last weekend in August. Honeymoon in Italy.”

“Okay, congratulations to them. But what about Gus? He’s still single.”

“Mark proposed a week ago. They’re getting married in a month. They’ve already found a condo.”

“Well, Bill, then. Surely he’s not planning . . .”

“He wasn’t. Until Stan popped the question on the dancefloor at LeatherBall on Saturday.” Nick sighed mournfully.

“Okay. Three couples. There’s still plenty of fish . . .”

“Not three. Nine. And I’m going to be in half the wedding parties. I might as well buy a dinner jacket, ’cause the rental’s going to break me otherwise. Unless they all get creative and start getting married in costume. Or in the nude. And who knows what may have come in today’s mail.”

Tony clucked sympathetically and swirled the ice in his Scotch.

“You know I love these guys,” Nick continued, warming to the subject, “they’re my friends. But what happens when people get married, I ask you? They go away for a week. Or two. And when they come back all they can talk about is what a fabulous time they had screwing all night and basking in the sun all day, and how they plan to redecorate. Then they do redecorate and start giving dinner parties instead of going out. Next thing you know, they have a dog. Or two. One’s named Sydney and the other is Max. And in a year or so they’ve bought a house in the friggin’ suburbs and disappeared into Picketfence Land forever. Maybe they come for a visit during Pride Week. But all they can talk about is the vegetable garden or their roses, and the Neighborhood Watch group, and volunteering at the Historical Society.” His voice was bitter.

Tony covered a snicker by spluttering into his drink and pretending to cough. “Honey, you haven’t been dating any of them, have you? I mean, it’s not like they’re draining your talent pool.” He tried to put as much sympathy as he could into his tone.

“No, I haven’t. You know I’m not dating anyone at all. But it’s so damn discouraging. And so wrong. What’s the point of being gay if all we do is copy the straight world? I could see it if we got any real benefit out of marriage, but we don’t. All we get is a lot of wedding gifts and a fistful of bills for the ceremony and the reception. For that, I could marry my cat. Not that he’d appreciate it. I’m going broke on crystal vases. The telephone desk at Tiffany knows my voice at this point.”

“If you married Bobo, you could have a wedding cake made of chopped liver, frosted with creamed sardines, and carry a bouquet of catnip and juniper.”

“Very funny. Next thing you’ll say is ‘Thank you; thank you very much. I’ll be here till Thursday. Try the veal.’”

“Not hardly. I was going to say I think we should go get something to eat. How does that sound?”

“As long as veal isn’t on the menu . . .” Nick smiled sadly. “I don’t think I can look at ‘Veal Cordon Bleu’ on a menu one more time.”

“No veal. Got it.”


Tony was funny. Tony was sympathetic. Tony was generous – half of Nick’s library had been gifts from him, and he often brought little gifts when they met. Tony was a dear and valued friend. But when Nick got home after their meal, he still felt defeated and depressed. It wasn’t that he begrudged his friends their happiness, he thought, sorting his mail. It was just that his whole posse was fading into domestic so-called bliss. It felt as though this was the last summer he’d be able to pick up the phone and call someone with an invitation on the spur of the moment.

Sure enough, there was another damn invitation lurking among the bills and pre-approved credit card offers. Who was it this time? Oh, right. Jamie and Dan. As if he hadn’t seen that coming. And with an extra note: would he be an usher? They’d be so happy if he could, etc. When was it? Great – the one weekend of the summer that didn’t already have a wedding pencilled in.

“Shit!” he muttered, throwing the invitation onto the kitchen counter. “SHIT!”

He grabbed his notepad and scrawled a reminder list: call TuxRents and Tiffany, schedule a dozen sessions at Ultra Tan, facials with Mr. Alex. Yanking the junk drawer open with unusual violence, he fished out the can opener and reached for a can of Pussy Deelish from the cabinet. Bobo sauntered into the kitchen and sat down at a distance, carefully looking anywhere but at him; no manipulative ankle-winding for Bobo, no sir, he was as independent as a neutered six-year-old tom can be, not about to act as though he felt any gratitude to the mere human who made food happen. Later, he might deign to jump onto the human’s stomach just as he was about to fall asleep. But for now it was all about being aloof and dignified. Nick looked at him briefly and spooned the fragrant mess into his bowl. “I’m cancelling your subscription to Vogue, Bobo,” he said, rapping the spoon. “You’re posing too much. You’re a bad boy.” Bobo shifted his attention to something entirely engrossing under the refrigerator and twitched his tail once. Nick sighed and set the dish on the floor.

He went into the bedroom, stripped to his boxers, then returned to the living room to sit in his favorite chair, staring mutely at the sky as the gold of the late Spring evening faded to black and the city lights brightened under his window. He’d met Tony the day he moved into the studio on Kent Street, so that was . . . Oh, dear. That was more than twenty-five years ago, and he’d just turned thirty. If marriage had been legal then, he would have jumped at the chance. He and Tony dated for a while, but that ended when Tony met Ken and started going with him. Then Ken took up with Armando. But Nick and Tony hadn’t resumed their romantic relationship. They’d had some good times as friends, but they hadn’t been able to get back to their easy loving. He missed that lean brown body, the strong hands, the way Tony laughed when he came.


As Summer went by, Nick found himself surrounded with wedding preparations even beyond what he’d imagined. Rehearsals, rehearsal dinners, showers, bachelor nights, the weddings themselves, the receptions. Thursday night was TuxRents night: fittings for the wedding two weeks away while he picked up whatever he was wearing for the coming weekend – one week it was classic black with satin facings and a silvery cummerbund, the next it was tropical white with a red plaid cummerbund, the week after that it was morning dress, and the week after that it was a color-coordinated affair with an orange-ruffled shirt and an orange string tie. (They were Giants fans.) He looked forward to dropping off his “wedding drag” each Monday after work and then going for a drink and something to eat with Tony. Sometimes they drifted over to the soccer field and took in a match, sometimes they went to the movies, and through it all Tony was his haven of sanity.

In fact, they were spending a lot of time together. Comfortable time. Evenings with Tony were usually the highlight of Nick’s week. But their relationship had softened and romance didn’t seem to be part of it. Well, he was getting old, he supposed. Pushing sixty. He smiled wryly to himself. It didn’t seem possible, but there was the fact of his life – he was becoming an old bachelor. An old bachelor.

The phone rang as he was crossing the bedroom. He kicked his shoes in the direction of the closet and reached for the extension.

“Yes?” he said, only half-concentrating. He wanted to get rid of his office “uniform” as quickly as possible.

“Hey.” It was Tony’s dark baritone, sounding puzzled. “I can’t find my PDA. Who’s getting married this weekend?”

“Uh. Lemme think. Um, Dick and Jerry. Why?” He fumbled the button and shucked his jacket, hanging it carefully while he clamped the phone under his chin.

“Friday? Or Saturday?”

“Friday. Swedenborgian Church. Seven o’clock. Why?” More fumbling, and his trousers slid to the floor with a clink from the belt buckle. He stooped to pick them up and clipped them into the hanger.

“Where’s the reception?”

“City Club. Why??” Loosening his tie, he pulled it off, cleared the knot, and drew the crumpled portion back and forth across his bare knee to restore the shape, then draped it on the rack.

“Oh, I just had a thought.” He let his voice trail. “You’re not in the wedding party, right?”

“Right.” He fiddled buttons and shrugged out of his dress shirt, tossing it into the basket by the bathroom door.

“Let’s get out of town. I’m tired of looking at my own four walls, and if I bump into one more tourist who’s come to a dead halt in the middle of the sidewalk I’m going to snap.”

“You have a plan, don’t you. I can hear it. You have ‘devious’ plastered over every syllable.” His socks and boxers followed the shirt.

“Wellll . . . sorta. Ma’s tomatoes should be getting ripe, and I kind of wanted to go visit her and Pop, maybe convince her to make that cold pasta sauce she does. I thought I might get you to come along. They always ask about you, ya know. And we could be there by eleven. Earlier, if we split right after the toasts.”

“Hold on a minute,” he said, setting the phone down. He pulled off his tee shirt, lofted it toward the basket and picked up the receiver. “I thought your car was in the shop. Again.”

“I can rent one. AutoNation has hybrids, and I’ve been wanting to test-drive one, so this would be a good opportunity. Or we can get adventurous and rent a Jeep. C’mon. It’ll be good for you to get away.”

“Have you run this past your mom?” Nick asked, rubbing his chest. “There’s no party planned, is there? No festival at the church?” He sat on the edge of the bed and wiggled his toes, then fell back on the pillows.

“Naw, nothing like that. It’ll just be us, unless a neighbor drops in. She’s got nothing planned, and we can always escape and go to the beach, work on our tans.” He coughed, then lowered his voice. “You’re naked, aren’t you, Nick? You’ve taken off your clothes and you’re lying there in the warm sunlight all pretty and bare.”

“How’d you guess?” Nick cocked one knee out, settled more comfortably on the bed, and let the late afternoon sun wash over him like a benediction.

“The tension just drained out of your voice. Listen, you really have to get out of town. I have to get out of town. This is the perfect weekend – the wedding’s early enough, and we don’t have to come back till late Sunday afternoon. Or we can call in sick on Monday, take a mental health day, stop at San Gregorio . . .” his voice took on an oily, suggestive singsong, “. . . get a little more sun.” The last word came out on two notes. Nick wavered.

“Well, if it’s not imposing on your mom,” he said slowly, running his free hand down his side.

“They’d love to see you. You’ve always been her favorite of my friends. She’ll cook. We’ll eat. We can watch the sunset, play with the dogs, you and Pop can talk politics while Ma rolls her eyes. Then he’ll tell me to get my goombah out of his sight and we can go walk off the meal.” Tony paused. “And we’ll be in the big sleeping porch upstairs. Just like old times.” He paused again.

The picture was pulling Nick in. He loved the Molinaris; she was a fabulous cook, he always had a funny story to tell and good wine to tell it with, and they treated him like one of their own.

“Well,” he said again, not quite as slowly. “Well. Okay.”

“Great!” Tony exclaimed. “That’s settled. Pack your bag Thursday. We can change at your place and hit the road as soon as we get away from the reception. It’ll be fun! Oh, yeah. Woo hoo!” He hung up.


It was a warm night, so they took the top off the Jeep. The agency had given them a bright yellow one.

“It’s a good thing we have the evening to get used to this color,” Nick said, surveying it for the first time. “Jeez! Where did I put my sunglasses?” He scrabbled theatrically in his duffel.

Tony cuffed him on the shoulder. “That’s not what’s going to make you go blind,” he said, rattling the keys. “I notice you’re already displaying the early symptoms. Tsk tsk tsk. Palms are getting hairy, babe.” He ducked Nick’s play-punch, and pulled his door open. “Time for the red-neck foreplay,” he continued, hauling himself onto the seat and fitting the key.

“Foreplay?”

“Yeah, foreplay. Load up, bitch.”

“You know, you can be a real ass sometimes, Molinari,” Nick said, snapping his seatbelt.

“Yeah, and when I’m not being a real ass, I’m being a real prick. Aren’t you glad I’m versatile?”

“Just drive, huh?”

Tony pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires, but settled to a safe pace along the coast road. Desultory chat, periods of companionable silence, occasionally an exclamation at the beauty of the night, took them along till they reached the turnoff for the ranch.

Pulling into the long driveway, they could see light streaming from the kitchen windows.
As Tony cut the engine, the kitchen door swung open and his father appeared, barefoot, in boxers and a singlet.

“Pops!”

“That you, Tony? You made good time.”

The two men embraced briefly before Mr. Molinari turned to welcome Nick. “Angelina! The boys’re here,” he bellowed, shaking Nick’s hand and then wrapping his arms around him. “Good to see you, Nick,” he said, stepping back. “It’s been too long.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it,” Nick said, smiling at the old man.

“Since Easter,” Mr. Molinari said. “My Angie, she’s thinking you don’t love her no more.”

“Aw. She’s my best girl,” Nick said, wrestling bags out of the Jeep.

Tony was nearly at the door when it opened again and Mrs. Molinari appeared in a flowered housedress and flat shoes, the two old dogs carefully slipping past her to make their way down the porch steps and sniff the newcomers, tails wagging. More hugs and exclamations, and then everyone was inside, and Mrs. Molinari was marshalling wine glasses and fruit plates.

“You want a little something after that long drive,” she said, setting out a bottle of wine and a bowl of strawberries. She considered the table for a moment, then turned and reached for the cookie jar, quickly laying anise-scented biscotti on a plate and handing it to Tony.

Nick stepped back to the pile of bags and picked out his house-gifts. “I’ve brought a little something for you both,” he said, turning; he held out a liter of grappa, “from DeLuca’s,” he told Mr. Molinari, “the best,” and a large box of sugared violets for Mrs. Molinari, “from Caterina at Ratto’s,” he grinned.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she exclaimed, blushing like a girl. She kissed him on the cheek. “You know you’re family! But thank you, Nicky.”

Tony shot him a look. “What did I tell you, Nick? They love you more than they love me.”

“Perhaps when you finally decide to marry, Antonio . . .” she said, in the half-threatening tone only a mother knows how to use.

“Ma, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Your mother will probably know before your intended does,” Mr. Molinari put in, smiling affectionately at his wife. “Maybe even before you do.” Watching the two, Nick thought what a sweet picture they made, the love of the old couple undimmed after nearly sixty years together.

“But that’s what’s been happening all around us, for sure,” Tony continued. “Do you think it might be catching?”

“I certainly hope not!” Nick said, grimacing.

Mrs. Molinari eyed him for a moment, pursed her lips, and began serving the strawberries while her husband filled glasses with the soft white wine.

“And you, Nicky. What have you been up to? Are you seeing anyone?” Mr. Molinari asked, lifting his glass to admire the color of the wine.

“No time,” Nick answered. “Tony and I get together once or twice a week, but that’s the only social life I can manage, what with all the wedding preparations.” Mr. Molinari raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Monday evening I have to take everything from the weekend back to TuxRents, then Tony and I usually get together for supper, at least, and maybe a movie or something; I work late one or two nights so I won’t have to stay on Friday; then there’s yoga, and the gym, and laundry, and grocery shopping, rehearsals, fittings, bachelor parties – the week flies, and then it’s Sunday and either a wedding in the afternoon or my one chance to nap and catch up on things at home. In between all that, I do have to work to keep a roof over Bobo’s head. I’ll be glad when winter comes and this plague of ceremonies dies down. I’m too old for this.”

“C’mon, now, Nick,” Tony said, yawning. “It’s not as bad as all that. You know what I think? I think you’re just mad because you never catch the bouquet.”

“Psh,” Nick grumbled. “You might have noticed I take care to stand well away from any possible trajectory. Don’t need no stinkin’ boo-kay.”

“Tony, you’re yawning,” Mrs. Molinari admonished. “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you boys get some sleep.”

“You’re right, Ma,” he admitted, draining his glass. “Time for bed. Did you set out sheets for us?”

“I made up the sleeping porch,” she answered, half smiling. “I thought you’d probably enjoy that, in this warm weather. You’ll be farther from your father’s snoring there, too.”

“Does Pop still snore like a rusty chainsaw?” Tony asked, kissing his mother goodnight. “How do you stand it?”

“Love,” said Mrs. Molinari. “And habit. If he weren’t there, I couldn’t get to sleep. You’ll find out some day.” She stroked the side of his head gently. “Now go on up to bed. You too, Nicky. Give me a kiss.” She offered her cheek, and Nick kissed her before hefting his bag and following Tony.


The sleeping porch contained just one double bed. Nick thought he remembered that it used to have several twins. But he and Tony certainly could sleep together for a couple of nights. He felt reassured when he saw how matter-of-fact Tony was. They set their bags down, got out toothbrushes, and headed for the bathroom at the same time.

Nick brushed his teeth while Tony used the toilet, then they traded places, Nick pissing while Tony brushed his teeth.

In the porch, they quickly stripped and slid into bed, Nick automatically taking the left side as he had when he and Tony used to sleep together. It felt so natural that it didn’t occur to him to object when Tony spooned up behind him, nestled his cock against his butt and kissed his neck before murmuring, “G’night, Sweet Cheeks. Sleep well.”

Nick pulled Tony’s hand over his chest, laid his own on top of it, and murmured, “You too.” In a couple of minutes, Tony’s breathing settled into a soft, slow rhythm, and Nick drifted off.

They were still pressed together when Nick awoke in the early hours. He had a powerful urge to piss, and got quietly out of bed to pad into the bathroom. While he was standing over the toilet, Tony came in, similarly urgent, and they drained their bladders together. As they shook off, Tony scratched his head, yawned, and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting up before dawn. I’m going back to bed, at least until it’s light out there.”

“Me, too,” Nick said, pressing the button on the tank. “But I’m going to brush my teeth first.”

“Guess I probably should, too,” Tony admitted.

They shared the basin, then stumbled back to the porch and crawled into bed. The day was already warming, and the dawn chorus of songbirds had begun tuning up. Tony pushed the blanket off before spooning up to Nick again.

“Just like old times, huh?” he mumbled, settling his cock into the cleft of Nick’s butt. “And you still have the sweetest ass . . .”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Molinari,” Nick said, pulling Tony’s hand back across his chest. “At least, not here and not now. Wake me when the coffee’s ready.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony said, nuzzling his neck.

“Just like old times,” Nick reminded him. In two minutes they were both asleep.


Nick awoke slowly the second time, swimming up into consciousness with a throbbing erection. Tony was still spooned against him. He could feel hard thickness slowly humping against his cleft, barely moving, while a finger gently traced small circles around his left nipple. Tony’s breath was soft against his ear and it felt as though he might be nuzzling at his neck, although the touch of his lips was light.

“Mmmm,” he said, pressing back. “Feels nice, Tone.”

“Yeah, nice,” Tony murmured, drawing out the words and humping more urgently. “Think you might be a little horny, babe?”

“Oh, yeah,” Nick responded, reaching back to pull Tony’s hip closer. “Maybe more than a little.” He left his hand there, fingertips dipping into the hollow behind the hipbone, and lifted his knee.

Tony pulled back and slid his cock between Nick’s thighs, rubbing it slowly against his balls. “How’s this?” he asked, nibbling at Nick’s earlobe.

“Ya know, I used to love waking up to your cock,” Nick murmured, stroking the muscles that flexed beneath his fingertips. “Fits just right.” He wiggled his butt slightly, pressing back.

Tony lifted his hand off Nick’s chest, reached back, and clicked the top off a small jar of petroleum jelly sitting on the table. Dipping in, he picked up a small gob of grease, then slid the sheet down and brought his finger to Nick’s bud, massaging the lubricant gently around and into the puckered muscle.

“Sweet, sweet ass,” he crooned, breathing into Nick’s ear. “Sweeeet ass.” He positioned himself and pressed forward, humming his arousal as he slowly impaled Nick, then stopped a moment, fully engaged. “You okay, babe?” he asked, barely moving his hips.

“Oh, yeah,” Nick whispered. “Very okay.”

Tony brought his hand back to Nick’s chest, lightly rubbing around his nipple again before sliding slowly down his torso and caressing the rampant cock. He stroked in time with the gentle pistoning of his hips, sometimes reaching farther down to cup the rolling balls in their sac or back up to flick across a nipple, but always keeping his attention on giving them both as much pleasure as possible. That was what Nick remembered from the old days – Tony’s sex play had always been more than just getting it in and getting off; with Tony he was a partner, not an object.

Tony’s pace picked up, until they were pounding toward climax, and then it hit, and Nick blinked with surprise at the overwhelming sensation as he exploded into his friend’s hand, bucking and twitching, biting his lip to keep from shouting, and then feeling Tony expand and pulse, while Tony laughed softly against his ear.

Afterward, they lay with heaving chests, still connected, and Tony nuzzled his neck between gasps until they floated back to normal, sweat-damp and happy. Nick flexed around Tony’s cock, milking the last drop of satisfaction out of it, until Tony put a restraining hand on his lower belly.

“Enough. I’m too sensitive. God, you’re a sweetheart, Nick.” He spoke quietly, pulling Nick against him and holding him tightly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for the longest time. Missing your sweet butt and the good times we had.”

“Don’t forget we’re turn-about,” Nick said, settling back.

“Oh, I don’t forget that. No, sir. Not at all. Just . . . not right now, okay?”

“After I’ve had my coffee,” Nick joked. “Then you’ll be in for it, Mister.”

“Yeah, after you’ve had your coffee,” Tony agreed, kissing the back of his ear.

They lay there in companionable bliss for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow and watching the early morning light as it brought the world into focus. A sudden shaft of brilliance made them realize the sun had finally cleared the horizon. Nick stirred.

“So, Sweetheart, what would you say?” Tony murmured drowsily.

“What would I say? To what?” Nick asked, petting the hand on his chest.

“What would you say if I asked you to marry me?”

“Well, that would depend. If you did it while I was in a weakened condition, I might say yes,” Nick said, chuckling softly. “Then again . . .”

“And are you in a weakened condition now?” Tony pursued, thrusting gently.

“Oh, I guess. Probably. Maybe. Sort of.” Nick separated the phrases, considering.

“What would it take to make sure you were? In a weakened condition, that is.”

“Um. The turn-about? And then a repeat? Or two?”

“Know what? I bet that can be arranged,” Tony said as he pulled back. “But right now, I have to piss in the worst way.”

Sharing the bathroom was easy, felt familiar, as they showered and shaved. Their routines mirrored each other: Tony liked to shower before shaving, Nick shaved first; and neither liked to linger – they were in and out in fifteen minutes, dressed in another three, and headed downstairs still glowing.

Mrs. Molinari was pouring coffee when they reached the kitchen.

“Morning, Ma,” Tony said, giving her a kiss. “Another beautiful day! Where’s Pops?”

“You slept well, dear?” she asked, handing him a cup.

“Morning!” Nick said, kissing her other cheek. “Like rocks. Fresh air, comfortable bed, country quiet. Wonderful!”

“Good,” she said, handing him his cup and setting a plate of plain breakfast rolls on the table. She sat down to her own coffee. “Your father’s out talking to the livestock. He’ll be back in a few minutes, I’m sure.”

“Has he mentioned any project he wants us to help with? Anything we can do?”

“Oh, I don’t think he wants you to help him with anything,” she said, breaking a roll and buttering a piece. “You know how he is.”

“We can’t just lie around like slugs, Ma,” he protested. When she lifted an eyebrow, he went on. “Well, we could. But it wouldn’t seem right.”

“Really,” Nick chimed in. “You know we like to pitch in.”

“If you’re so set on doing, you can pick tomatoes when the dew is off,” Mrs. Molinari admitted. “They’re coming ripe fast in this warm weather. I canned thirty-two quarts yesterday.”

“Hear that, Nick?” Tony joked. “She wants to put us to the stoop labor.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Nick shot back. “Better us than your mom. We can work on our tans in the garden.”


The “boys” climbed the stairs to the third floor around 2:30, warm and weary and full of pasta fredda. Mrs. Molinari had taken a few of the ripest tomatoes and made the uncooked sauce Tony loved, tossing it over rigatoni for lunch. A morning spent in the big vegetable garden followed by a couple of glasses of red wine with their meal and they were ready for a nap.

“God, my back feels hot,” Nick moaned as they turned across the landing. “Did I burn?”

Tony pressed a finger-tip into Nick’s shoulder to check the color. “Nah. Maybe a little pink. You want to shower before we lie down?”

“Yeah. Just a rinse, though. I’m sleepy.” Nick dropped his tee-shirt and shorts on the chair and headed for the bath. “You coming?”

“In a minute.” Tony busied himself lowering the bamboo blinds, then stripped and followed Nick, stepping into the lukewarm spray with a sigh.

Four minutes later, they were snoring softly in the dim bedroom.


Nick’s eyes opened a couple of hours later. He found himself lying with his head on Tony’s shoulder, his hand in Tony’s, and sporting wood. Gently shifting away, he rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom, then returned to lie down again. Napping on a Saturday felt luxurious. It had been so long since he’d had a full weekend away from “events”, he hardly knew how to act. It was lovely lying there watching Tony sleep; he turned on his side to get a better view.

Tony was just beautiful. Not that he looked like a model, or even a porn star. But he had a strong, intelligent face; large, dark eyes with thick-enough lashes; an infectious smile; and a crown of dark, curly hair. The rest of him was easy on the eyes, too: tall, with a lean, natural build hardly softening with middle age, long hands and nicely shaped feet, and enough tackle to satisfy anyone who didn’t suffer from the insatiable appetite of a determined size queen. He had never begrudged Tony’s being the more attractive.

He sighed. Tony was sweet. Tony was smart. He was successful. He was sexy, and he was the most considerate guy Nick knew. All these years of friendship, and he felt an odd sense of loss, as though they hadn’t known each other long enough or well enough. If they’d been lovers or bed buddies all that time would he feel differently? He didn’t know. Tony’s joking about marriage this morning had triggered a yearning for intimacy. Well, it didn’t do any good to dwell on it; it would have to stay tucked into the mental debris along with the name of his second-grade teacher and the party-line telephone number at his long-dead grandmother’s farm.

Turning his head, he gazed at the beadboard ceiling, idly stroking his erection, listening to Tony’s breathing and the sounds of a hot country afternoon – the sleepy chirp of birds from the wisteria that draped the verandah, an occasional bleat from the goats, a car passing on the road. One of the dogs barked briefly, and the slight breeze soughed through the blinds. He drifted back to sleep.


When he woke again it was to the soft hum of someone pleased with life, and with a renewed sense that he needed the toilet. He looked over and realized that the humming was Tony, and the warmth in his groin was Tony, too. It was so long since he’d had a blow that it took him a moment to recognize the sensation; but Tony was an expert, and he was making magic. He shifted involuntarily, his hips thrusting slightly as he peered down his own torso, and Tony looked up at him grinning.

“You’re awake!” he said, trading a hand for his tongue and lips. “Good. Now you can give me the turn-about you promised this morning.”

“Huh?” Nick said, startled. “I did? What?”

Tony slid level with Nick, and laid a hand on his chest. “You did. Don’t you remember? I asked you what it would take to get you to say ‘yes’ if I asked you to marry me, and you said, ahem, ‘The turn-about. And then a repeat. Or two.’” His voice was a good approximation of Nick’s. He bent to nibble at Nick’s left nip. “So, now I want to collect.” He reached for the vaseline and began greasing Nick’s cock, slowly corkscrewing his hand as he pulled off, then repeating, until Nick was quivering like a lute string.

“Mmmmm. Not fair,” Nick said, trying to thrust into the teasing palm. “You’re taking advantage.”

“Yeah,” Tony said quietly. “I am. Ain’t it grand?” He reached for the vaseline again, took a small glob on the tip of his middle finger, and began working it around his hole. Straddling Nick, he positioned himself, set the tip of Nick’s rod at the center of the muscle, and began to slide slowly down.

Nick gasped. Tony was so tight, so warm, so muscular.

Tony rocked about half-way down, pausing to tease him, then stopped. Nick looked up at his friend and saw pleasure spread like sunshine across his features.

Suddenly, Tony dropped the rest of the way, impaling himself, his balls rolling forward across Nick’s pubic bush to stretch shining in the dim light.

“Ahhh,” he exhaled, lifting slightly and settling back. “So good. You feel so right in me. Fill me up.” He began a slow undulation, rocking his pelvis as he lifted and fell, his own cock hard and hot looking, beginning to ooze as he moved.

Nick groaned. “Tony. Oh, Tony.” He brought his hands up to grip Tony’s shoulders, then slid them down to cup the muscular cheeks rising and falling in his groin.

“Yeah. Nice.” Tony kept up his slow dance, his hands roaming across Nick’s body, and gradually leaned forward to place his lips against Nick’s, brushing them gently together. He kept moving for a few minutes until he leaned forward once again to kiss Nick. Nick brought his hands to Tony’s back, gripped firmly, and rolled the two of them over so that he was on top, and Tony’s knees were under his arms. He began to thrust more urgently, accompanied by Tony’s hum, building pleasure for them both. Tony’s cock throbbed between them, drooling sweet slickness that spread across his belly, and as they neared their crest, Nick reached down to grasp it firmly, urging him on. A very few strokes brought them both to the point of no return. Nick suddenly pulled back, leaving only the head of his cock sheathed, and bent down to take Tony into his mouth.

Tony keened, spasmed, and erupted. In his throes, he clamped down on Nick’s cock, and Nick in turn began to blast, keeping his mouth locked on Tony’s cockhead.

When he was sure there wasn’t a drop left, Nick let go, rising as he pressed his cock back into Tony’s ass, then falling forward to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. They remained like this for a few more minutes, sweaty, with heaving chests, as Tony stroked Nick’s back and chuckled.

Eventually Nick softened and he pulled out, rolled to the side, and laid a hand on Tony’s chest. Tony covered it with his own. “God, I’ve missed that,” he murmured, rubbing slowly across the back of Nick’s hand. “I’ve fantasized about it. You and I – we were always good together. Both ways. You don’t know how much I’ve wished we could have got back together. One of my regrets.” He fell silent.

“Tony, come on. I can’t be the only guy you’ve slept with who’s flexible,” Nick protested.

“Sweetheart, it’s how you’re flexible.” Tony sighed. “You’re easygoing, you like all kinds of food, all kinds of movies and music, you read, you’re cheerful, you pitch in, you contribute. And you’re sexy. There. I’m glad I finally said that. You have the sweetest ass in town, you can suck my dick while you’re fucking me cross-eyed, and I love every second of it. And every inch of you. I’ve loved you all along. So sue me.”

Shocked, Nick fell back on musical comedy humor. “Oh, Nathan,” he protested in his best imitation of Vivian Blaine.

“I promise you,” Tony said. He looked toward the little clock on the bed table and gave a startled cry. “Jeez, is it that late? We’d better get cleaned up. Ma’s going to be putting supper on the table in a little bit, and we can’t go down smelling like sweaty buttsex.” He turned his head and planted a soft kiss on Nick’s lips. “You want to shower first?”

“We can share,” Nick suggested.

“That might get us in trouble,” Tony murmured, nuzzling below his ear.

Nick sat up and swung his feet onto the floor. “Come on, baby,” he said, holding out his hand. “Bath time.”


Mr. Molinari met them at the foot of the stairs.

“Enjoy your nap, boys?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Feeling much better, thanks,” Nick said, easing past the innuendo. “I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Me, too,” Tony said, grinning. “I’m beginning to appreciate a little lie-down in the afternoon. Must be my age.”

His father cuffed him on the shoulder. “You’re hardly of an age to need naps, boy,” he said gruffly, “even if you are the oldest kid. Listen, I had an idea. Your mother’s been standing over the stove for weeks now, between our meals and all the canning and freezing she does. What do you say we go out to the Charthouse tonight? Give her a night away from the kitchen.”

“Sounds good to me, Pop,” Tony agreed, looking over at Nick. “You up for it, babe?”

“Sure,” Nick said. “Do I need to change?”

“Nah. It’s casual. The shorts and polo shirt ’ll be fine.” Tony turned back to his father. “Are we going now? Where’s Ma?”

“Just putting on her lipstick. She’ll be down in a minute.”

Mrs. Molinari appeared a moment later in a light dress and low heels, carrying a shawl, her silver hair softly fluffed. “Three handsome escorts!” she said gaily. “How lucky I am!”

Mr. Molinari smiled and gave her a little kiss. “But the beauty, my dear, is you.”

“Oh, Silvio. After all these years.”

“Still the light of my life, sweetheart.” He glanced at the boys, jingling his keys.

By the time they reached the coast, dusk had deepened to night and the periodic flash of the lighthouse to the north flicked bright across the surf. With only scattered clouds and no city lights competing, the starshine was clear. The dining room hostess welcomed them, and seated them in a booth near the middle of the restaurant.

“Anita will be with you in a minute,” she said, handing them menus. “Can I get you something to start?”

“Sweetheart?” Mr. Molinari said, touching his wife’s hand.

“I think a Campari and soda would be good,” she said, smiling at him.

“Then we’ll have two. Boys?”

“I’d like a half-and-half, please,” Tony said, looking up from the menu.

“The same for me,” Nick echoed.

The food was good, and the conversation was easy, until Mr. Molinari mentioned the livestock.

“You know, Tony, I’m thinking of selling most of the goats. The co-op can’t process their milk any longer, we’re the last milking flock in the area, and there’s only so much cheese we can sell. Your mother and I can just about keep up with two does; the rest are basically nursing the kids and then grazing for most of the year.”

“Have you thought about going into business as a brush-clearing service?” Tony asked, forking up a bite of his fish. “That’s getting to be all the thing now, you know. The ecological solution to fire control.”

“Your mother suggested that, too. But organizing it . . . transportation, portable fencing, rental agreements, herders and dogs, vets . . . It’s just an awful lot of work. And it would keep me away from home more than I’d like. My sweetheart needs someone to watch out for her. I couldn’t leave her alone at the ranch night after night – anything might happen.”

“Well, I was thinking Marco might be interested in working it with you.”

Nick felt a sudden tension at the table and glanced up at the Molinaris.

Mrs. Molinari tsked softly with a minute shake of her head.

Tony looked questioningly at her for a second, then transferred his gaze to his father’s face, which was turning a dangerous shade of red. “Ah,” he said, taking another bite. “Well.”

Mrs. Molinari put her hand on her husband’s arm and asked him if he was thinking about dessert.

“I thought your brother was planning on taking over the ranch at some point,” Nick muttered as Mrs. Molinari was talking.

“Guess not,” Tony answered quietly. “I’ll find out what’s going on later.”

“Will you excuse me a moment?” Nick said, rising. He looked around for the restroom sign, then headed toward it, managing to intercept the hostess as he threaded among the tables. Reaching quickly into his pocket, he handed her his credit card. “Please put our dinner on this, would you?” he said quietly. “I’d like to treat them.” He smiled conspiratorially.

“I understand, sir,” she said softly. “I can have a bill ready for you in just a couple of minutes.”

“Thanks. Hold it for me and I’ll get it on my way back.” He continued toward the restroom, thankful that Mr. Molinari’s back was toward them.

When he returned, Anita was clearing plates. “I ordered coffee for you, babe,” Tony said. “Pops isn’t ready for dessert yet.”

“Thanks, Tony. That’s good,” Nick responded. “Say, why don’t we walk down to the beach, and watch the water. It’s such a beautiful night.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Mrs. Molinari said. Her words came simultaneously with Mr. Molinari’s, asking for the check.

“Oh, your dinner’s been taken care of, sir,” Anita said, smiling. “Your son wanted to treat you.” She pointed to Nick, who blushed as three pairs of eyes focussed on him.

Mrs. Molinari’s brows rose a fraction of an inch, then she leaned across the table. “Thank you, dear. That’s very sweet.”

“Yes, thank you, Nick,” Mr. Molinari repeated, smiling.

Tony looked at him for a minute, then put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, babe,” he said. He squeezed and then let go, clearing his throat. “You ready for that walk?”

“I am,” Nick said, “if everyone else is?”

They gathered themselves up and left the table. The Molinaris detoured toward the restrooms, while Tony followed Nick out the door.

“That was nice, hon,” he said as they waited outside. “Did you see the look on Ma’s face? Priceless.”

“And your dad’s face, too,” Nick agreed, chuckling. “‘Your son’. Ha!” He bumped his shoulder against Tony’s.

The Molinaris soon reappeared, and all four walked across the road toward the little cove. There were benches behind the retaining wall, and the Molinaris sat, holding hands and gazing across the moonlit water. The night was warm; Nick slipped off his sandals to stroll across the sand. Tony followed, and they ambled quietly until he broke the silence. “You know, it would make Ma very happy if you were really her son,” he said, looking over at Nick. “Or son-in-law. Pops, too.”

“You trying to wear me down, Tone?” Nick joked, avoiding the question. “I told you, I’d have to be in a weakened condition to say yes.”

“Hm,” Tony said, dropping it. “Right. I forgot. Sorry.”

They strolled to the end of the beach and stopped, gazing out to sea for a few moments before they turned and headed back to where the Molinaris were sitting.


Back at the ranch, the four of them sat and chatted in the kitchen for a while, drinking a final glass of wine and nibbling on fruit and biscotti, before Mr. Molinari yawned and turned to his wife.

“I’m getting sleepy, sweetheart,” he said, rising. “I think I’ll turn in.” He bent to kiss her forehead and turned to leave the room. “Thanks again for supper, Nick,” he said, smiling. “Good night, all.”

“So, what’s the deal with Marco and the ranch?” Tony asked, when his father’s footsteps had faded upstairs.

“Oh, he and your father have been talking about it for a while now, and it seems he has ideas that Pop doesn’t much like,” Mrs. Molinari said, shrugging.

“C’mon, Ma,” Tony protested. “It’s got to be more than that. Pop looked like he was going to bust a blood vessel when I brought it up. I’m glad you were there to calm him down.”

“Your brother wants to turn it into a retreat center for that church he and Krissie joined. He says Pop should be happy he ‘got religion’, and your father thinks he’s lost his mind. He said he’d rather leave it to the State than see it in the hands of those crazies. Marco got into it with him, told him they weren’t crazy – just ‘saved’, and your father almost had a stroke.”

“Uh, maybe I’d better turn in, too,” Nick said, beginning to stand. “This sounds like a private thing.”

“No, Nicky, you don’t have to leave. I’ve said before, we think of you as family.” Mrs. Molinari smiled at him. “Unless you’re really tired, of course.”

“I think you should stay, Nick,” Tony said, putting out a hand and gesturing toward the table. “This could affect you, too.”

Nick looked at him quizzically.

“Really. Sit. Please.” Tony was almost pleading with him.

Nick sat down reluctantly, and reached for the wine. It sounded as though the evening might last rather longer than he had envisioned.

Tony turned back to his mother. “Okay. Then what happened?”

“Well, that’s just it, dear,” she said, taking a stem of grapes. “Every time Marco comes to see us, he brings it up at some point, and that’s always when the visit ends. Your father won’t discuss it with him. It infuriates him, but I think it also makes him really sad. He wanted the place to stay with the family for at least another generation, but he says he’ll be horsewhipped before he’ll let it be turned into a place for those people to use. Marco and Krissie and the kids haven’t been here since the end of May because of it.”

“What about Susan? Or Daisy?”

“Oh, your sisters aren’t interested in running a ranch, even a relatively small one like this, and their husbands already have careers. Your father’s been thinking about re-writing his will, selling the place when he feels he can’t manage it by himself any longer, and using the money to get us a house in town. I don’t know,” she shrugged again. “I don’t think he’d be happy in town, but it might not come to that, either. You know how he is. He’ll be trying to run the ranch long after he should be resting.”

Nick’s eyes had been shifting between the two as he listened. He took a sip of wine and cleared his throat.

“What, babe?” Tony said, turning to him.

“Oh, I was just thinking. Who are your neighbors here? I forget.”

“It’s Federal land to the east,” Mrs. Molinari said, looking at him enquiringly. “Why?”

“And the other sides?”

“Joe Dias to the north. He has a couple of thousand acres and runs beef on it. Across the road it’s Pete Nelson. You don’t see the house from here because they’re closer to County Road 9. He’s more of a farmer, although he does have a few head of cattle; but mostly he’s vegetables – broccoli, garlic, onions, spinach, and I think he grows some berries. West of us is the State Park.”

“So Dias and you and Nelson are like a strip of private land between public lands?”

“Well, yes, now that you mention it.”

“Have you thought about selling a conservation easement on the ranchland? For a wildlife migration corridor or habitat preservation, or something like that? You could keep on ranching, and keep the land in the family, but it couldn’t be developed as a retreat. I’ve read about deals like that, in the papers,” Nick said shyly.

Tony was looking at him with a half-grin. “That’s a great idea,” he finally said. “That’s a really great idea.”

“D’you think?” Nick asked.

“Yeah. Takes the pressure off everyone, puts some money in the bank for the folks, lets them stay here until they’re ready to move. What’s not to like about it? It’s genius!”

Mrs. Molinari was looking at him with a serious expression. “I think it’s an excellent idea, Nicky. Would you mind my telling Silvio what you’ve said?”

“No, no. Not at all. I don’t . . . no, that’s fine. If you think it’s a good idea, sure, go ahead.” Nick beamed at their approval.

Tony’s eyes flicked toward his mother. “You look tired, Ma. I know I’m ready to turn in.”

“You’re right, dear,” she answered, rising. “I’ll let the dogs out. Good night, boys,” she continued, kissing their cheeks. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Ma,” Tony said, standing up.

“Yes, you too,” Nick echoed, pushing back his chair and yawning.


Tony was quiet as they stripped and got ready for bed. Nick glanced at him a couple of times, but he seemed wrapt in thought.

Nick returned to the porch first, raising the blinds before he slid into bed. Tony soon followed, and turned off the small lamp.

As he pulled up the covers, he turned toward Nick. “You know, I think you’ve solved Pop’s problem,” he said, smiling in the dimness. “Genius boy. Now, gimme a kiss and let’s get some sleep.”

Nick turned his head and kissed Tony, murmuring “G’night, Tone,” as he did.

“Good night, genius Nicky,” Tony responded quietly. “My genius.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute,” Nick said, sitting up. “Your genius? As of . . . ?”

“My genius. Period. Nobody else’s. Now, let’s get some sleep.”

Nick started to object again.

Tony stopped him. “I want to take the dogs out for a long walk tomorrow morning while the folks are at church. And I want to sleep now. We can talk later.” He put his hand on Nick’s chest and pressed him back down onto the bed. “Really. We can talk later.”

“But . . .”

“No ‘but’. We can talk later. Unless you want to make love now, and then talk?”

“But . . .”

“No ‘but’!” Tony said, emphasizing each word as he repeated himself. “We can talk later. Unless you want to make love now.”

Nick clenched his jaw and turned his head, staring up at the ceiling again. Damn Tony! He could be so frustrating. He took a couple of deep breaths, opened his mouth, then decided against it. If Mr. Molinari was stubborn, Tony was just as stubborn, and more. He knew from experience. He sighed and gave it up.

“That’s better,” Tony said, sleepily. “G’night, genius.”


Nick half-woke in the middle of the night when Tony spooned up against him. He took Tony’s hand and held it for a few minutes before drifting back to sleep. When he awoke again, the sun was just clearing the horizon, flashing brightly across the ceiling. Tony’s hand was still in his.

He gently disengaged himself and got out of bed to look at the morning. A cloudless sky. It would be another beautiful day. He shaved and showered quietly, and went downstairs.

Mrs. Molinari was setting the table.

“Good morning, Nicky,” she said, smiling. “Sleep well?”

“I did, thanks,” he answered, kissing her cheek. “You?”

“Oh, yes. I always do.” She finished laying places and turned to the coffee pot. “Coffee, dear?”

“Yes, please.” Nick leaned up against the pantry door jamb, not wanting to sit down until Mrs. Molinari could.

“I told Silvio about your idea. He thinks it’s the best solution he’s heard, if it can be done.” She handed him a cup and saucer, and poured the coffee. “I’m grateful to you for that. He’s been so irritated about Marco, you can’t imagine.”

“Oh, I think I can,” Nick said, laughing. They exchanged looks, and Mrs. Molinari giggled.

“Yes, you probably can, now that I think about it. They are alike in many ways, aren’t they?”

Tony appeared in the doorway, scratching his head and yawning. “What are you two laughing about?” he asked, grinning.

“Just glad to be alive, Tone, that’s all,” Nick said, smiling back.

Tony crossed the room and kissed his mother, then kissed Nick quickly. “Morning, Ma,” he said. “Yes, coffee. Please.” He gave Nick’s butt a proprietary smack and moved toward the table.

“Your father will be here in a minute,” Mrs. Molinari said. “He’s really interested in Nicky’s idea. But let’s save any discussion for later, shall we? I’d like to go to church in a calm frame of mind.”

“Yes, Ma,” Tony said meekly, lifting his cup.


They walked slowly north from the house, the old dogs content to sniff and amble with them. The morning was warming up nicely, and they had their shirts off by the time they dropped down the back of the first low rise.

“Nick, about last night,” Tony began. “You know what I mean when I say ‘my genius’. We’ve been hanging out together for years now. I’ve been trying to woo you, if that’s the right word, but the subtle approach hasn’t worked, so here goes. I’m serious when I say I want to marry you. Just seeing you a couple of times a week doesn’t cut it. It hasn’t been enough for me, anyway. I love it when we wake up together. You make me laugh. Sex with you is lovemaking, not sex, and it’s amazing. What do I have to do to convince you?”

“I thought we got away from the lovers/buddies/benefits thing when you started dating Ken,” Nick said, looking at his feet. “It seemed like it was all over then. I was okay – or I thought I could be okay – with just being friends. The last couple of days have been really nice. More than really nice. But I don’t know if I can go back thirty years and start over. How do I know what’ll happen? What if you meet another Ken? Do I divorce you? Do I stay with you but get bitter at the way things turn out?”

“Sweetheart, there’s not going to be another Ken. Don’t you think I learned that lesson? The hard way? Look what we’ve missed. Years we could have been together, really together, instead of just half-assed dating.”

“Tony, what am I supposed to say here? What can I say? You know my story. You know everything there is to know about me. Don’t tease.”

“Would you rather hear the practical? I’ve thought about that, too. If we were married, we could split expenses, put away more money faster, and both retire early. Maybe take over the ranch. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“What about Marco?”

“Pop’s not going to let Marco have the ranch. And Marco won’t have a foot to stand on in any case, because I’m the oldest. He’ll leave Marco some money, just like my sisters.”

“I don’t . . .”

“Just say yes. I’m not teasing. That’s all I need to hear. Yes. Listen, I love you, Nick. Say yes. We can take it from there.”

“I can’t figure out . . . You’re handsome and sexy and successful, and I’m plain and poor. I love being with you but why would you want to marry me? I mean . . .”

“Don’t even go there, Nick. I don’t give a damn if you make less than I do, and I think you’re cute and sexy and just exactly the man I want to marry.”

“Where will we live? I don’t want to redecorate.”

“I’m not asking you to move, I’m asking you to marry me. Besides, you’re rent controlled and I’m not,” he said, brushing the subject aside. “Of course I’ll move in with you. Please, Nick.”

“But what about Bobo?”

“No ‘but’, remember? Bobo’ll be fine. Just, please, say yes.” He stopped short and reached for Nick’s hand. “Please. I love you, Nick. Say yes.”

“Oh, Tony.” He looked up into Tony’s face for a moment, then levelled his gaze to focus on Tony’s chest, and swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“And I promise you . . .”

Nick was only half listening. Had he really said ‘yes’? Was he ready for this? He’d let Tony wear him down, catch him in a ‘moment of weakness’. And now what? He loved Tony; he couldn’t take back the word and hurt him. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Another wedding to attend . . . And what was Tony promising?


Six weeks later, in matching charcoal suits with lilies of the valley in their buttonholes, Nick and Tony piled into the car and pulled away from the church. It was the elder Molinaris’ sixtieth anniversary. They and Tony’s sisters were on the steps, as were Nick’s family-of-choice, but it was a small group. Both men had wanted it to be less promiscuous than most of the weddings in their circle that summer. Living together for two weeks before the wedding was promiscuous enough. The Molinaris would be giving a dinner at the Palace Hotel in a couple of hours and staying for the weekend; Nick and Tony were headed for the ranch.

“So, Mr. Molinari-Armstrong, are you happy?” Tony asked, beaming at his new husband.

Nick smiled and, glancing at the bright gold of their new rings, laid his hand on Tony's thigh. “I don't need to ask if you are. It's written all over your face, sweetheart.”

 

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