I met Paul in a gay bar, Paddy's, on the east side of town...the gay side. He was in a corner booth against the far back wall. I liked to sit there sometimes and sip my drink and watch whatever action happened to be on the dance floor that night. On a slow night, I just sat there and looked at a mostly empty dance floor. It didn't matter. It was the quiet, private sitting part that I went there for, and I liked the safety of the "back booth" as I called it. Anyway, one night I went to what I thought was an empty booth, only to find someone sitting in it. I know it's crazy, but I was actually pissed that someone could be sitting in my booth...my private booth. I must have shown my feelings, because the guy sitting there asked me if I wanted him to move. His question brought me to my senses, and I realized how silly I was. He had just as much right to be there as I did. "No," I answered. I told him that I was just surprised to find someone sitting there, and that no one ever did. He said nothing in return, but I could tell that I had made him uncomfortable by the flush that came over his face. When I asked him if he minded if I sat down, again he didn't reply, but gave a little gesture to let me know that my sitting there was okay with him, so I did.

While we sat and sipped our drinks in silence, I tried to get a look at him. I couldn't see very well in the dim light of the bar, but I judged that he was small, about 5' 7", and very blonde. He was cute. Well, maybe he was just a bit too old to be, cute...about 35 I'd guess. No...he was cute. Sometimes age had nothing to do with cute. He had an old fashioned crew cut that worked for him, and a quiet demeanor that somehow softened the area around him. Oh, and he was sad. He was very sad. I could feel the cold of his sadness creeping across the booth and enveloping my body. It wasn't an intense sadness, but a mild sadness that had become an old friend. I think I may have fallen in love with him right then and there. I don't know how you know that really. People talk about love at first sight, and I think that happens sometimes. This wasn't that, exactly. This was more a love in the near future kind of thing. I didn't even know his name, and yet, I sensed that this man was going to be a part of my life forever.

"My name's Grant." I said.

"Paul."

"Hello, Paul."

"Hello, Grant."

If it's anything I love, it's a lively conversation. I knew this one wasn't going anywhere and, even if I was going to fall in love with this guy, it wasn't going to be through his gift of gab, and it wasn't going to be tonight. I'd get back to him later. I had come here to unwind and "Hello, Paul and Hello, Grant" was not going to quite get it. I stood up to find livelier surroundings.

"Don't go."

"What?"

"Please don't go."

"Okay."

"No...go ahead. I don't know why I said that. It's just that...."

"Just that what?"

"I just don't feel like being alone tonight, that's all."

"I can stay if you want me to."

"I want you to...but only if you want to. I won't talk. I mean, I can't talk. I mean, I can talk, but it's very hard for me to. I mean...."

"Look, Paul, as you may have noticed, I don't seem to be the belle of the ball tonight. No one is dying to meet me or calling my name across the room or motioning me over to their table to sit down for a quick drink. If you don't want to be alone and you want me to stay, I'll stay. And you certainly don't have to chit chat. I don't need chit chat. I'll just sit here for awhile if you want me to."

"I want you to."

And that was that. I sat back down with this guy named Paul that I had never seen before, who wanted me to sit there, who would not talk, but who needed not to be alone. Oh, and whom I knew I was destined to love...sometime. If you think this was unusual, then you know nothing about my life. This was really about par for the course where I was concerned. In fact, this episode of my life rather intrigued me. I would sit and sip and wait to see what happened. This would not go down in my journal as the most exciting night of my life, but compared to sitting home and doing nothing, it would do. It would definitely do.

We sat there for quite awhile, Paul and I. We didn't really drink very much, so I wasn't tipsy or anything. I did have a pleasant high, but nothing that would impair me for the drive home. It was time for the place to close. We had been there together not talking for about four hours. I don't know how that happened really. I usually can't stay down in one place for that long. I have to be up and moving. I'm afraid I'll sprout leaves or something. I hadn't really noticed the time. I had actually enjoyed being close to this man...and just sitting. At one point, I thought I saw a tear run down his face, but it was dark in the back booth...I couldn't be sure.

"They're closing. Do you have a way home?"

"Cab."

"I'll drive you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay."

Ah, at last, a meaningful conversation. Well, at least I wasn't going to have to worry about impressing this guy with my vocabulary. We went out; I pointed to my car; and we got in.

"Where to?"

This time there was no mistaking the tears. He wasn't really crying...just quiet singular tears running slowly down his cheeks. What was wrong with this guy and why did I think I had to help...could help? Who put me here? His tears made me very uneasy, and yet, they didn't. It was all sort of somehow natural...comfortable. I had no idea why.

"You want to come home with me?" He thought a minute.

"Okay. But...."

"Don't even say it...not necessary. I just don't want to drop you off anywhere with tears running down your cheeks, that's all."

He reached up and felt his cheek as though he hadn't been aware that he was crying. He seemed surprised to find it moist. "Oh," he said, and that was all...just "Oh."

We drove to my place in silence. I had figured out by then that silence was to be the norm for the evening. We got out and I led the way to my apartment and opened the door. We walked in and he just walked over to the sofa and sat down. I went to the closet to hang up my jacket, and when I came back, he was asleep. I was floored. I couldn't believe it. He had fallen asleep on my sofa and in like fifteen seconds. Oh, well, at least I had time now to really get a look at him. He was beautiful, there was no doubt about it...absolutely beautiful. His body was small and compact, but muscular. It was obvious that he worked out. His face was young and old at the same time, and there was a peace there now, under the sadness, as he slept. If fate had sent me someone to fall in love with, I was grateful that it was someone as beautiful as Paul. His cheeks were still moist from the tears, and I thought about wiping them off, but then thought better of it. No use disturbing what must have been a much needed sleep. Finally, after a nice cup of hot English breakfast tea...and feeling somehow guilty drinking it at night...sitting and watching him breathe, and wondering how I seemed to know him so well, when I had only just met him a little over four hours ago, I went to bed.

The next morning, when I woke up, he was gone. I was puzzled, but not worried. I knew I would see him again.

But I didn't...see him again. He disappeared completely. It was almost as if I had only imagined him. Maybe I really had been alone in that booth that night. Maybe no one had come home with me...had slept on my sofa. Maybe I had completely made him up. No, he was real. I saw him. It's true that I never touched him, but I did see him and I did talk to him. I stood over him and I even sat and sipped tea and studied his breathing. Now where the hell was he? I was destined to love him. Didn't he know that? Then it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps fate had neglected to give him the same message it had given me. Maybe he never knew that he was fated to be my lover. That would explain it. If he didn't know, how could he be expected to come back? I gave the whole thing up, but still had a sort of ache for him...you know that sad little ache in the back of your mind that just won't quite go away? I had one of those.

My life was busy, however, so it wasn't like I was pining away or anything. I'm an architect and business was booming. Also, believe it or not, when I'm not sitting alone in the back booth at a gay bar, I have quite a busy social calendar. For one thing, social gatherings are a part of my business and for another, I'm rather gregarious when there's someone around who will talk back to me. I love a lively conversation and love to debate about any subject. You name a subject and I'll take the opposing position and argue into the wee hours of the morning. Some people find that endearing and some people...well, some people avoid me like the plague. But that couldn't be the case with Paul. We had never talked! I kept telling myself to forget him, but I kept seeing him in crowds or at the grocery store. Everywhere I looked I saw Paul, except, of course, it wasn't Paul at all.

I returned to the back booth about once a week...usually on Wednesdays. Wednesdays were my free nights. I guarded them with my life. I didn't do much with them, but it was important to me to have one night in my life that I could count on to be my own. I would just sit and sip, or sip and sit, whichever came first. It was relaxing, and gradually I was getting over hoping that Paul would be sitting there, a drink in his hand and a tear running down his cheek. It was hard though. I always somehow felt his presence. Maybe that's why I still went there...to feel him...near me. Damn you, Paul. Where are you?

And then, one night, there he was...just like he had never left. He was even wearing the same blue shirt...just sitting there drinking his drink. I sat down, pretending not to be surprised to see him. He didn't look up. And then, before I knew what was happening, I burst into tears. I just laid my head down on the table and cried like a baby. I felt his hand on my shoulder...lightly. The feeling was warm and kind and loving and very, very soothing. I stopped crying and simply sat there, not moving, enjoying the feeling of his touch.

Paul stood up, took me by the hand and led me from the bar.

"You want me?" he asked.

"Want you?"

He smiled. I understood. Of course, I wanted him. I loved him. I needed him. I would take him on his terms, whatever they might be. I just wanted to hold him and have him hold me. Nothing more was important to me. I handed Paul my keys. There was no way I could drive in my condition. What was my condition? I didn't understand any of this? I was totally confused. I had become a basket case. I decided not to try to understand. The feelings I was having were stronger than any I had ever felt in my life. If I was only to have one night...one hour with him, then so be it. But I would have that memory for the rest of my life. I would not fight this. I would relax into this emotion with joy. I trusted this quiet stranger that I had known all my life. I trusted him with my being.

When we got back to my apartment, he led me into the bedroom and laid me gently down on the bed. Then he began to undress. Through quiet tears, I watched as he unhurriedly removed his clothes. He wasn't trying to be seductive...and so he was. He was very matter of fact and purposeful in what he was doing. When he was completely naked, he just stood there in front of me. There was no embarrassment...no emotion at all, really. There seemed to be with Paul, only truth. In every thing he did...in every action, every glance, every thought...only truth.

"I'm not sure I can."

"Paul, you don't have to."

"No...no, I want to...I need to. It's been so long. Maybe with you..."

And so, I stood up beside him. I didn't touch him...I knew I shouldn't...but I kissed him softly on the lips. He seemed to have no reaction, but I could see goose bumps on his arms, and, yes, tears in his eyes. I would be careful. I would be gentle. I would stop at any moment if I felt....

I slowly took off my clothes. We were nude now, together...so close...erect. I wanted so much to touch him, to rub against him, to feel his warmth against my body...against my penis...to love him. But I knew I could not...not yet. I touched him on the shoulder. He flinched and instinctively pulled his shoulder away. Then he relaxed it again. He did not move, but seemed to be waiting for my next touch, where ever it might be. His breathing was heavier now in anticipation. I did not touch him. Instead, I knelt in front of him...in front of his erect penis. Without touching any other part of him, I took his penis into my mouth. He did not move, but took in an audible breath, his body stiffening with the sensation. Slowly, I began to make love to this beautiful cock, this perfect dick, while he stood there with seemingly no emotion...and then he began to cry...in earnest now...and so did I. I know it sounds strange, but there was nothing strange about it. Some horrible emotion, some curse in Paul, had been broken deep within him. Some wall had come crashing down. Some pain could at long last be released.

He collapsed slowly to the floor and into my arms. I held him there while he cried...while we cried, because I felt his pain more intensely than I could have ever felt my own. I wanted to pull his pain out through me and disperse it into the air, where it could never find him again. And then, as in a dream, Paul began to make love to me...not mad, passionate love...but a love that came from his pain...a healing love...a beautiful love...a slow love that came from a deep understanding of life and what love means in living it.

He laid me out on the floor and began to slowly kiss me, beginning at my feet. He sucked my toes gently...each one separately. This love making would not be hurried. It had been far too long in coming. He would enjoy it. He would make sure that I enjoyed it. He began to slowly move up my legs, kissing me as he went, stopping just below my balls, his golden hair teasing them gently. He brushed them lightly with his soft, sweet lips...promises of things to come. Then he moved to my eyes, my face, my mouth, where his wonderful tongue explored every part of me. I sighed audibly, my penis now growing so hard that I thought it would explode.

He began to kiss my neck, my ears, my nipples, now working his way downward to make good on his promise. Oh, the wonderful things he did to my nipples, gently biting, sucking, kissing. "Please," I whispered, "Oh, please." He heard me, had pity, and went straight to my straining erection, taking the head of my penis into his hot, sweet mouth and holding it there, while his tongue did amazing things to the very tip. "Oh, god," I said. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop." And then, without warning, he plunged down to the bottom of my shaft, taking me in...completely. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god. OH, MY GOD!!!" And I came...without warning...inside his mouth...in buckets it seemed. Over and over it came rushing from deep within me into him...my body rigid...my senses exploding...followed by complete, utter, wonderful relaxation in his arms.

It was then that his love went through me...filled me...that his eyes pulled me inside him...caressing my soul. He loved me as much as I loved him. This all had not been some sort of evil trick of fate.

"Take me...please...now."

He pulled me up and laid me gently over the bed, my ass over the side. He bent and kissed me there...kissed my back...my neck. There was lube on the table. He rubbed some on himself and then some on me. With his finger he carefully made sure that I was lubricated well inside and out. There would be no cautious ceremony now. There was no need for ceremony. We had made love...beautiful love. Now I sensed an animal need in Paul that had not been met in a very long time. I would now feel a part of him that had lay dormant far too long. He would take me...savagely...and I wanted him to. It is what he needed and what I wanted to give.

Paul gripped me on each side, positioned his huge, hard penis against me, pushed as hard as he could, and buried himself completely inside of me with one long savage thrust. I screamed. He stopped. I relaxed. He began to move...slowly at first, feeling me, allowing me to adjust to him. Then, he quickened his tempo. This would not be a long fuck. He needed this too badly. Paul was not just fucking me. Paul was fucking life. Paul was reclaiming something vital that had been lost. Faster and faster he thrust...harder and harder. It seemed he would tear me apart. He began making noises...primitive, animal sounds, as he fucked. His dick seemed to be getting bigger, harder as he fucked, working me into a sexual frenzy that I had never known...that I had never thought possible. I would come with Paul, I knew it. I joined his emotion, abandoning all inhibition...two wild animals thrusting wildly, screaming yelling, feeling, god yes...FUCKING!!!!! Until neither of us could hold back any longer. With one last long warrior yell, one last long, powerful thrust, Paul began coming and coming inside me, his dick buried completely to the hilt, impaling me deep, deep inside, touching off an animal orgasm like none I had ever known. I started writhing uncontrollably and shooting an impossible load all over the bed beneath me, whimpering and shivering from the effects of the unbelievable passion and the intensity of the pain. Two wild animals lost in wonderful animal lust. Thrusting....thrusting...thrusting.........

And then it was over...much as it had started...suddenly. We fell to the bed...sweating...exhausted...breathing oh so heavily...feeling...bodies...wetness...passion...and finally...love. I loved Paul as I had never loved before, and I knew that he loved me. He didn't have to speak his love. I knew his love. I would heal the sadness within him. I might never know what it was, but I would heal it. We would heal it together...forever.