One for the Gods (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) by Gordon Merrick Page B

show what I’m feeling. Peter’s had you. I think it’s my turn now.”
    “But this is incredible. Does Peter know? Do you always share each other’s lovers?”
    “Sure. Why not? Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”
    “But how could I? I love Peter. He will be angry.”
    “That’s all right. Make him jealous. That’s always good when somebody is pretending not to love you.”
    “You’re very exciting. If you think—” His free hand crept forward to Charlie’s thigh and gave consent. Charlie pushed it away. He reached over and pulled the sheet from him. Jean-Claude snatched for it, but Charlie had already pushed one leg from the other and released the concealed sex. It sprang forward and lay rigid along his abdomen. Hip and buttock curved massively.
    “Well, aren’t you the cocky one,” Charlie said. “Did I do that to you, or were you thinking of Peter?” He looked Jean-Claude in the eye.
    “No. You,” he murmured. Jean-Claude’s eyes were yearning for him now. He saw the throb of his heart become visible beneath his breast, his lips parting. He looked at the body and felt its lush physical appeal. There would be some perverse pleasure in it, in being where Peter had been.
    He was wrenched by a tearing conflict of desires—a rage to hut and humiliate both Peter and his lover, a longing to be away from here, a stirring of the old thirst, long forgotten, to see beyond the face, to possess a stranger and discover an intimate inunguarded, satisfied eyes.
    Jean-Claude swayed toward him in anticipation of a kiss and his hand moved up his thigh. Charlie pushed him away and stood slowly and pulled his shirt over his head. He kicked off his sandals. How long had it been since he had stripped for a stranger? Milly had been the last. Milly had been with him when Peter’s telegram had arrived, announcing catastrophe. He stood for a moment looking down at Jean-Claude, seeing Milly, sweet Milly, funny Milly, slim and willowy, every hair removed from his body, except for a neatly shaped pubic patch, for the drag act he did when he could get an engagement. Charlie unfastened his shorts and let them drop to the floor. His sex stretched the silken pouch he wore against his skin.
    “Come here. Let me see,” Jean-Claude begged, his eyes on it.
    Charlie moved back to the side of the bed. “Help yourself.” He put his hands on his hips while Jean-Claude pulled the pouch down. His sex curved out heavily in front of him, partly aroused not by Jean-Claude but by associations with the past. Jean-Claude lunged across the bed and dropped his feet to the floor and took it in his mouth. Let him work for it, Charlie thought. These preliminaries were the greatest obstacle to carrying out his intentions; he still wasn’t sure that he could function with Jean-Claude. He felt the stimulation of his mouth beginning to have an effect and thought of Milly insisting on seeing him with an erection before he would go to bed with him. Milly had been a bellboy in a hotel where Charlie had spent a night in sexual sport. Everything had become sex by then. Milly had appeared in response to Charlie’s request for valet service. He was wearing glasses, but his velvet, almost beardless skin was stretched taut over finely modeled bones and his slim, trim body was appealing in his tight uniform. Charlie had casually let his robe fall open while giving his instructions. He was wearing nothing under it. In a few minutes, Milly was back. Charlie answered his knock and he slipped swiftly into the room.
    “If you’ll forgive me for putting it so bluntly, sir,” Milly had said without ado, “would you let me look at your cock again?” His face was impassive and his gaze level.
    Charlie had burst out laughing at the unexpectedness of it and at the neat, precise manner in which he had phrased his request. “Again?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir. I’m aware of the favor you were doing me just now, but it threw me off balance at the time. You might