A Mark on My Soul

Chapter 2

By and © Hans Schrieber

This night wasn't going to be like hooking up with just any old friend. Nor would it be like a one night stand. Tonight felt different. I was excited and nervous like before going to senior prom. I wasn't expecting it to lead to any sex play with Mark since he's married with a kid. I was just hoping there would be a rekindling of the emotional attachment I felt for him as a boy. I hoped to relive some of that sexual anticipation of loving him from afar as an unobtainable treasure. The best I was hoping for was maybe beating off together, but only if it was comfortable for him. He had some baggage and I didn't want to mess with his head again like at lunch, so I needed to be careful what I dredged up from our past. I was being pretty insensitive at lunch earlier. I definitely had pressured him badly as kids to do sex stuff together. He and I were probably best friends and I really had wanted to play naughty with him. I never understood why he was so against it. I think I was getting an idea his stepfather had something to do with it.

My poor boy stew was ready; I had rolls and butter and potato salad all laid out on the table and eight o'clock came and went. By 8:30, I sadly resigned myself to the miserable truth and started cleaning up. I was just about to dump the stew down the toilet, since I'd lost my appetite, when a knock came. I rushed over and put the stew back on a burner and got the door. There he stood in jeans and a beige knit top covered in black smears. He was holding his hands up and they were filthy black also. "I'm sorry, I got a flat tire," he said.

"That's bitchin'," I said, "Umm, not that you got a flat tire, but that you didn't stand me up." I invited him in and let him go in my little head and wash up. While he was in there, I quickly got everything back out on the table.

I put the pan on the table and we dished out heaping piles of the pasty mash. It was a pale green color with lots of lumpy stuff. "What's in this?" Mark asked, looking really leery to eat it.

"I told you already, 'all but' the kitchen sink," I laughed.

"It looks like something from a bedpan," he joked.

"Yeah, I know. The presentation is lacking, but I've tasted it and it's not bad. The color comes from the split pea soup, I think."

"Mmm, lovely," droned Mark lifting a spoonful to his lips. "This stuff really is pretty tasty if you don't look at it. My compliments to the chef."

"Yeah, thanks, but I'm definitely not Chef Boyardee."

"You want a beer?" I asked. "I got some cold brewski's in the fridge."

"Nah, I don't really drink. I quit drinking for my wife when we were dating and don't want to start again. Just some juice or water would be good," he said.

"Yeah, okay." I poured us out some orange juice and tossed the empty carton. We ate mostly in silence with occasional comments about life in general. I was a little nervous about where to take the conversation.

After dinner, he insisted on helping me clean up. I washed and he dried. Our hands occasionally brushed as we passed the dishes back and forth. I'm sure he didn't think anything of it, but each touch was electrifying to me. I walked over to the futon sofa bed and sat down. "I'm really glad you came over. Thanks."

"I'm really glad you invited me." He sat next to me since it's pretty much the only thing to sit on besides the two wooden chairs by the table. There were a few minutes of awkward silence and I remembered the photo album. I reached over and snagged it from the wobbly table and slid over next to him so our legs touched.

"Check this out," I said, opening the pages. Mark began to laugh at the picture of me in the bathtub. My hands were down on my wienie.

"You were even a horny baby," Mark said laughing.

"Wow, I never really put that together. I guess you really are whatever you're born to be." I flipped past the baby stuff and got to a picture of like my 6^th birthday party. "Look, there's you and Larry and David," I said. Those were great times.

"I remember you had fun parties. I remember one time when I turned eight your mom threw a birthday party for me at your house. I never had my own party. My stepfather wouldn't allow it. It was the best thing ever. It was so nice of her to think of that."

"Well, it was really my idea. I asked her how come I never got to go to your parties and she said you weren't allowed to have parties at your house. So I said that wasn't fair and we should have one at our house for you then. My mom called your mom and arranged it for when your stepdad wasn't home I guess."

Mark wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "You did that?"

"Yeah. Sure. I felt bad for you not getting a party ever."

"That was one of the best days of my whole childhood. And my stepdad never found out and never got mad or anything over it. Now I know why I have such a warm spot in my heart for you."

I smiled at him and he melted me with that giant warm smile of his. The words rang through my mind over and over. I wondered how he really meant that. I turned the page and there we were building a snowman. "Wow, remember the big snow of '67? The drifts were higher than our mailbox."

"Yes," added Mark, "and we tunneled through the drifts and made a snow cave. And remember that giant snowman your big brother helped us build? It would have killed us if it would have fallen over on us."

"Oh, yeah. And remember taking our Flexible Flyer sleds up by the old gravel pit and sledding all the way down that road. It was like a quarter mile long. And some neighbors with snowmobiles would pull us all back up again with a rope. It was great," Mark added.

"My favorite was Barry's toboggan. We'd load everyone up on it and slide down the hill at Oak Woods. Remember that jump we built?"

"Yeah, that was fun until I let Stewie ride on it with us and he got thrown off when we hit the jump and broke his arm. He was screaming bloody murder. I caught it bad for that," lamented Mark.

"Why? It wasn't your fault, it was just an accident," I said in confusion.

"Nothing was ever just an accident. Everything at my house was somebody's fault. Letting Stewie ride that 'dangerous' toboggan was my fault and I got in trouble for it. That's just how it was."

"Well who's fault was it when the next day, you broke your arm? Was that Stewie's fault?" I asked.

Mark looked at me with the saddest, most pathetic face I'd ever seen. I knew I had accidentally pressed the wrong button again, but wasn't sure how. He was wearing the face I remembered from our childhood just before he started to cry. I didn't want to see a grown man cry especially from something I said or did. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean to upset you. Check this out. It's my mini-bike."

"That thing almost killed me," Mark said, partially snapping out of his funk. "I remember you were pimping out rides on it over at the trails in Oak Woods. You were one entrepreneurial little twerp. I swear you were always working some angle. Hell, you'll probably end up either owning the accounting firm you're working for or going to prison for some elaborate financial scheme someday. You had a pretty hard time parting with any of those dead presidents too, as I recall. You'd agonize over buying penny candy at the corner store."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't pay up, so you got to ride for free," I agreed laughing. "I got a lot of others to pay up, though. I really was a horny little shit, wasn't I?"

"How many kids agreed to rub your little penis for you in order to be allowed a ride around the trails in the woods back then?" asked Mark smirking.

"Everyone except you, Kevin and Barry did it. David did it for me, but he made me rub his in return while he did mine. Funny though, we never did it long enough for me to see him shoot sperm. I'm not sure if he could or not, but since he had hair, I assume he could. It was alright with me that he made me do his back, though. I loved rubbing his. It was bigger and he had hair. I loved the naughtiness and the excitement of pulling our pants down outside and touching someone's 'privates.' It just preoccupied a huge portion of my waking thoughts. Once, David made me lay down on the grass and got on top of me and rubbed his little pud against mine. That was exciting. Nothing ever escalated beyond rubbing though. I didn't discover sucking until I started high school. Things were so innocent and fun back then and sex was without complications."

"Yeah, that all changes."

"So tell me about your life since we parted. What's been going on and how did you meet your wife? What's it like to have a child? Why'd you go into medicine? And, why urology?" I asked.

"There you go again. Shotgun questions," laughed Mark. "Okay, well, where to start? About two months after you and I saw each other last, my stepfather got arrested and we went through the whole trial process for about a year. That was a hard time." Mark paused and stared off toward the door, choked with emotion.

"Did that asshole abuse you?"

"Yes. And he beat my mother. And he started on Stewie." Mark grabbed a box of tissues I keep beside my day bed for cleanup purposes and wiped at his eyes.

I reached over and placed a hand softly on his thigh and said, "It's okay. You don't have to tell me about …"

He shook his head and said, "No, I really do. I've needed to tell someone who will really listen my whole life. I tried to tell a half dozen shrinks, but they are too busy giving clever advice to really listen for the most part. I started to tell my mother, but I saw it was just piling on the pain and guilt she already was carrying so I quit. I really need right now to tell my greatest and best friend I ever had why I acted toward him the way I did. I never knew my real father, and my mother has no idea where he is. She married my stepfather in hopes of providing for me and they had Stewie between them. He always worked hard and we never wanted for food or clothes but emotionally he was cruel and harsh. As young as I can remember, I would get spankings for the littlest things. He would pull my pants off and spank my bare bottom and I would have to leave my pants off for hours after. If my mom objected in the least, he would slap her around and threaten her with killing me. We lived in constant fear of setting him off every day." Mark began quivering in short sobs.

I put my arm around him and he leaned into me as he continued, "You mentioned my horrible fear of the broomstick handle. As I got older, he used that across my naked butt and legs to discipline me, but he … he also used it to rape me with. Other times, he would just climb on top of me himself and rape me properly with his own large penis. Sometimes he would tie me up and force me to do other things. I'm not going to say any more than that."

"So," he continued, "when you wanted to do that stuff to play around like normal boys do, I wanted to have it be fun and enjoy it the way you guys were, innocent like and fun. But, I would think about him forcing me and hurting me and I would start to panic. So I would run away. I eventually got numb to the process and simply shut my mind down when he would attack me. I'd go to an inner place in my mind and leave my body behind for his cruel abuse. I don't remember much of exactly what happened to me once I learned to do that. I would just wake up sore and sad and be happy it was over, whatever it had been. Because I was so anti-social and weird from all that, most other kids just avoided me or worse, teased me."

"I remember. I hated when they did. I tried to stick up for you when I could," I said.

"I know you did. That's why I love you so much. Why I've always loved you and why I always will love you." He looked me in the eyes and I began to cry. I felt his love like I had never felt loved by anyone before, not even my parents, who I had no doubt loved me. I felt a powerful tingle surge from head to toe, similar to an orgasmic shudder but accompanied by a peaceful feeling. I felt complete, pure, absolute love emanate from his eyes. When you invited me over after you moved, I was so excited. I thought we could be friends still. I thought you really cared for me as much as I cared for you. Then the time at the pond was full of fun and innocence an unrestrained joy. I was projected back to our younger years when it was just us out having fun without any fear or pressures. Then in the basement, I knew I'd stayed too long at the pond with you because I hated to see it end. I had to get home before my stepdad and you started the little game of keep away with my clothes. I begged you to stop, but you kept it up."

"I'm so sorry, Mark. I had no idea."

"I know you didn't. I don't blame you. When you got on the bed and stuffed the clothes under you, I almost said to hell with it and decided to rip your fruities off and grab your penis and jack you off. I desperately wanted to. I wanted to be a little boy playing innocently at sex with his friend and for me to be in charge of the sex for a change. I wanted to control it and enjoy it. For once, I wanted no strings and no pain and no fear attached. But then you said something that triggered my quick temper. Do you know what you said?" queried Mark.

"No. I don't really. It was a long time ago."

"I remember like it was yesterday. You asked me, 'Why I was always such a pansy?'"

"I did?"

"You did. And I knew I was. I knew I needed to stand up to my stepdad. I knew I had to stop him from hurting my mom, but I knew it might get me killed. I grew angry at you. It was all so damn easy for you. You had a happy home with loving parents. You had a mini-bike and a big brother who stood up for you instead of betraying you like I betrayed Stewie. You had all they joy and none of the pain. So I lashed out. I said the cruelest thing I could think of and accused you of being gay. I decided somehow that you didn't really like me; you just wanted me to do sex things with. I feared I didn't really have the one thing I thought I had - 'One single, solitary friend.' And I couldn't bear it."

He took a while to get composure again and said, "When you called back and apologized and asked me to come over again, I realized you did care about me. I realized you wanted to mess around with me because you cared about me. But, then I was grounded from you. The abuse I got that night after I left your house late, was horrible, but it was the last time he abused me. The amount of abuse had been tapering off before that. I fought back that night and it wasn't as fun for him anymore, I guess. Or I got too old and hairy for his liking, I don't know. But about two months after that, I heard Stewie crying and begging him not to do it. I had heard it before. I piled both pillows over my head, but I couldn't drown it out. I knew I couldn't be a pansy any more. I knew if it killed me, I had to try and rescue Stewie. I got out of bed and I ran upstairs and outside. I got in the tool shed and I grabbed a shovel. I ran back downstairs and threw open the door. He and Stewie were both naked. He had a boner and he had just finished tying Stewie's hands to the bed. I demanded that he leave Stewie alone and get out. He laughed at me. He told me I was too big a pansy to try and use the shovel. He told me to get back to bed or I'd be getting it next. I almost caved in. I almost dropped the shovel and ran to my bedroom. But your words rang in my ears. 'Why are you always such a pansy?' I screamed 'NOOOOOO' and charged. I swung with all my might and struck him in the head. He collapsed and then he rose up furious. Blood was gushing down his face. Now, I did run. I ran as fast as I could up the stairs and out the door. I ran to the Gillgan's house and pounded on the door. My mother was screaming and crying. Mr. Gillgan finally came to the door and I begged him to call the police. He took me inside and went to investigate. My stepfather realizing the gig was up, jumped in his truck and sped off. Of course, he was caught and the nightmare of the trial and the gossip and the police and the social workers began."

"I had no idea," I muttered.

"No one did, of course," assured Mark. "But finally, he was in prison and the first night I knew he was in prison and couldn't get out, I slept all night without waking up in fear for the first time in my whole life."

"What happened to Stewie?" I asked.

"He lives in West Hollywood. He's living an openly gay lifestyle and working through his issues in his way just like I am."

"What did your wife say when you told her all of this?" I asked.

"I haven't. I started to, but sort of like the shrinks, she just wants to talk over you and not really hear it," Mark said sadly. "I just sort of dropped it and buried it again. I married thinking that would make it all better. I thought sex with a woman would free me of those demons. I thought a lifetime companion who loved me so completely as to give her body and heart over to me, would heal me. I thought wrong. It's not all her fault, believe me, I'm no easy person to love. She is so domineering and controlling. She is demanding and can be as emotionally cruel as my stepfather was sometimes. She uses sex to punish me and I feel little if any love. Sex is always on her terms and her way. It's just the same music but a different dance. I thought the child would help bring the love back, but in a year it hasn't. So, I've thrown away all hope of love. I don't have a ring on because we are officially separated right now. I don't expect to reconcile. I don't really desire to. Failed experiment! Love is a one-way street with her, and the sex is anything but joyous. She regards it a burden. Just my lot in life, I suppose. So, I throw myself into my work and I get great satisfaction from it. Originally, I chose urology because I wanted a facet with surgery but without the emergency type trauma of say cardiology. Besides, like you, I've always had a bit of a fascination with that part of the body."

"I am so sorry. If I just hadn't been so blind …"

"No, don't blame yourself for anything. You inspired me. You saved me. You freed me. I love you, Hans Schreiber, with all my heart." He embraced me and we hugged for a long time. "Hans?"

"Yes, Mark."

"Will you be fourteen again? Will you teach me how to have a sexual experience full of joy and wonder without the pain or guilt?"

"What are you asking?" I didn't want to make foolish and potentially dangerous presumptions.

He pulled away and took me by the shoulders and looked me in the eye. "I want to be in your basement. I want you to lie on the bed in your skivvies and I want to straddle you. I want to make the right decision this time and say to hell with it all and just enjoy a little naughty fun with my best friend full of nothing but innocence and joy."

"Whoa, if you're sure, I'd love nothing more than to share something special like that between us. I've worked pretty hard to accomplish that our whole lives together, and it's been a long time coming."

Mark lowered me by my shoulders onto the day bed. He stood and lifted the edge of the bed up and pulled it out with me on it. He sat on the edge and pulled off my shirt. He pulled his off and began rubbing my chest and stomach. I wished I was in better shape. I was a bit embarrassed at my slight bulge from the chest to the belt line. He massaged the back of my neck and I reached up with my right hand and caressed his strong, developed chest and abs. His body showed the results of many hours of chasing away demons in the weight room. I started to reach for his belt, but decided to let him take the lead, and pulled back. I realized wisely, he would want to be in control. There was an intense tenderness in the strokes of his fingers. He would trace around my nipples and pinch them ever so gently.

My pud was straining against my 501's. Finally, he undid each button and spread the fly open. My erection slipped into the unrestrained area and tented my boxers. Mark stood and removed his pants and socks. He left his white boxers in place, however. He was stunning. His muscles rippled and his brown eyes sparkled. His impeccably styled brunette hair topped a square rugged face. He wore it conservatively, not long as the students did, since we were both professionals. He sported a youthful, playful smile as he pulled my Levis off my buttocks and free of my legs. He pulled off my socks and caressed the soles of my feet and tugged on my toes individually.

At last, he pulled my legs straight and straddled me sitting on my knees. He stared at my boner pushing upward against the fly of my boxers. "This is where you say, 'Why are you always such a pansy? Stick around and play a while and have some fun.'"

"For real, you want me to say that?"

"Yes, please."

"Why are you always such a pansy? Stick around and play a while and have some fun."

"Pansy? Pansy? I'll show you I'm no pansy!" He said laughing. He grabbed the waistband of my boxers and ripped them off me. He about took my manhood with them. I gasped in shock at the suddenness of it. He laughed raucously, pleased with the reaction he got from me.

Mark grabbed my twitching pud and started furiously beating me off. I reached up and rubbed his chest and shoulders. I pinched his large brown nipples and tugged playfully at his pit hair. He released his hold on my pud and told me to stand up. I did and he took my place. "Pull my skivvies off and rub my wiener if you want to ride my bike," he said, giggling like a little kid.

"Hah, you little boy whore you," I joked. I pulled his boxers off in the same frantic way he had done and sat down beside him. I looked at a nice 4 ½ or maybe 5 inch erection. He hadn't grown all that much longer from what I imagined his boner would look like from seeing it limp during the skinny dipping event some fifteen years ago. It was thicker, though. He had a nice patch of brown pubic hair and some on his nuts and perineum, but very little on his legs and arms. Only a small treasure trail ran from his pubic bush to his naval. When I placed my hand around his impatiently throbbing pud, it was if I was handling one for the very first time. I was projected back to the first time I rubbed off an older neighbor boy in his living room around eight years old. I wandered from that memory to Oak Woods and the feeling I had when I rubbed David's little pud all adorned with his few, straggly pubic hairs. Tears were trickling from the corners of Mark's eyes down his high set, rosy cheekbones. His eyes were closed and a peaceful smile caressed his face. I stroked him firmly but gently. His firm boner reacted to my touch and his nuts pulled up tightly in his sac. With my free hand I tickled the surface of his nut sac.

I wanted to lean in and kiss him. I dared not for fear of his reaction, but I desperately wanted to. I leaned down instead and drew in a long, slow whiff of his manhood. It was not unpleasant at all. It was strong but not overwhelming. It is a sensory memory that will live with me forever. Mark opened his eyes and smiled broadly. He reached over and pulled me onto the bed with him, facing the opposite way and adjusted to bring his mouth even with my goodies. He gently pulled my aching pud down and slid my tip past his soft, full lips and into his warm moist mouth. I returned the favor. I hadn't had a penis in my mouth for a while. I had never had one belonging to a person I loved and cared about. I determined to give him an experience never again to be equaled. I caressed his engorged boy toy with my tongue and lips. I licked the frenulum and sucked on his nuts. He sucked tenuously on mine and I realized he had never done it before. I wanted him to have no fear at all in this experience, so I led out on this part. He followed my lead expertly. When I rubbed his nuts, he rubbed mine. When I licked his tip, he licked mine. When I formed a ring around the base of the tip with my lips and then swirled my tongue around and around the ridge, he repeated the procedure to mine.

After a lengthy session of wonderful sixty-nine action, he pushed me away and rolled me onto my back. He lay on top of me and began to grind and rub our pelvises together. I loved the soft brown pubes caressing the underside of my tender pud. The intimate, full body contact sent chills throughout my body. He was in control and I was happy to submit. It was rare for me to be submissive in the act. I was not sure I could recall ever being so since my first experience with the neighbor boy way back when. I was experiencing flashbacks of times I had masturbated to fantasies of this experience with Mark. So many times after having my sexual advances rebuffed by him, I had retreated to my room and furiously beat my meat while thinking about doing it with him. I was startled out of my daydream with a firm pressure on my lips. I realized in time and pressed back into his lips. It was a gentle, tender kiss. It held passion and meaning. A second approach to my lips brought with it a lightly probing tongue. I parted and accepted the precious offering. I sucked ever so slightly his long, pointed tongue into my mouth and reveled in the thrill of it dancing along the roof of my mouth and along the sensitive top of my own tongue. He retreated and I gave pursuit with my tongue into the recesses of his mouth. He sucked and nibbled on me and moaned softly while he continued his rhythmic grinding of our bodies. I rubbed my feet and toes over the tops of his feet and toes. I rubbed and gently scratched his strong back, shoulders and buttocks. He had the firmest ass of any man I had ever been with, including the young basketball stud. From habit, I slid a pair of fingers down inside his crack. He tensed suddenly and pulled away from our kiss. "No. Don't go near my anus. That's off limits. I've got too many demons hiding in that closet to face today. Keep that door shut," he said firmly, but without any anger.

"Of course." I reached up and ran my fingers into his thick brunette hair and pulled his lips back down into mine and resumed our oral probing. After possibly an hour of rubbing, caressing and intense kissing, I felt the initial tingles of a pending orgasmic surge. "Mark, I'm starting to approach orgasm, how do you want this to finish?"

"I don't," he said honestly, "I want it to go on forever."

"Well, I agree, but I can't last forever," I said.

"Would you let me enter you?" he asked almost pleadingly.

"If you want to, but I need some lubricant," I offered.

I told him where to find the baby oil. He retrieved it and sat astride my legs. He poured it on my chest and rubbed it in. He poured more over my belly and groin and spread it with his large strong hands. I had to pull his hand away from my oiled shaft before I lost all control and spoiled his ending. He spent ten minutes on my nuts and below them. Then he oiled my thighs and calves and my feet. He rolled me over and worked his way back up. He bypassed my butt and did my back and shoulders. His strong fingers worked my muscle groups one by one. I wondered if he had massage training, he was so expert in his method. I was completely and utterly relaxed when he finished massaging my neck and shoulders. Finally, he spread my legs and oiled my butt cheeks and slipped an oily finger past my ring and into my quivering interior. Then, he slid two fingers in and finally three. I have never been a huge fan of playing catcher. I prefer to pitch, but this was Mark's ballgame not mine.

He greased himself up and lay on top of me slowly sliding over my backside, his pud pressed between my greasy cheeks. He was breathing shallow breaths indicating his heightened state of arousal. He had left the childhood innocence behind. He was in a new mode. He was expressing the deep appreciative love he held for me. I felt the sincerity of his motions and tenderness of his caresses. He kissed my cheek and whispered into my ear. "I love you, Hans Schreiber, for all you did for me."

He slid off me and rolled me over. He climbed on me again and kissed me tenderly. He pulled my knees up and slid into position, I felt the tip of his hard pud press against my ring and I pushed outward and in an instant I felt his nuts press against my butt cheeks as he exhaled a pleasurable moan. I caressed his chest and tweaked his nipples as he slowly withdrew and pressed back in again. Slowly, tenderly, he made love to me. He stared into my eyes and the warm, tingling sensation radiated through my body. He supported himself on one elbow and gently stroked my pud in rhythm with the rolling waves of his pelvis. After an unidentifiable amount of time enjoying this unity of our souls, he kissed me tenderly on the lips again and said, "I need your help. I need to shed some demons. Will you help me?"

"Whatever you need, Mark," I cooed. I was in a state of nirvana and arousal beyond anything I had ever experienced. I wanted nothing more than to help and please him in any way I could.

He withdrew and rolled me over. "Nothing I am about to say or do is directed at you personally, Hans. Okay?"

"Sure, okay."

He spread my cheeks and plunged his pud into my anus. "I'm in charge here," he growled. "Got that?"

I wasn't sure if I should answer. The mood shifted, the room darkened and grew cold. He started stabbing furiously at my ass. His piston action increased speed and intensity. He lifted me and stuffed a pillow under my belly and grasped my throbbing pud and began beating me off while he thrashed wildly in and out of my body. "I'm in control here," he said out loud. "I'm in control, not you. Take that you shithead!! How do you like it?"

He increased his speed, his eyes glazed, and he tensed. He stopped beating my pud and placed both hands on the bed on either side of my chest. I took over the stimulation of my aching pud.

"Oh," "Oh," "Oh," "Oh," "Oh," "Oh," "Oh," "Oh, Oh, Oh, OH,OH,OH,OH, Aaarrrrrgh! He screamed out as multiple demons escaped his tortured soul. A guttural scream of combined agony and ecstasy escaped Marks quivering lips as he drove himself deep within me. Mark drove his pelvis deep into me a second time; the stimulation of his impaling shaft against my prostrate and the intensity of his orgasm accompanied by the overwhelming sense of service to a true friend, propelled me into my own powerful orgasm. I pulled the skin of my pud tightly down stretching the head of my boy toy to its limit until spurt after spurt exploded onto my bed. I resumed slow and gentle stroking of my weary pud as the remainder of my wad spilled out.

A third and final thrust by Mark was accompanied with a firm declaration, "Go away! Leave me alone. I am in control. I am in control from now on!" He collapsed in an exhausted heap onto my body, gasping for air. In a few moments his softening pud slipped from within my nether region. I felt his expelled demons oozing between the flesh of my crack and around my nut sac. After a bit, I pushed him off me and rolled on my side to face him. I pulled the sheet and blanket over us and wrapped him in my arms. I gently kissed him on the lips. "All better?"

"I love you, Hans. Thank you."

"I'm afraid you've left a permanent 'Mark.'" I said softly.

He gasped and asked, alarmed, "Oh God, did I hurt you? I'm so…"

I pressed a finger to his lips, "No, not on my body. I'm fine. You left a permanent 'Mark' on my soul.

He relaxed into that beautiful smile of his and pulled me into his warm body. We drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Epilogue

I never saw Mark again after that day believe it or not. I moved apartments the following day, leaving his demons behind. I got busy working those crazy, ladder-climbing hours demanded by large accounting firms. He became absorbed in his medical career. Shortly after our reunion encounter, he finished his residency and took a staff position with a hospital in Virginia. We corresponded for years but eventually stopped. He reconciled his marriage differences and had two daughters to go with his son that he doted on and spoiled rotten from what I could ascertain from his letters. He took my advice to make his wife sit down and hear all the gory details of his childhood. That apparently turned things around for them.

He did, indeed, leave a "MARK" on my soul. After that night, I never engaged in meaningless sex again. When I took the box of leftover food to Ricky, he invited me in for some payment, but I politely declined. It seemed too shallow to even consider. I eventually found and fell madly in love with a magnificent, brilliant, sensual woman and raised a beautiful family. I guess I bat right after all, but I continue to privately fantasize about the bat boys. I never shared Mark's and my experience with my wife. I cannot comprehend her, as wonderful and insightful as she is, possibly having the capacity to understand it. It's the only secret I have kept from her, but it is far better for everyone that I have. Until now, I have never shared this life changing event with anyone else. I hope you have received it in the spirit it was intended and that it has affected you for good. I also wish to make a plea for you to support, in any way you can your local shelters for battered women and children. Had those places of refuge been more readily available to Mark's mother way back when, who knows how this story could have been written.

God bless you and yours,

Hans Schreiber