All It Takes Willa Okati 
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Copyright ©2006 Willa Okati 

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ISBN (10) 1-59596-478-9 
ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-478-6 
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Editor: Katriena Knights 
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller 

 
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Chapter One 
Internal time clock: Morning, possibly afternoon. 
Recall of previous night’s activities: Five percent. 
Probability of alcohol being involved: Ninety-nine percent. 
Potential for severe regret: Seventy-five percent. 
Likelihood of hangover: One hundred percent. 
Sullivan Whitfield groaned as he rolled over in bed. “Morning,” he mumbled. 

“Morning already. Sun’s too bright. Someone put it out.” He thought for a 
moment, in the tangled lines that were all his brain seemed capable of 
processing, and added, “Scratch the last bit. Sun can keep on shining. Just not 
in here.” 
Why was it so bright? Oh -- blinds. Yeah. Closing the blinds would be a great 
idea. He’d take care of it, just as soon as he could move. Which, he thought, 
testing with a feeble twitch of the toes, would not be anytime soon. 
He tried to take stock of his situation, and came up with the fairly depressing 
conclusion that he’d gotten spectacularly drunk the night before, failed to get 
laid, and came home alone to polish off the last of yet another bottle. Pickling 
my own liver, he thought groggily. Liver a’la Sullivan. Goes well with a side of 
cheap booze. Possibly wine. Was wine involved at any point? Liquor before beer, 
never fear. Beer before liquor, never sicker. What’s the rhyme for wine? Wine 
all the time is plenty fine? 
Sullivan summoned up the strength to wing a throw pillow at his annoyingly 
bright window. “No more wine,” he muttered into the comforter. “No more wine, 
beer, liquor, whiskey, sour mash, or fruity girly drinks with the umbrellas. 
Aspirin. Medicine would be very good, if --” He swallowed. “I could get it 
down.” 
He was talking to himself again. Not a good sign, but when a man lived the kind 
of life he did, who knew what was listening? 
“If someone’s out there, help,” he said, closing his eyes. “Be a pal.” 
Lying with his eyes shut, he heard the kitchen sink turn on, and then the 
blessed sounds of a glass being filled. Moments later, a cool tumbler of water 
had been placed on his nightstand, along with two small white pills. 
“Bless you,” he breathed, turning over to sip the liquid first, then carefully 
swallow the aspirin. 
“You forgot to stay hydrated again,” a voice chided him. Sullivan cracked one 
bloodshot eye at the vision in a football jacket, Crazy Joe. “No matter what 
Melissa and I tell you, you go out and get sloshed, then forget all of us. It 
isn’t right.” 
“All of us?” Sullivan winced. “God, how many of you escaped the pages?” He 
peered blearily around himself. “Is my studio usually this much of a wreck, or 
did you help it along the path to destruction?” 
“We didn’t have to do much, trust me. All the same, you were the one who started 
drawing the orgy scene. Is it our fault if it got a little wild in here last 
night?” 
Oh. Yeah. “How much got broken?” Sullivan croaked, trying to turn over. He 
didn’t meet with much success. Just a few muscles violently protesting, the ache 
of incipient blue balls, and a roiling stomach. Stay down, aspirin. Good 
aspirin. “Just tell me no one started dancing around with lampshades on their 
heads and I’ll be happy.” 
“Dude, you don’t have any lamps. Not that we could find, anyway.” 
“You went looking?” 
Crazy Joe shrugged. “Everywhere but in the locked closet. That’s where you keep 
all the good stuff, right? There’s probably lampshades by the dozen in there.” 
He looked and sounded decidedly sulky, which happened to be far more than 
Sullivan could handle that early in the morning. 
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and groaned. “Look, I was having 
a really nice dream, in case you haven’t noticed. Would you mind heading back 
off to the pages and letting me finish it off now that I’m awake?” 
“Jeez, man, TMI.” 
“Get off it. I draw you and all your little sorority girls. And guys. If you 
ever want to get laid again, back to the drawing board unless I call for you. 
Thanks for the aspirin, but the royal we, me and my cock and my hand, would like 
to be alone right now.” 
“No, you don’t.” Joe shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “That’s 
the thing, Sullivan. You say you want to be alone, but you really don’t. I could 
help you out with your little, or not so little, problem.” He gestured 
discreetly to the tent under the thin sheet covering Sullivan’s body. “I don’t 
mind. You created me to swing both ways.” 
“Which is another thing. I swear to God, I didn’t ask for a magical drawing 
board that had the ability to bring my characters to real and physical life. 
Having you all walk around and talk whenever you get the urge is one thing. I’ve 
never fooled around with any of you before, and asking a man I created out of 
ink and paper to give me a blow job is just way too much for me to cope with 
right now. So, if you don’t mind…” 
Crazy Joe gave an aggravated shrug. “Suit yourself, man. But draw me a love 
story sometime soon, would you? I think Adam’s been giving me the eye. I’d like 
to take him out behind the frat house and show him a few initiation rites.” He 
waggled his tongue. “Know what I mean?” 
“Throw in a wink, wink, and a nudge, nudge, and I’ve got the picture.” Sullivan 
pretended to yawn. “Scram, Joe. Take a hike. Thanks for the water and aspirin, 
but I’ll take it from here.” 
“Your loss, man.” 
As Sullivan watched through bleary eyes, Joe headed toward Sullivan’s light 
table. He gradually lost all solidity and shape, melting away from a solidly 
real man into a wisp of dark smoke. The small cloud funneled itself into the 
scattered sheets of paper, where, Sullivan knew, he would reappear in one panel 
as Sullivan had seen him last, ready to throw a football. 
Sullivan took another sip of water and sighed. It was one thing to go crazy and 
start hallucinating figments of your imagination. A whole different ball of wax 
bounced into the room and knocked over a can of worms when the people you drew 
could come to life and start bossing you around. 
Eh. Their input helped make his adult comic book “On Fire” a blazing success, so 
who was he to complain? And actually, maybe he’d been too hard on old Joe. It 
had been a while since the guy had gotten laid, but… Nah. Sullivan assessed 
himself one more time and decided that his self-pity levels were still on the 
high side. 
He’d just take care of the not so little problem himself. 
Reaching underneath his sheet, Sullivan slid his hand down to loosely circle his 
cock. With the aspirin racing through his system, he felt good enough to take 
his own sweet time, instead of rushing through a quick jerk-off. And talk about 
sweet -- he’d had enough practice that he knew how to treat himself just right. 
One hand gripping the base, one running fingers lightly up and down the length 
of the shaft. Teasing the thick vein underneath, circling the head with his 
thumb. Damp already. Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket to heaven. 
His cock pulsed in his hand, clearly more awake than the rest of him and ready 
for some action. Sullivan pictured the organ developing a mouth to shout 
instructions at him, not unlike a drill sergeant. 
“Only two kinds of men draw cartoons for a living, steers and queers! Which one 
are you, boy?” 
“Queer, sir!” 
“Damn right! Now, get down here and give me twenty! I better see those hands 
start to fly, son. No pansy-assed half-measures for your pansy ass! One, two, 
three, on the double!” 
“Yes, sir!” Sullivan happily ignored the knowledge that he was talking to his 
own penis and began to do as he’d been ordered. Good, strong strokes up and down 
the length of his dick, hard at the base, squeezing at the top. His fingers grew 
sticky with pre-come, which he used to slick up the rest of his cock. “Oh, yes, 
sir.” 
“Good man!” the drill-sergeant-joystick gurgled before he was abruptly strangled 
by Sullivan’s busily working hand. With that, in the silence, Sullivan began to 
pump in earnest. He wanted off, and he wanted off right then. No waiting around. 
He’d had the picture in his mind since bumping into Mr. Gorgeous the night 
before. 
Ooh, pictures. Mental pictures. That hair the color of autumn leaves and those 
eyes gray as smooth, river-washed stone. Warm despite the color. Sparkling with 
good humor, even if Sullivan had been behaving like an ass. Memories of vividly 
wishing for a soft kiss dropped on his lips to show there were no hard feelings 
over staring. 
If he’d had the intestinal fortitude to just get the fuck over himself and ask 
the guy to come home with him… 
But no time for regrets when there was a perfectly good whack-off session 
already in progress. Sullivan’s breath quickened into short gasps as he pumped 
his cock up and down, and his cock responded in kind by stiffening from hard to 
diamond. Slippery, sticky rock. Best kind ever. His free hand flew out to grasp 
the sheets at his side, then headed back for Happyland, rolling and squeezing 
his balls. He liked a little pain with his pleasure, and oh, oh, oh, yes, that 
was how he wanted to come off, just like that. 
Visions flashed through his mind of a gray-eyed man with a gentle smile… on his 
knees, with that warm mouth wrapped around Sullivan’s cock. “Yeah, baby, yeah,” 
he panted. “Give it to me hard. Suck me. Come on, do it right.” He stripped 
himself harder. “Oh, man. So hot, so wet. Man, I thought this was good enough to 
come from just a few minutes ago. Now I wish I could make this last all 
morning.” 
He knew he couldn’t. Already he felt himself starting to build up for that final 
charge down the slippery slope. “Wish I knew your name,” he grunted, hand almost 
flying. “Go, go gadget magic powers, and give me a second chance with Mr. 
Delicious, huh?” On one upstroke, he paused, then yelled, “Geronimo!” as the 
orgasm overtook him, clubbed him on the big head in passing, and spurt after 
spurt of hot come flooded from his cock. 
Made a hell of a mess, but he didn’t care. Hand falling slackly away from his 
dick, Sullivan lay on his back, gasping. The room spun around him in dizzying 
circles, and he didn’t think he could put the phenomenon down to a hangover. Oh, 
man, yes. That little session had been one to write home about. 
All it had taken was a little inspiration… 
Coming slowly back to himself, Sullivan sighed. “Okay, so he doesn’t even know 
my name. I was drunk off my ass and I’ll never see him again. I’m still having 
trouble getting over Michael. A whole lot of trouble. But, fine. Thank you, 
whoever you were, for giving me the strength to go on. Cheers.” 
One last tremble, and he lay still on his tangled sheets. He didn’t have a clean 
hand to dry-wash his face with, so the sweat on his cheeks began to dry into a 
salty mask, but he couldn’t have cared less. It’d been forty-two days since his 
last sexual encounter, and this? What he’d just been through came as close to 
sex as he could possibly imagine. With a real flesh-and-blood person, that was. 
Okay, so he had a vivid imagination. The talent came in handy for a cartoonist. 
As soon as he had the energy, he’d get up off his duff and hit the drawing 
board. He remembered enough details of the long tall streak of deliciousness 
from the night before to get a likeness down on paper. Maybe he’d incorporate 
the guy into “On Fire” or he’d just draw a snapshot for himself, to remember the 
yummy vision by. 
Either way, there were definitely worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon. He’d 
just relax for a few more minutes before getting up. No one liked sleeping in 
the wet spot, even if they’d been the one to create it. He’d just… close his 
eyes… just for a minute… 
Within two, Sullivan was fast asleep again. 
He didn’t see Crazy Joe pop his head up from the drawing board. 
“Well, it’s a start,” the bisexual jock murmured. “Someone’s caught his eye. I 
say three cheers for them. I got a pretty good visual of whoever it is from 
those daydreams. God, talk about vivid. So, what do you think? We pull out the 
big guns for this?” A muted chorus of approval sounded. “Okay,” he agreed. 
“We’ll get Melissa on the case.” 
Sound of hushed doubt and amazement. “Melissa,” Joe insisted. “Yeah, I know 
she’s almost fully integrated. So? That’s all to the good. Means she’ll have a 
better influence on Sullivan than the rest of us sad sacks.” 
He regarded Sullivan with a shake of his head. “There lies one tasty man,” he 
said, a little wistfully. “And if he won’t have any of us, we’ll have to find 
him someone to be happy with. Melissa’s the key. Any objections?” 
There followed the absolute lack of sound. 
“Okay,” Joe said, slapping his hands together. “I’ll go get her and fill her 
in.” 
And with that, he disappeared again in a cloud of India-ink-scented smoke. 
Where he reappeared was somewhere beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. 
Chapter Two 
Day forty-two, and all was not well with Sullivan Whitfield. 
The earth had gone around the sun forty-two times since he’d been dumped, ergo 
left in a state of single-hood, and he was there to tell anyone who asked, the 
situation sucked. 
Actually, no -- it didn’t suck. No one was sucking, or getting sucked, which for 
a man like Sullivan meant a great big hole in his social life. Not the fun kind, 
either. Forty-two days of absolutely no action under the hood or in the trunk, 
which Sullivan figured was enough to make a reasonably young man with decently 
active testosterone levels a teeny bit jumpy. 
Especially when, in all probability, if he decided to jerk off in his shower or 
his bed, he’d probably have a cartoon audience. 
Sullivan cursed the bizarre drawing desk he worked on for what seemed like the 
thousandth time. Probably as often as he’d thanked the thing. 
After all, his adult comic “On Fire” really was on fire, selling out in fine 
bookstores nationwide. Heterosexual men loved it for the alpha hero who always 
saved the day and got his girl, dominant women got behind The Bitch, who took no 
flak from anyone and got the job done just a bit quicker and faster, homosexuals 
loved the openly gay and lesbian relationships. Everybody got off on the adult 
romance. Critics praised Sullivan’s work as being “true to life” and “vividly 
real.” 
If they only knew. 
Sullivan would have thought a fine upstanding man like himself, six-foot-two in 
his bare feet with a head of messy black curls, snapping dark eyes, and a nicely 
bulky build -- thank you, thank you very much -- would have had no trouble 
scoring a date. The answer to that question, however, would be a great big “no.” 
He hadn’t even been cruised the last time he left his studio apartment. He’d 
forgotten how many days ago it’d been, but no lookee, no touchee, no feelee. 
Celibate for forty-two days, man. Sex was needed, stat, and badly. Cartoon 
voyeurs aside, Sullivan had discovered his wrists were developing symptoms of 
carpal tunnel syndrome, and it wasn’t from drawing, so to speak. 
His best friend, Melissa, said Sullivan ought to get out more. Melissa said a 
lot of things, many of which Sullivan didn’t pay any attention to. Being on the 
slightly bi side of gay, he either tended to get distracted by her full, plump 
breasts or annoyed by her scolding him to go out and get a life. Then smacking 
him upside the head for staring at her breasts. 
And if he complained, she always had the perfect retort -- you drew me this way. 

Which he had, back when he hadn’t exactly known the full extent of his comic 
book powers. Melissa, A.K.A. “The Bitch,” was the strongest woman he could 
conceive of, and the first he’d drawn as a test subject for his comic. Kind of 
his “Sandman.” 
Melissa never did do what people expected of her. 
The way he recalled it, after he’d drawn the final line, he’d been knocked on 
his ass by the explosion. When the cloud of India ink had dispersed, Melissa had 
stood in front of him. She was every man’s wet dream, straight or bi, in her 
tight midriff top, mid-thigh leather skirt and thigh-high leather boots with 
stiletto heels. She’d knocked him onto his back with one kick, then gently stood 
on him with one of her boots over his sternum. 
Her voice had been like honey and brown sugar mixed with fragrant rum. “Sweetie, 
we need to talk. For one thing? Dress me like a real woman. And two? You just 
opened Pandora’s Box.” She’d paused. “You got a smoke?” 
At the time, Sullivan had -- he’d been dating Michael, who went through two 
packs a day. The relationship hadn’t been serious, even if the habit was. He’d 
handed over a crumpled pack and some matches, watched her light up, and, on an 
exhale of smoke, she said, “Guess what? It’s a girl.” 
She’d never looked back since. 
Melissa had, as the rest of the cartoon crowd put it, almost fully integrated 
herself with human society. Stronger than the rest, she could survive on her own 
away from the table. Sullivan never had been really sure if her abilities were 
because she’d been the first, or if she really was the toughest chick on Long 
Island. 
Sure, she could dissolve into a cloud of ink and perform on paper as The Bitch, 
but she’d taken on her own name, gotten a job at the local pet store, rented the 
studio apartment next door to Sullivan’s own, and even developed a damn healthy 
social life. 
Two years after Melissa’s inception and the idea of cartoon “offspring” still 
boggled Sullivan’s mind. On the weightier philosophical end, did Melissa have a 
soul? On the ball-numbing terror side, was he, in effect, Melissa’s father? Did 
his family tree now have a Celtic knot in the middle? 
On most days, Sullivan figured answers to such questions were not for men to 
know, poured himself a shot of something, and got back to work. Some days, 
though, Melissa decided to get involved in his life -- and she didn’t let the 
sun go down on her. Forty-two days, a significant date for all Douglas Adams 
devotees, and she was dragging Sullivan to the park with her. 
He leaned against the wall, arguing with her on his antiquated rotary phone. 
“I’m not going. There’s sunlight outside. I could melt.” 
“Sweetie, you are going if I have to hack you up into bitty pieces and carry you 
there in a sack.” Sullivan could just picture Melissa drumming her manicure 
against the adjoining wall. Come to listen hard enough, he could hear it. Ouch. 
She’d break a nail, and then who would she blame? “It’s a gorgeous day outside. 
The sun is shining, birds are singing, squirrels are going rabid, and there’s 
visual candy in range as far as the eye can see.” She clicked her tongue 
temptingly. “You know you want to cop an eyeful if you can’t get a handful.” 
“Gorgeous, shmorgeous. I wouldn’t know.” 
“Do you have all the blinds drawn again?” 
“And the curtains. I’m being a reclusive genius. A method artist. Go away and 
leave me alone.” 
“Nuh-uh, no way, not gonna happen. We’re heading to our friendly neighborhood 
park on the lake, mister.” 
“But I’m happy in here creating dark fantasy worlds for disproportionately 
shaped heroines. I am deeply content hiding away with my cartoon rabbit curtains 
shut. Don’t drag me outside. Don’t make me face the real world.” 
“I’m going to be over there in five minutes. Put some clothes on -- don’t think 
I can’t tell when you’re naked, mister -- and answer the door when I knock.” 
“Why should I?” 
“Because a lady asked you to.” 
“When did that ever have an impact on what I do?” 
“Since that lady can kick your ass without breaking a sweat.” 
Sullivan hung up the phone and went to look for a pair of jean shorts. What? 
Melissa had a valid point. He’d almost succeeded in finding an unsanctified 
T-shirt -- i.e., not holey -- when the knock came. Checking his watch, he 
guesstimated seven minutes. That would be his Melissa. 
He couldn’t help grinning as he went to answer the door. “Who is it? Avon 
calling?” 
“Calling you out.” 
“That’s my girl.” Sullivan opened the door to let Melissa in. 
Good old door, full of dings and dents but still genuine, solid wood. And to 
look at Melissa, one hundred percent woman, born and bred. Sometimes she still 
gave him the chills. Had he really created her from his own psyche, pens and 
ink? Or had she always existed out there in the ether, waiting to be called into 
existence? 
Melissa interrupted Sullivan’s preparation for a bout of navel-gazing via 
seizing him by the chin with two fingers. “You. Are. Coming.” 
“No, I’m not.” As she breezed past him, Sullivan shut the door. “I haven’t come 
with anyone but my friend, Mr. Hand, for forty-two days. One more afternoon 
wasted and we’ll make it forty-three. Oh, Jesus, is that another piercing?” 
Melissa grinned and posed for Sullivan. “Two, actually. One stud through each 
cheek.” 
“Ah, come on, Lissa, you’re killing me here.” Sullivan collapsed on the couch. 
“I get letters from people these days saying your face looks too busy. You’ve 
got, what? Labrets, a nose button, God knows how many holes in your earlobes, 
and now cheek piercings?” 
“So I’ll take them out when it’s time for you to draw me.” Melissa shrugged. 
“The tattoos are non-negotiable, though.” 
Sullivan had always wondered, but never dared ask… when she went under the 
needle, did Melissa bleed ink? 
“Sometimes my life is a little too surreal even for me,” he confessed, sprawling 
out. “Let’s forget the park, huh? We can stay inside and I can play connect the 
piercings.” 
“Asshole.” Melissa swatted him with her free hand. Then, with a grin, she shook 
Sullivan by the shoulder and sat down by his side. They twined fingers and 
rested their heads together. 
“We have a weird relationship.” 
“You, me, and the rest of the world.” 
“Melissa, technically you don’t exist.” 
“I feel pretty much like flesh and bone to me. I think, therefore I am.” 
“Yeah, and that’s what worries me. I mean, I feel the burden of responsibility 
for your existence here, and you’re playing rebellious teenager. I’m still a 
young man, you know.” 
“Sully, how old are you? Thirty? Do we need another lecture on grown men not 
acting like little shits?” 
“Fifty is plenty for one lifetime, thanks.” Sullivan yawned, stretched, stood up 
and went back to hunting for a shirt. 
“By the way, why are you half-naked? Sully!” 
Sullivan paused in the middle of a sniff test. “What did I do now?” 
“Jesus, Sully, you look like you’re dressing down to be a wino. Speaking of 
which, did you shave at any point during the last week, or just decide to see 
how long the beard would grow before you could comb it?” Rising up on tiptoes, 
Melissa ran a hand through Sullivan’s curls and made a face. “Nice oil job.” 
Sullivan put his hands on his hips. “You always were a sweet talker. Park or 
not, Melissa? You want me there, this is how I’m going. Time’s a wasting. I’ve 
got deadlines, remember? One of which features you in a moonlit soliloquy on the 
plight of the modern strong woman just looking for a decent guy. Neither of us 
has all day.” 
“Yes, we do, because you have all night to draw to your heart’s content. Besides 
which, you are not leaving this studio looking like something dragged backwards 
through a hedge. Besides, deadlines, shmeadlines. You’ve got a dead life. And 
I’m not gonna be caught dead with you looking like you do right now.” Melissa 
raised one sneakered foot, making the move somehow elegant and imbued with more 
sexuality than anyone should be able to possess. “Do you get moving, or do I get 
kicking?” 
Damn, I did good work when I drew her, Sullivan thought. Ooh… breasts. If 
there’s a percentage of cock lacking in my life, I could be persuaded to taste 
those ripe Georgia peaches. “Say what, now?” 
“You’re getting cleaned up.” Melissa clicked two fingers together. “Right now. I 
can wait.” 
Sullivan sagged against a wall. “Ah, come on, have a heart. I already told you 
sunlight makes me melt.” 
“No, a guy with a tight ass makes you melt. The park makes me happy and showers 
make you clean, which it looks like you haven’t been in a while. So go, hose 
yourself down, find some clean clothes -- and then, we go.” 
Sullivan eyed Melissa, who gave him The Stare back eye-for-eye. There was a 
reason he’d named her The Bitch. Thing was, they both knew she wore it as a 
label of pride -- even if the matching personality meant she took no shit from 
anyone. Saying no to Melissa just didn’t happen. Besides which, it did occur to 
Sullivan that he might be smelling a little… fragrant. 
“Okay, okay. You want me fresh as an Irish spring morning? You got it.” Sullivan 
rummaged around for a clean towel, and accepted the shirt and jeans Melissa 
fished out of the closet for him. “I am so pussy-whipped.” 
She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not a bad thing, when you’ve got the right pussy. 
Now move it, buster.” 
“Whipped,” Sullivan repeated, heading into his small, partitioned bathroom. Or 
rather, he wasn’t being whipped and hadn’t been for -- yep, count ’em again -- 
forty-two days. To make things worse, he’d feel way too naked and on display in 
the shower to even have a quick whack-off to improve his mood. 
Oh, happy day. 
Turning on the water, Sullivan was pleasantly surprised to find it warm instead 
of cold, and more of a stream than a trickle. You never could tell in buildings 
old as his. 
“So, check the new layouts!” he shouted over the water, reaching for a bar of 
soap that -- aw, crap -- had belonged to Michael. He replaced the innocuous 
green chunk for a white one. “And don’t bitch about my singing if I start.” 
“Me, complain about your voice? You jest.” Sullivan heard Melissa making her way 
around to his enchanted drawing table where she’d be examining the inked sheets. 
“Crazy Joe does the debutante, again? Come on, Sully, show a little 
originality.” 
“I can’t help it if my romantic spark isn’t firing these days.” Sullivan sluiced 
himself down, hesitating when his hand brushed his cock. In all seriousness, if 
he’d thought Melissa would go anywhere near the idea, he’d have taken her to bed 
months ago. Bi-lateral as they came, baby, and he’d drawn her as his feminine 
ideal. All those curves begging to be played with, tattoos to be traced with 
fingers and tongues, piercings to investigate… 
Sullivan looked down to see he’d gotten hard. Frantic, he turned the water up to 
max -- damn the heating bills -- and started pumping his shaft, hoping for a 
quickie. He’d come out clean and with a smile on his face. Images slid through 
his mind as he stroked his cock, thumbing the ridge at the base of the fat 
mushroom head, feeling his fingers slip and slide over trickles of pre-come. 
Melissa, with her ripe lusciousness. 
The man he’d seen the night before, autumn and gray. Oh, yeah. The man. 
The man and Melissa and Sullivan himself for good measure, having a fine old 
time in his bed. 
That’d show Michael. Damn all exes to the seventh level of Hell, anyway. 
“Are you whacking off in there?” 
Sullivan meeped. He pumped harder. “No way. Wouldn’t dream of it.” 
“Liar. Hey, if you can concentrate on something besides your own dick for a 
minute, what’s up with this balcony I’m supposed to stand on? We aren’t in 
‘Romeo and Juliet,’ Sully. This is the big bad city.” 
“So?” Sullivan pictured Melissa spread out naked across his sheets, the 
autumn-colored man curling up beside her, sucking at one full breast. She lifted 
her hand, beckoning Sullivan to join them on her opposite side. He fell into the 
bed, reaching out with his hands --
“So add a little grime, man, a little down and dirty.” Through the shower 
curtain, Sullivan could see Melissa do a nasty little shimmy with her hips. He 
groaned as softly as he could, squeezing the base of his dick. The slick skin 
felt diamond-hard beneath his touch. His balls had drawn up tight and hard 
against his body, ready for blast-off. Oh, this would be a good one. All he had 
to do was hold the explosion off for a few more seconds -- just enough to get a 
good tidal wave built up --
“You do my landscape right, and I might think about doing you,” Melissa said, 
arching to look back over her shoulder. 
Sullivan came with a strangled shout. When his vision cleared, he found himself 
leaning against the wall of his shower, breathing heavily. “Were you -- were you 
serious?” he panted. 
“Maybe. Maybe not. But now you’re a much happier man, so clean up and let’s go 
to the park.” Melissa flipped her hair over her shoulder. Sullivan could all but 
see the saucy wink he drew her with. “Could be today’s a lucky day to go for a 
walk.” 
Chapter Three 
“Melissa, you have a real way of throwing a man’s love spuds on the barbecue, 
don’t you?” Sullivan resisted the pull of his friend’s hand. “Come on. This is a 
family area. There are children around. Where is this eye candy of which you 
spoke? I’m looking, but I don’t see any.” 
“Men! So impatient,” Melissa chided. She tugged at Sullivan. “Just enjoy being 
here. Live in the moment. Can you do that for me?” 
Sullivan reluctantly let go and stood for a moment, taking in the world around 
him. He hated to admit it, but after forty-two days of near-isolation being 
outside had taken on a distinctive charm. The sun shone down on them but not too 
warmly, and a slight breeze ruffled the pages of the drawing pad Melissa had 
allowed him to bring. 
Tousled his hair, too, but he didn’t give the locks a second thought. Wash and 
let dry was his motto, with a finger-combing if things got out of hand. Hadn’t 
ever hurt him before with the ladies -- or the gentlemen. He grinned. Especially 
the gentlemen. Speaking of which… 
A tall, built blond was approaching Sullivan and Melissa on the sidewalk. 
Dressed in a courier uniform, he spiced the look up with a swinging pair of 
shades. Sullivan made eye contact as the man passed, waited a few beats, then 
looked back to find tall, blond and gorgeous stopped, waiting for him. 
Oh, yeah. I’ve still got the It thing. 
All the same, it was definitely a case of ”no can do” while he had Melissa by 
his side. Cruising was off-limits when you already had a fine companion on your 
arm, no matter how tempted he might be. Sullivan grinned, gave a nod to his 
friend, and mouthed the word, “Later.” The blond nodded with a smirky smile and 
went on his way with his package. Also, the parcel underneath his arm. 
“Don’t think I didn’t just see all that little play-by-play,” Melissa remarked, 
giving Sullivan a friendly elbow to the ribs. “You were so hot for him.” 
“I was not.” At her disbelieving look, Sullivan protested, “He had the looks 
going, sure. But would I leave my best buddy all alone while I chased down a 
piece of ass?” 
“Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.” 
“Or the last.” Sullivan caught Melissa’s hand, marveling at how small it felt in 
his own, how finely-boned, and thanked God she wasn’t punching him with a closed 
fist for taking liberties. “Not today, though. Today, it’s just you and me, 
baby.” 
“Maybe.” Melissa swung their hands. “Maybe not. It all depends.” She gave him a 
slanted look, eyes sparkling. “Could be someone gives me The Eye, in which case 
I’ll drop you like the proverbial hot potato. Weren’t you talking about BBQ 
spuds just a minute ago?” 
“How quickly you turn on me!” 
“Take it easy, cowboy.” Melissa stroked Sullivan’s hand with a thumb. “I’m not 
planning on going anywhere. I’m even going to take things easy on you. See the 
big oak tree, right over there by the lake?” 
“I do, and delightfully enough, it appears to be without visitors beneath those 
spreading boughs. Dare I hope?” 
“Hope away, buddy. We’re headed beneath the shade.” 
“Ye-e-e-s!” Sullivan punched the air. “If I can’t be in the studio, at least 
I’ll have a nice shady spot to lurk in.” 
“Less lurking, more relaxing. I want a portrait of me in the dappled sunlight.” 
“I don’t know about the dappling. You could come out looking like a Palomino.” 
Sullivan hesitated. “I’m not sure I can do you justice outside of the drawing 
board and ‘On Fire,’ Lissa. What if I don’t have the magic touch away from my 
table?” 
“Trust me, sweetie. You have what it takes in spades.” Melissa leaned up on 
tiptoe and kissed Sullivan’s cheek. “Last one to the shadiest spot is a rotten 
egg!” 
“Hey, it’s only wide enough for one!” 
Sullivan ended up parking his ass on a bulging root of the oak tree, while 
Melissa, laughing, stretched herself across the Navajo throw she’d borrowed from 
Sullivan’s apartment. She raised herself on one hip and elbow, thrusting her 
breasts forward, and pouted at him. “Go ahead, big boy. Draw me bad.” 
Sullivan’s mouth went dry. “Yes, ma’am.” His hands shook as he reached into his 
artist’s satchel for a charcoal pencil. Flipping the drawing pad open to the 
first blank page he found, he began sketching Melissa’s tempting outline. He 
sighed in relieved contentment as the lines began to flow. You could take an 
artist out of the art room, but… so he always found himself twitchy when he 
drifted too far away from paper and pencil. He always carried a small can of 
hairspray to use as a fixative. What? He didn’t want his drawings getting 
smudged. 
He drew Melissa’s breasts in with loving detail, right down to the soft nipples 
just visible beneath her tightly-fitted midriff top. She’d clock him for the 
artistic license later, but for the moment, he’d take his chances. Forty-two 
days. Jesus. 
Melissa turned onto her back, ignoring the proper modeling etiquette of holding 
a pose. She knew Sullivan knew her body, and he didn’t need the real thing to go 
by. Shading her eyes with one hand, she looked up at the sky, then grabbed the 
paperback novel she’d brought along with her. A romance, by the looks of the 
cover. 
Sullivan grinned as he drew and Melissa read. She seemed to be getting impatient 
with the pages’ contents. As his sketch drew to a close, she started flipping 
through the pages, hunting down the ones which had been dog-eared from what he 
could tell. As he added the final bit of shading, she tossed the novel aside. 
“Sheesh. Everything fades to black and what they do manage, I’ve already done 
better. Someone should write a story about me.” She waggled her tongue. 
“Dear Penthouse…” 
“Asshole!” Melissa swatted at Sullivan, but all the same she was laughing. “You 
done? Can I take a look?” 
Sullivan shrugged and turned his sketch pad around. “Et voila. What do you 
think?” 
Melissa lay quietly for a moment, studying herself draped like an ingénue in the 
semi-sunlight. “You have a gift, sweetie,” she said quietly. “Never let anyone 
tell you differently.” 
“I’ll try.” Sullivan gave his friend a fond smile. “Do you want this one?” 
“Save it for me. I’ll find a frame next shopping trip out.” 
“You must really like the rendition, then.” 
“Could be a gift for a boyfriend.” 
“Nah. You’re single right now, just like me.” When Melissa remained 

enigmatically silent but grinning, Sullivan pressed, “Aren’t you?” 
“Oh, give a girl a break.” Melissa tucked her hands behind her head and sighed. 
“Yes, I am alone. So utterly alone. Emo, emo, blah, blah, blah. Someday our 
princes will come, Sully. Some sweet day.” 
Prince -- or princess. Sullivan looked around for more things to draw. He didn’t 
spot anything more interesting than a bunch of kids feeding some lake mallards, 
and they didn’t inspire him to artwork. Landscapes were hotel-room art when he 
tried them. Give him flesh. Warm, willing flesh. Flesh that shifted beneath his 
fingertips, muscles quivering at his touch… 
“So, tell me again, what’s the countdown now?” 
Sullivan scowled. “I forget.” 
“No, you don’t.” 
“Don’t make me say it again, Melissa.” 
“Countdown.” 
“Forty-two days, as you well know,” Sullivan grumbled. “Go ahead, rub it in.” 
“I’m lacking the necessary organs,” Melissa said lazily. 
Nah-uh, you’re not. “I don’t get the situation, you know?” Sullivan said, 
tap-tap-

tapping his pencil on his art pad. “I mean, look at my track record.” 
“You’ve been there and done ’em all,” Melissa agreed. “From punk to rockabilly 
to yuppie to beatnik. No sense in being overly selective. You play the field.” 
She aimed a slow smile at him. “Even jumped the fence a time or two.” 
“Or three. It’s not so much what kind of dangly or non-dangly bits a person 
has,” Sullivan explained. “It’s who they are that matters. And selective, no, 
not me. How do you know you only like grape jelly on your toast if you’ve never 
tried peanut butter and honey?” He tapped some more with his pencil, creating a 
staccato rhythm. “But then there was Michael.” 
“Oh, God.” 
“Just one of his angels, or close enough I couldn’t tell the difference.” 
“Until he turned out to be an asshole.” 
“Hey, we were tight up until the end.” 
“Tight in the end, from what I overheard next door every time he came over…” 
“Michael meant a lot to me.” Sullivan sighed. “Not a single ounce of brain in 
his 

big head and way too happy using the smaller one, which was not small at all, 
let me 
tell you.” “So I’ve heard. Over and over again.” Sullivan ignored Melissa and 
let himself wallow in -- no, savor -- the memories. 
“Nothing like an older man, though. One who knows what he’s doing.” “Yeah.” 
Melissa plucked a few blades of grass at random. “Shame he decided 
he’d rather go back to doing it with that Sammy guy. At least, not behind your 
back.” Sullivan pointed at her with the sharp end of his pencil. “Bitch.” 
“That’s me.” She yawned. “Who was it after him? Oh, that’s right. No one.” “For 
forty-two days.” Sullivan went back to tapping his pencil. “I’m about to 
blow, Melissa. Mount Vesuvius is in imminent danger of explosion.” “Chill, 
friend. We could talk about the next issue of ‘On Fire.’ Maybe art will cool 
your blood.” “No, no, no. Art is all about passion, my friend. Sex on canvas. 
Lust on paper. Looking at art is making love with your eyes.” “Damn, you make 
cartoons sound sexy.” 
“I can make anything sound sexy, given the right motivation.” Sullivan leaned 
forward. “For example, the light on your hair right now makes you look like a 
goddess.” 
“Really?” Melissa shook her head. “Halo?” 
“Got it in one.” This is seriously twisted, but I want to go to bed with someone 
I drew. More than that, though, I want to keep our friendship intact. I’m having 
a philosophical conundrum over a person made out of India ink. This is too weird 
even for reality TV. “You are one foxy lady, you know, Melissa?” 
“I so am.” She preened. “Always looking for someone who appreciates me, too. 
Like you should be. It’s been forty-two days since Michael left, and I can still 
smell that weird sandalwood soap he used in your bathroom. He left a bottle of 
hair gel on the windowsill, too.” 
Sullivan shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Couldn’t bear to toss ’em out, though. They’re 
like tangible evidence that once upon a time, someone wanted me enough to leave 
a few things over for when he stayed the night.” 
“Aw, Sully…” 
He made an uncomfortable gesture. “Well, it’s true.” 
“Sweetie, you have to just get back on that bike and keep riding.” 
“I could, if I were just looking for sex, Melissa. I’m not. If all I wanted was 
a hot 

one-night stand, I’d have followed Mr. Courier back there off to his truck and 
made wild monkey love among the stacked-up parcels. Alternatively, I could go to 
a bar any night and order some meat to go for the alley.” 
“Geez, sounds like fun.” 
“Hey, I’m a catch,” Sullivan retorted, stung. “Young, hung, and pretty.” 
“Can’t deny any of the above.” 
“So, you’re saying I could snag a man if I chose.” 
“Going back to my getting back on the bike theory…” 

“So maybe my dress sense is a bit off, and maybe I need reading glasses, but 
hey, they’re Lennon frames, and I keep my hair in this nice, sexy bed-head 
condition. I jog, when I remember to --” 
“And when you’re not holed up being a ‘method artist’ --” Melissa made quote 
signs with her fingers. 
“But even then, there’s a set of weights in the studio, and they don’t exactly 
gather dust.” Sullivan held up an arm to display his muscles. “Not bad for a 
geek, huh?” 
“Sully…” Melissa reached out to touch his ankle, her fingers curling around the 
warm skin. “You’re not a geek, okay? You’re a genius. Hell, even I read your 
daily blog, and I know ‘On Fire’ better than anyone. Now, if you’d write the 
novel I keep telling you to…” 
“Oh, so we’re back on the topic of me writing more than a panel’s worth of words 
again, are we?” 
“All’s I’m saying is you should give the long form a shot.” Melissa wriggled her 
shoulders. “And at the risk of repeating myself, it wouldn’t make you a geek. 
Novelists are hot. Ask anyone.” 
“Stephen King makes you horny?” 
“The man knows how to make pretty words,” Melissa mused. “Also, not afraid of a 
little bump and grind along with his crunch and munch. Yeah, I’d do him. I’d do 
you in a heartbeat, if I thought you’d swing my way, too.” 
Sullivan almost swallowed his tongue. “You’d -- you what?” 
Melissa waved with one hand. “Things would never work out, though. Friendship 
first, right?” She patted Sullivan’s foot. 
Sullivan choked back his disappointment. “So what about Anne Rice?” 
“Ooh. Tough call. She’s got that weird Goth thing going on, but Lestat is 
definitely beddable. Plus, have you ever read the books she wrote under another 
pen name?” Melissa made a ”rrawr” sound and undulated on the blanket in a manner 
fit to make Sullivan gulp. “I wouldn’t go after her, but her characters, 
definitely.” She winked. “Say, why don’t you draw me up a vampire love interest? 
I could go for a 
nibble.” 
“You’re shitting me.” 
“No lie.” Melissa sighed. “I’m getting lonely, Sully. It’s been longer than 
forty-two days for me, and a lady needs someone to keep her company. Well, 
besides her best friend, anyway. You do fine on your own. I need someone between 
the sheets, though, and I don’t mean the funny papers.” 
“Melissa…” 
“But that’s me, hon. My sex train has been derailed for the time being. You, on 
the other hand, have no reason not to keep on traveling. Get laid, and soon, 
before you drive me crazy.” 
“Christ!” 
“What? A little frank talk from The Bitch gets your balls in a knot?” Melissa 
raised herself on her elbow and gave Sullivan a cheeky grin. “We, my dear, are 
going to find you a man. This is a mission of top priority.” 
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” If I can’t have you… 
“Find me someone, then. Anyone who’s not just looking for a fuck and a suck and 
a ‘call you later’ which they don’t mean.” 
“Mmm.” Melissa rolled over onto her stomach, kicking her legs idly. She propped 
her chin on one hand. “Gotta be someone who fits your description around here 
today. Maybe even in the park right now.” 
“Not as far as my eyes can see.” 
“Then you’re just not looking in the right direction. We need to expand your 
scope of vision.” Uh-oh. Melissa had a certain Look in her eyes, one that never 
failed to scare the ever-lovin’ shit out of Sullivan. She was Planning 
Something. 
“Melissa, if you stand up and announce to this park at large that I’m looking 
for something in a tall male, I swear I’ll draw you in a nun’s habit.” 
“No, you wouldn’t.” Melissa wiggled her ass. “You drew me to be a bad girl. But 
seriously, on a day like this in the big city? There’s gotta be lots of gorgeous 
man-meat strutting itself around here.” Her gaze roved and roamed as she flipped 
onto her other 
side. She lifted a hand and pointed. “What about him?” 
“The balding guy by the roses?” 
“No, you doofus. Him. Underneath the maple, right across the way. Lying down. 
Possibly napping. Mattressable, n’est ce pas?” 
Sullivan refused to look. “Melissa…” 
“Lift your head and gaze upon the beauty, baby, ’cause I think you’re gonna like 
what I found. Looks like a prize to me.” Melissa looked over her shoulder at 
Sullivan and licked her lips. “I could just eat him up, myself, but I’ll give 
you first shot. Sully…” she teased. “Come on, just one peek. You know you can’t 
say no to me.” 
Damn him, he couldn’t. Sullivan sighed, laid his sketch pad across his knees, 
and glanced up at the man in question. 
And froze. 
Hair like autumn leaves, long, lean and gorgeous body, wire-framed glasses. The 
man he’d met at the bar, the one who’d haunted his dreams both day and night. 
The man he’d fantasized about when taking himself in hand. Right there. Within 
arm’s reach -- so to speak. 
Still staring, Sullivan reached down to pat Melissa on the shoulder. “Lissa?” 
“Yeah, sweetie?” 
“I love you.” 
She winked. “I know. Now go get ’im, tiger.” 
Chapter Four 
“Not yet, not yet.” Sullivan couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Seriously, the 
guy scored a 10 in the book of hotties, yet he wasn’t what you’d call 
classically attractive at all. No Michelangelo’s David, and not a GQ kind of 
dude, but hot? Sullivan whistled. This guy was smokin’. He’d thought so the 
first time he saw the man, and time had not altered his perception. 
“What you mean, not yet?” Melissa pushed at Sullivan’s knee. “Go, tiger, go!” 
“I have to draw him.” Sullivan flipped his sketch pad back open. “In case I 
screw up the meet, or he’s not gay. I have to have his picture down on paper.” 
He gazed at the man, drinking in every detail. Tall, maybe even a little taller 
than Sullivan himself -- long, strong legs encased in soft khaki Dockers that 
molded to his calves -- God, what calves -- casually crossed at the ankle. 
Shaggy hair the color of autumn leaves. Silver-rimmed glasses. Chiseled jaw, 
great cheekbones. A mouth made for kissing. No telling what sort of chest he 
had, as his button-down hung loose and a teeny bit baggy, but nice and leanly 
muscled would be Sullivan’s guess. Definitely no beer belly. Good, long arms, 
with enough corded bulk in them to get Sullivan’s attention roused with no 
trouble at all. Mmm, he did love a long tall drink of man. 
“Awfully kind of you to point this exquisite specimen of manhood out to me,” 
Sullivan drawled as he began to sketch. “What caught your eye first, the book at 
his side -- Gone With the Wind, unless I miss my guess -- or the utter hotness 
that he personifies?” 
Melissa wrinkled her nose. “Would you believe me if I said ‘the book’?” 
“Nope.” 
“Okay, okay. I noticed the hotness. He is seriously cute, isn’t he?” Melissa 
tilted her head. “If he’s straight, I call dibs.” 
“If he’s straight, I’ll turn him.” Sullivan rubbed out a line with his thumb and 
darkened a shadow in another place. “Or I’ll beg him to pretend. I’m not too 
proud to get on my knees.” 
“That’s for damn sure.” Melissa paused. “Or so I’ve heard.” 
“Through the walls of our apartments,” they finished together. 
“I don’t think he’s straight, though,” Melissa remarked after a moment. “Double 
earrings.” 
“Which means nothing nowadays.” Sullivan kept scribbling. 
“You have doubles.” 
“Yeah, but so do plenty of straight men. Not a valid clue as to his orientation. 
Oh, damn, he moved.” Sullivan’s mouth went dry. “Oh… damn.” The man had drawn 
one leg up, knee in the air, foot on the ground. The visual went straight to his 
cock via his eyes, and he took a brief mental vacation to Fantasyland. 
“Mind out of the gutter. Concentrate on the bigger picture.” 
“Believe me, I am.” 
“Sully, be serious. A guy like this one, he looks like he’d stick to the old 
signals.” Melissa frowned thoughtfully. “He looks kind. Gentle. The kind of man 
you’d like to come home to. Maybe someone who’d help you cook up a nice dinner 
for two before falling into the couch for a little snuggling time before the 
wild orangutan love. Not Mister ‘Oh, I Had a Bad Day And Now I’m A Monster, Oh, 
Baby, Let Me Make It Up To You.’ Ring any Michael-shaped bells?” 
“Thanks for the unwelcome reminders.” Sullivan frowned as he drew the lithe 
length of the man’s arms, loose at his sides, his hands open as if to embrace 
the sun, the day, and the light. Yeah… Michael had had a temper. He’d never hit 
Sullivan, mind, but they’d had a few close calls. Enough to make a guy wonder. 
“I know I’m better off without him. But forty-two days… Jesus.” 
“You are truly one sad wanker.” 
“Not really. I love to love, you know? I don’t feel like I’m whole unless I’ve 
got someone to be all schmaltzy with. To bring a rose home to every now and 
then, cheesy as the notion may sound. To cuddle with, as you say, on the couch. 
To fuck, or to make 
love to.” 
“Mmm. Maybe you’re not so much horny as you are just plain lonely.” 
Sullivan considered Melissa’s words. He nodded slowly. Yeah… lonely fit the 
bill. This man, this tranquil man who reminded him of autumn, looked like the 
kind of man he wanted to have in his life. Gorgeous. Restful. Easy on the eye 
and delicious as maple sugar both in bed and out of it. 
Trouble was, he had no idea how to make the first move. Forty-two days out of 
being romantically involved in any way, shape or form had thrown him a little 
off his stride unless something bold and brash was involved, and he couldn’t see 
himself doing a walk-by cruise of this guy. Sullivan didn’t think he was much 
good at starting things that didn’t involve ink and paper. Even Michael had made 
the first move. 
“Don’t tell me you’re shy.” 
“Fine, I won’t,” Sullivan said absently. He’d almost finished with the drawing, 
working on catching the dreamy, thoughtful look on the man’s face… 
Melissa poked him hard in the leg. “Would it help if I told you I knew who he 
was?” she asked, her face alight with mischief. 
Sullivan decided to be proud of himself and the effort it took not to shout. 
“You what again, now?” 
“I know him.” Melissa waggled her feet. “He’s a librarian at the downtown 
branch. I go there every couple of weeks in search of a romance novel with some 
decent sex. The guy knows his literature, even if he does go for the classics 
instead of the modern genre.” She lowered her voice, teasing Sullivan. “He’s 
British. An expatriate. Has this gorgeous soft, rumblepurr voice. Does story 
hour for the kids. They love him. Hell, I’ve listened in to The Little Engine 
That Could a time or two.” She licked her lips. “Oh, yeah. I could so eat him up 
with a spoon.” 
“And you couldn’t have told me this in the first place?” 
“Nah. It was more fun to watch you get all horny yet sweetly baffled over what 
to do.” 
“A nun’s outfit, I’m not joking. Demon woman.” 
“And proud to be one.” 
Sullivan made a last pencil stroke, and the sketch was done. He’d got that much 
of the guy, at least. But then he was left with tapping his pencil on the sketch 
pad. “So you could… introduce us? You know his name?” 
Melissa nodded. “Jonathan. Jonathan Marsh. He doesn’t mind me calling him by his 
first name.” 
“You call him Jonathan?” Sullivan pounced. “You’ve spoken to him? Like, 
one-on-one? Not as in, ‘here are your books, have a nice day’?” 
“Spoken to him. Conversationally, even. We had coffee in the library café one 
time when all the other tables were full.” She turned thoughtful. “As I recall, 
you were still with Michael at the time, but even then I couldn’t stop saying to 
myself -- there’s the guy for Sullivan.” 
“Thoughts are one thing. He hasn’t seen me yet. Us.” Sullivan’s heartbeat sped 
up. He hoped the racing pulse meant rising excitement and not the impending 
threat of a coronary. A guy this hot and sweet-looking was a prize to be 
carefully won. He had to move with caution and muster up all the charm he had at 
his disposal. “Maybe you could make with the, I don’t know, introductions?” 
“I could.” 
Uh-oh. Sullivan knew the tone of Melissa’s voice all too well. She wanted 
Something. “How much?” he asked, resigned. 
“You give The Bitch a full storyline instead of a moonlight soliloquy. Something 
with a love interest and a nice open ending that could lead to future 
encounters.” 
“You’d seriously be satisfied with a man made of ink and paint?” 
Melissa’s eyes turned sad. “What else am I? I look real, I talk real, and I feel 
real, but you drew me, Sullivan. I’m beginning to think I can only find my match 
on paper. So do this for me, and I’ll get the two of you hooked up.” 
“Melissa, hon, if you’re lonely…” 
“Hey, I can deal.” She held up a hand. “Do we have a bargain or not?” 
Sullivan glanced at Melissa, all lush curves, drooping shoulders, and hopeful 
eyes -- then across at Mr. Autumn, drifting away in the peace of the afternoon. 
“We do.” 
“Done.” Before Sullivan could stop her, much less get an idea of what was on her 
mind, Melissa rolled up to her knees and shouted, “Jonathan! Hey, Jonathan! Long 
time no see, man!” 
Gray eyes snapped open as the man turned his head toward Sullivan and Melissa. 
In the moment it took for him to recognize Melissa, Sullivan was gone. And he’d 
been wrong. Coronary. Only way to explain the shortness of breath, right? Right? 

“Melissa,” Jonathan called back, folding himself up. Was he gonna -- looked like 
he might be -- ohgodohgodohgod -- he was coming over there. “You’ve not been in 
for at least two weeks. Have you been well?” 
“Right as rain, my man.” Melissa sat back on her heels. “Just decided I’d try 
out the new line of racy novellas I found online, is all.” 
“Really? Are they any good?” 
“Some of them? Seriously smokin’.” 
“You’ll have to give me the URL’s.” Jonathan’s grin was loose, warm and easy. 
As he listened, Sullivan prided himself on keeping it casual and not staring as 
Jonathan abandoned his own blanket to walk over with a brisk British stride and 
join them. “May I?” 
“My ratty ground cover es su ratty ground cover, babe.” Melissa patted an empty 
corner of the blanket. “This is my best friend, Sullivan. Sullivan, meet 
Jonathan. Jonathan, Sullivan.” 
“I’ll sit on a root, thanks ever so.” Sullivan couldn’t help noticing, as the 
man grinned, that he had the cutest little laugh lines forming at the corners of 
his eyes. Must be good-natured. 
Jonathan turned toward Sullivan and offered his hand, a gorgeous, long-fingered 
hand. God, but Sullivan loved long fingers. His palm felt dry and cool. 
“Pleasure to meet you,” Sullivan managed, shooting a sideways glare at Melissa. 
This was her idea of being subtle? Then again, you ask a girl with multiple 
piercings and tattoos for an introduction and you’re not likely to get Emily 
Post… 
“Sullivan’s last name is Whitfield,” Melissa chirped. “He’s an artist. You ever 
see the graphic novel collections of ‘On Fire’ come through your library?” 
Sullivan blinked. Bedamned if Jonathan’s gray eyes hadn’t lit up from the 
inside. “Really? You’re that Sullivan Whitfield?” He smiled at Sullivan, wide 
and warm. “I’d no idea you had such a famous friend, Melissa. I’d have asked to 
meet him before.” 
Gulp. 
“You’ve, ah… you’ve read them?” And not recognized Melissa? Sullivan picked at a 
spot on the oak tree’s root. A bit of dirt came off in his hand. “I mean, you 
liked them?” 
“Very much. I have the collected anthologies at home. They’re a bit, well, racy 
for the library, but I try not to miss an issue.” Those gray eyes twinkled, and 
Sullivan fell just a little bit harder, a little bit deeper. This guy? Definite 
keeper. Now, all he had to do was make the right moves. Dear God in Heaven, 
please don’t let me screw this up. ’Cause -- hot. Holy. Damn. 
Jonathan glanced at Sullivan’s sketch pad. “Are you drawing today?” 
Oh, shit. 
“No,” Sullivan said, at the same moment Melissa piped up with, “Yes.” 
“Nothing important,” Sullivan prevaricated, tucking the sketchbook under his 
folded arms, in his lap. “Just a bunch of doodles.” 
“All the same, may I see?” Jonathan ventured, looking hopeful. “I really am an 
awfully big fan of yours.” 
Sullivan mentally scrambled. There was no way he could let Jonathan take a look 
at the picture of himself, because the more he thought about the sketch, the 
more he realized he’d been dreaming subconsciously about fucking the subject 
while he drew. The picture was wank material, not art. He couldn’t let a bit of 
inappropriate lust be Jonathan’s first impression of him. 
What about appropriate lust, then? “I did this sketch of Melissa a few minutes 
ago,” he offered, flipping back a page. “Here. What do you think?” 
“May I?” Jonathan took the sketch pad carefully and stroked the carefully drawn 
lines with reverent fingers. “Melissa, you truly are a lovely woman, but he’s 
rendered you as a goddess.” 
Sullivan winked at his friend. “See? Told you.” 
“This is extraordinary. Look at the way you’ve captured light and shadow. And 
are those new piercings, Melissa? Turn your head toward me and let’s have a 
look.” Melissa posed proudly, and Jonathan nodded in approval. “I like them. 
Definitely not a style every girl could carry off, but those accent your 
dimples.” 
And you’ll see them in the next issue of “On Fire.” I can’t believe you don’t 
recognize this woman. 
“Do you have any others?” Jonathan asked, fingers hesitating over the edge of 
the page. “Ones I could look at?” 
“I, uh, I --” Sullivan started to fluster. “Not really.” 
“Nah.” Melissa shook her head. “But he has plenty at his studio. You could 
always go home with Sullivan to take a look at his etchings.” 
Gray eyes fixed on Sullivan’s. “As a matter of fact… I’d like that.” 
Hommina, hommina, hommina… 
And to make him even cuter, Jonathan blushed a faint pink before he asked, “I 
know this is forward of me, and really, I’ve no idea if you’re inclined this way 
-- you are awfully private about your personal life in your bios and blog -- but 
would you happen to have any plans for dinner tonight?” 
Geez, let me think. “I was planning on Ramen a’la microwave, but even if I’d had 
duck l’orange waiting courtesy of my publisher, I’d take you up on the offer.” 
Jonathan blushed a little deeper, and Sullivan fell a little further. Jonathan 
was hard in all the right places, but soft and sweet, peaceful and patient, shy 
and gentle. Sullivan did more than lust after the man. 
He liked Jonathan. 
Sullivan’s cock liked Jonathan, too. Maybe a little too much. Down, boy! 
Sullivan thanked his lucky stars he was wearing his loose jeans. “Dinner at my 
place?” he offered. “I’ve got all those etchings, after all.” 
Jonathan smiled at Sullivan again. “Shall we meet somewhere first?” 
“You name it.” Sullivan flinched. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Shit.” 
Jonathan started to backpedal. “I’m sorry. I’ve pushed you.” 
“No, it’s not that at all.” Sullivan ran his fingers through his hair, snarling 
in a 

tangle. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’m broke. I put all my advances 
and royalties into investments and the stock market, and I leave myself enough 
to buy rent, food, paper, ink, all that stuff. I’m sort of low on the ready, it 
being this near to the end of the month.” 
He hoped he didn’t look as hangdog as he felt. God, someone like Jonathan 
deserved a dinner at the best restaurant in town. With luck, Sullivan could only 
hope to whip up a portion of canned pasta in alarmingly orange sauce and serve 
it on ceramic. 
“Trust me… no.” Without thinking, Sullivan’s hand came out, bypassing any 
consultation with his brain, and caught Jonathan by one slim wrist. “This isn’t 
a brushoff.” 
The warmth returned to Jonathan’s eyes. “It’s all right, Sullivan.” 
“Call him Sully,” Melissa chipped in. 
“May I? Sully? Or do you prefer Sullivan?” 
“Either is fine,” Sullivan answered truthfully. Both sounded great in that warm, 


crisp accent. Listening to Jonathan talk was like biting into a harvest apple -- 
rich, 
delicious, and sweet. “Do you go by Jon?” “Not if I can possibly help it.” Oh, 
now they were laughing, and that was good, right? Sullivan realized he still 
hadn’t given Jonathan’s wrist back, but rather than letting him go, took a 
snugger hold. A peek at Jonathan’s face told him this was the right maneuver. 
“And I don’t mind if you’ve no fine dining on the menu. I’m a librarian, 
Sullivan. I’m not exactly rich. What would you say to some microwaved popcorn 
with, perhaps, a movie? I’m quite good with the extra butter flavor, or so I’m 
told.” 
Slippery. Sweet. And cozy. A first date, but Sullivan was good with cozy. A 
movie, likely watched from the comfort of his loveseat. Popcorn in one bowl, so 
their fingers could dip in at the same time and touch. The possibility of 
buttery kisses. Sullivan looked at Jonathan -- really looked at him -- and could 
tell the man wanted this. Really wanted a night with the artist in person. Not 
because of what he did, but because of who he was. Sullivan, a decent guy, and a 
possible love interest. 
So, yeah. He would gladly do cozy. 
“Etchings,” Melissa stage-whispered. 
Sullivan shifted uncomfortably. “I do have a lot of art displayed around the 
place. A studio apartment. Pieces I made when I was back in my oils and canvas 
stage, before I moved on to the graphic novel phase.” 
“I’d hardly call your success a phase, but please don’t think I’m interested in 
you for the sole reason of ‘On Fire.’ Coming over to look at your art and share 
an evening sounds lovely.” 
Sounded like he really meant the words. 
“So, it’s on the corner of Spiritchurch and Pine. The red brick building with 
the ironwork balconies. We both live there -- Melissa and I. Not in the same 
apartment or anything, though,” Sullivan hastened. “We’re neighbors.” 
“As well as friends.” 
Jonathan looked as if he approved. Sullivan decided he liked the expression on 
Jonathan’s face. 
“So, could you be there around, say, eight-thirty?” 
“I can and will. And now it will be… oh, drat.” He checked his watch. “My lunch 
hour’s nearly over, and I’ve got to get back to the library. Until tonight?” 
“Until tonight,” Sullivan said -- and then, figuring the hell with it, leaned 
across to brush a kiss over Jonathan’s tempting lips. “Promises to keep,” he 
whispered, pulling away. 
Jonathan’s eyes glowed. “I’ll hold you to those,” he said, standing up. 
“Melissa, it was a pleasure. We’ll have to have coffee again soon.” 
To give her fair credit, Melissa waited until Jonathan was out of earshot before 
she started laughing fit to kill, poking Sullivan like a spring gone wild. “Told 
you! This guy’s made for one man, and that lucky asshole is one Sullivan 
Whitfield. But I warn you, if you’re loud enough to hear across the hallway and 
I’m kept up by the sounds of ‘oh, God, Jonathan’ and ‘Sully, Sully, Sullivan!,’ 
you owe me more than one storyline. I want my own mini-novel.” 
“Graphic or prose?” Sullivan asked suspiciously -- mostly because he hoped he’d 
be paying up. 
“I’ll go easy on you. Graphic. But with lots of prose. Get all Shakespeare on my 
ass, and let me be a lady for once, okay, sweetie?” 
“You? You’re never a lady.” Sullivan slid down onto Melissa’s blanket and kissed 
her forehead. “But as to the bet, I should be so lucky as to win.” 
He stared after the gorgeous man’s back, and yes, because he was shallow, 
Jonathan’s really shapely ass. 
Melissa touched Sullivan’s arm, growing serious. “Sully, listen to me, OK? All 
kidding aside, a guy like Jonathan is shy, but you can read him. He’s 
interested. Really interested. More, he’s a keeper. You listen to Sister 
Melissa, now.” She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Treat him like a prince, fuck 
him like he’s a god, and you might be in some green pastures here, my friend.” 
Sullivan felt warm, both inside and out. Happy. The itch and ache which had 
plagued him for forty-two days were both gone. 
“What do you know,” he murmured. “Thanks, Douglas Adams. It really is the answer 
to life, the universe, and everything.” 
Chapter Five 
The warm light of the summer sunshine and the gentle breeze worked their unique 
brand of magic on the typical male, and Sullivan fell asleep after a few more 
passes of idle conversation. 
Bet he’s dreaming about Jonathan, Melissa thought as she watched her friend. 
Melissa didn’t consider herself to be an introspective type. By nature, she was 
“The Bitch” -- the voice for strong women everywhere. Less navel-gazing, more 
ball-busting. When it came to Sullivan, though, she had a weak spot, and every 
now and then she took the opportunity to study the man, her creator, and wonder 
about the deeper questions. 
Where did I come from? 
Where will I be when he’s gone? 
Do I stay young forever while he gets old? 
What happens when he finds someone he likes better than me? 
What kind of freak has a cartoon for a best friend, anyway?

Melissa sighed. “Sully, you’re about to drop your sketch pad,” she murmured, 
reaching up to grab the book out of his drooping hands. “I know how much you 
hate getting mud and crap all over your work. You did some fine drawing today, 
sweetie.” 
She turned to the picture of Jonathan, studying his fine English features and 
the way Sullivan had captured the warmth in his smile and eyes. Grinning as she 
recognized the lush style which meant Sully had other things on his mind besides 
getting the subject down on paper. 
Then, even though she knew she shouldn’t, Melissa turned back to the drawing of 
herself. It felt odd to be looking at a rendition of a living cartoon, like 
holding two mirrors up side to side and watching the reflections go on forever. 
This Melissa wasn’t alive because she hadn’t been born on Sully’s enchanted 
drawing board. 
What if she had been, though? I think, therefore I am. She’d sprung into 
existence with all the knowledge of her character, and what she hadn’t been 
”born” with she’d learned. Some of -- okay, most of it -- the hard way. Life had 
plenty of hard knocks to hand out, and she’d taken her share of punches 
integrating herself as an honest-to-God human being. 
One of which would be knowing her best friend, the man she wanted more than 
anything, looked at other men and saw beddable material. He looked at Melissa 
and saw buddy. 
Wistful, Melissa traced the lines of her drawing with one finger. Sully really 
had gotten her down to a T. More of a portrait than a simple cartoon. A 
reflection of life itself. Sexy life, if she did say so herself. Melissa wiggled 
her ass playfully as she touched her penciled breasts, hips, and thighs. She 
tickled her own feet and giggled. 
Sully had drawn her in the same lush style, but what the hell? Devotion to art. 
Melissa knew better than to settle in on a long wait for a train that wasn’t 
coming. More, she wanted the best for her Sully. She wanted him to be happy. 
So, she’d found him Jonathan. Sully could never achieve real contentment with 
anyone he’d drawn, much less someone just mattressable. Melissa had looked high 
and low for the right man, and come across him all unaware when checking out a 
book. One look, though, and one listen, and she’d known -- this was Sully’s man. 

And if she couldn’t be Sully’s queen, she wanted her sweetie to have a prince. 
Melissa turned back to the drawing of Jonathan and studied the lines again. Oh, 
yeah. Sully had fallen hard and fast. Jonathan, too, if the normally reserved 
librarian had taken a kiss in broad daylight without so much as a blush or a 
stammer. Invited himself over for dinner, too, no less. 
Shifting back and forth between the drawing and her sleeping friend, Melissa 
thought about what the two of them would likely be doing that night while she 
sat curled up on her futon, reading something spicy on her PDA. Maybe they’d 
just snuggle on the sofa. Jonathan was definitely willing to do that much at 
least, and who couldn’t use a good cuddle? 
Melissa figured Jonathan to be about as lonely as Sully. Sure, her sweetie hid 
the emptiness well under his jokes and his new trip about forty-two days, but he 
had a hole inside which could only be filled by another person -- a matching 
puzzle piece. From what she’d seen in Jonathan and Sully’s eyes, they’d found 
something they recognized 
-the need for someone to hold. Or more. Melissa’s smile turned wicked as she 
upped the heat on her personal vision of 
how the night would go down. Sully would turn the lights down low, and sit by 
Jonathan’s side, way too close to pretend at being casual. Invade Jonathan’s 
space in the way a man had which said, I want you, and I’m going to try and 
catch you. 
He’d take off Jonathan’s glasses and set them aside. Jonathan would look at 
Sully, his gray eyes full of questions, and Sully would grin at him, knowing all 
the answers. Even if her sweetie were a little nervous, he’d be taking the 
initiative. Mmm. Maybe he’d put his hand on Jonathan’s thigh, gently massaging 
his muscles. 
Melissa could just feel the hardness under her own hand. She flexed her fingers 
and closed her eyes, losing herself in the fantasy. 
Sully would lean over and touch Jonathan’s lips with his own. He’d let the 
moment linger, nice and slow. Maybe he’d let his tongue probe across the seam of 
Jonathan’s lips until they opened for him, letting Sully in. Melissa would bet 
Jonathan was a good kisser. He just had a look to him, and the fullness of his 
lips promised naughty goodness. A mouth made for loving, the way it curved in a 
smile which could get any man to come-hither in a heartbeat. 
They’d keep on kissing, lips roaming over lips, until Sully left Jonathan’s 
mouth and roved down his throat, his neck, and slowly undo the buttons on his 
shirt until he found a smoothly muscled chest to nuzzle. He’d suckle on the 
nipples like sweet blackberries to see how sensitive they were. Melissa bet 
Jonathan would react like wildfire. 
Things would be moving fast by then, probably way too fast, but Melissa knew how 
hard Sully would be. She opened and closed her hand, imagining she held the 
length of his cock. She had a good imagination. Her pussy began to grow wet. She 
wiggled, rubbing her legs together. 
Keep it together, girl. You’re in a public park. 
Didn’t mean she couldn’t keep on enjoying her little mental play-by-play, 
though. Melissa sighed, focusing on the pretty, pretty pictures her mind 
obligingly brought up for her viewing pleasure. Now, where was she? Oh, yeah… 
nipples. Flat male nipples, the kind that fascinated a lady. And moving beyond 
them onto better, definitely bigger things. 
Jonathan’s breath would be coming in fast jerks, and Sully would be right there 
with him. They’d be making those male noises, soft grunts and groans, maybe some 
soft cries of “Oh, God, yes.” They’d be able to tell they wanted each other with 
no need to wait, never mind only meeting hours before. 
Sully would take Jonathan’s cool, dry hand in his own and lay it over the bulge 
in his jeans, and he’d put his own hand on the hard swelling of Jonathan’s cock. 
There’d be a patch of dampness where Jonathan’s prick was already weeping for 
Sully’s touch, desperate for the feel of skin on skin. 
It would be Sully who’d make the next move. He always did have a bold touch. 
God, to feel those artist’s hands on her own cunt, drawing the lines with his 
fingers instead of pencil and ink… but no. Melissa dragged herself back to the 
vision of two men together. No girls allowed, and definitely not one who 
technically didn’t exist and might as well not even be alive as far as those two 
would be concerned. 
Sully would draw down the zipper of Jonathan’s jeans and slip his fingers 
beneath the man’s boxers. Melissa liked boxers on men. Maybe fitted Jockey 
shorts. Either, or, both were good by her. She caught her breath, almost able to 
feel the full, heavy weight of Jonathan’s cock in her palm. 
No turning back then. Sully would whisper into Jonathan’s ear, nipping at the 
lobe, suggesting they move things over to the bed. 
Melissa wasn’t sure what would happen next, but she was having the time of her 
chosen life dreaming about the magic moment. Could be they’d make out like a 
couple of randy teenagers, dive-bombing the bed in their hurry to get at one 
another’s bodies, Sully dragging Jonathan over himself and rubbing up against 
the man, still in their clothes, but with dick pressed against dick. Both 
moaning, combing fingers through one another’s hair, the sweet friction enough 
to drive them crazy. 
Or, even better, they’d take the time to strip off one another’s clothes. 
Melissa moaned softly to herself as she pictured Sully taking off his T-shirt, 
the muscles of his chest gleaming with a light sheen of sweat matching 
Jonathan’s own when the last of the buttons came open and his own shirt fell 
off. Jeans would disappear as if by magic, boxers would be wriggled out of, and 
they’d lie naked for a moment, frozen in the wonder of feeling each other so 
intimately. 
Then --then -- they’d get raunchy. Back to hot, wet, deep kissing full of groans 
and prayers, begging each other for more, more, more. Jonathan would tear away 
and start to roll onto his stomach, his ass eager for the feel of Sully’s cock 
filling it, but no, Sully would press him firmly down on his back. Sully would 
want face-to-face, to see who he was fucking -- no -- making love to. 
There’d be lube close at hand, the self-warming cinnamon-scented kind. Melissa 
had smelled it before when Michael, might he go to hell, had spent the night. 
Sully would open the container and spread some over his fingers. Fingers would 
slide down Jonathan’s full balls, stroking and caressing, across the strip of 
skin beneath, and down to the tight pucker in his ass. 
Sully would be desperate by then, barely holding himself together. He’d dip down 
and suck Jonathan’s cock into his mouth, tasting the saltiness unique to men. 
Melissa had given a few blow jobs in her day, and she knew how good the weight 
and taste could be. Jonathan would be sweet, as if he drank a lot of pineapple 
juice, musky and salty. Tart on the tongue. Sully would moan around his mouthful 
while Jonathan dug his fists into the covers, crying out Sully’s name. 
Right around then, thanks to the thin walls, Melissa would abandon her spicy 
story and spread her own legs, fingering her eager clit with smooth, circular 
motions. She’d dip her fingers into her hungry pussy and then bring them to her 
mouth, tasting her own unique female flavor, wishing she were sandwiched between 
the two men. 
No. Focus. 
Melissa knew Sully would take the time to find a condom and tear it open with 
fingers that fumbled and shook with impatience. He’d do everything right -- her 
sweetie could not lay a finger wrong. And fingers, oh, yeah, the fingers would 
come back to Jonathan’s ass, probing inside his tight little pucker. Stretching 
him with one, then two, then three, listening to him beg and moan, wanting Sully 
inside him more than life or breath. 
Still careful, still going slow, Sully would poise his cock at Jonathan’s 
entrance with one hand and reach up to grasp fingers with the other. He’d push 
inside, ever so gentle, while Jonathan started to babble words running into one 
another, riding the crest of a sexual high. Sully wouldn’t stop until he was 
seated to the root, their balls resting together. 
Then, he’d stop, touch Jonathan’s face, and they’d share one more sweet kiss. 
And next, oh, next, they’d start fucking in earnest. Thrusts hard enough to bump 
the bed against the wall. Calling out each other’s names, not caring who heard. 
Melissa would have three fingers in her own sopping cunt by then, her face 
contorted with the orgasm of her life coming on. 
Sully would come, shouting out words which meant nothing at all, and Melissa 
would ride the wave with him, pussy clenching around her fingers, gasping for 
breath and never, never, never wanting the feeling to stop… 
Oh, God, I’m wet. If only I could be there with them. Sully buried in my pussy 
and Jonathan deep in my ass, two sets of strong male hands gripping my breasts. 
We’d come in a shuddering rush, surprising ourselves with the power of our 
joining. 
And we’d know, really know, we’d found something good. Something which would 
last forever… 
Melissa dragged herself back to reality and stared at her sleeping friend. “You 
don’t have any clue what a good time you’re in for, do you?” she whispered, not 
wanting to wake him. “I can’t work magic, even though it’s the means by which I 
exist. But what I’ve just dreamed, I wish for you, this very night. Even if I 
can’t be a part of the fun, I want you to wring every drop of joy out of your 
first time with Jonathan.” 
She dabbed at her eye. Damn it, her kohl was running. All the same, she went on. 

“I want you to feel the sure certainty that you’ve got someone who’ll be around 
for life. Someone you’ll grow old with.” Melissa swallowed. “A guy who’ll be 
with you long after I’m gone. Because I’ll move on, you know? I love you to 
pieces, sweetie, but I can’t be there, watching you so much in love and not eat 
myself up with envy. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and sometimes 
that means letting your heart break.” 
Gazing up at Sully, Melissa patted his foot with one hand, the one he’d inked 
her first tattoo on. Some things a women never forgot. He’d been the man to mark 
her, and she belonged to him, even if he’d never know. 
“You rest well, sweetie,” Melissa said quietly. “Tonight’s gonna be the best 
ever. Just you wait and see.” 
Chapter Six 
It never ceased to amaze Jonathan, the mental image that most people had about 
librarians. They pictured his breed to be made of up of women who had reached “a 
certain age,” their graying hair wound in tight buns and a pair of rimless 
spectacles worn on a chain around their necks. They were meant to stay firmly 
put behind a solid wooden desk all day long, ink pad and stamper at the ready. 
Checking books in and out with a narrow, disapproving scorn for anyone with the 
gall to want a volume from their stacks. 
Of course, they’d go home at night to cold and narrow beds, never having been 
married or having involved themselves with the rougher half of their species 
called “men.” Perhaps a dinner of tuna shared with a cat would be the highlight 
of their evening. They were less women than they were constructs of catalog 
cards. 
These days nothing could be further from the truth. There were a few of the old 
breed left, to be sure, but recent years had seen a massive turnover in staff as 
the retirees moved out and the young, newly trained moved in with their 
computers. 
Jonathan was one of them, with a master’s degree hung securely on the wall in 
his tiny office. He ranked higher than a cubicle, and at times like these, when 
he could barely conceal the fact that one Sullivan Whitfield had aroused him 
beyond bearing, he found himself deeply grateful for the luxury. 
Granted, he’d earned the additional privilege of a mostly undisturbed office 
space by being a constant source of bafflement to those around him. Women 
complained that Jonathan was “cute.” but “far too shy.” Men thought him “way too 
pretty” -- for good or for ill -- and again “too shy to be any fun.” They’d no 
concept of British reserve! 
As for how he saw himself? Jonathan had never quite gotten a handle on any 
self-construct. He could break himself down into categories. English, tall, 
young, intelligent, calm, bisexual -- but what did those terms really make of 
him? He wondered if it was this lack of knowing who he really was which had 
always kept him from forming any lasting attachments. 
He’d had dates, oh, yes -- few and far between. No one had ever turned him on as 
much as Sullivan did with one single kiss, and a grasp of his strong, artist’s 
fingers. 
Sully… Jonathan hummed to himself, caressing the word inside his mind. He’d had 
his eye on Melissa, finding her vaguely familiar in a way that comforted him, 
but when she introduced him to her friend, he’d fallen hard and fast. 
The idea frightened him a little. 
He’d never been in love, but he’d always longed to give romance a whirl. To find 
someone who enjoyed him for himself, not what they imagined him to be. Could it 
be he’d found it -- with Sully? Was there such a thing as love at first sight? 
Lust at first sight, he had the proof of, pressed hard against his belly. And to 
think he hadn’t planned on going to the park during his lunch hour. He’d meant 
to visit a bistro down the street and have a bowl of their homemade soup, 
possibly flicking through a newspaper hunting for cartoons. But the day… so 
beautiful… he’d been lured into turning left instead of right, and then he’d 
found such a lovely tree to lie under. Resting had felt wonderful in the middle 
of his hectic day. 
He’d watched the lake, letting the peace of the water sink into his soul. 
Gradually, though, ever so gradually, he’d become aware he was being watched. 
Not with hostile intent, but with warmth. Appreciation. Such a degree of the 
emotion he didn’t dare turn his head to see who was looking, lest he break the 
spell. 
Then, ah, then Melissa had called to him, and the moment had snapped into 
something even better. He’d looked at her with fond affection, then found his 
eyes drawn to her friend, and seen in the man all the heat and light he’d felt 
dancing over his skin moments before. 
Sully… 
To find out Melissa knew Sullivan Whitfield! He’d known the man was native to 
their city, but definitely not within his sphere of influence. A graphic artist 
on a meteoric rise to fame and fortune with his racy graphic novels written with 
all the dry wit of Oscar Wilde. A man envied and wanted by many, who’d been 
watching him. Wanting him. 
Where Jonathan had gotten the courage to ask Sullivan out he still had no idea. 
He’d never been so bold. He’d only felt a sort of desperation, as if should he 
miss this chance, he’d never get another one. Lady Luck had shined down on him, 
and now he had plans to go to the man’s studio in less than half a day! His 
heart thumped more quickly, rat-a-tat-tat, and his cock pulsed in rhythm with 
it. Dear God, he wanted Sullivan. 
A delicious shiver ran down his spine. What had Sullivan been drawing, that he 
wouldn’t show Jonathan the picture? Those eyes on him… had Sullivan found 
Jonathan attractive enough to sketch? The tiny blush he’d shown made Jonathan 
think perhaps he had. He closed his eyes and savored the thought, the muscles in 
his lower belly aching with a long, slow burn of pleasure. 
He’d never been drawn before. Would the picture be racy, risqué, perhaps show 
him in the nude? 
The world faded away as Jonathan imagined being drawn again by Sullivan’s long, 
nimble fingers. Perhaps tonight, at the man’s studio. Sullivan would undress 
him, slowly and gently -- not at all like an inconsiderate lover, all hurry and 
condoms, whiskey-scented breath and clumsy fingers -- but like a man who was 
sitting down to a gourmet dish. 
Yes… Sullivan would strip Jonathan bare, with lingering caresses over each inch 
of skin as it was revealed. Dropping kisses here and there, flicking his tongue 
out to taste nipples and navel. And would he… yes, dear God, yes, he’d run 
light, reverent fingers over the head of Jonathan’s dick, full and aching for 
want of Sullivan’s touch. 
A gentle squeeze promising better things to come. Being posed on a bed or a 
couch, knees raised and legs parted, watching Sullivan as he bent over his 
sketch pad and feeling the man’s hot, hot gaze scorching him… 
“Jonathan! Hey, Jonathan!” 
Jonathan jumped and gasped, quickly falling down in his desk chair and whipping 
an open periodical over his lap to cover his starkly outlined erection. One of 
his associates -- Thomas? -- peered curiously through the crack of Jonathan’s 
door. “We could use some help at the checkout terminals. I don’t know where the 
crowd is coming from, but we’re swamped.” 
“Yes -- yes, of course. I’ll be right there. I just need to finish --” Jonathan 
gestured to his lap covering, which, thank God, happened to be a catalog he’d 
been making book selections from earlier for updating the shelves. 
Thomas shrugged. “No big, man. But don’t take too long, ’kay?” 
“I shan’t,” Jonathan reassured. 
The word got him a raised eyebrow, but Thomas gave Jonathan’s doorway a pat and 
without any awkward questions, he was gone. Jonathan breathed out a sigh of 
relief. Good God, if he’d gone much further with his fantasy over Sullivan he’d 
have embarrassed himself right on time with Thomas’ interruption. Probably come 
right in his pants like a horny teenager with sex choking his brain. 
Speaking of which, Jonathan’s prick was pounding in time with his pulse, and he 
could feel that his fitted shorts had grown a damp spot. Keeping his breath 
under control was beginning to be a difficulty. God, he ached to take the edge 
off. Did he dare…? 
They needed him at the checkout. He’d have to go. But, God, he couldn’t -- not 
yet -- he had to --
Oh, the hell with this! Stealthily, Jonathan shut his door -- a violation of 
policy, so he prayed that please, please, please, no one would notice -- stood 
up and leaned his back against the faux wood veneer -- and unzipped his loose 
khaki Dockers to pull his cock out into his hand. 
He exhaled raggedly for sheer relief, every nerve ending alive, making him 
hyperaware of the weight of his prick, and the tightly drawn-back foreskin. His 
balls felt full and heavy, drawn up tight against his body. Definitely past the 
point of any return. 
In for a penny… 
Deliberately, ferociously, he began to think about Sullivan and what might 
happen after the sketch he’d been dreaming of. What if Sullivan put down his pad 
of paper… approached Jonathan… went down on his knees… slipped warm hands up his 
thighs… slid a heated mouth around his member… oh, God! 
Jonathan pumped himself hard -- once, twice, three times -- gave a violent 
shudder which rattled the door -- and came, spilling thick, hot liquid into his 
palm. Struggling to control his breathing, not to pant, he let the seed drip 
between his fingers onto the linoleum, wishing he were decorating Sullivan’s 
skin with the creamy stripes. 
Oh, no, there had been no way to stop himself from having his bit of fun. This 
had been inevitable since the park. He imagined Melissa standing behind him, 
patting him on the shoulder, saying, “Yeah, I get you, sweetie. He’s something, 
isn’t he? I told you you’d like my friend.” 
Oddly enough, it didn’t seem strange to picture the tattooed young punk there at 
that moment. For a brief second, Jonathan had a flash of Melissa going down on 
her own knees, her warm, wet mouth surrounding his cock and licking him clean. 
A sharper, more vivid mental flash came of spreading the woman out on his desk 
and diving face-first into her pussy, dripping wet and intoxicating, startled 
Jonathan into letting go of his cock. 
What was wrong with him? He preferred monogamy. Lust after one or the other, not 
both, he told himself sternly. It’d been his plans to talk to Melissa over 
another cup of coffee, but Sullivan had been the one to make the bolder move. 
So, with a small sigh of regret, he put away the picture of Melissa laid wide 
open for him, cupping and rolling her full breasts, moaning with pleasure, and… 
stop it, man! 
Shakily, when Jonathan felt his legs would bear his weight again, he moved 
toward his desk and grabbed up a handful of tissues. He wiped himself clean and 
tucked his cock away, then went to work on the floor. He’d have a hell of a time 
explaining come on the library’s linoleum, wouldn’t he? 
This had been nice, oh yes. The upcoming night would be far, far better. He’d go 
over to Sullivan’s, presumably to watch a movie and talk about art. Would the 
studio be dark and shadowy, or brightly lit? Dark, he hoped. Would Sullivan have 
a loveseat, a couch, or two friendly arm chairs? 
Dear Lord, Jonathan hoped for a couch, one bowl of popcorn, their arms and hands 
and thighs touching. He let himself dream of turning to Sullivan, both of them 
forgetting everything else for a kiss, a grope, a good hard handful of man, the 
touch of lips on lips and mouths on skin… 
He wanted Sullivan as he’d never wanted any other man. Only Melissa had ever 
been able to rouse his passions to such a point, but there again, Sullivan had 
been the bolder of the two. And that night, he’d have him. 
There was no mirror in Jonathan’s office, but he thought he was back to his 
normal self. Not too mussed, too flushed, and no longer hard. Presentable. Ready 
to work. Calm as he ever had been. 
For a moment. 
Then, Sullivan’s face flashed through Jonathan’s mind once again, and Jonathan 
shuddered with pure need. If for once in his life a wish could come true, it’d 
be this one -- that the dark-haired artist would fancy him, truly, and make 
their first date one to remember. That they’d be waking up the next morning 
tangled in one another’s arms. 
It wasn’t too much for a humble librarian to ask. Was it? 
Chapter Seven 
“What time is it?” 
Melissa checked the watch dangling on a chain around her neck. “About 
five-thirty, and the sun is getting long over the yard-arm, or whatever the hell 
they say. Time to pack it up and head home.” 
Sullivan stood up, stretched and yawned, then winced. “Did I get sunburned? Oh, 
God, please tell me I’m not all pink and crackly.” 
“Nah. You’re just a little more evenly browned. Toasty is a good look on you. 
Besides, you were shaded for most of the day. No worries.” Melissa stood, 
folding her blanket under one arm. “Gotta be getting home, Sully. Time to 
prepare for the big date tonight.” 
“Date. Holy mother, a date.” Sullivan grabbed Melissa’s arm excitedly. “Fortytwo 
days and the streak has ended.” 
“With a home run, no less.” 
“You’re telling me. Mmm, man.” Sullivan half-closed his eyes and swayed. “Have 
you ever seen anything so fine come this way before?” 
Melissa glanced sideways at Sullivan. “From time to time,” she answered 
noncommittally. 
“Well, I haven’t. He’s got balls, too. Inviting himself over? Oh, I like this. 
Initiative is a good, good thing in a man.” Sullivan rubbed his hands together. 
“I have a date. Tonight. With a man who sounds like brandy wine, looks like 
autumn, and has the best hands I’ve ever seen.” 
“Outside of your own?” 
“Bar none, Melissa. I have to draw his hands doing -- everything. Holding a 
glass filled with red wine. Peeling an apple. Wrapping them around my…” He 
stopped and blushed. “Sorry. TMI, I know.” 
“I don’t mind.” Melissa wrinkled her nose cutely at Sullivan. He grinned back at 
his friend, patting her on the back. “Besides,” she went on, “it’s not like I 
won’t have a front-row ticket.” At his shocked look she added, “Thin walls, 
remember?” Her grin turned mischievous. “You two keep things down to a dull 
roar, or I’m selling tickets.” 
Sullivan felt his cheeks heat. “This is a first date, Lissa. I’m not sure 
anything’s gonna happen other than maybe a little snuggling.” 
“Ah, bull. A man can hope, can’t he?” 
“Yeah, but I have to watch that kind of thinking. Don’t want to get my hopes 
up.” 
“You’re still hoping all your dreams come true, though, right?” Melissa nudged 
him. 
“Oh, mama, am I ever. I am one giant walking strand of testosterone right now. 
Whoo!” Sullivan bounced. “A date, with a truly fine man, in my studio tonight -- 
oh, shit, Melissa, shit! The studio!” Sullivan didn’t know what kind of shape it 
was in, but he did know he’d been forgetting to sweep, dust, pick up after 
himself and throw away the trash for, oh, right around forty-two days, since 
Michael left. 
Melissa took Sullivan’s hand. “Yeah, I wondered when that little bit of 
knowledge was going to sink in.” 
“He can’t come over with the place looking like it’s been subject to a police 
raid.” Not that Sullivan could remember exactly what his home looked like. He 
dimly recalled vast piles of clutter over every available surface, and his 
drawing board with graphics spread all over it… “Fuck, Melissa, the other guys! 
What if someone pops his head up tonight and wants to know who’s knocking 
boots?” 
“So you are hoping to get some sweet action between the sheets,” she pounced. “I 
win!” 
“We didn’t make a bet.” 
“I still win. And I don’t blame you. With a catch like Jonathan, you’d be crazy 
not to thump him over the head and drag him off to bed.” Melissa squeezed 
Sullivan’s fingers. “And you’d have to tell him about the table plus the rest of 
our wacky crew sometime, you know -- if you wanted this to last, that is.” 
“I do. God, yes, I do. But not on a first date, Melissa! I want him to fall into 
my arms, not run screaming for the hills.” 
“Calm down, sweetie! Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go back into the 
pages myself tonight. Keep the masses entertained with campfire stories until 
you give me the all-clear in the morning.” 
“You’d do that for me?” Sullivan grabbed Melissa’s face with his free hand and 
planted a hard kiss on her forehead. “You? You are an angel, my friend!” 
“Yeah, yeah. Paint a halo and wings on me, take away the tattoos and piercings, 
and I’m a candidate for sainthood.” She winked. “So, we have a lot of work to 
do, huh?” 
“Say what again?” 
Melissa thwapped Sullivan on the back of the head. “Cleaning up your studio, 
dummy. That is, if you want it in decently habitable condition for the big 
d-a-t-e tonight.” 
“Son of a -- five-thirty. We’re never going to get done in time.” 
“Ease up, sweetie. We’ll fix things.” 
“Fix them? They are unfixable.” Sullivan dragged a hand through his hair. 
Full-on panic mode. Jonathan looked so neat and tidy, clean enough to eat off… 
ooh, eating off Jonathan. Gooood thought. He’d save the notion for later. When 
he’d stopped having an attack of nerves. “Melissa, we can’t manage everything in 
time, can we?” 
“Sullivan!” Melissa yanked him out of his daze with a sharp tug to the hand. “I 
can almost hear you screaming inside your head. Relax! Yeah, your place isn’t 
really fit for winos right now, but we can deal, ’kay? Scout’s honor.” 
Sullivan slowed down long enough to grin. “You were never in the scouts. Too 
much of a wild child.” 
“You don’t know everything about me.” Melissa raised an eyebrow. “I could have a 
whole rack of badges pinned to my wall.” 
“They hand them out for extreme ass-kicking skills?” 
“Big, shiny ones.” Melissa squeezed again. “Look, I’m not just a pretty face, 
you know. I’m a woman who knows how to take care of herself. A woman who knows 
how to take care of the place where she hangs her hat. For a small price, I’m 
willing to share my vast store of knowledge.” 
“Melissa?” 
“Yeah?” 
“I love you. I really, really love you. Can I kiss you again?” 
“Will you be closing your eyes and thinking of England?” Melissa teased. “Ah, 
ha, I see you blushing. That’s so sweet, Sully. Forty-two days and it’s like 
you’re a virgin again.” 
“Okay, okay. So being my friend gives you teasing rights. Does vice-versa extend 
to holding your hand a while longer for moral support.” 
“See, now you’re gettin’ greedy.” 
“Aw, come on! I promise not to clamp down or get sweaty palms.” 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, sweetie, I’m glad to do this for you.” Melissa bumped 
her head gently against Sullivan’s. “But like I said, for one itty bitty 
surcharge.” 
“If you do, I’ll love you forever,” Sullivan swore. “How much?” 
An odd look crossed Melissa’s face. “I’ll let you know,” she said, turning away 
to look face forward. “Come on then, sweetie. Time’s wasting, and we have a 
landfill to shovel out. Chop, chop!” 
“I’m chopping. Lord, am I ever chopping.” Sullivan started to drag Melissa 
forward. “Onwards and upward --” 
“For glory awaits!” Melissa finished. With that, the two raced out of the park. 
Like kids, they played chase and tag all the way back to their cut-up 
brownstone, each one getting a little ahead of the other, then pulling back to a 
stop to tease the other into thinking they had a chance. 
Sullivan had never had so much fun in all his life. It’s nothing compared to 
what awaits, though, he thought eagerly. Jonathan. Sweet Jonathan. In my home, 
and hopefully, please, all ye patron saints of tilted men, in my bed tonight. 
Warm and ready between the sheets. My sheets. 
I’m going to make this a night to remember. 
* * * 
Six-forty five, and Sullivan was on his way back from lugging the last of the 
trash bags to the dumpster behind his building. Everything had gone -- every 
last reminder of Michael, every bit of accumulated bachelor lifestyle, from the 
pizza boxes to the empty shampoo bottles. Melissa had turned out to be hell on 
wheels. Give her a mission, and man, did she accomplish. 
She’d had some good ideas, too. 
“Sully, you might wanna stack the porno tapes somewhere out of sight. I mean, I 
know you’re a wanker, but no sense in letting Jonathan in on the secret right 
off the bat, yeah?” 
“Sully, get your ass over here and tell me what in this fridge is actual food 
and what’s art supplies!” 
“Sully? Meet toilet brush. Meet Lysol. Bring ’em together and scrub. I mean now, 
mister. You might not mind pissing in there, but ten out of twelve cockroaches 
vote antennae down -- you get me?” 
Sullivan pounded up the steps to his apartment, bursting in to admire the clean 
sparkliness of the place. “I really do worship you, Melissa.” 
She glanced up from her examination of Sullivan’s bed with a grimace. “I make 
with the cleaning, and then you start in with the love? Seems like you’ve got 
things the wrong way around, sweetie. Come here. No, here. Right by my side. 
Now, take a look at this wreckage and tell me what you see.” 
“My… bed?” At her scowl, Sullivan tried again. “The place where I… sleep?” 
“Uh-huh. Sully, grow the fuck up. This is not a grown man’s place of rest, and 
it is definitely not fit for human company tonight. You have changed the sheets 
since Michael left, haven’t you? Please tell me you’re not one of those sad 
fucks who kept the 
dirty ones on just so you could catch the occasional whiff of your ex.” 
“Uh…” 
“Oh, God.” Melissa covered her face with one hand. Metal jingled as she shook 
her head. “You strip the mattress. I’m not going anywhere near those things. 
They have Michael-cooties all over them. And, helpful hint? Ninja Turtles don’t 
exactly scream seduction.” 
“So I love cartoons.” Sullivan ducked in to kiss Melissa again, this time on her 
cheek. 
She ducked away from him. “I’ll check out your linen closet.” Pause. “You do 
have one of those, don’t you?” 
“Linen closet?” 
“Where the sheets live, Sully. Please tell me you do have another clean set of 
bedding. Satin too much to hope for?” 
Stripping off sheets and comforter, Sullivan shook his head. “I’ve never been a 
big fan of skidding out of bed onto my ass. Besides, you don’t get decent 
traction on satin.” Off her arch look, he shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, it’s 
true. And they’re a bitch to clean.” 
“Someday, I want to hear the stories behind this bit of knowledge. For now --” 
Melissa said as she tossed a set of plain black sheets at Sullivan, “-- make 
your bed, son, ’cause you’re going to have to lie in it.” 
“We can’t use the ‘Insert Queer Here’ sheets?” 
“Sull-i-van!” 
“Okay, okay!” 
Sullivan did know what he was doing, even if it had been a while, and within a 
few minutes his bed was neat and tidy. He caught a couple of throw blankets 
Melissa tossed at him and spread them over the top. Even plumped up the pillows, 
two of them, just in case --please, God -- he got lucky and Jonathan stayed the 
night. Had to make sure the man-friend was comfy, yeah? 
Seven-ten, and Melissa was looking around with satisfaction. Sullivan, for his 
part, stared in disbelief. His darling girl had really pulled out all the stops, 
from dusting to finding candles, a really snazzy ceramic bowl for the popcorn, 
and wine glasses -- not to mention a decent wine to pour into them, without a 
screw-off top even. Even the microwave was spotless. 
Melissa, who’d found a tablecloth from somewhere, flicked the fabric open and 
draped it over Sullivan’s enchanted drawing table. Both winced at the sound of 
muted groans of disappointment and growls of anger. Sullivan had never dared 
block their entrances and exits before. 
“Should I get ready for the uprising now, or wait until the morning to panic?” 
“I wouldn’t worry about this crowd of jokers. I’ll cool them all down after I’m 
inside. Tell them a few stories, y’know, like I said I would.” Melissa winked 
and gave Sullivan a sassy hip shimmy. 
“You wouldn’t dare.” 
“Watch me. Oh, no, wait, you won’t. You’ll be too busy staring into Jonathan’s 
eyes, or at other portions of his definitely edible anatomy.” 
“Are you lusting after my possible boyfriend? And hey, with the table covered, 
how do you plan to get inside?” 
“You think a little cotton weave can stop me?” Melissa frowned in seeming 
concentration, then dipped her hand through the tablecloth and into the depths 
of the table, her arm going transparent -- like lined ink -- up to the elbow. 
“See? No problems.” 
Sullivan looked at her as she withdrew, then made a lunge and grabbed his very 
own sweetie up in a hug. 
“Hey, hey,” she protested, not-really-fighting to get loose. “What did I do to 
deserve this?” 
“You’re the best, baby.” Sullivan ran a hand down the curve of Melissa’s cheek, 
nudging a loose wave of hair out of his way. “I couldn’t have done any of this 
without you. Like you said, I owe you big time.” 
“Eh, well.” Melissa looked down and shrugged. “Forget about the payment. Just 
have a good time tonight, okay? And I mean that. Best you’ve ever had.” 
“I think it’s a given.” Sullivan tightened his arms around Melissa. “Brace 
yourself!” 
She squealed as he whirled her around in circles, crossing the small space 
between drawing table and bed, then dumped her unceremoniously in the middle of 
what they’d just made up to look perfect. 
Melissa laughed, easy and free, as she lolled on her back. “Why, Mr. Whitfield. 
To what do I owe the honor of a visit to your very own sleeping chambers?” 
“You never did this with a friend?” Sullivan propped himself on an elbow, 
reaching out to touch Melissa. Funny how he always wanted to run his fingers 
over her skin. He marveled again at the strange magic which had touched his 
life, turning a onetime fantasy of a tough, punked-out woman into a living, 
breathing best friend. Then, he shivered, realizing how quickly she could change 
back. Not from ashes to ashes, but from ink to ink. 
“Hey.” Melissa tilted her head, a soft smile touching her lips. “What’s the 
serious look for?” 
Sullivan laid his hand on Melissa’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t ever leave me, 
okay? Not even when I’m too old to see the drawing board and my hands have too 
much arthritis in them to draw.” 
Melissa glanced down. Sullivan shook his head. “I mean it, Lissa. Don’t think I 
could stand living by myself if you took off for the wild blue yonder. I could 
draw you from memory, could even make another you on the special table, but it 
wouldn’t be the same. Whoever the cheap imitation would be, she wouldn’t be you. 
It’s you I need in my life. You’re the person who knows me best and still 
manages to love me.” 
“Yeah.” Melissa reached for Sullivan’s free hand but stopped just short of the 
appendage, trailing her fingers along the edge of the throw blanket. “You too, 
sweetie.” 
“Aw, Melissa.” Sullivan’s heart sank. “You are, aren’t you? Going to leave, I 
mean. You’ve already got things planned out. Maybe even have a bag packed.” 
She shook her head. Sullivan could see her eyes glittering with unshed tears. 
Sniffling, she dashed them away. “No more room at the inn, Sully. You’ll have 
Jonathan around, and do you really want to explain me?” 
“I’ll have to, if he’s a keeper. He needs to know about the table. And you --” 
“Are a figment of your own precious imagination, Sully,” Melissa whispered, 
still not touching him. “I think, therefore I am. Maybe when I’m far enough 
away, I’ll stop thinking. Maybe I’ll just crumble into a pile of graphite dust, 
and I’ll be at peace.” 
“Melissa, no. Do not talk like that. I mean what I’m saying here.” Sullivan 
applied more pressure to his friend’s shoulder, shaking her gently. “Get me?” 
“You won’t need me around when you have Jonathan.” She half-smiled. “He’s real, 
Sully. I’m not.” 
“What the hell does ‘real’ mean, anyway? You’re warm. You think, you talk, you 
breathe, you eat. Whatever brought you into this world, even if that’s my own 
hand, it wants to keep you here.” Sullivan loosened his grip to stroke up and 
down Melissa’s arm, marveling at the smooth suppleness of her tattooed skin. “I 
need you, Lissa. I’ll always need you.” 
“Not in the way I --” She stopped and shook her head. “Oh, God. Forget I said 
anything, would you?” 
“No.” Sullivan shifted closer, gazing at her in concern. “Melissa? Baby, talk to 
me. What’s going on inside that multi-colored head of yours?” When she refused 
to spill, he stroked further down, coaxing his friend with his fingertips. No 
good. More silence. 
He didn’t realize he’d landed on her hip until he felt it move under his touch, 
the joints flexing. He hadn’t felt the curve of a woman’s lush ass in ages, much 
longer than forty-two days, and the abrupt re-familiarization left him briefly 
reeling. Melissa felt so fucking good that the sensation startled Sullivan. He 
couldn’t quite take his hand away, either. The heat from her pussy tickled at 
the edge of his hand. He realized he could smell her, the warm, ripe femininity 
of her, and his cock began to grow hard with this new awareness. 
“Melissa?” he asked quietly. “Say something, please.” 
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can, sweetie.” 
“Why?” Sullivan moved his hand just a bit further down Melissa’s leg, seemingly 
unable to stop himself. The warmth of her skin was as intoxicating as her scent. 
He couldn’t understand himself. Melissa was a hell of a woman in every detail, 
and he’d had a few fantasies, but Sullivan had never come face to face with her 
in a really, truly, personally sexual way since she’d stepped off the drawing 
board. He’d never dreamed he would have the chance. “Melissa, talk to me.” 
“There’s nothing to say,” she whispered. “Sullivan…” 
“Melissa,” he said back, wondering at the way his own voice deepened. He didn’t 
know why he did what he did next, but only knew the move was right. “Come here, 
Melissa.” 
She whimpered as he drew her flush against him, full breasts pressing against 
his chest. He crooked one leg over both of hers and wrapped an arm around her 
back, bringing them close as possible. “Melissa,” he repeated. “Look up at my 
face. Can you do that for me?” 
Melissa peeked up, her eyes wet and darkened lashes spiky. Swallowing down a 
lump of nerves and summoning courage he’d never have thought he needed, Sullivan 
put two fingers beneath her pixie chin, angled her head just right, and laid his 
mouth over her own. 
Bam! Instant combustion. Melissa moaned when his lips touched hers, and her 
passive position changed from a woman in need of comfort to a woman in need of 
some sexual healing. Her arm twined against Sullivan’s, bringing him in tighter, 
her heated pussy pressed against his hardening cock. Their mouths roved over one 
another, Sullivan stunned but unable to help himself. Melissa tasted of peaches 
and wine, the way he’d always imagined. Tart by nature, but oh, so sweet. 
“Melissa,” he repeated against her mouth before slipping his tongue inside, 
moving with a stroking, gliding dance. 
Melissa made another soft sound of desperation and reached up blindly, somehow 
finding Sullivan’s hand and bringing it down to her breast. He cupped the 
swollen globe in his palm, amazed at the softness and firmness, finding her 
nipple, a plumped-up gumdrop, right in the center. When he tightened his hand, 
she moaned, a sound that went straight to his cock. 
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he managed to say before going back to her 
kisses, better than honeyed mead. “I shouldn’t -- I can’t -- Jonathan.” 
He broke away from her mouth and began to press kisses along her angled 
features. Slipping his hand inside her shirt -- his shirt -- he played with the 
ring through her nipple, tugging at the loop. She arched in his hand, pressing 
her cunt against his prick, letting him know how wet she’d gotten from only a 
taste of playing around. 
Playing? No, Sullivan didn’t think playing was the right word. He didn’t know 
what applied, though. Nothing fit. 
And then, Melissa was pulling away from him. She shook her head, multicolored 
locks of hair tossing on his pillow. “Sully, no. No. We can’t.” 
“Melissa?” Sullivan reached for her, but she drew back. 
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Melissa sat up and flung her legs over the edge of the 
bed. She dashed at her eyes with both hands, then stood, avoiding Sullivan’s 
grasp, running toward the drawing table. 
At the edge, she paused to look back at him, the picture of Passion Denied, her 
breasts shaking with the force of her breath, her hair tousled into an artful 
fall of bright colors and curls, her nipples standing out beneath her pink 
midriff top. “Jonathan,” she said softly. “You’ve found someone already, Sully. 
I’m not him. I can never be him. And he’s the one you want, not me.” 
“Melissa --” 
“Don’t! Don’t make this any more complicated than it has to be.” Melissa 
blinked, a tear rolling down one of her cheeks. She brought her fingers to her 
mouth and blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, sweetie.” 
Standing up on tiptoe, Melissa jumped impossibly high into the air and did a 
swan dive down into the drawing board. Sullivan stared as she melted into inked 
lines, the toes of a cartoon disappearing down into the wood. He heard a sound 
of rushed, excited voices babbling like an incoming wave off the ocean, a slow 
ebb to silence, and then nothing. 
As for Sullivan himself, he lay on his bed with the taste of his best friend in 
his mouth, his cock hard and aching, and a sense that he’d just lost something 
immeasurably precious. 
And then, he heard a knock on the door. Glancing up at the clock, he saw the 
time. Eight-thirty. 
Jonathan. 
Chapter Eight 
Sullivan had no idea of what to do. He’d been waiting for Jonathan, wanting only 
him, and now this -- this -- whatever had just happened with Melissa. Now 
Jonathan was there, presumably, and Melissa had vanished. What the fuck, man? 
Sullivan dry-washed his face and shook his head. I can’t just have ordinary 
problems, can I? For Sully, they bring out the extra-special exploding anvils. 
The knock sounded at his door again, a bit more tentative this time, as if the 
visitor wasn’t entirely sure of his welcome any more. Shit. Shit. He had to get 
up and answer. Even if his head were spinning, he couldn’t leave a guy like 
Jonathan out in the cold. 
“Just a minute!” he called, scooting off the bed. When his feet hit the floor, 
he winced. Bare. Damn it, he’d planned on socks and sneakers, something casual 
but friendly. Naked toes made him look like a slob or like he was desperate to 
get Jonathan into bed. 
Which actually, he was… or had been… no, still was… damn, his life had suddenly 
just gotten way too complicated. 
“Who is it?” Sullivan called, stalling for time. 
“Jonathan,” a soft British voice answered. “I’m sorry, Sullivan. Have I come at 
a bad time?” 
Sullivan yanked his T-shirt out of his jeans to cover the tent his erection made 
in his jeans, abandoned all hope of footwear, and padded over to the door. He 
caught sight of himself in a small mirror as he passed, and examined himself. 
Lips, not too kiss-swollen, okay. Hair, messy, but he never could get the 
tangled curls to lie straight. Good earrings in, chunky gold hoops. 
Was he ready? Oh, hell no. But why? Sullivan hesitated for a moment before his 
jaw hardened. There was no way he’d let this evening go down the tubes. Jonathan 
was a prize, a prince among men, and he deserved to be treated like the special 
guy he was. Whatever had gone down with Melissa would wait until -- later. 
Whenever later happened to be, when Sullivan could process things. 
Still, it was with an uncomfortable feeling of being a cheater that he pulled 
his front door open. Jonathan stood on the other side, dressed a little more 
casually than he had been at the park earlier in the day, with one of those 
ragged-neck light sweaters and a pair of soft-worn jeans. Sneakers. Damn it. His 
gray eyes warmed as they landed on Sully, who couldn’t help grinning back. 
Oh, yeah. Jonathan? A keeper. “Come in,” Sullivan invited, stepping back. “So, 
you found the place.” 
“Well… yes,” Jonathan said hesitantly. “You did describe the building and give 
me the street address.” 
Sullivan resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Instead, he rotated 
his finger beside his temple and fibbed, “Sorry. Too many ink fumes. If you want 
to risk your olfactories, step inside.” 
Jonathan gave one of his soft smiles as he crossed the threshold. Sullivan’s 
knees went weak at the sight of the man’s expression. His eyes crinkled up at 
the corners, and his entire face lit with the warmth of falling autumn leaves’ 
color. He ducked his head shyly, and a lock of maple-colored hair fell over his 
eyes. Blowing it out of the way, he widened his smile to a grin. 
Sullivan decided and/or realized he wanted to lick Jonathan’s mouth. His cock 
agreed. Down, boy, down! You’re especially noticeable when sitting down in these 
jeans. This T-shirt isn’t the best cover-up. And while we’re having this 
conversation, do you think you could make up your little mind for a change? 
Melissa or Jonathan. 
Melissa or Jonathan. 
Melissa had gone. Jonathan was right there. 

Still trying to shake the feeling of doing something wrong, Sullivan slid his 
palm over the strong muscles in Jonathan’s back. “Glad you made it,” he said, 
honestly enough. “I could take you on the tour, but it’s really more of a spin. 
What you see is what you get.” 
Jonathan tipped his head back and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. He 
looked around himself, at the overflowing bookshelves, the covered drawing 
table, the impressionistic oil canvases decorating the walls, the framed 
photographs, and the candles Melissa had lit before they’d made up the bed. 
Their glow reflected off his face, warming the features. 
He sighed, sounding content. “This is lovely,” he said. “Just lovely.” 
The sound of his voice heated Sullivan up from the inside like a leisurely 
swallow of holiday cider, all cinnamon and spice. “It’s simple,” he tried to 
demur. “Kinda cluttered. I tend to collect… things.” 
“Do you?” Jonathan tipped his head in Sullivan’s direction. “I like your doing 
that. This place is you. I can feel your presence in every corner of the room. 
This isn’t just your home, this is where your heart is.” His eyes crinkled 
again. “Am I making any sense?” 
“Oh, yeah. Plenty. Your place isn’t like…?” 
“Oh, no.” Jonathan shook his head. “The apartment I live in… it’s a place to 
sleep, to eat, to shower, but it’s not a home. Never has been and never will be. 
There’s a charm to these old buildings, yes, but it’s more your presence that’s 
turned this into a haven.” 
“Door’s always open, all comers welcome.” If you only knew whereof I speak… 
thank God for the cloth over my drawing table. All we need is a visit from Crazy 
Joe. Sullivan rubbed the back of his neck. “And I just made myself sound like a 
diner featuring a bottomless pot of coffee. I must be boring you out of your 
mind.” 
“Oh, you’ve hardly bored me yet, Sullivan.” Jonathan stepped forward, spreading 
his hands. “The energy… such flow-through. Can you feel it?” 
Sullivan eyed the man warily. “You mean like, uh, vibes?” 
The word earned him a slanted look over one shoulder and an approving nod. “You 
mustn’t think I’m mad, but I have a talent for sensing the energies in certain 
places. People and objects leave certain traces behind them wherever they go, or 
happen to be taken.” 
Do not go near the drawing table. Do not go near the drawing table. Dear God, 
please don’t let him go near the drawing table. 
He went near the drawing table. Inhaling, Jonathan waved a hand over the 
unwrinkled white cloth. “You spend most of your time here, don’t you?” he asked. 
“I can almost see you bent over this board, ideas flowing out like water and 
wine.” 
“Damn, you’re a pretty talker.” 
The two men glanced at each other. Sullivan was the first to crack up laughing, 
and Jonathan followed shortly after. “All right, all right,” Jonathan said, 
chuckling. “I’ve given you all I have in my ‘eccentric’ arsenal. I’d say that as 
a graphic artist, you must beat me hands down.” 
“You have no idea.” Sullivan reached for Jonathan’s hand and was pleasantly 
surprised when the man took it, his palm dry and smooth. “Come on over to the 
loveseat. We can get comfortable while we talk, huh?” 
“Can I see your artwork from there?” 
Sullivan gestured around himself at the walls. “Panoramic view. Pick a canvas, 
any canvas, and we can dissect it down into paint-by-numbers if you like.” 
“Ah, I’m not so much of a pedant as all that.” Jonathan let go long enough to 
swing himself into the soft cushions, then leaned back. “May I?” 
“May you what -- oh, the shoes. Sure. Something to drink?” 
“Mmm, yes. Please. What do you have?” 
Sullivan glanced at the bottle Melissa had rescued from the depths of his 
kitchen cabinets. Dusty, old, good vintage. Probably something a publisher had 
given him once upon a time, which he’d put away for a rainy day and forgotten 
about. Definitely old, though. The writing on the label was almost illegible, 
more like a scrawl than a printed logo. “I’ve got this,” he offered, holding his 
potent potable up in suggestion. 
“Is it a good year?” 
“Don’t tell me you have a special affinity for wine, too.” 
“Not in the slightest.” The eyes crinkled. “It looks wonderful. I love dark 
reds. Rich, fruity, tart. Let’s have a glass together.” 
Sounded just about wonderful to Sullivan. He popped the cork of the bottle with 
the corkscrew Melissa had helpfully left out, poured the glasses halfway full 
each, and carried them over to his loveseat. Once there, he sat carefully, 
handing off one glass. “Here’s to you.” 
“And to you.” Jonathan took a sip. He closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. 
“Sullivan, where did you get this? It’s marvelous!” 
Sullivan took a taste himself, and almost choked. Wine? This wasn’t like 
anything he’d ever bought before, good year or cheap screw-top. He took another 
careful taste, wondering at the deep oaky flavor laced with sweetness and the 
tingling of ripe-to-bursting berries. If someone could have distilled the idea 
of a perfect bottle down to an art form, this would have been that wine. 
Wait a second… 
Sullivan turned his head and took a long, narrow look at the innocent bottle. So 
Melissa had found it, huh? A likely story. He remembered drawing her as a 
third-person narrator in a story one time, sipping from a glass of wine just 
like this. The bottle at her elbow had been old and worn, the outside dusty and 
the inside heaven. 
Oh, she’s sneaky. 
“Melissa gave the bottle to me as a present,” Sullivan said, then buried his 
expression in another long sip. Ye gods, the stuff packed a punch, didn’t it? 
“She enjoyed a bottle once upon a time, and thought she’d share the joy.” 
“Melissa, yes.” Jonathan turned to Sullivan with a youthful exuberance. “She’s a 
rather extraordinary young woman, isn’t she?” 
“Don’t think she’d thank you for those particular words of choice,” Sullivan 
pointed out with his wine glass. “Melissa’s one tough cookie, and she lets no 
one forget that she’s more than your everyday female.” 
“More of a femme fatale, then?” Jonathan rolled his wine around in the glass. 
His eyes sparkled wickedly. “Do you know, when she came marching into the 
library the first time I saw her, she nearly stopped me in my tracks. All that 
hair of hers in so many colors, the tribal tattoos, the piercings… and what 
occurred to me was that if she had been anyone else, I’d have classified her 
right away as a punk. Instead, I stood frozen, and watched her walk by with a 
swing to her hips stars of the silver screen would kill for -- and I knew, I’d 
just seen a work of art come to life.” 
Sullivan swallowed. “Really? You don’t say.” 
“Oh, yes. I still think so.” 
“Tell me more,” Sully said guardedly, watching Jonathan over the edge of his 
glass. 
Jonathan shrugged. “Well, of course I know she hasn’t stepped out of some modern 
masterpiece. She has a job, I’ve seen her with friends, and I know she likes 
mocha coffee. Even given her amazing qualities and effervescent personality, 
Melissa is as much a human as you or I.” He took a sip and sighed with pleasure. 
“How did you two meet?” 
“Over a drawing board,” Sullivan answered honestly. “There I was, working away, 
and poof! Melissa entered my life.” 
Jonathan nodded. He placed his hand lightly on Sullivan’s thigh. His fingers 
began to knead slowly and gently as he said, “For the longest time, I tried to 
summon up the courage to ask her out.” 
Sullivan blinked. “You -- her -- what?” 
“I’m sorry, I should have been upfront about my orientation. I’m bisexual,” 
Jonathan clarified. “I’ve been with an equal share of both fair genders. 
Although I must admit, the overall tally isn’t quite what you’d call legendary.” 
He made a face Sullivan had to laugh at. “I’m a monogamy-oriented sort of man.” 
“Yeah?” Sullivan rubbed his lip. “So why, after wanting Melissa all this time, 
did you choose to ask me out?” 
“I could lie and say I’ve no idea, although in part, that’s true enough.” 
Jonathan shook his head. “I only know when I saw you, something in my heart 
snapped like a rubber band, a resonant chord, and I knew, before I knew your 
name, we’d fit into each other’s lives like puzzle pieces. I had to meet you, 
and I did. I wanted to get to know you better, and I am.” He turned to Sullivan. 
“And you?” 
“A little less glorious,” Sullivan admitted. “Don’t get the wrong idea about me 
because I write deep and philosophical graphic stories. I’m just a guy. Pants on 
one leg at a time and everything. I saw you and I thought… well…” He stopped for 
a moment. “Puzzle pieces, like you said.” He drained his glass. “And here we 
are.” 
“Yes,” Jonathan agreed, carefully leaning forward to place his glass on the 
coffee table. He took Sullivan’s from him and lined them up side by side. Then, 
he turned to face Sullivan eye-to-eye. “And what will we do about the situation, 
eh?” 
Sullivan took a deep, hitching breath, feeling the lust he’d had on low boil all 
day come simmering up to the surface. “We could try this,” he suggested, 
bringing their mouths together in a kiss. Jonathan moaned something which 
Sullivan interpreted to mean “Good idea,” and damned if he didn’t think so, 
himself. 
Kissing Jonathan was nothing like kissing Melissa. Where she had been all 
softness and curves, Jonathan was hard planes and angles. A hand pressed against 
his chest yielded no full breasts, but only the slight bulge of muscle. His leg, 
when it raised to drape over one of Sullivan’s, felt strong and corded, much 
like a runner’s. Felt wonderful. Sullivan decided he should encourage initiative 
and reached around to grasp and squeeze one cheek of Jonathan’s ass. 
Providing the right stimuli got direct, delicious results. Jonathan slid his leg 
further over, then got on his knees facing the back of the loveseat. Mouth never 
leaving Sullivan’s, he did wicked things with his sharp nibbling teeth and 
agile, twisting tongue which made Sullivan feel light-headed. He raced to keep 
up, aware that this was going too far too fast, especially all things 
considered, but knowing himself well enough to realize he’d passed the point of 
no return, probably back when Jonathan entered the apartment. 
Jonathan moaned into Sullivan’s mouth and rubbed against him teasingly, 
enticingly. The position only allowed for the slightest bit of friction, but 
Sullivan could tell Jonathan’s cock was rising and swelling between his legs, 
its tip brushing against his own rock-steady hard-on, making them both gasp into 
the kiss that, until then, had yet to end. 
Jonathan pulled back, his lips pinkened. “Is this too much?” he asked 
breathlessly. “Too fast? We barely know each other, and I would understand if -- 
mmmph.” 
No thinking allowed, Sullivan decided. Less talking, more kissing. Jonathan felt 
right in his arms, their bodies molding together as if they had been made for 
one another. He slid a hand up underneath Jonathan’s finely textured sweater, 
tracing each ridge and peak of trim muscle, using one fingertip to feel the 
light down of hair running from nipples to waistband. He hooked his questing 
finger beneath the snap of Jonathan’s jeans and was rewarded by a strangled 
groan. 
When Jonathan pulled back a second time, his eyes were wide and dilated with 
lust. “Shall we move this somewhere else?” he asked huskily, rocking slowly up 
and down on Sullivan’s lap. His own private dancer, and Sullivan loved every 
single bump and grind. 
Sullivan nodded. He had no idea what would happen -- well, no, he was fairly 
sure sex would be involved, he meant in the long run -- but he knew he wanted to 
take this man to bed. “Just over there,” he said, stroking down Jonathan’s arms, 
feathering his touch. “I’ll blow out the candles.” 
Jonathan gazed down at him, lips quirked ever so slightly in a smile. “One thing 
first, Sullivan. One thing first.” 
Later, Sullivan would blame his answer on lust and its typical effect on the 
organic male brain. “Anything.” 
Jonathan rocked up and down again. “The picture of me you were drawing today in 
the park,” he said breathlessly. “I want to see how you saw me. Show me how I 
look in your eyes, and we’ll compare art to reality.” 
Aw, damn. But then again, given the circumstances… “Okay,” Sullivan said, his 
throat dry. Where had he left… ah, yeah, right by the loveseat itself. He’d 
planned on doing another drawing while they shared popcorn or watched a movie. 
Talk about going straight to number one, though. Not that he minded, hoo no. 
With a little work, Sullivan managed to fumble the bulky sketch pad up onto the 
cushions they leaned against. “Second page,” he said, stroking the cover. “Go 
on. Have a look.” 
Jonathan pressed a brief kiss to Sullivan’s lips, then sat back on his heels. 
“Thank you.” He flipped open the cover, and between one breath and another, 
became utterly still. Not even his eyes moved across the lines. He could have 
been a statue for all Sullivan knew, frozen almost weightlessly across his legs. 

“Jonathan?” he asked, worried. “Hey, Jonathan?” Then, because he never did know 
what could happen in his apartment, in his crazy life, “You in there?” 
Jonathan blinked. “What? Oh. Yes. I just…” He traced a fingertip across the 
sketch of himself beneath a tree, real as life, redolent with sexuality. “This 
is how you see me?” 
“At first glance,” Sullivan said, taking hold of the other side of the pad and 
pulling the page down for both of them to see. “This is you, through my eyes.” 
“Tell me,” Jonathan murmured. 
Sullivan thought for a moment, carefully choosing his words. “Autumn. Warmth. 
Light. The grace of a jungle cat stretching out for a snooze. Sensuality. Down 
to your fingertips and your toes, this innate sexuality catching me off my guard 
and making my stomach knot up. The way the wind ruffled your hair, making me 
wish it were my fingers. The sense of… puzzle pieces.” 
“You drew me like a man about to make love,” Jonathan said, seemingly unable to 
take his eyes or his hands off the page. “Or a man you’d like to make love to?” 
“One and the same.” Sullivan dipped down to kiss Jonathan’s knuckles. “And I’d 
like to take advantage of the moment right now.” He let his good humor come up 
through his own eyes and grin. “You did promise. Remember?” 
“And I plan to deliver. I’ll just -- oh.” 
“Jonathan, don’t.” 
Too late -- he’d turned back a page. “What?” Jonathan blinked at Sullivan. “This 
is only the sketch of Melissa you did in the park. Your talent, Sully… it never 
ceases to amaze me.” He ran his thumb down the line of Melissa’s back, as if he 
were touching the dip and valley of a real woman. “She’s real as life here. 
Almost realer.” He frowned. “And somehow familiar, now that I see her picture 
again.” 
Sullivan felt himself break out into a sweat. “You’ve met her plenty of times. 
At the library, remember?” 
“No… somewhere else. Only now, I can’t remember.” A puzzled look on his face, 
Jonathan touched various spots on Melissa’s sketched body. “The expression… her 
mouth slightly open, as if she’s about to speak, or laugh… her hair tangled in 
the wind… where have I seen this sort of picture before?” 
Sullivan felt his own messy locks being ruffled. “Speaking of wind,” he said, 
glancing around himself, “did we leave the door open?” 
Jonathan raised his head, curiously tilted to a side. “No, it shut behind us. Is 
there a window ajar somewhere?” 
“Not that I know of.” Sullivan shifted up, Jonathan still balancing on his 
knees, the sketch pad between them. Prickles ran down his spine. Not quite 
something-wicked-this-way-comes, but a definite sense of foreboding. 
He glanced down at the sketch, and then he knew. 
He saw Melissa move. Her right eye closed in a slow wink, and her lips shaped 
words he couldn’t read. 
“Jonathan,” he said, then, with more urgency, “Jonathan! Look, I have to tell 
you something. You’re going to think I’m insane, but bear with me, all right? 
Melissa is a… she’s a… oh, hell. You know my graphic novels. Think hard about 
them and tell me who she reminds you of.” 
Jonathan stared at the picture for a long moment. “Did this drawing just…” 
“I think so.” Sullivan took a tighter hold of Jonathan. “Better hang on. I don’t 
know what might --” 
A blast of wind burst through the studio, knocking the two men together. The 
cover from the drawing table flew off and wrapped around them. Swearing out 
loud, Sullivan dragged the thing off their backs and flung it to the floor. 
“What is it?” Jonathan yelled. “What’s happening?” 
Sullivan reached up and seized his almost-lover’s face in both hands. “Don’t say 
anything,” he ordered. “Just kiss me. Quick. Now. Please.” 
Their lips came together, sealing in a perfect, hot circle. Sullivan felt his 
cock surge as if new life were coursing through his body. Unheeded, the sketch 
pad fell from their joined fingers, fluttering open as it landed on the floor. 
The two men hung on to each other as the wind picked up speed, seeking solid 
ground in the kiss they shared, until suddenly, with a bump and a thump and the 
sound of tearing paper, the gusts of air stopped. 
Sullivan and Jonathan parted, staring at each other. “I know,” Jonathan said 
slowly. “Match the face to the face. I realize now where I’ve seen Melissa 
before.” 
They turned their heads to face the young woman sitting with her arms wrapped 
around her knees, multi-hued curls tangled wild over her shoulders and down her 
back. She looked at them both and smiled sadly. 
“Surprise,” she said, as she had two years before. “It’s a girl.” 
Chapter Nine 
“None of this is his fault, you know.” 
“Hm? Who? Oh.” Jonathan turned from his study of the night-time street to face 
Melissa, who’d slipped up behind him. She looked cold in her midriff top and 
thin shorts, but had wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders. In her hands, 
she held two steaming doses of coffee. 
“Want one?” Melissa held out a mug. 
Jonathan hesitated. “Is it real, or was it once drawn on a piece of paper?” 
“Brewed ten minutes ago in Sully’s instant drip machine. Though I don’t blame 
you for asking.” She offered the mug again. “Come on, it’s chilly out here.” 
Awkwardly, Jonathan took the coffee from her. The mug felt wonderful cupped in 
his cold fingers, and while the liquid didn’t exactly taste like nectar and 
ambrosia -- in fact, it was bloody awful -- it warmed him from the inside out. 
He took another sip, wondering if his stomach lining would survive, then a 
third. 
He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Melissa. For this. I can’t begin to 
understand how you’re coping with the events of the evening.” 
She shrugged. “I was about to say the same thing for you, but a lot less 
pretty.” She gave him a sideways look. “My accent isn’t as good, either.” 
“Years of practice,” he said absently. Then, he laughed shortly. “I suppose 
you’d know all about learning from your environment, wouldn’t you? Being what 
you… are.” 
Melissa sighed. “Is there room for two leaning on that balcony rail?” When 
Jonathan nodded, she shouldered her way in, holding the mug between two hands 
that looked for all the world as if they were made of flesh and blood. She took 
a sip, and he watched the delicate muscles of her throat working as the coffee 
went down with a bump and a hitch. 
“This is awful. Why are you drinking it?” 
“To clear my head, I expect.” 
He felt her looking at him, the weight of her eyes as deep and penetrating as 
that of a mortal woman’s. Gazes like hers were one of the reasons he often as 
not preferred the company of men, he suspected -- women could, and would drive a 
man bloody insane without half trying. 
“Yeah,” she said, toying with her cup. “This is all a lot to take in, I guess. 
For a newbie. Not that I’d know. No basis for comparison, right?” 
“Pandora’s Box. Isn’t that what you said?” 
Melissa nodded. “More or less.” 
Jonathan took a measured sip of coffee. “Does that make you Death?” 
“God, no.” 
“One of the countless ills that plague the world?” 
“Not unless you count the people who think I’m going to hell because of the tats 
and hair dye.” 
“Then I hardly see how the original comparison is accurate.” More coffee, and 
the rewarding feeling of Melissa’s penetrating stare changing to one of wonder. 
“You really are taking all this pretty well,” she said. She elbowed Jonathan, 
getting him to look at her, taking in her slightly rekindled sparkle. “No 
questions about life, the universe, and everything?” 
“None that I can think of at the present moment.” Jonathan turned his own frank 
gaze on the petite woman beside him. “What of you, though? Surely you must have 
a thousand and one things running through your mind.” 
She shook her head. “You really believe I can think? Or do you still believe I’m 
a cartoon come to life?” 
Jonathan measured his response. “Both.” 
Her mouth tipped up at one corner. “And another score for Melissa,” she said. “I 
always had you pegged for the brainy type.” 
“The trouble is, I don’t see how it’s possible. I know what Sullivan’s tried to 
explain to me, but…” Jonathan turned to look back through the sliding glass 
doors at the artist he’d fallen for, all but mauled, and been about to fuck when 
the ceiling came crashing down on their party. He sat at his drawing board, face 
down, both long, strong hands fisted through his messy dark hair. “Is the magic 
in the drawing board, or in his own hands?” 
“You got me. Well, okay, bad choice of words.” Melissa sipped her coffee, making 
a face. “Usually, when he draws someone new, poof, they exist. He can draw them 
again a thousand times, but they don’t multiply. One shot is all you get.” 
“But you? I’ve known you for a year, so you must have been around for at least 
twelve months, thus drawn way back when, and then again today on the sketch 
pad.” Jonathan studied Melissa carefully. “I saw your drawing move. The magic’s 
in Sullivan himself, isn’t it?” 
She tilted her head in careful consideration. “I think so. Either the stuff 
rubbed off, or he woke the table up in the first place.” 
“How is it you’re so different from the others he told me about? Crazy Joe, the 
rest? From what he says, they can’t move beyond this apartment, nor can they 
hold a physical form for very long.” 
“Wish I had the answers for you. I don’t. Maybe it’s because I came first. I’m 
like the Eve of his Garden, made from a rib, built to last.” She raised one 
shoulder. “The others have a word for what I am -- integrated. I’ve made a life 
for myself outside of Sullivan’s sphere.” 
Jonathan smiled. “Yet you don’t want to be, do you?” 
Melissa blinked, then returned his smile, shyly. “No. I don’t. How’d you know?” 
“I can sense things. For example, right now Sullivan’s ready to impale himself 
on his own drawing pencils, if I’m correct.” Jonathan stole another glance 
inside. “He’s taking this worst of all, isn’t he?” 
“I think so, yeah.” Melissa half-laughed. “And here’s you, the neophyte, takin’ 
it all in his stride. I don’t get you, Jonathan. I thought I had a handle on who 
you were, all those times we met at the library, but now I’m realizing I have no 
clue who’s really behind those pretty gray eyes.” 
“No, you don’t.” Jonathan said. “Did you have any clue at all, for example, that 
since the very first time I laid eyes on you, Melissa, I’ve wanted to make love 
to you until we were both too worn out to speak, much less move?” 
Melissa’s lips parted into a ”O” of surprise. Jonathan laughed to see such an 
expression on her brash face. “Have I shocked you?” 
“Pretty much, yeah.” Melissa eyed Jonathan up and down. “You’re not half bad 
yourself, you know.” 
“Thank you -- I think. However, didn’t you just say you wanted Sullivan?” 
Melissa groaned. “God, do I ever. I ache, needing him inside me.” 
Jonathan leaned in , brushing his arm against her shoulder. “We needn’t have all 
or nothing, you know,” he said in a low voice, using his accent to his 
advantage. “There is such a thing as sharing.” 
She blinked. “You mean you… Sullivan… me?” 
“Would it be such a bad thing?” Jonathan kept the contact between their skin 
light but steady. “I’ve wanted you for months, and I’ve wanted Sullivan since 
this afternoon. The desires are equal in their strength.” 
“You mean, you’re dyin’ to give us both a good time?” 
“More or less. Rather more than less, I think. Actually, what I mean to say is 
I’d like to fuck you blind.” 
“And it doesn’t bother you that I’m…” Melissa gestured to herself. “We don’t 
even know what I am, except a drawing that walks, talks, and breathes.” 
“And thinks. That’s most important of all. You exist, Melissa, you’re very much 
a woman, and I want, almost more than anything, to kiss you right now.” He held 
up a finger, touching her lips. “But I won’t. Not until we’ve talked to 
Sullivan. And not unless you agree.” 
Different shades of pink were coloring Melissa’s cheeks, but her lips were 
curving into a saucy grin. “Two for the price of one, huh? Every girl’s dream 
come true.” 
“So you have dreamed about me?” Jonathan teased. “From time to time?” 
Melissa gave a small, sexy shimmy. “Every now and then. You’re hot when you have 
your glasses on. Smart men turn me on.” 
Jonathan almost gave in to the urge to take the vixen in his arms and kiss her 
senseless. Instead, he satisfied himself with taking her coffee cup away and 
pulling her close with one arm, letting her feel the length and hardness of his 
prick. “For you,” he whispered. “And for Sullivan. Can you handle this, Melissa? 
I’ve a lot to cope with, but so do you.” 
“And so do I,” a third voice startled Jonathan. He turned to see Sullivan 
standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame. His grin was rueful and his 
hands shoved into both pockets. “I think this town’s big enough for the three of 
us… if you want us, Melissa.” 
She looked from one man to the other, as if seeking some sort of confirmation or 
absolution. “It’s really… you don’t mind? You’re willing to -- with me?” 
“Not just willing.” Sullivan’s lips shaped the words as if he were tasting them 
and they were good. “Eager.” 
Jonathan held out his hand, grasping Melissa’s. Sullivan mirrored his movement, 
taking her other palm in his own. Linked, they stood for a long moment, 
Melissa’s pink, purple and yellow curls whipping around her face. 
Finally, she smiled -- no, grinned, bright and bold. “Then I have only one 
question left. What are we waiting for?” 
Chapter Ten 
“Nothing’s holding us back.” Sullivan drew Melissa and Jonathan back into his 
studio apartment, the three of them linked together. His heart beat like a gong 
in the middle of his chest, but with excitement, not nerves. 
He didn’t have to choose between Jonathan and Melissa. He could have them both. 
Forty-two days had brought him double luck, and he hadn’t even hoped for single 
odds when he’d left home for the park. 
“Will you draw us?” Melissa asked as Jonathan slid the balcony doors shut. “In 
bed?” 
Sullivan did what he wanted most -- leaned in to touch her full lips with his 
own, and whispered, “Any. Way. You. Want.” 
She looked dazed at the thought. “Comic book or personal collection?” 
“Only personal. Hey, come here.” Sullivan caught at Jonathan, and pulled the 
three of them into a tri-fold clinch, bodies nestling close and tight against 
one another. “You too, Jonathan. Any way you’ll let me draw you.” 
“Will another me come to life from the pages?” Jonathan wanted to know. 
“Nah.” Sullivan kissed him as well, savoring the difference in the way men and 
women felt and tasted. Like crisp fall apples and tart summer pomegranates. 
A fine tremor ran through Jonathan’s skin, as if he were a cat and about to 
begin purring. Sullivan had no idea what to do or where to begin, but there was 
no posturing going on between the three of them. He was being himself, so was 
Jonathan, and Melissa felt so open that the moment became unbearably fucking 
pure. It took his breath away. 
“Sullivan, are you sure?” Melissa asked, even as her hand worked its way around 
his back to rest on his ass. She spanked one cheek lightly. “You don’t think 
we’re rushing things?” 
“Never, sweetie.” He kissed her again, unable to help himself. “God, never. 
You’re so beautiful. Why didn’t I ever notice?” 
“Perhaps you needed a second set of eyes to help you see,” Jonathan rumbled in 
his edible accent. “Melissa is more than one man can handle, I think. She needs 
two to take proper care of her.” 
“Oh, oh, still using words like ‘proper’,” Sullivan teased. “Melissa, what do 
you say we torment him with our sexual wiles until he’s speaking in the language 
of Grunt and Groan?” 
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sounds good to me. Hey, Sullivan -- check this 
out.” Turning to Jonathan, she wound herself around him like a slinky, one leg 
arched over his hip, arms about his neck, and pulled his head down for a kiss 
that Sullivan could see involved tongues, nibbling teeth, and that he could hear 
the passion in. He stood back, hand going to his own erection as he watched the 
pair, stroking it up and down. Not enough to come, but just to tease. What a 
show! 
Melissa turned around, her face alight. “He’s delicious,” she said, licking her 
lips. “Do you want a turn?” 
Jonathan looked dazed, but he let go of Melissa with a lingering caress and 
reached for Sullivan. Their mouths crashed together, Sullivan loosing a groan. 
This kiss was the best he’d ever had in a night of personal bests. Jonathan 
tasted like minty toothpaste, sweet wine, and Melissa. Their heads tilted, and 
Sullivan slid his tongue inside to tangle with Jonathan’s own. No shy British 
reserve there. Jonathan put all his being into the kiss, never once closing his 
warm gray eyes. Sullivan gazed into them as long as he could before his own fell 
shut, the darkness blocking out all other stimuli but the feel of mouth upon 
mouth. 
He needed air, damn it. But when he pulled back, gasping, he had to say it. 
“You’re habit-forming. Both of you.” 
Jonathan and Melissa laughed, their faces changing from gorgeous to 
breathtaking. Sullivan caught Melissa by the curls and sampled her himself, 
drinking deep from the well she opened up for him. Better than the kiss they’d 
stolen earlier, this was raw and earthy, primal and passionate, her arms tight 
around him and her hot pussy pressed hard against the bulge of his erection. 
“Want you,” she managed to say. “Wanted you for so long, Sullivan.” 
“Why didn’t you ever say?” 
“I thought you’d rather have someone else.” 
“Dummy.” He kissed her again, wet and deep and raunchy, his hands on her 

hips starting up a shimmy and sway that pressed their groins together in a 
rocking 
rhythm. “Sweetie,” she shot back into his mouth, matching Sullivan move for 
move. “Don’t make a fellow feel left out here,” Jonathan protested. As one, 
Melissa and Sullivan reached for the Englishman, pulling him into their 
clinch. They began to trade kisses, male to female, male to male, pushing 
pulsating flesh against other willing bodies until the world was made up of hard 
cocks and wet cunts, and nothing else mattered. 
“Want you,” Sullivan said in the middle of their tangle. “Really, really want 
you. 
Both of you. Now.” “And I you. And Melissa.” “Same goes for me.” Melissa 
giggled. She tossed her hair, strands flying like 
ribbons. “God, this is so weird! But it’s so good, too.” “Two for the price of 
one,” Jonathan said, pressing his lips briefly against hers. 
“Is there room for all three on the bed?” “It’s not that far. Nothing is, in 
this place. Should we race each other there?” Melissa laughed again. “I’d beat 
both of you.” “Nothing better than diving into a willing woman.” Sullivan 
gripped Jonathan’s 
hand. “Or man. Ready, then? One, two, three, go!” 
Whooping, they broke apart to make a dash for the already disarranged bed, 
tumbling into an eager heap of arms, legs, and open mouths ready for kisses, 
more and more sweet kisses. 
Sullivan landed on top of Jonathan, joined their mouths, and did what he’d been 
wanting to for aching ages -- slid his hands underneath the blue sweater and 
insistently helped shove the garment off, tossing it somewhere outside the bed, 
and began licking, sucking, and nibbling at the hard, flat chest. Sullivan 
listened with pleasure to the sound of Jonathan’s moans until Melissa blocked 
them with her lips. Jonathan’s hands weren’t idle, either -- they worked at 
Sullivan’s own T-shirt, plucking at the hem until Sully took the hint and made 
the obstacle to skin disappear. 
Grabbing Jonathan’s hand, Sullivan did another thing he’d been yearning to since 
the afternoon -- guided them to the hard bulge of his erection. “Touch me,” 
Sullivan breathed against his skin. “Feel me? That’s how much I want you.” 
“And me?” Melissa broke off long enough to ask. “Me, too?” 
“Oh, God, yes.” Sullivan pulled her off Jonathan and twined his arms around the 
woman. He held on for a moment, then nuzzled deep into the softly scented curve 
of her neck, and lowered his hand to cup one breast with his palm, loving the 
heavy weight of it as much as the hard curve of Jonathan’s cock beneath his 
other hand. “How did I get so lucky?” 
“Maybe it was fate,” Melissa breathed. “Draw us like this, so we’ll have this 
moment forever.” 
“I said it before -- any way you want.” 
Jonathan had landed on his back, and reached up for Sullivan’s fly with hands 
that shook from overexcitement. He cupped Sullivan’s erection, fingers knowing 
exactly what they were doing, rubbing his thumb along the denim. “Can I?” he 
asked in a tone of voice which already knew the answer to his question. 
Sullivan nodded, a slow, languid nod, and held himself taut while Jonathan 
nimbly drew down his zipper and pushed his jeans and fitted shorts down his 
hips, letting his cock make its grand debut. They took care of the matter of a 
condom with more hurry than grace, but who was complaining? Not Sullivan. He 
groaned when Jonathan arched up and took the purple head into his mouth, the 
sensation of wet warmth and sucking tightness almost too much to bear. The 
little dash of pain that went so well with pleasure. 
“My turn now.” Sullivan knew exactly what he wanted, and went for it with the 
same determination he’d used stripping off Jonathan’s sweater. Laughing and 
cursing as denim tangled around legs, both men pulled off their jeans and 
shorts, then came together and stopped making any noise at all except for 
stifled groans and moans of passion. After adding a condom to Jonathan’s cock, 
their swollen dicks collided and rubbed against one another, the sweet friction 
they’d briefly tasted earlier exploding into a fever of lust. 
“Hey,” they heard Melissa say, and looked up to see her kneeling, legs wide 
apart, on the foot of the bed. She held one breast in her right hand, and had 
the other slipped down her shorts, where the shifting of fabric and the growing 
damp spot told them she was fingering her own pussy. “I’m throbbing,” she said 
in a tone of wonder. “Burning. Like I’m going to turn into a cinder from the 
inside out.” 
“Then let us help you,” Jonathan said, reaching for her. 
“Uh-uh,” Melissa retorted, drawing back. “For the two of you, I have a show. 
Lean back against the pillows, both of you, and watch me go. I’ve been wanting 
to do this for ages.” 
The men exchanged glances, then wicked grins, and obeyed their Mistress’ 
command. Side by side, heads nestling together, they watched Melissa get up and 
stand at the foot of the bed. “Touch yourselves,” she ordered. “Hard, soft, 
fast, slow, doesn’t matter. But don’t come yet. You save those cocks for me.” 
She dipped and shimmied like a belly dancer, spine arching and trim stomach 
bowing in. “I want both inside me at once.” 
“Get back here,” Sullivan growled, sitting up and making a grab for her. 
“Nuh-uh. The show must go on.” Her fingers hesitated at the edge of her top. 
“I’ve wanted to for so long, Sully, and you only get one first time.” 
Jonathan squeezed Sullivan’s hand. “Let her have at it,” he whispered, voice 
tickling the curve of Sullivan’s ear. “Besides, I want to watch. I’ve been 
dreaming about this for a good long while myself.” 
Sullivan gazed at his best friend, soon to be his lover, and nodded. “When could 
I ever say no to you? But have a little mercy, huh? We’re only human here.” 
Her grin came straight from the devil, letting Sullivan know he was in for a 
hell of a time. “All right, then. Let the show begin.” 
Rocking her hips in tune with some sultry, languid tune only she could hear, 
Melissa trailed her fingers across her bare belly and traced up the length of 
her elaborate tattoos, curling in and out. When she reached fabric, she lifted 
the midriff top slowly, the fullness of her breasts gradually coming into view, 
surrounded by cups of lace. Sullivan gripped his cock harder at the sight. 
When she tore the shirt off as if it were paper, he felt Jonathan take his free 
hand. The two pressed against each other, side by side, working their cocks 
slowly up and down, watching Melissa perform for their pleasure -- and her own. 
Cradling her breasts in both hands, she offered them up as a plump and plentiful 
sacrifice. She rolled the nipples in her fingers until they stood up and out 
like hard candies, just waiting to be sucked and licked. “Any suggestions?” she 
asked, her voice low and husky. 
“The bra,” Sullivan said, mouth dry. “I’ve wondered about you naked. Drawn you 
with clothes just barely hanging off the curve of your breasts. Now I want to 
see them, for real.” 
Melissa’s fingers went to the front-clasp fastening of her lacy undergarment. 
She toyed with it, giving them a sly look. “Are you ready? Aim your cocks at me 
for yes.” She laughed as both Sullivan and Jonathan obeyed. “Bulls-eye,” she 
said, undoing the fastening. A shrug of her arms, and the bra fluttered away, 
hitting the floor. 
Sullivan stared at the perfection of the woman he’d drawn, his mouth beginning 
to water. She was everything he’d dreamed of and more. Fuller, riper, more lush. 
“I have to taste you,” he said hoarsely. “Come here, Melissa. Please, come 
here.” 
“Show’s not over yet.” Letting go of her breasts, Melissa toyed with the waist 
of her shorts. “The best part’s still to come.” 
“So am I,” Jonathan said with a groan. “Open up for us, darling. Let us see your 
sweet pussy.” 
“What would The Bitch do?” 
“When she had two men waiting on her in the same bed?” Sullivan rasped. “She’d 
get the fuck on with it.” 
Melissa’s lips tilted in an intoxicating grin. “Your wish,” she said, grasping 
the material, “is my command.” She tore the shorts as she had the shirt, easily 
as if they were tissue, and dropped the shreds to the floor. Melissa wore 
nothing underneath, and now bare, presented herself to Sullivan and Jonathan 
like the woman she was -- a small Amazon, in her prime, ripe and ready to be 
fucked. Her pussy, shaved down to the soft, swollen skin, glistened at them. 
She dipped a finger down to stroke herself. “Want me?” she purred. “Want this?” 
“More than anything,” Sullivan said, and meant it. “You and Jonathan. Come join 
us. Please.” 
“That’s the magic word.” Melissa put one knee on the edge of the bed and began 
crawling up it, easing her way between the two men. Sullivan stroked her back as 
she traveled, feeling the ridges of her spine and the utter smoothness of her 
decorated skin, bumping into Jonathan as he did the same. 
Fully nestled between Sullivan and Jonathan, Melissa moved around until she lay 
on her back. Sullivan flashed back on a memory of a thought he’d had not so long 
ago, himself tasting one full breast. “Please,” he begged, reaching out to 
touch. “Let me taste you?” 
Melissa drew Jonathan’s head in to her chest. “Feed,” she said, voice ripe with 
sex. “Both of you, drink from me.” 
As one, the men’s mouths fastened on Melissa’s breasts, licking at the nipples, 
tonguing them into even stiffer peaks. Sullivan sighed in bliss, his cock 
pulsating in time with the motion of his mouth, drawing her deeper and deeper 
in, cradling what he couldn’t take between his lips. It’d been forever, for 
ages, but God, was the feel of her worth the wait. 
Slyly, he let his other hand roam down to Melissa’s pussy, once again bumping 
into Jonathan en route. Melissa moaned and spread her legs wide, letting their 
two hands investigate her sopping folds. They felt the ripples as she tossed her 
head and lifted her back into a curve. 
So hot, so silky, so wet. Sullivan did what he’d dreamed of and thrust a finger 
into her channel, listening to her cries of pleasure double as he felt 
Jonathan’s hand above his own begin to play with her clit, thumbing it as if he 
had natural talent. A gush of wetness covered Sullivan’s hand. He left her long 
enough to taste the salty juices, licking each finger off before returning to 
her pussy, thrusting in and out in a mimicry of fucking. 
Fucking… oh, God, he couldn’t wait. 
Neither could Melissa, it seemed. “Too good,” she said, threshing her head on 
the pillow. “Playtime can wait. I can’t. I wanted this to last all night, and 
now I can’t stand to go a second longer.” 
“What are you saying, darling?” Jonathan’s accent was good enough to eat. 
Melissa parted her legs even further. “Inside me, both of you. Come inside me 
now.” 
“As the lady requires.” 
“Both of us, you’re sure?” 
Melissa nodded frantically. “Like in the threesome scene Sullivan drew once,” 
she said raggedly. “He knows, he’ll show you.” 
“I remember that picture, and how you stared at it for so long,” Sullivan said, 
drawing on the memory. “Melissa, straddle me. Up on your hands and knees, and 
move so that your pussy is almost touching my cock. Not inside, though. Not 
yet.” 
“And Jonathan?” She gasped. “Behind me?” 
“Jonathan behind. Unless you want things the other way around?” 
“No. No.” She shook her head, hair flying. “This is perfect. I’m dying for both 
of you, but I want you to be the first one inside my cunt, Sullivan.” Over her 
shoulder, she winked at Jonathan. “You can have next turn. This night’s not 
close to being over.” 
“I’m well aware.” Jonathan bit her shoulder as he sat up and moved with them, 
easing into position. Sullivan held Melissa as she shivered and shook, easing 
her limbs into place until she was poised above him, the edge of her wet folds 
touching the tip of his cock. 
Her eyes shone dark with desperation. “How long do we have to wait?” 
Sullivan caressed her. “Will this be your first time with someone coming from 
behind?” 
“No.” Melissa looked sad. “I wanted to wait for you, but I thought forever would 
be never.” 
“It’s tonight -- sweetie. Come here.” Sullivan indulged himself by drawing 
Melissa down for a kiss, holding her there while he heard the click of a tube 
opening -- way to show initiative, and go team Jonathan! -- and she gasped at 
the sound of slick liquid meeting flesh. 
“How does it feel?” he asked her softly, holding Melissa close as he could 
without sinking into her creamy center. “Tell me what he’s doing, as he’s doing 
it.” 
She struggled for breath. “His hands… those long, strong fingers… they’re 
circling my hole. Ah, ah, ah! He’s pushed one in. Tight, Sully, I feel so tight. 
But so empty.” 
“Open up for him, Melissa. Let him in.” She writhed and moaned above him as 
Jonathan must have added a second finger and begun to scissor her open. “This is 
why I like being with men. Tell me how good it feels, what he’s doing.” 
“Like heaven,” she managed. “Like I can’t get enough.” 
“She’s ready,” Jonathan said, his own voice shaky, as he drew back. Sullivan 
could just see him above Melissa, his autumn-colored hair and warm gray eyes all 
but ablaze with passion. “Are you?” 
Sullivan took a better grip on Melissa’s arms. “On the count of three, Lissa. 
Sink down on my cock as he pushes in.” She dragged in a deep breath of air as he 
spoke, and he soothed her, petting her down. “We’ll fill you at the same time, 
and you’ve never felt anything like this.” 
“Have you?” Melissa asked, eyes wild. 
“I’m lined up to her hole,” Jonathan said softly. “Ready on your mark.” 
“Never before you,” Sullivan said, stroking his best friend, his lover. “I 
wonder if you were always meant to be my first. You and Jonathan. Are you 
ready?” 
She nodded, then dipped her head down to kiss him, fiercely and hungrily. 
Sullivan grasped Melissa’s back and pulled her onto his cock in one smooth, slow 
glide. She felt like a silken fist around him, so wet that he slid easily into 
the tight fit. When her bare pussy touched his balls, she gave a mighty shudder. 

Sullivan knew what Jonathan must have been doing. “Relax, Lissa,” he said, 
holding himself back from thrusting by a tremendous effort of will. “Open up and 
let him in.” 
She gasped, groaned, and then Sullivan felt Jonathan come inside, short, slow 
strokes, steady as she rode, until he was nestled to the hilt. A thin strip of 
skin separated their two cocks. 
“So close, and yet so far?” Jonathan asked breathlessly. 
“We’ll all have our turn,” Sullivan answered, running his hands down Melissa’s 
sweat-sheened back and finding Jonathan’s hands. He hung onto them as he took 
just one delicious moment to savor the feeling, to let Melissa, shaking and 
quivering, adjust to having two men inside her at once. 
“Are you ready?” he asked, when she was able to focus on him again. 
She swallowed and nodded. “God, yes. I’m so full. Both of you.” 
“Both of us. And now, it gets even better.” Sullivan raised Melissa’s hips 
slightly, feeling Jonathan draw back, and then, unable to contain his shout of 
pleasure, brought her back home. His voice mingled with her own and Jonathan’s 
as he thrust in again. Rocking back and forth, they soon found their rhythm. 
Sullivan’s world dwindled down to pure physical sensation. Hot, tight, wet, 
hard, thrust, glide, push. The orgasm he’d been waiting for since earlier in the 
day began to build in the pit of his belly like a knot, uncoiling and ready to 
spiral loose. 
Not before Melissa came, though. Desperately, Sullivan worked his hand down 
between their bodies, brushing his own cock with a shock of pleasure, and began 
to finger her throbbing clit. She bucked against him, giving a ululating cry, 
and bore down on his cock from the inside. 
“Good?” Sullivan managed to ask. Eyes shut, Melissa nodded. Sullivan tugged at 
the small silver ring piercing her clit, then gave it a light yank. “Come for 
me,” he urged. “Want to feel you come.” He pulled again, teasing with his 
fingers. “Hurts so good, baby.” His fingers danced in circles around her as 
Jonathan thrust in and out. “Do it, Lissa. Let go. Now!” 
She wailed, spasming around him, her internal muscles clenching and releasing in 
a wild frenzy. Sullivan’s cock gave a throb, his hips bucked, and his orgasm 
came onto him like a sudden deluge, washing his body with sheet after sheet of 
pure, white-hot pleasure. He could hear Jonathan making primal sounds as he, 
too, froze. As Sullivan’s own cock pumped seed into his condom, he imagined he 
felt Jonathan’s come spurting out, all but touching and mingling with his own. 
When the white light faded and the room stopped spinning, the three of them lay 
in a heap, breathing in heavy, ragged gasps. Wrung out, Sullivan managed to 
bring Melissa’s head to rest on his shoulder, kissing a purple curl of hair. 
Sweat and woman. The smell of man, too, came from Jonathan, who was pulling 
himself out of Melissa’s toned ass, then collapsing by their side. 
“Share and share alike,” Sullivan whispered, turning Melissa over so she nestled 
between them. His cock slipped out as she moved, and he almost whimpered at the 
loss, but he knew -- there would be more for him later. 
Lying on his back, floating in the hazy afterglow, Sullivan kissed the curve of 
one rounded breast, and reached for Jonathan, tangling their fingers together. 
The roughness of all three sets of breathing evened out slowly, gradually, like 
waves ebbing into shore. 
Finally, Melissa moved, rotating her shoulders as if she were a contented cat 
kneading into the bed. “When can we go again?” 
Sullivan and Jonathan broke into laughter. “Insatiable,” Jonathan said fondly. 
“Good thing, too.” 
“Soon,” Sullivan promised. “There’s something I have to do first, though.” 
Melissa turned toward him, the look of a well-fucked woman blissful on her face. 
Dreamy and hazy, she gazed at Sullivan, waiting for whatever he had in mind. 
Sullivan looked at the face of the woman he’d drawn so long ago, this miracle he 
had in his arms and his bed, and whispered, “I love you.” 
“As do I,” Jonathan said, squeezing Sullivan’s hand harder. “Very, very much 
so.” 
A tear slipped out and ran down Melissa’s cheek. “You mean it?” 
Sullivan nodded, brushing her hair back with a tender hand. “I so do. I can’t 
live without you, Melissa. Still planning to leave me -- us -- now?” 
“Never.” She shook her head. “Not on your life. But, Sully, one more thing, 
something you need to know.” Melissa almost glowed. “I love you too.” 
And they kissed, Jonathan coming in from behind to lay his lips on Melissa’s 
shoulders, joined as three in a perfect triangle, neither about to let go if 
they could possibly help it. 
Not ever, not once, not at all. 
Chapter Eleven 
Afterglow was a great word. Even better when you weren’t completely done, just 
resting up between rounds. Somewhere in there the night had ended and the 
morning sun was just about to slip over the horizon, but Sullivan, Melissa and 
Jonathan were still in the one bed, draped over each other as if they were 
worn-out puppies. 
“No,” Sullivan said drowsily. “Cats. Great big jungle cats, with fearsome teeth 
and claws that catch.” 
It was to Jonathan’s credit that he got the reference, and Melissa’s that she 
didn’t question it. Both merely put out hands to stroke Sullivan’s thigh, one on 
each, as if he’d done something to be proud of -- well, above and beyond fucking 
and being fucked to heaven and beyond all night long. 
“Melissa,” he sighed, “God, do I owe you for introducing us.” 
“I suspect I’m in her debt as well,” Jonathan murmured, cozying his head up on 
Melissa’s leg. “I’ve never been quite so happy to owe someone a favor.” 
“I’d say you were all paid up, sweetie.” Melissa combed her fingers through his 
hair. She grinned wickedly. “But there’s always compound interest.” Then, she 
sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy at all.” 
Sullivan’s heart went melt, just like a pat of butter on something sugary and 
sweet. He reached out to grasp her hand, found Jonathan’s instead, and contented 
himself with nuzzling his own face into one of Melissa’s trim legs. “How can one 
man and one woman have won me over so totally, so quickly?” 
“But we got you, didn’t we?” Melissa’s fingers trailed over Sullivan’s cheeks. 
He almost purred, rubbing into her touch. From where he lay he could smell the 
rich scent of her sex, and see the swollen lips of her pussy, still so tempting 
and just within hand’s reach… 
Melissa sighed and leaned back as Sullivan stroked a finger down her outer 
folds. Her head lolled back against the wall behind the bed and rolled back and 
forth, small strands of multi-hued hair clinging to it with static electricity. 
“You brought me to life,” she said, and Sullivan knew she meant more than what 
he’d done so long ago on the drawing table. “Do it again.” 
Sullivan exchanged glances with Jonathan, whose weary gray eyes had suddenly 
developed a sparkle. “What do you say?” he asked. “Should we give her a show?” 
Jonathan reached up to finger Melissa as well, running over her smoothly shaven 
mound and slipping inside to tickle at her clitoris. She groaned and arched, her 
stomach muscles flexing. “Keep that up, and I’m gonna be the show,” she warned. 
“And I want to see you two boys go at it.” Like the minx she was, she closed her 
legs to the knee, just narrowly letting the two men escape with their hands. “I 
want to watch you fuck each other almost over the edge, and then bring me in for 
the grand finale.” 
Sullivan looked at Jonathan again, this time touching the man’s lean cheek with 
a hand that smelled of pure sex. Jonathan inhaled, his eyes almost closing. 
“This is heaven,” he said, his voice sounding as if he were rolling around on 
something rare and precious, absolutely wallowing in it. “I had no idea when I 
came here last night, but I do now, and as you Americans say, what are we 
waiting for?” 
Sullivan traced down Jonathan’s nose. “I’m not sure. I keep wanting to call you 
words like honey or sweetheart or lover, but I don’t know if you’re ready for 
those words yet. Maybe it’s that English reserve thing.” 
Jonathan chuckled, rolling closer to Sullivan. “This is nothing like British 
manners,” he informed Sullivan. “A three-way, night-long orgy is not covered at 
all in the traditional lessons on social etiquette. Trust me, I’m being no one 
but myself in all of this. And besides, you called me all those things and more 
last night.” 
“Oh, yeah,” Sullivan said, voice lowering. “Especially when those long, 
succulent legs of yours were draped over my shoulders and I was driving into you 
full throttle. I know you now, Jonathan, in a way that a hundred casual dates 
and dinner would never have gained me. The way you breathe faster and faster as 
you get more excited, the way your hands lock down on my arms when I push into 
you or suck on your cock, how they move against my back when we thrust against 
each other, slick and smooth in all that come…” 
Above them, Melissa moaned. Her fingers stole down to stroke her own pussy. “Get 
this show on the road,” she ordered. “No more waiting.” 
Jonathan kissed Sullivan’s fingers. “Whatever you want from me, you can have.” 
“For now, or for always?” 
“Always,” he whispered. Sullivan felt something go leap! and bounce! in his 
heart as he leaned in to brush those heavenly lips again, savoring the taste and 
texture of the kiss as if it were their first time together. Above them, Melissa 
moaned again, writhing as she watched what Sullivan felt -- two cocks growing 
hard against one another. It almost hurt, after coming so many times, but it 
hurt so good that he didn’t want to stop. 
“Roll over,” he ordered, giving Jonathan a push. “On your hands and knees.” He 
caressed Melissa’s knee. “Open back up, baby. Let him taste you while I take 
care of what he needs.” 
Melissa loosed an almost girlish laugh, then let her legs fall apart like the 
most wanton harlot that ever flounced across the Wild West. She petted her bare 
pussy in invitation. “I’m up for it if you are,” she said, sultry and inviting. 
They were ready even as the men prepared themselves with condoms and the three 
of them lined up in a chain. Sullivan positioned himself behind Jonathan, the 
man still stretched and lubed from being fucked twice before. He savored the 
sweet ache in his own ass before lining his swollen cock up to the inviting hole 
and sliding in, a slow lazy dip into the tightly gripping inside, gasping when 
Jonathan bore down and the pressure became a wonderful torment. 
Melissa cried out as Sullivan saw Jonathan push his mouth into her pussy, his 
tongue making lazy trails inside her folds, flicking up and around the hard nub 
of her clitoris. She dug her hands into the rumpled sheets and held on tight, 
thrashing her head to and fro. 
Sullivan grinned, and began to fuck in earnest, nailing Jonathan like a hammer, 
knowing how much the calm, quiet librarian loved being fucked like an animal. 
Jonathan added his own cries to Melissa’s, unable to help himself even as he 
gorged himself on female cream. 
The smells of sex rose up around them like fragrant incense as they began all 
over again, going easy, taking their time, no matter how much they wanted to 
hurry. Each time someone sped up, another slowed them down with gentle strokes 
on flank or chest, reminding them, no rush, go easy, we have time. 
As a matter of fact, they had all day to fuck if they wanted to. And, Sullivan 
thought, as he slid his hand around to grasp Jonathan’s own cock and begin to 
jack him off, they could stay here until they were too worn out to do anything 
but sleep. Then they could start all over again. 
That was, until the characters on his drawing board got impatient enough to want 
a piece of the action. 
Sullivan glanced up at Melissa and saw her manage, even in the throes of 
passion, to throw him a saucy wink. 
He wondered… What would Jonathan make of Crazy Joe? 
Willa Okati 
Willa Okati is one hundred percent in love all things vampire and supernatural. 
However, she’s an even bigger fan of stories that feature beautiful men 
exploring their desires for one another. Casually known as the “blue-haired, 
tattooed wench” among Changeling folks, she lives for the fun of acting just as 
young as she feels. She’d love for you to visit her website at 
http://www.willaokati.com or join her reader’s loop for fun and chatter at 
willa_okati@yahoogroups.com. Happy reading!