Chapter Nineteen Intimacy

The rest of the weekend was spent in a haze of flesh, sweat, and the fluttering of off-white wings. We fell asleep fast that night, and though our eyelids fluttered every so often in the morning, we were never fully awake until late the next day. Gerard refused to tell me the time when he kissed my eyes open, but I knew it had to be well into the afternoon from the way the orange sun came in through his window. The eerie glow cascaded over the floor, turning the almond colored wood to a ginger shade, and illuminating the dust in the morning light. When we eventually crawled out of bed, the chilled air hit my bare chest, and I wrapped the sheet around me to keep warm as I walked over to the brightened area. The floor was lukewarm to the touch, and I no longer saw the need to shelter myself. I let the sheet drop lazily just as Gerard took its place around me.

We didn’t feel tired anymore, but after a quick breakfast, we were back in bed for most of whatever was left of the day. We entwined our bodies then proceeded we explored every feature on the other’s with our hands, and when Gerard was more daring, mouths and tongues. I kept my lips pressed to the regions I was more familiar with, Gerard’s face and neck, and let my hands take me almost everywhere else. We rose from bed every so often, only to go and watch how the sun reflected in the bay window. There, we continued the same exploration in front of everything and everyone, but too high and too far inside to be seen. The sun and our hands kept our bodies flushed and awake. The dove was perched on the cage that she was no longer confined to, watching us with her bobbing head. I barely saw her; I was more alert the scenery outside. The sky was so blue, and the sun so warm, despite the small chill from the cold, dense air outside. The snow had been gone from the ground for a long time now, but the grass was still struggling to grow against the frigid air. I stole occasional glances at Gerard, and each time I did, he was only staring at me.

“This is what intimacy is about,” he informed me randomly, once I had caught his gaze for the fifth time, and decided to let it linger. He moved closer to me all of a sudden, wrapping his hand around the small of my back. He kissed the top of my forehead, and finally looked outside.

He never said anything relating to his statement in the moments that passed. Even when I shifted from the crook of his neck to gaze up at him, probing for more, he was quiet. His face was austere, eyes narrowed to block out some of the sun’s rays that came through. He was thinking, but I didn’t know about what just yet. He was lucky he could get away with just making statements and following no conclusions. I didn’t think I was that daring yet.

When we finally left our spot, it was only to bathe – together, of course. We didn’t fuck in the shower this time; we actually washed each other instead. His small fingers worked their way through my hair like a masseuse as he poured on copious amounts of shampoo. The container was a dark shade of blue that I had never seen at the drugstore before. It was apparently some European brand that was for coloured hair, he informed me through the jets of water. It smelt somewhat bitter as he cranked the lid open, but he assured me that it ‘worked wonders’. I didn’t really care what my hair looked like; it was fairly short and, for the most part, clung to my scalp, not doing anything appealing. But the way his fingers descended down and around, lathering the soap and scratching my hairline… it was almost better than sex. Almost. I let my head rock back into his palm as he worked and I closed my eyes, letting my jaw slack. It felt so calming and soothing; I even caught myself moaning at one point, but covered it up as best I could. I was pretty sure Gerard heard me from the way he smiled as he turned me around to get the front part of my hair. He didn’t seem to mind. He kissed my neck and ear as he continued to wash me, occasionally grabbing and stroking my half-hard erection, but never fully jacking me off.

“It’s Sunday,” he whispered into my ear while we were still in the shower, the water’s light rhythm acting as a guide for the movement of his hands. “The day of rest. We need to take a break from fucking each other’s brains out.”

He laughed light and airy, while I just smiled. I didn’t know what we were supposed to do if we weren’t having sex, but I was willing to find out. His first act was to push my head gingerly back under the stream of water, the white soap bubbles descending down my face and into the drain. He kissed me, and though I was rock hard and it hurt, it didn’t seem to matter right then that we weren’t, as he so eloquently put, fucking our brains out.

After our shower, he dried me off, continuing his intimate. It didn’t occur to me until later on that his two very bold statements were related. I had figured he was being Gerard, making audacious statements for shock value. I was so relaxed as he dried me off with his towel though, I didn’t think I could be shocked. It felt so comforting to be in his arms, to just let him do everything. He was taking care of me, but it wasn’t in a parental or teacher way anymore. It was in a relationship way. Boyfriend to boyfriend or whatever the hell we were. We were tending to each other’s needs - or as many as they could handle. I felt bad not reciprocating, but he never asked me to. Technically, I never asked for him to wash my hair or dry me off, or later on bring me food, he just did it.

A lot of the time when he took care of me, I just let it all happen and went into a dreamy state, zoning out for a while. When I did manage to snap out of it and offer to help him in the same way, he merely took the hand that I had extended, wrapped it in his own and kissed my fingertips, distracting me from what I had been doing in the first place. He was pretty damned determined to take care of me, and hell, I wasn’t putting up much of a protest.

Later on in the day when hunger took over our bellies, Gerard opened his fridge and took out the loaf of crusty French bread that we had been consuming the entire weekend. It was now more than half gone, but he still was able to section off three or four thick pieces of the loaf and hand them to me.

I had always seen these loaves in the supermarket, stacked on high shelves and wrapped in brown paper, but never paid much attention to them. My mom always bought us white Wonderbread, and never deterred far from that path. Those breads were to remain on the shelves, simply not for us. I didn’t know whether it was because I was eating it at Gerard’s or the actual bread itself, but it tasted good; better than anything Wonder had ever made. Its sticky and fluffy centre was a different texture inside my mouth. I had to chew it thoroughly and crack through the thick, outside crust. Gerard never cut the bread, merely ripped off chunk after chunk. He said that cutting something to a shape it was not defined to be only ruined the tang and touch of the item. Also, it was too fresh most of the time and the knife (once through the crust) would crush the fluffy centre into solid mounds. So he tugged off piece after piece for me, and anything too large we shared.

I thought that after the first day of the bread I would get sick of it, but I never did. Perhaps because each time there was a different variety of cheese to go along with the meal, as well as a large tub of creamy butter.

The cheeses were some of the weirdest things I had ever tasted. I was used to the cheddar and mozzarella he put in front of me, but when he produced the brie and feta, I had no idea what I was dealing with. They tasted too salty or bitter inside my mouth, but I swallowed them down anyway to not disappoint him by showing my lack of culture. We also usually waited for the last possible moment to eat, and by that time, I was desperate for anything to make my stomach walls stop folding in on themselves.

“You’ll get used to it,” Gerard told me with a smile on his face as he watched me choke down feta for the first time. I apparently had not done a good job at hiding my disgust. He lopped off a large chunk into his mouth, as if demonstrating that point. He continued to talk and smile, the food bunched in the side of his cheek. “You got used to the wine, after all.”

I nodded and rolled my eyes, taking a swig from the glass of beverage that I had come to love. The purple liquid that had sickened me at first, I found myself craving. I liked the way it tickled my taste buds, especially those at the front and back of my tongue. I had even started to hold the wine in my mouth longer, letting the taste percolate much like Gerard did every time. He generally bought the same type of wine (or at least I thought so, I was not up to date on this kind of thing), and even when he switched it up slightly, I could still drink as much as I wanted.

We always got drunk when we drank wine, but it was never with the actual liquid itself. We would mostly drink to accentuate the food we were eating, or to accentuate each other. But the aura and the atmosphere of the other person, that was what we really did get drunk on. We’d drink down each other whole, kissing their body and face and exploring new regions not yet seen. We didn’t even need to have sex for this to happen, we just needed to be intimate.

Intimate, I repeated the word in my head. I was starting to understand Gerard’s random statements.

The best part about this high was that there was no hangover, just a slight twinge of morning mouth and waking up with Gerard next to me. It was hardly an after effect I wanted to get rid of.

We would have almost looked high class and civilized as we ate our dainty French bread with a variety of cheeses, followed by delectable wines, but we were far from sophisticated. We would eat our food in the middle of the apartment, spread out on a bed sheet like we were going for a picnic, amongst his array of books and paint supplies. We would be naked most of the time as we ate, and I highly doubted that civilized people made out on the same blanket they ate their fine wine and cheeses on. I loved kissing him this way. I could always taste the bitter berries inside his mouth, contrasting with the saltiness of the cheese. The bread, with its warm and spongy qualities, seemed to absorb all of the flavors together. If I kissed Gerard right after we had eaten, it meant he tasted like food, and it let me believe that I really could consume him whole.

When we weren’t eating or bathing, we were on his bed, on top of each other and so tangled it sometimes hurt to move. We spent some time looking out his window, but never actually venturing out onto the balcony. We didn’t want to put on clothing and we didn’t want people to see us outside together, being as intimate as we were. We couldn’t help ourselves sometimes with our physical touches, and more often than not, we didn’t even know we were doing it. We knew there was no actual need to touch the other person when we were talking or dozing in the afternoon light, but we subconsciously would link hands or arms. Gerard would often play with my hair and rub my shoulders, even once giving me a massage as we lay down after eating. His hands were tough and strong, artist hands working out the kinks inside my small teenage back. He said I had a lot of stress, though I knew it had diminished so much since I had started going to his place. I may have even grown a few inches, not from actually gaining height itself, but gaining confidence. Gerard still found some minor strain, and as he worked his hands over my waist, squeezing hard and then rubbing each notch in my spine, I felt it going away bit by bit.

My stress began to accumulate again when I realized that it was Sunday, not this magical day of intimacy, but the day I had to go home. I had spent probably the best weekend of my life at Gerard’s place, inside his arms and him inside me. God, I just didn’t want to leave. I wanted to live here forever, even if that term didn’t exist in his mind. There was no such thing as forever, but however long something could last, I wanted to spend that duration with this artist, this man - one of the most magical people I had ever known.

It wasn’t just Gerard causing this urge. There was something about his apartment, something about these walls splashed with paint. I felt like I could really be free in here. I could express myself and have it be okay. Even if what I had done with my guitar sucked in Gerard’s mind, he still let me do it. He still encouraged me. I had never had that sort of support before.

My parents had always told me I was a good kid, but that was at school, something I was less than passionate about. And they were my parents; they had to say something nice about me because I was their own flesh and blood. Gerard was a relative stranger I had met in front of a liquor store. He was thirty years older than me, and much better off than I was. He didn’t have to tell me anything. Hell, he didn’t even have to have me in his apartment just then. But he still did. He told me the truth about everything, but still encouraged me to defy that truth. I may have sucked at guitar, but I had the ability to change that. His words and actions meant more to me than anything anyone had ever done because he didn’t have to do them.

My parent’s prerogative was changing more so than ever now. They were no longer telling me that I was good, but barking at me that I had to be good. That I must be good. If I wasn’t good, I wouldn’t do well in school. If I didn’t do well in school, I wouldn’t get a job, and if I didn’t get a job, I would fail at a life. They may not have reiterated that exact cycle to me in those blatant terms, but the meaning was there. I could see it every time my mother sighed when she saw my report card, and every time my dad forbade me from doing something fun. They were disappointed in me.

There was no ‘must’ in Gerard’s place. It was all up to me what I wanted to do, including sleeping with this man so much older than myself. Gerard left that totally up to me. I could back out at any time. I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, though. I wanted to stay here, in these brightly colored walls encased in paint for as long as I could, forever or not. My time though, at least for this weekend, was coming to an end much sooner than I wanted.

I phoned my mother a few more times from Gerard’s, letting her know that I was still with Sam and Travis, but we were at one of their friend’s houses, so she wouldn’t try to call them. Her voice seemed to keep escalating with more deep rooted concern for just why I was spending so much time outside the house. She was appearing more and more tired with each dial tone, getting older and older with each excuse I made. I had never been close to my friends, even when they weren’t being pricks, so this was extremely out of character.

When I phoned on Sunday, she told me to be home by my usual time, making my heart fall. I knew I would have had to have been home – it was a school night – but there was still some part of me that was hoping I could convince her to let me stay longer.

“I’ll just be at Sam’s tonight,” I told her, my voice wavering with the number of lies it was carrying. “We’ll both go to school in the morning…”

“No,” she said sturdily, surprising me. The phone line went dead for a little while, both of us taken aback by everything.

“Just come home tonight, Frank. You’ve spent all weekend with them.”

I nodded at first, watching the black door that concealed Gerard out of the corner of my eye. “Okay. Thanks.”

I knew the artist would have told me to fight for what I believed in, but God, I wasn’t stupid. If I pushed any harder, I could have been grounded, or she could have demanded I go home at that very moment. I needed to stay on her good side so I could spend as much time here as possible. And I thanked her for her time, even if I didn’t get what I had wanted.

It was my mother’s turn to be quiet. She seemed surprised by my manners; it wasn’t every day a teenage boy thanked his mommy for not giving him what he wanted. Gerard really was starting to change me, as my mom could see (though blind to the cause), for the better.

“Be safe,” she told me before I hung up the phone.

She said those same ending lines each time I had called this weekend, and they always struck me. My mom cared about me, and I felt guilty for lying to her. I didn’t like to lie to my parents, and this was the first time I had in a long, long time. Other encounters with them I had merely not said the whole truth. They had no idea I had ever been drinking or doing drugs, but that was because they never came right out and asked me. So therefore, I had never lied.

The function of the ‘be safe’ line seemed to apply more than ever now. I was enthused with Gerard and he seemed to be with me as well, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn on me at any moment. When I reviewed the facts in my mind in the brief moments where we were not touching or talking, they never sounded right lined up logically. A forty-seven year old man was fucking a seventeen-year-old boy. Oh, and he was getting him drunk too. That didn’t sound right at all, and it made my heart beat faster inside my chest, wondering if I had just been brainwashed this entire time.

But when I turned around from the phone and saw Gerard’s open waiting arms and exposed flesh, I knew that this was the safest place I could be and he was not harming me in any way, shape, or form. In fact, he was soothing old wounds from my family and friends; people I had never even questioned before as being a physical, mental, or emotional threat. Sam and Travis were probably more dangerous in reality than Gerard ever would be to me.

When Sam and I were younger, he had gotten me into stealing merchandise from stores. Then he had turned me on to drinking and drugs. And never once did Sam ask if I was okay with everything. He just assumed I was. Gerard never made assumptions. He pushed people so far with just his words, to see if his theories were right, but he would back down when (and if) he was wrong. Of course his arrogant self would never admit to being wrong, but that was a part of who he was. He was very persuasive in his ways, but he knew when to stop. He knew how much the human body and mind could handle, and he’d only push it to that barrier. I often wondered how many times he had to experiment in order to get the symmetry he was looking for correct. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he would only do it in a manner so that no one got hurt. That, in my mind at least, made him the safest person I knew.

“What time is it?” I asked eventually, a while after the phone call was complete. Gerard and I were tangled on his bed again.

I had asked, though I pretty much figured that he’d refuse to tell me the time like he had all day. I could sort of already answer my question myself; I knew it was getting late. We had gotten up in the afternoon, already wasting away so much time sleeping that we could have used doing nothing. Our ‘nothing’ consisted of what we were doing right then: sitting in his bed, just laying on each other, sparking conversation when we felt the urge. We didn’t need to talk to have a good time. The way his hands went over my body like water was a language in itself.

Gerard sighed, his chest moving up and down significantly. He knew I would only grow more anxious if he told me, but he shifted his weight and opened his bedside table to glance at the watch he kept in the closed space. He scrunched up his face when he saw the numbers, then looked back at me. He was lying on his back, while I was on my side, propped up by my elbow. My brows furrowed seeing his expression, which made him frown even more. He closed the drawer and shifted closer to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling my exposed body towards him.

I went somewhat meekly, letting him position me under his arm, my hand draping over his stomach right above his navel. I rested my head on his chest and I felt him place a chaste kiss on the top of my skull. My hair was dry by that point from our shower and no longer clung to my scalp in a matted mess. The shampoo apparently had worked wonders and now my locks had some kind of volume to it.

“Are you going to answer me?” I asked again quietly. I wasn’t trying to boss him around, but my voice had come out sharper than it needed to.

“It’s almost seven-thirty,” he informed me, his voice growing with weak dismay.

I crushed my eyes shut once I heard the number, though I already knew the dark sky outside was a good indicator.

“Fuck,” I breathed, swearing for the first time since being there. “We have two hours.”

“No,” Gerard countered. I looked up at him from his chest, seeing his lips purse. “We have two and a half.” He cracked a weak smile down at me, but it did little to help.

“That’s still not enough time,” I pouted, not looking at him anymore. I focused on a stray thread of fabric on the sheet and started to finger it aimlessly.

“No time is enough time,” Gerard opposed, yet again being philosophical. I was not in the mood for it. I loved him teaching me, but when it came to theorizing about time at that very moment, it in itself was a waste of fucking time.

“Shut up about that will you?” I said with a hot stutter.

I felt Gerard’s hand stop moving from its circling motion on my back, and I looked up at him again. He didn’t seem mad or unhappy, just not really impressed. I sighed, forgetting what little anger I had.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. When he didn’t flinch, but started the circling motion again, I pulled myself closer to his face, running a finger along his cheekbone. “I just don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave either,” Gerard stated, the exhausted quality in his eyes and voice surprising me. I was taken aback, forgetting that all this time he probably felt the same as I did. Gerard was always so confident and alluring that I seemed to overlook the fact that he was a real human being and did have other emotions.

The night and the morning after we first had sex came to my mind suddenly, and I recalled when he had confessed that he was just as scared as I was, maybe even more. He was the one that would be arrested if this all went down, not me. He was the older one, the wiser one that should have known better than to get involved in a situation that would have no happy ending for anyone. He was the one taking a huge risk with some foolish teenager, and had a lot to lose if we were ever caught. He had every right to be afraid, but I just couldn’t fathom that. He was my teacher and my idol still, even if I tried to look at him as an equal right alongside me. He simply wasn’t capable of fear. Even if I had seen that in his eyes on Friday, Saturday, and now, Sunday, I was seeing the pain of separation, I still didn’t get it.

It started to clue into me bit by bit though as I felt his chest quiver a bit as he breathed. He was missing me just as much as I was missing him, and there was no reason we had to feel this way alone. Gerard, in my mind, may not have been able to feel such dark emotions, but if I intertwined us together and we felt them as one person, then I could see its plausible nature. I felt something inside me swell that wasn’t my cock for once that day. We still hadn’t had sex yet – a change for us who always fucked or at least did something sexual, even if this relationship was still in its infancy. I didn’t care about sex then, and that surprised even me. I wanted to kiss Gerard to make us that one person again, and tell him that everything was okay.

The finger that I had used to trace along his cheek, I put to the back of his neck and pulled him forward, letting our mouths meet in a dry breath first, then deepen into something more. He was taken a little off guard (for once) with the action, mostly because I rarely initiated long and deep kisses. I was always ready to comply, but still too shy to lead.

I opened my mouth and let my tongue slide forward slowly, a wet pant escaping from both of us. He let his tongue go forward too and in no time, we were exploring each other again. He was warm and soft, and I kept my fingers curled then splayed at the back of his neck, interlocking with his hair. His hands rubbed up and down my arms before they slipped under them and made his way to the small of my back, pulling me closer to his naked body. Our noses brushed together as we kissed, our mouths disconnecting slightly, then crashing back together, sometimes changing the angles of attack. Our breathing was heavy, though our motions were relatively slow.

I took the one hand that was not on his neck and rubbed it down his chest, stopping at his hipbone and leaving it there. I could feel him press me into him from his hand at the small of my back, and my hips bucked forward slightly. From my hand gently rubbing his protruding pelvis with a slight belly in between, I could feel his hips rocking forward, but definitely not as strong as my own.

We continued to kiss, tongues lashing into the other’s mouth and feeling the warm depths as his hands went down from the small of my back and rounded over my butt cheeks. I moaned into his mouth, knowing how sensitive I had discovered my ass to be in the past few days. He kept his hand on the cheek for awhile, rubbing up and down, before he finally went down the length of the bottom, cupping the top of my thigh hard and bringing me closer to him.

I thought he was going to insert a finger into me and prepare me for the sex we had not had all day, but desperately wanted. I liked everything we had been doing that day, but I really wanted to have sex. It wasn’t all just because I was horny, though I was sure that had some merit on my decision. Sex was some kind of closure in my mind. I was leaving soon, and though I would be coming back, I needed this farewell fuck. I wanted to have our last action of the day to be big and important, just like our first. Parallel to that first night, I needed to show Gerard just how much I wanted everything.

He didn’t finger me, to my surprise. I just continued to kiss him, figuring it was a matter of time before his hand returned and began to prepare me. Gerard was always big on foreplay, and sometimes it lasted for hours on end.

Just the mere thought of sex had me breathing harder, my cock growing in much the same way as I pressed against his thigh. I was rocking into him and I knew he could feel it, but he didn’t do anything, either. I had to take my mouth away from his to catch my breath, slipping my tongue out discretely and moving gracefully over to the side so he could get my neck instead. I was panting hard and could no longer kiss as slowly as I was, just breathing through my nose. I nuzzled his shoulder with my head as I lapped up air and felt his wet mouth attack my throbbing neck, making me to moan through a breath.

“I’m sorry about before,” I said, still breathing pretty hard. He stopped for a minute, as if recalling the seemingly distant memory of my immature worries.

“There is no need for apologizing for what you’re feeling,” Gerard finally expressed, the allure returning to his voice. He kissed my neck softly between each statement, my groans becoming muffled by my own self-restraint. “Feelings, no matter how irrational, never need an apology to go with them.”

I felt myself smile at his words, his second meaning jumping right to the forefront of my mind.

“I can see you again tomorrow,” Gerard continued, his voice coming back to a real life quality. “You can come back everyday after school like you did before. I can still teach you how to paint.” He paused, taking a breath and a break from kissing and releasing the words subdued and slow. “If you want.”

“Of course I want to,” I said almost immediately, bringing my face up to meet him again. My eyes were wider than usual, just from the sheer fact that he had possessed doubt of my return. Did he not feel how hard I was just then?

He smiled up at me, recognition beaming through him. He took one of his hands that had been on my upper thigh and ran it along my face and in my hair, grinning at me the entire time. I rolled my eyes slightly, becoming a little self-conscious under his constant gaze. He eased my feelings by bringing our lips together again, kissing long and slow, tongues only going to the front of the mouth, and not deep inside. The embrace only lasted a few moments, before I broke away, rubbing my hand on his hips that had ceased rocking as I talked.

“I hope we do more than painting,” I said, trying to sound seductive but coming out as unsure. My eyes had been down when I said the statement, focusing on the way his skin folded on his chest, but now I brought them up to his eyes to sense his reaction. He smiled and laughed slightly, probably at my attempt of seductiveness.

“We will,” he said, bringing me closer again, his voice actually succeeding at being sexy. I let him kiss me, wishing that I could obtain his voice. My teenage existence had rid me of any kind of elegance in my speech. The closest I could get to that were the reverberations I felt in his mouth when we kissed.

As we embraced again, I let my hips rock harder into him, being more forceful in showing him what I wanted. His hand was now at the back of my neck, but he still had one on the base of my thigh. I rocked into him more, panting harder and trying to get my point across without actually saying anything. Like with a lot of other tasks, I never initiated the sex, but gave fairly obvious hints. I had done it so much in the past few days, I was surprised he hadn’t picked up on them by now, but I was still new to all of this. I figured I wasn’t being obvious enough yet.

I could feel his hips rocking slightly against mine. I continued to rub his skin, but relocated my hand to his pubic bone, inching my way slowly down it. I felt the rough patch of pubic hair and nearly bit Gerard’s lip in anticipation of what I knew would be coming. As I reached my hand further down however, his hips stopped moving, and instead of finding an erect cock, much like my own, I found a flaccid one between his thick legs. With my surprising discovery, my hips ceased movement, and subsequently, he sighed disdainfully.

“It’s not you,” he told me, bringing his lips away from mine and nuzzling my neck, not wanting to make eye contact. I furrowed my brows, moving my hand away from his crotch and back to his thick middle.

I didn’t understand what was going on. I thought Gerard was just as turned on as I was. We were both rocking our hips and kissing hard, but nothing was happening with him down there, while I, on the other hand, was aching. It didn’t make any sense at all, considering he was the one who fucked me all the time, and there had never been this problem before.

The way Gerard was carrying himself just then didn’t compute with me either. He was still nuzzling my neck and kissing me, but it was in a frenzied fashion, his pecks occurring as fast as the breath from our lungs in a desperate attempt to try and distract me from what I had not seen. Gerard hadn’t been hard when I touched him, but he said it wasn’t my fault. That statement still didn’t clear the air though, and I was left wide eyed and staring down at him. I pulled away so I could finally see his face, where a soft tinge of red was draped across his cheeks, not from arousal. Gerard was embarrassed, and again nothing made sense.

“What is it then?” I asked, closing my mouth and trying to remain calm.

I put a hand on his face and tried to bring his chin towards me. When he finally met my eye contact and we stared for awhile, my deep concerning glances probing into his ashamed ones, he did the unthinkable.

He began to laugh.

It wasn’t a deep belly laugh, but it wasn’t a nervous chortle either. He actually seemed amused by the situation, a huge contrast from the blush streaking his cheeks.

“Oh,” he sighed, bringing one of his palms up to meet his face, and closing his eyes as he squeezed his temple. He breathed in and out once, the palm still pressed against him. When he finally looked at me again, he raised his eyebrows cynically. “My poor cock.”

“What?” I asked, unsure if I heard him right. When Gerard talked, everything was elegant and poetic to a certain degree. The harshness and somewhat absurdity in these lines left me baffled.

He sighed and scrunched up his face, realizing that he was going to have to do a lot of explaining to me. I was still getting used to the mechanics of gay sex; I didn’t know what to do when something broke down. He shifted his weight and offered a space beside him for me to rest while he started this discussion.

“I’m old, Frank -”

“No, you’re not,” I said quickly, trying to comfort him. When he looked down at me skeptically, I corrected myself a little bit. “Not that much.”

“Thanks,” he said with a contemptuous sigh. “I’m older than you at least, and well…” He shifted his eyes around, ultimately glancing down below his waist, sending a hint to me. “Things just don’t work like they’re supposed to all the time.”

“ Oh …”

The air was knocked out of me when the realization finally hit.

Gerard couldn’t get it up.

My mouth was open again, but it was hard to shut it in my surprised state. I had always heard of men having these types of problems before. I would fall asleep with the TV on some nights and wake up to infomercials about how every man could ‘be a man again’. I’d always cringe and die a little inside when I saw the ads, running full speed to turn the TV off before they got to a demonstration. I knew what Gerard was talking about, to some degree. I just never thought it could happen to him of all people.

“Didn’t we just fuck yesterday?” I asked, my face twisting in confusion. It was possible for this to happen to older guys, but fuck, did Gerard age ten years the night before, rendering his cock useless? “I mean, you’ve been hard before. You were hard all weekend…”

I didn’t mean for my voice to sound so condescending, but it came out that way. Gerard didn’t seem to mind; the voice inside his conscious was probably telling him the exact same thing in the exact same way. He just shook his head and crushed his eyes closed, not wanting to, but explaining it anyway.

“I’m probably like this now because we did fuck a lot this weekend, Frank,” he said, his voice low and dull. “I usually don’t have this problem. It’s really, really rare. But Frank, you’ve been tiring me out.”

He managed to smile in spite of himself at the last line and shot me a deviant look. I smiled too, and we briefly forgot about the (not so, in some areas) tense anxiety in the room.

“I’m sorry…” I trailed off, not know what else to say. Normally, Gerard would have come back with his theory on feelings he had said only moments before, but instead, he merely shook his head. There wasn’t much to theorize on cocks, anyway.

“Not your fault,” he insisted, waving a hand in the air. “Completely me this time.”

I nodded, and let my eyes trace down to the bottom of the bed where I watched my feet. I thought for a long time, some of Gerard’s quirks finally making sense. This was probably the reason we hadn’t had sex today yet. He was spent, tired, and there was nothing left for him to give, literally. This issue was probably why we moved so slowly when we did have sex, because he wanted to appreciate what he had when he did have it. And it was probably why there were hours to our foreplay. It may have taken that duration of time to get it up fully. I started to doubt some of the other times we had had sex, if we really had completed the act, at least, on his side. I tried to remember the time in the shower, if he had actually come or not, but it was too hazy. Both of us were straining so much to keep ourselves balanced that I really didn’t pay that much attention to him. He may have come, and I thought he had come, but that was before I knew this problem was even an issue for him. I tried to remember our first time together too, and I compared everything I had experienced since to that night.

When I had taken off Gerard’s pants on the bed, after we had been making out and I had been disrobed entirely, he had only been half-hard. I had been completely erect and leaking for some time by that point. I never saw Gerard’s penis that close again that night, and for all I knew, he could have only gotten hard moments before he entered me, all of the preparation beforehand for himself as well as me. Even with all of the sexual tension we experienced finally being released, it had taken that long to finally be able to perform the task that most teenage boys (and some adult men) start (and complete) in an instant. It boggled my mind, and as I thought more and more, I started to realize that it had taken Gerard longer each time to get ready for sex the more we had it. He was still capable – I could assure that fact – it was just the time taken to get there that was the issue. And the issue was growing bigger and bigger now, unlike other things.

I shook myself out of my contemplation and looked down at Gerard. He was hidden below the sheet, as was I, but I could still see the faint shadow of pubic hair and thin veiled presence of a cock. And it still wasn’t hard, especially now that embarrassment had set in. He himself may have been as horny as fuck, but sometimes, I tried to figure, the body just didn’t do what was wanted (and needed) in an instant.

Everything from last night about Gerard being old was coming back to me. This was yet another factor, another obstacle that I had not thought of when I had decided that I wanted this relationship. I had spent so long trying to deny the fact that he did have a penis, and that I wanted to have sex with him, and now that I had finally accepted it, the stupid thing wouldn’t work. Unlike Gerard’s gray hairs and wrinkles, I could not ignore this aspect.

“What are we going to… do?” I asked unsurely, not knowing if I should be pressing the subject. I was sensitive about my dick, and it worked fine most of the time.

Gerard looked over at me and pursed his lips, not at the question but at the answer. It was clear that we weren’t going to be doing anything at that moment in time.

“Do you have any pills or something?” I asked again, not liking the silence between us. He scoffed at my question, finding humor in a not-so-funny situation.

“No, I don’t have Viagra. I hate taking pills for anything. Especially ones that don’t always work,” he sighed, somewhat bitterly. It looked as if this had been an issue before, if not with him directly, then someone else. Even that sounded really weird – Gerard being with someone else. I was still getting used to him being with me.

He ran his hand through his hair, eyes forward, explaining and clearing some distant cobwebs from my mind.

“I’ve never needed it. I’ve never had someone that has tired me out this much before.” He tipped his chin down to me, smile growing on his face. A wink began to crease into his eye, but I didn’t reciprocate. I felt embarrassed for him and it wasn’t even my own body.

I couldn’t imagine not having my dick work properly. I hated not being able to masturbate when I was really horny. My family and I had once gone on vacation and we all had to share a hotel room and I nearly died. It was only three days, and you would think that I could have lasted that long without touching myself, but no, I couldn’t. The first day was okay; I was tired and grumpy from driving so much, but by the second and third, I was ready to hump anything that moved. Fuck, even crossing my legs had felt good. My mom seemed to be knocking on the bathroom door if I was in there longer than two minutes and asking if she could get her hairbrush, so that place had been a no-go. My dad never seemed to leave the hotel room when I was in there, either. We were also in so many goddamn museums that not many masturbation opportunities had occurred.

And I had been fucking pissed off.

I finally ended up jacking off in a McDonald’s bathroom, cleaning myself off with the two cent toilet paper, when we went out for lunch on the last day. I felt so guilty, ashamed, and downright dirty after I had done it, but I managed to sleep peacefully the entire way home. In the end, it was worth it, for my sanity if not my hormones.

Gerard took another deep breath, and I focused back on his story. I couldn’t imagine being in his position right now. If not for the embarrassment over his inability, then for the sheer frustration of not being able to get off. He was horny; he had been rocking his hips into me and kissing me just as much as I had been doing to him. And yet… nothing. His face was flushed with arousal, his skin hot to the touch too. He was turned on, but in the only place it mattered right then, nothing was happening.

Gerard must have noticed my harsh stares, because he started talking again. His voice was stronger than it was before, trying to brush off any discomfort.

“But I may still be able to get it up. It just may take a lot longer. That’s what it’s been doing the past few days. I’ve needed to hug and kiss and touch you all over to get it to cooperate.”

He bent down towards me, placing a kiss on my lips as he talked as if to prove this action. I kissed back, his words and voice throwing me off guard. They were fast and choppy, not in his normal tempting quality, and the kiss seemed to ease both of our nerves. When he broke away briefly, he added, looking down at my just kissed lips almost somberly, “Even then it took a long time.”

I nodded, my thoughts confirmed. He cracked a weak smile, pleased with my reaction, or lack there of. I was still trying to grasp everything and my countenance remained relatively placid. He took this as another invitation to kiss, and we continued slowly, returning to our normal make out stance.

The discussion was closed, at least to Gerard. He was starting to use his tongue for other purposes. Though I kissed him right back with just as much force, I still couldn’t help but hear his words over and over again inside my mind. I let him touch and kiss me, his hands wandering all over my back, telling myself that it was all a part of the process that got him up and ready to go. If he kept doing little things to me, then he would be able to move onto the bigger outcome. But, I reminded myself, he said it took a long time. Hours sometimes. We didn’t have hours. It seemed like ages ago when I had first asked him the time, and even then there had not been enough - and that was when I thought we were having no difficulties. Now there was an even worse equation. More problems, less time. I was no mathematician, but I knew those things didn’t add up right, and I knew I had to find another solution. Fast.

“What if I do that to you?” I asked suddenly, a light bulb going off inside my head.

“Do what?”

I had broken our lips apart, but Gerard didn’t mind, changing his focus to sucking on my collar bone hard.

“What if I kissed you and touched you to get you hard?” I asked quietly. I dislocated my gaze from his own, running my fingers over the small buds of chest hair he had. I felt a little embarrassed asking what I could do to him, for this of all things, but he had already felt a good share of the dreaded emotion that night. I may as well pick up some slack. “Would that make things go any faster?”

He pulled himself away from my shoulder, the wet spot he left becoming cool under his breath. He placed his hands on my chin, making me look at him, deeper than usual. He seemed to tilt my head and observe me from different angles, judging my sincerity.

In our relationship, though still new and exciting, he always initiated the actions. I never had, and he had never let me. He was taking care of me, pleasuring me all the time and forgetting about himself. The morning after our first time, he had left to get supplies so I would feel better about everything. He had given me numerous opportunities to leave, and once I told him that was not in my mind, he still focused on me. He was so kind and tender that morning, and even though I had offered to help him out, he had declined. He wanted me, but he didn’t want me to help him. It took me a while to realize how the two were different, but it was a lesson I had to learn myself. It was always about me and him having control over that. (It was never a negative control, more like a responsible control; despite how dangerous he may have seemed to be, he was doing all he could to make sure I was safe).

Perhaps one of the reasons it was such a sudden struggle for him to get hard was because of this protective atmosphere. He wanted to keep me safe from danger, and he himself was danger in its finest form. He wasn’t letting himself get too turned on because he didn’t want to be thought of as taking advantage of me. I gave fairly obvious hints that I wanted him to ‘take advantage,’ and it had taken weeks for us to get to this place, and now there, though there was constant consent, it was still hard (or not …). There had been such a fight for this relationship in the beginning, such passion and momentum blinding us to those conflicting factors. We were ignoring them and literally saying and doing ‘fuck you’; we had spent the whole weekend fucking.

Maybe now though, his blindness was wearing off. We had engaged in a lot of silent time together, just sitting and thinking. Though I spent those times thinking of him and how wonderful this all was, maybe he was looking back and realizing just how much sex we had had and, in theory, just how wrong that was.

In reality, at least inside my own head, it wasn’t. Now that I was suggesting the action in the first place, I hoped it wasn’t so wrong and definitely not being taken advantage of. I wanted to touch him and taste him and do all of the brilliant things he had been doing to me. A relationship was two sided, after all. He had been the one to teach me that.

“Are you sure?” he asked, curling a hair over my ear.

I paused to give him the benefit of the doubt, then nodded.

“Then I’m sure it couldn’t hurt,” he agreed with a smile, the consent loosening some of his inhibitions from before.

We brought our lips together again, sealing the deal.

“If you need help or something, just let me know,” he added, his voice losing its cool nature and coming out scattered.

He was nervous about the forthcoming actions; I could read it in his face and hear it in his broken tone. His crows’ feet deepened, lip trembling slightly. As he rolled his body over a bit, exposing his bare torso moving up and down in a rhythmic breathing pattern, I saw him shake a bit. I smiled as I slid an arm around his waist, planting my first hesitant kiss on his portly middle. I whispered something calming to both me and him as I straddled his hips, realizing that I had already given myself to him so much over the past few days, and he was finally allowing himself to do the same.

“Don’t help me,” I told him sincerely. Our eyes met as our faces came in close proximity once again. “There are some things I need to do on my own. Practice makes perfect, anyway.”

My whispered words fell off my lips and into his mouth, and I felt him smile as I reiterated the moral of one of our previous lessons. We connected in another deep kiss before I began, opening the flood gates of human emotion.

With trembling hands, I started my exploration. The kiss we shared had been deep, tongues wrapping around the other in our mouths, saliva pooling and sucking noises emitting that I could still hear and feel as I moved down away from the puckered flesh. I sucked and licked his neck gingerly, sometimes going up and attacking his earlobe. I blew in his ear slightly as I poked my tongue around the ridges, hoping it felt as good to him as it did to me any time he did the small action. When he groaned, even before I placed my tongue there, pressing his palms into my fleshy back, I knew I was already doing a good job.

My hands had been braced on his shoulders and giving a slight squeeze, but as I began to move down, I cupped his chest and rubbed his nipples with my fingertips. My tongue lolled out of my jaw, leaving a wet trail from neck to collar bone, where I started to suck the new flesh with surprising ease.

I wasn’t too nervous with this part; I had done this before, but in a heated moment of passion where my head couldn’t think straight and I was being fucked. I couldn’t feel fear then, just Gerard. It wasn’t too hard, essentially. Kissing and touching were such basic human needs and emotions, and were relatively the same for any gender. Now however, I felt the fear and nervousness coursing through my veins. I had kissed girls before, although not many and under the influence, but this was going to go way beyond kissing. I had never done anything with a guy. I didn’t know how it was supposed to feel or what I was supposed to do, because he had been leading me all those times before. But as much as it made my hands shake and my mind race, I somehow knew I could handle it. This was Gerard I was thinking about. I could feel him – all of him – right beside the fear and anxiety. I was tasting him, his essence and flesh radiating in my mind and down to my cock. I had gotten a little soft as we were discussing his issue, but now that I started with physical contact once more, I was ready.

Gerard, however, was still far from it.

I could feel him underneath me and nothing had changed, other than his hips’ small movement into me. I knew what I had to do, but that was the part that scared me the most. I was going to have to touch him. I wanted to - God, I had wanted to for so long. But Gerard had experienced many more people than I had, and had many more hands touch him. He was thirty years older than me, and though I didn’t know of his past flings, I knew there would have been many. I had a lot to compete with, and no previous experiences beforehand to draw upon to help me.

What if I did it wrong? What if I hurt him? I asked myself inside my head frantically. I no longer had any indication now that I was doing my task right; he couldn’t get hard to show me, and anyone could fake a moan.

I began to move my way down his body, focusing on kissing his skin again and again. Sometimes they were light pecks, my rounded lips brushing the skin ever so slightly, but the rest of the time they were deep, slow sucks, taking his flesh and anything else I could into my mouth and feeling the heat of his body. My fingers had already brushed past his nipples, now stationed on his hips, and causing me to slide down a little more, legs still straddling him. When I got to the perked pieces of scarlet flesh with my mouth, I took one inside, swirling my tongue around the area and breathing hard on it. My head was down on his chest and I could hear his blood pumping, heart beating, and the moans reverberate inside his flesh. I sucked harder in response, knowing that he couldn’t fake his heart beating the way he did. I even nibbled a bit, grazing my teeth over the taut part that stuck out sharply. I shifted to the other nipple shortly after, picking up my pace a bit as I gained a little more confidence. Gerard’s hips bucked into me with the small switch and his hands that had been rubbing up and down my back moved to grasp the love handles at my sides. I was straddled on his thighs, leaving a space where both of our crotches were exposed. He moved and took my hand in his strong grip and guided down below his waist, but not fully placing me there. He led me close enough so I knew what he wanted, but not so direct as to actually place me there. I almost wished that he had, that way I wouldn’t have wasted time thinking and debating my moves.

I continued to suck on his chest, moving to the center and down, merely rubbing the skin at the pubic line, still afraid. I could tell Gerard was biting his lip, keeping from saying anything to help me. Seeing him like that, head cocked back, eyes closed tight and biting his lip, trying so hard to get hard, made me finally take his cock in my hand.

He gasped and his eyes sprung open at the contact, surprised I had finally done it. When the touch had sunk in, he let out a low mewl in approval. Despite this guttural utterance, his cock wasn’t totally limp in my hands. I could tell that it was beginning to grow flushed and hardening a little bit, but the change was so minute, it could have been my imagination willing it to happen. Regardless, I took him in my hand and lowered myself down his body.

I was now stationed at his navel, dipping my tongue in and out as I tried to figure out what to do with this in my hand. From my own experience, even if I didn’t get hard right away, I knew that just touching myself limp felt good, so I tried to do the same with him. I ran my hand up and down it, tightening my grip in some places and touching the head quickly with my fingertips. He moaned and rocked his hips into me, gradually progressing. Sometimes, I stopped kissing him just to watch what I was doing, completely in awe that that was my hand on his cock. The more I watched, the more I squeezed and got used to the idea. And the more I got used to the idea, the less and less scared I became.

“You’re doing really well,” Gerard breathed suddenly, disturbing my progressive thoughts. He rubbed my shoulders where his hands had been encouragingly placed. “It’s working…”

Hearing the small simple words made me beam on the inside. I was doing something right, and Gerard was enjoying it. I suddenly grasped the reason why Gerard was constantly doting on me and never really wanting to receive pleasure for himself. This act in itself, bringing someone else a good feeling, made me feel good too. I loved the fact that my hand was making him pant the way he was and making his face twist in those expressions. Even if he wasn’t completely hard yet (or even half-hard), I was doing something good.

And really, in school, at home, with my friends or Gerard, that had been the only thing I ever wanted. To do something right.

My kissing began to grow more and more south-bound until I was at his pubic line. I looked down at my hand and its motions, and I suddenly had the urge to make Gerard feel even more bliss. It took a while of staring and pep-talk to work up the nerve, but my curiosity and need to please won over as I placed my lips on the head of his cock.

I was hesitant at first, my closed lips hitting the tip before I spread my lips apart and took him bit by unsure (but willing) bit. It was an odd fleshy taste, different from that of his normal skin. This was softer and undamaged, still sensitive to touch. It was so sensitive in fact that just me licking the head caused Gerard to moan out the loudest, rolling his head over on the pillow to contain himself. My stomach flipped as I smiled, my grin pressing into the flesh around me, and continued to do my job.

It was hard to suck him when he wasn’t hard, but I tried anyway. I licked him most of the time, going from the base to tip, spending most of my time at the top, knowing that got a better response of out him. I could feel him starting to harden more and more and I couldn’t believe it was taking this long. I was so hard it hurt, and his moans only made things worse by getting me even more turned on. I had been touching his balls with my hands as I licked, but I had to take one away to finally grasp at my own erection. I didn’t want to come yet, but I needed something touching me before both of my heads exploded. I couldn’t help but let a moan fall out of my mouth at first contact with my own body, but the vibrations must have felt good to Gerard, for he bucked his hips into me. I groaned again, pressing his hips down with my free hand, and continuing to tug on myself.

“Frank,” he panted a few moments later.

I was still sucking him, but I had since stopped touching myself so forcefully. I had been getting too close, and since he was not even half-way there yet, I needed to wait to even the scores. I brought that hand to his cock and worked double time, tonguing the tip while my hand squeezed the base, my newfound confidence astounding. Gerard had lifted his head from the pillow and saw my efforts, (or struggles, to paint a more accurate picture). I didn’t really realize how awkward I looked just then, sucking rapidly and trying to pump him at the same time, my lower half squirming from lack of contact. Normally, I would have stopped, feeling embarrassed I was getting so into it, but I didn’t really care. There was no way I was stopping now, and potentially ruining something that we had both worked so hard for.

“Hmmm?” I responded, looking down.

“This is probably as good as its going to get,” he declared, his voice quiet but still excited from panting. He placed a hand on my shoulder to brace me. “You probably won’t make me come and I don’t want you to get tired.”

My face dropped and my tired jaw ached even more. I didn’t care if I got tired, or if I was late by that point. I was hard and not thinking clearly. He was not going to get away with just casting his own needs off to the side again. He was going to get hard, and I was going to make him come, Goddammit.

“I don’t care,” I informed him, placing my head back in between his legs and keeping all of my attention there. “I’m not tired. I’ll keep going.”

I could tell he was laughing a little, from the way the muscles in his chest moved, but I ignored them and kept on my mission. He moved his hands from my shoulders to my neck and chin, whispering soothing tones to me. I tried to shut them out and kept licking him harshly, knowing that all he was saying was some bullshit about me being late and getting into trouble.

“I don’t care,” I mumbled back, pumping him harder.

“I do,” he countered, squeezing my shoulders. He continued to whisper, and I continued to ignore him, until something in his voice pattern changed. He went from concerned to seductive, and I swore I heard a sly “Fuck me,” slip past his lips. I paused all movement, unsure of how to proceed. I kept my eyes down however, knowing that if I looked him in the eyes, he could convince me to do anything. And if he was trying to convince me to stop, then that just wasn’t happening.

He started to rub his hands over my shoulders slowly, once he took note of my stopped movement.

“Frank,” he called out in the dead night of the room, voice raspy. “Have sex with me.”

This time, I thought it was fairly safe to look at him. He took my chin in his hands when I did, making me keep my eyes focused on the shape of his body in the dark room. I could still see how flushed all over his skin was, and I saw the flicker of his green eyes. His fingers brushed over my lips as I searched his face for meaning.

I wanted to have sex with him; that was obvious. But he still wasn’t hard yet…

“I can’t get hard enough to get inside of you,” he corrected my thoughts slowly, eyes darting down shamefully. “But there is no reason you can’t do anything with me.”

“Oh…” I said, barely audible as his previous statements began to make more sense.

I kept forgetting that this was gay sex; the places could be switched. I was still so naïve about what to do even when I wasn’t thinking about actual sex, sex. Touching Gerard’s cock and giving him a blow job were scary enough. Fucking him was a complete other thing. I had been petrified when he had done the same to me, and he had been leading then. I didn’t know what to do with this. It would be like losing my virginity all over again. Within three nights, I would be losing it twice in two different ways.

My head spun with the possibilities.

I thought I was already so close to Gerard. I already thought he had seen me in my weakest moment, seen me naked, and that he just knew me. But I slowly began to realize that I still lacked in a lot of aspects towards him. I was blinded by my own faults being found out and exposed, and I was thrown off by the newness that everything possessed. I was too ego-centric for once, worrying so much about my own fears and actions that I forgot Gerard possessed them too. That was why his telling me of his fear hadn’t made sense; I hadn’t dived deep enough inside of him yet. I was still doing it to myself. I saw him naked just as much as he saw me, and that I misread for something else. I had never actually been inside of Gerard, physically or mentally. When he tried to open up to me, I didn’t get it right away and he shut himself down. He didn’t want to be too exposed either way because he shouldn’t have been. I had to authorize everything, and I had been too self-involved to realize that things went both ways. There was an imbalance that I had never realized.

Things were never supposed to be balanced with us, anyway, I had thought. He was older, wiser, and my teacher. I wasn’t at the same level with him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be. When we were teacher and student, it was different. There had to be authority and inequality in order for things to work. We weren’t solely that relationship anymore. We were something else, something given the chance to be equal – if I only listened.

Gerard was giving me this chance now. I had already given myself to him, but tonight, he was just starting to give himself to me. This was the ultimate act in everything we had created Friday night. I had always thought everything had been summed up with that one event. I thought Gerard and I were already being intimate, but he was showing me then, in an indiscrete way by finally letting me into his body, that intimacy was not one-sided. It wasn’t even two-sided. It was like an onion that had layer upon layer. We were peeling away each and every single one of them (or so I thought) this weekend. I thought I had lost enough body fluid to finally be a part of him completely. But no, we had to keep going. An onion was a plant; it regenerated, things grew back. You took off a layer, no matter how deep, and there was another one. Maybe it was close to the same thing, hell, it could even be the same layer repeating again. But you still had to take it off and dig deeper.

With us, we were that onion, but a little different. We had so many other opposing issues outside our bracket. We were coming together, bit by bit, but no one would ever see it as that. We were an onion in a broken mirror, our reflection getting contorted back onto society if they were to ever see us together. We were too far apart in age to be doing this, and we were two men. Opposites and parallels like that just shouldn’t have been together when placed inside, next to, or by a cracked mirror.

Thankfully, this mirror was not one of those two-way traps that were placed inside police stations. We created our world where they didn’t even exist. No one could look inside, and no one saw us. There was always a chance, as with anything that’s breakable and fragile, that we could be discovered. That our mirror could lie and let the light in. We were an onion; we had a distinct smell, a distinct taste, and we could make eyes water. But for the most part, we were alone. And we weren’t done cooking everything just yet.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14