John advanced through the mob, watching with pleasure as it parted before him. He was wearing sneakers and erotically-cut track shorts of some flimsy material. His mammoth apparatus was packed precariously in its pouch, though he knew it wouldn't stay in there for long. He wore no shirt, of course. What would possess him to cover up his magnificence? People touched him, stroking his arms, his chest, his crotch. His cock engorged itself slightly, lending a satisfying tizzle to each caress.

"Ever think about gettin' married," queens would shout at him. "My face leaves in five minutes; be on it!" "Do you see the basket on that guy!" He smiled with condescension and continued his progress. He enjoyed their adulation, and there was a time in his life when he would have welcomed it as the crowning event of his evening. There were many excellent butts stretching the fabric of a variety of shorts and trousers, butts that would have been of great interest to him in days gone by, but no longer. He no longer needed to bother with these scrawny, sunken-chested rejects and, truth be told, at that earlier time in his life no one would have paid any attention to him anyway. From now on there would be no ugly people in his existence. He would associate only with the richly muscled, firmly packed, erotically shaped paradigms of the human form. And he would have all of them.

He walked into the Roundabout with a sense of purpose. He had so far done everything he needed to do: he had humiliated those who needed humiliating, he had fucked half the city, he had subjugated store clerks and waiters, he had worshipped himself for hours in front of the mirror, he had displayed himself on the street, he had dominated his surroundings. The sole remaining target of his lust and vengeance was the Golden Circle. He had already dealt with several of them, but there were many more in need of the lessons he could teach. They must all be subdued.

After that... well, who knew what after that? The world, he supposed. It was out there waiting for him. After he had eradicated the last humiliations of his previous identity, he would take it on. The world was unknown territory. He would have to be creative.

The door man was collecting cover charges at the main entrance. He was a big beefy slab of meat, obviously the former possessor of a world-class physique gone to seed. His hair was close-cropped over his beady eyes. He looked violent and mean-spirited. His eyes went wide when John walked up.

John smiled. He thought it might be pleasant to dominate this man, to brutalize him and show him how inconsequential his strength was when faced with the new John Avery. His name, John knew from the grapevine, was Bruno. A weirdly perfect name; how could his parents have known he would grow up to be a thick-headed brute?

"You don't want to charge me money, now do you?" John said.

"You go right in, babe. Whoa!"

John strode past him into the bright darkness of the dance floor. The music pounded his rib cage, jacking up his heartbeat and enlivening his cock which was already considerably inflated.

He did not waste time scanning the crowd. He knew what the crowd consisted of, and it was of no interest. Ordinary people were of no interest. He looked into the corner where he knew they would be, and there they were: the Golden Circle. There was a good turnout tonight, perhaps twenty of them. Twenty at once? How would he work that? Well, he was confident he would find a way.

He pushed effortlessly through the crowd and walked up to the gorgeous gathering. He had no fear of them any more. He knew everyone else in the room feared them, feared what they could withhold. Men as beautiful as them didn't just excite sexual interest, they excited fantasies. No gay man could look at them and not start imagining, perhaps imagining to the point that he felt confident enough to approach them. Then the disdainful response, which would destroy not only the evening, but the entire masculine identity as well. The pretty boys didn't know how much damage they did, because they had never suffered rejection. They didn't know how much they took away from people. But they would learn. John would teach them. He would use them, drain them of sex and then reject them, and they would know how it felt.

He stood and waited to be noticed. They were chattering like chimpanzees, wrists flapping, cocktails sloshing. What a bunch of faggots. They were no different from anyone else in the room except for the genetic accidents that made them beautiful. This would be easy.

"Hi, John," Chau Adams said as if they were old friends. Obviously his reputation had preceded him. Perhaps Marty and his friend from the other night had gossiped. Certainly, they must have. Chau was half-Chinese and utterly delicious. His tight little half-breed butt and quasi-Asian features immediately excited John. His cock went hard and huge. It popped out of its restraints and extended itself down his leg. Well and good.

"Hello, Chau," he said as if they were old friends. He would enjoy Chau.

He was quickly drawn into the group and introduced around. Of course, he already knew all their names. Everybody in town knew their names. Now they knew John's.

They babbled amiably for a minute or two, and then conversation waned. This was common enough in a bar setting, but this silence was pregnant with meaning. They weren't scanning the crowd for tonight's trick. They were looking at John. They were waiting for him to choose.

He pointed at Chau and one other, a Latino kid named Rico with a prodigious set of pecs and perfect legs. "You two. Come on. Let's dance."

They looked abashed. "Both of us," Chau said.

"You think I'll have a problem with that?"

"No, sir!"

And they went out to the dance floor.

John immediately discovered that his new body was preternaturally graceful. Despite his enormous mass, he was able to gyrate and slither to the pounding music with erotic sensuality that was not lost on Chau and Rico or on anyone else in the vicinity. He snapped his hips and flexed his upper body with a supple ease previously unknown to him. Dancing had always been a chore, a social ritual required before someone would go home with him. The gay version of getting to know somebody. But now it was a joy, a new way to announce his beauty and power. He was starting to see life from the Golden Circle's perspective, and life was good.

Ê

The allure of his movements was not lost on his dance partners, who soon abandoned the facade of superior indifference that they affected on the dance floor and began to run their hands over him, fondling the hard mountains of his biceps, licking his round, bronzed nipples, caressing his basket. He allowed them to worship him. He did not return their touches, he did not fondle their bodies. He allowed them to adore him.

Their attentions began to go beyond casual arousal. They both started to pant and grab at him, biting his pectorals and slavering across his arms. He let them do this also. They were rising to a point where they would have sex with him in the middle of the dance floor. He would not let this happen. He wasn't there to please them. He was there to please himself.

The music changed and he stopped dancing. "I need a drink," he said. He no more needed a drink than he needed a bicycle tire, but it was an excuse to break away.

"Oh, come on," Rico sighed, running his lips loosely across John's chest.

"Later," John said, pulling him back by the hair. They reluctantly agreed to stop. They accompanied him back to the group, hanging on him and stroking his huge muscles. All three of them were hard and ready. John's cock was plainly and proudly in evidence. The exultation surging through his body was so intense he had trouble focusing his thoughts. He moved through a clinging cloud of ecstasy that threatened to relieve him of his self-control at any moment. He was losing his ability to deny his passions. Soon, he would have to satisfy himself.

They rejoined the others and he allowed them to babble aimlessly around him while he merely stood silent, wrapped in his power and strength. The evening was his now, and they waited upon his decision of how it would progress. Rico and Chau had not detached from him since returning from the dance floor. They caressed him and kissed his physique randomly and passionately. At one point, they both went to suck the same nipple. Chau pushed Rico away angrily.

"Hey, piss off!" he shouted.

Rico made to retaliate, but John stopped them. "Hey, none of that. I don't allow fighting. I want to pleasure both of you."

Rico smiled broadly. "Yeah," was all he said, and he resumed his adoration of John's body, as did Chau.

The others stood by and watched for a while, but holding back was too much for them. They began to touch John, to feel his muscles and the power that surged through them. They approached him one at a time until about ten of them were fondling him, feeling the sexual might radiating from his body and filling their loins with his desire. He allowed this as well, swaying subtly to the music as if he was indifferent to their attentions. He closed his eyes and reveled in the sensual joy of it. He felt the twenty hands giving homage to his beauty. Where was this all going to lead? He didn't know. It didn't matter. When the time came for his satisfaction, they would do whatever he bid them do. There was no hurry.

Someone began to handle his engorged cock, a daring thing to do when he teetered on the brink of losing it. It became instantly, almost painfully hard. He knew it would only be moments before he exploded with lust and animal savagery.

The waves of pleasure from his scrotum increased. He would fuck them on the floor in full view of everyone, one at a time until he had ravaged all of them, and God help the club employee who tried to stop him! He would dominate them with sex! He would fuck them intototal subservience! He would reduce them to rutting, palpitating animals! He was the king of the world!

Then Kenny Lindisfarne arrived. He emerged from the throng of dancers, a late arrival to the Circle.

John stopped what he was doing and stared. His cock softened, though it did not go entirely limp.

Kenny stood with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans and no shirt. John stared at him in utter adoration, as he always had. Kenny's face was movie-star handsome. No, that wasn't right; no one in the movies had ever been so beautiful. His hair was blond almost to whiteness, his cheekbones high, his jaw square and manly. And his eyes, his incredible, hypnotically exquisite, jewel-like eyes! Green like a cat's, a green like the ocean at its purest depths, a green like Russian malachite, gentle, deep, loving, like a warm, calm sea. To see Kenny was to fall in love with him, and everyone who saw him did.

And then there was his body: Kenny had the most famous body in the gay community. A gift from nature, he maintained it with little effort. Kenny's muscles swelled when he looked at barbells. His muscles where magnificent and shapely, attaching themselves to the bones with artistic perfection. He bulged hugely without ungainliness, he was massive and graceful both. His skin was brown and smooth and without flaw. His tiny waist flared up into broad, sculpted shoulders capped with perfectly round deltoids. His legs flared out below, thick with muscle. His powerful arms were like something out of Tom of Finland. Kenny was one of those rare individuals who possessed eight abdominals. His were perfectly aligned, pumped and clean-lined, giving added length to his torso. His definition was like an anatomy chart, though without the dehydrated look many got from dieting. He glowed with health and natural vitality. And his ass: in a lifetime of staring at men's asses, John had never seen one more beautiful (except his own). Unnaturally large -- a byproduct of his small waist -- it humped up on his pelvis, extending outward majestically and roundly. It must have inspired desire in anyone who looked at him. A gift from nature.

Kenny was a male model of some repute among gays. He appeared in a notorious clothing catalog, mostly wearing thong bathing suits, before he was scooped up by a company that manufactured one of those home exercise machines and he became their poster boy. He appeared in all their infomercials, flexing erotically through a series of workouts. He must have had a very pleasant life. John had a tape of one of those infomercials and used to masturbate while he watched it.

The expression on his face was open, friendly, and a little dumb. He was the most beautiful man in the world.

John no sooner looked than he loved.

He threw off his crowd of worshippers. They had become irrelevant, sexual toys he could put away and take out again later if he wanted to play with them. They clung to him, but he pushed them away effortlessly with his enormous strength and strode forward to where Kenny stood. He stopped in front of the youth and simply stared. He gazed adoringly and said nothing. He felt no urge to make chit-chat, to fill the silences. Even in his rapture he knew that he was in charge and need not please others if he chose not to.

Kenny gazed back, obviously impressed. His eyes glowed with concupiscence. "What's going on here?" he asked.

John glanced back at the rest of the Circle momentarily. "Just having fun. You're beautiful."

Kenny looked down at the floor and scuffed his feet.

My God, he scuffs his feet! John said. His cock vibrated.

"Yeah, you too."

This was the moment at which John would normally have just taken him, overwhelmed him with beauty and sex, carried him home and fucked him into total submission. But this was Kenny Lindisfarne. He was royalty, and deserved royal treatment. For the first time since his transformation, John felt a strange new emotion: gentleness. He wanted to care for Kenny, pleasure him with his body, bring him joy.

"Let's go talk," John said. The two of them walked into the bar.

Let's go talk? John said to himself. What's happening to me?

The rest of the Circle did not try to interfere. In their world, where the pecking order was determined by degree of beauty, Kenny was the emperor. They were quite used to having their own physical perfection ignored when he was present. This was accepted, a fact of life. They felt privileged just to call him friend. That he would always walk off with the best men was not open to argument.

The bar was full. John bought them drinks, which they never touched, and walked over to a booth that was full of chattering queens. John stood and waited to be noticed. Once he was noticed, silence descended. They stared at him, and then at Kenny.

"Do you mind?" he said, gesturing vaguely at the table.

They cleared out immediately, making way for their superiors. Kenny seemed not to remark on this, as if it was a common occurrence in his life. John and Kenny sat. They stared at each other and did not speak.

Finally: "You're Kenny."

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"I'm John."

"You certainly are." He laughed with apparent embarrassment.

John leaned down -- he was several inches taller than Kenny -- and kissed him. Kenny did not resist. They sat and made out for a while. The waiters did not approach. John felt a wave of warmth run through him, a desire to love, to protect. He had never felt such a thing before. He surrounded Kenny with his massive arms and pulled him close.

When John's hands wandered, Kenny pushed him away. "Hey, slow down, okay?"

John would normally have taken this as his cue to speed up, to take possession, to exert his power. Resistance excited him. But he did as Kenny asked and loosened his hold.

"You're really something," Kenny said. "You freak me out a little."

"Look who's talking."

"You must be new in town. I've never seen you before."

"I'm new in the world."

Kenny kissed him again, and they sat locked together for many minutes. Then, Kenny disengaged and snuggled down against John's chest. He gently caressed his pectorals as they talked.

"I've never seen anything like you, John."

"There's never been anything like me."

Kenny laughed softly. "Oh, is that so?"

John smiled down at him. "You're sweet, Kenny."

"So are you."

Me? Sweet? That can't be right.

"Why do you hang around with that nest of vipers?" John said.

"Who?"

"The Golden Circle."

He laughed again. "Is that what you call them?"

"You're such a nice guy. You could do better."

"Better how?"

"Well, they're not exactly the Harriet Nelson welcome wagon. Pretty arrogant bunch."

"Oh, they're just scared and lonely, like everybody else. After all, they're out at the bars every weekend just like all of us. They're all single. That never seems to occur to anybody. Their looks make it harder, really."

"Oh, spare me. Not the 'beauty is such a curse' thing." John now knew the singing power of beauty, the exultation of it.

"No, nothing like that. Well, but it is in some ways. Sure waiters and store clerks fall over themselves serving me. And I make a lot of money just being gorgeous. But every gay man I've ever met has come on to me. Do you know what that's like? For a farm boy from Nebraska just coming to the city to explore who he is, trying to make friends? To have everyone you meet try to fuck you? Well, of course you know what it's like. You can't have a normal friendship with anyone. They're all horny for you. The beautiful ones hang together because there's nobody else we can hang with. We're... how do you say it? We're under siege all the time."

John had never heard it put quite this way.

"They don't act like they're under siege. They act like they're the kings of the world and everybody is beneath them."

"Oh, they're just full of their big stuff. I see it all the time in modeling. They're good guys, basically. They'll get over it."

"Yeah, and before they get over, they ruin a thousand lives."

"People's lives are their own lookout."

"But you do hang out with them."

"Hey, they're beautiful."

"So? Wouldn't you rather hang out with people who were loving and decent? Nice people?"

"Well, being beautiful is a way of being nice. I know it is, because everybody likes us no matter how we act. And besides, there's lots of guys in the world who are loving and decent and gorgeous. You might as well hang out with them."

"No matter how mean they are."

"My momma always told me that you got to take people as they are, cause there's no other way they come. Living on a farm in the Midwest is like living in a time warp. Everybody's white and Christian and heterosexual. But news comes in from the great world, you know? Drugs, gays, violence, rock and roll. Our neighbors would shout and holler about Jesus and hellfire and divine retribution. But momma said God don't make junk."

John smiled. "I like you, Kenny."

"Yeah, I like you to." John was quite sure Kenny liked just about everybody.

"Will you make love to me tonight?" This was the first time since his transformation that he made it a request and not a command.

"All night," Kenny whispered. "All night." ----

They walked to John's apartment through the warm spring air. They wrapped their arms around each other and did not speak. John didn't stroke him or kiss him or do anything to enflame his passion. Neither did Kenny. A deep sense of peace descended on John, the first time since the Change that his mind had been quiet. He was serene.

They entered his flat and stood facing each other in the darkness, embracing. He could hear Kenny's calm, even breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest against his own. He knew in that moment that he loved Kenny. He would make love to him, cherish him, raise him up to heights of ecstasy he had never dreamed of. It would be his gift to Kenny, his gift of love. Kenny would live in a perpetual state of gratification and joy. He would never stray from John's side, nor John from him.

Lamont was sleeping in the corner of the living room, curled up like a loyal dog. Kenny did not notice him.

John drew Kenny to him and kissed him. His body immediately awakened and filled with desire. He knew Kenny felt the same thing. Their penises engorged themselves and pressed their hardness against each other. John was pleased to see that Kenny had not been cheated in that area either: he was huge, though no one was a huge as John. They undressed each other slowly where they stood, savoring the removal of each garment. Of course, there was not much to remove in the first place. Soon they were naked, pressing against each other, rejoicing in the warmth of each other's bodies, the hardness of their cocks, the ache of pleasure that passed through them. He wanted to care for Kenny, to give him total sexual satisfaction, to win his love and adoration. And he knew he could do it. He picked Kenny up as if his densely muscular body weighed nothing and carried him to the bed, spreading him lovingly on the coverlet.

"I can't believe your size, John."

"I'm the biggest in the world."

"Doesn't it cause some... problems? When you're fucking, I mean?"

"I'll make a deal with you, Kenny. I won't do anything that causes you pain. If it hurts, you tell me and I stop. I only want to give you pleasure."

"Well... that sounds just fine." He worked Kenny's body all night. It was unlike his previous encounters where he had savaged his partner body and soul, sucking the free will out of him and dominating him with unstoppable sex power. He made love to Kenny in the truest sense, exploring his body, finding out what pleased it, extracting pleasure from the core of it. Kenny cried out with ecstasy, giving himself over to John without reservation, returning John's efforts by exploring as well, seeking out the hidden spots where carnal delight could be drawn out. He taught John a great deal about his new body that night, about where his secret places of passion were located.

Kenny was an experienced and proficient lover, but he had never had anyone like John. After the third time, he lay in a delirious stupor, covered with his own cum, staring placidly at the ceiling. He was apparently under the impression they were done. But John took him into his arms again for a fourth time, and a fifth, and a sixth. Kenny did not protest. John was passionate but gentle, always being sure that Kenny was an active participant in their coupling, not just an appliance to be used and discarded. Kenny responded magnificently, matching each of John's experiments with one of his own.

At one point, they knelt on the mattress facing each other. John could feel the warmth of Kenny's flesh even a foot away. Kenny's presence in his bedroom seemed like a miracle, a dream he would awaken from. But he knew it was not dream. He knew in a moment he would take this glorious man back into his giant arms.

"My God, John, what are you doing to me?"

"I'm making love to you, Kenny."

"I've... never had anything like this! I love you, John! I love you!" John's heart felt like it would burst from its moorings.

He used his superhuman sexuality in a new way, to plumb the emotional depths of his partner. It was similar to his sadomasochistic explorations, but sweet and gentle. He used sex to open up Kenny's emotions and his own, causing them to blossom hugely and voluptuously. Love poured from their bodies even as they vibrated with sexual passion. The eighth, ninth and tenth time Kenny wept with joy and gratitude. The eleventh and twelfth times, John wept as well. They lay in the aftermath of their fulgurant ejaculations sobbing softly and caressing each other. They told each other of their love over and over.

"What else can I give you, John? I don't want to stop giving. Show me what else I can give."

John showed him. He connected their lust and their love so that each colossal orgasm was a detonation also of sweet cherishing and caring, a kind of explosive idolatry that bound them together with chains of tender devotion. John did not stop, could not stop, nor did Kenny want him to. Kenny's staying power was immense. When he finally collapsed into unconsciousness in the early morning, he was completely John's and John was completely his. ----

They spent the morning sleeping and the better part of the afternoon in rapturous lovemaking. When John was satisfied, he had Lamont make them breakfast.

"More hash browns, Mr. Lindisfarne?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Lamont served him and scurried off into the kitchen. He was wearing only his red thong bathing suit and a frilly apron. His muscles gleamed.

"John, who is he?"

"He's Lamont."

"Yeah, so who's Lamont? Is he like your housekeeper?"

John licked jam off his fingers. "Lamont is my slave."

"Your... slave. You don't pay him."

"Pay Lamont? No."

Kenny looked at the kitchen door and back at John. "Why is he your slave?"

John looked at him as if he had asked a very stupid question.

"Oh. I see." He frowned adorably. "Black slaves are a little... out of date, aren't they?"

"I'll send him away if that's what you want."

"That's what I want, John. This is too weird."

John shrugged. He agreed it was time for him and Kenny to be alone together, to further experience their love. Lamont would go, though John would sorely miss his cooking. Perhaps an arrangement could be made later.

John broke the news while Kenny was in the shower.

"Leave? John, I can't leave. I have to stay here and serve you."

"You've served me brilliantly, Lamont. I'll miss you, believe me. But it's time for Kenny and I to be together."

"You can be together, I won't get in the way. You won't even know I'm here. Just let me be near you, John."

His whining was becoming irritating, and John was anxious to join Kenny in the shower. "Perhaps you can come back later, Lamont. But for now, you have to go."

Lamont wept as he pulled his few things together. John was relieved that he had not let go of his apartment just yet and had somewhere to move to. John all but pushed him out the door under a barrage of kisses.

And that was done. What would become of Lamont? It made no difference. He would land on his feet. Perhaps he could get his old job back. John went into the bathroom, from which the sound of running water still emanated, and never thought about it again. ----

Brunch was over. John had always wanted to go to brunch with a group of friends instead of spending Sunday alone running errands and watching bad movies on TV. Now, he did it every weekend. The Golden Circle, of which he and Kenny were the undisputed kings, met at the Grill every Sunday morning to recount their sexual adventures of the night before or to introduce their new tricks to the group; needless to say, anyone beautiful enough to bed one of them was welcomed into the Circle for life. They had their own table, prominently placed in the center of the restaurant by the canny proprietor so that everyone in the room could see them in their mid-priced sex-bomb wardrobe and gleaming physiques.

John said little at these gatherings. He and Kenny simply sat and gazed lovingly at each other. Speech was largely unnecessary to them. Some nights they would sit at home and hold each other, just hold each other. No stereo playing, no television, no chat, no gigantic sex. Just holding each other. John's sexual power kept them in an undiluted fog of carnal bliss twenty-four hours a day. Kenny existed now in alternating states of wild sexual excitement and serene gratification. They needed no one else.

Everyone was laughing. There was always a great deal of laughter at these gatherings. John was never sure what they were laughing about, this being a pretty humorless bunch altogether, but these guys made a point of always being in a state of high hilarity in public, making sure everyone knew what a good time they were having, how much more fun their lives were than anyone else's. John's life had had very little laughter in it, and he loved the sound. He sat flush with contentment and watched his beautiful, beautiful friends.

He had forgiven them their earlier transgressions against him. He had not understood what it was like to be them. No one understood the pressures of being beautiful, of being on everyone's sexual hit list. They clustered together for protection. Even Jamie Ragin, him of the disdainful manner and savage rebuff, was dear to John's heart. Jamie was so magnificent and John felt a twang of regret every time he saw him that he had not had the chance to bed him before committing to Kenny.

And besides, they were all beautiful, so fuck the rest of the world, the pale, pot-bellied, cave-chested, ugly world. They were the cream of the crop and all those jealous losers could just deal with it. John loved his new friends. He loved them for their gorgeous faces and their round, delicious asses and their arcing muscles. They were wonderful. No one could know the joy of being them, the incredible joy of it. They were the elite of the world.

The party broke up into smaller groups who skipped merrily off to pursue a variety of new entertainments. As they left, they kissed and caressed John, John who they all loved. They frenched him and fondled his crotch and stroked his tits. Kenny watched it all without jealousy. He had accepted the fact that he was with the sexiest man alive. The interest of others was a fact of life. Besides, he knew John was entirely faithful to him.

John and Kenny were rarely apart. John allowed him to be absent for photoshoots. (He originally tried to accompany him on shoots, but the distraction of his presence disrupted the workplace, so he stopped going.) He also had to allow Kenny time off to work out. It became clear that John's physique would maintain itself without exercise, but Kenny was another story. John noticed a diminution in the boy's muscle mass after their first week together and ordered him back to the gym. It was very important that Kenny maintain his physical perfection, not only to please John but also to maintain their social life. Kenny dutifully redoubled his efforts and in a few weeks was more spectacular than he had ever been before.

After they were all gone, John smiled at Kenny over the ruins of their repast. "What shall we do today, baby?"

"Let's go fuck some more," Kenny said, his inevitable answer.

John smiled. ----

On Saturday nights, they would tour their kingdom. In track shorts and sneakers and nothing else, they would dance the night away in one club or another, reveling in each other's perfection and the adulation of all around them. Their public identity had become an important part of their relationship. Everyone knew their names. Everyone loved them. No one was more beautiful than John and Kenny.

They had been asked to be poster boys for various charitable efforts, to which they cheerfully complied, not because they had any feeling for the different causes -- who cared what went on in the great world? -- but because they loved to be photographed.

A photographer friend named Carey, a member of the Circle, asked to do a photo spread on the two of them, a romantic montage. They readily agreed, posing for him in the nude, their stupendous bodies and huge cocks recorded for posterity.

The photographer took a break for lunch and, obviously, to masturbate. John and Kenny lounged on the mattresses and billowing sheets. They gazed at each other and weren't hungry.

"It's difficult posing without fucking," Kenny said amiably.

"I know. We've got half-an-hour."

"Not enough time to really do much."

"What would you like me to do?"

"Whatever you want, John."

"No, I'm asking you."

John shrugged his farm boy gee-I-dunno shrug. "You say."

John hung him out the fourth story window. Start naked, his huge cock stood out in the open air like a flagpole. John fucked him joyously, knowing that if he were to loosen his grip, Kenny would die. The danger excited both of them enormously. Kenny's cum fired out into space when the moment came.

They didn't stop, couldn't stop. When the photographer returned, he found John with his colossal dick inserted in Kenny's voluptuous ass, pumping slowly and luxuriously.

The second half of the photoshoot was of a different character than the first.

----

The crowds cheered. They waved. Their float was a vast crepe-paper confection in the shape of the Enola Gay, a rather pointless and meaningless play on words founded on a terrible tragedy that the jokesters obviously knew nothing about. John and Kenny stood at the front of it, waving irrelevantly to the throngs of faggots lining the streets. They had been asked to be Grand Marshals of this year's Gay Pride Parade.

John had laughed when the offer was made.

"What's so funny about that?" Kenny asked. "I think it's great. I think we should do it."

"So, they couldn't find any gay politicians or activists or pioneering doctors or courageous government officials or great writers or artists? They ask us because they're hot for our asses? I swear to God: faggots."

"Don't look at it like that. We're popular. Everybody knows us. We can symbolize the whole community."

John smiled at him, amazed always that someone who had lived the life Kenny had lived could be so naive. "Fine. You're right. Let's do it."

They waved, the others cheered.

Why are you cheering? John thought. What are we doing that you're cheering?

He knew the answer. They were standing there in Speedos, that's what they were doing. John looked over at Kenny, waving down enthusiastically at the mob of strangers. My God, what sweetness, what genuine kindness! He loved Kenny! He would go to hell and back for him, he adored him, he worshipped every square inch of his perfect body and perfect face! The life he had led, the old John Avery, was a fading memory. Surely, it must have been a bad dream and nothing more. This was how life was meant to be lived. He was beautiful, sexual, strong, beloved, in control of his world. How could it be sweeter? For God's sake, he was standing on a float in a parade with cheering crowds on either side!

He stared longingly at Kenny's ass. It was so muscular and magnificent that his Speedos stretched over empty space in places. But he kept his sex drives under strict control. One random erotic thought and his cock would explode out of his skimpy attire and create an illegal incident. The Little People were inconsequential, but their laws could interfere with his pleasures. He had to be careful.

The parade broke up at the fairgrounds and the activists and politicians began to make their speeches, something John and Kenny weren't interested in at all. They walked around the grounds barefoot in their swimsuits, allowing the crowds to ogle them; they knew what the real attraction was here. They held hands and browsed through the booths, most of which represented political efforts as alien to John's thinking as Carpathian folk dancing. They ran into other members of the Circle who were also out to be admired. They chatted cheerfully about nothing, giving people a good look, and moved on.

At last, and inevitably, John's equipment took on a mind of its own and grew erect.

"How about in those bushes over there?" he said, tipping his head towards a large grove of rhododendrons.

Kenny, not at all nonplused by the abrupt change of subject, complied.

John fucked him six or seven times. Because he exercised his romantic eroticism, it took a long time. On several occasions, other couples broke through the overgrowth, obviously intending to use the spot for the same purpose. They stood and watched. John allowed it. The visitors would stroke themselves and moan as John and Kenny neared climax. They would all come together, often bringing the bystanders to their knees. They would thank the pair and leave.

By the time they stumbled out into the fading daylight, the rally was over. A skeleton crew of cleaner-uppers milled around disconsolately, but the throng of admirers had departed.

"Party's over," Kenny said softly.

"Our party is never over," John said. They walked off into the dusk to find new amusements.

So absorbed were they in their love that John failed to notice Mr. Bel seated on a nearby park bench with an associate. The associate was a frail little man with a goatee and thick glasses in an expensive suit. They were both smoking.

"He was doing so well," said the companion.

"He will do well for us again, Torto," Bel replied calmly. "You can't imagine the condition of his mind before the metamorphosis. A rat's nest of resentment and sexual frustration. He's the perfect choice."

"He's selected a mate, Bel."

"No matter. Remember Artegal when we first gave him his Midas Touch? All the philanthropy? Cancer awareness and homeless shelters and save the whales? That didn't last long. Not once he tasted the joys of power."

"But he's fallen in love."

"Men often do," Mr. Bel said. "For a while." •