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Candle.
    â€œI don’t know if you like cinnamon,” Ollie said. He remained propped against the pillows, turning the remote over and over in his hands.
    â€œOh, I do. I do like cinnamon.” I opened the lid and took a whiff to be polite. “It’s very nice. Thank you.”
    He smiled.
    I put the candle aside. There was never much small talk with Ollie. We didn’t have much in common, really, other than liking the way my cock felt in his ass. We had met online, on ManHunt, or maybe it was Adam4Adam. Or Connexion. One of them. That first night, he drove all the way down to Palm Springs in his ’04 Toyota Corolla, and Frank and I took turns fucking his scrumptious ass. Afterward, he fell asleep between us in our bed. The next morning Frank fried bacon and eggs, while I fucked Ollie one more time. And that, we thought, would be that. Sweet ass not withstanding, Ollie wasn’t one of our more memorable tricks. Awkward silences took the place of conversation. Ollie didn’t get our jokes and didn’t make any of his own. He was either painfully shy or incredibly dull, Frank deduced, and yet, for some reason, I was moved to stay in contact with him, getting his number and his e-mail. In the last year, Ollie had been back down to see us half a dozen more times, and I still didn’t know much more about him other than where he lived, where he worked, and that he liked getting plowed.
    â€œWhere’s Frank?” Ollie asked as I slid in next to him on the bed.
    â€œHe’s beat. He’s got to finish getting ready for his classes. You know they start this coming week. So he’s going to bed, and he told us to have fun out here.”
    â€œOh.”
    I had a feeling Ollie wasn’t too disappointed. I knew the reason he kept coming back out to the desert had more to do with me than Frank. I wasn’t being arrogant. It was just obvious. Ollie would kiss Frank only if Frank made the first move. He would suck Frank only if Frank maneuvered his cock in the direction of his mouth. On the other hand, he was all over me. Frank and I had never discussed this. But I was sure if I’d noticed, Frank had noticed, too. I felt bad, and a little guilty. But I didn’t bring it up. There was, after all, the slightest chance that Frank hadn’t noticed.
    Of course, Ollie’s apparent disinterest might have been the reason why Frank, the last few times, had chosen to drop out of the sex and simply play the voyeur. He’d sit at the foot of the bed, watching and wanking as Ollie and I sucked and fucked. I’d try to lure him back up, but he’d resist, staying right where he was, shooting his load before we did. When Ollie and I would shoot soon afterward, Frank would be right there, waiting with a towel, like a dutiful butler offering his young masters a cum rag. It broke my heart.
    Frank was fourteen years older than I. In five years, he would be sixty. Once, age had mattered very little between us. But increasingly of late, the disparity in our ages had begun to weigh heavily on me. I saw myself becoming Frank a few years down the road, moving slower, my body settling, shrinking, withering. It frightened me.
    I touched Ollie’s smooth, unlined face. He was handsome, in an all-American kind of way, with sandy hair and blue eyes. We kissed. His lips tasted like wintergreen breath mints, and his little tongue darted in and out of my mouth. I moved my hands up and down his back and over his arms. His was the typical body of a twentysomething white boy who never went to the gym. Not thin, not fat, though his waist was starting to get a tiny bit squishy. Largely hairless, except for a happy trail leading up from his crotch to his belly button. Too many hours spent laboring inside an air-conditioned shopping mall had left his skin pale and pasty. He tasted like deli meat—bologna, maybe, or a salty ham. Leaning back into the pillows as I kissed my way down his torso,