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ludicrously at the ceiling when he dropped his bottoms. Waves of longing and heat passed through Richard’s body, and he painfully stopped himself from coming, slowing his pace. Frank held his penis to his belly as he turned to show them his delicious small pink ass.
    Richard won the next hand, distracted by Frank’s moist pubic hair. Bill removed his bottoms, but now the beautiful part was coming. Bill dimmed the lights and Frank stood woozily while Bill held his member with great warmth and tenderness, tenderness—Richard moved his lips over Frank’s, moistening them as he squeezed Frank’s tight superb ass. Bill in great heat was calling for Richard’s penis as he removed Richard’s bottoms held his demanding warm oh warm penis. Frank was putting was putting him on the bed with a hermaphrodyte’s love. Yes fragile womanish man. Bill kissed him kissed him and Frank closed his warm mouth over—
    The three jerks his distended penis gave were regarded coldly by Richard, annoyed that he had ejaculated high on his chest and on his belly in great quantity. He grimaced as he pulled the bed sheet up and tried to wipe the semen off. He flipped the sheet away from him and turned on his stomach to dry thoroughly. The windows were resplendent with the morning sun. He had decided to let his imagination go and Christ! did it ever. Oh, how he had enjoyed it! No, there could be no doubt—he was homosexual. And why not if it’s that good?
    While masturbating, his nudity had seemed lusty and exciting, but now, as he dressed, he was disgusted by the flattened, damp hairs that ran from his navel to his groin. He showered and brushed his teeth, enjoying it more than usual, and spat with vehemence.
    The apartment was quiet, his mother off at work, his father locked away in his study. The kitchen was brilliant from the sun, and, engulfed by this cheerful light, he felt strong and healthy. He made eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh coffee—an unusually large breakfast. He read the Times from cover to cover and found it remarkably interesting. When finished, he energetically cleaned up and went to his room. He made the bed, glad to have removed any traces of his sexuality from sight.
    Finally it became impossible to avoid thinking about his fantasy. He tried to stop himself from revoking his earlier judgment that he was homosexual. He wanted the issue decided and forgotten. But a voice argued convincingly that nothing had been proved: he would have to attempt sleeping with a woman before it would be. So he called Information and got Joan’s number. It was eleven and she would be in school, so he worked on his novel.
    He had been within a few pages of finishing for several days. Everything he had planned to write was already in it, but he despaired of finding the words to end it. He was tempted to escape the problem by killing the main character. He sat at his desk and allowed the weary sadness of the music playing on his radio to mix with the mood of the most recent paragraphs. He had one of the few moments of inspiration while working and he was finished.
    The manuscript was fat and definite. He raised the papers and dropped them on his desk, listening with pleasure to the soft slap they made. He could sit back and face the problem of living now; he could enjoy life with this as his passport.
    If he could use the determination it took to complete his novel and improve his life with it, then—improve his life? How cold that was! Always confined, thoughtful, and self-conscious. Rule one: be natural. Have a drink maybe and tell his father.
    Aaron looked startled when his study door opened with a bang. He looked quizzically at Richard standing triumphantly in the doorway. “It’s finished,” Richard said. “I did it.”
    “Really? All done?”
    His father wasn’t excited and the question embarrassed Richard. He felt he had lied. “Well, you know. The first draft. But it’ll just be a retyping, really.”
    His father maintained his