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cumming like a woman now, again and again, riding it like a wave… 
    Matt pulled out, ripped the rubber off and jacked himself once, twice, and with his own shout he blew his load up and over Peter’s head.  Peter watched it splat against the headboard, then the next pulse landed on his face and he stuck his tongue out to catch it like sweet, salty rain. 
    “You like that?” Matt asked, “seriously?” Peter nodded; his tongue was desperate to find every drop Matt had scattered on his face.
    That was so hot for Matt that Peter could barely finish nodding before Matt was up, squatting across Peter’s torso, with one hand on the wall, his dick in Peter’s face, the other hand stroking it, flinching, his eyes shut at last as his own pain took him again for another orgasm.  He only opened them to check his aim, to make sure he shot every fucking drop straight into Peter’s wide, eager mouth.
    “Oh God!” he shouted, disbelieving, grateful, as Peter’s eyes lit up with delight at the taste of him, the look in his face clear, is there more, there is, how wonderful!
    Finally, his tank empty, he collapsed on top of Peter, both of them panting, their sweaty bodies slipping against each other.  “Oh fuck!” was all Matt could say, and Peter couldn’t speak at all.
    Which was nice.  Really nice.  He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, was just…here.  Under Matt’s body, in Matt’s bed, just…here.  And so it wasn’t long before he fell into the best sleep he’d had in years.
     

CHAPTER FOUR – EVERYTHING’S RUINED NOW
     
    “So,” Matt said in the morning.  “Eggs benedict, or bacon and sausage omelette?”
    “Oh, you cook, too.”
    “Mais bien sur.”
    “Which do you want?”
    “I want bacon.  Makin’ bacon makes me want bacon.”
    “Bacon it is.”
    Peter still couldn’t think about what last night meant.  Which was great.  The best!   Just once in your life, he thought, fucking enjoy your good fortune.
    “So what’s on your schedule today?” Matt asked, serving up their breakfast.
    “I’ve got lunch with my friend Katie, and we’re gonna see a movie.  You?”
    “Work, maybe half a day.”
    “You love your job, huh?”
    “Yeah, I do.”
    “So how did that happen, becoming a mechanic?  And not the double entendre version you gave me last night.”
    Matt smiled.  “That was clever, though, wasn’t it?”
    “Yeah, did you just think of that?”
    “You inspired me, yeah.”
    Peter said nothing, waited.  Matt nodded, running a hand through his glossy mane.  Peter didn’t usually like long or even longish hair on guys but on Matt, somehow it was just…right.
    “Okay.  I got my degree, and the only thing I could do with it was either go back for a Masters and teach, or get a job that didn’t really use it.  But,” he shrugged, “even though it was an English degree, it was from Harvard.  So that’ll usually get you a job, even if you aren’t exactly qualified for it.”
    Peter raised an eyebrow, impressed but not wanting to show it. 
    “I got a job as an analyst at a consulting firm.  I guess they figured Comp Lit qualified me to read and write reports.  Writing bullshit, really, summaries of bullshit, abstracts of bullshit.  What I said last night was true.  You don’t make anything at a job like that, other than more bullshit.  You read all this…”
    “CorpSpeak,” Peter said.  “Maximizing added value to low hanging fruit.”
    “Right.  But it’s just empty words.  What does it have to do with real things, what is it but a smokescreen?  If you were really doing something, building a better mousetrap, you’d say you were doing that.  You wouldn’t make shit up to hide the fact that you’re doing nothing, that you’re not building a better mousetrap, you’re not even touching the mousetrap – you’re just trying to convince people that the old mousetrap is better than it is.
    “But when you fix a car, it’s real.  You’re doing