In time, he kissed Corey's temple and raised his head to greet his lips. A glistening stream of tears floated down Corey's cheeks, their lonely journey speaking more than words could ever say.

Walter reached up a hand, wiping away the tears with his thumb before kissing each eyelid to stop the flow. He said nothing, his own eyes threatening to fill with a rain to match Corey's, such was the power of the moment, so he closed them and pressed his lips against the thick, soft opening of Corey's mouth.

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Corey inhaled deeply, his tongue extending to greet Walter's, the gentle advance turning to a more urgent desire as they melded into one being, displaced from time and space in an instant.

In some far off land, the music continued to play softly in the background and the urgency of their kissing grew twofold, then more. The world ceased to exist.

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Next Brenda had to go. Once again he made it to the storeroom and up the ladder just as her stream was cascading into the toilet. He got a little better view as Brenda pulled her pants and panties all the way down. She had a small landing strip of hairy, black stubble maybe an inch wide and two inches long just above her pussy. She turned around before she pulled her pants up to flush the toilet and he got a great view of her perfect ass

Slowly and deliberately, Corey peeled off Walter's jacket, letting it slip to the floor, his hands moving smoothly from Walter's shoulders to his back to release the cumberband. Untucking Walter's shirt, he gradually unbuttoned it, his hands distracted by the touch of skin as Walter's muscular chest was progressively exposed. Wandering fingers found Walter's nipples and rested to play before continuing to undress him.

Below their passionate affections, Walter kicked off his shoes, using his skilled toes to peel off his socks. Corey's touch was like electricity surging through his body and he breathed heavily through his nose, lips never leaving his companion's.

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Shirtless how, Walter reciprocated, removing Corey's jacket and cumberband. Curbing his desire, he ran his hand over Corey's shirt, feeling his solid build through the material, exploring the hardness of his pecs through the layer of cotton that separated them.

A groan escaped from deep within Corey's throat as Walter reached into the front of his pants, coming dangerously close to Corey's privates in an effort to untuck his shirt.

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The feeble attempt discarded, Walter lifted Corey into his arms, his firm muscles pressing into Corey's back as he carried him to the bedroom. All thoughts of dinner were gone now as Walter lay Corey upon the soft mattress, sliding on top of him to finish unbuttoning the shirt.

His hands explored Corey's chest, admiring the definition of the torso that thrust out of the open clothing. Corey lay there, gasping silently, eyes closed, head thrown back, body arching to greet at Walter's touch.

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"Adam!" he whispered as Walter's lips lowered to taste the flesh.

Walter sucked, licked, taunted Corey's torso like a starving man tasting his first meal in weeks. Stomach, chest, nipples....his tongue flicking out to tease his own taste buds as much as for Corey's pleasure. Slowly he worked his way up until their lips met again, their tongues attacking each other in a duel of desire.

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Corey rolled Walter over, pressing his body down against his partner who squirmed beneath him in ecstasy. His full weight against Walter now, Corey raised his arms back as his shirt was peeled off and Walter wrapped his arms around him. The embrace filled him with an overwhelming sense of security and there was little he could do as Walter rolled over on top again, showering his neck in an endless array of kisses.

Working his way down his body, Walter's tongue flicked out again to taunt Corey's bellybutton as he released the clips of Corey's trousers. With hands sliding down his lover's legs, Walter rose to remove Corey's shoes and socks, then leisurely remove the tuxedo pants to reveal his Calvin Klein underpants.

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I roll my eyes as I begin deleting the junkmail from my inbox. I absently push a few loose hairs behind my ear to join the millions of others that were unwashed, itchy and annoying. There are supposed to be hundreds of feedback emails in here. Hundreds of meaningless screen names that have observed my artwork and want to tell me how wonderful I am and how much they want to be like me. I get nothing. Junkmail.

I had entered this drawing contest not because of the cash prize, although that didn't exactly dissuade me, but for the exposure. I wanted to be the Rembrandt of the cartooning world and not have to be dead to enjoy the fruit of my labors. It was a simple drawing. A lady sitting by a pond surrounded by several flying geese. Typical and pathetic. Not something I'd put in a portfolio, but it was good enough to show my mother the next time she bugged me about never showing her anything. However, she was asleep now, and I was free to roam the internet for the pictures that really got my blood flowing.

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I glance down at the sketchpad lying next to the mouse. This was the sketchpad I didn't like to show anyone. It had all my beautiful male characters in it, all near-clad to skyclad taking it from each other in different, yet creative scenarios. That book was my pride and joy. My "Book of Men", I lovingly called it. Almost every page was a different set of characters in different predicaments, even sometimes on different worlds, in two ways, threesomes, foursomes, alone and cross-dressing or just plain out masturbating. Whenever I was alone and horny, I'd be into that book, which was a lot more than I liked to admit. I liked to surf around for free gay porn for inspiration.

I had found this site that looked like it might have some interesting stuff, but the moment I found it, my mother walked in and chittered on about the water bill for almost an hour, then told me to go to bed. Granted, I was eighteen years old, but she was still my mother and she still paid the bills. Especially the water bill. And I was currently out of work, and she never let me forget that. Meanwhile, I clean the house, I cook for her when she comes home and all she can find it in her heart to do is nag me; and when she's really pissed, well, let's not get into that.

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Tonight, the bitch is in bed early and I have the entire night to sit here in the den with no lights, no pants and no interruptions. I bring up the page, cleverly hidden in my favorites list and review the loads and loads of pictures. Some were okay, others just plain out sucked. However, the rest of them made all that waiting worthwhile. One in particular: a tall, fair-haired man with lean muscle, cute facial hair, beautiful green eyes and a charming smile. He wasn't even fully undressed, which made the picture even more arousing. He was dressed in loose gray overalls with the shoulder thingies hanging down. He had a squeegee in his hands and was washing a large window from inside a building, while turning to smile for the camera. All those beautiful muscles were flexed and accentuated. The picture inspired a brand new character into my thoughts. An exciting and spellbinding character. I grabbed a loose piece of paper to make my preliminary sketches on; after all, only the finished product made it into my beloved Book of Men.

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In the picture, I draw myself feeling his godlike body up and down. I looked funny as a cartoon character, because people say I already look that way. I have these big, round glasses that are like Harry Potter glasses only bigger, I have an almond-shaped head and big slate-gray eyes. My wild auburn hair is in the typical Asian cut; long bangs with a short back. Unfortunately, I wasn't Asian, which made me look all the sillier. Not to mention freckles. I had loads of them, littering my cheeks. I hated them with a passion because I thought they made me look twelve. I drew myself with only three freckles on each cheek and my usual baggy pants, converse sneakers and comic book tee shirts. It was like night and day. Here was this big, beautiful hunk of glory immediately next to this skinny, horny little kid. I eventually crumple up the picture and toss it, but the character concept grew in my head.

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The man's name was Davis Frisco. He was a sketch artist like me, and a contractor for a large faceless company. He also washed the windows, and he liked to do this topless with those shoulder thingies hanging down over his tight, firm ass. And all the stuck-up, pencil-pushing white-collared closet cases in accounting, and all the flannel-wearing, punk asses from the mailroom watched him work and secretly lusted over him. Davis, of course, knew very well what was going on, and went to do his job every week topless just to give them something to gawk at. Of course, this was in like Key West or LA or something so it was always warm. Well, maybe not LA because then there'd be too much smog too actually see him. Key West it was then. Everybody's gay in Key West anyway. As was Davis, he just didn't know it yet. He just had to meet the right man.

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As the night went on, I searched the thumbnails for another picture that inspired me. I needed to find a lover for Davis. A man who would knock him off his feet and leave him breathless the moment he saw him. Nothing was popping out at me and it was beginning to get depressing. Davis only deserved the best, but was I being too picky? Frustrated, I signed off early and hopped in bed with my book and my new sketches. I concentrated on developing the character. Defining him. I gave Davis hobbies, quirks, a personality. For some reason, I thought he should be good at chess, and racquetball, but he wasn't rich enough to join a club. He hated gyms, so he worked out at home…y'know, with those funny ass exercise programs on ESPN2? He had a mean side, which only came out when he was scared. Otherwise, he always tried to be nice. He liked boy bands and listened to them openly, not caring what anyone else thought, cause he was just free like that.

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I lick my lips, slave-driving my trusty HB pencil and eraser-pen to their limits. The more I work on this character's inner workings, the more aroused I become, until finally, I just put the book down next to my bed, pull the covers over me and masturbate until both hands scream in pain. All I could think about what how good Davis' new lover would make him feel. How he would lick all around his belly button, down his pelvis and wrap his thick lips around Davis' eight-inches of fine, cut, chiseled, meat. I sat up thinking about it long after I was too tired to continue, until finally blissful sleep took me.

*BANG! BANG!* I leap up from my slumber and struggle to get my pants on. The clock said it was 2:14 am. Who the hell would be knocking at the door at this ungodly hour? Afraid it would wake my mother up, I hurry to answer it. I look out the peephole, staring at what looked to be a tall, well-built man wearing a hood and a raincoat, because apparently, it decided to rain tonight. I couldn't make out anything else about him. I open the door but keep the chain on. "Hi, can I help you?" I ask nervously, my voice still raspy from sleep.

"I sure hope so." His voice was bass and gritty. Sexy and confident. "You are Jasper Collins, right?"

I gasp and take a step back. Jasper was my pen name. I only signed my work with that name and no one could possibly know that. "Who…who wants to know?"

"Look, kid, we have no time for explanations. Just trust me and get dressed. You're going away for a while. If it makes you feel better, I'll wait out here." He shoves his gloved hands further into his pockets to keep warm. I didn't have the heart to watch him freeze. I opened the chain and let him in. "Oh wow, thanks, Jasper. Can I call you Jasper?"

"Who are you?" I close the door behind him, watching in interest as he proceeds to partially disrobe. When he takes off his hood, he's not facing me. All I see is thick, curly black hair with little rain droplets in it. It's only when he takes off his wet raincoat that he turns to face me fully and I almost fall on my ass. "Osiris??"

He smiles charmingly, which is what he's always been famous for. "You got it."

"But…it can't be you! You're…" I sit on the couch, finding it impossible to stand.

"What," He tosses his raincoat onto the arm of my couch carelessly, wiping some moisture off his dark, beautiful face and out of his thick goatee. "Normally two-dimensional? A 'character'? Well, I'm here and I really don't feel like wasting more time explaining. And you aren't getting ready. Why is this?"

"I'm too busy getting over YOU." I point to him, still slack-jawed. He was Osiris Hehp-Tehal, one of my eldest characters, and one of my favorites. He was a brilliant Egyptian hunk and also one hell of an engineer. He was cocky, egotistical and he had a serious attitude problem, but he was a genuinely good person with pure intentions and a big heart. I didn't believe this was happening. This had to be a dream.

"Well, get over it. We've got lives to save. Do you think I would be here if it wasn't serious?" I shake my head, eyes still wide. "Good boy, now get dressed." And I do.

When I emerge, duffle bag in hand and my favorite clothes on, he looks me up and down. "Loose the bag. I'll be lucky enough just to get you through. Don't wanna push my luck. Whatever you can't stuff in your pockets, leave behind."

"No wait, I have to take one thing." I hold up my beloved Book of Men. I couldn't bear to part with it, even for a night. Not to mention if I'm not here to guard my room, my mother will surely rummage through it and find my treasure. I don't know how I'd be able to explain that away.

He rolls his pale green eyes impatiently. "If you must."

"I must."

We bundle up and dredge outside in the wet muckiness of the city. I lock up the house, pondering over the fact that we hadn't woken my mother up once through all that. It's freezing out here and we're the only ones stupid enough to be walking down these streets in this weather at this time of night. I can't stop staring at him once we get walking. He's so much more beautiful in real life. He turns to glance at me with that movie star smile again. "Go on, ask me. You know you want to."