The End Of The Rainbow And A Loosed Transmission

As a rule I don't bring work home but for this one, I made an exception. Apparently, I was getting no further here than at my office with a gaggle of clients, artists, copywriters and the young who hoped to hop scotch their way up the corporate ladder. Didn't work. Two number 2 pencils had already died while I drummed them on a quadrille pad...and the pad was next on my danger list.

"Work? At home, Jeff, that's an oddity for you." My husband of eleven years appeared at the door to my study in his paint splattered coverall, a couple of locks of hair over sprayed a sort of sick tangerine while the majority color, at least today, was somewhere West of Lavender but seemed to have had a head on with Chartreuse. He pulled off his boots, scooted across the carpet, leaned over and kissed me then looked down. "I guess it's not coming to you, whatever 'it' might be. Like this color?" He pointed to a couple of places, one on his chest, another down the front of his thigh.

"Dazzling, what's it called?"

"I was hoping you'd help, you're a whizz with names. At the moment it's 'Furious Fuschia'...."

"Who's it mad at?"

"Maybe if you looked at it more carefully..." He unzipped and stepped out of his paint covered outfit and tried to hand it to me. Standing there in nothing but his socks and some sort of low slung bikini brief, he was more appealing than the color. "See, it's needs to go with this one, right up here. This orangey bit." He kissed me on the forehead." I'll regret it but..,,what's the name of that distress?"

"Oahu Orange." He looked at me and I looked back. But then I did have an idea, Robin brings things out in me.

"For that first sample, how about 'Statuatory Grape' ?". I stood up to see him rolling on the floor in convulsions of laughter. I went around to see if I could render aid which was a mistake as he pulled me down on top of him." Quit working. I worry about you, you work too hard." He was unbuttoning my shirt as quickly as I was trying to button it back up. 

"Go take a shower and scrape colors Mother Nature will punish you for from your body."

"Will you come with me?" 

"No, I'm clean and besides, I clearly recall once when I did join you while you were painted up, I got flakes of some God awful color in my hair that had to be professionally removed."

"Cut off the pony tail, get a close crop and you won't have that problem. C'mon, Jeff, it'll feel good, I'll make it feel good. Promise."

"No. Go." and pointed with another pencil which, for no reason I slammed down and cracked it in half on the edge of my work talble. Jesus I loved him. Almost from day one.

He'd started at the agency, before I owned it, but was a senior editor, as a junior, junior, junior artist. Any more junior and he wouldn't have worked for us at all. Part of my job was to meet and greet new employees, welcome them to the firm, try and give them some sense of contact with upper level management and then....disappear back where upper level management lived. He says that he looked up, saw a quiet man in a well cut grey suit, long hair but it was my eyes, those grey eyes flecked with what some called gold and I called portent of macular degeneration. That was it for day one, done the meet and greet, back to whatever I was doing. That is, it was enough for me but not for Robin. In a disreputable pair of Chuck tailors, a pair of closely fitted pants, a shirt that was only half tucked in and a tie apparently purchased at the World's Fair of 1939 he appeared carrying a styrofoam cup of coffee. I thanked him, said I didn't usually drink coffee at that hour and, hoping I gave him what looked like a smile, dismissed him. That was round one. He brought coffee twice more and a filled stapler as well as my top coat when he thought it was going home time. He'd made one point on the brown nose ladder; I knew his name. Eventually he disappeared but that was after I'd told Frances, my secretary, if she saw him again, to shoot. Don't worry about the law or witnesses. 

Day two started rather late as I'd had a breakfast meeting with a client then brought them back for some contract finalizations. I suppose the shout made an impression on the client, not that I meant to but...Robin was tucked under my desk, stark naked pantomiming that he'd like to blow me. In one sense it was a sentiment returned, I wanted to blow him up. Client and I went to the conference room from which I excused myself just long enough to fire his-naked-ass then return to business. 

Just before I was preparing to leave Frances brought in a note addressed to me in beautiful Spencerian script. She was in tears which suggested she'd read it and, moments later, so had I. It was as profound a statement of love as I've ever read, fuck Robert Browning, this was aimed directly at me and, like Frances, I dribbled a few tears. She was ahead of me in one respect, my coat was draped over one arm and a piece of paper, in her handwriting, with Robin's name and address was on it. 

Roses would have been too common following what I'd read but, somehow, I found a florist who made up a jumbo bouquet of Violets which is what I handed him when he opened the door-he too had been crying, rather extensively from the look of his face. 

Three years later, I'd bought the agency, still hadn't hired him back, but did inadvertently find him his dream job doing custom car painting. Our families were overjoyed; Both sides loved the other and, how often can this happen? both our fathers had found male partners. Our mothers, strangely, given what surrounded them, had stayed determinedly heterosexual but had a wonderful time planning our wedding. Robin and I thought of something simple, someplace very private, a wedding in the nude so, to prove our love, we could fuck right there in front of the celebrant and the very few carefully invited guests.

On the day, Dad and his partner Mark were dancing attendance on me, determined to make sure I was the handsomest groom ever. Needless to say, nearby, Robin was getting the same treatment from his Dad plus partner Rex. All six men looked handsome in our cut aways, grey suede gloves and diamond cuff links. Initially we'd thought of just a simple circle, nothing gaudy, nothing ostentatious. What each of us got was a circle of square cut sapphires that actually looked as masculine as an erect cock. The one note that went clunk in our minds was our mothers as flower girls. And so we were married, reception at the country club, left that night on our honey moon, courtesy our six parents. to a place in the Andemans where every bungalow was built over the Indian Ocean. All of this first class, of course. 

Some where between Frankfurt and the islands, Robin leaned back and said that, lovely, yes, lovely but....he still wanted to be wed to me on a beach wearing nothing then screwing each other. Sounded good to me. So, finding ourselves in this fascinating resort where clothes were almost incidental, that's what we did. I'm not sure of the religion of the celebrant but, with his body painted colors that, years later, Robin would want to copy, and nothing else, we were married again and, at the officiants insistance, both fucked each other. I don't recall a reception for that one nor were there pictures. Thus began married life; Stark naked, fucking each other in front of a man of questionable religion half way around the world while living in a lavish hut built over aquamarine blue water with a meals brought to us, should we not care to swim to the main lodge, by room service in a canoe. Whatever the future, the send off had been terrific.

Having a husband is a really great thing, or so I think. Robin and I both loved being in bed with each other, talking, reading or just in the dark, not yet sleepy but luxuriating in the warmth of each other. There was, of course, sex rather frequently indeed our home had, over time, changed itself so one could have comfortable sex almost anywhere doing any other normal chore. As an example, there was a hammock in the laundry room large enough for two and, as it was solidly mounted in foundation studs, it was strong enough for two more studs to do whatever came to mind or hand or cock or balls or necks or lips...the one drawback is that no matter how wide the thing and how firm the foundation, exuberance can and did dump us on the floor. We were probably the only family in the neighborhood who had thick carpeting in a room devoted to water and dirt. And lessening thuds as they hit the floor. 

I sometimes forget how successful Robin was at his erzatz craft. Men who are car crazies have no sense of what it cost to get what they want. A 24 karat bumber? Sure, just pay for it. No excess was too, well, excessive and all of them were expensive and that was before installation and further customization. A simple, dull 1976 Dodge, bought at the salvage yard for a few hundred dollars-the towing charges to his shop were double that, ultimately rolled out as what he called a "street rod" which carried a final cost of just over thirty thousand dollars; The owner was thrilled, Robin was thrilled and even I was thrilled as I had an inside track as to what the real costs were. But, as I was too frequently told, this was about ART not cars. This was about COOL, about BADDASS, not getting the family to school. Indeed I often wondered about the families of the men who plunked down these exorbitant amounts for these follies of their own ego. 

I suppose I must mention....Hell Cat, the car Robin and the guys at the shop "did up" for me. It was, as you can probably guess, a surprise for my fortieth birthday and when I said to them that they really, really shouldn't have, I meant it. Robin said it reflected the true Jeff, the Jeff he knew and loved which made me suspicious of what he did know and love. The exterior was a sober gray pin stripe, White shirt on the hood but....the shirt had been torn open to reveal a dragon tattoo that went from side to side and, following the open shirt, the undone pants, a camouflage bikini brief so low that the bulges in it left no idea as to what was behind door number one. The interior wasn't bad...if you were a leather and chain fetishist, seated five comfortably. Even the male contingent of our parents only took one ride in it and that was spent ducking down if it even looked as if they saw someone they knew. And one fillip no sedan ever had, built in dildos that came up from the seat and could vibrate, do something electrical, set a steady fucking action, get in and expand and.....surprise people if they weren't prepared for them. Who ever was driving and the day our four fathers went for they joy ride, that was Robin brought them back with ripped pants, bleeding from their asses, and a look of panic on their faces. When we got home, I grabbed some cuffs, attached him to the headboard, got out my paddle and expressed my displeasure for some little while. 

Knowing there was some music to be faced, I carefully photographed his ass as it dripped blood and sent it to the men then waited almost a week before calling my father. His opening statement of dignity, love, parenthood and dementia led me to believe Robin was in deep shit. While I was applauded for my warm up, seems they wanted to take him "out to the place in the country" and explain a few things. It was made clear I was not welcome. Moreover, it was all four of them, they'd talked and this time Robin had gone way too far. They'd be by his shop later today to collect him and return him to me at some point after their lesson was taught....

I was in hell. I called the shop and was told he and his Dad had just left, was there a message? No, no message just the name of a good therapist who had an opening right then. No point in calling my Dad or Mark....so I went for the Moms, mainly to find out what they knew or where they'd taken him or...anything. 

It was an interesting call. Oddly both of them were together and asked that I come to dinner. Sweetness and light, Moms being Moms  trying to help one of their cubs get over whatever was going to happen. 

It was a good dinner during which I learned absolutely nothing save collecting a new recipe for Apple Pan Dowdy. 

It was the next day and my office seemed to realize I was there only by accident, even Frances, yes, faithful Frances, said I looked like hell and maybe I should go to the club, get some steam, a massage, swim some laps. Relax. While I did take her suggestion it was hardly relaxing; Max, my usual masseur said rubbbing me was like trying to rub tree branches. Finally, he covered me some kind of oil, turned on the tanning lights and left me there. That reminded me of our honeymoon, the heat, the water, the happiness. By the time he came to turn me I'd worked out a plan that would make no one happy except Robin and me. Assuming I ever saw him again. Once home I did the whip round of all their cell phone numbers and was invited to leave my name, my number and a brief message after the tone. I threw the stupid thing in the trash, stormed off to bed, cried, jerked off a big load, cried some more, took an Ambien and at some hour before sun up went to sleep. 

When I woke up nothing seemed to have changed, the earth was still spinning, it was bright and sunny and, I noticed, Max had presented me with a nice base for a tan. Swell. The office was a non starting issue, I didn't even call in to say I wouldn't be there assuming by noon, maybe one, they'd figure it out. With nothing to do I wandered into some sort of semblance of a day, coffee, maybe food.....en route I found a large box in my foyer, wrapped in somewhat gaudy paper surmounted by a very large red satin ribbon to which was attached a card. It said, "Now he's forgiven. See you two at dinner on Sunday."

I knew what, or rather, who was in the box my only concern was his condition. I couldn't think of our collective fathers as sadists but I could imagine them as being royally pissed off. After my walloping with a paddle, what they could or would do probably was more in the realm of punishing a child who'd misbehaved. I slowly opened the box, and, yep, there was Robin, his eyes desperately glad to see me, the gag pulled out and he started to cry. Didn't take much to remove him then pull the final layer of paper that covered him.

I fell back on my haunches appalled at what I saw. From his neck up it was Robin but whole sections of him were tattooed in the bright, vivid colors he loved. All I could do was hold him until he squealed in pain. Not having excelled in first aid and not wanting to review his past few days, I did the only thing that came to mind which was put him in a bathtub filled with warm water and epsom salts. Seemed to help, couldn't hurt. Conversation just wasn't an option so I pulled up a stool and just stared....after the shock I could begin to figure out things, images in it that related to him and, in a few places, to me. Our wedding rings were around one nipple, mine, it had my name on it, was surrounding the hard point but his was broken and dangling from mine. On his shoulder, where I often laid my head, was a pair of my tortoise shell aviators broken and the lenses cracked. What ever else, it had been professionally done. 

I called Smitty, our, also gay, family doctor and described to him what had happened. There were long silences, or maybe pauses, while all of this soaked in. As carefully as he could strangle out words, he said he'd send something over for pain, in not too much time, he'd feel a  lot better, at least physically. In what, for him, was a rare display of temper, he said he couldn't talk about the other and slammed down the phone. I knew what he meant, what we both meant. An hour later, he must have used medical terms for "now", "fast" as well as "move your ass" of which I wasn't aware, a large tube of creme arrived with several refills. Getting Robin from the tub, pat drying him, an action we both regretted, I got him on our bed and slathered him with whatever it was. Instanter I was done I called in for a refill. The up side was that it did help and, doing some prescribing of my own, I slipped him a muscle relaxant which pretty much knocked him out. What was there to do? I sat by him as the room grew dark, answered the door when the pharmacy delivered and went back to sitting by him feeling guilty that somehow....I was involved. Three days later the pain was substantially gone, just kept a light coat of Smitty's anaesthetic creme on him and try and not look at what remained.

Leaving our home I did a quick whip round of all our fathers pointedly telling them that I was beyond hurt and disgusted at what they'd done, there was no excuse and, I hoped, they'd have a happy life satisfied at their wretched excess without the two best men they'd ever had. Plus, the lunch on Sunday? No.

Not to put too fine a point on it but I ran down our mothers and gave them a version of the speech I'd been giving earlier in the day. This time it hit home. They hadn't known one thing about what was going on, no one told them, they still didn't know. Lucky, wasn't it, that I had some Polaroids of their son and my much loved husband as he was now and as he would always be unless he wanted to spend thousands of dollars and many, many painful hours having them removed. The ladies were in tears and, I probably was cruel, I ended on the same note as I had with their multitude of husbands, that I hoped life without their sons would be a happy one, after all, they had all those men to make up for the lack of only two sons. 

On my way home I was so angered that I could not stop crying which caused the wreck in our garage; Doubtless the washer, dryer and hammock could be put back in place, just a matter of construction and time. My priority was Robin. Not to mention winching the car down the five steps that led up to the laundry room. At least I left room for the garage door to go down and conceal the mess.

I must have sat there over an hour before he looked at me, tears in his eyes and pointed to his crotch. Some little surgery had been done, something I'd never seen. His whole foreskin, and he didn't have a lot, had been skinned off, there was now his shaft which led to the basis of his cock and nothing else. If that hadn't hurt, the flames going up toward the cock head must have. His nuts had been allover dotted with his weird colors...He wasn't completely covered but what had been done made you forget the undone places. And I hadn't seen his back. As a memento of their ride while being fucked, was a large back piece of the Bear Cat. For whatever reason his legs were untouched but the overall was a shock. Knowing I couldn't touch him, the pain, I leaned on the side of the tub and just bawled out of love and sympathy for him. 

Somehow we made it through the night. I called our doctor to report what little progress their was. His anger had risen over the night and, after his clinic, he'd be by to see what he could do. One thing I did do was not just change the the water but opened the drain just enough so there was a constant flow of fresh water to which I periodically added more epsom salts. Robin wasn't really there, just staring up, sometimes his head would roll to one side trying not to look at me.

When Smitty came by we got Robin out of the water and carefully dried off. He was beyond shocked at what he saw, promised to help me with revenge, which I declined, gave Robin something normally reserved for pre-op which allowed him to drift away. He and I had a stiff drink, discussed it, I was told what it would take, not just financially, to remove it but suggested, it would be months before any of that could even begin to occur. We stood up, he kissed me on my cheek, gave me a really kindly meant hug and went home to his man, not yet married, Aidan. Call him anytime.

The pain passed and by the third day, he could wear a full cut shirt, socks and oversize shorts-mine. He sat by my work table and said nothing, nothing at all just looked at me until my head crashed on the table in remorse for him while he covered me with his body, his beautiful, desecrated body. 

Calls begin to come in from our parents, first, and one at a time, from the Dads. I was civil, discussed nothing with them, hardly on the phone twenty seconds but made it clear I would appreciate their not ringing back. More difficult was Robin's Mom who just showed up, her face covered with tracks of tears. I did let her in, sat her down in our lounge, told Robin she was here then told her he was sorry but...No. Somehow being near him gave her some little courage so she sat and talked to me for a few minutes, such bland conversation, nothing about Robin but, after a bit, we were at the end of the conversational thread so she picked up her hand bag and left. She was the last parent to visit.

My own father elected to take a much gruffer, "He had it coming" tone, wanted to make me realize that, we were men, gay men and sometimes gay men like to play hard, certainly he and Mark did. There was a long period of silence during which I just held the receiver and heard him breath his way into elevated anger. "Well, if a father can't talk to his cocksucking son, then the hell with him." I was pleased he was using a phone with a receiver, they are truly better to slam down then the click of a cell phone.

Thereafter Robin and I had our lives to ourselves. I went back to work leaving him at home doing...whatever he found to do. Some days I'd find the pad on my work table covered with weird sketches of...things....sometimes real people or, the one that almost dropped me to the floor; A pair of sapphire rings, one broken, one depending from the other, the other pair solid and intertwined. The way it really was. Gradually he seemed to take an interest in his work, there'd be sketches of parts of cars unfamiliar to me but at least I knew they were from cars. Now and again I'd find him with one of his painters-easily recognizable by their spattered coveralls but the colors were not of this world. He seemed happier, more open with me. Whereas formerly we'd wandered around the house virtually nude, only heavy socks, now he would go part way donning a long sleeve T with cargo shorts. 

Nights had not changed or, better to say, after the first shock to both of us, we still enjoyed our own private sex life, sleeping together, showering together and, his favorite, letting him brush my very long hair and then pull it up into a tail-the thought of a man bun disgusted me. He did sleep in oftener-I'd leave a sealed carafe of coffee for him and stay up a bit later telling me of late night programming whose existence had heretofor eluded me. It was moving into late Fall, early Winter the time I did an important excursion and visited many of my major clients. I didn't need to do it but they appreciated our attention to their product, some of which was not something I would have used. For example a dental adhesive, very popular, but their name for it, "Clutch" didn't seem.....good. I'd argued a name change but, they correctly pointed out, sales were up....what ideas did I have that a name change would help? 

This trip was to be really extensive in that we'd acquired two clients in China, another in Malaysia and several in Japan. I don't like to show up in a country after a very long flight and have meetings within three hours. My usual mode was to fly in two days in advance, get more or less on local time then do the meetings. Once I was in the Orient, flights were shorter and therefore easier to accommodate in my schedule. These trips were yearly and each time Robin was asked if he'd like to go along, an invitation he routinely refused. Same with this year even being told it would be longer and harder....He held me in his arms, told me he loved me and he'd be here when I got home. 

Our corporate attorney dropped in prepartory to my going away in two days and, in the course of the conversation, dropped the information that he'd heard Robin was selling his business. What did I know about that? In a rush of pure evasion it was made clear that what happened here in my shop and out there in his shop weren't subjects of conversation. He may have believed me. Maybe.

Home that evening started with a slammed door and hard heeled shoes crossing the parquetry in pursuit of someone. In my office, doodling whatever, I leaned far over putting my arms on the work table. "Selling the business? Something you failed to mention to me. I heard that rumor from Reid when he was in today...I suppose the next logical question isn't if you are but, if that's the case, why you didn't tell me. Robin, I'm your husband, the man who loves you, if you want to sell the business, that's your concern but my concern is that it leaves you with spot nothing to do, if the rumor is true, and day after tomorrow I leave on a voyage that would tire Marco Polo."

"Took you all the way home to practice that, didn't it." The little shit, he was right and I couldn't help smiling. He stood up, took my head in his arms, kissed me, pulled on my tail then used it to make me follow him to our bedroom where he stripped me-one handed, hard to do-threw me in bed, removed the one or two things he had on, rolled me over and without any warm up, fucked me. 

Afterward while he held me in his arms he said that, yes, he was going to sell the business but only because after this much time, it had become, to him, repetitive. A lot of what he needed to do was match the enthusiasm of his clients, even when he thought what they wanted was a crock. Also, there was a sameness to it all. He pointed out something I hadn't realized; Since he opened up, he'd had a complete turn over in employees. Three times. Nothing he did wrong, they tended to be young, wild about cars, so engrossed they slept at the shop. Great! They did superlative work, were well paid but....they finally needed to do more specialized work than he could offer. He understood but he also needed to turn himself over.

Had an amazing offer from, to his surprise, a group of young, very young men who were what he was twelve years ago, many of whom had worked for him. He remembered when I first fired him, engaged in his and their enthusiasm, willing to put in the hours and, this was really important, needing to buy a shop that had a great reputation. In his business reputation was worth almost more than whatever parts and location came with it. My only question was....if he was gone, then wouldn't the purchasers lose the larger part of what they're buying? The deal, as he explained it, was the retention of his services, on premises, for six months every day then taper it off so that at the end of a year, he would be gone. Also, during the first period of his being there everyday, he'd arrive around ten and leave at four. Hard to argue with that so I didn't. 

Relieved, I rolled back, took his cock in my mouth and just enjoyed having it there. This was reciprocated and we had a nice little 69 going....Dinner was delayed. 

The last night I wanted him in me all night, even considered Ace bandaging us together but threw that idea out. Getting him ready for a long shift in a deep hole, I drained him as much as was possible, had him cuff me, gag me and blindfold me, anchor me to the bed in as many places as he wanted then start fucking me until he was absolutely out of milk then roll me over, jack me off followed by a surging edging, another splatter of what was in me followed by removing my bondage but cuffing us together. 

Exhausted, we slept, plus so emptied, no morning woodie. It seemed like a normal day if you discounted my partially emptied closets, drawers not as full and a quick run to Rudy to have my hair thoroughly washed and tightly tied into my tail. Back home, nude lunch-I teared up now and then-Robin tried to consol me but the truth was....there was nothing to consol. Eventually we strolled into the shower, he took a loofah and thoroughly scrubbed me. At our double sinks, I had my shaving case which, as I used things, I put in it. Then it was all done, packed, only my clothes to put on; A task Robin loved to do for me; I stood arms out, naked and garment at a time, like a mannequin in a shop window, he made sure I was his version of perfection. He preferred English spread collars, so I wore those, gold knot cuff links, even to checking my passport case and wallet. Before I put on my pants, he had found a sort of belt that at once kept your shirt down and your socks up. It did make you look well turned out even if you'd just slept in parts of it.

The hired driver limousine driver was there and would take my cases to the car followed by me to the door where Robin, still was not happy about being seen. I held him, almost released, held him closer, kissed his eyes then turned and got in the car. 

This was my year to go West so no Lufthansa, my favorite carrier. Not to say Cathay Pacific was worse, they were just as fine but the menus were half in English half in Chinese. Lovely great large seat that turned into a bed, Jammies-which didn't quite fit me-and one was encouraged to shed your dress clothes in favour of lounging pants, which did fit, and a sort of Mandarin style pull over silk shirt. Slippers and it was somewhat like the forbidden city in Beijing which, in a sense, it was as no travelers from other classes were allowed in. It was a leisurely 15 hour flight so no hurry for anything. I made a nest in my cubicle wondering if  I could strip down to my jock and a T shirt once the bed was made up. As luxurious as it was supposed to be, silk isn't my favorite material. Happily, after a meal that took two or more hours to serve, the lights on the big Boeing were lowered, attendants made up beds-I asked a steward about wearing very little and he, clever fellow, produced a robe to wear should I need to go to the lavatory, get a drink at the bar or just stroll. Drink and I don't have much to do with each other but...I'm a sucker for Japanese Sake which I had in place of Chinese Plum Wine. 

The bed was actually comfortable, long enough, laden with duvets, pillows, throws, one could arrange it however you wished for ultimate comfort. Because I do have trouble sleeping, I took an Ambien, turned out the lights in my corner of upcoming Hong Kong, snuggled up, put my hand on my cock, thought of Robin and was asleep as I counted the various sins to be found across the harbor in Macau. 

Morning was the reverse. I rose early, three hours before we were scheduled to land, got dressed, almost skin out, found my shoes had been shined, my jacket pressed....and it was time for whatever sort of breakfast you might like. I've learned to avoid the full English Breakfast on a plane, on a ship or in England as it's more food than I can face at that hour of the day. Cathay didn't care much, just so long as you liked it so I had some great Malaysian coffee, same as we had at home, a bowl of oatmeal, whole wheat toast, more coffee and apple juice. Follwing that I strolled about our area of the plane remembering to ask the friendly steward, if he were going to Hong Kong, but wanted to kill a couple of days in Macau, what would he do? Interesting suggestions, I made notes. 

Hong Kong had been pleasant, the bank we represented there had provided quite a nice cocktail party, something I did not get in Beijing but was repeated in Seoul, Tokyo, Bangkok and Singapore. I was almost three weeks into this up scale form of meet and greet  when the last handshake in Singapore, their good wishes for a safe trip home were done, I got on the plane and left for Sydney, not on my schedule but covered by calls to Robin saying I was exhausted and was going to take a SCUBA diving cruise for about eight days. Knowing how hard I did work, and hearing my comments about the shitty heat and humidity, he accepted my travel interruption even knowing I'd be out of touch for a time. I told him I loved him and would call him as soon as we got back to Singapore. 

It looked a lot like DFW airport, possibly because it was, as the Qantas A380 turned off the active runway and started looking for a place to plug into. It's the longest scheduled flight, currently, in the world, Sydney to Dallas, all 18 plus some minutes worth of it. As with going over, I fell into an airport hotel for two days then flew home. Having friend helps. An associate in Singapore had called Robin to say that our ship had experienced some slight engine problems, that we were all well and safe and taking advantage of wherever we were (name upon request) to do some additional diving. I'm sure it satisfied Robin as he knew he could ring Yun back for updates which, of necessity, he'd have to create on the spot but, clever lad, I was sure he could do it. 

Home! I timed my arrival so that I could slip in unannounced mid afternoon when I knew Robin would be at work and, under any circumstances, he'd just had a call from Yun the previous evening saying I was safely on my way back to Singapore and would call him on the morrow; In a distorted sort of way, that was true, part of it. 

Quickly hiding all the luggage, indeed anything that suggested I was there, I stripped and piled into bed hoping to surprise my man when he got home; I succeeded but not in the way I planned. Apparently my two days of acclimating to eleven time zones difference hadn't been quite enough so when I hit the bed, unmade, typical of him, smelling of him and even flecks of color that had come from him, all I did was grab two pillows and fell fast asleep. 

I had one minutes notice that I was no longer alone and it was just what I wanted. Sleep had wandered on beyond a short nap until, now in December, it was dark in our bed room and there was just enough time to casually display myself naked to whomever, well, Robin, would turn on the light and walk in.

At first the shock went over him, the disbelief, the almost inability to see the man in his bed as me. He didn't walk toward me, more like stumbled until he was close enough to just touch, to see if the monstrosity laying there could be.....Jeff, his husband, the man he loved. The man now with a crew cut, bars in his nipples and virtually the same tattoos as he had. My only concession had been to remove those that were just colors of revenge and replace them with my own colors of anger. Around each pierced nipple were sapphire rings in brilliant tattoo blue. My nuts were one 8 ball and one cue ball. All over a miasma of color tattooed for any to see and me to embrace not only them but the man I loved. I slowly rolled over to reveal a full back piece that went from my ass crack right up my neck of two stylized Greek gods with very prominent genitals, each god having the initials of one of us. 

I stood up since he seemed to be grounded in some other land, the one he'd known and now could abandon. I held him, orange to blue, stripes to diagonals, furious fuchsia to Oahu Orange, kissed him revealing a lip tattoo just like those given the finest race horses. He melted into me, our colors making both ends of the rainbow, Aurora coming to a bedroom of two men who loved each other. 

In the dim light we looked like an unfinished store window display but one intensely happy to the casual passerby. Soon it would snow but we'd glow through it. I pushed him into bed, held his head next to mine and whispered...."Ya know, I think we've got a good beginning for real works of art." Then kissed him hello forever.