In the dark I can only see Chuck, not older as he appears now but from when I first knew him twenty-five years ago. He had a beautiful body, muscular, compact, the proportions of an Olympic swimmer. And three times, I got to caress him, all of him, and my fingertips and palms still tingle at the touch of his smooth tanned skin. I see him from then, and I wonder if he must also be thinking of me, now, this very same moment. Older now, grey, the years have robbed his body of its vigor, and he would be now well at least sixty. But beneath the thinning grey hair, the same eyes, and yet different. Eyes that are kind, compassionate, eyes that see. He never before had eyes that saw. Now he is a street minister, a servant and follower of Christ, the same Lord that now I am purporting to follow. And Carl is insisting that I phone him. I will tomorrow. Right after breakfast. I wonder just how he remembers me. The last time we saw each other, here in this house, it was morning and I fed him breakfast after he had slept alone on the hideabed in my father's study. His being here closed one door and opened another? I never told Dad that I had here in his absence an overnight guest, much less one whose penis I fondled and caressed on three separate occasions...
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