Simpatico

Returning to the rest period after the second fuck, Charbeneau answered Rich’s question about a plan. “You only learned of Miles Trent’s deteriorating health about Thanksgiving time, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but what do you know about that? And you didn’t answer me about knowing Miles. You said you have known Miles Trent for some time.”

“Yes, I know Miles. Miles and I have been friends for decades. We were close—intimately so. We used to cruise together, procure for each other. He knew of my need. I knew he had to have a lot of it too. We’d find prospects together, or one of us would cruise and bring young men to the other. We’d sometimes fuck them together. Does that disgust you?”

“No,” Rich responded in a small voice.

Charbeneau continued. “We’ll return to that. Our collaboration changed when you came into Miles’ life. I didn’t begrudge him his happiness, though. You made him very happy, you know. He wanted to be sure you knew that. Especially today. Now that I think back on those days, I think I liked the sharing more than Miles did. How do you feel about that, Rich? Do you like to have two men sharing you—have men shared you before?”

“Yes.” Rich responded in a small, shaky voice, and answer going to both of the questions. In the Navy. It was common in the Navy in the close sleeping quarters when they were out to sea and the sailors were bored. Bored and randy. Rich had had just the slim, somewhat androgynous prettiness that attracted randy sailors. He’d learned to take all sorts of things—and, eventually, to enjoy doing so—in the Navy.