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For the next two years, Joe and I spent almost every weekend together. Sometimes one of us would have a commitment. The following weekends were fuck, sucking pussy eating marathons.

Friday afternoons, he took the train from the city. And it was always at my condo. I liked the comfort and Joe seemed more than happy.

The sex never stopped being incredible. Actually, I think Joe got better. He understood what I needed and wanted.

The end of our relationship was as bad as it could be.

Joe's birthday was a week away, and I thought I'd surprise him. Sunday before he left and after I'd just finished giving him a good-bye blowjob, "Joe, I have some family stuff to do next weekend, but I'll be waiting for you on Friday, the 20th."

"Okay. Can you imagine how ready we'll both be?"

I didn't have any family stuff to do. Let's call it a little white lie. The following Saturday morning, I drove out to Joe's mansion. On the way, I stopped and picked up the birthday cake I'd ordered.

For his birthday I bought him two tickets to a Yankee game. I didn't know much about baseball. My immigrant father instilled in me a love of ...

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