Excerpt from    Saying I Love You     by      William Guarraia

SAYING I LOVE YOU

novel by

William Guarraia

e-book by
GLB Publishers,    San Francisco

an anniversary present

In their sexual associations with each other, the junk Murray collected on his hand in
jacking off, he wiped off on himself. The junk he collected on his lips and chin in blowing
Carl, he licked up with his tongue, what he could reach of it. What he couldn't reach,
he gathered on a finger and sucked the finger clean.
     He did this surreptitiously, out of sight of Carl or with his back turned to him, afraid if
Carl noticed he would be repelled and their romance be harmed. Carl noticed. One
such time, while Murray was in full lick, he suddenly seized him by the wrist and swung
him round to face him.
     "Why?" he cried out in exasperation and impatience. "Why you do this? Every fucking
time you do this."
     Murray, his eyes averted from Carl, his face contorted with confusion and guilt, tried to
pull himself free. Carl held on firmly and shook Murray's arm demanding explanation.
Murray waved one hand out in dismay. "You," he mumbled. "You know. Yours."
     After letting this sink in a long long minute, Carl relaxed his grip on Murray's wrist;
he even managed a short laugh. Come to think about it, why make a big fuss over outward
appearance when Murray had already swallowed a full draught of come. Come to think about
it, it flattered Carl; he turned his head aside to hide the grin upon his face that Murray would
find his come so precious he licked it like ice cream.
     Thus Murray found a way to tell Carl that he loved him. Had he said it the common way,
"I love you, Carl," Carl would have scoffed and labeled him a fairy and not been kind about it.
What Murray did say, had he said it brazenly, boldfaced, like the most flagrant defiant queen
declaring to the whole world that come was her meat and drink, Carl would have been turned
off completely. But then, had Murray been that kind of queen, Carl would never have had
anything to do with him. How the words did come out of Murray's mouth like he couldn't bear
to say them but couldn't help himself, that appeased Carl's straightness and he accepted them.
     The blow jobs took place in either of two situations. In one such Carl stretched out on a low
sofa in the living room, his head resting on the sofa arm, one leg draped down to the floor.
Murray, meanwhile, knelt beside the sofa and bent his head in and bowed it down to Carl
and thus blew him.
     In the other situation, Carl stayed on his two feet, his back braced against a wall, while
Murray knelt at his feet. Right from the start of their association, it was understood that, once
Carl was got off, his dick would stay in Murray's mouth till Murray was jacked off. Each time,
between Carl's eruption and Murray's beginning to work on his, there was a delay during which
Murray kneeled and did nothing except coddle Carl's dick within his mouth. Soon enough Carl
would become impatient. "Come on," he'd growl, or "What's the hold up, uh?" Then Murray
would get down to business.

On one such occasion, it wasn't impatience that Carl demonstrated. It was exasperation.
"What in the hell you waiting for?" he demanded. "Every time you wait till I say something.
Why, for Christ's sake?"
     Murray, his mouth stuffed full, couldn't answer. Carl wasn't super-sized, but it was big enough
that conversation couldn't be made around it. Carl persisted in his question. Murray made a quick
stab of his finger towards Carl and gargled a sound around his dick. Carl managed to understand.
The knowledge made him groan and laugh within himself, both embarrassed for Murray and pleased
with him and with himself that a full grown man would want his say-so to jack off. It flattered Carl no end;
he accepted. Thus Murray found another way to tell him that he loved him.
     The first time he found such a way came on their fourth association with each other. During the first
three times a shadow hung over their proceedings. The shadow was named Leo. It was also, in fact,
named Carl. They were co-workers of his ten years before when he spent a summer working for
his half-brother.
     The brother, Jim, was a child of their mother's first marriage; Murray, of her second one.
She was nineteen when she bore Jim; thirty-three when Murray came along. Jim was born in
a desolation north of Saginaw called Rose City, Murray in Detroit. They were raised in the
places of their births. Their mother was an urban person who made the mistake of falling for
a man who sidetracked her to Rose City. She hated it. In later years, if she were traveling north
and had to pass through it, she shut her eyes when the town limits were reached and kept them
shut till her husband of the moment informed her the town was left behind.
     When Jim was eleven years old, the marriage broke up. He blamed his mother and Murray's
father for the divorce and insisted his own father keep him in his charge. She assented and went
back to Detroit without him and married Murray's father. Jim grew up in Rose City and, when he
became his own man, moved further north to another desolation called Atlanta. Murray hardly knew him.
     The second marriage also ran upon the rocks; a third one was made. The new stepfather Jim had
no quarrel with; his quarrel had always been with Murray's father. In the intervening years he never lost
complete touch with his mother. After the new marriage they increased contacts and became closer,
close enough that Jim dared to ask her favors. Murray was a favor he asked of her.
     During the years Murray was growing up, he often helped his father's brother after school and
on weekends and during summers. The uncle was an electrician. By the time Murray graduated
from high school, he knew more about electric work than most electricians do. He had also become
acquainted with computers, to some extent through his uncle, to a greater extent through school,
to a maximum extent through the agency of a gay friend named Ray whom he had known since the
eighth grade (known every single barenaked inch of him! Especially those several premium
barenaked inches!). This boy's father was in the computer business, selling, repairing, instructing,
setting up systems. Computers were a foreign language to his son, a Greek he couldn't master.
One weekend when Murray went with him to his father's place, the father wanted a helping hand
with something. Ray bumbled the helping hand. Murray took over and didn't bumble. After that,
whenever he visited there with Ray, he often helped and the father was grateful for the help and
for the interest his own son didn't show and, in his gratitude, was glad to answer questions and
teach Murray details.
     All of which caused his own father and mother and his stepfather much reflection. Why spend
good money on a college education for Murray when he would never be at a loss to earn a living,
not with the skills he already had in hand. Instead they proposed to put their various wealths together
in appropriate portions and send him to a trade school where he could top off his knowledge.
And so he went.

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