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." It was indeed a cozy little place.Not a gay bar, but a fine place to talk quietly amongst a staff that genuinely seemed to like you.It turned out that Micky was an amazing judge of character.He guessed instinctively what I drank and that I was a painter."You seem the artistic type," he said with a shrug.I became more and more fascinated with Micky, and by the time the bar sent us home, I knew that I wanted to know everything about him and to be a part of what he was.So when he looked at me and asked "Would you like to come home with me?" I accepted without a second's hesitation.His apartment was quite close.He lived in a one-room studio which had been, he explained, the attic of the brownstone building.A friend of his owned it, and his rent was remarkably low.It was spartanly finished, but plants grew everywhere.Their smell was heady and lush, and it was as if he had shown me a hidden rainforest in the center of Back Bay.A state of the art sound system surrounded the room with soft music.His CD collection showed extremely eclectic tastes.A complete run of the Beatles sat side by side with Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach.A They Might Be Giants CD sat atop a sound effect disk of thunderstorms.He put in the thunderstorms tape, took me by the hand, and led me into a space between the plants.His bed was a nest of pillows and blankets, and I let him lower me onto it, loving him even before we ever made love.Sex with Micky was an almost religious experience.His gentle ways of coaxing me into various poSitions and activities only served to heighten my arousal with him.He seemed to know my body and its desires better than I knew myself, and he cheerfully exploited every one of them.And when it seemed that things were getting too innocent, he would suddenly reveal a rough side.His straightforward, uncomplicated, animalistic charm truly won me over, and I felt completely vulnerable and yet totally safe in his arms.We finally fell into sleep in each others embrace, and when I awoke, he was lying there studying me, smiling.From then on, we were lovers.I had never had a complaint with Micky as far as his being my lover went.He and I had been lived together for two years or so, after my parents disowned me for being gay.We shared his great studio apartment in the Back Bay.It turned out that Micky was very well off, owning his own shipping company, and this gave me the freedom to paint for a living.Micky became my favorite model, and his easy-going attitude towards nudity made him fun to work with.He developed a following among my audience, and while it became increasingly easy to sell my work, it became increasingly difficult to part with my pieces.I loved looking at my nudes of Micky, and I was jealous of anyone who bought one.He was supportive of my work, and whenever I would express disappointment in myself or comment about my shortcomings, he would hold me and rock me like a child until I felt myself again.Everything seemed ideal, except for one detail.Every month, Micky would get very moody and restless without any provocation.The next day, he would disappear without explanation, not returning for three nights.When he returned, he was always in better spirits, and we would have wild, reckless sex for hours non-stop.That part was okay, but his disappearances began to bother me.He would always try to say that he had been away on business for his company, but I began to recognize a pattern.I became suspicious, even morbidly so.Was he in the mafia, doing hits for money? Was he seeing another lover? What was he hiding from me.or trying to protect me from? As much as I loved him, I began to be afraid of him.Doubt became my worst enemy, forcing me to worry that we were about to spiral into a breakup.I questioned him at length, but he would always worm his way out of the conversation.At last, I couldn't stand it any longer.He was sprawled on the couch, and he was moody.I sensed the time was about to occur; he would disappear tomorrow, unless I was able to determine what was happening."Micky," I said, quietly but firmly, "I know you're going to leave tomorrow.Please tell me where you're going.""Business," he muttered darkly."Commodities deal in Acron.Be back.""Three days from now." I glowered at him."Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I haven't noticed the pattern? Don't insult my intelligence.""Jack," he said, as his temper rose, "don't be ridiculous.I have business.I'll come back on Tuesday.You'll have a nice quiet long-weekend, and everything will be fine again.""Bullshit, Micky! I've called your company
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