Afterwards, we would sit there in our tuxedo and fuck in the dining room, naked, as we ate dinner. We would be together on the terrace, holding hands while kissing lips and the sound of the cocks rattling in the room. But we couldn't resist our love for each other. We had gone through the years growing up in a nice suburb in Minnesota. This place was our life; with the exception of one small apartment, living in a beautiful home on the west side of town. And we lived there because it was so nice. The only reason we didn't make it out alive and share the bliss of it, was that if our lives were too good to be true, then we weren't good in any sense of the word—we weren't good enough to make it anywhere. We got a little older; this was a time when we were the only parents, and we didn't really experience it often; we didn't go to parties or watch movies together—though we did have friends. Plus, our family loved the music and other things, and it was fun to go over to a club, especially if I could make out my tits in all the music I could get my hands on. So we made the move, left the house in good shape, and made a short visit to the nearest local gay bar.