The boy was quite skilled in the darkroom. Devoting our attention to this task, we labored into the night. Prolonged proximity to his sculpted body taxed my control to the limit. Waiting for our prints to dry, I hovered near him and carelessly sent a wave of desire up his back, retreating when his aura flared. But the damage was done. Boris turned to me, his color heightened by the crimson of the developing lamp. He licked his lips nervously.
“Y…you’re a homosexual, aren’t you?” The tone was wary.
“I have lain with men,” I answered rather pompously.
“That’s what you want with me, isn’t it?” he rasped; his energy flaring alarmingly. “You want in my pants!”
“That is crude, Boris.”
“Oh, hell! You do! You want to…do things to me. No way, Tancready! I don’t go for that stuff. I like my gir
