Here's the fourteenth part of the story. Hope you enjoy it.
The original story did not include anything that happened during the period before Bob and Connie's wedding; these parts of Bob and Connie's lives were covered in the first six chapters of this new version. In addition, only a brief introduction dealt with their married life; this has been expanded to fill the next seven chapters. At this point, the actual main part of Connie and Timmy's story, which was the meat of the original story, begins. And for those who don't know about the earlier version, you'll see the reason I gave the story the title it has.
Feedback to “Brad Gillespie” can be sent to the address RBZ followed by the digits 3141 at gmail.com. Please put the story title in the subject line. But don't be surprised if the name on the responses is different. That e-mail account is under a different pseudonym than the one I used to write this story.
Feedback to “Tucson Daddy” can be sent to lannyr99 at yahoo.com.
And remember, Nifty relies on donations to help them stay in operation. If you want to help, you can donate by going to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html.
So now, Connie had to take care of little Timmy alone. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her adorable son, and with the money from Bob's insurance, she made sure he had whatever he needed in clothes, toys, and everything.
Among her concerns, Connie worried that a boy growing up without a male role model would face difficulties other boys don't. She knew it was important that a young boy have someone to look up to, to teach him self-confidence, and just love him unconditionally despite the many mistakes all boys make. As a man, who Timmy could look up to, Mel could help Timmy learn how to meet the trials all boys face in growing to young men, and to be a strong man. It was clear that Mel loved his little nephew, and Timmy loved his uncle, so it would appear Mel was an excellent choice to become more involved in Timmy's life.
But Mel was openly gay. Connie wondered and worried about that. At his five years of age, it wouldn't matter. Timmy didn't care that Uncle Mel didn't date women. All he'd known is that Mel was fun to be with, knew a lot of interesting things, and above all loved him. So for the moment, Connie was content to let things go along as they were. Yet in the back of her mind, she knew that one day the truth about Mel would come out.
Timmy was a smart kid. He noticed things about his friends, his mom, Uncle Mel. And one day he asked, “Uncle Mel, I never see any girls here at your place. Aren't you lonely without someone?”
Mel knew this was coming; he and Connie had discussed The Moment. They'd agreed that the best path was the truth. “You know, Timmy,” Mel said as they shared a Coke on his patio one warm spring day. “I've been asked that same question a few times. You're almost eleven now, so I guess I can tell you.” He paused for a few seconds to look at Timmy.
How the years had flown. When Connie had asked him to take her son under his wing, to be his mentor, Timmy was five. He'd grown from a child into a real boy, a happy boy, a confident boy. He deserved to learn the truth. Mel despised those who lacked the backbone to say the word out loud. He'd not be one of them.
They'd been spending a lot of time together over the last six years, becoming closer and closer. They'd done things most dads would do with their sons. In every discernible way, they were like father and son. There was no doubt in Timmy's mind that Mel was the man who loved him and was raising him as a man: in short, a father.
Timmy looked expectantly at his Uncle. Every child is born with avid curiosity. Timmy was no different. He loved this man. The way he treated him with real respect. Not the phony praises when he screwed up. No, he'd tell him in a calm way where he went wrong and that he was sure Timmy would do better next time. Uncle Mel was the best! He loved him and trusted him. Then Mel said the words that, in another boy, might cause a different response. But Timmy had watched and so guessed some of what he didn't know.
“Timmy, I'm gay,” Mel said as calmly as he could, despite the pounding of his heart in his chest. He dreaded this moment. Hated having to say it. Now it was out. Without consciously knowing it, he held his breath, waiting for the worst.
“Yeah, I know,” said Timmy. The silence was astounding. No cries of anguish. No standing up, stamping his feet, then running away. Instead, he simply said, “I know.”
“Y… you… you know?” stuttered Mel.
They sat together, only a few feet apart, with one grinning, the other held in suspended animation coming out of his long hibernation to say, “You know?”
Timmy laughed. “Sure, I know, Uncle Mel,” he said. “Look at all the clues. You don't date, you…”
Mel interrupted, “Yeah, OK. You got me. I have just one question.”
Timmy seemed to be enjoying this teasing of his uncle. “OK, what is it?”
“What do you think about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. I'm gay.”
“Do you mean that you suck guys' cocks?”
Mel blushed at the audacity of this boy. So brassy that he was forced to grin, then burst into laughter. “Yeah, what do you think of it, that I suck cocks?”
“Not much. So do I.”
Now it was Mel's turn to suffer a sobering revelation. “You do?” he said, regretting instantly his crude response. Recovering, he burst out, “Sorry, that was bad. It's not my business.”
Timmy just grinned disarmingly, put his Coke down, leaned forward conspiratorially, placed his hand on Mel's knee, and replied sotto voce, “It's Harold, the boy who lives next door to me.”
“You mean the kid in your grade at school?” Mel asked, interrupting.
“Yeah, that one. One day when we were alone at his place, we…” Timmy went on to tell Mel all that had happened between him and Harold, the neighbor boy. They'd learned a lot of biology in their exploration of each other's bodies. They had grown bolder and bolder, until one day… “He said that if I sucked his cock, he'd suck mine.”
Mel was subdued that a child he thought he knew intimately had discovered gay sex and accepted it so easily.
“What did you do?” asked Mel, even though he was sure knew the answer.
“I sucked his cock and he sucked mine,” said Timmy, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and with such ease that Mel had no doubt it was true.
“Oh my god, Timmy, I… I… I'm afraid your mom and I have underestimated you a great deal.” A silence settled over them, as each took a breather to consider where they should go from here.
“So are you saying you think you're gay too, Timmy?”
“I think so, Uncle Mel. Am I a bad boy for doing that stuff with Harold?”
Mel was giddy with relief. “What? You? Bad? Hell no, boy. You done good. I didn't suck my first cock till I was, oh, 15. I think.”
They both relaxed after this. Timmy had brought an entirely new tenor into their and his life. The only question was how to tell Connie and where to go from here.
At Mel's urging, Timmy came out to his mom.
After she had given his admission long consideration, she realized that acceptance was her only alternative. In today's culture, with popular entertainers coming out and same-sex marriage becoming a more acceptable idea, she knew she could not prevent the ground swell of homosexuality from becoming a normal way of life. She loved her son, and wanted him to have everything, within reason, to make his life more comfortable. Accepting him, as he is, was what she did.
She also wanted him to become a mature man, not focused on sex. She expressed these views to him when they talked, as they often did. She wanted to know about his friends, who they were, and what kind of boys they were. It pleased her to know that her son made good choices. She encouraged him to continue making them — suspecting, with this latest knowledge, that her son might have new partners besides Harold, or that potential partners might find him. Schoolmates, or friends of friends. He didn't have access online to hang out with boys. She knew; she'd looked. The only sites openly advertising for men didn't show pictures of boys. He was coming into a part of his life when his fantasies might begin to include older boys, then, she thought with horror, even men. He was 11. In three years he'd be in high school! Although it might be too late to begin worrying now.
Middle school kids were still relatively subdued sexually. Recalling her days there, and the gossip and adoration of certain rock and movie stars. But the sexual aspect? Perhaps she'd been too naïve to think sex began at that age. Girls and boys were dating. Going to supervised parties or group dates of two or three couples. But high school!
God, she knew what it was like in high schools: boys with hormones running full blast! A sweat broke out on her forehead. “Oh, god, please! Don't let some…” She couldn't even finish that thought. The showers — that's where the danger lay.
“Mel.” She needed to talk to him. Get more information, make a plan. “Mel could help,” she knew. Going to the phone, she picked it up and speed dialed his number. It rang six times before Mel answered.
“Hello, this is Mel.”
“Hi, Mel. It's sis,” she said.
“Oh! Connie. How's it going?” he replied.
After a little more small talk, Connie got to the reason for her call. They talked for nearly 20 minutes, and when they were done, Connie knew it was time to make a plan.
Connie recalled her own experiences when they began dressing down for showers. The thought of exposing her body to others: even if they were all girls, it still mattered. She would strip out of her sweaty gym clothes, wrap a towel around her body, and rush into the showers, where she'd hurriedly let the water wash away the worst of the sweat. Then, re-wrapping the towel, she'd get out to quickly dress.
She knew that secrets were exposed. Some, it seemed, wore inserts in their bras, which caused some embarrassment at first, then became old news and nobody cared. Others were well-endowed with large breasts, which they proudly displayed. Bushy and bare pubic areas were another display of physical maturity which became worthy of gossip.
Connie knew she was pretty, and had a nice body, one that girls envied. But she didn't want to share those features as fodder for others' gossip. Neither did she want to know about other girls, so she looked neither right nor left at them as she entered and left. Eyes straight ahead, taking in nothing. In and out. Nor did she share in the giggled whispers, about what should be private with others.
On sleepovers with friends, sometimes their conversations would turn to gossip. One-on-one it didn't seem so bad. Several times the sexual nature of their chat occasionally turned personal. “Do you want to…,” or requests to touch sometimes were so inviting that they could have overcome her natural heterosexual desires for a boy. Those she rebuffed, and no feelings were hurt. Usually an apology followed. “Gosh, Connie, I'm sorry. Won't happen again. Promise.” She'd accepted the stuttered words, assuring them it was OK, but she just wasn't interested in that.
But it was inevitable that the moment would be right, the girl would be right, the words would be right. After one particularly sexy talk with her closest friend, Nancy stuttered out the question, “Do you want to try kissing?” She meant kissing on the lips. Her first response, which she didn't get out, was, “No.” Her friend moved forward and their lips met. Unprepared for such a sudden assault, she froze. Nancy construed her non-rejection as acceptance, and held her close.
Initially, Connie was shocked beyond words. Warm, soft lips touching hers in a tender way! Her eyes shot wide open. Time seemed to stop while her brain assembled its scrambled thoughts. “NoNoNo!” screamed the subconscious part of her mind! The conscious part realized that it wasn't so bad. As the kiss persisted, she not only accepted this lesbian caress, but got into it herself.
They were kneeling in bed, arms around each other, lost in the wonder of her first kiss with a girl. She felt a new sensation spreading over her body. Her heart was pounding.
The kiss went on. She heard a soft, “Mmm…,” and realized, shocked, that it was her! She was making those sounds of contentment.
She felt a hand moving over her breast. Their lips parted, and Nancy whispered, “Connie, you have such beautiful breasts. Do you mind if I…” She didn't finish that request, but did it. One hand was on her right breast. Fingers touching, lightly caressing her very hard nipple. Nipples so hard, harder than they'd ever been. Nipples and their owner longing for more.
She was filled with lust, heart-pounding lust and desire for Nancy! In an instant, she had thrown off her nighty top, revealing her breasts, inviting Nancy's mouth. Nancy, no newcomer to sex with girls, moved quickly, so that her lips encircled the proffered tit. Cupping the lovely mound, she sucked at Connie's nipple. Sucked and sucked and sucked. With each stroke of Nancy's tongue over it, a delicious sensation radiated over her body. Each suck and release took her ever closer to…
WHAM! Climax! A harder, more satisfying climax than she'd ever had.
Connie jerked, arched her back, and cried out as the hot feeling of release spread over her. She held this pose for a long time. When it was over, she collapsed, drained. She stared at Nancy, who was smiling at her. “Nice, wasn't it?” she asked softly.
Instead of answering her friend, she began to shake, then to cry quietly. Nancy tried to cuddle her, but was rebuffed. “What is it, Connie?” she asked worriedly.
“It… It… It's nothing,” she sobbed out. Wisely, Nancy let her cry. When Connie had finally regained her usual self composure, she looked Nancy in the eye and said, “That was the most fantastic feeling I've ever had.”
Nancy smiled and moved to take her newest convert into her arms, to resume kissing. But Connie pushed her back. “Look, Nancy, we're friends. I don't want to become your lover.”
“But… but… I thought you liked it,” stammered Nancy, moving back.
Connie looked up at the ceiling for a moment to compose her words. “I did. Oh, god, Nancy! I did. I've never cum so hard, ever. It was electric, it was hot, it was exciting. The most exciting…,” frustrated at what she wanted to say but what she was saying. Her words were those of one who was ready to do it all over. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Nancy, I loved what we did, but I can't. I can't do it any more. I like boys.”
“But you don't have a boyfriend. The word is you don't put out for your dates.”
“True. All true. I'm saving myself for the right guy, and none of these boys are that guy.” She giggled and continued, “I masturbate all the time, but to fantasies of a man taking me in his arms, kissing me like you did, then making mad passionate love.”
Nancy smiled and said, “OK, Connie, but you sure have nice tits. I'd love to suck you like that again.” She put up her hand up to stop Connie's further rejection and went on. “I understand you. Very clearly. I won't do it again — unless, of course, you ask?” She winked, and they both relaxed. The tension in the room seemed to vanish.
They lay back down to drift off to Morpheus's den, although it was not a restful sleep for Connie. She was restless from the new feelings that Nancy had shown her. Such a powerful event can never be put back in the box. So she was troubled from time to time by memories of those few minutes in bed with a girl's mouth on hers and on her breast. When she had these thoughts, her nipples hardened. Though she lightly rubbed them, the feeling generated was not the same. The intensity was not there. Kinda like trying to tickle herself compared to another doing it.
Over the years those memories had faded to the point she hadn't had an erotic lesbian dream in years. Only her recent thoughts about high school had triggered them again. “Maybe I should see a therapist,” she pondered. “I don't want those back in my life again ever. Tomorrow she'd find a list of those in the neighborhood. She could also check their credentials on the internet. Problem solved.
That evening after dinner, Connie invited Timmy to join her by the crackling fire. It was so warm and comfortable here together near the close of the day. Neither of them were addicted to the TV, so they only watched those programs they wanted. Connie knew this night was free of favorite shows. Perfect for a heart-to-heart, mom-son talk.
Connie had her glass of Merlot still almost full; Timmy his Coke. They began small talk about bits and pieces of the day and school. This was the right place to begin: school, showers, his friends there.
“How do you like your new P.E. Coach?” she asked easily.
“Coach Philips? He's great,” said Timmy with a broad smile. It was obvious that he liked the guy.
Suddenly Connie's gut wrenched. “Careful, girl!” she cautioned herself. He's a grown man. Timmy would have no interest in such an older guy. And yet? She grinned, recalling him to be a pretty hot number.
Timmy noticed and smiling asked, “What is it, mom? You've got a smile a mile wide on your face.”
Connie blushed at having been caught thinking naughty things about Mr. Philips. She laughed, rubbing her cheek nervously, “I was just thinking,” she paused and glanced at Timmy's face. “I was just remembering him that night I went to open house. We talked afterward. He is kinda cute!”
Timmy burst into laughter. “Mr. Philips? Cute? Mom, he's old.”
“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man. He and I are almost the same age,” she huffed.
Timmy reached over to pat her knee. “It's OK. I didn't mean he's old, old. I mean he's way older than me. But I guess he's OK for you.” Then another idea came to him. “Mom? You're real pretty, and dad has been dead a long time. Why don't you start dating?”
Connie's face flushed at those words. Her throat grew dry, and she was having a hard time breathing. She felt a tear forming in the corner of one eye.
“Mom? Mom? Are you OK?” Timmy asked worriedly. He moved over beside her to take her hand. “Mom?”
“I'm OK, honey,” she said, pulling a crumpled Kleenex from her pocket to wipe away the tear, then blow her nose in it. “Really. I am.” Laughing to drive away that empty feeling that came upon her from time to time. She looked at her son, so worried about his mom. Touching his face, her voice hoarse with emotion. “I was thinking about your dad. You reminded me of him so much.”
“I'm sorry, mom. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.” He looked down, nervously fiddling with the carpet.
“Honey,” she said, “You didn't.”
Suddenly grinning, he looked up at her. “I'm glad,” he said, “Then why were you crying?”
“I'm crying for all the wonderful memories we had together. I loved your daddy so much. How I wish he could have lived, so that you could know him,” she said emphatically.
“I know, mom. I think about him too, even though I don't remember him. My dad. I'll never get to know him.”
Then he looked at Connie again. “So why don't you date, meet a nice guy, give me a new daddy?”
Her eyes flew open. “Honey!” she said slowly, but with a touch of sadness in her voice. “I… I… I can't.”
“But… why?” he asked again. “Wouldn't you be happy again? Having someone with you?”
“I do have someone,” she said putting her arm around him. “I have you.” She looked at his cute face, so young, so innocent. She hoped she could keep him that way.
“Mom, I know you have me, but what about someone your age?” he grinned.
She smiled too. “It's not easy to explain how I felt about your daddy. He was the only man I've ever loved. He loved me better than any other could. Whenever I think of him, when we did so much together, I can still feel the love he felt for me.”
What she didn't tell him was the other side of Bob's love. Although Bob had never told her, she knew that he loved Steve, his last lover, the man she'd approved for him. She felt her heart flutter in those memories of Bob.
“Can't you ever love someone else?” he asked plaintively.
With a deep sigh, she said, “I don't know. I just don't think about it much.” Not completely true, she knew. Moments at night, when she wakened and put her arm over the space he would occupy were he with her now. Then she remembered that he was no longer with her. Sometimes she'd weep until the pain went away, then fall into a troubled sleep.
“But hey, let's get back to school, OK?”
“Sure, but what else do you want to talk about?”
“Oh, stuff. This and that. Like what kind of sports are you learning about. That's what they're supposed to teach you in P.E.”
“Nothin' really. Mostly what I already know.”
“How many kids in your P.E. Class?”
“Oh, I don't know. Never counted them. Maybe 30.”
“You dress down and take showers after class, don't you?”
“Sure. We have to. Nobody wants to be smelly from all that sweat.”
“This is kind of hard for me to ask. You're my son, and I don't want to pry, but do you… uhm… do you look at other boys? I mean look at their bodies?”
He looked up at her, smiled, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I like seeing their cocks.” He was grinning, seeing in his mind's eye all the naked boys together.
“What do you like about seeing naked boys, seeing their penises and bottoms?” she asked, truly curious about his attractions.
“It's like you said: you can't explain how you loved dad, well it's hard for me to explain to you why I like seeing cocks. I know that I want to touch them. I even would like to suck them and rub their butts. Yeah.” He looked at her and said. “I'm queer, mom. I suck cock.”
At this point, their tongues were tired of talking. Connie raised her glass to drain the few drops in the bottom. They both stood and spontaneously hugged.
“Thanks, mom, for telling me about my dad. I miss him,” he said softly.
“I know, honey. And thank you for answering my questions.”
“I love you, mom.”
“I love you too, Timmy.”
“I think I'll go to bed. I'm kinda tired. Good night.”
“Tired, hell,” she was thinking. “He's going to take care of things. Good.” Then she thought, “Maybe I'll go take a warm bath and take care of myself.” She picked up Timmy's can, and carried it to the kitchen counter, where she left it and her glass there. Walking past the light switch, she flicked it off and the hall light on. When she reached her bedroom, she entered and closed the door.