This story contains graphic descriptions of activity of a sexual nature involving a man and a minor boy. The story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by minors, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If your reading of this material violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.

This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.

For the most part I see my stories as fantasy, though especially with this story, I hope there are elements that ring true. For those of you expecting extended scenes of torrid sex, you may be disappointed, though you will find—I hope—sensuality and eroticism. This perhaps reflects my own journey and what I feel is important about this story. (And for those of you who do want more graphic encounters, you might visit some of my earlier tales.)



Coming to Terms

Will S

Chapter 1

I heard about Eric long before I ever laid eyes on him. It happened this way: I had my feet up, perusing the Internet for the latest hot studs when the phone rang. It was Mom, and being Mom, she was on a Mission.

"Have I ever mentioned Dee to you, Jas? From the office?"

"Dee? Don't think so."

"She works in the cubicle next to mine."

"Ahh," I said in a knowing tone - as if that were all the explanation needed.

"She's a single parent," Mom said.

"You're not tryin' to fix me up, are ya', Mom? `Cuz if you are, you're not sellin' it."

"Well, maybe if her name were Dean," Mom said, never missing a beat.


"She has a thirteen-year-old. A boy. Eric. She's concerned about him."

I paused, feeling just a momentary twinge of the usual Mom-induced uncertainty. But then there was something else, too.  I remembered all too well about being thirteen. It was twelve years ago, but I remember the pain and sadness like it was yesterday.


"Well, she's worried about his sexuality, Jason."  Mom is always good at cutting to the chase—when she wants to.  "The boys at school are being mean—calling him names—but the fact is, she's wondering if maybe he isn't gay."

"So, what's she want to do—scare him straight?"

"Jas!" Mom's indignation was unmistakable. "No, she's frustrated because she doesn't know how to proceed, but she wants to find someone who he can talk to..." Mom paused and then continued, though with a bit of discomfort. "...and hopefully help him come to terms with his sexuality and feel better about himself."

"And you're telling me this because..."

"Well, I remember how it was for you. And eventually, you turned out...well...okay, I suppose...if I had to say." She was laying it on really thick.

"Gee, thanks, Mom."

"Got'ta keep ya' humble, Jas." There was another pause, then Mom got to the point.

"I thought maybe you could talk to him. Spend some time with him; give him a role model, sort of. You know."

"Oh...is that all?" I said. How come I knew what a trapped animal felt like whenever I talked with my mom—entrapped in one of the have-a-heart traps, but trapped nonetheless.  "I don't know, Mom. A thirteen-year-old?"


"She's pretty gutsy, asking you to do this."

"Oh, she didn't ask. She doesn't even know you're gay. She just knows you're a hunk."

"Where'd she get an idea like that?"

"Oh, Jason, how should I know...although...well I suppose it could be that picture I keep on my desk, you know: Jason the lumberjack."


"Now don't whine, Jason. It's not becoming of a lumberjack."

"I'm not a lumberjack."

"I know, I know. But it's easier than explaining what you do do."

"Just say I work for the US Department of the Interior."

"Not as exciting...not nearly so se..."

"Don't say it, Mom."

"Don't say what," she asked innocently. "...Sexy?" She was loving every minute of this, I could just tell.

"Mom! Jeez, Mom."

"Oh, don't be so uptight, Jason."

"Right," I said, and couldn't help but chuckle. "So...what do you want? You want me to come down and talk to the kid—which I'm not sure I want to do anyway."

"I guess I was thinking something simpler...like maybe offering the lake house to Dee for a week."

The suggestion was met with silence. My cabin happened to be next to the one my folks bought when I was eight. Well, the truth was, it didn't just happen to be; I loved this place, the lake, the mountains. It was pretty isolated, and fortunately hadn't been discovered by the hordes. The air had never been broken by the scream of one of those jet-ski things on the water. And I was grateful for that.  My mother still liked coming up on weekends whenever she could. It was fine, though, because she was always respectful of my privacy. (And when she cooked—well, it was more than fine!) But the prospects of having visitors—including a kid with who knows what kind of problems...well, I wasn't sure.  Then I realized there was something else going on here.  It wasn't just the kid; it was what the kid was already dredging up from my past.  I wasn't sure I wanted some kid around to remind me of my own troubled teen years.  God, Mom sure knew how to lay on the guilt trip.  All those feelings from my past?  Yeah, well...they were the best reasons for talking to the kid I could think of.  If I could do something to make one kid's 13th year a little better than my own, then...hell...bring 'im on.

"You there, Jas?"


"What do you think?"

"What makes you think this kid would even talk?" I thought for a moment. "I'm not even sure what to say to him."

"Maybe what you would have liked someone to say to you." Now her tone had changed. She was no longer kidding around.

"Mmmm. I guess."

"Jas, I haven't mentioned this to her yet. None of it. I wanted to talk to you first. You want some time to think about it?"

My life at thirteen was horrible. I knew I was different...and I hated it. I worried that someone might find out. I was miserable. At the worst of it, I wanted to die, and if it hadn't been for my mom and my dad, I might have.

"What makes this woman think her son's gay?"

"Well, he's a loner..."

"That doesn't..."

"I know, Jason. Let me finish. He's into art, he avoids sports, he's teased all the time by the boys in his class. And his mother found some drawings in his room of some of the very boys who've been tormenting him."


"Well, they were all naked...with...ah...well let's just say they were aroused."

I couldn't help but suppress a snicker. Somehow there was a certain justice in that. "Is he any good? At drawing?"

"His mother says he is. She recognized the boys in the drawings."

"From their faces, I assume," I said with as much innuendo as I could muster.

"Jason!" Mom chided.

"I'd like to see those...naked, glistening...aroused bodies," I added as lecherously as possible. I figured it was time to give her some of her own medicine.

"Jason, don't you dare say those things to your mother! Shame on you."

I knew she was loving every moment of it.

"There's one more thing, hon," Mom added. "His father is gay. He left when the boy was just a year old."

"Does the kid know that? That he's gay?"

"I think so."

"Hmmph. Does he see him?"

"No. They don't know where he is."

Okay, Mom had done what Mom does. There was no way I could say no.

"All right, Mom. But here's the deal: If she wants to come up to the camp, it's okay with me, but...I don't want the kid to know I'm gay, and I don't want her to tell him why they're coming here. That'd put too much pressure on the kid. Let's just see what happens; if he want's to talk, we'll talk."

"Deal." Mom said.

"Does this kid have a name?"

"Yes, dear," Mom replied sweetly.  "I've already told you: Eric. Jason?"

"Yes, mom?"

"Well, Dee says it'd be bad enough talking to her son about sex if he was straight, but she's really not the one...well...you know."

"No, Mom, I don't think I do."

"Well, depending on how things go, would you feel comfortable explaining about gay sex?"

"Mom! Oh my God!  Geeesh..." I sighed. "I'm not some middle school sex ed teacher."

"No, if you were, you certainly wouldn't be talking about that!" Mom interrupted.

"True," I added, "...but it'll probably never get that far. I'm sure as hell not going to push it. I'm not doing The Joy of Gay Sex."

"Yes, dear.  It's probably dated now anyway.  Would you like me to pick you up something more recent?"

I thought of telling her I'd just point him to the Nifty Archive, but instead, I just groaned.  "And one more thing," I said.

"What's that, Jas?"

"You owe me big-time.  For starters, I figure one apple pie"