Date: Wed, 4 Feb 2015 21:57:20 -0800 From: Mira Boar Subject: Fathers by Proxy I was fucked for the first time by the husband of my babysitter, and later, I became best friends with his son (who was my age) just so I could spend more time with him. We had been fooling around since I was in kindergarten, and being too young to remember exactly, he must have taken a while to work up to it. It took me months to get used to it once he started, but we had almost every day after school to try (at the time it felt like forever), but once I did get used to the feeling, I craved it and would create situations where we could spend time alone so he could fuck me. We spent years sneaking around until I was 17 and he passed due to complications with diabetes. When I was 10, I had been living off and on with my grandparents for a couple of years. During church one day, I whispered to my grandmother asking what the word masturbation meant when it was being talked about as part of the sermon. My grandmother told me my grandfather would talk to me about it later at home. She arranged for him and me to be alone in the house do he could talk about it, man to man. My grandfather started explaining it, and I recognized it as something I had been doing for a long time already, with my best friend's father and a couple of other men, some of whom my best friend's dad took me to meet, and some I met independently through church. My grandfather was gay, though I didn't really understand that word either, even though I had a vague understanding he lived with a man who died from cancer before he married my grandmother. I was a kid though, and I didn't put two and two together until my early teens. While he was explaining, I thought I was being super sly trying to get him to *show* me, pretending I didn't understand. I recall him being pretty hesitant, pretty evasive really, now I look back on it, but he didn't stop the conversation. After talking to me for awhile, he told me if I quietly got into bed with him that night (my grandparents slept in different rooms), he would talk to me more about it because my grandmother was due home soon. That night I crawled into bed with my grandfather under the covers, and he showed me what masturbation was. And I showed him a little bit about what I knew. He wanted to know how I knew these things, but I wouldn't tell him the truth. I just told him I learned from older boys in school, the standard lie I had been drilled to give if anyone ever suspected anything. He warned me about them, and said I was better off only doing this with him. I promised him I would, though I was lying, since I was also still spending time with my best friend's dad and the men he introduced me to. I still regret not ever telling either of them the truth about each other. It was so drilled into me to keep the secret, I always did. Now, decades later, I still crave that feeling of being with them. I miss being picked up and being set down in my best friend's dad's lap as he pushed into me. I miss feeling enveloped by his heat as he fully embraced me, sliding me up and down on him. He always used to hold me during and after, and tell me what a good and strong boy I was and how much he loved me. As I got older, he'd still hold me during and after fucking me, always reminding me I was his secret and his true love. I sorely miss my grandfather, who passed in 2002. He loved me like a father, and always believed in me. Our sex stopped when I moved away to college, and he passed away before I graduated. Sex with him cemented our relationship, it was special, and he doted on me even as he pushed me to be more responsible, more accountable, and how to take care of myself in a world that gave no favors. We were poor, and he said school was my ticket out. He was right, and I'm who I am today because of him. It still hurts that he didn't see me graduate with a bachelors, and then a masters. He would be so proud. Though I'm married now in a same-sex relationship and am staunchly middle-class, I still long for that kind of relationship I had. A mentor who is like a father, but so much more. There are nights when I can only think about how much I loved them both. Each in their own ways, and how much I miss both of them. My husband knows, and he tries to understand. But he just can't relate. And I feel very alone, knowing I'll never find anything like that, or feel that kind of love ever again.