Date: Wed, 7 Jan 2009 13:55:16 -0800 (PST) From: Master Terra D Subject: Home for Teenagers Three weeks after I came out of the closet, things got weird. I already knew my parents would be unhappy, and we dealt with that. I didn't run around the community telling everyone and putting up "Here, Queer, Bite Me!" signs on my property, but word spread. Three weeks after I came out of the closet, Roland and Mariam Harnass appeared on my doorstep with their teenage son, Michael. I'm Wilson Kerry. I live in a rural community. The nearest "city" has a population of 4,320, and I live just outside of town, in an old farmhouse. I was surprised when the Harnasses appeared the day after Christmas. But they were clear and brief. "Our son's queer like you," Roland said with that humble rural drawl. "You deal with him." And with that, Marcus' parents turned and left. Marcus Harnass wasn't just "some kid." Marcus was the local school district's sports star. Whatever sport Marcus played, he dominated: football, basketball, baseball. He even wrestled. His dad was a farmer, and his mother stayed on the farm, tending to the household, and the other six Harnass children. Marcus was 17, the second child and second son. He had his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and locked eyes with me. "No use goin' after them. Once they heard there was a homo to dump me off on, they packed me up," Marcus drawled. "No use tryin' to talk to them. Pa can't afford me anyhow." He walked past me into the house. Roland and Mariam Harness pulled out of the drive, never to be seen, until the next basketball game. At 40, I had no idea how to deal with a teenager. The house certainly wasn't set up for a teenager. Marcus set at the dining room table, tossing his duffle bag on the table. "Bag goes on the floor, Marcus," I said. "What exactly is going on?" "Pa heard you were queer, and he certainly knows I am," Marcus smiled, trying to charm me. The boy did have some charms. Marcus stood 6'1" tall, lean and muscular, great smile, and a face somewhere between cute and handsome. Dark blonde locks curled down the sides of his head, nearly to the shoulders. "They've been trying to find someone to deal with me, and you're a pillar of the community, so when Pa heard, he had me pack up tonight." "I'm not a home for wayward...guys," I protested, lamely. Roland Harnass was a church-going poor farmer. A gay, sports-star son must have been driving them insane. "Doesn't your father still need your help on the farm?" "Yeah. I'll catch the bus in the mornin', and dad will pick me up from practice after school, or I'll ride the bus out ta the farm. Then dad will drop me off here after we're done. "Where am I sleepin'? Guest bedroom?" "Couch. I'll grab you some sheets," I said. "When your dad drops you off tomorrow night, I want to talk to him. Tell him that when he picks you up. He can talk to me, or I can drive out to the house and talk to him there." "Man, you're crabby," Marcus groused. Then he swung his mood around and asked, "Wanna fuck?" "No," I said flatly. "The bathroom's this way..." Marcus got his dad to speak with me, at his truck in my driveway. I was glad it was fairly warm out that night. "Roland, I'm glad you have the time to speak with me, but I'm not looking to take care of your son." "Well, we can't handle him," Roland drawled. "It's not the queer thing either. My brother in Chicago's like you, too. But Marcus...he's got no shame. He struts around the house naked, and...worked up half the time. He'll invite friends over and do it in the living room, or the yard, or... "I don't care what people do in their bedrooms, but Marcus does it right in front of his mother! It's shameful. I was hopin' you could deal with him." "Have you thought about discipline?" "He seems to, um, like that," Roland blushed. "I haven't spanked him for a long time. "He's probably naked in there right now." Roland pointed at the house. "Okay, Roland, but if I'm going to take care of him, I could use some help." I wasn't really in a financial position to have someone living with me, but I knew the Harnasses weren't in great financial shape either. "We'll feed him before we bring him here. He took in a dozen eggs and some homemade pork sausage when I dropped him off," Roland said, starting the engine. "Foods about all we can do." "Doesn't he have anything else? More clothes? Electronics?" "Nope. Thanks Mr. Kerry." Roland was right. Marcus was not modest. He was indeed strutting around the house, without a stitch of clothes. "Get dressed. I wear clothes round my house, and so will you," I ordered. "If you're going to stay here, there are a few rules, which we'll go over once you're dressed." While he dressed, I thought about the house. The farmhouse was a large, traditional structure had received a modern make over in the 1970s. The first floor was entered through a front door, which opened into a hall with a stairwell and four doors, two near the entrance and two near the end of the hall. The two doors to the right entered into connected sitting rooms, which I'd converted into a den and a library. To the left were once a parlor, then dining room, then kitchen, added on the back, as three separated rooms, but the renovation had made them one long room. Out of the kitchen was a stairwell up to the second floor, theorized to be a servants' entrance from a small room above the kitchen. Another part of the renovation was connecting the back stairwell to the front of the house, making a complete circuit. The four upstairs bedrooms had become a large master suite above the living and dining rooms with its own bathroom, partially made from the suspected servant's quarters. The rest of the space was converted to a guest bathroom, serving the other two bedrooms above the den and library. A full basement ran under the house, with it's own bathroom. A bathroom off the kitchen served the first floor. I put Marcus in the upstairs, back bedroom. The room was decorated in red, white and blue. I'd toyed with making a bed and breakfast, and had started doing themes in the two upstairs bedrooms. This was the star-spangled room. Red sheets with blue and white pillow cases. Blue walls with white trim and red drapes. White-painted wood floors with red rugs. "Looks like fuckin' flag in here," he snarled when I opened the door. "Okay! The rules will begin. You'll be clothed in the house at all times, when not in your room. Watch you language; don't make me write out all the words. "You'll eat with me of a morning and on weekends. You have an 11 p.m. curfew..." "Hell, no!" "Hell, yes! You'll stop interrupting me, too." I stared him down. "So, 11 p.m. curfew on school nights and 1 a.m. on weekends." "Oh." He was barely audible. "Are those all the clothes you have?" "Yeah, ma and pa can't buy me a lot. I borrow from some buds so I'm not wearin' the same stuff all the time, but people know my folks are poor." "We're obviously not the same size. I'll see if I can get you some more clothes. You probably noticed last night, I don't have a lot of electronics." "I'll live. It's not like a had friends over to play video games." He snickered, and I remembered his father's tale. "Yeah, well, you're not going to like the next rule. No sex in the house, or the barn, or on my property. Your parents may have put up with that, but I will not. Don't try me on it; I don't bluff." "Fine." "You have the run of the house, expect for my bedroom and my personal office, my den. You're welcome to the library. When I'm not watching the TV, have at it. "Have you eaten yet?" "Yeah, Pa fed me before droppin' me off." "I haven't eaten yet, so I'm going to get something. If you want something, let me know. I'm guessing since I don't see the eggs, you found the frig." "Yep." And that was basically how the school's junior sports star ended up living with me. Marcus and I started adjusting to one another for four weeks when on Friday night, things changed again. I'd just arrived back at the house from Marcus' basketball game in late January. I'd begun to regularly attend his activities, which in January was basketball and wrestling. Marcus had gone out with the guys, and would be home later. Marcus staying with me had become fairly common knowledge throughout the community. Some friends had pitched in to get Marcus an actual wardrobe, and the food from the Harnasses was helpful, but I really wasn't adjusting well to having a teenager in the house. He ate all the time, and I could never keep track of where he was. But I digress. Claudia Blankenshiff was waiting on my porch with her son, Oscar. Oscar was one of the smartest kids in his class. He was a junior like Marcus. He was about my height, 5'8", dark hair, glasses, with looks teenage girls seem to love, but I've never understood. He looked intelligent, but awkward. "Hi, Mr. Kerry. I'm glad I caught you," Claudia started, smiling. "Oscar is gay, and since you took in Marcus, I thought you could deal with Oscar." "No." I stood there. I was not taking in another gay teenager. Well, God won't have him and neither will I," she harrumphed. "Better for him to rot with you than rot in Hell." She was evil. I knew I'd take in Oscar, too, but I could barely deal with Marcus. "You're going to need to pay rent, Claudia," I said, adding in my thoughts, "You callus, Godless bitch." "He has a trust fund, and it's all yours." She handed me a leather-bound book. "I signed it over this morning. His father, God rest his soul, left Oscar a nice trust fund to make sure he'd be taken care of, and now, it's yours." "Then get off my property." I shoved her to her car. "Hi, Oscar. I'm Wilson Kerry," I said, extending a hand. He shook it. "We all know who you are, Mr. Kerry," he said, picking up two pieces of luggage. "Since you took in Marcus, I've been begging my mother to bring me here." "You could have called," I said, sympathetically. "'We'?" "All the gay guys at school. Most of us have an okay home life, but a few of us have been hoping." "I'm not a home for gay teenagers," I said, "but with that mother, I'm happy to remove you from that atmosphere." "So am I. She drags me to church every Sunday, and we spend 15 minutes in prayer with the minister for my eternal soul," Oscar confided. "It's unrelenting." "Well, I'm not sure what you're used to, but I have a bedroom upstairs. We can redo it, or at least tone it down. For my bed and breakfast, it was going to be `Grandma's Attic', so it's a little...old fashioned. And grandmotherly." "I'll live, as long as there isn't a cross or Bible in there," Oscar said. "I can't remember. We can always remove them." The front bedroom was a contrast to the back one. The front room had a wooden frame bed with a yellow quilt on it, Grandma's Garden or some such pattern, the floor was covered in a rag rug, the drapes were flowery, a camel-back trunk was at the foot of the bed. The room was designed to have the feel of a grandmother's attic, warm and homey. "Seriously?" Oscar asked. "I know, it wasn't designed to appeal to teenagers," I said. "I'll live, barely," he chuckled. I went over the house rules. "Marcus will be in before 1 a.m.," I commented. "Shouldn't be a problem. We don't run in the same circles," Oscar said. "That's not a surprise." "My car's parked in back by your garage. I'll go get most of my stuff tomorrow," he said. "You have stuff?" "Yeah. Couple of game stations, DVDs, Ipod, TV, Blue Ray player, computer, stereo...I don't think it'll all fit in here," he observed. "We can work on setting some of it up in the living room, although we may want to set up some of it on the landing outside your bedroom door. No reason to have two TVs in the living room." "Sure there is! Just let me set it up. We can move your TV up here." Saturday morning, all three of us headed to Oscar's house. His mother made sure she wasn't there. Oscar, Marcus and I loaded his stuff in my truck and Oscar's car. I could see a twinge of envy in Marcus' eyes. I figured he'd seen this kind of stuff at his friends, but Oscar was a techno-geek. His computer had four interconnected flat screens that covered a wall. Okay, they were High-Def Televisions. We spent the afternoon setting up the landing, the living room, and Oscar's bedroom. He asked me to tap the trust fund to get us supper, so I did, calling out for Chinese. Oscar was busy showing Marcus the ass-driven Wii. Apparently, everyone ordered Chinese that night. It took more than 45 minutes for the order to be ready. I parked the truck in back and entered through the kitchen, calling out for Oscar and Marcus to come get it. When they didn't come running, I looked up to see they weren't in the living room. I figured they'd gone upstairs to look at something on Oscar's computer. I walked through the dining room and into the hall under the stairs. I heard grunting, and though they were moving something, but then I noticed the grunting was rhythmic. Coming around the stairs, I was greeted by the site of Oscar's hairy ass pumping into the muscled butt of Marcus, hunched over on the stairs. "BOYS!" I shouted. "NO! Not on the stairs. It's hell getting cum stains out of that carpet!" The boys disconnected, flushing red with embarrassment, but their cocks barely went stiff, if at all. "Guys, no, not in the house. You know I can't have that!" I was frustrated. I knew they were horny, randy boys, but I hoped. "Pretend you're brothers." "I'm done my brother," Marcus said. "That's not going to work," I said reflexively. "Brotherly love," Oscar quipped. "Stop..." I sighed. "We're both legal," Oscar said. "Okay. Go put some clothes on, guys," I ordered. "We'll have some supper and finish discussing this over the sesame chicken and beef broccoli." "Tell me you got some egg rolls," Marcus begged, trodding up the stairs with Oscar grabbing his ass. "They had low mien, right? I asked when I called in; they better have included the low mien," Oscar said. And that was the start of Wilson's Home for Wayward Homos. To be continued? Men and boys, thanks for your comments. If you send something, remember to put something sensible in the subject line, or I'll think it is spam and delete it. Master Terra D masterterradil@yahoo.com