This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.
By: Tim Keppler
Edited by: Bob Leahy
"Because he pissed me off. But, he's
only thirteen. There's just no excuse for it. I lacked professionalism, but
worse, I lacked compassion. Sometimes you get lost in your view of how you
think the world should be...if it were perfect...and you were perfect...and everyone
in it was perfect. But, we're not all perfect. We're all prisoners of our own
egos sometimes. We fuck up. That's why I want you to do it. I just feel really
terrible about this, and about other things.
Kenny and I are in bed. He's clinging to me. We've just made love, and it was really good, despite a lingering feeling of...guilt. Nelson, a thirteen-year-old boy who's a regular at Youth Renewed, the center for gay youngsters that I run, made a crack about my age. How could I possibly understand his troubles? I'm forty-something, and he's thirteen. I shut him down. I walked away from him. He hasn't been back since. I feel just awful. Lately my ego, my own insecurities, have been getting in the way of life. I've been edgy...and unhappy. I'm not sure what it is. I've been short with the boys, and abrupt with Dinh, Jason and Kenny. I've been pissy. And, I have no idea why. I have to get this sorted out, and not just for me. I have to get this sorted out for my relationships, for Kenny, Dinh and Jason. I have to get this sorted out for my children. So, I've done two things. I've gotten a recommendation for a therapist from Jeffrey, next door, and I've asked Kenny to...umm...spank me. Years ago, I'd have gone to my best friend Gary for this, but Gary died several years ago. I don't have anyone else to do it. I suppose I could ask Christophe, but we're not close like that. It needs to be someone I love. It needs to be someone I trust. Jason and Dinh would never do it, but I think Kenny will. I think I can talk him into it.
"Please, Kenny. I need this."
"I dunno, Tim. I think this might hurt me more than it'll hurt you."
I give him my most plaintive look. "Okay," he says, finally. "When?"
At 4:15 P.M. I meet Kenny in the basement. I'd like to do this in the bedroom, but the boys would hear it, so it's got to be in the basement. And...and...I really don't want to be in control of this. I want to be strapped down. As Kenny is attaching the restraints, I look into his eyes. "I want this to hurt, Kenny. I want this to hurt a lot."
Typically, the intent of spankings isn't to hurt. Well, that's not true. The intention of spankings is to hurt just enough to...umm...hurt. They're not intended to be punishing. They're intended to get you in the mood to be punished. They're intended to make you cry. They're intended to allow you to pay for unknown guilt, stuff that you feel but can't identify. In this case, I can both feel the guilt and identify its cause. And it feels really awful, really awful. I need to find Nelson. I need to find him, and apologize. I plan to do that tomorrow, one way or another. But, first I need to pay for what I did to him, and what I did to myself by blowing him off, and what I've done to my guys.
And, oh, Jesus, does this spanking hurt! Kenny puts his heart and soul into this beating. While I find myself sobbing after about eighteen strokes, I find that it feels really good. Yes, the pain is intense, and after the twenty strokes I specified, my lily-white Caucasian ass must be seriously bruised, but I feel so much better spiritually. He releases me, unfastening the restraints. As I start to slide off the table, Kenny lifts me up and carries me to the chair in the corner, setting me on his lap and hugging me. We've entirely exchanged roles. I drape myself over his shoulder and sob out my guilt while he holds me. And...it just...feels...so good. I feel owned by someone. I feel like a child again. I feel like I felt with my first boyfriend, and with my father. Pain can be very comforting, and very therapeutic. Pain can make you feel loved. In his heart of hearts, Kenny wanted to do this to me. He wanted to do something I wanted him to do. We were one. My ass hurts maybe more than it ever has, but I'm just so much in love, I can't even describe it. I'm crazy mad in love.
"Is that what you wanted?"
"Yes," I choke.
"Why?" he asks
"I don't know. I don't know why. I hope to know that soon."
"Do you need to know?"
This is a really good question. Jason never needs to know. When he starts to feel bad, he asks to be spanked. He doesn't know why he feels bad. He doesn't really ever ask himself why. He doesn't care why. He knows that the spanking will make him feel better, so he doesn't really pursue the cause. Kenny's pretty much the same way. I don't think I can do that. I think I have to know why, or at least have a sense of why I'm unhappy, and I am unhappy. Even now, even after the relief the spanking has brought me, I'm still unhappy. But, it's not so much unhappiness. I think I'm more frightened than unhappy, but I don't know what I'm frightened of. I'm hoping that Dr. Jacobs can help me understand that. Dr. Jacobs is Jeffrey's therapist. She's really good, he says.
I have to admit that I have limited faith in therapists. I've been to them before. Typically, they're a $135-per-hour shoulder to cry on. And, you're there forever, aren't you? Like Woody Allen, you're in therapy for the rest of your life. That's not what I want. I want to understand this one single problem. I feel like shit. I feel frightened. Why? It should be a goddamned simple, right? I need someone to debug me. It should be a straightforward process. But, you have to start with background, and I...we...have a lot of background. The background takes two sessions, and while I don't think the background surprises her, it does take time. I think therapists have pretty much heard it all. People are who people are. We're all different. I have three husbands. I spank some of them...regularly. For one of them I'm more creative. On the third session she asks me the pregnant question, "So, why are you here?"
"I don't knooowwww!" I whine.
She nods. I'm guessing that she's seen a lot of my kind before.
"Well, what are your symptoms?"
What psychologist would ask you this? This is a clinical question. But, she's figured me out. She knows that this is the perfect question to ask me. I look down at my feet. Her office is dim. The lighting is soft. She has a small fountain dribbling in the corner. It's very tranquil here. And I am...ashamed. I'm ashamed to be here. And she knows it. You don't go to strangers and tell them your problems. That's what my mother would have told me. It's not...seemly. But, I...umm...need help. I'm very close to tears. I'm so frustrated. I look up. I look into her eyes. She's sitting across the room from me. And then she does something that no psychologist would ever do. She comes over and sits next to me on the couch. And she hugs me. And I dissolve. I absolutely come undone. This woman has all of a sudden become my mother. She's become my nurturer. She's become...
When I was maybe six years old, my nineteen-year-old sister gave me a baby chick for Easter. It died, of course. We didn't know how to care for a chicken. And when it died, I was despondent. I thought it was my fault. I'd killed this little birdie. I remember my mother rocking me for hours. She didn't say anything. What could she say? She just held me in her lap and rocked me as I cried. We hugged. It was comforting. We were there for hours. That's what this feels like. This woman, whom I don't know very well, hugs me, and I dissolve into sobs. "What are you feeling?" she asks softly.
"Fear of what?"
She squeezes me. "When didn't you feel this fear?"
is a very good question, and takes me several minutes to understand and answer.
"Umm..." I finally respond, "when I had
"And now he's gone?"
"Yeah. He died," I choke.
She squeezes me again. "But...umm...you have three husbands, three men you love, can't they...umm..."
It's at this point that I lose it, because she's right. I'm such an idiot. I'm such a complete and utter moron. I start to sob. "As I understand your relationship to your partners...you seem to need to be in...control. But...what if you weren't in control? What if you let them be in control...sometimes. What if you let...umm...Kenny be in control...sometimes?" I'm sobbing...sobbing...sobbing. I don't think I've ever cried this hard in my life. "Can't they take care of you? Do you think you could let them take care of you?"
It's the last question that just destroys me. Can I "let them" take care of me? What she's really asking is if I can have some faith in the people I identify as the most important people in my life? And, I haven't, have I? I've insisted on caring for them, but I haven't allowed them to care for me, or at least not often. For a moment I feel worse than I felt when I first came to her. I feel so guilty. I feel so very, very guilty. I've cheated my husbands out of an essential part of my life, and I've cheated myself out of the comfort they can provide me. What I feel is anguish, complete and utter misery.
"But, you're not dead yet," she says with a laugh. And at that moment, a feeling of relief washes over me. She's right. I'm not dead yet. I can be someone else. I can become someone else. Suddenly, I hug her back. She's diagnosed me. She's understood my sadness, and given me the tools to repair what's broken. She's debugged me.
"I'd like to come for another couple of weeks," I say at the end of the session.
"For as long as you need," she says smiling.
I feel closer to this woman than almost anyone I've ever known. I hug her again before making my way home.
When I get there, Kenny is in the kitchen making himself a sandwich. I take his hand and drag him away from the counter toward the entryway, toward the bedroom. "You're not starving," I say, giggling. "Eat later. Fuck me now." Kenny is confused, but has never been known to turn down sex. When we get to the bedroom, I undress him slowly. I want to savor every inch of him. I start with his t-shirt, and once I have it off of him, I begin to lick him, nibbling on his nipples, and biting them gently. Then I kiss him, linking my lips to his, and exploring his mouth while I caress him. His shoes and socks are next. I want to taste his toes, and push him over onto the bed so I can suck on his feet. This drives him nearly crazy because Kenny's feet are very ticklish, but I need to taste his toes. Like Thim, he smiles and flails his limbs. Next are his pants, and once they're off I move back to his lips for another kiss, while pressing my body against his. I need to feel his skin against me. But, I'm not naked yet. I'm still fully clothed. It doesn't take Kenny long to fix that, though. He wants to feel me as much as I want to feel him. When we're finally both naked, our bodies pressed firmly against each other, our dicks rubbing against our bellies, I finally have what I want. I have the essence of him, the fragrance of his body.It's all completely different than it's ever been before. Because I'm completely different. I'm brand new. Kenny doesn't know it, but our relationship has completely changed. Suddenly, I'm depending on him for my well being. I'm allowing him to take care of me, as I take care of him.
"I want you to fuck me," I whisper, "but not right away. First, I just want to...feel you, and...umm...taste you."
I plant my lips on his again and we kiss. People have a unique flavor, and that flavor varies depending on where you taste them. I like to taste them everywhere. Kenny's kisses taste very different from Jason's, or from Dinh's, and I can't really describe the difference. Kenny tastes muskier, if that makes any sense at all. It's a really good taste. It's why I love kissing him so much, I think. Once, I got off from just kissing him. We'd been kissing for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and suddenly I came, and it was a pretty amazing orgasm. I was stunned. That'd never happened to me before. His dick is also plenty tasty, and his ass...oh, my god...his ass is delectable. It's all those pheromones down there. I will deny ever having said this if it comes up, but Kenny has the most beautiful ass of my three guys. It's plump. It's lush. It's hunky. I love to...umm...lick it, and that's what I do once we break our kiss. I move directly to his ass and begin to lick right along the crack, driving my tongue into his asshole. Finally, I move back up to his mouth and kiss him again. "I love you," I whisper. "You're not going to understand this, but I love you differently than I did yesterday. I am wholly and completely yours, yours and Jason's and Dinh's." I'm close to tears. "I don't know why I've never felt this way before. I want you, Kenny. I want you inside me. I long for you inside me...but...not yet. First..."
I move to his dick, and take him to the hilt. I swallow him. He gasps. I haven't done this for a while. As I swallow him, I stroke his asshole gently, finally penetrating him with my finger while continuing to suck on his dick. "Oh...oh...oh...fuck!" he says. As he gets close, I back off. I move back to his mouth, and kiss him. "I want you Kenny. I want you more than you can know. Please, will you fuck me?"
At this moment, I want to be owned. Kenny has fucked me before, but I've never asked him as abjectly as I'm asking him now. My plea probably doesn't sound any different to him than it's ever sounded, but it honestly is so different. I want him to take me. I want him to own me. I want to be his. How do I tell him this? "I'd like it to hurt today, Kenny. Please make it hurt." Kenny gives me a confused look. He knows that there's something different about me, something he doesn't understand, but he knows what I want. I want him to enjoy himself. I want him to use me. I want to give him pleasure. He turns me over onto my belly, lubes his dick, and enters me abruptly. It does hurt, and continues to hurt as he plunges in and out of me. Maybe there's blood. But, Jesus Christ it just feels so...fucking...good. So good. I've never been more in love in my life than I am right now. Kenny is clinging to me. He is attached to my back as he pistons in and out of me, and he is pinching my nipples mightily. I scream. For probably three minutes I scream, and then I cum, still screaming. I can feel his dick swell inside me. Then he collapses on top of me, and that's how we fall asleep. I'm sated. I don't think I've ever felt more content. I'm owned by someone. I'm his, and he's mine. I'm hoping I'll wake up in an hour or so to do this again. I feel adored, and I'm adoring.
I hope Kenny remembered to put the lunch meat away before we came to the bedroom.
Nelson, the boy I blew off at the Center. I find him at
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have treated you that way. I was unhappy with myself that day. I was an asshole. Please, will you come back?"
He seems surprised. It's not often you get an apology these days, but I mean mine. I was an asshole. Nelson gets a little teary eyed. And then Thim lets out a shriek of pure joy. He does this occasionally. He just likes to vocalize, and Jesus, can he vocalize! Nelson smiles. "This is Thim, my youngest son. Well, he's actually the son of one of my husbands. But, I'm his daddy, too. Do you like children?"
Nelson nods. "Can I hold him?"
"Sure." I pass Thim across the table, and Thim immediately grabs Nelson's hair, which is about shoulder-length. "I should have warned you. Thim loves hair, the feel of hair."
"'Sokay. My little brother was the same way. He loved to pull my hair."
"I guess he's grown out of that habit by now," I say with a laugh.
"Maybe. I guess. I don't live with him anymore. He lives with my mom. I live with my dad."
I nod as Nelson tickles Thim and Thim laughs. Thim likes to be tickled.
"What's your dad do?"
"Umm...I don't really know," he says. I sense him closing down. He doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't want to go here. "He's very cute," Nelson says, passing Thim back to me. "He's named after you."
"Actually, his biological daddy is Vietnamese, so his name is spelled T-H-I-M. But, yeah, he's named after me. I think he's adorable, but you'd expect me to say that, wouldn't you?"
He nods, giggling.
"So, will you come back to the Center? I'd really like you to. Please."
He nods. "Okay," he says, happily.
And he does. He's back the next day, and I make it a point to look for him, to seek him out. "I'm really happy you're back," I tell him. "I'm happy I didn't scare you away forever. Do you have dinner plans tonight? Would your dad mind if you came and ate with us?"
He shakes his head.
"I'm going to leave for home at around 5:30 P.M. Join us. You can meet everyone. Call your dad. Let him know."
He nods. But he doesn't call anyone. I ask Jimmi, the receptionist. There have been no outbound calls. But I collect him anyway. I'm the last to leave, and he's sitting in the coffee room reading a magazine. "Ready to go?" I ask. He nods, smiling. We make our way out. Because I'm the last to leave, I get to lock up. We walk to the house.
It's a Kenny night. We're having Eggplant Parmigiana, which Feng is crazy about for some reason. Maybe it's because Kenny cooks it. Feng worships Kenny. I'm not sure what the affinity is, but they're best buds. The boys are all in the living room playing Sorry, the oldest board game known to man. Thim is in Kevin's lap, watching intently as each player moves. He's fascinated. Why? Who on earth knows? I introduce Nelson to the boys, and then take him to the kitchen, where Kenny, Jason, Nathan, Thao, Dinh, and Evan are all congregated. Joaquin is still in the city. He has a performance tonight.
"Wow! You have a big family!" Nelson exclaims.
"Well, this is sort of the extended family. We actually own a number of houses on this block. This is Dinh, Jason and Kenny. They're my husbands. Evan is my adopted son, and Nathan and Thao are friends who live with us."
"What's your ethnicity?" Jason asks Nelson, curious. It's a good question. He's a mix of Asian and something. I couldn't tell you what, and never thought to ask.
"Wow! There's a combination," Nathan says with a snort. "Thao, Dinh and I are Vietnamese, and Kenny and Jason are both Chinese. Evan and Tim, well, they're gwilos."
Nelson looks confused.
"It's a nasty Cantonese word for `white ghosts,'" Kenny says.
"In other words, we're white. Pasty white, apparently," I say, laughing.
"So you guys are the minority in this family," Nelson says, a little incredulous.
"Oh, yes! Especially if you take into account the children. And Evan is married to a Mexican guy. Oh, yes. Caucasians are the minority in this family."
"Where'd your parents meet?" Nathan asks Nelson.
"Nelson lives with his dad," I say, rescuing him. There's silence for a minute or so.
"So, I hope you like Italian," Kenny says, rescuing all of us. "We're having Eggplant Parmigiana with Capers and Sardines."
"And a healthy squirt of Rooster Sauce," Jason says, giggling.
Nathan starts to laugh. "Tim likes food spicy. Really spicy. So do the rest of us. Rooster Sauce is actually called Sriracha Hot Chili Sauce. It's a fiercely-spicy Vietnamese hot sauce. We call it Rooster Sauce because there's a rooster on the label and because none of the pasty white Caucasians can pronounce Sriracha." This fractures me. I find myself giggling furiously even before I cuff Nathan. Hysterical.
"I hope you like spicy food," Evan chimes in, "because they mean it."
Nelson smiles and nods. We shall see.
Dinner, as usual, is wonderful. I am blessed with many wonderful chefs. Evan and I aren't much good, but Dinh, Kenny, Nathan, Thao, and Jason are all superb, and even Joaquin is very good, although he doesn't usually have the time to cook for us. When he does, though, the results are sensational – wonderful Mexican food like nothing I've usually ever had before. He even makes Mole, something his mother taught him, he says. It's an exquisite combination of chocolate, beef and chili peppers. It's simply divine!
After dinner, Kenny and Jason get the boys to bed while the rest of my guys attend to the dishes. I take Nelson to the living room for a cup of tea.
"So, Nelson, I don't really know you very well. I'd like to. You seem like a really nice guy. Can you tell me a little about yourself? Where were you born? Do you have brothers and sisters? Where do you go to school?"
"I go to
"I have an older sister, too. How much older than you is yours?"
"So, she's seven years older."
"Mine's twelve years older. A whole `nother generation. How old's your younger brother?"
He's tearing up now. "He's five."
"Does he live around here?"
"No," he chokes.
"Where's he live?"
"Does your mom have a husband. Is she married?" I'm working hard on this boy. I want to break him. I want him to tell me who he is. Not my business? Maybe that's true. But, if he's who I think he is, it's exactly my business; it's exactly the business I'm in. And then he breaks.
"Nooo. She's a drunk. She's an addict. Heroine."
"And your dad?"
He's crying now. "I don't have a dad. I live with my grandmom."
"Is she good to you?"
"I don't see her much."
I move to sit next to him on the couch, and I hug him. And, my god, he hugs me back so hard I think I'll lose consciousness. He gets control of himself quickly, though. No more tears. "So, when you do see her, is she good to you?"
"We don't really talk much."
"Nelson. You know what I'm asking you. Does she love you?"
There's a long, long pause. "I'm...umm...afraid to answer you."
"Because I don't know you very well. I...umm...don't know what..."
"...I'll do. You don't know what I'll do."
He nods, and goes teary again. "I won't do anything you don't want me to. I promise. Does your grandmom love you?"
He pauses. "No."
should have to have a license to have a child, but what would the criteria for
the license be? It should be love, shouldn't it? It should be love and sobriety.
But in this country, at this time, I would not have eight kids if I had to be
licensed. Fags would not be allowed to adopt. Fags would be treated as they are
Sometimes, you have these moments of connection. Karl Jung, the German psychologist, called them synchronicity. Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events which are unrelated occurring together in a meaningful way. In order to count as synchronicity, the events should be unlikely to occur together by chance. Synchronicity.
Teddy and I had lunch yesterday. I hadn't seen him in a while. We were talking about my family, and my eight kids. "Ty and I are thinking about adopting, but we're not sure how. It's really hard, isn't it?"
Well, it hasn't been for me, but I suppose it can be. I suppose it can be very difficult, and very expensive. Before I fall in love with this boy, before I fall in love with Nelson, I suppose I should look for an alternative. Teddy and Ty are my alternative. I guess you'd call me a match maker. But, rather than getting people married, I try to get them adopted. Except, up until now, the only one doing the adopting was me. I've never tried to find adoptive parents for anyone – until now. On Wednesday, five days after that lunch, I invite Nelson back for dinner. This is a Jason meal, and I've raved about how good a cook Jason is. Nelson is excited. And I invite Teddy and Ty. They know what I'm doing. They know this is match making. They know that I'm shopping for a home for Nelson. And they know this is a long shot. They know that they may have to basically buy this boy from his grandmother. Ty and Teddy are the first to arrive. Nelson comes maybe twenty minutes later. I introduce them. They start to chat. Nelson, it turns out, is serious about soccer. He follows it. Avidly. Ty is also a serious fan. That's where they start. "So, what do you like to do in your spare time, when you're not following soccer," Teddy asks Nelson.
"Umm...I like to build things."
"Really? What kind of things?"
"Well, mostly I like to build...umm...furniture. Things like tables, and bookcases." I didn't know any of this, but this is Teddy's hobby. It's what he loves to do. It's a little unusual, isn't it? You wouldn't expect this.
"What have you built?" Teddy asks, carefully.
"Not all that much," Nelson admits. "I didn't really have the tools, or the wood. I built a table for my grandmom," he says, hoping to impress.
"What kind of joints?" Teddy asks.
"Mortise and tenon. I did them by hand. I didn't really have anything but a couple of chisels that I borrowed from the father of a friend. He taught me how to do it."
"So you made your mortises by hand?"
"You are a trooper. I've never done a mortise with a chisel."
"Do you make furniture," he asks in awe.
"Yeah. I've made nearly all of the furniture in our house."
"Can I see?" Nelson asks urgently.
"Yeah, of course you can see. When would you like to come
"Could we...umm...go now?"
"Umm...we're sort of about to eat dinner, right? And it's going to be a really good dinner if Jason is cooking. I don't think I want to miss that, but...how about tomorrow? How about you come to our place for dinner tomorrow? Ty is a pretty good cook. Well, he's not as good as Jason." Ty laughs and cuffs Teddy playfully. For a couple who were on the verge of separation, they've come a long way. "I'll show you the furniture tomorrow."
"Coooool! Do you have lots of tools?" Nelson asks.
"I guess. I have a table saw, and a radial arm saw. I have a couple of routers, and a drill press, and..."
"Wow! You have a shop?"
"Yeah, in the garage."
"That's so cool. Can I see?"
Teddy laughs. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll show you anything you want to see."
Nelson can barely contain himself. He is just so excited! But, he's not too excited to enjoy the meal. Jason has made Hot and Sour Soup (my favorite), Steamed Halibut in Ginger and Garlic, On Choi in Fermented Tofu, Gai Lan in Oyster Sauce, and Sliced Mango for dessert. Simple, but delicious!
"Jeeze. Tim wasn't kidding. You really can cook."
"I like to think so," Jason says, laughing.
"He's also a really-good piano player. Wanna hear?"
Nelson nods, and we move into the living room where Jason plays a transcription of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. I think he may actually have transcribed this himself. I like Gershwin...a lot. Not as much as I like Shostakovich, or Mahler, or Dvořák, but he's good, and probably more understandable to a thirteen year old than any of those other three guys. After the Gershwin, Jason follows up with excerpts from Bernstein's score for West Side Story. The only word I can think of to describe the Bernstein is a word he used years later himself to describe it. It's "funky". It's the best kind of jazz, magnificently nuanced. I didn't know this was part of Jason's repertoire, but I don't think in the years we've been together that I've come close to plumbing the depths of Jason's repertoire. I really have no idea what he hasn't memorized, and that's probably a shorter list than what he has memorized. He never ceases to surprise me. Thim is sitting on Nelson's lap and is into the music, seriously into it. He's flailing his arms and gurgling. Thim seems to be very musical. I've noticed this before. He loves to hear Jason play, especially the violin, and is always soothed by singing. If he's distraught, all you need to do is sing to him, and suddenly he's quiet and curious. He's fascinated by your voice. The piano excites him. Maybe it's the percussiveness of the sound. He becomes very animated, as he is tonight.
Our little soiree breaks up a 9:00 P.M. Nelson has to go to school tomorrow, and Teddy and Ty have to go to work. But, Teddy calls the next night at around 10:00 P.M. to say that Nelson has been there. He came to dinner, and Teddy showed him his furniture. Teddy is very good. He loves the Craftsman style. Through-tenons excite him, as does the Asianness of Craftsman furniture. Most of the furniture he's built is made of oak, but he's started to explore cherry wood as well, and has built some remarkable pieces, integrating some fairly-intricate carving into his designs. Nelson flipped when he saw their office desk. "This is soooo beautiful. How'd you get the desk top to look like that? Did you carve that by hand? Can you teach me?"
Three months later, Nelson is living with them. They're well on the way to adoption. Bob Titus, my attorney, has helped them cut through a lot of red tape, and Nelson will soon be their son. His grandmother, it turns out, wanted less to sell them the boy than we expected. $3000 was all it took to convince her to give up her "beloved grandson". My ass! She was actually very happy to get rid of him, I think. He was another mouth to feed. And, he didn't even have to come out to her. I think she knew he was gay, and I suspect that if he had come out, she would have thrown him out, and we'd have been able to do the adoption for basically nothing. But Ty and Teddy didn't want to put him through that for a measly $3000. So, they just paid her off. Now they have the son they wanted, and Nelson has the family he lacked. He's having the time of his life learning to really make furniture, and following the soccer scores with Ty. His grades are up as well. They're up significantly. If he keeps working at the pace he's been working, he'll have no trouble getting into any college he wants. He's a very sweet kid, and thank god I could find him some place else to live, because we're running out of bedrooms.
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