This story may occasionally include explicit depictions of sexual acts between consenting adult males.  If you are underage or it is illegal to view this for any reason, consider yourself warned.  If you find this material offensive, please leave.

 

This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to people, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence. As the author, I retain all rights to this story, and it cannot be reproduced or published without explicit consent from me.  This work is copyrighted 2016 by Steven Wells.

 

I love to hear any feedback you have, be it positive or negative.  Send me an email with any comments or questions at MaWriterBoy@yahoo.com.

 

 

Jeffery Comes Home

Previously

 

"Congressman Franklin made statements to the press following the school board meeting detailing his views on his son's remarks at the school board meeting. He said, `My son has been brainwashed by the two homosexual men he now lives with.' How do you respond to his comment?" the reporter finally asked.

 

"I don't," I replied. "I will not respond to his statement out of respect for my son, Trevor Harris-LeBlanc. Now, I believe this interview is over. Thank you for your time. I will show you out."

 

I returned to the living room after I closed the door on the reporter. Philip, Trevor, Sam, and Tim stood in the middle of the room.

 

"Jeffery," Philip said. "I am so proud of you. You are a light in the sea of darkness surrounding the world today. You should be a politician and take your fight to Washington. We will all be right behind you."

 

"A politician," I repeated. "Hmm. Where should I start? The state legislature? Congress? Senate? Or President?"

 

"If a billionaire can win the Presidency, why can't a gay minister from a mainline Christian church?" Trevor added.

 

"I will take your suggestions under advisement," I replied as we all gathered for a group hug.

 

Chapter 20: Fear of the Victors

 

"Dad," I heard Trevor's voice outside my office.

 

"Hello, Trevor," I said. "What's happening? You look like you've been having a bad day. Want to talk about it?"

 

Trevor came into my office and slumped into a chair in front of my desk. "Bad day is an understatement, Dad. We had a discussion today in our current events class about the President-elect. The whole discussion scared me."

 

"Why did it scare you, Trevor?" I asked.

 

"We were talking about the possible deportation of undocumented people," Trevor replied. "Then, someone mentioned a lot of other groups could be on the firing line if some of the President-elect's followers have a large enough voice. Like gay people. People who speak out against his coalition. And, the Affordable Care Act could be on the chopping block. Dad, do you know how many people in this town have insurance for the first time in their lives? How are we going to survive, Dad?"

 

I thought to myself for a few seconds. "I know some of President-elect's campaign promises border on the unconstitutional. Some of his other campaign promises are just too bizarre to contemplate. But, I am hoping cooler heads will prevail. In the meantime, the President-elect, in an interview, has said the gay marriage fight is over. The Supreme Court ruled. He is apparently okay with the gay marriage issue. On the other hand, you might find a backlash from some of his supporters. If we do encounter behavior like Jason Donovan and ex-Congressman Franklin, we will stand up to the bullies just like we did before. There are people in this town who are not on our side, but, judging from the show of support by our congregation and others, we will win the battle."

 

"One of our friends is an undocumented student," Trevor explained. "His parents came to the US when he was one-year old. He had so many plans because of the Dream Act. He wants to become a doctor. Now, he is scared. Very scared."

 

"Tell him to visit me some afternoon after school," I replied. "I have no idea what can be done, but I will find out how we can help."

 

"Thanks, Dad," Trevor said. "I have one other idea. What if we were to host a teen group here at the church so people can gather for support?"

 

"Sure," I replied. "I would be happy to organize a support group. We might need to launch an opposition group. I will investigate what we can do and what we can't do."

 

"I'll spread the word about the support group," Trevor replied.

 

"Tell people to check our website for the details," I suggested.

 

"I'll organize a group," Trevor said as he prepared to leave. "And, thanks for the pep talk, Dad. It helped."

 

"Any time you need to talk, come and see me or your father," I replied. "We may not know the answer, but we can help you make your decisions."

 

"Thanks, Dad," Trevor said as he left.

 

I picked up the phone and called Philip. "Philip!"

 

"Jeffery! What's up?" Philip asked

 

"Trevor dropped by my office after school," I began to explain. "He and others in his current events class were discussing the President-elect and his Presidency. He was, in his words, `scared.'"

 

"The President-elect has that effect on a lot of people," Philip continued. "And you said what?"

 

"I tried to be calm and discuss issues in a supportive way," I replied. "We also talked about starting a teen support group here at the church. And, Philip, I have only one request from you. If you hear me talk about visiting our next president, please stop me. I don't relish spending time in jail."

 

"Consider it done," Philip replied. "I am coming home early today. I have some things to discuss with you."

 

"Nothing related to our President-elect, I hope," I added.

 

"No," Philip replied. "It's all good!"

 

"Should I pick up some bubbly?" I asked.

 

"Sure," Philip replied. "We can get smashed and have mad, passionate sex in the living room!"

 

"Yea, right," I said. "With our sons and dogs watching."

 

"Minor detail, Jeffery!" Philip replied. "We can work around the problem. See you in about an hour from now."

 

"Love you," I said.

 

"Love you back," Philip added before he ended the call.

 

I shoved my laptop into my bag, grabbed my keys, and turned off the lights in my office. I was going home to await Philip's news.

 

I stopped at the liquor store and picked up a bottle of champagne. When I arrived home, Philip's SUV sat in the driveway.

 

As I walked through the door, I was greeted with hands and arms wrapping around my body.

 

"I like this," I said to Philip in the sexiest voice I could muster.

 

"Good," Philip replied. "I may not let you go."

 

"Daddy! Daddy!" Sam and Tim yelled in unison as they bounded into the entry hall followed by three dogs.

 

Philip released me from his hug. I picked up Sam. Philip picked up Tim.

 

"What is all of the excitement about?" I asked.

 

"We drew pictures," Tim said. "Want to see them?"

 

"Of course, we want to see them," Philip replied.

 

Both boys wiggled to the floor and dashed off in the direction they arrived. The dogs were in hot pursuit.

 

"So much for hot sex in the living room," I added.

 

Philip put his arm around my shoulders as we followed Sam and Tim into the family room.

 

Sam handed me his drawing and Tim handed his to Philip.

 

"What do we have here?" Philip asked.

 

"Us," Tim replied.

 

"Yes, it's us," Sam added. The drawing had five stick figures of varying size. "This is you and daddy, this is Trevor, and this is us."

 

"Very good, Sam," Philip replied.

 

Tim's drawing looked a lot like Sam's only different colors and different positions.

 

"We should put these on the fridge door," Philip suggested. "We can look at them every time we open the door."

 

"Just what every family needs," I said. I was almost biting my lip. Philip smiled at me. He knew I hated stuff on refrigerator doors.

 

"Barkley and Barlow want us to play with them," Tim said.

 

"Okay," I responded. "Go play with Barkley and Barlow."

 

"So, what do you think of our art collection?" Philip asked.

 

"It is unique," I replied with a smile. "The price of being a parent is having drawings on our refrigerator door."

 

"Yup," Philip replied. "It could be worse. They could have made a lawn sculpture."

 

"So, what's your news?" I asked.

 

"It's complicated," Philip replied. "Let's sit and talk."

 

Once we were sitting at the kitchen island with coffee in hand, Philip began his explanation. "We are, according to our corporate office, expanding. We will operate a cooperative distribution warehouse operation for a number of organic farms. It is being built next to the Walmart distribution center west of town. We will be putting about 400 jobs into the area. Most will be on the order of $25 to $30 per hour. A few will be starting wage jobs paying $15 per hour. We are releasing the information to the community and to the press tomorrow morning at a press conference."

 

"Amazing!" I replied. "Why is the wage so high?"

 

"Company policy," Philip replied. "The company makes a very tidy profit. So far, they have been putting most of the profits back into the business. We feel it is necessary to compensate our employees fairly."

 

"Who is we?" I asked.

 

"The executive committee," Philip replied.

 

"Which, I believe, you are a member," I added.

 

"Yes," Philip replied. "I think I should also warn you. Our company does not discriminate on race, creed, color, or sexual identity. We do require they be legally in this country."

 

"So, you, I believe, are telling me this community will be getting a lot more diverse," I summarized.

 

"Probably," Philp said. "What about Trevor? Is he doing better now that you and he talked?"

 

"I haven't seen him after our talk," I explained. "He seemed better when he left my office."

 

"Is someone talking about me?" Trevor asked as he sauntered into the kitchen.

 

"Your name did come up," I replied.

 

"Don't worry too much about me," Trevor replied. "Rupert told me to keep calm."

 

"When did you talk to Rupert?" Philip asked.

 

"I just finished a phone conversation with him," Trevor replied.

 

"Rupert has become an important person in your life since you met at Thanksgiving with Sam and Chris," I added. "Am I correct?"

 

"Yea," Trevor said as he blushed slightly. "He's a nice guy."

 

"And?" Philip asked. "What else might you like about him?"

 

"He's cute as shit," Trevor replied. "Oops. Sorry. And he has a killer body."

 

"How do you know he has a killer body?" I asked.

 

"One of his photos on Snapchat," Trevor added. "He's in his board shorts on the beach."

 

"I see," I said I couldn't help but smile.

 

"For the record, "Philip added. "I think he is cute as shit, too."

 

"I want to see this snapchat photo," I continued.

 

Trevor pulled his phone out of his pocket, and with a few swipes, he had the photo in question on his phone. He handed it to me. I looked and handed it to Philip.

 

"Definitely a killer body," Philip said.

 

"I knew you would see it my way," Trevor responded. "I was wondering if I could invite him here for Christmas holidays. He will be alone, otherwise."

 

"Of course," I replied. "And, where would you expect Rupert to sleep?"

 

"With me?" Trevor asked.

 

Philip and I looked at one another, but we did not say anything.

 

"I wouldn't want him to feel lonely in a strange house," Trevor added.

 

"I suspect, Trevor, if we decided he should be in one of the guest rooms, you and he would manage to slip into the other's room," Philip replied.

 

"It could happen," Trevor replied. "So, he can stay with me, right?"

 

"Yes, he can stay with you in your room," I replied. "And we want a firsthand report on just how much of a killer body he really has."

 

"You have my word, Dad," Trevor replied. "He has a four-year scholarship now. It covers all of his school expenses, room and board, and a stipend for other expenses. I don't suppose Sam and Chris had anything to do with his new found financial situation."

 

"Anything is possible," I replied. "I wouldn't mention it to Rupert."

 

------------------------------

 

I sat in my office contemplating my Sunday talk. I heard a knock on the door.

 

"Good afternoon," I said. "You must be Aron."

 

"Yes, Sir," Aron replied. "Trevor said you wanted to see me."

 

"Yes, Aron," I said as I motioned toward the chair. "Have a seat."

 

Aron sat in the chair in front of my desk. He seemed nervous. "Trevor said you were a good listener, and I didn't need to be afraid of talking with you."

 

"I try," I replied. "Trevor told me you and your family have some issues you might want to discuss."

 

"My mother and father fled to this country when I was one-year-old," Aron explained. "My parents are still undocumented. I hoped we could remain in this country and build our lives here. The Dream Act gave me hope. I had plans. Now, I am just scared we might be deported."

 

"What does your father do for work?" I asked.

 

"He works in the dairy processing plant in town," Aron replied. "My mother is a seamstress. She makes clothes for some of the fancy women in this town. My father used to be an architect in Ecuador."

 

"You said your family fled to this country," I continued. "Why did they flee?"

 

"I don't know all of the details," Aron replied. "My father was an outspoken opponent of the government. He and our family were threatened."

 

"Would your mother and father mind speaking with me?" I explained. "I am not certain what I can do to help. But, I want to help your family, Aron. If I could speak with your parents, it would help me decide where I should turn. Helping your family is in keeping with the mission of this church and the Lost Sheep Foundation. Here is my contact information, Aron. Ask your parents to call me."

 

"Thank you, Sir," Aron replied. "I will speak with them when they are finished with work."

 

"Do you have siblings, Aron?" I asked.

 

"No, I am an only child," Aron replied. "Thank you for listening. Trevor was right. You are easy to talk with."

 

"Stop by anytime," I replied.

 

I sat for a few moments before I walked to my mother's office. I sat in front of her desk. "And?"

 

"Aron, one of Trevor's classmates, has a problem," I began. "Actually, he, his mother, and his father have a problem. They are undocumented. Aron had high hopes he could build a life under the Dream Act. Now, he is not sure he will be allowed to remain in this country."

 

"Another tragedy of the soon-to-be administration," my mother sighed. "What are you planning?"

 

"Who says I'm planning anything?" I asked.

 

"Jeffery, you are always planning something," she continued. "If someone needs help, you are planning. Why don't you speak with your attorney, Devin Wright?"

 

"Devon Wright!" I said to myself. "Of course! If anyone knows about this, Devon will or will know someone who does. Thanks, mother! I have a call to make."

 

I picked up my phone and pressed the button.

 

"Jeffery!" Devon exclaimed as he answered the phone. "What can I do for Lost Sheep?"

 

"How can you always be so chipper?" I said.

 

"It's in my genes," Devon replied. "What's up?"

 

"I need some advice," I replied. "First of all, Trevor visited me in my office yesterday. After his current affairs class had a discussion about the upcoming Presidential Administration, he was severely depressed."

 

"I would say it would be a normal reaction," Devon replied. "I have the same reaction day in and day out. I think I will be seeing my shrink every day during the next four years."

 

"Think of the possibilities," I replied. "Another of Trevor's friends came to see me this afternoon. He's undocumented as is his mother and father. His parents brought him here when he was one-year-old. His father was an outspoken opponent of the government of Ecuador. They had to flee. The kid had dreams of becoming a doctor under the Dream Act. He wants to become a doctor. But, after the election of our next President, he has lost hope and gained fear. Fear he and his parents will be deported. Is there anything we can do?"

 

"Find out why they fled the country," Devon replied. "Does the father have any skills such as a college degree?"

 

"He was an architect in Ecuador," I replied. "I don't know much more about the parents."

 

"We will need more information to proceed," Devon replied. "However, I will look into some possible solutions, such as an H1B Visa and Application for Asylum and for Withholding of Removal. All of these take time. However, the family would not be subjected to deportation while the application is under review. I will e-mail you a list of information I will need to get this moving."

 

"Thanks, Devon," I added. "You've given me hope. How likely is it the family will be given legal status?"

 

"Every case has its own set of predictors, so I can't give you a definitive answer," Devon explained. "But, there is definitely a probability factor on the side of the family getting legal status."

 

------------------------

 

I stepped into the community room to begin the support sessions for high school students. I stopped dead in my tracks. The room was filled to capacity. Over 100 students sat chatting while waiting for the session to begin. I grabbed Trevor from his friends and pulled him aside.

 

"I see word is out," I said with a smile.

 

"Yes," Trevor replied. "I just told about 10 people who thought the idea was terrific. Now, we have a crowd. What does this tell you about how they feel about our President Elect?"

 

"It says a lot," I replied. "I hope they realize I can't perform miracles."

 

"They welcome any advice you or anyone else can give," Trevor replied. "Mr. Willis is over there with some students. Maybe he could help with the meeting."

 

"Great idea, Trevor," I replied. "Do you want to start the session, Trevor?"

 

"Sure," Trevor replied. "Just say when to start."

 

"Okay," I replied. "Let me talk to Mr. Willis and then we can get things going."

 

I moved to the corner of the room where Mr. Willis stood talking with some of the students. "Good afternoon, Mr. Willis," I said. "Thank you for coming. I had no idea this would be such a large turnout."

 

"Thank you for hosting this session," Mr. Willis replied. "It will be a great help with the students, I believe."

 

"I know this may sound like I am inciting a riot, but I am hoping to form an activist group to persuade law makers in Washington not to cut safety net programs," I explained. "It would make them feel they have a voice in protecting those who are in no position to protect themselves."

 

"I will be right behind you, Reverend," Mr. Willis replied. "I will try to help you as much as I can. I am a math teacher and not a social scientist, but I believe I know something about activism."

 

Trevor confidently positioned himself in the front of the room. "Welcome. My dad, Reverend Jeffery Harris-LeBlanc has generously volunteered to speak with this group. We all share some of the same angst after the election. This isn't the first time my dad has led the charge against hate. You have, I am certain, heard about several of these actions. He also spent over four years in San Francisco working in the Castro area. I hope he shares some of those experiences with us over time. Now, I would like to introduce my dad and youth minister here at the United Church of Christ, Reverend Jeffery Harris-LeBlanc."

 

The group applauded as I moved to the front of the group. "Thank you, Trevor. I am the youth minister here. I offered to supervise this group because I know many of you have issues after this past election. We all are gathered to discuss ways of coping with our fear and anger."

 

I paused for a moment. "One of the best ways to counter less than stellar behavior or ideology consists of group action. A group provides a safe avenue to counter offensive ideology: racism, xenophobia, bigotry, homophobia, and misogyny. Statements and calls to action coming from a group instead of an individual lessens the chance of counter actions."

 

"This afternoon, I suggest you do two things. One, develop a statement of purpose or mission statement which describes what you hope to accomplish within this group. Two, pick a name for the group. Be creative, but don't use words which are combative. Concerned Students could be a possibility. You decide. Mr. Willis has generously agreed to help support this group. We will be here as advisors. It is your job to decide your plan of action and safely implement it. You might even want to elect a leader."

 

"Trevor!" the group exclaimed.

 

One girl stood, "This was Trevor's idea. He should be our leader."

 

"So, Trevor," Jonathan spoke up. "Get you butt in front of the room and let's get rolling."

 

Trevor stood and began. "I don't know if I should be flattered or p... angered by your selection. Now, let's get started..."

 

----------------------------

 

Aron Delgado's parents stood in my open office doorway. They arrived for their appointment to talk with me about their immigration status.

 

"Mr. and Mrs. Delgado, please come in," I said as I moved to the door way with my hand ready to shake theirs.

 

"Thank you for seeing us," Mr. Delgado said as he held out his hand.

 

"We are ever so grateful you took the time to speak with Aron," Mrs. Delgado added.

 

"Please sit," I suggested. "I was honored Aron came to me. He, like a lot of us, is worried about his future. I'm not certain exactly what I can do, but I will explore every avenue. I understand from Aron, Mr. Delgado, you were an architect in Ecuador."

 

"Yes," Mr. Delgado replied. "I oversaw construction projects for large projects. My degree in Architecture and my MBA helped me understand the difference between what should be done as opposed to what the contractor wanted to do."

 

"You have an MBA, too?" I asked.

 

"Yes," Mr. Delgado replied. "After we fled the country, I wasn't able to find any of my credentials from the schools I attended and the licenses I held. So, I would need to start from scratch and return to school. I was hired as a maintenance worker for the dairy operation here in town because the last project I supervised included the construction of a dairy processing plant."

 

"Why did you and your family need to flee Ecuador?" I asked.

 

"I was an activist working to stop the government from bailing out the banks which failed in the 1998 and 1999 banking crisis," Mr. Delgado explained. "The government used money which should have been used as a safety net for those who were unemployed."

 

Mr. Delgado paused and then continued, "Unemployment increased from 9% to 17% and underemployment increased from 49% to 55%. 1.6 billion dollars of Government of Ecuador funds were used to bail out banks that failed as a result of corrupt practices and mismanagement. We temporarily took over Parliament. Everyone who participated in the takeover was forced to flee or be killed. We fled. What scares me more than anything is the President-elect. He resembles President Mahuad in character and narcissism."

 

"Are you saying you fear another banking crisis here in this country if the President-elect is given free reign?" I asked.

 

"He wants to gut the Dodd-Frank regulations," Mr. Delgado replied. "President Mahuad removed any corporate oversight of the banking industry. Do you see a parallel, Reverend Harris-LeBlanc?"

 

"I do," I replied. "Would you be willing to tell an attorney we have on retainer about your story and your professional qualifications?"

 

"Of course," Mr. Delgado replied. "I have talked to several attorneys. When I finish my explanation of my situation, they quote an abhorrently huge cost for their services."

 

"You will not need to pay this particular attorney," I replied.

 

Once the Delgados left my office, I picked up the phone and called Devon Wright again, "Jeffery! What's up?"

 

"I have a situation here, and I could use a little advice," I said to Devon.

 

I explained the situation with the Delgado family.

 

"We have options," Devon added. "I believe we have two very good options. One is an H1B Visa for Mr. Delgado, which would also keep his wife and son from being sent back. The other is to apply for asylum. I will work on both. I will bring our immigration team manager with me. Do I need to make hotel reservations?"

 

"No," I replied. "If you can put up with Trevor, Sam, Tim, Barkly, and Barlow, we have two guest rooms available. If you can't, you can make reservations at the totally plush Motel 6."

 

"We can cope with distractions," Devon replied. "We can't cope with Motel 6. We will fly down so we can talk. I don't know exactly when I will be in Olney, but I will keep you posted."

 

"Devon," I began. "Did I miss something or did you just say, `We will fly down'? Where in the fuck are you flying to?"

 

"I have arranged for the small corporate jet to fly us down there," Devon explained. "I have been assured it can land at the local airport. If not, please say good things about me in my eulogy."

 

"I will await your visit," I said. "Do you still drink scotch?"

 

"I suspect I will drink anything after experiencing what the pilot called `nose dive, heavy breaking landing,'" Devon replied. "He said it is similar to the noise abatement take off in San Diego, except it is on the way down not up. See you soon. I will call when I am on my way."

 

I immediately called Philip, "Philip! We need to talk."

 

"About Aron and his family?" Philip asked.

 

"Yes," I replied. "I talked to Devon. He suggested we need to develop a plan and a contingency plan."

 

"Okay," Philip replied. "What does this plan and contingency plan require my participation?"

 

"Devon is flying down here later today," I explained.

 

"Flying?" Philip asked. "Has Devon forgotten where we live?"

 

"He has been assured the small corporate jet the firm owns will be able to land at the local airport," I continued. "The pilot explained it as a noise abatement take off only coming down instead of going up."

 

"Oh Jeez!" Philip exclaimed. "Where do you want to talk?"

 

"Our conference room?" I asked.

 

"I'll see you at Mel's coffee shop in about 20 minutes," Philip replied.

 

--------------

 

Philip and I watched the jet carrying Devon Wright prepare for landing.

 

"He's awfully low isn't he," I said to Philip.

 

"He seems to be flying awfully fast, too," Philip replied.

 

The engines roared and the tires screeched as they hit the ground. Smoke seemed to engulf the jet until it came to an abrupt halt near the end of the runway. When the smoke cleared, the jet taxied to the hangar.

 

"I've never seen anything like this landing," the manager of the airport said. "I thought they were nuts to even think about attempting to land the jet here. All I can say is the pilot must be very gutsy and extremely knowledgeable about the plane."

 

We watched as the aircraft crew power the built-in walkway in place. Devon stepped through the doorway and waived to us. Another man in a suit followed Devon.

 

"Hello, men," Devon said as he approached us. "Before the plane screeched to a halt at the end of the runway, I thought we were toast. This is Darryl Marks. Darryl, this is Jeffery and Philip Harris-LeBlanc. Darryl is our immigration team manager."

 

"He didn't tell me we were landing on a postage stamp," Darryl said with a smile. "It is good to meet you gentlemen."

 

"Likewise, Mr. Marks," I replied as we shook hands. "We thought we could talk at home and be more comfortable. I hope you don't mind, Devon."

 

"I hope you have plenty of scotch," Devon replied. "If you do, I don't mind. If you don't, stop at the nearest liquor store."

 

"Is two bottles enough?" Philip asked.

 

"How big are the bottles?" Devon asked.

 

"They are both 1.75 liters," Philip replied.

 

"Should be enough for tonight," Devon added as we climbed into the SUV. "Something small, I see."

 

"We had to get a bigger vehicle," I explained. "In addition to Trevor, we have Sam and Tim, both three, and two dogs, Barley and Barlow. The back seat of my Chevy Cruze is a bit small."

 

"How did the pilot know he could land the jet here?" Philip asked.

 

"He flew planes off and on an aircraft carrier when he was in the service," Devon explained. "I didn't know his background until we landed. I may have rethought the jet and opted for my car."

 

Once we were inside the house, the chaos exploded.

 

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Sam and Tim exclaimed as they bounded into the entry area. They slid to a stop when they realized to strangers were with us. The dogs also stopped beside Sam and Tim.

 

Philip picked up Sam. I picked up Tim. Philip did the introductions. "This guy is Sam. The one Jeffery is holding is Tim. Guys, these are friends Mark and Devon."

 

Barkley began to whimper. "Sorry," I said to the dogs. "The one on the left is Barkley. The one on the right is Barlow."

 

"Good to meet you, men," Devon said to the boys. "Neither one of us bite."

 

Sam started giggling, "He's funny, Daddy," finally escaped his lips.

 

"Why don't you to take the dogs to your room and have a little fun while we talk?" I asked.

 

"Okay, Daddy," Tim replied as they both wiggled to the floor and sped off to their room with dogs in hot pursuit.

 

"Before we settle in to discuss the reason you are here, would either of you like something to drink?" Philip asked.

 

"Scotch on the rocks, hold the ice," Devon suggested.

 

"Same," Darryl replied. "Nice house by the way!"

 

"Thanks," Philip replied. "Everyone thought we were nuts buying this place. Two gay men with a five-bedroom house. One year later, we have three boys and two dogs living with us. Fortuitous, don't you think?"

 

"Indeed," Devon replied. "All I can say is you two work fast. My husband and I have been investigating adoption. We've been told it could be two or more years before something happens."

 

"We weren't investigating adoption," I replied. "In our case, we needed to make a decision. As in right now. This very minute. So, here we are. Neither Philip or I would change anything, though."

 

"Darryl has two kids," Devon continued.

 

"Two very spoiled boys ages three and six," Darryl explained. "It is organized chaos most of the time. My wife is CEO of a tech company in Chicago. So, we have a nanny. I understand from Devon, Jeffery, you've made quite a name since your return to the town."

 

"I'm not certain it is a good name, but, yes, I have gained notoriety in the community," I replied. "I haven't been run out of town yet. Just give me a little more time."

 

We took our drinks to the living room and settled in.

 

"Darryl has investigated some potential solutions to this situation. Darryl please explain our options," Devon replied. "This could get sticky before we are done."

 

"Everything I am involved in seems to somehow get sticky," I added.

 

"First of all, Mr. Delgado is in a fairly good position in terms of the immigration laws," Darryl explained. "He has two degrees. He has some professional experience which will aid in his chances. He and his family could also be considered as asylum seekers. Two excellent options. Both adults have been productive members of the community. They are employed or self-employed. They pay taxes. I would recommend pursuing an H1B visa for Mr. Delgado. Normally, he would need to return to his country for sixty days before he would be eligible. However, we can argue he cannot return to his country because he may face imprisonment or death. So, we also want to pursue the asylum. Also, we need an employer who could sponsor Mr. Delgado."

 

"Now, I understand why you wanted me involved with this, Jeffery," Philip added. At least he smiled at me. "What does an employer need in order to sponsor someone with Mr. Delgado's talent?"

 

"A job in keeping with his talents," Darryl replied. "And, $5 thousand fee."

 

"What are his qualifications?" Philip asked.

 

I handed Philip Mr. Delgado's resume.

 

"Holy shit!" Philip exclaimed. "Perfect! Our company is poised to launch the construction phase of our operation. Until now, we have been acquiring existing businesses and merging them into ours. We have run out of acquisitions. It is time to build. Why hasn't Mr. Delgado pursued an H1B visa before?"

 

"Attorney fees," I added. "They can't afford the attorneys who claim they can help."

 

"Some immigration attorneys are less than above board," Darryl explained. "They prey on undocumented immigrants."

 

"Darryl and his team do a lot of pro-bono work," Devon replied. "Mr. Washington has always been sympathetic to people who cannot afford an attorney, as you well know, Jeffery."

 

"You have saved our asses on more than one occasion," I replied. "Thank you, by the way. I happen to like my ass."

 

"I do, too," Philip said with a smile. "How do we proceed?"

 

"We need to keep this under wraps for as long as we can," Darryl explained. "If someone unsympathetic to the undocumented immigrants, ICE could become involved. ICE would compromise, or even derail, our efforts."

 

To be continued...

 

I am starting a new e-mail list because the previous one contains several incorrect e-mail addresses. If you would like to be on the NEW announcement list for "Jeffery Comes Home," please send an e-mail by clicking here.

 

 

I would enjoy hearing your comments about this story. You can write to me at MaWriterBoy@yahoo.com.

 

This is my 18th posting of my fourth story on Nifty.org.

 

I also have three other stories on Nifty:

 

Sam and Chris in the `College' section

 

John's Journey Forward in the `Beginnings' section

 

Life With Tom in the authoritarian section (Please note, this story is not for everyone because there are several scenes depicting Master/slave and BDSM relationships. So, if you are not interested in this activity, please, please do not read this story.)

 

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