April 21, 2001

Comedy of Errors

Chapter 4

Written By: Justin Case

Edited By: Wayne

This story is property of Justin Case and Justin's Corner

Publishing Company. It may not be reprinted for sale purposes in any fashion with out permission. Justin Case is registered trademark 2001

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic sexual content and language. If it is illegal for you to view this material, you must leave this site now. The tale is pure fiction, any similarities to real people, places, and things is coincidental and intentional. Justin Case, his editor, and publisher accept no responsibility for the actions of the reader before or after reading this material. Copyright protected 2001.

SoapBox®: Hello my faithful; thanks for the notes you've sent me about this story. I appreciate all your comments, I really do. I want to thank you all for your constant support in my work. If I didn't have you, I would be a guy with a bunch of words just jumbling around in my head. You give life to the words; you give me purpose to continue, for that, I am truly grateful. You can e-mail me if you like on the home page, or the Dear Justin page of my site. I hope to hear from you all soon!--

As Always, Just, Justin

I couldn't believe how deliberately he had told me. I told my parents I was gay just last year. It took me months of agonizing over it, and months of figuring out exactly what I was going to say. When I was about fourteen, I told Stevie that I thought I might be gay and he took it all in stride. It was the scariest thing I had ever done, telling Stevie. I had heard so many stories at Monson Academy about `fags,' and never anything good. From everything I had ever heard, or been taught, people who like the same sex are less than human.

As I said before, I had developed early, and had had attractions to other boys as long as I could remember. There were many times when I wondered if I would just `grow' out of it; many more times I hoped that I did. No matter what I did, my brain just wouldn't cooperate; the thoughts of pleasure from other boys never left my mind.

I remember when I was about thirteen; it was the first year we were taught Sex Ed and human development in school. I was in the eighth grade, my first year at Monson Academy. We had a great teacher whose name was Mr. Silk. This was his first year teaching; he was supposed to be some kind of a genius. All I know is he was really cool.

Mr. Silk told us everything about his own life, including things about his family and how he made decisions in his own life. I remember him showing off his new car. He told us he bought a new car every other year. He had just taken delivery on a brand new BMW the month before school started. One day, about a week after starting at Monson, he took the class out to the parking lot to look at his car. I don't know why, but I felt a certain connection to Mr. Silk. He didn't try to put on airs, although he could have. He was as down to earth as a man could be.

The entire Sex Ed class gathered in the parking lot that September day to view this engineering delight Mr. Silk had just purchased. It was black, all black including the interior. It was a convertible, and the cloth top was black, too. The only other colors on the coupe were silver, white, black and blue insignia, and the shiny chrome trim. It gleamed in the late summer afternoon, and you could see your reflection in the high gloss finish.

He told us it was some numbered model; I was never good about remembering such details. He went into the horsepower, the engine size, and all the technical specifications; none of which made any sense, or impression on me. It was a sleek car; I fell in love with it. I imagined myself some day owning such a fine automobile. After all, I was a Winslow; we were self-made.

Along with Sex Ed, Mr. Silk taught a course called Distributive Education. It was only offered to sophomores. DE, as it was called, was a three-year course. I took it, all three years. It was a business course that taught me all about marketing and retailing. I loved it, especially the sales portions. If you were taking DE in your senior year, you could go to `work study.' The 'work study' program let you go to school in the morning and work in the afternoon. You were graded on your job, just as any other class.

Well, I'm sure I'll get into all that later, for now let's get back to where we were. Mr. Silk had an effeminate way about him. He would use `limp wrist' type motions and had a definite wiggle when he walked. He didn't lift his feet, as most people did, when he walked; he kind of slid them, or scuffed his soles along the ground. His voice was higher than most men, and had a feminine quality to it. He was particularly close to another Business teacher, named Miss Arndt. I hated her; she was a bitch with a capital `B', and the feelings were mutual. I guess it was his body language that attracted me to him. Whatever it was, as I said earlier, I felt a connection of sorts to Mr. Silk. There was something about our relationship; sometimes it was explosive, other times, gentle.

Mr. Silk was the first to teach me about homosexuality. I was thirteen. He told our class that some people were called `homosexual.' I remember thinking at the time that it was a funny word, `homosexual.' Mr. Silk told us that throughout history men were attracted to other men, or boys; but sometime in the past, it fell out of acceptance. He taught us that sexual desire was natural and instinctive. He went on to say that women, while they had some attraction to other women, were not as inclined to act on their desires. I remember learning that men had a stronger sex drive. He even taught us that men were designed to reach their `sexual peak' at a much earlier age than women; it was biological, he explained. "Sexuality is predetermined, it is in our genes," Mr.Silk reported. It certainly made sense to a thirteen-year-old who questioned his desires. Everything I saw on television, or heard in the world, said otherwise, and made no sense.

I knew then that I was more honest with myself than others were. I admitted to myself the feelings I had, but didn't have the courage to speak out. I thought I was unique, because I didn't have any attraction to girls, and Mr. Silk had taught us that humans were instinctively supposed to reproduce the species, as did all animals. I had no interest at procreating when I was thirteen, so I figured I was all alone.

I remember when I told Stevie about my desires, he laughed, and told me I had better keep thoughts like that to myself. "You're queer," he said. Therefore, I did just that, until the feelings became so overwhelming that I had thoughts of killing myself. I didn't want to actually die, but I didn't know how else to relieve myself of the suffering from being different. That was when I decided to tell my parents, the second greatest terror in my life.

I told my mother first, she was always so understanding and comforting. I knew she wouldn't yell or scream at me. It took me months to build up the courage to tell her, though. I didn't want to loose her love. I picked a day when I was home on school break; a day when only she and I would be in the house. It was a Wednesday, last May, my father's golfing day. He golfed every Wednesday at the club, from the second week in May until the second week in September.

I remember how my mother was sitting in her chair in the dining room. I casually walked in as I did many times before. I sat in my chair and waited patiently for her to acknowledge my presence. In the Winslow home, a child is seen, but not heard. After a few minutes, my mother looked up from the plate in front of her. She gazed over her glasses at me.

My mother was a small woman, about five foot two. Her hair was pure white, and she kept it short and combed back on her head. My mother looked much older than her fifty-something years; her face was all wrinkled. She had the softest blue eyes that peeked at me. Above her small nose were resting the cat's eyeglasses. The glasses had black frames and small rhinestones at the corners above the lenses. Her teeth were all crooked, and no matter how much care she had given them, they were deteriorating rapidly. I thought she was beautiful, despite what age had done to her. She was my mother.

"What can I do for you, James?" Came, her sweet voice.

"Mother, I have something to tell you. I don't know where to begin. I just have to tell you, because I am too scared of what I will do if I don't," I said quietly from my place at the table


"Well, if it is that important, then you must. I want you to know that I have an appointment at the hairdresser in an hour, though. Will this take long?"

I thought to myself; how very important was my life to my parents? I didn't care. I knew if I didn't say something, I would kill myself. It had gotten to the point where I was thinking about how I would `off' myself. I had even pictured my funeral. My biggest fear was how she was going to react; would she still love me after I had told her? It had taken me several weeks to finally decide that there was no other way to find my inner peace.

"Mother," I announced, and began crying. "I am a homosexual."

That was the beginning and end of the conversation. All my mother did was nod at me. The sunlight coming into the window was glittering off the rhinestones, and all I saw was the twinkling of the fake gems; the colors of the rainbow flashed into my brown eyes. I sat there motionless awaiting a response that never came. It had taken me literally months to plan this, and she said nothing. I finally stood and began to walk out of the room. My mother called to me.

"James, it's OK. I am glad you told me. Let's not tell your father just yet."

The tears streamed down my cheeks as I went back to my bedroom. A few minutes later, Charles came up to my room. I told him what had happened; sometimes he was the only one I could confide in. Charles was always there for me; his six foot six stature was truly far above the rest. Charles listened intently and never uttered a word until I was completely finished sobbing.

"James, some of us know, while others think, but we all think we know," was all he said.

It took me quite a while to figure out what he meant. I'm still not sure if I do. I just knew he didn't judge me. Our relationship seemed to be different from that day on, but he never gave me any reason to doubt his affection for me. It was from that point on that I told Charles everything. No matter what bothered me, I knew I could count on him.

We sat in my Porsche at the very southern tip of Nantucket, right near the lighthouse that was built in the late 1700's. The sky had begun to darken, and the bright light shown from the tower that was a sailor's guide mounted on the shore. I looked at Danny while he sat next to me; he constantly rubbed his hands together. I noticed how smooth his complexion was. I shifted my weight in the seat, and leaned towards him. The moment the secret had been exchanged, I knew we were destined to become good friends.

"Wow, you're the first person I have ever met who told me they're gay," I finally said to him.

"And you are the second I have ever told, but the third that has told me."

"What do you mean? How come three people told you, but you only told two?" I wondered aloud.

"One of them was, how you say, a troll?" He burst out laughing. His white teeth showed bright in the dusk.

"Really, a troll, huh?"

"No, it was someone that was very old and I was very young. He scared me," Danny explained.

"I guess I understand."

We sat in my car for another hour, watching the sea bringing the tide onto the shore, and the waves crashing along the man-made jetty which was built with boulders. The light from the lighthouse reflected off the caps of the rough sea water as it moved back and forth. The crashing sounds of the massive tidal motions of the sea against the shore were deafening, but therapeutic. I kept the radio on with the volume low. We listened to `oldies'; he liked them as much as I did. We chatted more about him, than me. He told me about his mother and her illness. I was totally enchanted with his story and his ability to communicate. He was the only Puerto Rican I had ever known, and he was gay.

I remembered that we had Stevie waiting for us at the club, so I determined that we should go. Danny seemed a little nervous about meeting the others, but I assured him I didn't like anyone else on Nantucket, except Stevie. Not counting my family, I added. He seemed content and agreed to go with me. I also told him, that if he felt the least bit uncomfortable, we would just leave. I rather hoped he'd be uncomfortable, because I wanted to spend more time with him alone.

I eased my car into the Nantucket Country Club parking lot. I had to park far away from the entrance; it was always like this on Thursday nights. All the parents would go and play bridge during the day, and then go home for cocktails. While the parents were away, the kids took advantage of the club. I hated most of the people who shared the island, especially Ellis and his bunch. I felt badly when I thought about the plan which Stevie was sure to have put in place. I hoped it wouldn't hurt Danny more than it had already.

We got out of my car at the same time, and slowly walked to the front entrance of Nantucket's finest social gathering home. I slid my membership card into the slot that was mounted next to the double doors, it was magnetically read, and a buzzer sounded alerting me to fact that the door could be opened. I stopped briefly as I entered the club; I turned to Danny and smiled.

"Listen, Stevie likes to fuck with these people, so just go along with what ever happens. OK?"


We walked into the lounge where I knew they would all be. In the center of the room, seated at his family's table was Ellis Knotsworth. Ellis was an ass; he had to be the center of attention no matter how boring he was. I hated him more than I hated any other person I knew. Sitting at his table were some of the others he kept in his company. Marcy, his girlfriend, and just as self-centered, was on his right. On his left was Jonathan. I swear to God, if Ellis took a sharp turn to the right or left while he sauntered about, Jonathan would break his neck because his head was so far up Ellis' ass. I smirked to myself as I pictured it. Stevie was sitting on the opposite side of the round table, across from Ellis.

"James, how good of you to join us," Ellis faked his happiness


"Why yes, old man, how's it hanging?" I retorted.

"Please," he grossly exaggerated his phony sentiments. He knew I was gay; by now most on Nantucket knew.

My father had talked to several of his golfing friends about my revelation. He golfed with Tom from Peron's Market, and as I said earlier, telling Tom was like taking out a fucking ad. Not that much was secret on Nantucket; it had that small town, small mind mentality.

"I see you brought your cousin. Ellis, Marcy, this is Danny, James' cousin, here from Boston for the summer.

I could feel all eyes on us. I was dying inside. I couldn't wait to see where Stevie was going with it. I just had to go along, that was my end of the deal. I was glad I had prepared Danny. I could tell right away that he was just like me, a practical joker. I learned all I knew from spending so many summers with Stevie.

Danny walked right up to Ellis and stuck out his hand, offering it to be shaken. He looked Ellis right in the eyes; his mouth had the biggest grin you could imagine. Ellis, being the well-mannered bore he was, rose to his feet to shake hands with my `cousin.'

"Eees so nice to meet chu," Danny laid on his best Spanish accent.

"Damn, don't you love the way he sounds, Marcy? I got to get to Boston more," Stevie said.

We both sat down at the table next to Ellis'. I did all I could to keep from laughing. I had no idea where this was all going to end up. I just went along for the ride. Stevie liked to have his jokes played so that no one knew what was really going to happen, and often these tricks could last for weeks.

"So James, how is Danny related to you again?" Ellis finally asked after he had sat down. He couldn't take his eyes off Danny.

"Oh, it's his mother's, brother's, son," Stevie offered.

"Where are you from, Danny?" Ellis asked.

"Boston, I told you, he's from Boston. Didn't you hear the accent?" Stevie kept it going.

We sat around the club for quite a while; everyone tried to out do himself, or herself, being polite to my cousin. They were all so freaking competitive, and followed Ellis' lead. Ellis was too stupid to know that Danny was Puerto Rican, and being that he was related to my mother's side of the family, he wouldn't dare dishonor him.

As silly as they were, they had their standards, especially in the Country Club. No one would dare dishonor their `great' family in the club. It was an unwritten rule that was followed by all the `blue bloods'. As long as Danny was with me, as my cousin he would be welcomed, if they knew he was Puerto Rican he would have been tossed out on his ear. The Nantucket Country Club was an exclusive club, for white members only.

After a few hours of idle gossiping and ridiculing of the lesser people on the island, I had had enough. I decided it was time to go home. I wanted to spend some more time with my new friend. I think he was just as ready to go as I was, as he hadn't spoken a single word for quite a while. I kept shifting my eyes from him to Stevie, hoping they would take my silent hints to leave. Finally I just came right out and told everyone I was tired, and said good night to them all. Danny and I walked silently to my car.

"You hungry?" I asked him, settling myself into the driver's seat.

"Yeah, I thought you'd never ask, 'cousin'," he shot me a grin, as I sped away into the darkness.

Well, some interesting things to ponder. Not really a cliff hanger, but I think it is a build up to one. The only way to find out is to stay tuned. See you next Sunday with the next chapter.

Thanks Wayne for the fine editing job.

I hope the rest of you keep the letters coming, I love getting mail.