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This story contains graphic depictions of sex between consenting teen males and an occasional adult, so if you're some sort of puritan or prude, you ought not to be at this site to begin with, and you certainly shouldn't read any farther into this text. Likewise, if you aren't old enough to read this garbage according to the laws, local ordinances, etc. wherever you happen to be - Shoo, go away.
I hope you're enjoying this story, but please remember that it is set in a world where there are no such things as STDs or deity-of-your-choice forbid HIV or AIDS, so you won't be reading very much, if any, about condoms except in this paragraph. This should not in any way be construed as advocating unsafe sex. Quite the contrary - protect yourself as much as you can, no one else is going to do it for you.
Do not modify or redistribute this text, or show it to any religious zealots or anyone else who will be horribly offended by it without my express written consent.
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* * *
Emo Boi Finds Love
Chapter Thirty Eight
Luke ran through his parents' house on the way to his room, hoping to avoid any questions about where he had spent the night. He'd made it about halfway down the hall when he heard his stepfather calling to him. "Shit!" he cursed quietly under his breath as he turned to go back to the den where his stepfather could normally be found parked in front of the television in his recliner.
"What?" he asked with a slightly hostile tone as he walked through the open double doors into the den where Bill was watching a soccer match on TV.
Bill Caswell was dressed in his usual wife-beater shirt and boxers. There was a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer resting on his ample stomach between his hands. His eyes ran up and down his stepson's body, examining the way he was dressed. The look of disgust on his face intensified as he surveyed the t-shirt that barely came down to the boy's waist and the tight, low-riding, hip-hugger jeans he was wearing.
"Jesus H. Christ boy, can't you dress like a man?" Bill asked. He didn't know for sure that his stepson was gay, but he strongly suspected it, if nothing else just because of the way the boy typically dressed. Luke's mannerisms were not effeminate in the least, but Bill's stereotypes were deeply ingrained, so nearly anything that didn't fit into his particular mold was to be avoided or ridiculed. This was especially annoying to Luke as he definitely did not fit into his stepfather's view of what it was to be manly, and was constantly reminded of it.
"Was that all you wanted?" Luke asked; the annoyance was obvious in his voice. He was anxious to leave the room, collect his things and return to Kevin for the remainder of the long weekend.
Even though it was still morning, Bill Caswell started drinking beer the moment he got up when he did not have to go to work. Because of his alcoholism, this was more often than not as he had difficulty holding a job. This left Luke's mother as the primary support for the household. It also meant that Bill had difficulty maintaining his train of thought, which worked out to Luke's advantage generally, and particularly in this situation. "No, just get the Hell out of here," Bill answered, forgetting why he had called the boy into the room.
"I'll be spending the rest of the weekend with a friend," Luke called back over his shoulder as he resumed his trek toward his room.
`That little sissy boy does have a sweet, girlie little ass. Someday I'm gonna find out if the little queer really does like to take it up the butt,' Bill thought as Luke turned to leave.
"Leave your mother a note so she knows where you are," Bill grumbled as the boy disappeared around the corner.
Luke threw some clothes into a backpack, along with his toothbrush and other toiletries. He didn't think he would require much clothing -- he quite correctly suspected that he and Kevin probably wouldn't be wearing clothes very often over the next three days. Before leaving home to go back to rejoin Kevin at Thomas' house, he went to the kitchen to grab an apple and scribble a quick note to his mother so she would know where he was. While in the kitchen, Bill called out for Luke to bring him another beer.
`Goddamn drunk,' Luke thought as he took the beer from the refrigerator. `I can't understand what Mom sees in that old bastard.' Then he had another thought... Luke unzipped his pants and ran the head of his penis around the top of the can where Bill would be drinking from before he took the can into his stepfather. "I hope the old son of a bitch likes the taste of dick,' Luke thought as he carried the beer into the den where Bill still sat, slumped in his recliner watching TV.
* * *
Tyler and Chris were deep in the heat of passion when the sound of the squealing hinges heralded the opening of the front door. Their attention was so focused on what they were doing that they were oblivious to the noise. It was the verbal exclamation that followed a moment later which claimed their attention.
"What the FUCK is going on here?" a deep voice bellowed, accompanied by a high pitched, feminine scream.
Chris immediately rolled off of Tyler and covered himself with his hands. Tyler propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view of who it was who had interrupted them, but made no attempt to cover his throbbing erection. Standing just inside the door was Chris' father, and beside him a woman who was not his wife.
The blonde woman with Chris' father turned around so as not to look at the two boys they had just caught almost `in the act'. She thought they had walked in on a couple who had broken into the home to party and have sex, rather than her lover's son and his boyfriend. Chris scrambled to get his clothes back on, but Tyler made no immediate move to do the same. It wasn't until Chris tossed his clothing at him that Tyler began to redress himself.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Chris' father demanded once again.
"Um, it isn't what it looks like, really..." Chris stammered.
"What it looks like is that you and your queer little friend there were about to polish poo on my bearskin," his father spat back.
"No Dad, that's not... We weren't... I mean, um..." Chris was lost for words. His worst fear -- his father finding out that he was gay -- had just been realized. He'd also discovered at the same time that his father was cheating on his mother, though the significance of that had not yet occurred to him or how he might use it to his advantage. It had however occurred to Tyler.
"You and your little butt-buddy just get out of my sight and out of my house!" his father intoned. His voice was stern. Chris was sure that he had never seen his father this angry ever before. It was just the reaction he had feared if and when his father discovered that he was gay. Chris glanced over at Tyler who was just now zipping up the fly on his shorts. Tyler pulled his t-shirt over his head, took Chris' hand in his and walked toward the door.
Tyler smiled brightly at Chris' father as they left. "Have a good afternoon Mr. Reynolds," he stated cheerfully. "Say hello to Mrs. Reynolds for me." Then he pulled Chris out the door after him.
When they got to Chris' car, Tyler opened the driver side door for Chris, then pushed it closed after Chris sat down in the driver's seat. Chris seemed to be in a daze. Tyler walked around the car and got into the passenger seat next to him. They sat in silence. Chris did not even start the car's engine.
"Dude, that was totally fucked up," Chris finally said a few moments later. "I guess this wasn't the best day we've ever had together."
"It was just fine, I've spent it with you," Tyler replied, smiling brightly. Then he leaned over to give Chris a kiss, directly on the lips. The kiss was a long, lingering one. Their tongues each wrestling for dominance as their mouths opened to each other. When they broke apart, they looked back toward the house. Chris' father was glaring at them from the front window; the woman who was not his father's wife was clinging to his arm. No one noticed, but Tyler raised his cell phone and snapped a quick picture of them as Chris drove away from the cabin.
Chris and Tyler were almost halfway home before they spoke. It was Chris who finally broke the silence. "You know he's going to kick me out of the house don't you?" were the first words to finally leave his lips.
"No he won't," Tyler reassured him. "There's no way he can."
"How do you figure that?" Chris asked. The glaringly obvious had still not struck him due to the shock of just having been found out a short time before.
"Do you know who that woman was that was with your dad?" Tyler asked.
"Um, no, why would I?"
"That's exactly the point. They were there to do exactly the same thing we were. He can't say anything about us without letting your mom know what he was up to."
"I hadn't thought of that," a stunned looking Chris admitted.
"Aren't you glad you have a smart, devious boyfriend?" Tyler responded.
Chris reached over and gave Tyler's crotch a quick squeeze. It was immediately apparent that Tyler was still quite horny, and Chris wanted to do something about that. The question now was where. Twice already they had been interrupted that day. "So where shall we go now?" Chris asked. "We still have something to take care of." He emphasized his point by giving another squeeze to Tyler's groin.
"Well, there's always my bedroom," Tyler suggested.
- - -
The reception Chris received from his father when he returned home that evening was cold. The man glared at him, but did not speak a word. It was only after dinner that his father called him into the study and told him to close the doors behind him. Chris did as he was told; pulling the sliding doors shut when he entered the room. Chris was dreading what was to come. He hoped he would have the strength to follow through with what Tyler had suggested.
"About what happened at the cabin today..." his father finally began. "I don't want a homosexual living under my roof. It's a sin -- an aberration in the eyes of God and I won't permit it under my roof."
"Is it more or less of a sin than adultery?" Chris asked quietly.
"That isn't the point!" his father replied angrily.
"I think that's exactly the point!" Chris retorted, his own anger now awakened. "You can throw me out if you want, but I'll bet that in a day or two, I'll be right back here living with Mom after she throws you out for fucking around on her with that little tart you showed up with at the cabin this afternoon."
His father suddenly became very quiet. He was not accustomed to his son defying him. "You wouldn't say anything about that... You have no idea what we were doing there..."
"Oh, I know full well what you were doing there. And so will Mom," Chris stated flatly. He was surprised that he was finally finding it this easy not to back down to his father.
"What I was doing at the cabin is of no concern to your mother."
"Then what I was doing at the cabin is no concern of yours!" Chris was now determined not to give up. He could not let his father win this argument -- Tyler had convinced him of that before they parted company that afternoon.
"What my son does is a concern of mine!" His father was nearly yelling.
"And my father screwing around on my mother isn't supposed to be an issue for me?" Chris asked quietly.
Chris' father finally realized that he wasn't going to win. He had caught his son in an embarrassing position, but he had been caught in one equally as compromising. "Get to your room! I'll deal with you later!" was all he was able to come up with as a response.
When Chris left the room, he flung the sliding doors open, banging them heavily into their wall recesses. His mother was in the living room, and heard the commotion as Chris stormed out of his father's den and toward the stairs to go to his bedroom.
"Chris, what's wrong?" his mother called after him.
"Nothing Mom," he called back. "Just a father and son discussion..."
- - -
"It worked out just like you said it would," Chris told Tyler quietly on the phone a few minutes later. "He really didn't know what to say."
"I thought that might be the case," Tyler told him in reply.
"I'm scared though," Chris confided. "This whole thing could tear my family apart. I don't think I could stand that."
Tyler had a hard time thinking what to say. He knew how important Chris' family was to him, so he needed to try to provide some comfort to Chris. "Chris, just remember -- no matter what happens, I'll be here for you." Tyler was sincere in what he said, but he wasn't sure his remark was really enough. Chris thanked him, but still ended the call a moment later. Tyler had a sense that once again Chris was keeping something from him.
- - -
Alone in his room, Chris' heart was pounding. He knew that Tyler would be there to support him just as he had promised, but he wasn't sure that would be enough. The one thing that did keep running through his mind was that he was sure that his family was going to be torn apart, and all over his and his father's sexual misdeeds. That was something that trumped even his affection for his lover, much though he believed he loved his shy, yet strong, Tyler. The only way he could think that he might be able to keep the break-up of his family from happening was to discontinue his relationship with Tyler -- but he was going to have to convince his father to give up his mistress as well. He just didn't know how he was going to accomplish either. He loved Tyler, and did not want to break his heart, but in his naivety he tried to convince himself that the bonds with his family were tighter.
Later that evening, Chris was lying in bed when his father entered the room. He didn't knock -- he just came in and shut the door quietly behind him. Chris could tell his father had been drinking; the smell of scotch whiskey was heavy on his breath as he approached, somewhat unsteadily. This was unusual for his father. He'd have a few beers during a cookout, or wine with dinner, but Chris could never recall him having drunk hard liquor. His father sat down on the side of his bed. The light was dim, but Chris could swear his father's eyes were bleary -- he was quite drunk, that much was sure.
"Chris, this thing you're doing has got to stop," he said.
"So are you going to stop what you're doing?" Chris asked.
His father suddenly became angry. "I told you already, that's none of your concern!"
"If it concerns my family it most certainly does!" Chris hissed back at him.
His father was amazingly fast for a man as intoxicated as he seemed. He reached out, grabbed Chris' right arm and twisted. Chris winced in pain, but didn't say anything.
"Now, I'm telling you. You are going to forget everything you saw at the cabin today. You are going to stop seeing that little freak you were with today, and you are going to get yourself a girlfriend like normal boys do. Understand?" His father twisted a little harder to make his point as he ended the statement.
Chris was now nearly doubled over as his father continued to twist his arm. The pain was becoming unbearable. "Jesus Dad, stop! That's my pitching arm! You're going to break it!"
His father didn't seem to hear him; he just continued his quiet tirade against his son. "You just remember what I told you, and you damn well better do all of it, buddy boy, or you will be out on the street." His father gave one final twist as he ended his statement and got up from the bed to leave. That was all it took. There was a loud snapping noise as Chris' arm broke, but his father didn't hear it over the pained scream Chris let out as he exited the room.
- - -
Chris' mother sat in the waiting room at the hospital while doctors tended to her son's injury. Her husband had given up drinking hard liquor long ago, before Chris was even born -- until that night. It always had the same effect on him -- making him violent -- and that had nearly ruined his life once, so he had given it up -- or so his wife had thought. They did maintain a full bar in their home for guests when they entertained, so there was no question where it had come from. The question for her was what had caused the sudden relapse after all these years? Her son had not opened up to her on the way to the hospital, so she was completely in the dark about what had happened between father and son. She did correctly surmise that it must have been something serious to set her husband back to drinking -- and to the point that he would have abused his son so badly, but she could only wonder what it was.
A doctor finally appeared to talk with her. There was a slight, balding man in an ill-fitting, rumpled grey suit trailing behind as he approached. He had a large leather valise in one hand. She stood as the doctor approached, her hands clasped in front of her. Mrs. Reynolds?" he asked.
"Yes doctor -- how is my Christian doing?" she asked. When she was either worried or angry, Chris' mother tended to use his full name, even though Chris didn't like it.
"He's going to be fine, but the fracture he's sustained will require surgery to mend, so we'll need you to sign these consent forms." The doctor handed her a clipboard and indicated where she needed to sign or initial in several places. When she was done, he said "There are a few questions about how his injury occurred. This gentleman is here to take care of that."
"What are they?" she asked, eying the little man who had followed him into the waiting area. "I'll certainly do whatever I can to help..." Chris' mother was sure she knew where this was going. She'd been through it before, back when her husband had been drinking far too much. She had made excuses for hospital staff and the police back then. She just wondered if she could be as convincing to cover up for her husband's drunken rages and abuse as she had been back then.
"I am Detective Constable Lowenstein," he introduced himself. "I'll be conducting the investigation into your son's injury." The detective offered his hand and Mrs. Reynolds reached out to take it. The handshake seemed rather weak in her opinion, not at all what she expected of a police officer, especially a detective -- not even this rumbled little man. He showed her his identification and asked her to sit, which she did. He took a seat across a small table from her, keeping a professional distance. "Mrs. Reynolds, I'm afraid there are some suspicious things about your son's injury that I'm hoping you can help me clear up."
"Well, I'm not sure what more I can tell you, other than it was... um, it was just an accident. He just tripped on the stairs and fell. I can't understand why the police are involved, or why there would be a need for an investigation." She was lying of course, remembering back to when she used to protect her husband when the police were called by their neighbors because of the loud fights they had early in their marriage, and trying to do the same thing now. This was different though -- back then it had only been her -- now it was her son who had been hurt; and from the look in the detective's eyes, she was sure her lie had not been convincing to him.
"Well Ma'am, I'm afraid that isn't at all consistent with the young man's injury," Detective Lowenstein began. "And I'm sorry to say that's why I was summoned here."
Lorraine Reynolds realized she had been caught in her lie, but she had been so programmed to protect her husband back in `the bad days' that she wasn't able to help herself. "I'm sure you must be mistaken," she said very quietly. "I'm quite positive that must be how it happened."
"Mrs. Reynolds, that can't be how your son's injury was sustained. I've seen the x-rays. He has a radial fracture. It's unusual in a child of his age, but it is consistent with abuse. The injury could only have happened by a severe twisting of his arm." The detective was very firm in the way he made the statement, which seemed contrary to his character.
Lorraine dropped her face into her palms and started to silently weep. She couldn't go back to the way things had been before -- back when her husband was regularly drinking liquor, especially if it meant that now he was going to hurt her son instead of her. She broke down and admitted to the policeman what had really happened, at least as much of the story as she knew.
When she had finished, the little man dug into his satchel and brought out a legal sized pad of yellow paper and a pen. He offered them to Lorraine, saying, "Mrs. Reynolds, I'm going to need you to write down all of what you've told me as your official statement please." He then brought out his cellular phone, punched up a speed dial number, turned and spoke quietly so that she wasn't able to hear his end of the conversation. Partway through the call he turned to ask Lorraine if there were any weapons in their home.
"I really don't know," she answered. "I really don't think so. Robert keeps some rifles at our cabin in the mountains for hunting, but I can't say if he has any at home or not. He isn't supposed to bring them back to the city, but he may have. I really can't be sure."
The diminutive detective turned away again and resumed the conversation on his mobile phone. A few minutes later, when he finished the phone call, he turned back to Chris' mother. "Mrs. Reynolds," he started, "I've dispatched a radio car to your home to take your husband into custody. You won't have anything to worry about when you get home."
"Is that really necessary?" she asked.
"Considering the damage he's done to your son's arm, don't you think he ought to be punished?" the rumpled little man asked.
Lorraine could only nod.
* * *
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