Date: Tue, 26 Feb 2002 19:38:24 -0800 (PST) From: Brew Maxwell Subject: Tim, Chapter 1 Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental. It contains descriptions of sex between teenage boys and between adult men. If you are offended by this type of material, or if you are forbidden by law to read it, please exit the story now. E-mail comments are gratefully accepted. Tim Chapter 1 When I woke up that morning in late January, I felt for Rick beside me in bed. He wasn't there, and his place wasn't even warm. Then I remembered that it was Saturday and that he would be doing a long run. How anybody could take pleasure in running twenty miles when he could be home in bed was beyond me, but Rick was almost as devoted to running as he was to me. Saturday morning was a chance to get in long-run training for the marathon, and he looked forword to that as much as a kid looked forward to Christmas. I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I showered, but I didn't bother to shave. Rick and I rarely shaved on Saturday mornings, and if we made love on Saturday afternoon, he would rub his bristly chin on my butt to tease me. Thinking about making love to Rick made Mr. Happy tingle, but I ignored it and got dressed. I considered myself just about the luckiest man on earth that morning. Rick and I had made a solemn life commitment to one another about a month before, and the golden gleam of my wedding ring sort of symbolized that golden time for us. We had been together for a little more than three-and-a-half years when we took the plunge, and we both looked forward to spending the rest of our lives together. A child, a little boy of our own, we hoped would one day round out our family, but, at twenty-five, neither of us was ready to take on the responsibilities of fatherhood, and nobody was willing to let us, anyway. I had set up the coffee maker the night before when we went to bed, and I turned it on. I got the newspaper from the holder under the mailbox out front, and the coffee was ready by the time I got back inside. I poured myself a cup, adding sweetener and fat-free half-and-half, and I sat at the table in the breakfast room part of the den to read the news. I scanned the front page and read part of an article about the war in Afghanistan, glad that it didn't touch us in any way. Then I turned to the sports page to read about the awful beating the University of Alabama football program had taken the day before at the hands of the NCAA. I wasn't an Alabama fan, but I certainly respected the University and its football program. I thought the punishment was a bit excessive, and an honest-to-God chill passed over me when I read that the next step would be the complete elimination of football at the school if they violated their five-year probation. No football at Alabama? That was unthinkable. I looked up from the paper and caught sight of what was going on in the yard next door. George Murphy, our neighbor and good friend, and his son, Tim, were in what looked like a pretty serious conversation. George had a basketball cradled between his right arm and his body, and he had his left hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim looked distraught, and George kept gesturing toward our house. I wondered if they were talking about us. George was of indeterminable age somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five, and he was in excellent shape. George was a Navy dentist, and they had lived in that house about a year, having bought it from the Navy dentist who lived there before them. There was no Mrs. Murphy on the premises, and there were no other children. George didn't date as far as we knew, and he and Rick and I had spent many hours talking over coffee, dinner, or drinks. George had seemed genuinely excited when we got married, and he was one of only a handful of people to give us a wedding present. Tim was a good looking kid of fourteen. He stood about five feet, six or seven inches tall, almost as tall as George. The fading remnants of his summer tan were faintly visible on his shirtless back. Just the week before, George and I had discussed the fact that the seventy-five-degree temperatures of north Florida in January were blowing his Massachusetts-bred mind, and Tim's acknowlegement of the temperature and his blatant disregard for the fact that it was mid-winter no doubt added to George's consternation at the weather. Tim's dark blond hair looked wet. It might have been wet from the sweat of a one-on-one with George, but it could just as easily have looked that way from the gel he used on it to keep it in its totally dissheveled hairstyle. Tim had filled out noticeably since they moved in, and he was well on his way to developing into Rick's, and (to a lesser extent than Rick's) my own, athletic body form. Tim had played baseball for his middle school, and Rick and I had caught a few games the previous spring, especially when George couldn't be at them. Tim had gone out for freshman football, too, that fall, but he had quit the team over some kind of altercation with an older and much larger teammate. Tim felt completely at ease in our house, and he had been our guest five or six times when George had to be out of town on business for a few days. I focused my attention back on the newspaper. In a few minutes, I poured another cup of coffee and returned to my reading. Just then the phone rang. "Hello," I said. "Can you believe that fucking shit?!" It was my brother, Craig, the mild-mannered New Orleans attorney who just happened to be a rabid football fan, albeit a Tulane partisan. The bastard had actually wormed my mother out of her ticket to the Super Bowl the next day, so the phone calls from the Super Dome would be fewer than I would have otherwise expected had he been watching the game at home. "Did you just read about it in the paper," I asked. "Yeah. Did you?" "Yeah, but I saw it on CNN last night, too," I replied. "Why didn't you call me, asshole?! What good are you, anyway?" "Oh, so it's 'asshole,' is it," I asked. "Sorry. I meant to say 'Shithead.' You know that, baby brother." We both laughed. "Shithead" was his and my dad's term of endearment for me, and, frankly, I loved it when they called me that. They never said it in anger or with a mean twist; I was just Shithead. Thus began a thirty-minute conversation about the University of Alabama and it's tale of woe. "So, are you and Rick watching the game tomorrow night," he asked. "What game," I asked in return. "Eat me!" "What's the matter, bubba? Isn't Melissa taking care of your big stud cock?" Melissa was his wife, also a lawyer, and one of the nicest people I had ever met. If I hadn't been gay, I might have tried to win her away from him. "Besides, you know we promised Mom and Dad we wouldn't do that." We loved teasing one another, and it was often about our respective sexual orientations. Craig had always been my best friend, staunchest ally, and boldest defender, and he would have cheerfully tried to stand down a tank-load of gay-bashers if they were after me. He was so totally at home with my sexuality, and so accepting of it, that he could poke fun at me about it without a trace of rancor or ridicule. When Rick and I first got together, and Craig did the same thing with him, Rick was puzzled and a bit confused at first. When Rick figured out that it was all a game and as much an expression of love as anything, he joined the fray, giving Craig as good as he got from him. "Fuck you," he said. "Oh?" There was a ten-second pause, and we both burst into laughter. "Hey, listen. I've got to go. Rick's just getting home from his run. Enjoy the game. Call me." "Don't you dare hang up, motherfucker! Put my brother on this phone." Craig was very excited. Sometimes he called to talk to me, and sometimes he called to talk to Rick. We were both his brothers, in his mind, and he was our brother in our minds, too. Rick opened the back door and walked in. He was dripping sweat, but his breathing was back to normal. He came over to me and kissed me good morning. I could feel the heat eminating from his body. "Is that Craig," Rick asked. I nodded and handed him the phone. I hit the speaker button so I could hear the opening exchange. "Did you just kiss him," Craig demanded. "Yeah. So what?" "It's disgusting, that's so what," Craig said. Rick was grinning. "I kissed his butthole last night. And then I ran my tongue up into it as far as I could get it. Then, when I had him all opened up and dripping, I fucked his ass till he couldn't stand it, and he shot a load of cum that drowned a dozen bedbugs. One of these days it'll be your turn, Big Boy." All three of us roared with laughter. When it died down, Craig said, "Did you have a good run?" "Yeah. Real good." "How many?" "About twenty, maybe twenty-one," Rick said. "Damn. That's pretty good for a fag," Craig said. Rick grinned. "Naw. Most fags do forty miles on a day like today. But I was trying to pass for straight." Craig screamed with laughter, and Rick and I joined in. When the laughter subsided, Craig said, "Turn the fucking speaker off, Kevin. My brother and I need to talk." "Yes, sir, Mister Craig," I said. "Kiss my sister-in-law for me with plenty of tonuge, you hear?" "Shithead," he said, and we all laughed. I turned off the speaker, and Craig and Rick launched into their conversation. I poured myself another cup of coffee, and I got Rick a cup, too. I tuned them out because I was sure Craig was telling Rick the same stuff about the Alabama fiasco he had told me. In fact, I was pretty sure he was also telling Rick stuff I had told him, without attribution, of course. They talked for a good thirty minutes before hanging up. "Did you have a good one today," I asked Rick when he had finally hung up. "It was okay. I've got to figure out how I can get more water, though. I'm going to suggest that the club set up hydration stations on that course on Saturday mornings. Running with a back pack sucks." He was referring to the back pack he used to carry bottles of water when he's on a long run. The "club" was the North Florida Running Club, and many of their members did long runs on Saturday mornings. I was a non-running member, and I didn't really relish the thought of getting up at 5 o'clock on the weekend to man a hydration station. I'd do it, of course, for the man I loved, but I'd do it half asleep. "What are you going to do today," I asked. "I'm going to get the leaves up in the yard, for one thing. If those people next door ever move, I'm going to cut that damn sycamore tree down while the house is vacant." He was referring to a tree in the yard of the neighbors to the south, not the Murphys. The house the Murphys lived in had had a popcorn tree in the back yard that spewed seeds in Rick's flower beds every year. Those seeds germinated prolifically, and Rick cursed every one of the seedlings that popped up. After the previous dentist moved out and before George and Tim moved in, Rick had taken his chain saw over there and had cut the popcorn tree down. The sycamore tree in question was much larger than the popcorn tree had been, and the leaves were as big as hats. He loved the big pines and oaks we had in our yard, but he hated sycamores and sweetgums for the messes they made. "What are you going to do?" "The usual errands," I replied. We had divided the labor. On Saturday morning, I went to the cleaners, went to the bank, went to the grocery store, and got the cars washed. If the cars needed an oil change or tire rotation or some other service, I took care of that, too. He took care of the yard. That was something I hated and he loved. We had a maid service that came on Fridays to clean the house, so we didn't have that to worry about. We could have had a lawn service, too, but Rick insisted he do that himself. Rick and I had a good life. We were both managers for an international hotel/resort corporation, and together we earned over $100,000.00. Our house was paid for, thanks to some generous grandparents of mine who believed every kid should have a trust fund from birth. That year for Christmas my parents had given each of us $10,000.00, which was the maximum they could give without having to pay gift tax, and Rick had used his money to buy himself a car. It was a used car, but it was a real honey of a four-wheel-drive SUV. My car was a lease, and the lease was paid for. We had no debts except for our monthly utility bills and such, so we had lots of money to dispose of, if we wanted to. We weren't at the table for more than five minutes when the phone rang. "I'll bet that's Craig again," Rick said. "Let me get it." "What?!" And then, "Oh, jeez, George, I'm sorry. We thought you were Kevin's brother calling back with more of his bullshit." Pause. "Of course, man. Come on over." Rick hung up the phone. "Yikes! That was George, not Craig." I laughed. Just about everything Rick did and said amused and delighted me. It must have been the "honeymoon effect" at work. "Did George say what he wanted," I asked. "No. Just that he wanted to talk to us. I hope I didn't do something to piss him off," Rick said. "I saw him and Tim in their driveway earlier. They were having what looked like a pretty serious talk, and George kept pointing to our house," I said. "Hmmmmm," was Rick's only reply. George tapped on the back door and opened it as he was tapping. "Hi, George," Rick and I said in unison. "Hi, guys. Are you guys looking forward to the big game tomorrow night," he asked, jovially. "Yeah," Rick said. "We're having some guys over to watch it. You want to join us?" "I'd love to, but I doubt I'll even see the game, where I'm going," he said. I suddenly realized that George's joviality had disappeared, and he wore a look of concern on his face. "Where are you going," I asked. George took a seat at the breakfast room table, and Rick got him a cup of coffee. He refilled our cups, as well. "My unit has been called up. I'll be on my way to a hospital ship in the Indian Ocean by tomorrow night." "What? When did you find out," Rick asked. "Late yesterday afternoon. We leave from the air base tomorrow at two." "Shit," Rick said. "They sure didn't give you much warning." "They rarely do, especially in war time," George said. "When the war first started, I did some investigating, and I was led to believe we wouldn't be needed over there. It's gotten bigger than they anticipated, though, and there are all the POW's they're catching." "But you're a dentist," I said. "An oral surgeon, actually, and I'm sure that's why I'm on the list. People get dental wounds in war, too. Professionally, it's a great opportunity for me, but personally it couldn't have come at a worse time," George said. "Why? What's up?" That was a personal question, and I never would have asked it if I thought George didn't want to talk about it. "It's Tim." "Jeez, George, I didn't even think about my buddy," Rick said. "What's going to happen," I asked. "Will he have to go live with his mom?" "That's out of the question, Kevin," George replied. "Ordinarily, my parents would come, or at least my mom would, to look after him, but my grandmother had a stroke during the holidays, so Mom and Dad have to be on hand to look after her. My dad's just about an invalid because of his rheumatoid arthritis, so he can't come. Guys, I'm going to cut to the chase. I'm here to ask for your help." "Well, you know you've got it," I said. "Of course, you do, George. What can we do?" I wasn't surprised that Rick would feel that way, too. "I need to ask you guys if Tim can live here with you." The look on George's face let me know we truly were his only hope. Rick and I both grinned broadly. "Oh, man. That'll be great," Rick said. "Now I'll have two playmates!" I laughed out loud at what Rick said, but George had a much more serious look on his face. Rick read his expression and panicked. "Oh, George, I didn't mean anything sexual by that comment * at all! * I just meant another person to hang out with and have fun with, like with sports and all. Kevin and I would never, ever do anything sexual with Tim." "Calm down, Rick. If I didn't know that to the very core of my being, do you think I would be here right now? I'm ready to trust you two with my son. I don't take that lightly at all. And I trust you guys in every way. Totally." "Phew! I'm glad you feel that way, George," Rick said. "Rick. Kevin. Tim's going through a very difficult time right now. For the last week, ever since his scout campout, he and I have spent time talking about sex and sexual orientation, and Wednesday night Tim acknowledged that he's gay." "And...." I said. "And...I don't think he's very comfortable with that, yet," George said. "What about you," Rick asked. "Me? He's my son. I've always loved him, and I always will. Nothing's changed, Rick. I would have hoped you already knew that about me." "I did, George. I just wanted to hear you say it, is all. Kevin and I have never doubted where you stand, man. You've been a good friend, and we appreciate that." "Tim's going to need a lot of guidance and support in the next few months, guys, and I wish to God I could be here to give it to him. But that's going to be your job, if you're still willing to do it." "George, if Rick and I know anything, we know what it's like being a gay teenager. He won't find any stronger support than he'll get from us, that's for sure. No offense to you, but we've been there, and you haven't." "I know that, Kevin, and don't think you guys would have gotten off the hook of being big brothers to him, even if I were going to be here. I was already counting on you guys to help us get through the adjustment. It didn't come as a surprise to me, by the way. Did it to your parents?" We both shook our heads 'no.' "What you guys don't realize is, you have already made it a lot easier for Tim," George said. "And for me, too, frankly." "What do you mean, George," Rick asked. "Well, look at yourselves, guys. You're young, good looking, virile men, well educated, successful in your jobs, obviously very much in love with one another, and obviously very happy. And you, Rick. You're an athlete's athlete. For a gay fourteen-year-old to have you guys living next door is pretty compelling, you know? Hell, I'd be proud to be gay if I could be like you guys." "Jeez, George...," Rick said, "I don't know what to say." "Don't say anything. I wasn't flattering you. I was just telling it like I see it," George replied. "But, George, you have flattered us and honored us beyond words, man. And if I don't shut up right now, you're going to see just how virile this young man is when I start crying my eyes out," I said. George stood up. "Come here. Both of you." Rick and I moved over to him, and he grabbed us into a hug. Rick and I responded in kind, and the three of us stood there embracing. George kissed each of us on the cheek, and we broke our hug. "I took a chance and made an appointment with the base legal office for two o'clock. I sure hope that won't spoil any plans you have," George said. "No, of course not," I said, "but what's up?" "It's a standard kind of thing, really. We'll meet with a lawyer or a paralegal to get stuff like guardianship papers filled out and signed. I'll also execute a full power of attorney so you can have access to my bank account. I'm set up on direct deposit for my paycheck, and all my regular bills are paid automatically by charging them to my credit card. I'll be able to handle that, I think, but you'll need money for Tim and for emergencies with him, if any come up." "We've got money, George..." "Rick, don't even go there. I don't want to hear it. I'll probably be able to monitor my bank account on line from the ship, and if I don't see money taken out of it on a regular basis by you guys, you'll both have hell to pay when I get back. And I mean it. Okay?" George had used his most authoritative Navy officer voice on that one. "SIR, YES, SIR," Rick said. George grinned and punched Rick lightly and affectionately on the arm. "Well, listen, guys, I need to get cleaned up before our appointment, and I do have a little packing to do. Why don't you come over at 1:30, and we'll take my car. Is that okay?" "You betcha," I said. "See you later." After George had left, I said, "Can you believe this? Are you okay with this?" "Okay with it? I'm so damn excited about it I'm about to wet my pants." On that line, Rick left the room for the bathroom. Upon his return, Rick started talking a mile a minute. "Man, Kevin, we're going to be daddies. We're going to have our own kid, and he's gay and everything. Did it surprise you that Tim is gay? He sure doesn't act gay." "Oh, Jesus, here we go again," I said. Rick was unquestionably 100% gay, and he and I were fully out to everyone, but every once in a while he allowed the old stereotype about "acting gay" to surface. "Damn, that was a dumbass thing to say, wasn't it," he asked sheepishly. "Are you mad at me?" He gave me one of his puppy dog looks that never fail to melt my heart. I grabbed him around the waist and kissed him hard on the lips. "Is that a 'yes' or a 'no?'" "Get your cute little ass in that bathroom and take a shower so the lawyer won't think you're a derelict," I said, grabbing his cute little ass. "Come with me," he said. He knew that was an offer I couldn't refuse. We played with each other in the shower, kissing, rubbing, and bringing one another to the height of arousal. We dried each other off and adjourned to our bed. Rick was an inspired cocksman that day, and he filled me with his love and made me explode. After we had come down from the height of passion, we held one another, occasionally kissing, occasionally petting one another, constantly enjoying the closeness and tenderness we felt for one another. We communicated our love nonverbally for a long while. Finally, Rick spoke. "I wonder if Tim has a boyfriend." "Did you have a boyfriend when you were fourteen," I asked, knowing the answer ahead of time. "You know about Jason," he replied. "You told me you guys had never fooled around," I said. "We still haven't, and we never will, as long as you're alive." "I thought Jason was straight," I said. "He is. He was my boyfriend, but I wasn't his." I chuckled. "Did he know you had a crush on him," I asked. "Not then. I told him I loved him when I came out to him when we were seventeen. It was right after we graduated from high school. Kevin, I've told you all of this stuff before." "I know you have, but I still like hearing it. But back to Tim. Would it bother you if Tim had a boyfriend?" "No, why would it," he asked. "If he has questions about sex, though, you're going to have to answer them." "No, we'll answer them together, and we'll be totally honest with him, too. Okay?" He hesitated for a moment. "What if he asks about anal?" "We'll tell him about it. And if he asks if we do it, we'll tell him we do. But we'll also tell him that we waited until we were absolutely sure we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together before we started having anal sex, and we'll encourage him to save it for someone very special. We'll teach him about safe sex, too." "What if he asks if we use condoms," Rick asked. "We'll tell him the truth. What we do is safe. Neither of us has ever had sex with anyone other than each other where there was the transfer of semen, right?" "Kevin, if you're asking me if I've cheated on you, you know I haven't. What's up with you, man." I had, in no way, intended to challenge Rick about his fidelity, but what I had said came out wrong. He was pissed off at me at that moment, and he had every right to be. I continued holding him, but he had tensed up. "Babe, calm down. That was not what I meant to imply. I was just confirming the point that what we do is safe. Please forgive me, Rick. I know you're all mine, and I've never even had a hint of a doubt about that." He relaxed in my arms. "Besides, if I had any doubt, do you think I would have let you shove this thing up my ass just now?" I took hold of his penis as I said that, and it immediately began coming to life. That was a sure sign his anger had passed. "What time is it," he asked. "Shit! It's ten after one. We don't have time right now. But this bad boy belongs to me later, you hear?" "I'm sorry I got annoyed at you a few minutes ago, Babe," he said. "If I had been paying better attention, I would have known what you were doing. Forgive me?" "Come here, you little sex monkey. There's nothing for me to forgive unless you don't forgive me." "Little sex monkey" was a pet name we used for one another, and it delighted both of us. "There's nothing for me to forgive, either," he said, smiling sweetly at me. "So why am I holding your dick," I asked. He laughed, and his laughter made me laugh, as well.