Date: Wed, 30 Apr 2008 16:45:41 -0400
From: niftyreadersclub@aol.com
Subject: The Journey - Part Four

The Journey

Part Four

Corbin wasn't around when I got home from work the next day.  It hurt.  It
pissed me off.  Zavid was in his room playing a video game and just barely
got a `hi' from him as I passed by announcing myself.  He was just that way
when gaming, totally concentrated.  How I wished he'd give that kind of
concentration to other things, anything; me, even.  There was no noise in
the house and it seemed haunting.  Next time, the girls would be here, of
course, but I started thinking that I might not like this new side of my
wife's job.

After brushing my teeth, I wandered around the house and finally into the
garage.  I leaned against the car and just looked around me.  Bikes,
sleeping bags, rakes, tools, an old coffee pot, so many things collected
over the years.  Many things no longer used or only occasionally.  I
noticed a rolled up piece of dark brown carpet up in the rafters that was
left over from remodeling the family room.  An idea occurred to me.  As I
entered the kitchen, Zavid was coming into the kitchen.  "What are you up
to?"  He asked, making his way to the fridge.

"Well, I was wondering what you thought about putting carpet down in the
tree house."

He looked at me oddly.  "Why?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I said, "There's extra in the garage, and it'd be
something we can do together."

"Tonight?"

"It doesn't have to be tonight.  Maybe Sunday?"

He grabbed a soda and closed the fridge door.  I could tell that he was
warming to the idea.  I was pretty sure he liked the thought of being with
me more than getting a carpeted floor.  With a smile, he said, "Okay."  He
walked up and stood before me, just looking at me.

"Are you still playing your game?"

"No, I just needed to finish a part before saving."

"Okay.  Do you wanna hang out?"  Wow, but it had been a very long time
since I asked anyone that question.

"What do you have in mind?"  I heard the crack in his voice as he spoke.
It was the first time I heard it, and I remembered when it happened to
Corbin.  Zavid's voice would soon change to what it would sound like for
the rest of his life.

"I don't care.  Whatever."  Still looking at me, he edged closer to me
until there could be no more space between us and we lost eye contact.  I
put my arms around him, learning that he needed a different type of
attention than his brother and sisters.  "Or," I started, "would you just
like to sit around and talk?"  It was a hopeful inquiry.  Zavid reacted
nervously; I could feel the tension in his body.  "Son, why can't you talk?
I mean, I'm opening myself up so much here for you.  You're so quiet and
withdrawn that I don't know what more to do."  I took him away from my body
enough to be able to look at him.  "Let me make some dinner and we'll
continue this."  He nodded very quickly and left the kitchen.

After we ate, I changed into pair of shorts and a muscle shirt.  I joined
him on the couch in the family room, turning off the program he was
watching on TV.  I couldn't help but have some directness in this
conversation.  "Alright, kiddo, I'm gonna ask you a few things."  He hugged
himself defensively.  "Number one, up until this summer, you had school
friends that in past summers you played with.  What happened to them?
Where are they?"

"I don't know.  We just lost touch."

"Hmm," I growled, but not negatively, "you lost touch."  He nodded.  "It
seems to me that you decided to lose touch with them."  I was glad that he
didn't have an argument about my statement.  "Why?"

"I don't know."

There it was.  It came to me harshly because I heard it twice within a few
moments.  I was in a world of `I don't knows.'

"I'm gonna start calling you `I don't know' if I hear it from you one more
time," I told him firmly, and using this tone of voice with him, he knew I
meant it.  I paused to let it sink in, pondering myself what to ask next.
It didn't take me long to look deep within myself and bring a new subject
up.

"Zave, I know you like boys, you admitted that."  I gave a moment for him
to adjust to another line of questioning.  I also thought how lonely he
must be, that there probably wasn't a chance in hell that he had anyone his
age to share his feelings with that would understand.  "You must be afraid
of everyone." I said.  He nodded.  "Son," I sighed, "people can't read your
mind.  People aren't going to look at you and think, 'he's gay.'"

"You did!" He retorted.

"That's because I know you," I shot back.  "Because I'm close to you."  I
could tell that I had his full attention.  My heart was thumping with
compassion.  This was my son, my flesh and blood.  "Do you feel that
naked?" I asked.  He looked at me queerly.  "I mean, do you think that your
feelings are that exposed that people can see right through you?"  I gave
him something to really think about.

"I don't want to see you torture yourself," I said quietly.

"Dad, I don't --"He caught himself.  Just barely.  "I'm...I'm not sure
how to think."  "Even with me?"  He nodded.  "Do I need to get naked again
for you to be comfortable?"  He stood up in a panic and I pulled him back
down.  "I'm kidding.  The only reason why I said that was because I want
you to realize that I don't have to be naked for you to be brave."  I had a
strong grip on him.  I kissed the side of his trembling face.

Sometimes I simply didn't know how to lessen my presence both physically
and in voice.  I knew how I sounded.  I knew how absolutely fearsome I
could be.  It was just a part of me that was every day, yet it caused
people to pause.  I had no idea how to get rid of that.  "Son, I'm going to
ask you something, and I want you to tell me out loud the first thought
that comes to your mind."  He nodded.  "What's the one thing, right now,
that you'd like to have happen?"

Hesitantly, he said, "I'd like you to hold me?"  It was a timid question.

I did.  He was shaking, but there were no tears.  When I didn't feel any
reaching from him, I said, "You can hold me back, Zave."  We became a
tangle on the couch.  He hugged me so hard I thought he would break his own
arms.  It was almost as if he was trying to crawl inside me.  The absence
of tears was a good sign to me.  Unlike before, in the tree house days ago,
he calmed down much faster.

I didn't know how much further to go at this point.  Everything with Zavid
was being emotional, and I wasn't used to it.  There was also the issue
constantly in my mind that Corbin could walk in at any moment.  I had such
a fierce protectiveness for privacy about this that it seemed to be an
exposed nerve ending all the time now.  "Does it feel good to be near me?"
I asked.  I felt his nod against my neck.  "Okay."

It came to my mind to talk to him about the birds and the bees in the
technical sense, but disregarded it.  He was a few years too old to try
that.  It made me realize for the first time that I never thought that my
sons were thinking sexual thoughts or that they'd started masturbating; so
much not shared with them.  I hadn't been growing up with them.  I thought,
however, that it wasn't too late to try to catch some of the youthfulness
of those very important times when, as a boy, your body developed and had
demands of its own.  Demands that just can't be ignored.

Suddenly, I found myself saying, "I remember when I first started getting
erections.  I was probably around ten when I remember it happening."  It
was funny, laying there, feeling Zavid detach himself from me enough to
look at me, watch me, and in an odd way waiting listening for me to
continue.  "I didn't know why it was happening.  I just knew that it was so
much fun and felt so good to play with myself."  Literally, I got lost in
time.  "I remember wondering what I was doing, why I was doing it.  I
couldn't leave my cock alone."  I felt Zavid's stare at the word cock, as
if he thought I wouldn't say it.  "I spent a lot of time touching myself.
I didn't know why it was so important to keep...pulling it.  It felt so
secret."

I came out of my past with quickness, and met my son's gaze.  I stared
back.  "Any of this sounding familiar to you?" I asked.  He nodded in a
knowing and surprised way.  I could see his shock that I had anything to
say that he could relate to.  I had to keep a hold on this.  It was the
first time, even silently, that he communicated in any way that we had
something to talk about.  It was also my first time that I thought I had
something that should be shared.  "I won't be shy about this if you won't."

After a moment, he nodded his head.  I could see how troubling it was for
him to think of what to say.  "I don't have anything in common with
anyone."

"Sure you do!  It's just that you're letting yourself be stuck on one
thing.  I'm not saying it's wrong, but there are many other things to think
about."

"Yeah, but not anything that will keep my mind busy except for my games."

"That only seems like it because you're not trying to do anything else.
You also spend a lot of time in the tree house."  At that, I smirked and
said, "What do you do up there?"

"Nothing."

"I've noticed a lot of stains on the floor up there lately."

"Dad!"

"Hey, I'm not trying to embarrass you." I smiled at the side of his face.
I knew I wasn't going to get him to look at me and couldn't hold it against
him.  "Do you masturbate a lot?"

"Dad!"

"You know you're gonna have to use some kind of towel once we put carpet up
there."  He cupped his hands to hide his face.  I could see that his ears
were turning red.  Now I was really embarrassing him, and I wondered if I
was partly meaning to do so to lighten up the conversation.

Chuckling, I sat up, pried his hands away and forehead to forehead I told
him, "Zave, I do it too."  I couldn't help but be amused seeing how tightly
shut he had his eyes.

"You know...how do you know if you're gonna like boys if you don't learn
that all of us boys are the same in one way.  We all jack off."  When he
heard me use other words to it besides the word masturbate, his eyes slowly
opened.  "That's the most comfortable way for me to call it.  Masturbate is
such a...an educated term.  There are actually many ways to call it.
What's your term?"

He slowly smiled, hopefully coming to grips with the fact that I wasn't
going to shun him for anything that was on his mind.  "Jerking off."

I kept smiling for him, even though I could feel his woody against my arm.
Instinctively, I wanted to yank my arm away, but told myself not to.  I
wondered how he could possibly be excited when he seemed so nervous.  "You
know it's not wrong, right?" I asked.  "It's just not talked about very
much in general conversation."

His eyes were on my smile as he said, "I'm kinda liking talking about it."
How instantly young minds can change direction in their immediate feelings,
I thought.  I must be doing something right here, I told myself.  "With
you."  I was actually enjoying the connection myself.

"I'm glad we're alone," he added.

Not reacting surprised, even though I was, I took in his meaning and
innocently backed away from being so close to him.  "Me too."  I decided
that I wasn't going to try asking any other questions but would openly
answer him if he chose to ask me anything.  I realized that I was a tad
embarrassed at my recent candidness, and that because of the topic, I was
at half mast.  As Zavid watched me, I wondered if, in his mind, he was
picturing me jacking off.  I really wanted to ask him that, but was certain
he'd regress from what progress I just made with him, and partly because I
wasn't ready to hear it, no matter how much I wanted to know about it.

And then Mister Bartender's words, `what's wrong with letting him see you
in all your glory,' or something like that, floated through my mind.  I
made myself stand up, swallowing hard, acting like I was adjusting my
khakis, the arc of my cock clearly visible and tenting the left side of my
shorts.  When I sat back down, I saw that Zavid was staring at the blank TV
screen, his mouth formed in a huge `O.' Fortunately, for my sake of mind,
he made no comment.  I didn't feel prepared for him to ask anything about
my cock.  I just wanted him to be comfortable with erections.  Plus, the
sudden nervousness deflated my shaft.

Sighing, I continued with my original line of conversation when we first
sat down.  "Zave, I'd really like to see you get out there and hang out
with your old friends."

He came out of his unexpected surprise.  "I'll...I'll try calling someone
tomorrow."

"You promise?"  He nodded.  I grabbed his neck and pulled him to me.

"Okay."  I didn't know why I did what I did next, but I kissed him.  It was
the same type of affectionate kiss I'd give one of my daughters, which,
too, was rare.  "How do you feel?"

By his reaction, I think I was surprising him more then I meant to.  He was
way too big to be crawling in my lap like when he was a toddler, but he
tried to do just that.  He looked happier then I'd seen him in several
months.  I laughed out loud and told him he was too big but he said he
didn't care.  And really, in some ways, I was wondering if all the
anxieties he was going through were stopping him from maturing at a normal
rate, or if he was maturing too fast.  It was impossible to tell.

The next day, I drove downtown, parked the car and found myself walking
through the door of the Roundup at around noon.  He was there.  As I sat
down, I imagined that this guy never took a day off.  If he wouldn't have
been there, I knew I would have walked right back out.  With whatever he
was doing, it took him a moment to notice me.

He stopped fiddling with the cash register, watched me for a few seconds,
and walked my way.  "Why, hello, Dad."  I smiled to myself.  When he
reached me, I could see that he was thinking of what he might say.  Then he
told me, "I was beginning to think that I scared you off."

I shook my head.  "No, just busy."

He grabbed a corona and put it in front of me.  "It's on me."

"Thanks."

"So how's it going?"

I had so much whirling in my mind that it was difficult to really answer
that question.  "It's going," was all I could find for words.  He remained
standing there in front of me.  I sipped my beer.  "You're killing me
here."

I met the gaze of his eyes.  "Why?"

"What's happening?"  He blurted out, laughing.

"There's...a...little progress."  Where to begin? I asked myself.  "I'm
skirting the main issue with him, but I think I've made him feel alright
talking about himself in my presence.  I believe though that
comfortableness will come and go according to other things around him."

The bartender nodded.  "It's understandable.  And you?  Have you found a
comfort level or are just forcing yourself into doing this?"

Tough questions.  Tough answers to give.  I've never spoken about myself or
my body with another man let alone talk about my activities with my son.  I
looked at him curiously.  "Is it easy for gay men to talk...cock talk?"

Grinning, he said, "It's a big part of our lingo."  I nodded, but
shuttered.  "In what way are you asking?  In general?  Or sexually?"

"I think I just mean if gays talk about personal stuff at a social level
also."

"We do," he nodded.

"I just don't want to embarrass myself here by saying something out loud."

"Trust me; I'm sure there's nothing you can say that I'll make you feel
embarrassed about."  Such easy words for him to say, I thought.  This all
came up in my mind because it was going to be a part of any explanation to
give between me and Zavid.  So I dived in.  "I did what you suggested.  I
let Zavid fully look at me naked."

I'm glad this guy smiled a lot as he listened.  "Cool name.  Never heard it
before.  So how'd you feel?"

"Naked."  We laughed.  "I'm not sure how I was supposed to feel, but it
broke the ice."

"Did he pay a lot of attention to your cock?"  I could feel the normalcy in
his use of the word in everyday language.

I shook my head, "Not that I could tell.  He seems to be fascinated with
my-"I abruptly stopped, staring at him.

He grinned, "Don't be shy."

"With my body hair," I finished what I was going to say.  I felt like I was
telling another man too much about myself.  He looked at my neckline and
caught a glimpse of visible hair there.

"You're a great looking guy," the bartender said matter of fact, and it
came to me as an innocent compliment and nothing else, but I was glad he
went back to the other subject.  "Did he try reaching for anything?"

"No, not really.  I hugged him."

"While you were naked?"  I nodded.  "That's awesome.  I'm sure that no
matter how he looked to you, inside, he was spinning with unexpected joy."

"Perhaps."

"So you two are talking?"

"About small things," I said.  "I had a great talk with him last night."
He kept his questioning eyes on me.  "I...I talked to him about erections
and the normalcy of them, the normalcy of jacking off.  About having
friends.  That he can talk to me about anything, more or less."

"And do you mean it?"

"I think so."

"And what if one day he asks if he can jack off with you?"

Stammering, moving my head around like I didn't know what I was doing, I
said, "I'd prefer not to think of that yet.  I have my suspicions that he
wants to, but the truth of it is so locked up somewhere in my head that I
can't think of it even if I wanted to.

"Anyway, what few times I tried asking him his thoughts about me he had
nothing to say.  I wanna try to keep him moving forward."

"I think you're doing well," Mister bartender told me.  "You're on the
right track.  And it sounds like you're right; he probably has a huge crush
on you.  You shouldn't have any surprise if it rears its head."

Silence came between us, a healthy silence.  "There's one other thing that
comes to my mind about this," he started saying.  "In the future, when he
starts seeing guys, you're gonna notice something you can't quite place,
can't put your finger on and it would bug you, but I'm going to tell you so
it won't be something that nags at you when the time comes."

"You're making me nervous.  What is it?"

"Don't be nervous.  Something like this is pretty normal in straights and
gays." I waited for him to say it.  "When you start meeting any guys he
dates, you're probably gonna see that they look a lot like you.  It's what
happens from first crushes, you get that image of that first person in your
head, and it stays with you.  You carry it and try to find it out there in
the crowd.  I think it's true for many, many people."

"Wow," was all I could say, thinking about that.  My shoulders slumped a
little at the thought of something else.  "I don't want my son to be in
love with me."

"Dude, don't jump the gun here.  There are many levels of love.  I was
never in love with my uncle, but I wanted to share something only he and I
could share.  Something special to keep close to my heart and have a secret
to share no one else knew about.  Something that, whenever we were around
each other afterward, we could...I don't know, wink at each other in
conspiracy."  Mister Bartender's mind was suddenly very far away.

"I better get going," I stood, bringing him back to the present.  "I'm
trying to spend a good amount of time with my sons, if I can."  He nodded.
"I've got a question before I leave."

"Shoot."

"Is it normal for gay guys to just openly have hard ons around each other
and show them?"

He chuckled, "I guess I think that that's a `to each him own' thing.
Personally, I'm not fond of anyone seeing me hard that I don't want seeing
it."

"I ask because last night, when I was hugging my son, I felt his little
woody against my arm and he didn't seem to mind it that I could feel it."

"Hmm.  My guess is that he wants to show it to you.  You might find
yourself in a game of `I'll show you mine if you show me yours.'"

I had to laugh.  That was a youngster's game, and at my age, I felt
unqualified.  "So you think he'll try to get to me with games?"  I asked
the question in all seriousness.

"He's a teenager.  For him it would be at his stage in life."

I nodded.  "Thanks for the beer."

"Sure."

As I left I told him, "You'll probably be seeing me every now and then."

"I hope so."