Date: Sun, 23 Mar 2003 01:18:34 -0500 From: Tom Cup Subject: Of Our Teenaged Years - Chapter 3 - Gay Y/F Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ What's new at TomCup.com? 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I usually fought the urge to jump out of bed because after breakfast it meant it was time to mower the lawn, rake it, and hedge it before moving on to washing and waxing the car. The weekend chores really could be done but 11:00 in the morning if a particular boy wasn't dragging his feet. When I heard the door to Mom and Dad's room open, I immediately got dressed and went to the kitchen. Mom was surprised to see me up before the coffee had even finished brewing. After confessing to Sharon, I wanted to sure up my position with my parents. I had no intents of making them struggle to get me to do my chores. I wanted to be the model son to my parents -- except of course I was gay. That fact made me want to behave better for their sake. I concluded that they would have enough to be ashamed of without me acting like a typical teenaged brat. So I was chipper as I cracked and beat the eggs for Mom, helped make the waffle batter. Sharon came out of her room shortly after the coffee finished brewing -- it's aroma mixing with the first bash of bacon -- and rustled my hair, shaking her head and smiling at me, while helping me finish setting the table. "Good morning," Dad said snatching a piece of bacon from the serving plate and getting a loving slap on his hand with the spatula Mom was holding. He kissed her on the cheek and then popped the bacon into his mouth. I smiled and wonder if these moments held new meaning for me because of my new self-awareness or because I was afraid that I would lose them. I must have seen that scene played out before me thousands of times. It meant so much to me: it meant that on Saturdays we were a family; we ate together. It meant that Dad had special privileges; he could sneak the first morsel of the meal but there was a price to be paid at Mom's hand. It meant that they still loved each other. I smiled watching them. Dad turned and our eyes meet. He smiled at me. "So I don't have drag my son out of bed this morning?" Dad grinned, "To what do we owe this early appearance?" I shrugged and smiled bashfully at him. He walked past me and rustled my hair. Sharon repeated the action and then Mom, as she began setting the meal on the table. I allowed them their fun. It was fun. It made me feel loved and I glowed in the warmth of their playful touch. ************* I mowed the lawn as Dad began racking. We made quick work of the mowing and racking of the yard. Dad edged the lawn as I began pulling weeds. By 10:30 we had had finished the lawn and were ready to start washing the car. Mom came out with lemonade and Dad and I sat on the curb, refreshing ourselves before beginning the last chore of the day. "So you going to tell me what's up?" Dad asked. "What do you mean?" "Son, I've known you for all your life. I have never not had to come and get you out of bed on a Saturday. I'm not complaining mind you, but you have been extremely helpful today. I have a feeling that any moment I am going to be sold a set of encyclopedias." I laughed. I wanted to tell him. I really did. It seemed to be the perfect moment. He was in a good mood, and he was inviting me to have a heart to heart talk with him. There could have been no better moment for me to tell my Dad what I longed to tell him, but the very idealness of the moment forbade me telling him. I didn't want to ruin the time we were spending together. "I love you Dad," I managed looking down at my shoes. Dad put his arm around me, pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him. "Well, let's get these chores done," Dad said as I released him and quickly wiped the tear from my eye, "There's a game on this afternoon and I am sure you don't want to hang around here all day." To this day, I wonder what made my Dad the man he was. I never really had to tell him I was gay. I mean, when I look back I think on that Saturday morning, as Dad and I sat sipping lemonade, he knew what I wanted to tell him, but in the end we simply affirmed our love for one another. That was enough; it was all I really wanted to know -- that my Dad loved me. Sam and I began spending more time at my house than at his. Gradually, it became apparent that we were an item. Then Dad walked outside one evening while Sam and I were in the middle of a good-bye kiss. Both Sam and I froze and stopped breathing. Images of Sam's Dad's reaction to catching Sam and my first kiss, as kids, flooded both of our minds. Dad winked at me, gently rubbed Sam's shoulder, made polite chitchat with us for a moment and -- before he went back inside -- made sure Sam knew that he was always welcome in our home. That was my Dad. Sam cried in my arms after Dad went back inside. He said that he wished that his Dad was like mine. I wish every Dad were like my Dad. ************ "Come in," I called to the knock at the door. It was Dad. He came in and sat on the edge of my bed. I figured he wanted to talk about catching Sam and me kissing. I couldn't look him in the eyes though I knew he wasn't mad at me. My shame came from having avoided talking to him about my being gay and, thereby, forcing him to open the topic with me. I sat on my bed, knees to my chest, playing with my bare feet. Dad sat facing me. He was quite for so long that I thought that he was going to make me speak first. I wanted to say something but I didn't know what to say. Should I apologize for being gay? That didn't sound right. Should I make a joke like, "guess you know I'm gay now! Hahaha!" I didn't feel like laughing so that wouldn't work. What do you say at a time like that? I didn't know then and I don't know now. Dad saved me. "You know I love you?" he whispered. God! How I need to hear those words. I nodded and start blubbering like an idiot. Dad gathered me up in his arms and held me. He shushed me as I tried to tell him how sorry I was -- yes, I did try to apologize for being gay after all. But Dad wouldn't hear of it. He kept telling me he loved me and that he was proud of me -- I thought that was as insane as my apologizing for being gay. How could a father to be proud that his son is gay? Anyway, Sharon was wrong. Dad did talk to me about sex. Mainly, he wanted me to be careful. He said that he and Mom could accept Sam and me for who we were but we needed to be careful about the rest of the world. "There are some real assholes out there," Dad said. I think it was the first time that Dad had ever sworn in my presence. By the time Dad left my room that night I felt whole and complete, like nothing could stand in the way of my love for Sam. I was wrong. ************ It bothered Sam more than I could understand that Dad had seen us kissing. I tried to explain the conversation Dad and I had after the incident but that only seemed to make Sam even more embarrassed. "Why are you being like this?" I asked as he pulled away from me. "I don't know. I need time to think." "About what?" "About everything. About us." "Sam, my parents are cool with it, so is Sharon. We can be ourselves at my house. Come on, don't be this way." "Gerald, it's just weird for me, OK? God, it's like when my Dad caught us. I have this feeling that things are going to blow up any minute now. How the hell could your Dad not care that you're gay?" "I don't know. He just doesn't!" "That's crazy! Nobody's Dad could not care that his kid is gay, nobody!" I was so angry at the way that Sam was acting that I wanted to scream, "Maybe my Dad really loves me!" But I didn't. I knew that his problem was that my parents hadn't fought about me being gay; they had simply accepted it. More than that, however, they had continued to love me. Their love for me, and acceptance of my relationship with Sam, was a constant reminder to Sam of his Dad's abandonment of him and his mother. Rather than rejoicing in my parents acceptance of us Sam was bitter and jealous. He hated the fact that his Mom still intruded into your time together when we were over at his house. Mrs. Swanson couldn't resist "checking in" on us. It was really humorous to me but it made Sam furious. "God Mom!" he yelled, "We're not doing anything. Just leave us alone!" For the most part, the statement was true. We hadn't really done anything except a lot of heavy petting and feeling each other up through our jeans. That was part of my frustration with Sam's behavior. He was pulling back right when I was ready to move forward. I had the blessings of my family and had accepted my long repressed feeling for Sam. I wanted his hands down my pants and my hand down his pants -- I didn't even know what else I wanted but I sure as hell wanted it -- and Sam, the person that had awakened these feelings in me, was becoming a cold fish! I masturbated more out of anger than anything else that night. It relieved some of my pent up frustration but it left me unfulfilled. I plopped down on my bed dejectedly, near tears over how Sam was behaving. "Trouble in paradise?" Sharon asked. "I'm not in the mood," I answered. "Oh, this must me good. What gives?" "I don't want to talk about it." "Yeah, you do or else you wouldn't have slammed the door when you came in here." "Sharon what the hell does slamming the door have to do with anything?" "If you didn't want to talk, little brother, you would have closed the door quietly so that everyone would have thought you were OK. Slamming the door is your way of saying, `I don't know what the hell is going on. Somebody please help me.'" I really wanted to hit her but I was afraid that she would beat the shit out of me if I did; and besides, she was right. Despite all my angry talk, I did want to tell someone what I was going through. "Guys can be such jerks!" I said causing Sharon to immediately start laughing and me to break out into a smile. "I've always said the same," Sharon said sitting next to me. "They say they want one thing and two minutes later they want something else." "Welcome to a girl's life, little sis." "Sharon." "Hey, don't give me shit. Do you know how boring it is trying to talk girl talk with Mom? I've never had anyone in this family to talk to about boys so don't go thinking I'm going to give you complete pity." "OK, OK... but could you drop the little sis thing... I'm still a boy, you know?" "hmmm... I don't know..." "Sharon, please? It's bad enough being gay and having my first boyfriend getting weird on me without having you calling me a girl." "All right I'm sorry. How weird is he getting?" I filled Sharon in as best I could with my thoughts and speculations. She listened, nodding. I confessed that I really didn't know what to do. "Well," she sighed, "If it is not to offensive, you should do what we girls do when our boyfriends are being jerks." "What's that?" "Disappear. Go to the mall tomorrow." "What?" "I'm serious. Guys are slow some times. It sounds like Sam is being the guy in this relationship and you are the girl that has to put up with him because you love him." "I'm not a girl," I protested. "In a manner of speaking, Gerald. You have more feminine characteristics than Sam. There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, it turns a lot of girls on -- better be careful about that or you'll be breaking hearts." "Gross." Sharon laughed. "Anyway, when we girls are dealing with a slow male, we simply give him the time he needs to get his act together. Going to the mall is a great diversion. And besides, it's a great way to meet other guys." "I don't want to meet another guy." "And how do you know that?" I didn't know that. I had assumed that Sam and I would be together, that Sam was the only boy for me. Sharon's question hung in the air like a blinking neon sign. I didn't really know anything. I was new to accepting that I was gay, to admitting that I liked guys, and to dating in general. Everything that Sharon said made sense to me. I decided that I wouldn't call Sam -- meaning the next day. I wanted him to have a day to think about what a jerk he was being. But I didn't want to mope around the house however, waiting for the day to pass. That was the reason I gave myself for heading to the mall with Sharon. It was a lie. I was going to the mall for one reason; I was going to scope out guys. ************************************************************************ Send comments to: comments@tomcup.com To support this and other stories by the author, join at http://www.tomcup.com. If you like this story, check out Tom Cup's "Calvin: A Coming of Age Story." Available at Barnes and Nobles Bookstores, Amazon.com and our local independent bookseller.