The Root Beer Boys, a story of love. © 2000 by K Ration. All rights reserved.
This story is dedicated to Bill, AJ, Driver and Squirt.
The Root Beer Boys
Our sexual activities increased a little bit, but not a whole lot. We enjoyed playing with each other in bed, and a lot of times we'd grab each other's crotch in strange places, like in movies or walking through the supermarket or in elevators. But sex beyond masturbating really didn't seem all that important. I suppose we beat off as much as any other teenagers our age, and usually we did each other rather than ourselves, but although we had heard about blow jobs we didn't feel a strong need to try it.
Actually, we talked about it one night in bed and decided to put it off as something to look forward to. We were lying there facing each other, fiddling with each other's penis when Wayne brought up the subject.
"What do you know about blow jobs?"
"Only what I've heard at school."
"So? What have you heard?"
"Just that most guys seem to think it wold be cool to have some girl suck their dick. I guess it's supposed to feel good."
"Oh. That's what I've heard, too."
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't know. I guess I was wondering if you wanted to do it?"
"Well, I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, you're still only 13 and I'm only 15. I don't think any of our friends have ever actually had one. In fact, Joey's the only one who even has a girl friend."
I had moved from Wayne's penis to gently stroking his scrotum which I knew really turned him on.
"Oooh wow! That feels good."
"So, what do you think? Should we do it?"
"I don't know, Andy. I just want to make you feel good."
His hand was sliding loosely up and down my rock hard boner, and I knew I was about to make a mess.
"You're making me feel good already. Why don't we hold off on the other stuff until we're really ready. It'll be something we can look forward to."
"OK. Love me?"
"You know I do, sport. I love you so much."
"I love you too, Andy."
The little squirt must have sensed that I was on the verge of cuming, because he leaned forward and kissed me, sliding his tongue between my lips and speeding up the action of his hand. In seconds, I was making a creamy deposit on his hand and the towel we had lying between us. His climax followed shortly after mine, and he added his seed to mine. We must have been communicating on that special wavelength of ours as we both brought our hands up and tentatively licked the other's cum from our fingers for the first time.
"Why'd you do that, Andy?"
"I wanted to see what I had to look forward to," I said with a shy grin. He tasted good. Salty and sweet.
"Me too. I like it."
We folded the towel and used it to clean up the residue on our dicks and hands. Then we turned off the light and went to sleep. I know we were each thinking about blow jobs and how special the first one was going to be. It was kind of neat to make that particular decision together, and I loved my younger sibling even more for wanting to wait.
Wayne and I talked it over, and he agreed with me. I think he was even more scared than I was. But he was only 14. When we told mom of our plan to tell dad together, we asked if she would stand with us. She agreed to be in the same room at least. I'm not sure if she thought dad might get violent or if she just wanted to give us moral support and courage.
Why I chose my sixteenth birthday, I'll never know. I mean that should have been one of the happiest days of my life. I had always heard that the sixteenth was a milestone of some sort, a day to remember. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed and all that shit. Except it didn't apply to me, of course.
Wayne and I had barely made it through our classes in one piece. I know each of us threw up at least once between the time we got home and dinner. Neither of us could eat much, which kind of set dad off. He wasn't the most patient man in the world, and wasting food stretched his patience to the limit. Definitely NOT a good way to set things up for what we had to do.
So anyway, on the night of my sixteenth birthday (I didn't have a party), Wayne and I approached dad as he sat in his rocking chair watching some football game on TV. Again, not a good sign. Dad was an avid sports fan and didn't like being interrupted, whether it was golf, boxing, basketball, baseball, soccer, or football. We walked into the TV room hand in hand, "nervous as a whore in church" as dad would have put it, and stood next to his chair. Mom moved over to stand against the wall. I had volunteered to speak for the two of us.
"Wayne and I have something to tell you."
It was like he hadn't heard me. He just continued to watch the game on TV.
"George, turn off the damn television!" mom said from her position against the wall.
Right then Dad knew something was up. Mom never cussed. He looked at her, then at us, then turned off the TV. He just looked at us expectantly. I didn't know anything about tact or diplomacy, or any of that stuff, so I just barged ahead, scared to death that I was going to throw up all over him before I could get it all said.
"Dad, Wayne and I are in love..... With each other..... We're gay."
Time seemed to stand still. Wayne was squeezing my hand so tightly I was afraid I'd have bruises. We were both on the verge of tears as the expression on dad's face went from a blank stare to total collapse. I mean, he just fell apart. Tears started to drip from the corners of his eyes, then they quickly became a flood as his eyes squinted shut tightly and his brow furrowed with deep ridges.
Of course, since we were expecting the worst, we concluded the worst. The first thought that ran through our minds was that he hated us. That he hated us so much he couldn't stand to look at us. I mean, this was only the second time I had ever seen my dad cry. And this was a lot different than the time he cried when he first saw Wayne. Tears of rejection and loss began to fall from our eyes. When dad finally spoke, we misunderstood what he meant. We could barely understand him anyway because of his tears and the fact that he spoke barely above a whisper.
"I am so ashamed!"
What were we to think? Of course we assumed that he was ashamed of us. Ashamed of his sons. His own flesh and blood as well as somebody else's kid. Wayne burst into hysterical sobs and ran from the room, thinking the worst. And that just made me see red. I attacked dad with more anger than I had ever felt in my life, slapping his head and his shoulders and his arms, anything I could reach.
"How could you SAY such a thing!" I yelled at him. "You fucking BASTARD! He loves you more than anything in this world! And you fucking tell him you're ASHAMED of him! I could understand you saying something like that about ME! I'm not even yours. I'm somebody else's kid. But Wayne's your own son! You ASSHOLE! I HATE YOU!"
Now I was hysterical, crying so hard the snot was dripping off my upper lip, and my whole body was shaking. I'm sure I said a lot of other stuff, but you get the picture. When I finally got tired of hitting him (they were all open handed slaps), I just stood there, defeated and too tired even to raise my hands again. Dad grabbed me by the biceps. He looked me in the eye as we both continued to cry. It seemed like forever, but mom says it was only about a minute. Things like that seem to last a lot longer than they really do.
"I'm not ashamed of you boys, Andy. I love you too much for that. And you're NOT somebody else's kid. Your MINE! You'll ALWAYS be MINE. Just as much as WAYNE is! I'm ashamed of MYSELF! Now let's go find Wayne."
On the way to our bedroom, dad wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Me? I just continued to cry. What did he mean he was ashamed of himself? When we got to our bedroom, we found Wayne sobbing uncontrollably. Can you imagine the sound of a 14 year old boy crying like that? Dad forced Wayne to sit up on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to sit beside him. Then he knelt down in front of us and drew us both into his arms. I told you he was a pretty big man.
We stayed like that for a really long time, all of us crying, the snot running down onto dad's shirt. When our cries finally subsided, dad tried to explain.
"Boys, how long have you known you were gay?"
"About a year."
"I'm sorry. I'm so ashamed. Not of you, but of myself. All those mean and hateful remarks I've made all your lives about gays, right in front of you, especially during the last year. I never, ever thought I would be talking about you guys. How horrible this past year must have been for you, having to listen to that stuff. I won't pretend to understand it. And I can't promise to change overnight. But your are BOTH my sons. And I love you more than anything in this world. And I would DIE before I hurt either of you intentionally, or even accidentally. That's why I'm so ashamed. I hope you will be able to forgive me someday."
Wayne and I looked at our dad's face and could see he was telling the truth. He really did love us, and he really was upset that he had hurt us.
So we all cried some more and hugged some more.
"I love you daddy," Wayne said in a whisper, sounding more like a little boy than a 14 year old.
"I love you too, dad," I added. "I'm sorry I got so angry and started hitting you."
"That's OK, son. I deserved it. And probably a lot more."
When we had stopped crying, the three of us sat on Wayne's bed and talked for a really long time. I don't think we had ever talked so long before. We tried to explain how we had fallen in love and what it felt like to love another boy. We even told him more than he wanted to know about our sex play, but I think he was glad to hear that we hadn't done much more than beat off together, although he knew that wouldn't last long. The last thing he did before leaving us to get ready for bed was promise that he would do everything he could to change his attitude.
And you know what? He did. In the weeks to come, he went to the library and got every book he could find on the subject of homosexuality. And he READ them. He even sat with us as we got on the internet and into some chat rooms with other gay guys. We always told the chat group that he was there and str8t. Most of the times the other guys were real nice and welcomed him and tried to answer his questions. A couple of times he asked questions in the wrong way and the guys let him know how insensitive he was being.
But he learned a lot. And in a surprisingly short period of time, his attitude did change. He learned that two people of the same sex CAN love each other the same way people of the opposite sex do. He even met with the pastor from our church several times. They went over all the scriptures in both the old and new testament that dealt with homosexuality and studied them. It was real helpful that our pastor was really good at going back to the Greek and explaining what was really being said in the scriptures. Dad learned that the condemnations in the Bible were against sex for the sake of sex as he put it. They couldn't find any scripture that condemned same sex love.
Eventually dad got to the point where he was actually introducing us as boyfriends. And you could tell he was just as proud of us now as he ever was. Sometimes it was a bit embarrassing, cause it didn't really seem necessary. It was almost like he was trying to make a point, that his sons were gay and he didn't care. He'd say something like "this is Andy, my oldest, and Wayne, my youngest. They're boyfriends."
He even suggested that perhaps we should start a gay/str8t alliance group. We'd heard about those on the Net, and he said he thought it would be a big help to kids who were struggling with their sexuality. He even took time off from work to meet with the principal at my high school about the idea. The principal was all for it but suggested that we should try starting it at church first and then introduce it at school by scheduling meetings in the library after classes.
And it worked. Of course it meant Wayne and me coming out to just about everybody in both the Junior High and the High School, but we didn't care, now that dad and mom both knew. He even made speeches at his adult Sunday School class, and the Rotary club and other places. And his Barbershop Quartet put on a show at the school to help raise money for posters and banners and stuff. There were a lot more gay and lesbian kids at our schools than either of us had imagined.
Not that everything was sunshine and roses. But dad was even able to make bad things turn out good.
There was an incident at church that really made Wayne and me proud of him. Church had just let out one Sunday and a big crowd was still gathered around in the fellowship area when this really old lady (I think she was about 84) who was well known for being feisty and antagonistic walked up to him. In a real loud voice, she told him just what she thought.
"Mr. B? I think your boys are disgusting! They shouldn't be allowed in this church and you shouldn't be here either. And you CERTAINLY shouldn't be the church treasurer with trash like this living in your home."
Well. Talk about farting in church! You could have heard a pin drop. And the floor was carpeted. I watched dad turn red by degrees as the entire room waited silently to see how he would react. The old biddie just stood there as though she were defying him to say anything. His hands clenched into fists a couple of times as his face got redder and redder.
Then I saw him physically relax. He went through a metamorphosis right there before our eyes. (Like that big word? I had to look it up.) The redness left his face and his body relaxed and he showed us all what diplomacy really is. By the way, he had this sign in his office that said diplomacy is being able to tell people to go to hell in such a way that they actually look forward to the trip. He looked down at that little old lady with a smile on his face and spoke softly.
"Well Hazel, I guess we're all entitled to our opinions. But one thing I know for sure. I know that God will forgive my anger at you just as surely as he will forgive your stupidity and ignorance."
And he hugged her! I about shit! Right there in church! I was so proud of my dad that day, and so was Wayne. As the old lady stormed out, lots of people came over to Wayne and me and to mom and dad and talked to us. I think that this situation, more than anything else, told us we were accepted by the church.
Mom and dad had gone out of town for a Barbershop music festival in which dad's quartet was one of the featured groups. It was a three hour drive and the last show wasn't over until almost midnight, so they had booked a room in a local hotel. Since I was almost sixteen and a half and they weren't going to be gone more than one night, they decided it was OK to leave us by ourselves. They left about noon on Saturday and planned to be back shortly after noon on Sunday. One of the conditions of leaving us alone was our promise to get up and go to church Sunday morning. We could skip Sunday school, but had to show up for the 11:00 service. That really wasn't so difficult. It was only about a mile and a half and we walked it all the time anyway.
We hadn't really made any specific plans for our first night at home alone. The fearsome five came over in the afternoon to play ball and throw the frisbee, but they had to go home for supper. That was another condition mom and dad had placed on us. But as things turned out, that was more than OK with Wayne and me.
Being all hot and sweaty from so much activity, we decided to take a shower before we ordered a pizza. Normally we showered separately, even after mom and dad knew about us. But this night was different. I sat down on my bed as Wayne started stripping off his sweaty clothes.
"Aren't you going to join me?" he asked with a little grin and a gleam in his eye.
I jumped up and began pulling off my clothes as fast as I could.
"Nope. I'm going to get there first and make you wait. Bet I beat you!"
"Oh, beat me, beat me," he said in his sexiest voice as he thrust his underwear clad crotch at me and laughed.
He shucked off his briefs just seconds before mine hit the floor. When I stood back up, he jumped into my arms and wrapped his arm around my neck. I immediately began to get hard. I had never held him this way before, naked in my arms like a child. His beautiful penis and testicles were right there for me to feast my eyes on, just a little bush of hair at the upper edge of his dick. He wasn't advancing rapidly in that direction, and I was glad of it. His practically hairless crotch was so beautiful. But even at sixteen I didn't have much more than he did. Sometimes I wondered if we really were brothers.
I carried him into the bathroom and set him on his feet next to the tub. As I did, his hips slid across my standing erection. The contact must have excited him, because he immediately began to get a hardon. His hands kept groping at my toys as I was trying to get the water temperature right. Then he started humping my hip with his boner like a dog does to your leg. Even though we were both laughing like kids, his erection sliding against my skin was making me hotter and hotter.
I really don't know what it was that night, but the atmosphere in that shower seemed to be charged with electricity. Were we just excited to be alone with no possibility of interference? Or was it the fact that we didn't have to hide any more or be afraid of mom and dad finding out about us? Or was our love for each other reaching new depths, or heights or whatever. Something was certainly different, and as we stepped under the shower I think we could both tell that tonight was going to be special.
We took turns soaping each other's hair. Then we each washed the other's upper body. Then things began to take a decidedly different turn. Wayne knelt at my feet and began running the bar of soap up and down my legs. I turned the shower off so it wouldn't wash the soap away as fast as he put it on. Eventually he dropped the bar of soap to the floor and began massaging my legs from ankle to hip.
He washed the cheeks of my butt with several swirling motions and even let his finger slip into the crack several times. I'd never washed myself there with my bare hands before. I was surprised at how good it felt. But he didn't linger there.
His hands moved around to my front and began gently massaging my scrotum, then my dick. I was looking down at him and felt tears come to my eyes as I saw him looking so intently at what he was doing. It was almost like he was worshiping my toys. Then he did something neither of us had ever done before, even in bed. He leaned forward and rested his cheek against my penis and testicles. Then he began rubbing his face all over them, like a cat going after catnip. All the time, he was playing with me, stroking me. I couldn't help it. I screamed and came all at the same time, my semen flying all over him and the tub. I think I would have fallen had he not grabbed me around the hips and pulled my crotch into his face.
When I could stand on my own again, I had to shampoo his hair again and wash him from head to foot to get my juices off of him. Then I returned the favor. I spent a little more time rubbing my hands all over that area that surrounds the base of his penis and playing with his thin patch of pubic hair. His nutsac is really sensitive, so I paid a lot of attention to it, stroking it gently with the fingers of my left hand as I began pumping his penis with my right.
I could tell he was getting ready to explode, but I misjudged how close he actually was. I had just leaned forward to kiss the head of his penis when he came. His first shot splashed against my upper lip and dripped down to my chin as the rest shot out onto my shoulder and chest. I can't begin to describe how wonderful I felt as he shared this part of himself with me for the first time.
Of course, he had to wash me again when he could stand by himself. We could have started a marathon of clean sex had we not been so hungry. Once I was clean, we turned off the shower, got out and dried off. I slipped on a pair of walking shorts without underwear while Wayne just slipped into a clean pair of briefs. I threatened to make him answer the door when the pizza driver got there, but he ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
That night was so kewl. We ate pizza and drank sodas as we watched one of our favorite movies. After we cleaned up the mess and washed our hands, we went back to the TV room and snuggled up on the couch to watch the Jay Leno show. That guy has a funny looking jaw, but at least his clothes fit better than David Letterman's. Even though we could kiss and stuff with mom and dad around, it was better when we were alone.
Did I ever tell you that Wayne was always the more romantic of the two of us? We were sitting on the couch with him leaning into me, my arm around his shoulders, my hand rubbing his chest somewhat absent-mindedly. I guess I wasn't totally absent-minded, though, 'cause I noticed when his nipples got hard, and my pecker was making a tent in my shorts. Just as I looked down and saw that he was in the same condition, he moved up to sit in my lap, my hardon trapped between his butt and my thigh.
Wrapping one arm around my shoulders, he began rubbing my chest with his free hand. At the same time, he began planting kisses on my neck and face. He started behind my ear and moved down to that little pocket between the collar bone and the shoulder muscle. Then he moved up to my face and kissed me everywhere but on the lips. Sometimes he'd make a little wet spot with his tongue, sometimes he'd drag his tongue along leaving a wet trail behind.
All the time he was doing this, my free hand was rubbing his thighs, first one, then the other. Once in awhile, as I moved from one to the other, I'd let my hand just barely rub across the head of his erection. This would make him shiver and squirm in my lap, making my own hardness throb.
Long before his lips got to mine, I could feel the wet spot that was forming in my shorts. At one point I looked down to see if he was doing the same thing, but he wasn't. I guess he wasn't mature enough yet.
As I told you earlier, it was commonplace for us to finish each other's sentences, know each other's thoughts. So it was no surprise that at the very moment his lips came to rest on mine, my hand came to rest on his package, fingers wrapped around his cotton clad boner. As the passion of our kiss built, I slid my hand under the waistband of his briefs and down onto his naked penis. His tongue slipped into my mouth as his penis slipped into my hand, and our emotions soared to new heights.
I really don't know how many minutes we were in lip lock, but it started about the end of Jay's monologue and didn't finish until the show was over. How long is that? 30 minutes? All that time, I just held onto my boyfriend's penis. I didn't stroke him. I just held it, like the prized possession that it was.
Dad had told us, in one of our many talks since he found out, that sex was a powerful influence on one's emotions. I think I was beginning to understand what he meant by that. And I had a sense that before the night was over I was going to understand it completely. Just having Wayne sitting in my lap, us sharing kisses and spit, his boner throbbing in my hand, mine pounding under his butt - all these things seemed to overwhelm my mind and transport me to a plane of euphoria I had never dreamed existed. And I knew it was the same for Wayne.
Sometime after the Leno show ended, we broke apart and rested. When our breathing had calmed down a little bit, we turned off the TV and went to bed, holding hands and looking at each other with these dreamy expressions of love. Did I tell you he was absolutely the cutest boy in the world? Well, he was to me anyway.
On the way to our bedroom, we stopped off in the bathroom, took a leak and brushed our teeth. All the time we were brushing, we kept glancing at each other, smiling and snickering like two young lovers. Well, why not? Isn't that what we were? Two? Young? Lovers?
As I pulled the covers back, Wayne slipped out of his briefs. And as he climbed into bed, I dropped my shorts to the floor. We were both soft. As I laid down and pulled the sheet up, Wayne started whispering.
"Does it ever bother you that we're gay?"
"No. Why are you whispering? No one's here but us."
He raised his voice a little but not much.
"It just seems more romantic, I guess. I'm in a funny mood."
All this time, our hands were roaming over the other's arms, shoulders, chest, neck, face and hair. It was almost like we were blind and were trying to memorize everything we could about the other by touch.
"Do you really love me? I mean as a boyfriend, not just as a brother?"
"Wayne, only God could love you more than I do! I love you as a boyfriend and as a brother."
"Serious as a heart attack."
For some reason we didn't laugh this time.
"Can we turn the light on?"
"Sure. How come?"
I reached up and turned on the light that was on the wall over my bed.
"I want to be able to look at you, to see what we're doing."
"What are we going to be doing, Wayne?"
I think I already knew the answer to that question, and I felt myself getting stiff. At least I knew what I hoped the answer was going to be.
"I dunno yet."
There was a period of silence as we just laid there staring into each other's eyes. You know? Sometimes Wayne could act just like you'd expect a 14 year old to act, immature and childish. But sometimes he surprised me and acted way beyond his years. This was one of those times. As I stared into his beautiful hazel eyes with the little flecks of green, brown and blue, I saw into the depths of his soul. I knew God had sent me a treasure that I would fight to keep forever. At that very moment I swore to myself that I would never do anything to hurt him. I would give up a lifetime of happiness if my own happiness meant in any way that I had to hurt him somehow.
As this thought went through my mind, I felt tears start to leak from my eyes. They were tears of love, commitment, and joy. They were tears of fullness and fulfillment. Even as tears were also dripping from his eyes, Wayne reached out and wiped mine from my cheek.
"I love you, Andy," he whispered, as though he knew what I was thinking.
Which, of course, he did. Just looking at him I knew he was seeing my thoughts in my eyes and was thinking the same thoughts. I leaned forward and gently, lovingly licked the tears from his face.
"I love you, too, Wayne. More than life itself."
We made love that night, for the first time, just as I had hoped we would. We made love to each other with our mouths, each bringing the other to a climax after a long period of oral adoration. And when we came, we each consumed the other's juice. I think we were both surprised to find that something that doesn't really smell very good can taste so absolutely wonderful. The first time we did it one at a time. Wayne insisted on going first. The second time we did it together.
It was the most beautiful experience of my life up to that point. I really don't have the vocabulary to tell you what that night meant to us, to explain how we were able to pour out our love for each other even as we were pouring out our very essence into each other's mouth.
But I'll tell you this. We fell asleep with Wayne's penis in my mouth and mine in his. And we woke up in the morning in that same position. It was wonderful. And beautiful. And I didn't want to get up.
As I came out of the euphoric state of waking up with Wayne's penis in my mouth, sucking on it like a baby might suck its thumb, I noticed the clock on the headboard. We barely had time to dress and run to church. No time for fun in bed, no time for breakfast. Fortunately we weren't singing that morning, because by the time we got there our clothes were a bit damp, especially under the arms.
Mom and dad got home in time to take us out to lunch. From the looks they kept giving us while we ate, I think they suspected what had happened. It must have been the glow on Wayne's face and the way we kept looking at each other. On the other hand, it might have been the way I blushed every time I looked at him.
We changed clothes as soon as we got home and went out to meet up with the fearsome five, as was our custom on Sunday afternoons.
I don't know what it is. Does everybody who has sex for the first time carry around some mark on their forehead that tells everybody else what's happened. I mean, it was amazing. The group was already gathered when we walked up, our arms around each other. Surely it couldn't have been the kiss I planted on Wayne's lips, right there in front of them. But Joey said it first and laughed.
"You guys did it last night, didn't you?"
"You guys had sex, didn't you?"
I guess the looks on our faces was enough, because they all jumped in, at least four of them did.
"You DID, didn't you?"
"You guys have been sucking wieners that can't be cooked!"
"Playing the bone-a-phone, Wayne?"
"Yeah, Andy's been blowing Wayne's meat whistle!"
Good ol' Aaron had to be last, and the most vulgar.
"Did you fuck?"
"You know, futt buckin'. Did you do it?"
The other guys jumped on him and slapped him around a little bit, yelling at him and telling him not to be so crude. They were just gentle, friendly slaps, nothing mean or serious.
"I oughtta just tell you it's none of your business, Aaron. But no, we didn't do that. But I gotta tell ya. You guys don't know what you're missing! Just wait til you get your first blow jobs. It's gonna knock your sox off!"
That's when the questions started fast and furious. Things like what a dick tasted like, how much could we take in, didn't it make you gag, what did it really feel like - to do it as well as have it done. Then the big question. This time it was Tommy Newberry who asked it.
"What's it taste like?"
We all just stared at him.
"You know. Cum. What's it taste like?"
Our answers were spontaneous.
"Cinnamon toast!" (That's Wayne's favorite food.)
"Vanilla ice cream with honey drizzled over it."
"...a heart attack!"
All this time, Brian had been strangely silent, quiet, kind of standing a little behind the other guys. At this point he said he just remembered some chores he had left undone at home and took off running. The rest of us joked around a little and wrestled some. The normal Sunday afternoon stuff. Then I told the group Wayne and I needed to talk to Brian. So the group broke up and we set off for Brian's house.
"How come we're going to Brian's house, Andy? What are we going to talk about?"
"I don't know for sure, sport, but he was awfully quiet today. Did you notice how he didn't ask any questions or kid around with us about what we did?"
"Yeah, now that you mention it."
"Well, it got me to thinkin' about something he said that day we came out to the guys. So I don't really know what we're gonna talk about. Just stay with me on this one."
When we got to Brian's house, his mom met us at the door. She stepped outside onto the porch before letting us in.
"Andy. Wayne. Good to see ya."
"Hi Mrs. M. Is Brian home?"
"Yes, boys, he is. He's in his room. He seems to be upset about something."
"Oh. Well we wanted to talk to him. Please?"
"Sure. I think that's probably a good idea. But before you go in, can I ask you to confirm something for me?"
"You boys are gay, right?"
"And you're boyfriends, right? I mean in love with each other?"
"Thank you. I think Brian does need to talk to you. Go on into his room, guys."
We looked at each other as we walked into the house and down the hall to Brian's room. He was lying on his bed, on his back, and we could tell he had been crying. In fact his eyes and cheeks were still wet. Wayne sat on the end of the bed as I sat down beside Brian.
"Can we talk?" I asked.
"Yeah. I guess. We're gonna have to talk sooner or later, so it might as well be now."
"You were awfully quiet today."
"I noticed you looking at me kind of funny while we were talking about what Andy and I did last night."
"It got me to thinkin' about what you said as you hugged me the day we came out to you guys."
The tears were really starting to well up in his eyes at this point. I even heard Wayne sniffing behind me.
"What was that? What did I say?"
"You said I envy you. Remember?"
"Why'd you say that? Why would you envy me being gay?"
(Sniff) (Sniff) - one from in front of me, one from behind me. I turned around to see Wayne wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Was I dense? Did he know something I didn't?
"I didn't envy you being gay! I envied you having a boyfriend!"
Dense as a sled track. That's what my dad used to say. Dumb as a stump.
"He's gay, dumbshit!"
Wayne can be mean sometimes. I mean, I know I'm slow on the uptake, but is that any reason to call me names?
"And I was in love with you until the kid came along! And now you guys are doing what I've dreamed of doing with you for years!"
And with that he burst into tears, covering his face with his hands.
Remember how I told you Wayne could sometimes act way older than his years? Well, this was another one of those times. As I turned to look at him, to see how he was reacting to this revelation, he just nodded his head in Brian's direction, telling me what I should do.
I turned back to Brian, reached out and pulled him up off the bed, hugging him to my chest, my chin resting on his head. I rubbed his back and whispered soft hushing noises as he continued to sob. His body was wracked with pain, his emotional anguish pouring out in the tears that quickly soaked my shirt. Wayne moved up the other side of the bed and sat down spread-legged behind him, wrapping his arms around the two of us and resting his cheek on Brian's back.
The three of us sat there for what seemed like hours. In fact, I think we were there for at least an hour, just rocking back and forth, comforting Brian. Actually, after about fifteen minutes we laid down on the bed, Brian sandwiched between Wayne and me, both of us hugging him. All of us were crying at one point or another. Usually together, but sometimes separately.
As we laid there I realized how much more difficult it was being gay and alone, with no one you could talk to or confide in or come out to. I'd always had Wayne, even before we knew about each other's feelings, but Brian didn't have anybody. His dad had died years before, and he had no friends outside our small circle. And until today he hadn't been able to talk to us either.
We sat and talked for a long time. Brian really opened up and spilled his guts. By the time we were finished, Wayne knew Brian didn't hate him or even dislike him for coming between him and me. He didn't feel that way at all. He just wished he had someone special in his life. And he said he wished he could at least tell his mom.
"I think she already knows, Brian."
"She asked us to confirm that we're gay and in love with each other, then she said she thought you really did need to talk to us. I think she knows, man."
"Hey, don't worry. I think she's cool with it. It'll probably be a relief for her when you tell her. That way she can stop hiding, too."
"Will you guys go with me and tell her now?"
So we did. We got off the bed, went into the living room where Mrs. M was watching TV, and he told her.
"Mom. I'm gay."
I gotta hand it to Mrs. M. She is one cool mom. She just looked up at Brian with a shit eatin' grin and said,
That did it. Brian started crying all over again. He ran over and knelt by her chair and laid his head in her lap and sobbed. Wayne and I cried. Mrs. M sat there and rubbed Brian's head as tears trickled down her cheek and off her chin. Like I told Wayne the day he moved in. Welcome to the land of rising waters.
We sat and talked for another hour. Mrs. M told us she had already called our folks and told them where we were and what we were doing. By the time we were all talked out, Brian knew his mom loved him no matter what, and we had agreed that he would come to the next gay/str8t alliance meeting. Maybe he'd meet someone special there. After all, not everyone was attached, and it sure beat goin' to singles bars, especially at our age.
But he won't let us get our ears pierced.
I'm 16 and I'm in love.
Wayne's 14 and he's in love.
We're in love with each other.