Date: Fri, 15 Jan 2021 14:35:43 +0000 From: Simon Mohr Subject: Widowers Share Club - Chapter 4 - The Third Group Widowers Share Club - Chapter 4 - The Third Group Gay Erotic Fiction by Simon Mohr All Rights Reserved Adults Only. If this story is illegal where you live or a minor, please don't read it. No intended reference to persons living or otherwise exists. Please donate to the Nifty Archives using the donation information on this site. The group met for the fourth Tuesday evening at six p.m. to guzzle down their treats: subsidized coffee, sweet rolls, and fruit. Mark, Rod, and Robert sat watching the third and last group of presenters. "This wasn't exactly what I expected," said Rod. "Yeah," Robert chimed in, "since we haven't heard about job losses or much about the awkwardness socially. I guess Chris's case counted, though." "I hadn't expected all the incest and drama that we've heard," replied Mark. "The night is young, however. We'll also get more feedback on the already presented members at the wrap-up session, the final session for this bunch next week. We could write a book already, though." "A book!" cried Rod, dismayed. "I don't think so, chummy," replied Robert. "None of us need the money or the hassle of a book. I'd just as soon go home and enjoy a shower with you two and fool around. Wait, we do that every night. Damn." "If we're not careful, we're going to be a bad example for our sons and their kids that the surrogates delivered for them." Mark was just half kidding. "Define 'bad,'" Rod replied. "We provide for our family, are reasonably loyal to each other, are kind most of the time, and we try to understand each other's foibles. I'd say that's a decent example, not bad at all." "You forgot to mention that we don't beat the servants," said Robert. "There was only the one time when I slapped the bare-naked butt of chef Henri. I stimulated his cute ass as an experiment in household safety to see if he dropped the frying pan full of hot hash browns on his foot. It wasn't my fault that he set the pan down and bent over. It certainly wasn't my fault that my cock then found some cooking oil and found its way up to his ass. It might even have been a nice thing to do for him, keeping in mind that he doesn't have a chance to get out of the kitchen much." Rod answered him back. "Yeah, he has this habit of wearing nothing in the morning and shaking his midsection at any handsome man entering his kitchen. If he had to give up his versatile ways, he'd have to go back to cooking or something." Mark giggled. "Time for the group, guys." He picked up a little bell and shook it. "This is the fourth of five sessions for this group," he announced. "As you know, we will hear from the final five presenters this evening." "Thank you to those presenters who led the way. We leaders have copyrighted the idea of Widowers Share Group. We are offering everyone in the group a chance to reserve a place in the IPO that we feel will come in a year or two that will someday form for that organization and Nate and Jack's Snuggle Service, also copyrighted." "This reservation gives you the right to buy stock in the future, a part of the IPO for both entities, and is not a commitment on your part. " "The reservation is our way of saying 'thank you' to you, our promise that if you do decide to purchase shares of the initial public offering, some of the stock will be available to you to buy." "The final prospectus for shares will be forthcoming, and we are not allowed to take money for this reservation." "Our first presenter is ready? Number eleven of fifteen, please. The floor is yours." "Hi. My name is Horace Givens, and I'm fifty years old. My spouse had breast cancer, not common in males, but it can happen. I know this all too well. Alex had gone to his doctor to check a lump in his right breast." "A PA saw him instead and shrugged it off, telling Alex it was probably a sebaceous cyst. The doctor never came into the room or examined him. I'm not sure the doctor looked at his recorded height and weight. A medical assistant measured his height and weight, not the doctor. No one ordered a scan or x-ray. No one ordered lab tests." "The lump grew and metastasized to his lungs, an untreatable cancer." "They sent a bill to Alex's insurance company for $225 for a 'comprehensive exam.' I have been a malpractice attorney for twenty-five years, representing physicians. I learned the hard way that there are a few bad apples out there and consulted the best malpractice attorney in the country, oddly in Boston right here. After Alex died a year later, that attorney convinced a jury to award me $12 million. Money didn't bring Alex back to life, and I have to say that it does make life easier." Horace went on to say that his business had suffered. "Most of the docs liked the guy I had sued. The PA was popular in the community as well. I knew that everyone makes mistakes. Docs, nurses, NPs, PAs, attorneys, everyone, but I was angry that Alex had to die because someone was careless or ignorant or both and angry for my loss as well." "I don't get invited anywhere now. I understand it is awkward for people to play nice socially when that doctor may have saved their mom's life or something, but the fact of the matter is that medical professionals know going in that their work is held to a high standard for a reason. One may obtain money or status for saving a life. The opposite side of that coin is that one may lose money or status by being careless with life. It's called responsibility, and the knife cuts both ways." "So, I'm here to vent and socialize, I guess. Thank you for listening." "Wait," said Mark. "This group asks questions, offers tips and suggestions, and supports its members. Please remain standing." A lone hand went up. Jon Dennison asked if he could provide some information to Horace. Mark nodded. "Bear with me for a minute. I need to give you a brief background. I contacted Ben, Cissy's brother, and asked him to visit us. He was my brother-in-law, after all, and my kid's uncle, and we had never met." Ben seemed thrilled. He'd been back from deployment for five years, a shock to the kids and me. He'd gone to PA school in the military." The group drew in their collective breath, then gasped. "Yeah, Ben was the PA that tended to Alex, screwed up, and was fired by the doctor. He never paid a penny from his pocket for the mistake since the doc had paid the insurance premium that bought the malpractice insurance policy. However, he lost his job and hasn't been able to find work since. He told me he had a small inheritance from his mother, which helps a little." "Ben reminded our family of Cissy so much that he moved in. He and I are partners now in life, and both of us will always miss her but aren't in the active stages of grieving anymore. He makes me very happy in many different ways, is a handsome son of a gun, has a twenty-five-thousand-watt smile with perfect, white, military issue teeth. His often-stated regret is his terrible error in Alex's case. I told him he needs to let it go. No one is perfect." "He is beginning to heal, but he's lost his job. You've lost some social life and your partner, of course, in this tragedy. It's not an equivalency. However, it's over. You are rich. He never will be and wasn't going to be." "You accepted PA care instead of the doctor and, in my opinion, decided that Alex wasn't worth seeing the professional with the most training, demonstrated by the fact that you did not insist on his seeing the physician." "I cannot judge you since some physicians embrace office policies that intimidate patients by threats of delayed care and even label patients as combative and contributing to a dangerous work environment should they insist on better care in some situations. There is the subtle pressure on the patient from the receptionist in those situations, who rolls his or her eyes when patients are 'difficult.'" "NPs and PAs have an established, well-deserved place in medical care in this country. It is well to remember that those ancillary professions sprang, however, from doctors who wanted to make more money per hour. Their solution: Let's hire people to do my job and bill my rates to insurance companies and patients under my name. We will pay the NPs and PAs a fraction of that income (still a great living) and make a profit by providing medical care from assistants who didn't have to complete a medical degree." "It appears that the system isn't perfect for anyone except the doctor even though this doctor paid the price through higher insurance premiums after the incident and fewer patients probably." "So, frankly, I must tell you as a member of this group to get over yourself and move on." About half the members began to applaud. The others just sat and looked stunned. Robert summed it up the best. "A tragedy in the classical sense involves loss, intense unresolvable tension, a regrettable ending to the main characters, human suffering, regret at times, and lack of romance or humor. All of us have had tragedies, both large and small, within our lives. So, what are the steps in moving on, as Jon suggests?" Another hand went up. "I accepted my responsibility step by step, and I planned how it would happen." "Have you presented yet?" Mark wanted to know. "My number is twelve. No." "Go ahead, then," said Mark. "I'd like to hear what you have to say." "Hi," my name is Damon Forrest, and I'm twenty-six, maybe the youngest person here." Gabe divorced me, saying he didn't love me anymore because of my lack of personal hygiene. Neither of us made much money. Of the two of us, he was the guy who would cheerfully take a cold shower if that's what it took to smell good all the time." "I was the beneficiary of this sacrifice and accepted his assurances for months that he got off on my 'natural' body scent. It turns out that grew old for him, but he let his resentment grow without saying anything. I found his note along with the divorce papers on the kitchen table when I got home from the lumberyard one Friday." "Dear Damon, I can't be in the same room with you and your nasty boots a minute longer. You need a bath, a haircut, and a makeover. Please don't try to contact me. BTW, I think you're a great guy otherwise. Goodbye." Damon told the group he had laid on the floor and cried like a baby. "I got up off the floor when I got hungry enough, though, and was so mad I sprinkled about a half a can of garlic powder on my steak. It made me sick, but I ate every bite." "I stayed home sick the next day but calculated I'd run out of funds doing that pretty quickly as I only had five more sick days left." "I decided my goal was to get him back, literally. I loved him and his gentle nature and was embarrassed that I'd been a slob. I planned the project in a notebook. The plan should have been simple, but I made it hard for myself, perhaps as a punishment." Damon continued. "I changed my diet to exclude garlic and onions unless I cooked the onions first". Damon also stopped using spices, even pepper. Damon decided to take one cold shower twice a day with a strong soap for one week, then twice a day with a French-milled lemon-scented soap that he liked. The cold showers were a shock, Damon said, but jumping into clean clothes right away, another part of his plan, solved the shivering afterward. "I wanted a makeover, but my little town didn't offer that, so I drove down to San Francisco after making an appointment. I listed a haircut with highlights and dermatology appointments to remove or freeze some spots." "I put skin products and information about how to use them, a new six-hundred-dollar wardrobe, and new shoes on my list." "Besides, I wanted a podiatrist appointment, medications for a foot infection, new socks and underwear, new pajamas, new sheets, new pillowcases, a hired service to do a spring house-cleaning, and a few personal cleansing items I'm leaving out." "The second part was as much fun. I put myself on Tindr using a fake ID, an old photo with dark sunglasses, a bogus birthdate, and waited. I rejected all offers until the day I saw Gabe's face, flirted a little, discussed likes and dislikes, and offered to host a meal at a nice hotel in the city with twenty-four-hour room service. Long story short, I answered the door in dark glasses, all cleaned up, new haircut, baggy grey clean sweats with clean new tennis shoes. He entered, looking like he had lost his best friend." I said, "How do you do?" He said he'd just gotten divorced and was missing his ex like crazy." "You clean up well. You look like the handsome fuck I married, the guy I still love." Damon threw his dark glasses to the floor. A choked cry came out of Gabe's throat, and Gabe tried to throw himself into Damon's arms. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I should have talked to you much sooner and helped you through this. Instead, I screwed up and hurt both of us." "What could I do to convince you?" Gabe was pretty worked up, afraid Damon would not accept his excuses. "My mom grew up in Missouri, the 'show-me' state," said Damon. "You could show me." As his knees went to the carpet, I unzipped my zipper and fumbled for about 1 millisecond. Sniffing like a German Shepherd, Gabe showed me how eager he was to be friends with my whopper. "I want to fuck you, Damon." "Sorry, Gabe, I'm not married anymore, and I don't sleep around. I never did." He groaned. "Ah, shit, man. How long is this going to last?" "Gabe, dear, one milks the cow until the milk stops flowing. Are you available for supper tomorrow night at my house? Be there at six p.m. Be on time. Or don't come." Mark stood up and smiled despite himself. "Great presentation, Damon. Very nice plan. Please stand and let the group have at you." "Any comments or suggestions from the group?" A hand at three o'clock. "I want to know what happened after that." "I kept Gabe on the string until he told me he wanted to put the episode behind him. We talked about telling each other what was on our minds. I tell him what to do, and he does it, mostly, except for when he doesn't. When he smells garlic on my breath or in my pits, he comes home to momma right away and talks and obeys again. We both love each other, and our relationship is better. A month ago, we adopted Jeb at the pound, a two-year-old German Shepherd. That's the extent of our family so far." A hand went up once again. "I'm number thirteen. Can I talk now?" Rob tried to hide a smile but failed. Mark asked him to stand. A gorgeous blonde, perhaps 5' 11" stood up with stunning blue eyes and addressed the group. My name is Rick Hyde. I divorced my ex about five years ago, the worst mistake of my life, indeed not the first mistake I've made. Kenny and I were buddies in high school. We were inseparable after ninth grade. We fooled around our senior year on a camping trip to the Minnesota north country at his folk's cabin and discovered things about each other we hadn't known. We both thought sex beat ice cream after that trip. We lived together in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and found landscaping jobs there. We took the plunge when the Supreme Court approved same-sex marriage." Five years ago, I met an older man in a bar. He said he was wealthy, dressed like it anyway, drove a nice car, and promised me to fund more education and world-wide travel, not to mention sex on demand. I was dazzled and stupid and left Kenny abruptly, only to find out that my new partner lied to me about almost everything. The car wasn't his, he had more debt than money, he couldn't have sex, and he drank to excess. On top of all that, he was a mean drunk. I got so I wouldn't ride with him when he was driving. When I found he hadn't divorced his first wife, I threw a fit and left him, with no clue about where to find a place to live." "I ran into Kenny in the library of all places one evening. He came right over to me and told me that he missed me and hoped I was OK. Homeless, dirty, demoralized, full of guilt about mistreating Kenny, full of anger at myself for making choices that got me nowhere, I could barely look him in the eye." "A week later, a pickup truck stopped in front of a house where I was mowing the lawn. Kenny got out and came over to me. "Rick," he said, "I meant it when I said I missed you. I've been miserable every night since you left. II want you to tell me what I have to do to get you back." "Right there on somebody's front lawn, I moved into Kenny's outstretched arms. I haven't looked back. He cleaned me up, bought me new clothes, we've resumed our favorite sport, and we're both back to working together doing landscaping again." Before Mark could thank Rick and ask him to stand by for comments, a hand shot up. "Sounds great, Rick. So, what brings you today, and what can the group do for you?" "I feel like I screwed up and can't get over it. Kenny has been forgiving, our sex is wildly wonderful, but some days I feel like I can't go on. His family has forgiven me. They treat me like their son again. I'm still a mess inside, and it's me, not him." "Yes, I understand that." Robert was the first leader to comment. "It's important for you to listen to your feelings, Rick. You wouldn't be the first to feel almost stifled by kindness and forgiveness from a wronged partner. You did screw up. You betrayed a long-time friend of many years." "Have you decided what your punishment should be? Is there something you can do to make up for the pain you caused him? Would you move forward and do whatever you identify if it is adequate punishment? Do you need to be punished? Have you talked to him and asked him what you could do to erase the pain you caused?" Mark chimed in, "What if Kenny told you that the only thing that would help erase the intensity of his memory of pain and betrayal when you left would be for you to work through this feeling with a counselor?" "I'm not crazy and don't need a shrink." "Therapists see people every day who don't meet the lay term of 'crazy,' Rick. Many therapists would go broke if they lost those who need a friendly ear, and sometimes some suggestions to help the patient figure their way forward. The seeds of healing must be an understanding of what the issues are in a case, not always easy for the patient to parse out." "The real work is always done by the patient, guided by the neutral, kind, nurturing therapist. The patient should expect some variation of that therapeutic attitude to bring about a stable, calm space for the patient to work on issues after being given tools with which to work." "Whether the therapist works with the more structured cognitive behavior approach or an older, traditional psychotherapeutic approach depends on the therapist's training and experience and on occasion, recognition of which approach and which therapist is most likely to work well with that patient." "That is the approach in large clinics and hospitals. In small-town practices, a patient gets who lives there and their training. Fortunately, any therapy is usually better than none (with some exceptions ignoring incompetent therapists who might practice). "Rick, I would advise you to be ready to accept or forge no punishment. Guilt rarely solves issues. It may motivate therapy initially; then its utility is over as a tool. It generally gets acknowledged as a reality then the patients become willing to sublimate it or toss it. It is useful for only so long, then work must begin to renounce victimization either from one's thinking or by another." Robert finished his long speech and sat down." Mark continued to explain that he had read somewhere that it is OK to bear an emotional scar or a disability to honor the loss of someone, a firmly held belief, something you own, something you had, that you love or loved, or that had a hold on you. Still, some work to minimize that loss will pay off in your career, your relationships with your family, and in the most remote and possibly even repugnant idea at this time, anyway, involving an actual turning away from where you are and what you miss now: toward a different future than that you expected or wanted; on occasion." "This work may even consist of a rejection of the loss in some way, odd as it sounds. All people eventually are responsible for helping themselves forward in life, to understand what needs to be understood, to work for what is needed, to say goodbye to firmly held beliefs unsupported by data, to grieve while grief is helpful, and to come back to living when their infant-like cries for attention and help interfere with the activities of daily life. The tasks of daily life for the adult may be viewed as lonely, and in some respects, like Thoreau said, to paraphrase, 'the tasks are not noisy and playful,' but the living of life can be effective and efficient, useful and satisfying. Rick sat, immediately convinced to heal himself come hell or high water with a therapist's help. The next two widowers, #14 and 15, having obtained prior permission from Mark, stood together to present. "My name is Neal Patrick, and this is my business partner, Abdul. We own an upscale oriental carpet store in Boston. We buy, sell, and clean fine old carpets made in exotic places like Pakistan and Iran, the far reaches of Nepal and China, and elsewhere." A third business partner was my lover, Abdul's younger brother Irfan. His parents bestowed the infant's name twenty-five years ago in rural Syria, Turkish citizens doing business abroad. His parents never suspected but hoped that he would indeed become brilliant and knowledgeable. He fulfilled their wish and also became 'sensitive' later in life, interested in the patterns and colors of carpets and more appreciative of their beauty than their value sometimes." "The brothers followed their father's interest in the carpet business and, after unrest in Syria, emigrated to the United States, settling in Boston. They both became United States citizens, and I met Abdul one day at a carpet convention. We became acquainted, and one day he invited me to his house for dinner; I met Irfan, sparks flew, and Irfan and I became close." "That relationship grew to learn a lot about each other. Fondness developed between us, which led to affection. Finally, one day we were carrying a carpet to its place in the warehouse. Irfan stumbled and fell on another carpet. I caught Irfan's arm to assist him up, overestimated his weight, and brought him instead into close contact, our faces inches apart. We looked into each other's eyes, an unseen passion ignited instantly, and our lips came together, tasting each other's lips. We moaned together." "His mouth opened wide, and I explored his teeth, his mouth, then his neck, his upper lip with my tongue, a blazing-hot expression of just how we felt. It shocked both of us. He was mortally afraid of a negative response from Abdul if he found us out and was over the moon when Abdul embraced him upon learning of our feelings for each other and blessed him in the name of Allah." "They were sons of Sunni Turk Muslims who might have been, in another day in the Ottoman empire, favorites of the Sultan, not predisposed to throw gays off the rooftops, a favorite punishment for the 'sin' in other Muslim sects and times." "Irfan, Abdul, and I lived near Beacon Hill. We were successful businessmen with money to spend. We never found out whether who raised the issue, suspected someone in the immigration attorney's office, a hostile, right-wing, homophobic, conservative woman, possibly allied to anti-immigration sentiments fanned by political leaders." "A complaint in Federal Court from a grand jury challenged the legality of Irfan's citizenship (after the fact) representing a document among dozens presented initially where the stated birth date was one digit different from a document purporting to be a genuine Syrian document. A judge had allowed that the case had a chance of succeeding and allowed a trial." "The jury included members from the northern suburbs between Boston and the New Hampshire border that happened to be breeding grounds for the same anti-immigrant sentiments. Irfan lost his case. He was deported to Turkey two years ago, finding relatives with whom to live." "Abdul and I miss Irfan. He brought his appreciation of quality and beauty to the business, a keen knowledge of every aspect of the carpet industry save finance, so the business was affected. Abdul and I can tell a high-quality carpet from the technical considerations of weave, dye, thickness, knots per square centimeter, and we can estimate how old a carpet is and how much wear it has had. We can tell someone about the maintenance of that specific carpet. Irfan was our expert, however, to tell us about the esthetic value and could tell us the minimum value only in comparison to similar sales through the years and in the current market." "We know there are mechanisms for re-application. We have considered a private bill in Congress to allow him to qualify for the visa program that allows valued technical workers to skip to the head of the line for a certain type of passport. So far, without enough people with influential friends to reach influential people, we haven't succeeded." Abdul has lost his brother and I, a lover." Mark shook his head. "Thank you both for standing. Our members may have questions." Rick raised his hand. "There are probably a dozen ways to solve this, I think, but you will need to decide what you both want then work like hell to reach that goal." "The options are for you to move to Turkey to be with him and work there, or perhaps to gather support for a private bill. You could also give up and let him pursue a path apart or try to prove the Syrian document a fake if it is. You may attempt to reverse the deportation, not a common occurrence in this country. " "You might bring a civil suit against the women you suspect if you can amass evidence for a hate crime, which is something for which Federal judges have little sympathy." "You and Abdul could let the carpet business go and train for another career or continue to love Irfan but make a spot in your heart for Abdul, and more I cannot list." There were puzzled looks on the group's members' faces. Robert said it. "You said you were a landscaper by trade." "I was expelled by the Bar in this state after the actual first worst mistake of my life. I slept with a client, and he blackmailed me. The whole mess came out." I seem to be learning lessons as I go in life, but not reliably." "That explains the analytical mind," said Robert. "I cannot practice in Massachusetts, but I can educate about the law as long as I don't charge or formally advise a client or do remunerable work for a client. I am available to anyone in this group or who leads it for free education in a variety of situations." "As it happens, I am still friends with one of my former clients, one of the Massachusetts Senators, who, I suspect, would be more than happy to introduce a private bill for Irfan." "He is a fair man and has a good relationship with the President. They are in the same political party, and one party controls the House and Senate. It happens that many in Congress on both sides of the aisle support reasonable private bills from time to time to scratch each other's backs, so to speak." "Rick handed a plain card with his name and telephone number on it to call. "I need your full contact information, a copy of both your certified birth certificates, Irfan's as well, and a certified translation, a copy of the legal file from complaint through the order for deportation." "When I have it, I will speak to a contact I have at the State Department to check some options, getting an official OK from the State Department to reopen the case." "I will draft a private bill to save time, draft a report, buy a train ticket to Washington after getting an appointment with the Senator or his staff. We shall see what can happen." Mark stood tall. "Rick, we could use some education here at Widowers Share Group and possibly for Nate and Jack's Snuggle Service. May I have a card? If you pass the bar in another state, will your history in Massachusetts affect getting a license in another state? "Probably," said Rick. "Consequences attach for decisions, both good and otherwise."