Date: Thu, 07 Jul 2005 06:22:24 +0000
From: ThomasBranigan@comcast.net
Subject: Saving Justin - Chapter Two - Gay Male - Adult Youth

I appreciate the e-mails and comments I've received about this work in
progress.  This is a subject that I have not written about before, so your
feedback is valuable to me.

The following is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to real characters or
true stories is purely coincidental.

Some of the subject matter deals with emotional and sexual connections
between males, to include cross-generational relationships.  If there is
any moral or legal reason that you feel you should not be reading such
material, please move on to another story.


CHAPTER TWO

It was ten minutes after nine.  Tom was roaming throughout the Port
Authority with a continually quickening pace, the noise in his brain
becoming almost as loud as the decibel level in the large concourse.  There
were so many places that Justin could be, and he was fighting a sense of
panic.  And, suddenly -- there he was.  Standing outside of one of the bus
gates, slightly to the left of the door where passengers were still
exiting, he stood there looking directly and steadily at Tom.  Although Tom
was aware of the old Hollywood gimmick of time and sound suddenly stopping
at certain dramatic moments, he would never have considered it anything
more than a fantasy if it weren't for the fact that it happened at that
very moment.  Its duration may not have even been a second long, but it
actually happened.  At this first sight of Justin, everything else in his
universe briefly ceased to exist.

The boy began to walk toward him, slowly but purposefully.

His clothes seemed nice; a pair of casual dress jeans and a maroon hoody
pulled over a clean t-shirt -- not the attire of someone who had been
living out on the streets, Tom thought to himself with relief.  He also had
a fairly hefty duffel bag slung over one shoulder.  His hair was longer,
and it seemed a little darker; the body was taller and lankier.  The face
didn't seem to have changed, though.  As he got closer, Tom even looked for
some sign of facial hair, but there didn't appear to be any; not even a
trace of fuzz.  Was the boy shaving?  Or was he blessed with that type of
fair skin that would be devoid of whiskers until late in adolescence?

Justin approached him with only the slightest of smiles on his face, and
Tom suddenly realized with embarrassment that he, himself, still had not
moved.  He opened his mouth to attempt to say something, but couldn't
engage his brain to form any words.  So, the two of them simply stood there
for a moment, neither one of them able to speak, alternately glancing from
each other's faces to their feet.

"I'm glad you came," Justin finally spoke.

His voice sounded hoarse, Tom thought.  He still couldn't respond with
anything more than a nod.

"Nancy gave me your phone number," Justin said as he looked down at Tom's
hand.  Following his gaze, Tom realized that he was still clutching his
cell phone in the palm of his hand.  It was his only timepiece, and he had
frantically looked at it more times than he could count over the last
twenty minutes.  Snapping it shut, he dropped it into his pocket.

"Nancy?" he suddenly found his voice, blurting out in disbelief.  "Nancy
gave you my phone number?"

"Yeah," Justin shrugged.  "She's the only person at Taylor House besides
you who actually seemed to care about me.  I knew that she'd help me out."

"She'll get fired if anyone finds out."

"She should quit, like you did.  No one in their right mind should work at
that place."

Tom once again found himself unable to say anything.  He attempted a laugh
that ended up coming out as more of a scoff.  Then, rather than just stand
there and stare dumbly at the boy, he cast his eyes around, making it
appear that he was looking for something.

"Are you looking for a place to get something to eat?" Justin ventured
tentatively.  "'Cause, I'm starving, if you are."

"Um . . .  yeah!" Tom suddenly breathed with relief.  "Let's get something
to eat.  Why don't we get out of here, though."

"Sure," Justin replied, the slight smile returning to his face as he saw
the first hint of released tension on Tom's face.

"The Eighth Avenue Diner is only two blocks away," Tom said as he glanced
at Justin's duffel bag.  "Can you walk that far with that thing."

"Yeah," Justin nodded.  "It isn't heavy."

They walked over to an escalator that took them down to the street level
doors that emptied out onto Eight Avenue.  The noise of the Port Authority
was replaced with the sound of blaring car horns and the rumbling of a
large truck heading toward the Lincoln Tunnel.  As always seems to be the
case in New York, one never really gets away from the noise, but rather
just exchanges one variety for another as the environment changes.  The
only thing that remained silent was the space between Tom and Justin.  They
walked without speaking.  Tom occasionally stole glances at Justin, still
registering slight changes that had transpired over the last couple of
years, and still trying to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming.  It
was the fourth or fifth time that he did this that he caught Justin looking
at him.  They both turned away quickly with sheepish grins.

"So, when did you cut your hair?" Justin asked.

"Last year," Tom responded, catching the slight shadow of his reflection in
one of the shop windows they passed.

"Did you have to cut it because of a job or something?"

"No," Tom shook his head slightly.  "I was just ready for a change."

Justin nodded, but didn't say anything.

"You don't like it?" Tom asked, and then immediately regretted it, knowing
that it was a pathetically insecure and adolescent question.

"It's okay," Justin murmured.

Tom felt a slight twinge of dissatisfaction at his response, but was
greater mortified at his own self for being in such need of approval.

"Mine's longer," Justin mentioned.

"Yeah, I noticed," Tom answered, looking at him quickly.  "It looks darker,
too."

Justin caught his eye, the hint of a shy smile on his face.  They were
passing underneath the neon lights of an adult movie theater, and in their
glare Tom looked closer.  The roots of Justin's hair shone light and
golden.

"You dyed it?"

A slight snicker was Justin's response.

"The kid who loved nothing better than to make fun of peoples' vanities has
dyed his hair?"  Tom released a good laugh.

Justin was embarrassed, but he couldn't help but grin.

"It's just one shade darker than the natural color.  It keeps me from
looking so much like a Dutch boy."

Tom laughed harder.  He stopped and faced Justin, whose smile became more
uncertain as the two of them finally looked fully at each other for a long
moment.

"Justin," Tom spoke, his voice betraying his emotions by its slight waver,
"I wouldn't care if you'd dyed it black.  I wouldn't care if you were bald,
for God's sake!"

Justin blinked in exaggerated horror.  "I'd care!" he cried.

Tom tried to laugh, but the growing lump in his throat kept him from fully
releasing it.

"I'm just glad . . .  I'm glad that . . ."

It was as much as he was going to be able to say.  He reached out toward
Justin, who immediately responded by stepping forward.  They grabbed each
other in an embrace so hard that they both released a gasp of breath.
Justin's duffel bag actually swung around from behind his back and slapped
Tom in his waist, its strap performing the ultimate irony of almost binding
the two of them together.

As they remained embraced for an extended moment, Tom felt the ghost of a
tremor in Justin's body.  It was so subtle that he wondered if he might
have just imagined it.  When they finally released each other, though,
Justin's face was slightly flushed, and he carefully avoided looking
directly at Tom.  It was then that Tom realized that he, himself, was not
the only one who was nerved up over this little reunion.  He was also
struck with the mysteries that now existed between them.  He knew nothing
of the life that Justin had lived over the last two years.  Looking at him
under the glare of the city lights -- with an air of detachment, Justin was
currently watching a trio of two women and a man crowd into a taxi -- Tom
confirmed to himself again that the boy looked healthy.  But, there was
something in him that seemed lost and haunted.

"I need a drink," Tom said as he gestured to the Eighth Avenue Diner that
was at the end of the block they had just entered.

"So do I," Justin said with a flip of his head.

Tom shot him a smirk as he rolled his eyes.

"A soda, then," Justin sighed with mock exasperation.  "Christ!  You've cut
your hair, but other then that you haven't changed a bit."

Tom nodded as he turned and headed down the wide sidewalk with Justin
falling into step beside him.

The Diner was crowded, but the host who greeted Tom and Justin inside the
entrance assured them that the wait would not be long.  So, they fell into
silence again as they watched the sort of bee hive activity of the
restaurant, the waiters all dressed in black and white, buzzing about
between the tables and the kitchen, alighting here and there with plates of
food and pitchers of iced water.  It was the perfect establishment for this
part of Manhattan, a diner with unmistakable attributes of New York, but
generic enough to be non-threatening to the tourist crowd.

When the host finally came to retrieve them, Tom was pleased when he and
Justin were led toward the back of the restaurant where it was quieter.  As
soon as they were seated, they both buried their heads in their menus, even
though the need for such a thing was small.  Tom pretty much knew the menu
by heart, and Justin knew what he wanted.  As Tom continued to steal
glances at the boy over the top of his menu, he cursed himself for the
precariousness of his emotional state.

"Anything I can get you to drink?"

The two of them looked up to see one of the black and white attired waiters
standing at their table.  Tom immediately recognized the look of an
aspiring young actor who was waiting on tables as he pursued his first big
break in New York.  His face was pretty, his hair was slicked into place,
and although he seemed nice enough, there was that air of boredom and
superiority about him that communicated his desire for bigger and better
things in the future.

"Yeah," Tom answered.  "Actually; we're probably ready to order our food,
too."  Justin nodded an affirmation.  "Are you cool with that?"

"Sure," the waiter responded, removing a writing pad from a hip pocket.

"I'd like a Corona Light and a small fruit salad."

"Okay," the young man nodded as he jotted the order down.  "I'll need to
see some ID, if you don't mind."

Justin dipped his head, but not before Tom saw his silent laughter.  He
pulled his wallet out and opened it up, displaying the inner sleeve where
his driver's license was to the waiter.

"Thanks," he replied with a nod.  "You're the same age as I am, and I get
carded all of the time, too."  He tried to give Tom a sort of kindred
smile, but the scowl on Tom's face warded him off.  He turned to Justin.

"And you?"

"A cheeseburger with fries," Justin said as he folded his menu.  "And, I'd
also like a Corona Light."

With no outward change of expression, the waiter wrote the order down.
"One cheeseburger, a side a fries, and . . .  one Coke."

This actually drew a short laugh out of Tom, not so much because of the
waiter's dry cleverness, but more due to Justin's pouting reaction.  With a
wink in Justin's direction, the waiter gathered their menus and scurried
away with assurances of a speedy return.

"Jerk," Justin muttered in his direction after he was out of earshot.

"Oh, it was funny when I got carded, "Tom said with a smirk, "but you're
suddenly all put out when your own age is scrutinized?"

"Sixteen year olds are allowed to drink beer in Europe.  What's the stupid
deal with this archaic country?"

"Archaic?"  Tom's eyebrows raised a notch.  "That's a fairly advanced word
for you to be using in an ordinary conversation.  I'm not sure that it's a
correct term for our wretched country, but I'm impressed, none the less."

"You used the word scrutinized," Justin shrugged.  "I figured that I needed
to compete."

Tom smiled, happy for this little bit of banter.

"So; you are sixteen.  I was trying to remember how old you were."

"Um hm," Justin nodded slightly.  "I'll be seventeen on --"

"-- October fifth.  I remembered that much.  If I'd known where you were, I
would have sent you a card.  Maybe flowers."

The corner of Justin's mouth curved up slightly in a smile.  "I think
chocolate would have been just fine."

"Ah, that's right.  Chocolate.  Or a big bag of those awful Skittles
things."

"That would have been cool."

"Yes, if . . . " Tom's face returned to the somewhat pensive and nervous
state he had greeted Justin with.  ". . . if only I'd known where you were.
You just . . .  disappeared.  All of this time, I haven't known whether you
were somewhere out there in the streets; whether you were dead or alive.  I
just . . .  you'll have to forgive me for feeling a little wrecked at the
moment.  I'm sorry."

"I came back to the Taylor House twice," Justin interjected quietly.  "The
second time was when Nancy told me that you had quit.  And, the first time
-- well, you know what happened the first time."

Tom looked at him blankly.  "I didn't know anything about you ever having
come back to the center, period.  All I know -- "

The waiter suddenly appeared with a Coke and Tom's bottle of beer on a
tray.  A slice of lime had been properly placed on the mouth of the bottle,
and as the young man placed it in from of Tom, he glanced at Justin.  "I
won't peek if you steal a couple of sips out of this."

Justin gave him an attempted smile.

"Your burger and salad should be along in a moment," the man said as he
turned away.

Tom removed the lime and gave it one good squeeze directed toward the
contents of the bottle.  Then, he took a long gulp before continuing from
where he had just stopped.

"This is all I know about what went on with you.  You disappeared the night
after they came to take Joseph to his new foster home.  Of course, everyone
assumed that you were going to try and find your little brother.  I spent
an entire week trying to find you."

Justin closed his eyes briefly at that remark.

"By the way," Tom added as he took another long drink of his beer, "I
didn't quit my position at the center.  After spending all of that time out
there looking for you, I went back to the Taylor House to check in, and
Barry told me that I'd been fired for not showing up to work any of my
shifts."

Anger flashed over Justin's face, but he let Tom continue.

"It was then that Barry told me that you'd been found by the police.  He
said that his original intention was to simply have you brought back to the
Taylor House, but that you went berserk when you saw him.  You attacked
him.  The police ended up arresting you and the last Barry heard, they were
shipping you off to one of the juvenile detention centers.  He didn't know
which one."

Justin had closed his eyes again and was slowly shaking his head.

"Justin," Tom leaned forward, "I called every detention facility within a
hundred miles of the city.  I couldn't find you anywhere.  Barry probably
knew where you were, but he wouldn't answer my calls and threatened to kick
me out of the center when I tried to nail him down in person, since I
didn't work there anymore."

Justin lowered his head, his face set in a bitter frown as he muttered, "I
should have known better.  You really don't know a thing about what really
happened."

"I called everywhere, Justin.  Please, look at me!"

Justin raised his head up, and leveled his eyes at Tom's.

"I really did try everything," Tom said, swallowing hard.

Justin released a sigh as he looked down at his drink.  He hadn't touched
it, but he pushed it away a little further, anyway.

"The reason that you couldn't find me in any of those places," he spoke in
a low, sad voice, "is because I was never sent to any juvenile detention
facility.  I was never arrested.  There never were any police.  Barry lied
to you.  The only thing that's true about all the things that you just said
is that I did attack Barry -- if you want to call it that."

Tom stared back at Justin.  "I've no doubt that Barry is a first rate
asshole," he finally said.  "But, I never thought of him as a liar."

Justin responded with a scoff.

"I know that he hated me," Tom continued, "and I know that he hated what he
perceived of the relationship that I had with you and Joseph.  But -- "

They were once again interrupted by the presence of the young waiter.

"One cheeseburger with fries," he announced as he set the plate down in
front of Justin.  "And, one fruit salad."  A dish that looked more like an
ice-cream creation than a salad was placed before Tom.

"Thanks," Tom offered quietly.  The waiter nodded as he departed.

Justin looked down at his plate for a short moment before impulsively
grabbing the cheeseburger.  He took a large, vicious bite out of it,
chewing only once or twice before swallowing.  Then, he attacked it again
with an angry, almost murderous look in his eyes.  He took two or three
more bites in quick succession, before he realized that Tom was staring at
him.  He tossed the half-consumed burger onto his plate and reached for his
Coke.

"I don't know who I feel more mad about;" he said as he stuck a straw in
the glass, "Barry for being such a prick, or you for being so dumb."

Tom would have responded, but Justin didn't give him an opportunity.

"I'll bet that you don't even know why Joseph got placed in a foster home
without me.  It's because of things that Barry put in my file.  He wrote
down every single incident that occurred between him and me, even if it
wasn't but some random insult coming out of my mouth.  He labeled me as
being an angry kid, prone to violent outbursts.  That's why they were able
to find a foster home for Joseph, but not me."

The very recollection of that event seemed to suddenly rob Justin of his
energy.  His shoulders sagged, and he looked over at Tom with profound
sadness etched in his face.

"I remember that night," he whispered.  "That was the worst night of my
entirely life.  Except for one thing."  Suddenly shy, his eyes fluttered
downward.  "You comforted me."

Tom remembered.  He had held the sobbing, shuddering boy well into the
night.

"That was the only thing that kept me from running away that very night.  I
hated what they had done to me and Joseph, but I wasn't ready to leave you.
I needed to find Joseph, but I also needed to be in your arms."  He shook
his head slightly.  "It's weird, I know."  He suddenly looked up.  "Do you
remember when Barry came in?"

"Yeah," Tom rolled his eyes with a sad smile on his face.  "I blew up."

"Um hm," Justin nodded quickly.  "He started to say something about me
needing to be in my bed, and you just exploded.  It was the first time
you'd ever hollered at him -- or anyone, maybe -- and, he was shocked."

"At least he left us alone."

"Yeah," Justin murmured.  "That was nice."  He began to stir his fries
around with his finger, and eventually popped one of them into his mouth.
"You're right about what I did the next day, though.  I needed to find
Joseph."

Tom quietly picked up his spoon and began to pick at his salad, waiting for
Justin to continue his tale.

"It was one of the dumbest things I've ever done," he said as he put
another fry into his mouth.  "I couldn't go to Social Services or the
police to ask any questions, because of the fact that I'd run away from the
Taylor House.  I couldn't find any answers anywhere else.  So, after a
couple of days, I called the center to see if I could get some help from
you.  For some reason, though, Nancy wasn't answering the phones.  Barry
answered.  I didn't say anything, but he must have figured out that it was
me.  Justin, is that you? I heard him say.  I still didn't say anything.
He said, Look, if this is you, you'll be interested to know that your
brother is back here at the Taylor House.  Things didn't work out with the
foster family.

Tom let out an involuntary gasp.

"Not true, I know," Justin shook his head, "but, I wanted to believe it.
Obviously, it was just a trick of Barry's to get me back to the center, and
it was really stupid of me to fall for it.

"I got in through the kitchen door that night and hid down there until
after lights out.  Then I snuck up to where Joseph's dorm room had been.
Of course, he wasn't there.  He never had been there.  I turned around and
ran back down the steps to the front lobby.  Barry was standing there, by
the front door, blocking it.  I guess he thought that he was going to grab
me.  I was in such a rage, though, that I ended up lunging for him instead.
I was kicking and hitting and screaming; it was like everything had gone
black inside of my head and I couldn't see anything.  I know that Barry
weighed about a hundred pounds more than me, but I was all over him.  He
ended up falling backwards on some table or something.  Whatever it was, it
all crashed underneath him.  I guess that he had hit his head or something,
because he just laid there, half out of it, moaning something.

"I took his jacket off of him.  I figured that if I was going back out onto
the streets, I needed it.  But then, I found his keys in one of the
pockets.  So, I didn't have to sneak out; I just used his keys and walked
right out the front door.  If I'd known what kind of car he drove, I would
have stolen it.  But, I figured that he'd be getting himself together soon
enough to call the police before I could find it.  So, I walked.  I walked
away."

"To where?" Tom asked.

"I'd met a couple of older kids who were trying to teach me how to hustle."
Justin released a little bit of a self-deprecating laugh.  "I was a
fourteen year old kid who looked like a nine year old.  They told me that I
could clean up on the streets, if I wanted to.  So, I hooked back up with
them.  I didn't stay, though.  I was with this kid named Carlos and I
watched him go through a night full of tricks.  He finally hooked me up
with a guy who sucked me off for fifty bucks.  I took the money and went
into a donut shop to get some breakfast.  I saw this little poster on a
bulletin board.  I know that you're going to think that this is a joke, but
I'm not kidding.  It said, HEY KID!  WANNA GET OFF THE STREETS?  PARENTS
ARE WAITING TO ADOPT YOU.  That's how I ended up with George and Betty."

"George and Betty?"

"They live in Connecticut.  That's where I've been living."

Tom's face showed a mixture of confusion and relief as he uttered, "I'm
. . .  I can't . . .  I'm really happy, I guess.  You have no idea how
badly I worried about you.  But . . .  how did this get worked out?"

"I called the number that was listed on the poster from the Donut Shop.
Some guy answered, and I told him I'd seen the poster and wanted to talk to
somebody.  He told me to wait right there.  So, I did, and eventually this
lady came.  She said she was from some church.  She sat down with me, and I
went ahead and told her a bunch of my story.  Then, she started to say that
she was going to make arrangements for me to stay in some kind of temporary
facility, but I pitched a fit.  So, I ended up going down to her church.
They fixed a bed up for me, and she fed me some meals for a few days while
they were trying to work my situation out.  It was a mess, because I was
still listed as a runaway, and Barry wouldn't release any of my paperwork
to these folks.  His excuse was that it was because this group was a
private organization that he didn't know anything about, and that I needed
to be turned over to the State.  I knew that he was still pissed at me for
giving him that nasty headache and stealing his jacket.  That was the
reason that I ended up going back down to the Taylor House for a second
time.  Barry wasn't helping me, but I knew that you would.  Plus . . ." he
once again lowered his eyes, "if I was going to get adopted by someone, I
wanted to see you again before I got shipped off to somewhere."  He sighed
deeply.  "That was when I found out that you had quit."

"I didn't quit.  Barry fired me."

Justin nodded as he took another drink of his Coke.

"Is he the one who told you that I had quit?" Tom asked.

Justin shook his head.  "Nancy," he said.  "I wasn't going to even try to
show up at the Taylor House when I knew that he was there.  He would have
tried to lock me up.  I waited until I saw him leave, and then went in,
looking for you.  When I couldn't find you, I went and asked Nancy."

"Nancy told you that I had quit?"  Tom was incredulous.

"I don't think that she realized she was lying.  I think that is what Barry
told her."

"She would have known better, though," Tom mused.

"Maybe.  I know that it really bothered her when she saw my reaction."

"Oh, God -- you didn't start cussing and throwing things, did you?"

Rather than laugh at his remark, Justin's face went dark as he looked down.

"I cried."

Tom felt suddenly stricken.  All along, he had felt wounded over Justin's
leaving without saying anything to him.  In reality, Justin had been under
the impression that Tom had done the same thing to him.

"Oh, Justin.  I'm so sorry."

"It's okay.  I know what happened, now.  Plus, my little display ended up
getting me that file.  Nancy couldn't bear the sight of me crying all over
her desk."

Tom suddenly laughed through his anguish.

"Nancy, bless her heart -- if there is truth to the notion that God
prepares a place for people in heaven, she will be living in one of Donald
Trump's places."

"I have no idea how she covered that up from Barry.  But, anyway . . ."

He was still looking down, a little embarrassed over his admission of
crying.  His half eaten burger was still sitting on his plate, and he
picked it up and took another bite out of it, but not nearly as ferociously
as the others.

"So," Tom queried as he resumed picking at his salad, "you are in
Connecticut with this couple --"

"-- George and Betty.  Yeah.  They're okay.  They've been good to me.
Their house is nice."  He put his burger down, and stalled a moment, as if
he was debating over his next words.  "They make me have sex with them
sometimes, supposedly to ease the tension in their lives.  But, it really
isn't that big of a deal.  Sometimes, I've even liked it.  I guess that
it's the one thing that keeps me from actually loving them, though."

Tom's stomach knotted up, but he was determined that he wasn't going to
react viscerally.

"What were you -- all of fourteen when you moved in with them?" he asked,
trying to keep his voice controlled.  Justin responded with a slight shrug.
Tom breathed deeply before muttering, "I think I can understand why you
wouldn't love them."

Justin played with his fries for a moment, thoughtful.

"I don't know," he finally spoke softly.  "I don't think it has anything to
do with what might be morally right or wrong to some people.  It just seems
like it makes them weak, to me."

He picked his burger back up, but then decided against taking another bite.
He set it down on his plate and pushed it a slight distance away from him.

"I haven't talked to anyone about this.  Somehow, I didn't feel like it
would be so weird saying it to you, though.  That's why I called you."

"I'm glad you did," Tom responded.  It came out a little more indignant
than he'd intended it to, and Justin detected it.

"I'm not being abused," he said evenly.  "They aren't making me do anything
I don't want to.  They've always given me choices."

Tom backed down, but his face still betrayed some dubiousness.

"There isn't anything wrong with George and Betty," Justin said as he
leaned forward slightly.  "I'm just confused about some things that are
going on inside of me, and I know that you would probably understand them
better than anyone else I know."

He waited momentarily for Tom to react.

"Okay."  Tom raised his hand up somewhat feebly.  "You know that I've
always been willing to listen to you."

His eyes turned inward as he gathered his thoughts.  "Okay," he finally
released with a quick breath.  "Hear goes."  He paused for another long
moment and then looked up at Tom.  "It's always best when it's been just me
and George."

"You mean the sex?"

"Yeah," Justin nodded.  "It's only happened a couple times, and Betty would
probably be pissed if she knew about it.  When it's the three of us, he
really doesn't do that much with me.  It's different when we're alone.  He
spends a long time just touching me, really soft, and he hugs me and holds
me and even kisses me.  And, after I . . . um; after I've finished, he
keeps me wrapped up in his arms for a long time, and . . .  he whispers
things to me.  He tells me that I'm beautiful, and that he loves me."

Justin had to stop for a moment.  Tom could see from the movement in his
throat that he was swallowing hard.

"It's so weird," he finally continued, "because I don't think that I'm gay.
I don't know, though.  I'm not attracted to George, in terms of wanting to
do anything to him.  But, I love what he does to me.  I love the way that
he makes me feel.  I hate even hearing myself say that, though, because it
makes me sound like a girl.  In fact, that's what really freaks me out.
George makes me feel like a girl!  And, instead of hating it, I like it --
and, every time he loves me like that, I want more.  I want it to go on
forever."

He looked down at his Coke for a long moment.

"That sounds like a gay boy talking, doesn't it?"  He glanced up at Tom as
he pulled the drink forward and raised the straw to his lips.

"No," Tom spoke barely audibly.  He had ceased any pretensions of eating
his fruit.  He simply looked back at Justin as he slowly shook his head.
"It sounds like a kid who has never been loved by a man, and will take it
any way that he can get it."

Justin mulled this over.

"I think that every kid needs to be loved by a man," Tom mused.  "It
doesn't matter whether you're gay or straight or . . .  whatever might lie
in between.  I just wish . . ."

It was Tom's turn to ponder on his thoughts and choose the best way to
express them.

"George has obviously given you love," he began tentatively.  "But, because
he's chosen to express it to you sexually, it's made you confused about
yourself.  I wish . . .  if George really does love you, I just wish that
he could express it in other ways."

"But, that's just it," Justin responded with some urgency.  "George does
express his love to me in other ways.  I want the sex!  It's nice when he
helps me out with my homework, and it's nice when he shows up to every
little thing I might be involved with.  But, it's when we have sex that I
really feel it."

"Okay," Tom sat back, unsure of himself.  "I'm sorry.  Maybe I don't
understand.  What did you mean, then, when you said a little bit ago that
sex with George and Betty was the one thing that probably kept you from
loving them?"

Justin thought for a moment before answering.

"They're good people, but it's like they've realized that they aren't happy
with each other.  They can't fulfill one another.  And, rather than admit
it and move on, they bring me into the mix to fill in the gaps that they
can't fill for each other.  I'm like an instrument that helps them avoid
the truth."

"Then, why is it different when it's just you and George?" Tom asked.

"I don't know," Justin answered quickly.  "That's why I'm so confused.
It's like -- when it's just him and me, I can tell that he isn't faking it.
He's not just going through the motions.  And, neither am I, for that
matter.  That's why I needed to get out of there for a while.  I was
starting to go crazy."

"So, you feel like he might really be in love with you, and not with his
wife?"

The question only momentarily caused Justin to pause.

"No.  He loves his wife.  He just can't express it to her like he can with
me."

"Mm," Tom nodded.  "And, what about you?"

Justin's face showed confusion.  "What do you mean?"

"What about you?  Do you love him?"

This question seemed to startle Justin.  He looked at Tom for a moment
before casting his eyes downward.  "I don't think so," he finally
whispered.  "Maybe I could, but I'm afraid to.  He knows that Betty would
kick him out if she knew about us.  How can I love someone who can only
love me in secret?"

Tom stretched back in the booth, looking up at the ceiling.  He wished that
he hadn't eaten what little bit of his salad that he had.  The fruit seemed
to be sitting in the pit of his stomach, churning and gurgling.

"When did you know?"

Tom heard Justin ask the question, but its meaning didn't register.

"When did I know what?" he asked, still looking up at the ceiling.  When
Justin didn't answer right away, he cast his eyes downward.  "When did I
know what?" he repeated.

"When did you know that you were gay?"

Tom stared at him for a moment.  "And, what makes you think that I'm gay?"
he asked, straightening up.

"C'mon, Tom," Justin responded with a mixture of disappointment and
frustration.

Tom hesitated as he fought a mental battle between protecting himself and
being honest.  He turned away and feigned interest in the surrounding
activities of the diner.

"I probably figured it out when I was your age," he said softly, still
looking away, "but, if I'd been truthful with myself, I would have admitted
it when I was five."  "Five?"  Justin was dubious.  "How in the hell does
someone know that they're gay when they're five!?"

"Kindergarten," Tom mused.  "If his parents haven't already started on him,
it's the first institution in a child's young life that begins to
indoctrinate him to proper roles for boys and girls.  It was the most
miserable experience of my life.  I was all wrong for what I was supposed
to be, but I didn't know why.

"I probably should have figured it out on the day the teacher was playing a
recording of The Skater's Waltz.  She started telling us about waltzes and
other dances, and she suddenly started to move and to glide around the
front of the classroom.  We all clapped for her.  She looked quite lovely,
dancing up there all by herself.  She shouted, 'Come; let's all dance!
Choose a partner.'  I jumped up, completely enthralled.  I wanted to dance!
I grabbed my best friend and said, 'Come on!  Let's dance, Kenny!'"

Justin snorted.  Tom turned slowly to face him, though, and the dark look
on his face erased the boy's grin.

"That's what everyone did," he spoke sadly.  "Even the teacher.  They
giggled and they snickered and they laughed out loud.  One girl shouted,
'You're not supposed to dance with other boys!'  And, I was stupid enough
to ask, 'Why not?'  The laughter just got louder.  And, I couldn't figure
out what was so funny.  And, I couldn't figure out why I had to dance with
Kathy Dennison instead of Kenny."

He allowed himself only a short moment before shaking himself out of his
reverie.

"That was me, though," he said as he focused back on Justin.  "It has
nothing to do with you.  Some people figure out their orientation when
they're in grade school; some are still trying to figure it out well into
senior adulthood.  Everyone is different."

"So," Justin sighed as he leaned back slightly, "what am I supposed to do?
Just wait, and eventually I'll figure it out?"

"I'm sorry, Justin.  I really don't know.  If there were a formula to plug
in or a test to take, it would make things a lot easier, I know.  But,
we're talking about the nature of who and what you are; the kind of people
that you're attracted to; the chemistry involved with who you fall in love
with.  Those are mysteries that are still beyond the realm of our human
knowledge."

Justin suddenly looked so miserable that Tom fought an urge to embrace him.
He settled for simply reaching across the table and laying his hand over
one of his.

The waiter chose that moment to return to the table.  Although Tom
discreetly withdrew his hand, the young man gave them both a conspiratorial
smile.

"Can I take your dishes?"

"Yes," Tom responded quickly.  "Please.  And, I'm ready for the check."

"Sure," he gave Tom a wink.  "I'll hurry."

Tom raised his hands to his forehead as the waiter scurried away.

"Justin; I'm assuming that you're staying somewhere here in the city while
you're trying to get your head together.  What kind of arrangements have
you made?"

Justin was silent.  Tom was slowly rubbing the corners of his forehead with
his fingers, and he looked up at the boy.

"Could I just stay with you for a couple of days?" he asked softly.

Tom shook his head slowly.  "I'm sorry, Justin.  We can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Justin," Tom sighed, "think about it."

"Think about what?"  His voice was suddenly getting courser.  "I've sat
here and spilled my guts out to you tonight.  Now, you're going to dump
me?"

"I'm not going to dump you.  I'll make sure that you have some place to
stay.  But, I just can't let you stay with me."

"What is it with you?"  Justin's eyes suddenly flashed with anger.

"Justin, please . . ."

"What the fuck is it with you men?" he cried out, his voice suddenly
piercing through the din of the diner.

"Justin!" Tom pleaded.

Justin moved quickly out of the booth, the table shuddering with his sudden
movement.  "Fuck you!" he screamed as he stood.  "Fuck all of you!"  He
grabbed his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder as he walked
hurriedly away from the table.

Tom rose hastily, grabbing some money out of his wallet and throwing it
onto the table.  He saw their young waiter as he hurried up the aisle
toward the exit.

"Everything okay?" the man asked, eyebrows raised.

"Your money's on the table," Tom dismissed him as he passed.  He burst out
of the doors of the diner and called out, "Justin!  Wait!"

"Fuck you!" Justin shouted, already some distance up the sidewalk.  "You're
nothing but fucking cowards!  All of you!"

"If you'd let me talk to you -- "

Justin suddenly whirled around, the backpack slinging behind him.

"I'm done listening to guys like you.  You just get your jollies off of me
and then you dump me."

"What?  I haven't gotten any jollies out of this little conversation.  And,
I'm not dumping you."

"Yes, you are.  And, you're no different then men who want sex with me.
You just get your little high out of being the do-gooding humanitarian.
It's all the same!"  He turned to walk away again, but then whirled back.
"How can you trash George when you're just like him?"

"I didn't -- "

"You love me as much as he does.  I know you do.  You've always loved me.
I could always tell by the way you looked at me."  He moved closer,
lowering his voice.  "Why couldn't you just say it?  Why can't you say it
now?  Why can't you tell me that you love me?  Why can't you quit being a
coward and tell the truth?  Why can't you do it?  Why is it so hard?"

"I can't!"  It was Tom's turn to shout.  Justin made a move to back away
from him, but Tom grabbed him by the shoulders.  "I am a social worker!  I
work with youth!  BOYS!  Do you think you're the only one who has shit in
his file, thanks to Barry?  Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to
get another job after he fired me?"

Justin blinked.

"I can't be out about my sexuality."  Tom softened his tone, but he still
kept his grip on Justin's shoulders.  "And, I certainly can't be seen
getting involved with a youth.  I'd lose all hope of being able to work in
a profession where I can make some sort of difference in this world.  Can
you understand that?'

Justin stared hard at Tom as he asked, "So your job is more important than
someone that you love?

"No!" Tom shouted again.  "It's not just about the job!  It's also about
what's best for you.  An adult should not be getting involved romantically
or sexually with a youth!"

"Why not?" Justin yelled back.

"You've said it, yourself, Justin!  You're as confused as hell over who and
what you are.  And, you're already running away from another adult who has
done nothing but add to your confusion."

"What difference does that make?  Do you want me to just stick to screwing
around with kids my own age?  Would that make me any less confused?"

"I don't know, but -- "

"Tom!" Justin interrupted.  "Stop rationalizing and think for a minute
about what you really want."

Tom released his hold on Justin's shoulders, intending to retreat, but
Justin grabbed him.

"Tom!  Listen to me.  I may be still figuring out who and what I am.
You're right about that.  But, I know what I want, and I know what I need.
I don't need a kid who is as fucked up as I am."

Tom made another move to back away, but Justin tightened his grip.

"No!  Tom!  I know that you want the same thing that I do.  Listen to me,
Tom!"

Justin was literally in his face, whispering now.

"Think about all of the things you've dreamed of doing.  Imagine having me
in your arms all night long.  Imagine being able to take my clothes off.
Imagine being able to touch me and kiss me.  Imagine being able to make
love to me."

Tom raised his hands up and clutched his head.

"Tom," Justin persisted, "you can do anything you want to with me.  It will
be just you and me.  No one will know.  There won't be any Barry to
threaten us, or Betty to scream at us.  Please, Tom."

Tom slowly sank to the grimy sidewalk, his hands tearing at his hair.
Justin dropped down with him, still clinging to his sides.

"Please, Tom," he whispered intensely.

He suddenly felt Tom's shoulders shake violently as the man began to cry,
heaving large sobs.

"Just take me home with you, Tom," Justin continued to whisper.  "Don't
dump me.  Please, Tom."


TO BE CONTINUED