Date: Fri, 8 Dec 2023 02:00:00 -0700 From: John Henry Subject: Wish You Were My Dad Chapter 17 (Gay/Adult Youth) DONATION: Nifty is a not-for-profit organization that heavily relies on our donations to keep the site free and accessible. Your donations pay for web hosting fees and other day-to-day activities for the wonderful staff of editors/publishers. You can donate on the website at http://donate.nifty.org/ Every little bit counts. DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction, and contains explicit, sexual content involving adults over the age of 21 and minors under the age of 13, If viewing this material is illegal where you live, OR you're a minor under the age of 18, please stop reading this. If you're not sure about this legatilty, please stop reading until you have looked into your own, local laws. Any likeness or similarity between persons, places, products or concepts are purely coincidental. If you would like to leave any positive feedback, please let me know. Thank you. Chapter 17 I didn't want to go to school that week. Although it was the last full week before Winter Vacation, Mom wouldn't sign me out. Dylan was getting better but still needed help. Nana took some time off to check on Dylan during the day, while I stayed with him at night. Mom was a bit annoyed, but since she had to work till late at night, there really was no reason for me to be home. Before I'd have to go to school and Nana showed up, Dylan and I would shower together. We timed it before I got Tiffany up for school, so we'd still have our privacy. I'd go to school, sending texts between classes. Once school was out, I'd go home, leave a note for Mom, before heading back to Dylan's. A few times, she'd leave some groceries or other items I needed. Nana did the bulk of the shopping and would leave me small notes on how Dylan was while she was there. It was nice feeling like an adult. Dylan would chuckle at me "adulting," and say it was very cute. Of course, I'd blush and tell him to shut up...but I honestly loved it when he said things like that. Being a teenager, I had a lot of insecurities, especially about my appearance. Anytime I felt down about myself, I'd remember that I had Dylan, and I'd start to feel better about everything. Dinner was usually some form of take out or frozen thing. I could cook very basic stuff, it wouldn't have been fit as a meal for three people, let alone Tiffany. After dinner, I'd do the dishes and make a bed on the couch, just in case Mom or Nana came by unannounced. Once Tiffany was in bed for the night, Dylan and I would go to "our" room, get naked and cuddle. It got to the point where we wouldn't turn on the TV. We would just lay in silence, kissing and touching each other. By the end of the week, Dylan was getting around a lot better. Apparently, he only had hairline fractures and didn't actually break anything, so his recovery was going to be a lot quicker. That Friday was my last day of school until just after New Years, and I was excited to spend even more time with Dylan. Snow was on the ground by then, having had a big snowstorm hit the area. I was picked up at school by Nana, as she was also picking up Tiffany for the weekend. As I approached the car, a man I had never met before got out of the driver's side and approached me. "You must be Mikey," he said cheerfully, extending a hand. "It's Michael," I clarified, as I still didn't like anyone, other than Dylan, to call me by any other name. "Sorry, Michael. Dylan only calls you Mikey. I'm his dad, by the way. You can call me Herman or Papa if you like." "Nice to meet you," I said. There was something about the man's voice that seemed to rub me the wrong way, yet I couldn't quite figure it out. I shook his hand anyway, and made my way to the car. Tiffany was already in her car seat and Nana was in the passenger seat next to Herman. Pleasantries were exchanged, and I was asked about my day. The entire ride home, I couldn't get it out of my head that I had heard Herman's voice before, and it was connected to something negative. We drove to the apartment complex, and we all went up to Dylan's. On the way up the stairs, I almost slipped, but Herman caught me. His touch creeped me out, and I felt my body shutter. "Doing alright, Michael?" He asked out of genuine concern. "I'm fine," I replied, I think a little too curtly. He gave me an odd, offended look, so I added, "I think I pulled a muscle." "Here, let me help you," he said, looking less bothered by my tone. Unfortunately, I was caught in my own lie, so I let him hold my arm as I faked limping the rest of the way to the apartment. I excused myself and went back to my place. I didn't want to be around that man, but for the life of me, I didn't know why. I sat at my living room window, looking through a split in the curtain, waiting for Dylan's parents to leave. It felt like ages, but they left after a few minutes. I was so consumed with my perplexing thought that I forgot to limp when I got to Dylan's. I was about to knock when he opened the door. "Hey, Mikey," Dylan said with his usual infectious smile. "I thought you weren't supposed to be walking," I said, as I walked passed him and into the living room. "I was told you had a limp," he countered. "How about we tell each other what's going on? And you can go first." I decided to be truthful-ish. "I wasn't expecting your dad, and was just caught off guard is all. I did slip, but I walked it off." As Grandpa used to say: Good enough for government work. I don't think Dylan bought it, but he didn't press any further. "Well, I had an appointment today, and was given a walking cast. I can get around the apartment and flat places, but I still can't tackle stairs and such. He said my leg and arm are looking really good, but I still have to wear the casts for a few more weeks." "Does this mean you don't need me anymore?" I must have sounded hurt, because Dylan pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. "My sweet, little boy, I will always need you." We kissed some more then took ourselves to the bedroom, since Tiffany went with Nana and Herman. Christmas Day fell on a Friday, so we went to Dylan's parent's place on Thursday for dinner. Mom drove, since Dylan couldn't and still didn't have a car. Apparently, his insurance would get him a loner as soon as he was cleared to drive. As I sat in the backseat, I had a nagging feeling that I really didn't want to go. I was a little sulky, which Dylan pointed out. Mom wanted to make a big deal out of it--I'm sure she didn't want to go, either--but I said I was just tied. "Welcome, welcome," Herman said, as he opened the door. "Make yourselves at home." Nana and Herman's house was a three bedroom manufactured house in a gated community. The place was a maze of roadways, with their place near the back of the property. I had been in several trailer parks to visit friends, and it reminded me very much of that layout, except for much larger homes. Their house in particular was powder blue and looked like a triple-wide. They had a small lawn out front and an equally small side yard near the newly built cedar deck that led to the front door. It definitely looked a lot bigger on the inside. There was a Christmas tree in a corner in the living room, and the place smelled amazing. It reminded me of the Christmas we had before Grandma had her stroke. "Hi, you must be Clare," Nana said as she came to greet us. "And how are you doing, Michael? I hope your leg is doing better." Mom gave me an odd look. I forgot about my "injury," and I tried to mentally prepare myself for the lecture that was sure to come. Nana took Mom into the kitchen to "leave the men to do their thing." Dylan, Herman and I went into the living room. There was a football game on the TV. Tiffany was playing on the floor and ran to Dylan when she saw him. Herman took a seat in a recliner, while Dylan and I sat on the couch. Father and son talked about the game and season, while I just listened. Sports weren't really my thing, so I had nothing to contribute. "So, Michael," Herman said, "Who's your favorite team?" "I don't have one," I replied, trying to turn my attention to Tiffany, hoping it would give off the impression that I didn't want to engage; it didn't work. "Come on, now. Every boy has a team. What about your old man's team?" "Dad," Dylan said, conveying a tone of polite warning. "What? I'm just asking the boy a question," he replied to Dylan. To me, he asked, "Who's your father's favorite team, Michael?" I looked at Dylan. "Who's your favorite team?" Dylan turned a little pink, and I felt like I screwed up. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, Herman asked, "Why are you asking Dylan? He's not your father." That's when I noticed the can of beer next to the chair. Great, I thought, the man is a drunk. "Enough joking, Michael, who's your dad's favorite team?" Before Dylan could open his mouth, I blurted, "I have no fucking clue, because I don't know who my fucking father is. Happy?" I didn't wait for a response. I got up and walked outside. I ignored Mom and Nana, as I grabbed my coat and went to the car. I was used to this kind of thing at school, but I wasn't ready for it to happen in front of Dylan. I had spent the last few months pretending that he was my father to the point, I was close to forgetting that I didn't have one. I looked up as the front door opened, and I saw Dylan gingerly step outside. He got to the stairs, and I helped him down. I wanted to be alone, but I didn't want him to hurt himself coming to find me, either. "Are you okay?" He asked, as he pulled into a hug. There were no excuses, no apologies. His first and only priority was my well-being. I wrapped my arms around him and cried. I'm sure he was in pain, but he didn't complain. He just held me close and let me unleash every emotion that came to the surface. "Sorry," I said, as I pulled away. I opened the car door, so he could sit down. "I don't mean to be a problem." "You're not the problem," Dylan said, wiping my face clean. "He's not a mean guy. I never told him or my mother about your situation, since I didn't think it was their business. Dad gets really talkative when he drinks and doesn't get social cues. He feels like shit for upsetting you. "But," Dylan added, "what's been bothering you? You've been quiet all day, and that's not like you. You need to tell me what's going on." I took a deep, settling breath and told him about my initial reaction and feeling towards his father. Again, for like the millionth time, I had no idea why. Dylan just listened and let me vent my nonsense, occasionally wiping away a random tear drop that fell from my cry fest a minute or so prior. "Well," he said, once I finished, "some people just don't get along with others. Maybe it's that way between you and my father. It's sad, but it happens." "Are you mad at me?" I asked. He chuckled and pulled me into his arms. "Mikey, I could never be mad at you." He managed to give me a covert kiss on the cheek. "How about we go inside? I have no doubt that my dad wants to apologize. I'm not going to demand that you give him a chance, but if you could find it in your heart to try, it really would mean a lot to me; after all," he whispered, "it's usually a good idea for the boyfriend to get along with the father." I blushed and agreed to go inside. Sure enough, Herman was very apologetic and to the point where Nana had to get him to stop. I apologized as well and everything seemed to smooth over. Dinner was a large affair. Nana had gone all out with a turkey, real mashed potatoes, homemade rolls and a ton of other stuff. Dylan's family wasn't very religious, so there was no praying or whatever. The conversation was light and friendly, and I even joined in when I could. Once everyone was done, Herman looked at Dylan and said, who was about to stand with his plate, "I'll clean up and do the dishes. You and your mom get to relax before everyone goes home." To me, he asked, "How did you like it? Did you get enough?" I froze. It dawned on me where I heard that voice before. "Get cleaned up and do the dishes before your mom gets home, and stop crying like a little girl. You know you liked it." It was the voice of the man whom Dylan recorded fucking him. Herman was the man in the video. ***Coming Soon, Chapter 18***