The Heart of a Dancer

Copyrightę - 2012 -- Nicholas Hall


Heart of a Dancer - Chapter 5- "Thomas"

Puzzled by Malachi's announcement of a house guest to see me, I walked to the front door, really expecting someone from Workforce Development. Man was I ever surprised! Standing on the front steps, a suitcase in one hand, a large duffle on the porch near the other, and a pack strapped to his back, was my nephew, Thomas Michael, son and second from youngest child of my brother Mark. Thomas looked pathetic standing there, small framed like me, rather scrawny, dark hair and eyes, almost too damned cute to be true.

I looked at him, smiled, and was about to welcome him but his tear-filled eyes and his pleading, sad voice asking, "Uncle Matt, may I live with you?" tore into my heart, so I reached forward, wrapped my arms around him, brought him to my chest, cradled his head on my shoulder, and felt every wracking sob emanating from his small frame. Malachi, upon hearing the sobbing and my voice, hand on his holstered pistol, quickly came to the door, fearing the worst, prepared to defend me.

Seeing me standing there with Tom in my arms, he raised his eyebrows questioning, so I simply said, "Its O.K., Malachi. Please help me get my nephew and his things into the house."

I put my arm around Tom's shoulder and led him to the living room while Malachi picked up the suitcase and duffle and carried them to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Returning for the backpack I'd removed from my nephew's shoulders, Thomas' eyes widened, zeroing in on the gun strapped to Malachi's waist, and the gold badge on his belt.

I smiled saying, "You didn't know he was a cop, did you?"

A slow, side-to-side wagging of his head answered my question.

"Or black, either?" I continued.

Again, the head shake "no" gave sufficient indication of his lack of knowledge concerning Malachi's race.

Malachi flashed his killer smile, responding, "Yep, sure am- all of me- even my ...," and I stopped him, raising my hand, adding, "Too much information at the moment, my love. There are some things young Thomas needs to discover in life for himself."

Focusing my attention on Thomas, I said confidently, "Why don't I get us a couple of beers from the kitchen while you catch your breath?"

Returning, I gave a beer to Malachi, one to Thomas, and opened one for myself. Thomas hesitated, so trying not to embarrass him I opened it, saying, "I'm certain my brother never allowed this beverage in his house, so I'd suggest taking it slowly. No sense getting you shit-faced on your first beer."

"Now, Thomas, why don't I start? I haven't seen you since I graduated from high school several years ago and as I remember my parting wasn't that all that of a joyous occasion. I almost didn't recognize you a few minutes ago. How in the world did you ever find me?"

He tentatively sipped his beer, decided he liked the taste, and took a long draw on the bottle. After clearing his throat, answered, "I scrounged the envelope with your wedding invitation in it from the trash the day it arrived and saved it in my room. It had your address on it."

"How did you get here, Thomas? I can't believe your father drove you here or would approve of you visiting me, after all, I'm persona non grata in the family."

He took another swig of his beer, wiped the tears from his eyes, and swallowed back another sob as he answered, "By bus, and no, he doesn't know I'm here."

I hesitated a moment and decided the only way to find out what happened was to cut to the chase. "Evidently something happened at home to cause you to take a bus to Des Moines to visit your outcast uncle and his spouse and I'll make a bet you and your father had one hell of a donnybrook; right?"

"Uncle Matt, the day your invitation came last Spring, it was the topic of much discussion and prayer in our home. All Dad could do was rail against homosexuals, how they were an abomination, and how they'd rot in hell for their transgressions. He said some pretty nasty things about you, how you'd been corrupted, how you refused to "be cured," and finally went to Iowa City where you became a depraved soul, now living in sin in Des Moines. Uncle Matt, it was awful and I was just plain chicken-shit for not saying anything, but he can be a fearsome creature."

"After I graduated from high school, I got a job in one of the hardware stores in town and had my hopes set on attending the community college in Sioux City to study carpentry. Dad wouldn't hear of it and insisted I attend one of his favorite church colleges and become a missionary like Aunt Esther and her husband. That's the last thing I wanted to do and told him so. Boy, that sent him on a tirade and every night after work, he'd grab me, haul me over to the church and we'd have to kneel, praying for the salvation of my soul, urging me to "heed my call" and "go out into the fields to do the Lord's work."

"Summer's been a living hell for me, Uncle Matt, but the clincher came last Sunday. I'm so ashamed I can hardly talk about it. His sermon topic was about sodomites and how his younger brother was a sodomite, violating God's Law by co-habitation with another man in a carnal relationship. Then, only he knows why, he started in on me; how I was turning from God by refusing to `heed my call and attend a proper church college' and how it must've been the example of my depraved uncle over the years holding me back. Stepping down from the pulpit, he walked to the front pew where I was sitting, grabbed my arm, pulled me up to pulpit, and paraded me around in front of everyone exhorting them to pray for me, for my salvation, for my deliverance from the evil influence of my depraved uncle, and for my success in the mission field. Everyone shouted out "halleluiah and amen" and waved their arms in the air as if to emphasize their conviction. When things quieted down, he pulled me back to the pew I was in previously and shoved me into it. He turned and walked back to the pulpit and when he did, I rose from my seat and walked out of the church -- right down the center aisle."

"I went straight to the bedroom I shared with David, he's the youngest, you know, and waited for Dad to come home. I knew he was going to be pissed or "righteously indignant" as he'd put it. I was right because when church was over I could hear him coming up the stairs, stomping and sputtering the whole way. He kicked open the door, stepped across the room, and yanked me to my feet from where I lay on my bed."

"Squeezing my arm with one hand, pointing a finger from his other in my face, he began screaming at me how I had affronted God and embarrassed him when I walked out of the church. The congregation and my mother were mortified, fearful the wrath of God was about to fall on me. Uncle Matt, I've seen him in a rage before, but this time was a dandy. Continuing to shout at me to beg forgiveness, he forced me to my knees."

"I looked up at him and said, `For what?' He said if I went to the community college, associating with all sorts of perverts instead of a good Christian mission school, I'd end up a sodomite like you Uncle Matt, and burn forever in the fires of Gehenna. He said some pretty nasty things about you, Uncle Matt."

"I struggled to my feet, looked at him and asked, `How can you be so hateful toward your own brother and call yourself a Christian?"

"He shouted at me, `he's an abomination and should be destroyed."

"I'm sorry Uncle Matt, but I lost it there and shouted back `and you're nothing but a fucking bigot and hypocrite.'"

I pulled Thomas closer to me, ran my fingers through his hair, murmuring, "I'll bet that turned his crank."

"More than that," acknowledged Thomas, "the son-of-a-bitch slapped me across the face hard enough to give me a nosebleed and punched me in the stomach and face a couple of times when I tried to defend myself."

"After he stormed out of my room and I finally caught my breath, I decided I was out of there as soon as everyone went to sleep. I packed the suitcase and duffle and stashed them in the closet. The backpack I shoved under my bed because I knew he'd check on me several times to make certain I stayed in my room. David came upstairs at bed time, but before he crawled into his bed, told me he was sorry and that he loved me."

"The old bastard checked on me twice during the night. I faked sleep both times. The last time, I waited until I was certain he was sound asleep, put my diploma in the backpack, my social security card in my wallet next to my driver's license, and put the money I stashed in an envelope taped to the back of my dresser in my pocket, slipped on my jacket and got ready to leave. I looked over at David and could see him sitting up in bed watching me. I gave him a kiss, told him I loved him, and said goodbye."

Malachi interrupted his saga by asking, "You've been planning this for some time, haven't you?"

"Yeah," answered Thomas sheepishly, "I just didn't know where I was going to go until the invitation came. The `when' was decided by Dad."

"Once out of the house, I walked down town to the Greyhound station, bought a ticket, and ended up here. Well, I took a cab from the bus station to here."

He paused long enough for me to comment, "Thomas, this is Tuesday. What time did the bus arrive in Des Moines?"

"This morning, I had a layover in Omaha before coming here. I ate lunch and messed around until I got up enough nerve to grab a taxi to here. Man, those things are really expensive."

I looked him over closely and knew I had to ask the question which plagued me ever since he walked in the door. "Thomas, why me? The family disowned me years ago. Coming to my home won't win you favor with your father or your grandparents. Malachi and I are a gay couple, legally married and that's about as popular as a turd in the punch bowl amongst the Westmoreland clan."

Young Thomas sat a moment, put his head in his hands, and in a barely audible voice said, "Because I'm like you, Uncle Matt," looked up at me, eyes again awash in tears, begging acceptance and not rejection from me for him. Reaching out, I pulled him closer and asked, "Are you certain?"

"Yeah, Uncle Matt, I just never came to grips with it until Dad's attack on Sunday against gays. Pretty much made me sick to my stomach. I figured on leaving as summer drew to a close anyway and go where I wanted to go to school. I'll be eighteen tomorrow, so after that he has no control over me, legally."

Malachi walked over, taking Thomas from my arms, brought him to his own chest, kissed on the top of his head saying, "You're all done running, Thomas, you're safe with us and have a home here," and rocked him back and forth as Thomas secured himself tightly to my spouse, hugging him back.

"Well, that's all settled so let's get you situated in your room and show you the house. The three of us carried his bags to the spare bedroom, moved my computer equipment to our bedroom and, after making up the bed, helped him put a few things away. Once done, he said, "I'm pretty tired Uncle Matt and ...Uncle Malachi, so I think I'll just take a nap."

When Malachi was ready to put the steaks on the grill on the back patio, I checked on Thomas. He had slipped off his clothes, slid under the covers, and was sound asleep. Rather than wake him, I told Malachi to fix a steak for him along with one for Micah. Depending on how late Micah worked, he'd be ravenously hungry and, if Thomas woke up in the meantime, he would be too. I could see how he'd be tired; the emotional strain must've been horrific.

Eating our dinner, our conversation centered on Thomas; his place in our home and how we were going to handle the situation, plus, we had to plan a birthday celebration for the next day. Malachi reminded me, he pledged to Thomas he'd be welcome and this'd be his home for as long as he wished. We'd provide for him as we did for Micah. Our family was growing, but our resources weren't unlimited. When I fussed about finding a job so I could contribute to the household income, Malachi reached across the table, clasped my hand, and said, "Right now, my love, you're needed here at home to take care of our family while I'm gone. Let me worry about the finances. Micah and Thomas both need stability in their lives, a place to anchor, and someone they can talk to. Besides you're a teacher, look how much you've helped Micah with his studies. Don't you think Thomas would need some help too?"

Micah wasn't home yet when we retired for the night. Malachi, always amorous and me, always receptive, acted on impulse and made passionate, but slow, sensuous love, as only he can, to me, quietly, ever so quietly, fearful our new resident would awaken. I don't know why we were so hesitant, it never seemed to bother Micah. In fact, there were times, laying on my stomach, ass lifted slightly as Malachi sank his length into me, I'd look toward the door and see Micah, smiling, stroking his own very erect and good-sized shaft. But Thomas was new to our life and we didn't know how much he knew about gay life or how much we were willing to share with him. I must admit there've been times when I wondered what it would be like to have Micah give me a good rogering, but better sense prevailed. I'm quite content with being monogamous and tied tightly to my partner.

Tied tightly I was too; Malachi was thrusting balls deep in me and, maneuvered on our sides, I could feel his cock-head swelling, beginning to reach that final stage of fulfillment. Just as he gave a final full bore push deep into me signaling his release and satisfaction, spritzing pulse after pulse of his sweet, white semen deep into me, the bedroom door opened and Micah stepped in, saying in a very loud whisper, "Matt, are you awake?"

I couldn't very well jump out of bed, pinioned as I was, so I just answered, "Yeah," while Malachi, pressed tight against my back, snickered a couple of times and gave his prick a couple of more twitches deep in my bowel, oozing out the last of his sperm.

"What's up, Micah?" I asked quietly.

"Matt, there's a skinny white boy asleep in the spare bed room; a skinny, white, drop-dead gorgeous, fuckable, white boy. Who is it?"

"Micah, that's my nephew, Thomas, and he's going to be living with us."

"Whew," he commented, wrinkling his nose, walking toward our bed, "it smells like sex in here," and lifting the covers from Malachi and I, saw Malachi's ample prick embedded in my butt and my own barely deflated cock dangling there, "and, it looks like it too!" covering us back up. If we both didn't love him so much, we'd have chastised him for his impudence, but it would do no good, he'd just do it again.

Knowing his next question would be "why," I answered it briefly, hoping to give him the rest of the story when we weren't so occupied, in the morning, but I did ask, "What time do you have to go to work tomorrow?"

"I don't; I have the day off that's why I worked so late tonight."

"That's great, Micah, tomorrow is Thomas's birthday and we're going to go out to celebrate. It'll give you a great opportunity to get to know him."

The next morning I awakened to the fragrant aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafting from somewhere in the house. I checked to seek if Malachi was up and made it, but he was still deeply asleep, apparently worn out from a difficult day at work and a very hard, night. Wandering out to the kitchen, wondering who in the world would arise before six and be making coffee, I saw, standing at the counter, hands covered with flour and sticky dough, my nephew.

"Good morning, Uncle Matt," he said as he turned to greet me and then blushed, deep, deep red, seeing my naked body with my maleness jiggling as I walked toward him.

Chuckling at his discomfort and embarrassment, I mused, "Thomas, you'll have to get used to our informality here, especially when we're here alone. I should've clued you in last evening, but I forgot and do apologize," as he continued staring at me. But, it wasn't me he was looking at, no, he was staring open-mouthed at Micah who walked in behind me, his large penis full and hard, pointing straight out in front of him like an unsheathed spear prepared for battle. It wagged from side to side as he walked to me, gave me a kiss, saying "Good Morning, Matt," as he walked by, then extended his hand to Thomas, saying "I'm Micah, Malachi's brother. You must be the good looking dude I saw sleeping in the spare room last night."

"Oh my goodness," sighed Thomas as he continued to stare at the exceptional display of manhood in front of him, then remembered his manners, tore his gaze away, took the proffered hand, and said, "I'm Thomas Westmoreland."

"So, what are you fixing for breakfast?" Micah continued as he closed in tight, making certain his stiff cock came in contact with Thomas' body, "Anything worth nibbling on here?"

Micah either behaved as though Thomas had been here forever instead of just the one night or he was making a pass at my nephew, and hoping to fuck him before the week was over, I'm willing to bet.

"I hope you don't mind, Uncle Matt and Micah, but I'm fixing biscuits and sausage gravy with eggs over easy on the side. The coffee's ready if you want some."

Mind; I didn't mind one bit, since it was a breakfast I didn't have to prepare. I got an empty cup from the cupboard for me and one for Micah, filled them with hot coffee, and sat down at the table to watch Thomas work and visit with him. Micah did more watching than visiting. I noticed the entire time he sat there, his flag pole didn't droop once, in fact, if my observations were correct, twitched a few time whenever Tom's ass wiggled a bit while bustling about the kitchen.

"Today's your birthday, Thomas, you should be taking it easy and let me do the work for you," I reminded.

"Nah, Uncle Matt, I wanted to feel useful and not just leech off of you, you know, I wanted to fit in."

"Don't worry about that," commented Micah, "I think you'll fit just fine," and said no more.

Malachi appeared in the doorway, dressed the same as Micah and I, scratching his balls, giving his cock a tug, and kissed me with a "Good morning, love," then turned his attention to Micah, kissed him, and then, to Thomas' surprise, kissed him with a "Good morning, nephew" before settling down beside me with a full cup of coffee.

I'm willing to bet this is the first time Thomas has ever seen one white guy and two handsome black men sitting naked at the kitchen table. Hell, I'll bet this is the first time he's ever seen anyone naked, other than himself.

Thomas had that wide-eyed "deer in the headlights" look on his face as he blushed, responding, "Good morning, Uncle Malachi," before returning to his culinary tasks, allowing his eyes to rest momentarily on Malachi's crotch, focusing momentarily on his penis, draped and hanging over the seat of the chair. A quick glance at Micah displayed a slightly bigger, but more engaged piece of flesh beginning to take its rest.

Thomas turned quickly, announcing "Breakfast will be ready in a minute, so if someone would set the table, I'll serve it and we can eat."

I began to get up, but a cautionary hand from Malachi on my leg, brought my motion to a halt, as Micah, grinning like a Cheshire cat, rose from the table, retrieved glasses and dishes from the cupboard, set them on the table, the walked toward Thomas, reaching over his shoulder, allowing his dick to wobble up against Thomas' side, placed one hand on his shoulder, and with the other, reached over Thomas's shoulder for the salt and pepper shakers in the cupboard over the stove.

"Excuse me, Thomas," he intoned, "I need to get the salt and pepper," lingering with his hand on Thomas' shoulder, pushing his crotch into him, before returning to his seat. Good thing he did, he was starting to chub up again.

Tom proved to be an excellent cook. When breakfast was over, I volunteered to help with cleanup as soon as I dressed, but Micah raced back to his bedroom and quickly put on a pair of board shorts and t-shirt shouting, "I'll help, don't bother, Matt."

As Malachi left for work, he stopped in the kitchen to see how things were going and the two boys were chattering as if they'd known each other their entire lives. Interrupting their conversation, he said, "Thomas, you'd better call your father and tell him where you're staying. I'd almost bet he filed a missing persons report by now. I'll check when I get to work if you want to wait until you hear from me before calling."

Tom and Micah spent the rest of the morning rearranging the spare bedroom into a permanent bedroom for Thomas. At lunch time, Malachi called, informing us my brother had filed a missing persons report, so while I listened on an extension, Thomas called home.

When his dad answered, Thomas said, "I'm living with Uncle Matt and I don't intend on coming home." Mark made no response, merely hung up when Thomas was finished.

During Thomas' birthday celebration at a restaurant, Malachi announced the missing person's report was dropped after he reported where Thomas was living. It was a relief to all of us and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief, finally to be free of his father. Malachi, Micah, and I apologized to him for not having birthday presents, but he was so pleased with having a place to live among kindred spirits, to care. The way Micah looked at him and he back, caused me to think it wouldn't be too long before they became much better acquainted. Micah would have to take his time; Thomas knew very little concerning our life style and probably less about gay sexual practices, of that I was fairly certain.

To be continued.


Thank you for reading Chapter 5 -- "Thomas" from "The Heart of a Dancer."  I hope you enjoyed it and invite you to follow "The Heart of a Dancer" to its eventual conclusion.  Other stories of mine can be found at:

Nifty- Beginnings - "Table Number Five" -- January 18, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings -"The Carpenter and the Piano Man" -- January 24, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "Gillie" -- January 31, 2012

Nifty-High School - Sheldon's Nutshuckers

                                    "The Stinky Pinky" -- February 14, 2012.

                                    "The Head of Medusa" -- March 8, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings --"Last House on the Left" -- February 21, 2012

Nifty-College -- "First of May" -- February 29, 2012

The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.

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