Date: Fri, 1 May 2009 18:36:59 -0500
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: culture_clash_chapter_5

Jay was quiet for some time as we waited for my dad,
Jay said, "Yes.  My father loves me.  But he would not
if he knew what you and I do.  His honor would be
destroyed.  HE MUST NOT KNOW, BRIAN!"

"He won't!" I assured him.  "I would never cause you
or him that pain."

We saw dad approaching so we could talk no more.  I
resolved, however, to resume the conversation later.


CHAPTER FIVE

Both dad and I had assumed that the other had checked
the weather forecast and we were surprised by a sudden
rain storm.  We laughingly taunted each other about
the negligence while Jay listened to the banter and no
doubt marveled at the camaraderie between father and
son.

The middle of a lake is no place to be in a storm.  By
the time we made it back to shore, we were all soaked
to the skin.  We hauled the fishing gear back to the
car and put it in the trunk, laughing at our sour
luck.

"I'm sorry, boys," dad said.  "I guess this kinda
spoils our outing."

"Don't be sorry," I said.  "The whole point of the
trip was not to go fishing.  It was to be together."

Dad gave me a loving look and seized me in a bear hug.
"You're right, son," he said.  "That's what's
important, isn't it?"

Then something remarkable happened.  Dad glanced over
at Jay who was standing nearby, probably trying to
absorb the physical display of affection between
father and son.  "Come on over here, Jay," dad said.
"We didn't mean to leave you out."

Jay hesitated and then approached cautiously.  Dad
wrapped an arm around him, drew him into the group
hug, and said, "You're a fine young man.  It's no
wonder Brian likes you."

I was flabbergasted.  Dad had subtly let me know on
the phone the previous night that he was not pleased
with my relationship with a `fur-i-nur.' Jay had said
very little on the trip or in the boat to reveal his
intelligence or character so why would dad call him a
`fine young man?'  Was he just being cordial and
polite?  That would be like him.  Or did he recognize
Jay's admirable qualities from slight clues?  If so,
it was a skill I didn't know he had.  Or perhaps he
had merely resigned himself to having a Chinese son-
in-law.  Whatever the reason, I knew I would find out
eventually.

The three of us stood clinging to each other for some
time, oblivious to the rain pelting down on us.
Gradually, I sensed Jay settle down a little.
Initially, he had resisted the hug, his body was
stiff, and his muscles were taut.  But he had begun to
relax enough to return our hugs.  If anyone were to
have seen us, it must have been a bizarre sight --
three people without enough sense to get out of the
rain.  But those few moments would become one of my
fondest memories.

Dad finally broke the group hug and said, "Hey!  Look
at us.  We're so wet our skin is about to get all
pruney.  And we'll catch our death of cold if we don't
dry off."

"You're right," I said.  "But how do we do that?"

"Come with me," dad said.  "I have an idea."

Jay and I looked at each other quizzically but
followed dad to the boat house.  Inside, dad said to
the young man at the counter, "You've got some cabins
out back, right?"  He nodded.  "Do you also have a
washer and dryer for guests?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I want to rent a cabin for about an hour and use
your dryer to dry our clothes.  All we need is three
towels to cover up while our clothes dry.  We won't
mess up the room.  What'll it cost?"

"The cabins rent for fifty dollars a night," the
flustered young man said

"We're not staying all night!  Just about an hour.  Or
do you want three naked men hanging around your
laundry room while their clothes dry?"

"No, sir, that would not do!"

"Then I accept your offer.  Fifty dollars a night
means about ... let's see ... I figure about five
dollars an hour.  I'll pay you twenty."

"But sir," the young man stammered.  "We don't have an
hourly rate.  The owner will..."

Dad interrupted.  "I know Charlie, the owner.  Let me
talk to him.  Where is he?"

"He's in town.  He won't be back until this evening."

"Then he won't have to know about it will he?" dad
said.  "And if you don't record the twenty dollars as
income ... well ... that's up to you, isn't it?"

The young man was obviously wrestling with his
conscience.  Dad let him stew for a few minutes before
saying, "Come on boys, I guess we'll have to strip in
the laundry room."

He turned to walk out.  Jay and I didn't know whether
to follow him or not.  I knew Jay would be mortified
to strip off his clothes in front of my dad and,
worse, to be caught naked by some stranger who might
happen by.  For that matter, I would not be pleased.

In the nick of time, the young man relented and said,
"Wait!  You can use cabin number five."

Dad paid the price he so artfully negotiated, accepted
three fresh towels and a key, and we set off to find
cabin five.  As we walked through the rain to the
cabin, I worried about Jay.  As shy and modest as he
was, he must have been afraid of being nude in front
of dad.  So, as we entered the cabin, I announced as
though there could be no argument, "Jay and I will
change in the bathroom."

Dad gave a sly grin and handed me two towels.  All
three of us knew the reason for my plan but, of
course, no one would make any further comment.

In the bathroom with the door safely closed behind us,
Jay said, "Thank you.  I was worried."  I just smiled
at him.

Soon, we stood there completely naked with our soggy
clothes in a heap on the floor.  Once more I was
captivated by Jay's trim, sexy body.  "You're
beautiful, my love!" I said.

I wanted to make love to him on the spot.  I felt a
tingle in my groin that signaled the onset of a hard-
on but I knew this was not an appropriate time or
place.

We wrapped our towels around our waist.  I knocked on
the door and called out, "Are you decent, dad?"

"No," he called back.  "But I'm covered up if that's
what you meant."

Dad took all our clothes to the laundry room and was
back in less than five minutes to say, "Twenty minutes
and we'll have dry clothes."

We sat and chatted for a little while about
inconsequential things ... at least dad and I did.
Jay was even more quiet than before and probably very
self-conscious about being half-naked.  Then dad, in a
flash of insight that I recognized, turned his
attention to Jay.  Masterfully, he asked questions
about his school work, living in Thailand, his family,
and other topics that, after a few minutes, drew Jay
out of his shell.  Finally, he said, "I told you
before, Jay, and I meant it.  You're a fine young man
and it's no wonder Brian likes you.  I'm pleased as
punch that you two are friends."

Jay cast a quick glance in my direction.  I thought I
knew the question in his mind so I answered it
obliquely.  "Yes, dad.  I'm lucky to have Jay as a
very good friend."  (I emphasized `very good.')  "And
lucky to have a dad who understands and likes him,
too."

We were fortunate that the downpour had diminished to
a drizzle when dad retrieved our clothes.  As Jay and
I dressed in the bathroom, he asked in a whisper, "He
knows about us?  What we do?  He is not mad?"

"He knows," I replied.  "And he is not mad."

"This is strange country!" Jay said.

"Maybe so," I said.  "But there aren't many fathers
who would be as good as my dad about having a gay
son."

The rain would persist throughout the day so we drove
in to the nearest large town, found a bowling alley,
and had a marvelous time.

**********

For the rest of the school year, Jay and I were able
to spend time together only on Monday and Wednesday.
He would come to my apartment immediately after class.
We spent our time doing our homework (as little time
as possible), having a meal and conversation, and
lavishing affection on one another in bed (as much
time as possible).  I asked him once if he could spend
the night, possibly a Friday or Saturday night.  He
said he wanted to but his father would never allow it.
I never mentioned it again but continued to wish that
I could wake up to find my lover next to me in bed.

If anything, I grew fonder of Jay as the weeks passed
by.  My hope that we would one day be able to live
together consumed my thoughts.  I consciously chose
not to think of the possibility that Jay and I would
part although in more rational and reflective moments
I knew that his family would eventually return to
their homeland.  I wanted Jay to remain in America; I
wanted it so fervently that I came to believe it would
happen.  When dad asked me about Jay, I confidently
ventured to say that he might move in with me.  We
would be room mates for the balance of our college
studies.  In fact, Jay and I had discussed the
possibility and he seemed eager to do so.

It was early June.  The school year had just ended.
With Jay's help, I was able to earn a B in chemistry.
We were frantically scheming to invent excuses to see
each other over the summer but had no plausible
reason.  When Jay phoned and asked if he could come
see me on Saturday, I enthusiastically agreed.

When he arrived at nine Saturday morning, I let him in
and he immediately hugged and kissed me with an
unexpected intensity.  I welcomed it, of course, and
returned the display of affection.  Our tongues were
dueling.  Our hands were roaming.  Our crotches were
grinding against each other.

After an extended period, with both of us sporting a
raging hard-on, I managed to break the prolonged kiss
and say, "What's up, Jay?  Are you especially horny
today?"

"I love you so much," he said.  "I did not know real
happiness.  You give me great happiness.  I LOVE you!"

"Then let's be happy in bed," I replied, expecting to
lead him to my bedroom for an intensive period of
passionate intimacy.  However, he surprised me by
uncharacteristically leading the way.

In the bedroom, we hugged and kissed some more.  Jay
seemed unable to contain his passion.  Soon, we were
both naked and lying on the bed -- two love-struck
young men savoring what, for us, was one of the rare
instances of unrestrained sexual arousal.

I kissed his neck and began to work my mouth down
toward his enticing nipples.  My fingers were probing
into his profuse pubic bush when he moved my hand away
and said, "No.  Please.  I want to give YOU pleasure.
I want to make you happy as you make me.  Allow me.
Please."

It wasn't a simple request.  It was a startlingly
earnest plea.  I was puzzled but could not refuse.

For at least twenty minutes, he gave me a tongue bath
from ears to toes while his hands were busy
stimulating every erotic zone on my body.  We had
never fucked each other.  (He had a child-like anus
and I was afraid of causing him pain.)  So I was
astonished when I felt his moist finger rub my pucker
and then intrude into my ass hole.  I squealed in
delight as he continued to lick my balls.  The
sensations reaching my brain put me into an orbit of
ecstasy.  I no longer had the will or the capacity to
wonder why my lover was so vigorous in his unwavering
assault on my body.

I was in a state of sensory overload yet craved more
stimulation.  I got it.  It hit me like a bombshell.
His warm, moist lips wrapped around the head of my
throbbing cock and within seconds I experienced the
most electrifying, thrilling, and completely
overwhelming orgasm of my life.  It was so intense
that it was almost painful but the kernel of pain was
enveloped with extreme pleasure.  I was physically and
emotionally drained.  Paralyzed with post-orgasmic
bliss.  Almost catatonic.

As the fog of contentment began to fade away, I became
aware that my lover was cuddled up to me with an arm
and a leg draped over me and his head on my chest.

When I found my voice, I murmured, "Wi set!"

After several minutes of blissful cuddling, he asked,
"I make you happy?"

"Extremely happy," I smiled back.

"Brian," he began hesitantly.  "Now I must make you
sad.  I am sad, too.  I have sad things to say."

I felt tears drop onto my chest as he fought to get
his words out.  "The work of my father is finished.
My family will return to Bangkok in two weeks.  I must
go with them.  I am sad to lose you.  I love you.  I
am sad to make you sad but I must go with my family."

I was stunned and speechless at what I had heard ...
what in my heart I had known to be a possibility but
had been denying since I first acknowledged my love
for him.  I hugged him tightly as though it might keep
him in my life.  Then the reality hit me and I cried
bitter tears.

For the next hour, we alternately talked and cried.
He struggled to tell me the agony he went through
trying to choose between a life with me and a life
with his family.  In the end, he chose his family.
Although I hated to lose his love, I recognized what a
painful decision it must have been.  I was dejected
but I didn't feel rejected; I had to acknowledge the
cultural imperative that forced the decision he made.
If anything, I felt sympathy for his predicament.

"At least we have two more weeks together," I said,
trying to make the best of a bad situation.

"No," he replied.  "I came today to tell you I love
you.  To show you my love.  To make you happy.  To
thank you for making me happy.  My father allowed me
to come to say goodbye.  I must help my family prepare
to go home.  I can not come see you again.  But I will
take wonderful memories with me when I go."

We hugged, kissed, and cried until he had to leave.

For the rest of the day, I was engulfed in grief over
losing my lover, a remarkable young man who had so
generously given me help in school, who had professed
his love for me and awakened my deep love for him, who
had shared with me the epitome of joy as we united in
exhilarating sex, and who became the dominant source
of fulfillment in my life.  That remarkable young man
resides in my heart and mind to this day.  I pray that
he remembers me but, in spite of his heritage and
culture, he has found another to take my place.

The End