Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2005 15:26:39 EST
From: Jetjt@aol.com
Subject: Super Jeff, Chapter 1

The following story is a work of gay fiction. If the subject matter is
offensive to you or you are too young to be reading it, please exit
now. This story is the property of the author under U.S. copyright laws,
and may not be used elsewhere without written consent.

John Tucker, JETjt@aol.com


				SUPER JEFF

				 Prologue

My name is Jeffrey Worthington (yuck) Richards III. I've decided to tell
this story of my life so far as it has been unusual, somewhat glamorous,
and sometimes tragic.

My parents are professional people: My dad, Jeffrey Worthington Richards II
(duh), is a medical doctor and my mother is simply beyond description. Her
name is Melinda Fromton-Smythe Richards. Her family was rich and powerful
in the "old country" when my dad's were mere peasants. My grandfather, Jeff
(the first, silly), made up for lost time though, amassing a sizable
fortune to make up for his lack of breeding. It's the American Way, I
guess.

I digress; I was speaking of my mother. Doctor Mel, as dad often calls her,
has more degrees than anybody I ever heard of. She has a PhD in Art
history, and one in Music, her instrument being the violin. She has a
Master's degree in Foreign Languages, being fluent in Russian, German and
Mandarin, as well as a passing knowledge of Hebrew, French and Spanish.
Wanting to be "well rounded" (so she says), she has a Bachelor's degree in
Physics, Physical Education and Journalism. How she accomplished all of
that is a story in itself that I won't go into. I only mention it as it has
a bearing on me. I inherited her genes as well as some from my father, who
was no slouch himself.

 Jeff II, my old man, was valedictorian of his high school class, as well
as being the President of the student government He was number one also in
his pre-med studies, and was accepted to Columbia University for his
medical studies, where he served his internship before joining the west
coast staff of Scripps, doing research in Oncology as well as practicing
that specialty.

I have a sister too. Her name is Amanda, though we all call her Mandy. She
is two years older than me, and while also inheriting my parents' genes
both in looks and intelligence, elected to become an actor after starring
in a High School play and finding that she could memorize the whole
dialogue of the entire cast in two readings, allowing her to concentrate on
the development of her character. She's blessed with a beautiful singing
voice too, and has studied dance as well as other aspects of the theater.

That leaves me.

It would be well to revert back to where I wish to begin my tale. It was in
the summer that ended my 16th year and started my 17th, having been born on
June 3d. I had just finished my junior year in school, and being a chip off
the old block of my day, had been elected as Student Body President for my
senior year. I had taken or would be taking, every advanced course offered
at my school, and in addition, was being tutored privately in the piano and
golf. I guess I inherited the full blast of my parents' genes as everything
came easy, but having a continuing desire for knowledge I was facing the
crisis of deciding how I wanted to live my adult life. I was good looking,
had many friends and was very popular, being as active as my busy schedule
would allow in extra curricular activities.  My friends, recognizing my
superior intellect and athletic abilities in spite of my concerted efforts
to come across as just a `regular guy', hung on me a nickname. It is one
that I still use as my only common handle. It is SJ, Super Jeff. Of course
I have never told anyone what the letters stood for. It was common
knowledge in my high school, but not afterward.

I had (have) only one anomaly, I wasn't, and am still not attracted to
girls, though the opposite wasn't true. Yep, I was gay and worse, still a
virgin.

				Chapter One

The sun poured in through the window that I had looked from the night
before, having neglected to draw the vertical blinds. I cursed under my
breath at the disturbance of my sleep; sleep I needed after the party
celebrating the last day of school and the graduation of the senior
class. It had been a wonderful time with the festivities ending late, and
the separation from my friends much later.

I crawled from my covers and looked out of the opened window as I grabbed
the string to close the blinds. It was a beautiful morning and the view of
the Pacific Ocean from my window was spectacular. My parent's home perched
high on a hill in the Palos Verdes area south of Los Angeles. Our four
acres were worth enough money that a young person could retire, and in
addition to our land was the value of our house, which could only be
described as spectacular. Its 16 rooms were large and lavishly but
tastefully appointed; my mother having hired the best of the local
decorators, then imposing her own taste and will, merely using the
decorator's services as a resource for the acquisition of the furnishings,
artwork and decorator items that made our house so outstanding. To me it
was an everyday thing. I was not impressed. It was a nice house, but it was
only a house.

Pulling the string that closed the blinds, the room reverted to its desired
darkened state, and I returned to my covers. My mind however, would not
slow down enough to return to sleep. I had realized that it was the first
day of summer. Unlike many of my peers, this did not offer the sense of
freedom that it offered most teens, but rather simply a change in my
schedule. The pace of my activities would slow from that during school, but
it was still filled with many of my activities that continued on.

First there was golf. It was a sport I loved and was good at, developing a
level known as scratch during my junior year and the number one player on
my high school golf team. During the summer, I would continue my weekly
golf lessons, my normal one-hour-a-day of practice on the driving range and
putting green and my three rounds-a-week of play. I also would continue
with my piano instruction, an hour per day piano practice, and one hour per
week being tutored on improving my writing skills. Then there was my
exercise. I ran and worked out. My running consisted of 5 miles each
morning, and a workout in our gym at home for an hour, three times a week.

There would be time for fun too, though most of it would not be with my
family. Mom and Dad were busy in their professions, and my sister in the
east playing in a Summer Stock company.  I'd never complain about being
neglected though, it's just that everyone was often away doing their
thing. I guess being rich has its social as well as professional
responsibilities. Mandy would be spending the balance of the summer in
Europe with her rich-bitch buddies. She was going to college in the east at
one of those hoity-toity Ivy League colleges that cater to the women
offspring of the rich and powerful.

I lay on my bed, now wide-awake, pondering my future. I had a rather unique
problem. I was good at anything I tried, could excel at anything I was
interested in and could become considered an expert at anything I
concentrated on. How boring! I constantly had to play down my skills and
knowledge to maintain friendships, as it was easy to outclass my friends in
anything without effort, while they struggled just to be slightly
proficient.

`How does a person choose?' I keep thinking. Money is certainly not a
problem. I have a sizable trust fund from both my grandparents and my
parents, and over the previous 3 years had dabbled in the stock market with
$100 a week from my $500 allowance. I had turned my slightly more than
$15,000 investment into over $50,000 and I didn't even work hard at it.
Even with that subtraction from my allowance, I have more than I needed to
spend. Dad and Mom provided everything I could want, a car, and every
electronic gadget I had the slightest desire to try, a country club
membership that allowed me to play golf at no out of pocket expense and a
personal credit card for "incidental expenses."  Yikes! I guess my
challenge is that there are no challenges.

Personal appearance is not a problem either. At 6'tall, 165 pounds, and
well defined, there's not much I can't do. I may not be the perfect size
for basketball, but that's not a biggie with me anyway. I like to play a
pick-up game now and then, and my speed and agility make up a lot for my
size, but it's not a game that I crave. In fact I can play passably at
almost any sport, but golf is my love, plus I'm just a bit more than
proficient in tennis, and had to argue my way out of being on that school
team too. There's only so much you can do. In golf I'm quite good. I'm
still improving and plan on lowering my handicap by at least two strokes by
the end of the summer and 3 more during my senior year.

People find me attractive, guys and girls both. It's just hard finding
someone who has the combination of mental power and proficiency in physical
activity to be of interest. The girls seem to like me, and I date
occasionally, more for appearance than anything else. There are plenty of
guys that excite me physically, but it's difficult to pursue them since I
know that even today there are many who look down on gays as second-class
citizens, or worse. I guess I'm just not ready to be outed to the whole
world.

I take it back that I have no challenges. I sure haven't found a guy that's
right for me. Of course I have friends, but most of them are straight. Even
though I don't hide being gay with my family and very close friends, I
don't come on to guys and am more macho accidentally than most of them are
on purpose. And not that I come across as tough. I know I could whip most
of their asses if I chose, and that knowledge is enough for me. When I was
in my early teens I took martial arts and got rather good before I became
bored with it. Life is about a lot more than just physical aggression.

But back to love. It's not that I haven't had opportunities. That's why I
know without a doubt that I'm gay. Maybe something is wrong with me? I
can't seem to lose my sense of reason just because some guy is cute and has
a hot body, no matter the direction my ample dick points. I could get laid
every day, if that was my only desire, and I can't pretend that I'm not
frustrated with myself for denying myself the fun, excitement and a release
of energy that I know sex with another guy would provide. For now I'm
limited to my right hand.  I'd explode without some relief, but somehow
just getting off is not quite enough.

`Well, I might as well get up,' I'm thinking. `Maybe today will bring
answers.'

My morning wood felt good. After a stop at the john for relief of pressure,
I stepped out of my underwear and into the shower that I'd let run for a
moment to get the temperature just right. I rinsed myself off, then exited
the enclosure onto the bath mat, pulling a clean towel off the bar nearby
and giving my body a quick but thorough rub with the thick terrycloth.
After a fast brush to my teeth to remove the vestiges of morning mouth, I
grabbed the sports-scent deodorant and applied it in all the necessary
places. Deciding that I'd shave later, I strode naked into my bedroom suite
and opened one of the many drawers containing my small clothes. After
slipping on a jock, running shorts and wife beater, I grabbed a pair of
socks, entered my closet, picking out a pair of cross-country running shoes
and sat on the bed to put them on. Fully attired for my morning run, I went
downstairs, grabbed a glass of OJ, downed it and stepped outside for my
warm-up exercises. My body felt fresh and eager to start as I took in large
breaths of the damp air coming off the ocean. Stepping back to the door
leading to the house, I grabbed an Ipod, slipped on the earpieces, and
dialed in a tune before grabbing a gate opener and clipping it to the waist
of my shorts. I was ready. Starting with a slow trot, I punched the button
of the opener and watched the large gates at the end of the circular drive
swing open as I neared them. Taking a right turn from the drive, I again
punched the opener and heard the gate motor begin swinging the gates closed
behind me as I picked up the pace, down the street past the other
pretentious mansions that adorned the neighborhood.

20 minutes later, I approached the park that signaled the end of the
outward leg of my run. Unlike most mornings when I stopped only briefly at
a water fountain for a quick drink before beginning the almost all uphill
homeward run, I slipped off the headphones deciding to walk through the
park to work out a cramp that was threatening in my right thigh. After
taking my longer than usual drink from the fountain, I rubbed the muscle
that was signaling its discomfort, then walked at a moderate pace down the
pathway winding through the lush planting. My heart rate and breathing had
slowed down considerably and I was considering picking up speed again when
I heard a sob coming from nearby. Slowing down to a stroll I looked around
to locate the source of the sound. The dense foliage screened my vision but
after a few steps I saw what looked like a person thru the trees, sitting
at a table located within a small covered picnic cabana. Both the sounds of
voice and the partial appearance of the figure led me to believe that the
source of the sound came from a youth. Seeing that the path I was taking
had another path joining it from the left, I took the new path, hoping to
get a better look. It seemed so unfair to me that my life being so ideal,
any one young person should have to bear such grief, whatever the
cause. The trees opened up to the cabana as I rounded the curved walk. The
path circled close to the cabana and I saw a young guy, who appeared to be
about my age, hunched over the tabletop, crying. I couldn't make out his
face as it was covered with his hands. Feeling guilty at my own sense of
invulnerability, I turned onto the short path that connected the cabana to
the walkway.  The youth's back was to me as I approached. I placed my hand
on his shoulder and said in the kindest voice I could muster, "What's
wrong? Can I help?"

The youth jerked up in surprise, and turned to look at me.

"I^Åuh^Åno^Åleave me alo^Å." the boy stammered, then his eyes opened wide
in recognition. "You^Å you're Jeff Richards!"

"Guilty as charged," I said with a smile. I recognized the young guy's face
as being a student at the High School I attended, but I didn't know his
name. "I don't think we've met."

I extended my hand, and he looked at it dumbly before giving it a timid
shake with his own. "I'm Chris Taylor."

"Looks like you're having a bad day, Chris," I offered. "Mind if I sit
down?"

"Yes^Åno^Å. uh^Å. yeah, you can sit if you want," he said as he shook his
head trying to clear the fog from it.

"I meant it when I said I'd like to help," I pledged as I sat down.

"Why should you of all people want to help me?" he questioned. "I'm
nobody."

"You go to Jackson High, right?" I asked in response.

He nodded.

"Maybe you didn't know it, but I'm the Student Body President there next
year. I'm supposed to help anyone I can."

"Everybody knows you'll be the President," Chris replied. "Everybody knows
you!"

"See?  That's where you've got me," I said. "You know me, but I don't know
you. I'd like to, but it's hard for one person to meet and know 1800
others."

"You shouldn't be bothered," he responded. "I probably won't go there next
year anyway."

"Oh, you're moving huh?"

"You might say that," Chris responded. "I've moved out of my house, or more
accurately, I was thrown out."

I was caught completely by surprise. I paused a moment before I said
something I might regret.

"I know it's none of my business, by could I ask why?"

Chris' eyes again filled with tears. "I can't tell you. I've been through
it once and I never want to risk being on the receiving end of that much
hate again," he cried.

Moving next to him, I looped my arm around his back and drew him to me. I
could feel him shudder as if in fright.

"I couldn't hate you," I assured him. "I don't hate anyone."

"I didn't think they could hate me either," Chris replied sniffing. "Now
here I am with no home and no place to go."

"We'll take care of that later," I assured my new charge. "I won't let
anything bad happen to you."

"How can you say that?" Chris doubted. "You're young like me. They won't
let you do anything."

"You'd be surprised," I said. "You just have to trust me."

"You ask me to trust you, but I don't even trust myself," he said looking
into my eyes with a teary gaze, "besides, you barely know me."

"Do you have somewhere you can go live?  I mean, with a friend or a
relative?"

"None of the people I know could really be considered a good friend,
certainly not enough of a friend to take me in," Chris explained. "My only
living relatives are on my father's side of the family and they all hate
ga^Åuh^Å. people like me."

"Did you almost say `gay'?" I asked gently, picking up on his slip of the
tongue.

"Now you hate me!" Chris exclaimed as he pulled away from my grasp.

"No my friend," I said quickly, "I can't hate you without hating myself."

"I knew you would!  Everyone hates fag^Å.."

Chris' mouth hung open in mid sentence as my works sunk in.

"You're^Ågay?" he almost whispered.

"Tinkerbell has nothing on me," I assured him with a laugh.

"But, but^Å but^Å. You're Student Body President! You're handsome, and
smart and athletic and ^Åand^Å"

"Gay." I finished for him.

Chris sat with a bewildered look on his face.

"I just can't believe it," he said softly.

"It's true, though not everyone knows. My parents know and so do my close
personal friends. I just don't make a thing out of it. Being gay isn't
me. It's just a part of me, and not a very important part as far as the
world is concerned. I don't flaunt being gay, but I wouldn't deny it
either. I just want to be able to live my life as I choose to and not
according to some ignorant bible-thumper's prejudices."

"I wish things were that clear cut for me," Chris said. "My parents hate me
now, and I've nowhere to go."

"Sure you do," I said with a smile. "You're coming home with me!"

"No!" he said with disbelief. "Will it be okay with your parents?  I mean,
how will they react?"

"Don't worry about it," I said confidently, "Mom and Dad have known that
I'm gay for years and they're pretty liberal, at least about that kind of
thing. They're both professional people and gave up worrying about me a few
years ago. They care about me, but they have their own lives to lead and
let me fend pretty much for myself, only keeping an eye on me to make sure
I don't do anything stupid. So far they've not had to intervene."

"This could be the first time," Chris suggested.

"Maybe, but no matter what, I know they won't throw you out without you
having a place to go," I said. "They're just not that kind of people."

"If you're sure it's alright, I have to say yes," Chris accepted.

I smiled, and displayed a confidence in my invitation that wasn't fully
real. He was right; my parents might just come unstuck. I had better
sharpen up my powers of persuasion, and hopefully the timing would be
right.

"Let's head home," I suggested. "It's about 2 ½ miles. Are you up to
walking that far?"

"Sure I'll make it," he said. "I just don't understand why you're doing
this for me?"

"Maybe I think you're cute," I offered with a wink.

He blushed then hesitated. "Uh, I hadn't thought of that," he said, then
realizing the comment he was responding to, stammered, "No^ÅNo^Å. that's
not what I meant. I mean we've never talked about sex or boyfriends or
anything! I don't know what you want or expect, though in my circumstances,
I don't have much choice."

I suddenly understood where he was coming from. He thought I might make
sexual demands of him as a condition of my taking him in.

"Chris, you're right. We need to talk some more," I acquiesced. "First, I
want you to understand that you never have to do anything sexual with me
that you aren't perfectly comfortable with. I will not expect any sexual
favors for any reason. You are cute, and I am attracted to you, but I've
never had a boyfriend, and I've never had real sex with any other guys,
just a little playing around with a couple of friends when I was a lot
younger. I want you to know that I'm not asking you to come with me for any
of that. I just think you've had some hard luck and I want to help you."

"You should know a little about the real me too," I continued on, "I'm an
achiever. I can't help it; it's just the way I am. It's easy for me, and my
whole life has been a cakewalk. I have good, if not affectionate parents
and they make a lot of money so we don't have to worry about that. I guess
you could say that I'm a spoiled rich kid. I like to think that I'm not
spoiled rotten, but honestly, most of the time I think of myself first. In
that respect, I'm too self-centered. It's not that I want what others
have. In fact I've just never cared. For sure, I've never had anyone else
that depended on me. I know I'm missing a lot, but for the life of me, I've
never been able to figure out what it is. Everything has come easy. Now I
want you for a friend, and a brother. It's a new experience for me, and one
that excites me in ways I'm not comprehending at the moment. Maybe I'm
being selfish again, I don't know. I just hope I'm not scaring you by
talking about myself this way."

"I'm not sure what to think," Chris admitted. "It all sounds so foreign to
me. I'm just a kid who isn't liked by many, and considered an egghead by
the jock crowd just because I get good grades. I'm not tough or athletic,
and my parent's for sure aren't rich. I'm smart enough though, to know that
I'm in a corner now, and you're willing to help me. I'd be stupid to turn
you down out of fear."

"Good," I said as I stood. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later. Just
believe that you have nothing to be afraid of from me. Now, let's head
home. I'm hungry."

"I'm hungry too," Chris admitted. "I've been sitting on that park bench
since last night and I didn't have any money to buy myself anything to
eat."

"Then we'd better get crackin'," I said taking his hand and pulling him to
his feet. "I'm sure that Francois has a nice surprise waiting for us to
eat."

"Who's Francois?" he asked as we headed out onto the path.

"He's our French chef. His real name is Francois, but I just call him
Frank," I explained"

"You guys have a chef?'

"Yes we do, and a full-time maid and a gardener too. That's all I guess, at
least of the people who are there every day.

"I guess it's silly to ask if you have room for me," Chris asked.

"Maybe not silly, but unnecessary," I replied. "I wouldn't have asked you
to live with us if we didn't have room, though I'd share my room with you
if we didn't."

"I just can't get over it," Chris said. "I feel like I've come out of a
nightmare into a dream."

"Your muscles will prove to you that you're not asleep by the time we get
home," I informed my new friend. "It's all uphill."

"I guess I'd better can the talk and save my breath then," Chris
remarked. "I'm not used to that much exercise."

"You'll get used to it," I promised. "We're gonna make you into a real
hunk!"

"Like you?' he asked.

"Well, almost!" I laughed, giving him another wink.

		*		*		*

As we approached the driveway to my house I pulled the opener off the
waistband of my shorts and pressed the button. The large iron gates began
to swing open.

"This house is yours?" Chris asked in astonishment, stopping and staring at
the imposing mansion.

"Nah, it's my parents'," I said with a grin. "I just live here too."

"Wow!" he exclaimed, "I've never even been in a house this nice. I can't
imagine living in one. You can't comprehend how much you taking me in for a
day or two means to me."

"We'll see about the day-or-two thing later," I replied as we walked up the
long drive, "As for my generosity, it will be nice to have some company
around for a change. My parents are gone a lot with their work and I'm
alone most of the time here. I guess I should tell you though; I'm pretty
busy with my schedule. We'll have to work on that as time goes along."

"What do you mean?" Chris asked.

"I keep pretty busy, even when school is out for the summer," I
explained. "Every morning I run 5 miles. I practice golf and the piano for
at least an hour every day too. Then three times a week I work out in our
weight room here at home. I try to get in at least three rounds of golf
each week at the club too. Once a week I take golf lessons, piano lessons
and even writing lessons from an English tutor. It's my weakest subject
right now. I barely slid by with an `A' this last term, and I can do better
than that. I guess what I'm saying is that you're welcome to participate in
the things I do, or not, it's your choice."

"We can talk about it," Chris said. "Right now we don't even know if your
parents will let me stay."

"That's my job," I said as we walked through the covered porte cochere and
approached the eight-foot-high double doors leading inside.

Chris looked around in awe at the grand entranceway. Grasping the shiny
brass door handle of the entry door I pressed the thumb lever down and
pushed, swinging the door inward, motioning my new friend to precede me
through the opening.

"My God! This place is gorgeous!" Chris exclaimed. Looking down at his
rumpled clothing, he said modestly, "I don't belong here."

"Neither do I," I countered with a grin, "but I guess we're stuck with it."

Chris couldn't help but let out a giggle.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"I guess I feel like the guy who fell in a vat of poop and came out
smelling like a rose."

I laughed.

"Just ignore all this stuff," I suggested. "You do belong because I asked
you here. You've gotta remember that it's just a house; A fancy one, for
sure, but it's just a place to live. I didn't earn the money for this place
any more than you did. Personally, I'd trade these fancy digs for more time
with my parents, but that's not my choice, it's theirs. Come on. Let's go
get something to eat. I'll introduce you to Frank."

I led the way through the breakfast room into the large kitchen. Frank was
sitting at a small desk where he did his meal planning. Hearing us
approach, Frank turned his head, then arose from his chair.

"You're back a bit late," he commented. "Did you get a late start?"

"No, I started at the regular time, but I brought home a guest, and we
walked. Chris, this is Frank. Frank, I'd like you to meet my friend Chris."

"Nice to meet you Sir," Frank said formally.

"Uh, nice to meet you too," Chris replied.

"How do ya get something to eat around this joint?" I kidded.

It was like someone had lit a fire under Frank's ass and he leapt into
action running to the stove where he had food already started cooking.

"If you'd come home at a decent time," he complained as he armed himself
for the culinary battle, "you could have already eaten. I had to throw the
first batch to the pigs!"

"Did you hear an oink coming from the kitchen?" I asked Chris loud enough
for Frank to hear.

"No, but I wondered where the egg on Franks face came from?" Chris replied,
getting into the spirit of the kitchen banter.

"You're gonna wreck another kid, SJ," Frank hollered and he rattled the
pots and pans. "How will I explain that to your mother?"

"I'll do all the explaining Frank," I declared. "Keep your mind on the
crepes!"

"What are crepes?" Chris asked with a wink.

"Oh they're little anemic pancakes that Frank likes to make. They're kinda
like a French taco, except sometimes they're filled with all kinds of
concoctions that Frank dreams up or if they're for dessert, normally
they're sweet."

"I'll taco you, ya squirt," Frank threatened. "Just for that I'm filling
yours with `poisonberries'."

"Careful, you're scaring my friend," I laughed. Frank had been threatening
that for years.

"Go get washed up, and when you're done so too will breakfast be," Frank
ordered.

"Yikes Frank! Ya can't end a sentence with a preposition! My English tutor
would be indignant."

"You know what I have for that guy," Frank said waving his spatula. "Now
git!"

"Yes sir," I said, giving in and grabbing Chris' elbow. "Do we have time
for a shower?"

"Hell no!" Frank shouted back, "These crepes are delicate and have to be
consumed immediately! You have three minutes, flat, to get your asses back
here."

"Yes Mommy," I said as I pulled Chris though the door.

"Do you two always give each other such a hard time?" Chris asked laughing
as we headed for the downstairs powder room.

"Nah, Frank's just showing off," I responded with my own laughter. "He
thinks the kitchen is a ship and he's the Captain. He is a great cook
though. My parents would kill me if he ever quit because of me."

"Sounds like you enjoy each other," commented Chris as we entered the small
room to clean up. Realizing I needed to pee, I pointed out to Chris the
gold sink complete with gold swan faucets as I moved on to the toilet where
I proceeded to pull down my shorts, grab my generous dick and let loose a
golden stream. Chris was getting an eye-full and could hardly keep his
wandering eyes on what he was doing. I decided it was time to relieve more
than my bladder.

"Got a joke for ya," I said, looking at Chris. "Two guys were at the urinal
taking a piss. One guy finished first and went over to the sink to wash his
hands. The other guy finished and headed straight for the door. `Where I
come from in New York,' the guy at the sink said loudly, `we are taught to
wash our hands after urinating.' `Well, where I come from in Texas,' the
other replied, `we're taught not to pee on our hands!"

Chris cracked up at the joke, and quickly dried his hands on a hand towel
before stepping outside the room. I followed in a moment after heeding the
advice from the guy from New York.

"Let's eat," I said as I joined my new friend, leading him to the breakfast
room. On arrival there I could see that Frank had set the table for
three. On the serving table nearby were warmer containers holding scrambled
eggs, breakfast crepes, sausages, bacon, and fried potatoes. Nearby were
warm toast, bagels, English muffins and sweet rolls as well as condiments
of every description. Pitchers holding coffee, milk, cream and an
assortment of juices rounded out the fare. Sticking my head through the
kitchen door I waved at Frank catching his attention. "Who's joining us for
breakfast?" I queried.

"Your mother," he answered. "She's on the way down now."

"Thanks," I offered. "The breakfast looks good."

"You're welcome," I heard while the kitchen door closed as I backed into
the breakfast room.

"Morning Dear," I heard my mother say as she entered.

"Hi Mom. We have company," I said indicating Chris.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet my friend from school, Chris. Chris, this is
my mother."

"How do you do Mrs. Richards," Chris said politely.

"Hello Chris," my mother said with a warm smile, but without the great
charm which she could turn on at will. "Any friend of SJ is always welcome
here. Mmmm, breakfast smells good", she said as she turned, picked up a cup
from her place, filled it with coffee and took a healthy sip. "Let's take
our seats."

"After you Mom," I said indicating the place set at the head of the
table. I stepped behind the chair pulling it toward me, then after she was
in position, pushed it gently forward as she sat. Chris and I were quickly
seated on either side of the table. Picking up the small bell beside her
plate, she gave it a twist of her wrist.  The light, high-pitched tinkle
was answered quickly by Frank.

"May I serve you?" he asked.

"Please," Mom answered. "I'll have orange juice, then scrambled, two
bacons, one crepe and an English muffin with marmalade."

"What would you gentlemen like to order?" he asked.

"OJ and milk for me, then I'll have scrambled, sausage, and a crepe," I
answered.

"Uh, I'll have the same," Chris mimicked hesitatingly.

Frank quickly poured the requested drinks, placed them on a small round
platter and served them to the three of us. He then turned and prepared the
other requested items on heated plates before serving my mother, and then
the two of us.

"Would any of you care for anything else?" Frank asked.

"No thank you Frank," mom said after looking at us for concurrence.

"Bon appetit," Frank wished as he nodded in a mini bow, then disappeared
into the kitchen.

"Jeffrey would you return thanks?" mom asked.

"Sure Mom," I replied with a smile. I bowed my head and began.

"Dear Lord," I began, while thinking, `there's no time like the present.'
"We give thanks for all the blessings that You have bestowed upon us. We
thank You too for our guest Chris, who has suffered rejection by his
parents for being gay and will be staying with us for awhile. Lay your
healing hand on his problems and give him peace, knowing that he's now safe
with us. Let the generosity of our hearts be the instrument of better times
to come. Now we thank You for the meal before us. Let us use it to do Thy
will. In Your name we pray, Amen.

I looked up and saw my mother's questioning eyes looking at me.

I smiled and picked up my orange juice and took a swallow.

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