Date: Fri, 27 Sep 2019 20:38:29 -0400
From: MC VT
Subject: A Day at A Time Gay Adult-Youth

A Day at A Time
 ©MVT2017 September 11, 2019

Anxious, alcoholic, and angry - a man learns who he is through the people
around him.

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"'Em-fuckers.  I'll get `em this time."  Got my slingshot from the kitchen
drawer and grabbed a handful of Great Northerns from the jar on the cabinet
and stuffed a bunch in my pocket.  "Last time they'll spy on me, damn
assholes."  Spitting curses, I stepped out my backdoor in the twilight and
saw a small red light through the leaves of my plum tree and heard the soft
hum of the motors.  It happened last night, but I couldn't figure out what
it was.  I knew now.

Grabbed a pea, put it in the sling and pulled the bands taught.  Waited to
get a good, clear shot.  Brought the slingshot up near my face, arm locked
straight forward.  Wait, wait.  Release.

Ponk!  The red light wobbled.

Another pea. Pull, release and another ponk.  It fell into the lower
branches of the tree and I ran to get it.

Drone, a small one, but there was the camera and the red light was still
on.  I held the camera lens to my face, "Fuck you bastards.  If you want
this contraption back, come and get it.  Come and get it from your
pissed-off neighbor itching for a fight."  I gave him an evil laugh and
took the damn thing in my house.  If the neighbor wanted it back, he'd have
to beg.  Might be better just to let him watch me destroy it right in front
of him.  My privacy, my yard and he wasn't but about twenty feet above the
ground.

"Against the law, you little shit head!"  I yelled out the back door, just
to chap his butt.

Back in the house, another beer, and my favorite cop show.  Before the next
commercial, here they come -- Dad and his two sons.  One boy looked to be
about fourteen, the other was young, maybe eight or nine.

Met `em at the door.  "Spying on me, huh?  I got rights to the space above
my yard.  What the hell were you doing?"

"Practicing with my drone."  The older boy said, looking around for his
aircraft.

"Yeah, and I was practicing with my slingshot at just the same time.  Perv,
I know you were trying to peek on the women next door.  The ones with the
privacy fence around their yard.  You're a peeping tom, I'm calling the
police."

"Give the kid his property back."  The dad said, voice low.  "He didn't
hurt no one."  Had his lead lowered and glaring at me, one eyelid twitching

"Fuck off.  I found it in my yard, mine now."

"Get out here, we'll settle this right now."  Their old man called me into
the yard to duke it out.

The younger boy grabbed his dad around his waist.  "Daddy, stop..."

The old man was weaving a little, maybe I was too, but I had to get a few
more insults in to make this a worth my trouble.  "That's your little
bastard?  Rat-faced turd.  Bet your mama hates you -- your brother too.  A
whole stinking family of rats.  Love whoopin' rat ass, c'mon, put `em up."

The younger boy was in tears, "My mama loves me."  He started crying, ran
back to his house with his older brother right behind him.

Didn't get a lick in.  Flashing blue lights at the end of the block and a
patrol car screeched into the front yard.  Bullhorn blasted, "Get `em up,
boys.  Fun's over."

We got separated, another cop car came and I locked my house for another
trip downtown.  Magistrate looked us over, and asked our stories.  First,
he talked to the neighbor who was stinking high.  Since the dad refused a
drug screen and had kids, his fate went another way.  Family services was
called in to take the boys, don't know what else happened to him.

Some kind of delusional relief filled my soggy brain -- I hadn't assaulted
anyone.  I was only defending my home and privacy.  I could just be on the
right side of the law.  Drinking's not illegal, and I wasn't behind the
wheel like last time.  Ready for a night in the tank, then back home, I
thought.

Well, when I flipped off the judge for reviewing my past records on public
drunkenness, he asked if I was ready for rehab, "Otherwise, you've hit your
limit.  Last strike, Fram."  Yeah, he knew me by my first name.  "Looking
at ninety days for disturbing the peace, public nuisance..."  He put on his
bifocals and began making a few notes, then continued, "I'm going to help
you out this time.  Ninety in the Graybar or a thirty day spin-dry."

Took me down a notch with that.  Rehab?  Sitting around talking with a
bunch of weed heads and junkies?  The food had to be better than the jail's
brown bag meals.

He admonished me that if I showed up in his courtroom again, he'd mandate a
year of rehabilitation.  I didn't know he couldn't do that, but it scared
me; I took the thirty-day program.

...

Rehab is like summer school, learning the lessons we missed earlier in our
lives, they told me.  First, I got asked about any medical conditions and
given a cursory exam.  The manager/supervisor/counselor/night security was
strict, explaining all the rules.  "...And no sexual relations.  If you opt
for the full program, none for a year.  That's what's recommended.  Shaving
your palms for the next fifteen months, Efram -- gotta get it together."

We went down the check list.  He asked about other drugs, my family and
friends...

I only drank and preferred my own company.  Mom and Dad had me late in
their marriage, so I was still a young man when they moved into a
retirement community outside South Gables.  I lived on a small trust fund
and made custom leather goods, mostly fleece-lined slippers and boots.  Had
a workshop in my garage, took orders online.  Drank the rest of the time --
didn't bother nobody; didn't want nobody botherin' me.

The manager asked about hearing voices, seeing people or things who weren't
there, racing thoughts, all the standard, I guessed.  By this time, I was
sobering with the pointed questions he asked.  Then he stopped.  "Are you
ready to commit for 30 days with the option for sixty, then a year?"

"Got to be better'n jail."  Yeah, I heard the word "option."

"Sign here and we'll get you something to eat."

I signed and we went to the dining area where I wound up vomiting those
damned curly noodles all over the table, floor, chairs, and got a blazing
headache.  Luckily, they gave me a shot to stop the vomiting, and I was in
a soft, pink dreamland as I slept on a narrow cot with a thin foam mattress
covered in vinyl.  Taken down another notch when I had to get up, shower
and dress in donated clothing.

...

The town of Bonifae depends on rehab programs, seems we have more than our
share.  Lots of illicit drug manufacturing in the back woods.  Perfect
location for cleaning up dealers who'd stashed enough cash to afford the
"best."  Then, there were the rich kids from coast or Tallahassee.  They
could come here to dry out, keeping the family name from a complete
besmirching.  I was in the county rehab, one step above the jail; bare
bones affair.  Locked in a small two-story building that used to be the
health clinic with fourteen other people.  Tiled walls, industrial style
baths, and that damn plastic furniture all over screeching on their genuine
linoleum floor.

...

Bonifae is small, only a couple of thousand folks, and it's an historic
town.  My parents lived in my great grandparent's old house for years.  We
were almost impoverished till Dad bought an old café and remodeled
it into a specialty shop.  He made donuts and beignets -- who doesn't like
fried food for breakfast?  Then he sold the family acreage to a developer
who built the mall.  When the interstate was upgraded, he opened a small
coffee and donut outlet alongside and we shot into the upper-middle class.
The money didn't really help - my family never could get into the tight
herd of righteous folk in Bonifae.  Dad didn't care.  They bought lots of
donuts every Sunday for their fellowshipping.  Said he'd rather have their
money than their friendship.

All us Dominickers were treated that way, though the old ways had weakened,
the name still stuck along with the stigma.  Years and years ago, blacks,
whites and Euchee Indians mixed.  That's a Dominicker.  I dodged all that.
Thought I had my life set-up in my little pre-fab outside town.  Thought no
one would bother me anymore, and here I was locked in a musty old building,
no open windows and having to listen to crazy people bitching and moaning
while my guts churned.

Damn kid and his drone.

...

Four weeks of slogans, speakers, and once a week with a nerfy shrink for a
few minutes; junkies got on their methadone and calmed down. Drunks were
another story all together; whiney, suspicious, shifty-looking.  Grade-A
liars and worse - always showin' their butts and tryin' to get `round the
rules.  Not wanting to pick up any bad habits, I stayed to the side
watching their pathetic circus.

We were assigned recovery coaches.  Cheap version of another counselor.
Mine was okay -- young Hispanic guy named Jesus -- "Hay-soos, not gee-zus."
Said something I would recall: "You think you got some devil that no one
else ever faced?  Put the bottle down and start dealing with it before it's
too late."

Didn't mean a lot to me at the time.  The more I thought about it, the more
thoughts came to mind.  Was I alone, on the edge of town by choice or was I
hiding from a devil?  This crew in rehab spent hours talking about other
people in their lives, why didn't I have any friends or a relationship?
Oh, yeah. I'd found early in life that alcohol was a good buddy, dependable
and put me to sleep every night without a gripe.  Waking up was the hard
part, and that devil had to be better than a nagging wife.  Just popped the
top, kissed the can and started my day slowly.  Jesus was talking about
someone else.  Decided I had no devil, but this was better than ninety in
the clinker -- a lot of real devils there.

All the information blurred through those days.  Can't say I remember much
except not to drink, but something like a ball of barbed wire was turning
inside me.  Isn't rehab supposed to make you feel better?

Thirty days done, list of meetings in hand, I went home.

...

Didn't promise myself I wouldn't drink, and there was plenty of beer still
in the frig, but pee-uuu!  The smell of my house made me sick -- the aroma
of hops and urine reeked through the entire house and my stomach
flip-flopped as I assessed the ruins.  Bathroom floor was yellowed where
I'd missed the pot so many times.  Had I lived in this reeking dump?  Trash
was rotting, roaches everywhere, I was overwhelmed and called my recovery
coach, "Cleaning up the wreckage of my past.  Come help."  Jesus had his
boundaries -- he wasn't touching anything wet or gooey; refused to go to
the dump with me.  Also had to go to a meeting that night with him. I
agreed when I met him at his car.

"That house down the street -- one with the contamination signs.  What
happened?"  He asked with a bottle of pine oil in his hand and a box of
trash bags in the other in his plastic-gloved hands.

Briefly explained the night I was hauled in, "Shot down the older kid's
drone.  The Dad from that house came down and we were ready to get into it
when the cops pulled up."

We went down the street to see what was left.  "There were kids here?"  We
peeked into the front window of the house.  Plastic soldiers, empty food
containers, clothes scattered around, cops tore it up good.  A lot of
broken glass on the floor, thin, clear glass and tubes, like stuff in a
lab.  Looked like the old man was cooking-up for sales.

...

Back at home, we picked up what we could and bagged a lot of broken crap
I'd just left where it fell through the years.  All my clothes stunk,
stained and filthy; threw them in with the trash.  Set off the bug bombs
and went to a meeting in my only white shirt, jeans and a sport coat.

Jesus introduced me to the old timers, reminding me I needed to start
looking for a sponsor.  People at the podium poured out their troubles.
After the third sob story, I went to the foyer, checked my phone for
nothing and went back.  Boring, so damn boring -- same as rehab.

Jesus and I started going to the same meeting every week together.  Felt
odd, people calling my name when I walked into a room.  But these were just
a bunch of lonely old drunks without their bottles -- probably wanted a
loan.  Few women approached me, and I dodged -- had to wait a year and
Jesus kept me on a short leash.  Dealing with women was easier when I was
drinking, I told myself that I probably couldn't keep it up long enough for
any satisfaction.  Backed out of potential relationships saying I was still
waiting for my results from the clinic but thought I had a condom, if it
was still good after eight years.  Most of them blanched and left while I
grinned.

Without the alcohol, my life came into sharper focus in another way.  I
noticed men, their looks, their faces, how they spoke, the ways they moved.
I noticed that the way men look at women.  Never could puff-up and sweet
talk like they did.  Where'd they learn that shit?  Women kept approaching
me in the meetings.  They were drunks, too.  I figured they just wanted a
dick and a paycheck to ride.  Jesus and I started going to a men's group on
Tuesday nights where I found a sponsor.  He traveled the coast supplying
soft drink supplies to convenience stores, figured he wouldn't bother me
much.

AA requests service work and I became the "literature guy," setting up the
display of brochures at the meeting I attended. Kept the small inventory in
the cabinet in the clubhouse.  Easy work, no one bothered me.  Through all
this time I was learning humility -- never thought I had much to be proud
of, but I was a vain bastard in odd ways.

...

Only recall that it was in the heat of August, about two beer-free years
later when I heard the dogs next door barking.  Heard the chain link fence
chinking like someone was jumpin' it.  There was a kid in my yard, skinny
kid in baggy jeans and a grimy white tee-shirt.  Damn well know I got my
slingshot out - the magistrate's face came to mind.  I had to deal with
life on life's terms and causing pain to a kid could land me in in jail
with an assault charge.  Keep it simple...  I'd just go out and ask him why
he was in my yard.

He didn't see me looking out the back door as he went to the corner of my
lot, and on his knees began digging in the dirt.  Quietly walked up behind
him, "Lose something?"

Startled him, he turned to look at me.  "Uh, no.  No."

He looked familiar, couldn't place him.  "Do I know you?"

"Used to live down the street."  He kept digging till he hit plastic, about
three or four inches down.  "I'll be gone in a minute."  Tugged the plastic
bag till he pulled out a graham cracker box inside of the bag.  He opened
the top of the box. It was filled with cash, from what I could see --
several big fat rolls.  Dropped the plastic bag, and started pushing the
rolls of bills in the pockets of his jeans till all four pockets were
filled.  Damn, that kid musta had several thousand, the bills on the
outside were hundreds.

"Get over to the hose, rinse your hands."  He handed me the empty box and
went to the deck, took the hose, ran it over his head, streamed the water
down his arms and started rubbing the dirt off his hands, then wiped them
on the front of his shirt.  Had a few pimples, needed a haircut, pale skin,
dark-eyed with muddy brown hair, "Hungry?  Sandwich and a pop?"

"No beer?"  He sneered.

"Got sweet tea."  I motioned to the lawn chairs on the deck, "Take a load
off.  You live around here?"

"Not anymore."

Went in the kitchen.  As I stacked a plate with sandwiches, it came to me.
That was the little brother of the family who'd come after I downed the
drone.  Throat closed remembering calling them a family of rats and the boy
crying and running away.  Would I have to make amends?  Wondered if he
remembered what I said.  Guessed he did since he asked about the beer.

Took out a full, big bag of chips, sandwiches and pops. "Move your chair to
the shade."  I told him and turned a paint bucket over for our drinks.
"Help yourself."  I opened the chips.  Damn, if that boy didn't tear into
the food.  Two sandwiches gone immediately, and he had the bag of chips on
his lap, pop in hand.

"Sorry for calling you and your family rats."  I began.

"We lived like rats."  He continued stuffing his mouth.  "I remember you
said my mother didn't love me.  Mean thing to say."  He said softly.

"Too much booze for too long."  Weak excuse.

"Well, duh!  Everyone around here knows you're a full-blown lush."

"When I got hauled in with your dad, I wound up in rehab.  Sober now."
This conversation was getting to me, "Hope your family's okay."

He shot me a dirty look.

"Look, kid.  I saw all that cash.  I'll drive you to the bank.  People's
gonna get suspicious about you if you flash that roll.  They'll think you
stole it, or steal it from you.  I'll get my car keys."

"Got no ID - can't open an account and I'm not parking it in yours."

"Don't want what's not mine.  Keep your damn money."

Mutual stare down, then he softened.  "I'll pay you to go online and buy me
a bus ticket.  Got to get to Destin."

"Destin?  That's only an hour away, what say you buy gas and we'll leave
after you're finished eating?"

"Can I have another sandwich?"

"Fix it yourself."  While he ate all my pickles and lunch meat, almost half
a loaf of bread, I combed my hair, put on a clean shirt and stopped.
Grabbed another tee shirt and we left for Destin, Florida, coastal town on
Choctawachee Bay.  He filled the tank on the way then fell asleep in a
clean shirt as I drove the ten to the state road and toward the gulf.  Had
to put the window down.  That kid needed a bath.

As we turned onto 98, headed into Destin, "What's the address?"

He yawned, "4013 Commons Highway."  Stopped at a gas station and while he
peed, I looked up the address on my phone.  We were close -- the address
wasn't residential, but an office park -- businesses everywhere.

"We looking for a house, apartment building - what?"

"My mom.  She gave me this address to my social worker last year."  It was
a pizza joint.  He looked disappointed.

"She's probably workin' in there -- go ask."  He got out and I waited.

He came back out with a hangdog look.  "Not there."

"Where now?"

"Back to your house."  I complied and when we pulled in the drive, he
jumped out and went straight to his old house, contamination notices still
posted on the door.  Went around to the back and probably broke in to stay
there.

...

I cleaned up that evening and cooked up mac n' cheese.  Couldn't eat.  Kept
thinking of that boy.  Had I put him in this position with my insults?  Had
I started a chain of events that led him to sleeping in filth?  Went down
to his old house with a plate of food and told him it wasn't safe to stay
there, "Toxic chemicals."  We talked for a while, I found out his name was
Devon, but he went by Caine -- his uncle's name.  "Okay.  If you need
water, come to my back hydrant if I'm not home."  He agreed and I went off
to my meeting:

"Name's Fram.  I'm alcoholic."

"Hey Fram."  In chorus from the group.  My first time speaking at the
podium and I told them about the incident leading to my rehab.  Proud to
say I made amends with the kid I insulted, took him to look for his mom,
then closed by thanking them and sat down.

"Thanks, Fram."  From the group.

Jesus grabbed me after the meeting, "Where's the kid, did you leave him in
Destin?"

"He went back to that old house, remember the one with the signs?  Holin'
up till he finds a place, I guess."

"You didn't call social services?  He could get sick."

"Live and let live."  I shrugged, went home and started working on orders
that were coming in.  My sponsor updated my website with photos, brought in
a lot of business from people with corns and callouses or two different
size feet.

...

My sponsor usually came over after the meeting when he was in town --
brought dinner and explained about doin' my steps.  The steps were online
and I could print out pages and fill them in.  Felt proud of myself when I
handed my stack of scribbles to him until he told me he didn't read them.
He wanted me to practice fulfilling my commitments, and slapped my back.
We sat on the deck and shot the shit till I heard someone at the door.

 Here was Caine with a brown paper bag in his hand, "Can I shower?"

"Sure, sure...  Need to wash your clothes?"  He nodded and handed me the
bag.  Felt light.  "Get in the shower, I'll hang a shirt and shorts on the
door knob."  He slipped into the bathroom tossing out his grimy garb.
Started the wash and made a plate knowing the kid probably hadn't eaten.

"Who's that?"  My sponsor asked.

Explained briefly while we sat in the dusk, then came in when the mosquitos
got bad.  Caine came out in clean clothes and I put his few things in the
dryer.  He found the food and sat at the kitchen table eating.  When the
bell rang on the dryer, he got his clothes and put them in the bag, ready
to leave, "Thanks for the food."  Dawdling by the door, "I'm looking for
work - odd jobs or yardwork."

My sponsor was giving the boy a long look.  "Lookin' for work, huh?"  When
Caine looked up at him, "I'll ask around, sweetheart."

Caine left immediately.

My sponsor grinned like a Cheshire cat after the boy left.  "That kid's
been working the rest stops.  Saw him south of Two Egg couple of weeks
ago."  Came to my side, "The boy's hot as Little Cuba's on habaneros."
From there he explained the culture and business going on at the rest areas
and truck stops.  "Plenty of it around here..."

"He asked for work.  Could be trying to straighten up."

My sponsor smirked, "Yeah."

The look he gave me made me feel strange.

Called Jesus the next day.  "How do I get rid of my sponsor?"

...

That night, I took dinner to the kid and stood in the dark, explaining he
could stay with me if he worked around the house.  I'd help him find some
place to live, "Maybe a group home or some kind of children's shelter..."

"That's what I left."

"Okay, we'll find your mom.  Dad's still in jail, right?"

"Yep."

"Where's your brother?"

"Atlanta, I think.  That's where he said he was going."

"He ran away with you?"

Caine looked away, "A little while longer and I'll emancipate myself.
Then, I'll be okay."

There was nothing in the contaminated house, walls were busted open, floor
curling up at the corners.  Probably full of mice and bugs maybe snakes.
"Get your things, I got a cot in my workshop."

Unexpectedly, he leaned toward me.  In a half-hug, "Thanks."

He didn't turn to follow me, but went to the kitchen and shoved the old
refrigerator aside, grabbed a half-gallon jar that once held tea, put it in
his bag and followed me.  The kid had more cash.

...

He got cleaned up that night and I found some more clean clothes for him,
fixed him a dinner and we watched the television for a while.  During a
commercial, "I got a network of friends across the state, well an
international network, I guess.  I could ask them if they've seen your mom,
she could hold the money for you.  Got a photo?"

"Got nothing.  Looking to work so I can explain how I got the money and
start putting it in the bank.  It'll get stolen. I could get killed."

"You don't have to tell me, but where'd you get all that cash?"

"After Dad made a big sale, he'd get stoned.  Just waited till he was
zipped and put a few bills in the cracker box.  My brother said we might
need it if Dad got busted.  Buried it in your yard, and was starting on
another stash.  Don't think he ever noticed it missing, maybe he thought
someone else stole it - never said anything to us."

"Gonna have to pay taxes on that money when you put it in the bank."  I
said.

"Yeah?"

...

Having a twelve-year-old around wasn't too bad, Caine was quiet.  Spent the
whole morning up and down the street, knocking doors looking for work while
I cut and stitched several pair of short boots.  Stayed out of the way, for
the most part, but did the yardwork.  Even got the hammer and nails and put
the deck back into reasonable shape.  Self-sufficient kid; cooked, swept,
did the laundry, cleaned the kitchen.

Called Jesus and asked if he could put the word out that I needed clothes
for a teen boy.  He posted to a website.  People left bags and boxes with
my name on them at the meetings.  Got all sizes and kinds of stuff.

Caine asked me to take him to the big store down the road.  He was careful
with his money, buying only a toothbrush, paste, comb, underwear and
shoelaces.  Didn't throw out his old things, but washed and mended what he
could.  He did toss me a fifty for all the food he was eating; I gave it
back.  I ate better when he was around.

Well, he got a few jobs cleaning out garages and mowing, moving furniture
for the families around the area.  School was starting soon.  He didn't
want to go - wanted to work.  "People are going to ask if you're truant
when school starts."

"I'll tell them I'm already emancipated."  He said.

"Probably won't know what you're talking about.  Find a better excuse."

As I finished up a pair of mocs in my workshop, Caine came in to go to bed,
and it all came tumbling out in a tearful, confused stream after I asked
where he might have family: The brothers left their group home, the older
boy went north for work.  Caine found out about working the rest stops,
traded services for rides to come back for his money.  Had the address from
his mom; planned on staying with her -- helping her with the cash.

This didn't seem to warrant tears till I thought about it.  He was all
alone on the highways at twelve.  "Were you afraid?"

He was sobbing, "Yeah.  Thought I was going to die a couple of times."

Put my arm around his shoulders, baffled about what to say, "We'll find
some way to fix this, nobody's gonna hurt you here."

...

Wasn't too long after that my ex-sponsor decided to visit.  First thing out
of his mouth was, "Where's Caine?  Got some work for him."

"Yeah, what kind of work?"  This guy was slimier every time I talked to
him.

"Same ol' same ol'."  He gave me a sly smile and raised his eyebrows.

"He has work now."  I lied and didn't let him any further in the house.
"All he can handle."

"Houseboy now?  Ain't you the lucky bastard?  Didn't know you had it in
you."

Took him to the front porch and shut the door behind him.  Turned around to
see Caine in the hallway.  Hoping against all hope he wasn't, "Are you
homosexual or were you needin' a ride?"

"I needed a ride, but... are you going to kick me out?"

"No."  The kid was a fag.  It made sense that he didn't want to go back to
school -- he'd be bullied and harassed.  Foster or group homes offered the
same.  "Let's look online for your mom.  Maybe we need to file a missing
person report for her.  Where did she live last?"

"Destin, I guess."  Online we found her mugshot.  Picked up in the Keys
several months ago dealing.  Tears filled his eyes as he read the list of
charges.  Then, we searched for his brother.  Nothing there.

"Got to make a plan.  You need your education or you'll never make anything
of yourself."  Tears started again.  Couldn't understand why.

...

Had no idea what to do with the kid; spent hours thinking on it.  During
that September he stayed in the house until three, then went outside hoping
the neighbors thought he was in school.  It bothered me that he hid out, he
needed his education.  Thought more about it and I called Jesus asking why
he was concerned about the kid living down the street.  Said his mom was a
social worker in Miami.  Figured he must have some contacts for Caine.
"Okay.  Can we speak confidentially?"  I asked.

"Getting soused again?"

"Nothing like that.  I want you to meet the kid, but only if you keep it to
yourself."

Told Caine my coach was coming over.  "He's a good guy.  Don't tell him
about your cash - anything else is your decision.  He's not going to tell
anyone you're here -- that could put you back with the state."

Jesus had a lot of questions, and it all came down to one thing - Caine had
no ID, nothing that legitimized him for county services.  During that
conversation, the boy said it out loud to Jesus -- called himself queer.
Then, Jesus asked me if I could support the boy while he looked for
resources.

"Yeah, guess so.  Don't want him out on the road.  You okay here, Caine?"

He nodded.

"Let me think about this."  Jesus leaned back.  "What's your full name?"

"It was Devon David Shirley.  Tell everyone to call me Caine McCane -- Dad
had a reputation."

"Give me a few minutes."  A few minutes turned out to be an hour.  Jesus
went online in my bedroom while Caine went to bed.  Jesus came back the
next day on his lunch break.  "Found a private home for you in Miami."

"Private home?  What do you mean, like here?"  I asked.

"No.  It's a non-profit that takes runaway teens -- gay kids,
transgendered...  Only eight teens and looks like they'll have an opening
next month.  Caine'll be able to go to school, get ID, everything.  Lots of
help for kids in his situation."  We opened the computer and checked it
out.  "The only thing he really needs is guardian ad litem.  He explained
what that was, "Fram can take the class and become your guardian while
you're in the home."

Caine and I weren't so sure.  "What does he have to do to get in?"  I
asked.

"Show up, I gave them a little information, not much."

Glancing at Caine, "Don't want him waiting on the streets for a space.  Can
we see this place first?"

"Sure.  I'm going into Miami to visit my parents, I'll take Caine by and
let him look around."

Caine looked at me, "Can Fram come?"

...

Saturday morning Caine still needed a haircut, but was clean and ready,
curious.  We got in Jesus' dinky Subaru and left for the big city.  Jesus
had Caine in the front seat and they were talking pop music and some of
television shows.  Hard to find topics with a boy who had such a difficult
life.

Nine hours later, we pulled into the drive of an older ranch style home to
see a soccer ball, couple of skateboards on the porch.  There was a
basketball hoop over the garage.  The house wasn't a total wreck inside,
kids' stuff was strewn about, all labeled with different names in permanent
marker.

"Weekend staff took everyone to the beach.  Won't be back till four."  The
house manager said.  He was a funny-looking guy, skinny with big glasses.
Each kid had their own small room, some neat, some messy.  There was a
patio with a big table, barbeque pit, lots of shade and a volleyball net.
Looked good to me, and the house was filled with the smell of Italian food.
"Lasagna tonight," The guy said and explained a few rules.  He spoke with
Jesus for a while about the requirements -- there weren't many.  I needed
to get my butt in gear and take that guardian class.  Someone needed to be
watching out for Caine though the house seemed comfortable and from the
looks of it, the kids came first.

...

Left for Jesus' parent's home -- what a welcome!  Music blared from the
garage where a gang of kids swarmed the yard and the sidewalks.  Caine went
to talk to them while we went in the house to start eating -- Jesus' mother
had a thing about food.  Then Caine came in, she made a fuss over him and
the plates of tortas and salad began appearing in front of him.

They spoke in Spanish, Cuban-Americans.  Caine sat beside me on the couch
as they spoke, "I liked that house.  What do you think?"  He asked.

"Don't know much about private homes."  I thought for a moment, "Looks
good."

"A month, maybe less and you won't have to feed me anymore."

"Food's not a problem.  Promise me you won't go out on the road again.
Call me first, we'll work something out.  Got to keep you safe."

That boy reached around my neck, pulled me to him and kissed my cheek.
"Thanks."

...

Jesus and his family had to talk into the night.  We left at one in the
morning, Caine fell asleep with his head on my shoulder in the back seat.
Eight hours later we woke up in Bonifae.  Put Jesus on the couch and went
to bed.  I lay in the dawn thinking for a long time.  Got up later and made
coffee, toast and got the cereal out, went back to my bedroom and found the
information on the guardian classes.  The state would let a man with a past
be a guardian?

As Jesus poured his coffee, "Um...  Is my record going to stop me from
becoming Caine's guardian?"

"Don't worry about it, we can patch that - talk to the court personnel."

"We can do that?"  Being sober had more benefits than I imagined.

"Can't guarantee it, but you don't have any assault or sexual charges, do
you?"

"No.  Only acting up when I was drunk.  Nothin' since rehab."

Caine was up, looking sleepy.  Thin, shoulders narrow, so child-like coming
to the table without a shirt.  I went back to bed reading the information
I'd printed out about the class when Caine came to the door.  "Can I come
in?"

"Whatcha want?"

"It's about the money.  What am I going to do?"  He sat on the bed.

"Oh, yeah.  Can't open an account...  Can't take it with you -- they'll
want to lock it in the safe where it could disappear, but probably think
you stole it..."  I looked at him.  "I could bring it to you when you get
ID -- take you to the bank."

"Better hide it again."  He looked worried.

"I'm going to the courthouse tomorrow to sign up for this class.  Hide it
while I'm gone.  I don't want your money, and don't want anyone else taking
it from you.  That's some pay-back for all you've been through."

"What are you reading?"

"It's about the guardianship class.  You know you can get someone else to
be your guardian.  The state'll give you one."

"A stranger?"

"We could ask Jesus."

"Nah.  I'll stick with you."  He lay beside me.  "What does it say?"

I read the summary of the class, and the reason kids needed guardian ad
litem.  Caine asked a few questions, then looked over to see him dozing
quietly.  Gently I turned and pulled him alongside me and fell asleep.

...

The next morning, I left Caine to hide his cache and enrolled for my class.
Only five classes in one week, I'd be finished before Caine left.  Hit a
few snags with my application and had to call Jesus for a letter of
reference, then I had to go back to that damn magistrate and beg him for a
letter.  He was surprised to see me sober yet he knew the bigshots in our
local AA organization.  "If you can get a letter of recommendation from the
intergroup leader, I'll follow suit."  That wasn't hard, they all knew me
from stocking the literature.  Seemed like the wreckage of my past was
falling away.  A few days later, my name was on the roster and I found an
old bag for a pencil and a tablet -- ready for class.

...

Eating regularly did Caine good, meaning he needed slightly larger clothes.
Went through the old bag of donations -- too large or too small and his
tight clothing was rubbing him.  He told me he had a rash.  "I believe
there's cornstarch in the kitchen.  Go powder whatever itches."

It didn't get any better, he was tugging and rubbing until I asked.
"Where's the rash?"

"In my pants."

"How bad is it?"

"Getting' worse."

"To the bathroom."  I ordered, figuring I had something above the sink to
remedy the problem.  "Let me see."

He hesitated a moment, then quickly removed his shorts.  His hands fanned
the inflamed area.  Like dark pink clouds on his pale skin -- jock itch.
Digging in the cabinet I found an old tube of ointment, and squeezed some
on my finger tip and began dabbing it on the worse areas.

Damn small package on that boy and no hair, I noticed.  Smooth skin but for
the outbreak, "For the next few days, just stay in the house and wear one
of my long tee shirts -- nothin' else.  Keep it cool and dry or it'll get
worse.  Does it burn or itch?"

"Sometimes."  He looked at me.  "Did you have this before?"

"Yeah, I had a jock strap - the elastic rubbed..."  His short rod began
chubbing.  I dabbed more on, "Lift your leg, let me see how far it spread."
Fortunately, it was confined to the front, so I dabbed more on his pale
pink balls to see him jump.  "Got to use this several times a day."  He
nodded, embarrassed by his short rod, fully at attention.  Cute little dick
with balls only the size of hazelnuts.

The next day he stayed in the house and wanted me to put the medicine on
him, then powder his butt and between his legs with cornstarch.  Kinda
looked forward to that and watching the fungus disappear.  He puttered
between the tele and cleaning the floors then did the laundry.  Things were
comfortable, and I was enjoying taking care of the little sprite.  Caine
always thanked me for things, didn't need to be reminded to clean up after
himself.  The kid was quiet - very different boy from me when I was twelve.

When evening fell, we shopped for groceries.  Pork chops, vegetables, we
cooked out on the deck in the evenings.  I started the fire and Caine
cooked, carefully testing that the vegetables were done.  Found out he
liked barbeque sauce on almost everything.  As we ate, he'd tell me about
his family moving to evade the cops and I noticed he seldom mentioned
school.  Wondered where he'd go in life after all he'd been through.

...

Saturdays we mowed and straightened the yard, I enjoyed mowing though it
was sweaty work.  Caine picked up all the branches and limbs, raked around
the hedges, then on to the back yard.  All the time, we were thinking about
dinner.  We put the radio on and grilled out feeling like kings.

It was the Saturday night after I'd finished my classes and applied to be
Caine's guardian - we were going to celebrate with ice cream.  Still hadn't
heard from Jesus about taking Caine to Miami - it would be soon.  As we
spooned out the ice cream, Caine asked me where my girlfriend was, "I won't
bother you if she comes over."

"Don't have a girlfriend."  I thought about it - I'd never had a girlfriend
and until AA didn't have any friends at all.  "I guess it's like you being
gay.  What does it feel like bein' homosexual?"

"Like me.  I've always just been me.  It's the way I am."  He went on
eating his ice cream.

"Same here.  Being alone is just the way I am.  Never thought much about
it, just being me."

"Don't you get lonely?"

"Got my work - I'm okay by myself."  It occurred to me in that very moment
that I'd never let anyone into my life to know if I was meant to be alone.
Alcohol and my drive to drink wouldn't allow that interreference.  Stuffed
that thought down.  "You're not going to be alone in a house full of other
kids.  Are you excited?"

"Gonna come visit me?"  He asked with a mouth full of chips.

"Going to call me if there's a problem?"

"Yep."

"Deal.  Let's clean up -- cop show tonight."

"Cops always win."  He moaned.

"Not always.  Have you ever thought of being a cop?"  He looked at me like
I'd lost my mind.

...

After our showers we watched a movie.  Caine fell asleep on the couch next
to me.  What a beautiful boy, skin was clear now.  No more jock itch.
Clean nails and smooth, white feet.  I grabbed a foot and began massaging
and squeezing.  He didn't move, instead he shoved the other one on my lap.
With the greatest of care, I squeezed every toe softly, then his heels and
up to those slender Achilles tendons.  Small muscles, tiny delicate bones,
even his calves were straight, without curves.  Wouldn't be too long before
his body bulked.  Found myself leaning sideways to rub along his knees to
his thighs.  Couldn't feel the hair on his legs it was so fine and thin.
Stayed like that, rubbing his skin till the movie went off, "Get to bed."

"That felt good."  He giggled as he left for his cot.

Went to bed with a lot to think about that night.  Told myself the only
reason that I was able to abide the company of Caine was that I knew he was
leaving.  That thought could have been some sort of self-protection.  Then
I had the most interesting fantasy as I jerked off.

...

Later that week, Caine asked to go to the shopping center.  He wanted a
haircut, and waved a hundred-dollar bill saying he wanted to look good when
he went to the group home.

"Do you know what kind of style you want?"

I kept my thick, tight black waves in a bushy tail; I hated haircuts.  We
went to my bedroom.  Caine got online to check the styles out and print out
a picture.  I just laid on my bed watching him.  He found several styles
that looked good.  A fade on the sides and long on the top.  "Which do you
think?"

"Talk to the barber."  I said as he sat beside me.

 "Will you massage my feet again?"

"You got to massage mine tonight."

"Okay."  He jumped up and went to the bath returning with an old bottle of
baby oil, pushed my feet apart, lay between my legs, his head at my feet
and put his legs over my torso, feet on my belly.  Stroking and rubbing
each toe, then up to his ankles, he moved so I could massage his calves and
fell asleep, I thought.  After a few moments, he sat up.

"Going to miss living here.  It's so quiet and I get all your attention."

"You'll like the kids in Miami, probably find a friend.  I'm going to miss
you, too."

"Thought you liked being alone."  He lay alongside me.

"You're changing my mind.  Maybe I'll find a friend."

"Jesus is your friend."

"He's my recovery coach -- a paid friend.  He doesn't count."  He snuggled
next to me, head on my chest, and I pulled him close.  Then, I broached the
subject I was thinking about so many nights, "When you were on the road,
did the men hurt you?"  He burrowed his face into my pec.  "You don't have
to answer.  Nothing to be ashamed of, just doing what you had to do."

He breathed heavily a few times and answered.  "One man hurt me; the others
wanted a blow job."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm over it now."

"Promise me you won't work the road again."  I pressed his face into my
skin wanting to tell him I loved his strength and his honesty.  The words
wouldn't come out.

...

We spent that whole hundred dollars getting Caine's hair, then mine styled.
Looked different on both of us.  Both left with fades and I had a "man
bun."  Then to the discount store I got us new shirts -- both aqua.  We
felt great, looking good, smelling sweet, struttin' new duds.

Got a cell phone for Caine and put him on my plan.  "Don't lose it!"

Good thing we did all that, Jesus called the next day.  Taking Caine to
Miami on Thursday at five in the morning.  Found a small bag and we packed.
I realized Caine didn't have much except for the money that was hidden
somewhere close by.  The night before he left, he came to my bed and told
me he wanted to sleep with me.  Without a thought, I moved over and he slid
next to me.  Yeah, I would miss this little guy.

The room was dark and still when he turned to nestle against me.  Palm flat
on his chest, I pulled him into my chest feeling the cool skin of his back
against my torso -- the small bones of his spine enthralled me.  Caine had
other plans than sleeping.  I felt him take off his briefs -- he tossed
them on the floor, reached around behind him and fished my tool out of my
boxers.  Froze, this was getting highly illegal, but didn't feel so sexy --
not yet.

No talking, no explanation, nothing but his small, quick movements as he
pulled my penis between his legs.  Someone else touching where I was
sensitive shot me into full erectile mode, kinda expected that to happen
and I may have asked him to stop witha not a very sincere request.  Then,
he tightened his thighs around my rod, pressing my shaft against the cool
skin of his legs and into the warm place behind his balls, between his
legs.

No humping, no movement except when he grabbed the end of my shaft sticking
out in front of his groin.  With his small hands and began pulling my
foreskin back and forth, then, faster.  Pre was making clicking, snapping
sounds and I decided my hips might want to hunch along to help myself to
some "sex-lite."  I did and almost immediately began shooting a heavy load,
just a few moments of that bliss...  He stopped his hands and began
gathering my semen, rubbing it on his short shaft and began jerking himself
and making the funniest sounds until his brief orgasm shook him.  From over
his shoulder, I watched as he wiped his hand on the sheet and left me like
that -- rod still between his legs, dripping.

It was over. He was snuggled into sleep position.  Did he just want me for
his personal lube-producer or what? "Is that gay sex?"  I whispered.

After a few moments, "I don't know, my brother and I did it."

That incident gave me enough to think about for the next several years.

...

Seemed like I just fell asleep when Jesus was banging on the door.  We
jumped up and I made coffee while Caine readied.  Jesus filled his coffee
cup, anxious to get on the road.

"Jesus, would you be a friend if you weren't paid to be my recovery coach?"

"You only got me as a coach for ninety days out of rehab.  Could say I've
been your friend since then."  He smiled.

I was preoccupied with Caine, "Will they let me know what's going with the
boy?"

"I'll tell them you need a weekly update."

Caine was bouncing around, excited and took a cup of oatmeal with him to
eat in the car.  I stashed his bag in the trunk and off they went into the
November fog of Bonifae.

Had to go to family court that week with the group from my guardian's
class.  I was slotted to be Caine's guardian and asked to take on another
child.  "Sorry, one at a time."

...

The house was empty.  Silent, almost like it was dead.  I went to my
workshop hoping it would pass as I worked but began trying to sort out what
happened the night before.  Stayed at the bench all day, then I noticed I
didn't have my phone with me.  Got it and there were several photos of
Jesus driving, Jesus at a fast food place and Jesus telling Caine to stop
taking pictures, then there was a photo of the house.  Several kids stood
out front with backpacks.  Goofy-looking kids -- one had blue hair.  All
teens and dressed in style -- baggy clothes and droopy pants.

Friday came and I got a summary of from the house, a photo of Caine's room
and Caine at the dinner table surrounded by kids.  They took him to a
clinic, then to an eye doctor.  Said he needed dental work and mentioned
possibly needing a counselor.  These were initial assessments; I wasn't
surprised at anything.  Caine wouldn't be going to a school, but a learning
center -- he was several grade levels behind.  "Individualized studies,"
they said.

I asked for a copy of the test results from the clinic and the
professionals.  Asked about the type of counseling, and a copy of his
educational assessments, thanked them and forwarded the email.  Went
straight in the bathroom and took a photo of me in the mirror, sent it to
Caine, "Everything okay?"

About twenty minutes later, "The guys here think you're hot.  They want you
to come visit."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I got a cake the first night I was here, but I had to take a lot of
tests and do yucky stuff."

"Call if you think something's not right, okay?"

With his hand over the phone, "We have to go to our rooms and turn off our
phones.  I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

He hung up.  It was exactly nine thirty.

...

My days passed quietly, stayed in my workshop filling orders and working on
a pair of moccasins for Caine.  He had a narrow heel and I cut carefully,
stitched and glued - fleece-lined with the little brads on the sides and
back and maybe I'd put some beading on them.

...

I got my updates every week from the house, and brief phone calls when the
background noise was either the tv or music.  The boy was adapting well.
He was going to a counselor now, and gave the name of the professional.

Jesus came by every Friday after work and brought dinner; sometimes cooked.
I asked about the counselor; we researched the guy online.  He worked with
youth, "lifestyle transitions."

"What's that?"  I asked, wondering if they were going to brainwash Caine
into some cult.

"Coming out of a drug house, I'd say Caine could use some lifestyle
transition.  Probably talking about his self-esteem, clearing his mind of
the scams druggies live."  Jesus explained.  "Why do you ask?"

"He never showed any of that around me."  Then, I remembered all the cash.
"No interest in smoking or drinking.  His self-esteem seemed okay."

"Counseling can't hurt and he may not need much.  Wait and see what
happens."

Over dinner, I got down to business, "Got to repair my relationship with my
parents.  Since we went to your family's house, it's been bothering me.
Have to make amends for years of harassing them when I was drunk."

We worked out a plan: Start sending emails.  "Keep it simple."  Jesus
advised me, "And don't argue about their feelings -- other people's
feelings aren't your business.  Listen and take whatever they say, then
thank them.  Remember, they don't have to talk to you."

...

Sixty days after Caine left, I called him and told him I would be there on
Saturday morning early and asked if he needed anything. "We'll talk when
you get here."

Parked down the street and brought a box of donuts with me.  Rang the bell,
it appeared I'd sneaked up on them when I didn't pull in the drive.  The
house supervisor met me - the short, wiry guy with big glasses, Urkle-man.
He was in charge again.

"I'm Caine's guardian ad litem, is he here?"

He glanced at the donuts.  "Are there enough for everyone?"

"Think so."  The door swung open.  The place was neater today, only a hint
of sweaty socks lurking around.

A boy came down the hall, saw me and ran back, "He's here with donuts!"
Doors began opening and shutting.  A rush of teens came out of the hall
while the supervisor went to the kitchen with the donuts.  Finally, the
last one out the hall was Caine.  I shook his hand and we went in the
kitchen.  The teens carefully picked out a donut with a napkin.  That was
strange, I looked at Caine.  The maître d' from the Blue Moon and
taught us table manners."  Caine said.  "We're learning to eat properly so
we don't look like a Neanderthals."

I smiled, "You like it here?"

He nodded.  We asked the supervisor to leave the premises.  I showed my
paperwork as guardian though I'd already sent photos of it for their files.
Wanted this part of my life legit and in order.

Took Caine to lunch at a place near the beach, talked about his classes,
his exams, all the assessments.  He told me he had a good friend in the
next room, Allen.  "We ride bikes, there's a trail through the park with a
bridge."

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes Yari comes with us."  For some reason, Caine blushed and began
giggling as he dipped his fries in barbeque sauce.

"You boy's playing tricks on someone?  I don't want to hear about any
bullying."

The little booger came to sit beside me, bringing his fries, "Allen's the
best."  He whispered, leaning closer to me, "We go under the bridge."

I leaned close, "What's going on under the bridge?"  My mind was centered
on drugs and alcohol -- had to nip that in the bud.

"We suck each other off.  If Yari's there, we jerk together.  Yari's got
real soft hands, he makes it feel real good."

Guardianship classes covered sexual abuse, reporting, trauma and
trafficking, nothing about teen crushes and boys fooling around, "Does
anyone get hurt?"

He laughed, "Yari fell down and got wet when he slid down to the stream.
He got rocks in his butt."

"You and Allen getting' it on in the house?"  There was a "no-touching"
rule.

"We're not supposed to, but sometimes Allen comes in and we sleep together,
rub off.  I think he's lonely for his family."

"Don't get caught, and don't tell anyone you told me.  I don't know
anything."  Had to go back and check the manual on that kind of activity.
Caine'd played around with his brother, I remember that lesson well, and
these were young men on the cusp of puberty.  Better play dumb about this
though I envied Caine and Allen.  "What's happening for the holidays?"

"They said we all get presents, we have to decorate before the party...
Maybe go roller skating or to the theme park."  He looked at me, "What are
you doing?"

"Calling you.  Calling my parents, if I'm lucky."

"Where are they?"

"Not far."  I wondered how close they were.  Didn't even know their
address.

"Could you come at the holidays?"  He gave me the cutest smile and
fluttered his eyelashes.

"For you, only you."  I leaned over and kissed his cheek.  He squeezed my
hand and kissed my neck.  Damn straight I missed that boy.

We spent the rest of the day at the discount store, buying him socks and a
few things.  The toiletries supplied by the house were all unscented, same
brand as they handed out at the jail -- he got some popular deodorant and
hair gel.  The rest of the day we were at the house looking over the
damaged sports equipment in the garage -- needed to bring my tool box.
Stayed for dinner and felt strange as some of the boys fawned over me
whispering and giggling.  The young women in the house I wasn't sure about.
There were transgendered youth and all the kids wore the same kind of baggy
clothes.  Some used make up, some didn't.  Kinda confusing, so I shook
hands with all of them, trying to keep their names straight.

On the way home, I was deep in thought about Caine and Allen rubbing and
sucking each other and kissing, touching.  When I pulled in the drive to my
house almost hating to enter that dark, empty place alone.

...

Jesus came by later that week and we went through Caine's update together,
then I noticed an email from the state -- Family Services Department.
Informational meeting on changes in the laws regarding families and
children.  Jesus told me to attend, "Caine's mom wouldn't be in jail
forever, and if she gets out early the state will reunite the family."

"You mean Caine'll go back to his mother?"

"Yep.  She'll be coming out with a lot of sobriety under her belt and has
the right to be with her kids."

"Will he be forced to live with her?"

"You're looking after his best interests, better go and ask."

After he left, I was disturbed and went into my workshop -- stayed up all
night finishing orders and packing them for shipment.  All the while
wondering about Caine's mother getting out of jail and taking him.  Went
online before dawn the next morning.  Looked like she had several more
years to serve -- Caine would be almost old enough to emancipate himself.
I'd advise it.

...

After two months emailing my parents, my effort bore fruit.  Mom sent their
phone number.  Spent an hour on the phone catching up with her.  Dad played
golf till he hurt his back; they were in a bridge group -- humdrum stuff
and I listened.  Summarized my last stint with the police and told them I
went into rehab, "It's working out Mom.  Haven't had a drink since."  Proud
to tell them I was a guardian for a boy in the Miami area.  Sent a photo of
Caine.  "Having a party for the holidays, I'll be in town.  Maybe we could
meet up."  She didn't commit, yet seemed curious.

Put my nose to the grindstone to get all the slippers and boots out before
the holidays.  Finished the mocs for Caine and carefully wrapped them in a
box along with foot powder and called Jesus.  "I need a bike for Caine --
not fancy, but a sturdy bike that looks good. "What are they riding these
days?"

Jesus picked me up on Saturday and we went to the police department storage
room.  It was filled with bikes and skateboards, stolen scooters and all
kinds of unclaimed things they'd picked up through the years.  Some of the
equipment was new, almost no wear.  They let me take four bikes and four
skateboards that worked when I told them I was taking them to a group home.
Jesus stayed the weekend helping me put new tires on, cleaning off the dust
and checking the brakes.  He tested each one up and down the drive and
greased all the bearings on the boards.  Touched up the paint -- they
looked great.

...

With my tool box in the back with the bikes and my present on the seat
beside me, I left for Caine's saying I was bringing a surprise.  Pulled in
the driveway, and the kids started coming out.  They opened the garage door
and we started unloading.  Caine grinned and hugged me as the kids looked
over the equipment, when Allen came out, I shook his hand.  The hand that
jerked Caine, probably.

Urkle-man came out and tried to get the kids to put on the protective gear,
but they were already off on the bikes and skateboards.  I only grinned and
took my tool box to the broken bikes.  With Caine's help, we had two more
bikes working in short order.  Used the can of flat tire goop and soon
Caine was off with the other kids up and down the street.  Went in the
house to clean up and found the staff busy in the kitchen and hauling boxes
from the attic to decorate.  Had a good time that night, hanging tinsel,
holiday music, big dinner with a local minister leading a prayer and
staying to talk with the kids.

"Do they take you to church?"  I asked Caine.

"I stay here with the skinny guy.  He shows me how to use the computer."

Sent Mom and Dad a photo of Caine in his new mocs and wished them happy
holidays.  Wondered how that went over.  They didn't respond - could be
vacationing with friends.

...

Whatever they did at "Individualized Studies" worked, Caine was catching
up, looking at entering public school soon. Hit his first growth spurt and
was excited.  He and Allen rode their bikes in a park nearby every day.
Staff were pleased and started with the counselor again - career counseling
now.  That surprised me, but sounded right.

During Caine's first year at the house, one older boy left for college,
another teen went back to her parents, and one simply left after
emancipation.  No further details.  Hoped she was alright.  The beds were
filled immediately.  Caine was becoming an old timer in the house.

...

Caine would have to be sixteen before he could be emancipated, and I was
waiting for his mother's release, I was armed with information.  To be
honest, I wanted Caine with me if there were going to be problems.  Through
the empty nights and hours in my workshop, I began to realize that I loved
him.  Strange feeling - love wasn't something I had allowed myself.  Loving
Caine was easy, yet that made me queer.  I had no sexual interest in women;
didn't hate `em, but couldn't imagine partnering with one.

Being queer was a hard pill to swallow, and it was clearer every time I
thought about it.  Looking back, I realized I wasn't born to live alone; I
built a wall around the fact that I wanted to be with a man and that wall
kept everyone out.  Took hours of reading then thinking about all the
different incidents in my life, but I was like Caine, I'd always been gay
-- didn't suddenly burst open inside me, it was a part of me I'd hidden.
Caine being honest had allowed me to consider that possibility.  In some
ways, he helped me come out to myself.

Now, I had to deal with the age difference -- pedophile.  Was I a pedophile
wanting a boy instead of a man? I didn't feel like one.  Wasn't interested
in any boy, only Caine.  The law was clear and it was a "personality
disorder," perverse, sick.  Another devil to face down, and so far, I'd
said nothing and done little though my fantasies were of Caine.  My mind
saw him next to me in bed, the rich touch of his skin on mine, a kiss,
doing things together, laughing, telling me about his days.  Paternal and
sexual feeling mixed, confusing me.  Reigned myself in by telling myself he
was growing up to become a big, hairy oaf like his dad, told myself he
would be surrounded by other gay men suggesting all kinds of things in
coded terms.  Those convoluted thoughts kept my fantasies lighter about the
boy yet didn't change my homosexuality.

Couldn't go out looking for a male friend in Bonifae, I'd wind up with the
double-whammy of stigma.  I was dealing with a lot of devils and I learned
more about myself as I read online and thought about it.  Drunks need to
feel in control and I wasn't sure quite what to do about my new-found
penchants, so I had to stay in a lonely holding pattern till I found out.

...

Friday night Jesus came over with, French bread, thick, spicy sausages and
broccoli salad with tiny tomatoes -- looked good.  I couldn't eat much.  We
sat on the deck, "I'm thinking about moving."

He snorted, "What's wrong?  Doin' the ol' geographic won't solve anything."

"Bonifae's too small, not comfortable here anymore."

"Thinking Miami?"

How did he know?  "Maybe.  Looked into Lakeland, or outside Orlando."

"Pricey -- can you afford it?"

"I can take care of myself."  Then I remembered Caine's cash hidden
somewhere on my half-acre, I couldn't leave without his money and didn't
know where...  "Pipe dream.  That's all. Wanna go to a meeting?"  I asked.

"Name's Jesus, I'm an addict-alcoholic."  He began his spontaneous meeting
right there on the porch, surprising me.

"Hey, Jesus."  I joined in.

"Been lying.  Well, haven't lied - I haven't been honest either.  It's
making me want to use again.  Got to tell the truth and trust my higher
power."  Then he stopped and looked at me.

After a long pause with him staring at me, "Yeah -- well, out with it.
Who's gonna whop up on a shrimpy little Mesican here?"

"A beating I could take."  He leaned over and put his hand on mine.  "Hard
thing to say, it makes me feel...  vulnerable."

Looked at him, wondering, "Spit it out.  Is this about me?"

Leaned closer he held my hand in his.  Was he using again?  Trouble at
work?  What was so damn hard to say?

"I love you."  His gaze stayed on my eyes.

Immediately decided to take the back seat on this ride, "So?"  Sure, I read
about my homosexuality, but enacting it was another affair altogether.  I
didn't know how or what to do.

"So, you're not upset?"

"Cool with it."  I looked away, then decided to end this evening.  I stood
and gathered our drinks and went to the kitchen sink.  He followed.  From
behind me I felt his skinny form against me, arms around my waist.  Felt
his face on my shoulder blade.  I turned to tell him to back off.  His
hands came to my face, he held me, looking into my eyes and kissed me.
Lips pressed on mine, I felt Jesus' tongue on my lips, then probing my
teeth.

I leaned back, "Enough."

He was holding me closely, his hands at my back and his head on my chest.
I smelled a hint of lavender, deodorant and sweat.  His heart was beating
fast. A vein in his neck jumped rapidly.  "Not yet."

"Yep.  That's enough."  I didn't want to lose this guy - he was my only
real friend next to Caine; couldn't get rough.  Tried to push him away and
when I did, he stepped back and glanced at my jeans.  Rock hard with a spot
where my slit was leaking.

"Are you sure?"  he said softly, almost whispering.

I turned back to the sink, washing my hands, finding something to do -- I
had no experience with this mushy stuff.  "Jesus, we're friends.  Okay?
Friends."  Wiped along the countertop, and asked if he wanted to watch a
movie.

He didn't let me go.  "Have I crossed the line?"

"Nah.  Being honest, can't fault you for that."  I finally broke from his
embrace.

He left quickly, shook my hand on the way out.

...

Texted a message to him a few moments later thanking him for dinner and
checking to see if he was angry with me or what.  He texted back
immediately apologizing.

Then, in my own moment of honesty, "You're a good friend.  Door's always
open to you."

Wasn't but a few moments later he was knocking on the door, "You said the
door's always open to me."

"You didn't leave?"

"Sitting in the car shaking.  Never did that before -- you know, admit I
love a man."

I slung my arm around his shoulders.  "I never had any one admit they loved
me."

...

I brought tea and we sat on opposite ends of the couch.  Handed him the
remote; he handed it back and came to sit beside me with his hand on my
thigh.  We were quiet for a long time.  I wasn't able to think clearly,
didn't know what to do.

Can't say why I did it, but I snaked my arm over the back of the couch
around him smelling my own sweat when I did.  When his hand came to my
cheek, I turned my face toward him and we kissed.  French kissing -- the
short course.  It seems to make people relax, lay back and their hands
began moving to other's groins.  Jesus' hand went to my zipper.  Holding
his head against mine, damn, I liked kissing, I unbuckled my belt and
unsnapped.  His eager hand began gently, and I was a wet mess down there
when the cool air hit my boxers.  Sucked in a fast breath with that and
looked into Jesus' eyes.  They were closed.  He put his head on my chest,
toying with my tool, then looked up.

"Take `em off." He whispered.

Didn't want to leave his warmth, but stood and I dropped my jeans and
briefs to my knees.  Dangled a string of juice over the coffee table as my
shaft bounced into open air.  When I sat down, he moved between my knees
and I was already `bout twenty miles down the road to a full-blown sexual
encounter and couldn't even remember startin' the engine.

Heard enough in meetings to know that sex could become an addiction, and
quickly understood why.  I grabbed his hair, feeling along his hot skin -
on his face, his lips around my rod as he sucked, "Slow down."  One hand
tugging my balls and the other gripping me he began his licking and
sucking, working more of me into him with each stroke.  Tongue, lips - hot,
wet, I looked down to see him looking at me.  My jaw went slack and my
mouth fell open when he sucked me deeply.  I may have moaned, that primal
force began rustlin' inside me.  Thigh muscles clenched and I pressed my
head back hard, lifting my hips and pressing his face into me until I felt
his throat ring my glans.

He sputtered.  I backed off.

He lifted his head with his hand stroking my shaft, then he stuck his
tongue in my slit and tickled around.  That sent sparks inside me, then he
immediately began sucking and stroking fast.

"Slow..."  He didn't slow down, but shoved my tool to his throat sucking,
only moving a fraction of an inch to breathe.  Heard him take a deep breath
and knew he wanted me to cum.  In the next few moments, my body quaked,
shook, trembled and suddenly it peaked.  So fast I couldn't feel it rush up
and out -- gushing again and again.  Then the moments of high while my
breath and heart decelerated. Nowhere land, twilight zone, sweaty and still
riding the high silently.  He lay his head on my groin, penis still in his
mouth, swallowing the last few drops.

Can't say how long we stayed like that, didn't want to give it up --
completely relaxed and incredibly satisfied.  Would this ruin our
friendship?  Was I being played or was this real?  My old tapes began
playing in my head.  Without thinking, "Stay over?"

We undressed and got in bed; Jesus had been quiet though he was smiling.
"Am I supposed to blow you now?"

"Do what you want.  I'm tired.  Rough day."

"How hard can it be to listen to a bunch of drunks bitchin'?"

"When I made the decision to be honest with you, well, it took a lot of
guts.  You intimidate me and it was hard finding the right words -- been
tense all day.  My first time."

There were a lot of things I wanted to say but couldn't.  I turned him on
his side and curled behind him, "Rest."  Then I began thinking.  His first
time.  Should I tell him it was my first time?  Do I owe him a sexual favor
or something else?  Relationships are complicated -- I didn't know the
expectations or requirements, nothing.

...

The next morning sexual remorse hit.  The smell of coffee and toast from
the kitchen erased part of that.  Had to face a few awkward moments for
caffeine.  Got up and went to the kitchen to find Jesus on his phone,
dressed and ready to leave.  That stung, I hoped he would stay.

Poured coffee and sat down with him.  He glanced and smiled, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Being who you are."  He poked the screen of his phone several times.

"Have to leave?"

"Taking a guy to an early meeting."

I stood, embraced him, kissed his lips then, "Go make a buck."

He kissed my cheek and left whistling.

That wasn't so hard.

After he left, I wanted to tell someone about kissing a man and that
incredible blow job, but who?  As I cut, stitched and worked, my emotions
were pushing and pulling inside me.  I'd never seen an out gay man in
Bonifae -- wondered if there were any.  What do they do with their dates?
Do they have partners, live alone or what?  Had to let that go, my brain
was singed and starting to smoke thinking about kissing.

...

Jesus' courage prodded me.  At noon I emailed my parents, "I'd like for you
to meet a friend.  Lunch at the beach?"  No answer so I called Mom.  She
said Dad was still angry with me, "I think he really wants to see you --
it's so hard for him.  I'll take him to the café and you can
surprise him there."  An ambush didn't sound good, but we could leave if
Dad started yelling.  Date and time set, I called Caine, "I'll be there on
the fifth, early.  Tell your supervisor we're going out for the afternoon."

Caine was excited, then told me his bike broke, "Seat's loose -- it's gonna
fall off."

"Okay, I'll bring my tools."  Sent Mom a photo of me and Caine during the
holidays hoping it would help with Dad.

...

Found out that when I brought treats, I could get Caine out of the house
faster.  Food distracted the kids from wanting all my attention.  Once
again, the guy with the glasses was running the house, and looked frazzled.
He grabbed the box of donuts and ran to the kitchen, "Have to bargain with
them to do their laundry." He hid the box in the oven.

"Is Caine ready?"

"Haven't seen him yet -- go check."

Knocked on his door, and peeked in, "All my shirts are too tight."

"Got another?"  I glanced around the room; clothes scattered everywhere --
second growth spurt probably.

Allen came to the door, "I got one."  He came back with a maroon polo shirt
with the logo of a business on it.  "Brickett Mattress."  He looked at me,
"You're Caine's guardian?"

"Yep.  Got a guardian?"

"I asked for one to stop all the noise."  Wasn't sure what he meant --
didn't sound like his parents were making life easy for him.

...

Before we left, I looked at the seat on Caine's bike.  "Threads are
stripped on the bolt.  We'll get another one.  Do you need anything else?"

"I want a jock with the soft thing inside it."  Biking was bothering his
package.

We cruised the discount store, got a new bolt and nut for the bike seat and
I simply waited while he looked at the underwear -- couldn't find a blue
strap in his size.  Then I explained we were having lunch with my parents
at the beach, "Just be yourself, if you get uncomfortable, wink at me.
We'll leave."

He checked the café on his phone, "Shark fries, crab cakes - what do
scallops taste like?"  Couldn't describe them very well, I was preoccupied.

Met Mom in the waiting area, she looked good, older.  Always dressed well,
hair done in the salon.  Wore bifocals now and she was smiling.  "Well,
who's this?"

"Caine.  I'm his guardian till he's an adult."  Hoping to up my
righteousness.

"You're almost there, aren't you?"  Caine was blushing with the direct
attention.  He shook her hand.

"Where's Dad?"  My most daunting lunch companion didn't show.

"He may come later, still undecided."  She lifted her nose and reviewed the
menu after we were seated on the patio.

"Can I taste scallops?"  Caine asked.  Mom ordered a seafood sampler
platter of appetizers, then watched me order.  I imagined she was waiting
for me to call for a pitcher.  Damn if Caine didn't put his napkin on his
lap and give me a glare while he pointed at my napkin.  "Neanderthal," I
remembered I snapped my napkin open and laid it on my lap.  Mom was
watching, trying not to smile, then sent a text message.

Caine and I explained how we met, forgetting or intentionally deleting much
of my most memorable moments.  He described Jesus and how he helped us find
the home where he lived, "It's special -- just for transgender and gay
kids..."  Then went on eating Shark fries which were french fries with
barbeque sauce.  Caine was a charming little sprite with a big smile and
full of goofy tales about the kids he lived with and riding his bike with
Allen.

"So, you're still leatherworking?"  She asked me.

"Yep, got a few new pieces of equipment, doing well."

"Still single?"

"Yep."  Jesus face came to my mind.

About that time, here comes an old man with a cane.  Dad - it was my dad,
moving quickly through the tables.  Dark eyes under pale eyebrows now, but
still those deep, dark, almost-black eyes.  I stood, went to him.  "Thank
you."  I whispered.  He didn't look angry and only glanced at my face.

"Sorry to be late."  He looked at Caine, "This is the boy you took in?"

"Yeah, a friend helped him find his home now."

Dad lifted his fingers and a waiter came, "My prodigal son has returned
sober.  Do you have something for a celebration - something without
alcohol?  Bring it later, for now, I'll take the lobster bisque."  Bitter
to hear him announce my alcoholism; I let it go.  Had to stay calm.

All I'd dreaded vanished.  All the screaming and yelling I'd imagined
didn't.  We sat, ate and spoke softly.  Caine finished early and walked to
the beach nearby.  Kids had small boards to skid along the shallows and
there were plenty of bike riders on the sand.  I was able to make amends to
my parents while Caine was gone.  They said nothing, but I could hear the
pain I'd caused them roaring in their silence.  My eyes filled with tears
for all I'd done, the late nights, disappearing for days, wrecked cars,
vomiting all over my room and the house, I was out of control, and they
didn't know what to do.  Courts and schools didn't know what to do.  I was
defiant and sneaky.  I was a liar and a drunk starting around the age Caine
was now.

Sat straight, took a deep breath and I looked square-on at Dad, "Dad, I
think I'm gay.  Well, I'm pretty sure.  Hope you don't hold it against me."

"Is that why you drank?" Came back immediately.

"I don't know.  I'm sober now and building a good life."  Explained about
rehab and finding people who were clean, going to meetings. "Life gets
better every day.  Thanks for meeting us today -- means a lot to me."  We
stared at each other for a few moments.

Caine came back, put his napkin back on his lap, "Are we going to have ice
cream?"

"Wait, hungry boy." Mom was charmed, already in full-dote mode.

Dad asked Caine what he did for sports, "On any teams in school or hauling
mattresses to build muscle?"

He laughed, "This is my best friend's shirt -- mine are too tight."  Then
he explained he went to a small school, not many teams.  "I ride my
bike. We're gonna fix it this afternoon."  He went on to explain about the
seat problems while the waiter brought crepes filled with fruit, a scoop of
ice cream, toasted coconut a lit candle on the top of each.  Caine's eyes
got big, "Wow!"  He picked up his dessert spoon and dug in.  So that's what
the small spoon is for.

Turned out to be a peaceful afternoon, at times awkward, yet peaceful.  Dad
took Caine down the beach to the bike shop and outfitted him with a new
bike, all the gear and a small tool kit on the riser.  Found him some slick
black shorts with support built in.  Caine was so excited he had to ride it
up and down the beach in his new shorts.  Mom and Dad were smiling, and we
did something we hadn't done in years, we hugged and kissed.  During those
moments an incredible sense of relief filled me.

...

Back at Caine's house, the other kids were envious about his new bike.  It
wasn't from me, but a surprise gift from Dad.  I stayed for dinner with the
kids to explain that.  Left out the sordid details and told them that this
was the first time I'd seen my parents since I'd wrecked their lives with
my drinking.  "I apologized.  It was hard and not as hard as I imagined.
Thought they'd blow up like when I was a kid, but they didn't start arguing
and yelling -- nothing like that.  Dad took Caine down to the bike store
and bought him a fancy bike.  It's like he was saying he still loved me.
The bike is a peace offering.  Can't give a peace offering back."

I knew they were thinking about their own parents.  Urkle-man with the big
glasses spoke up, "Congratulations!  He continued, "See, things change,
people change, you can overcome anything."  He was trying to put a positive
spin on the discussion.

The kids were still considering their families; my family...  Allen spoke
up.  "How did you know what to say to your parents?"

"I didn't.  Had to think about it for a long time first and find the
courage to be honest.  Decided to listen to whatever they said no matter
how much it hurt.  Yeah, I cried a little, but more out of self-pity, I
think.  Had to be humble and stay calm.  What did you think, Caine?"

"They were super nice to me..."

"Did you tell them you're a fag?"  One of the older teens quipped.

"Yeah.  I said I lived in a gay house -- so they'll know you're a fag too."
Caine retorted.

"What did they say?"  Allen asked Caine.  This conversation was holding
everyone's attention.

"Nothing."  Caine looked at me, "Did your mom hear me -- did she
understand?"

"I'm sure she did."  That may have been the time to tell the kids I was
queer.  Just wasn't able to come out to these kids and staff though it
might have helped them with their own relationships.  Damn, I was a vain
bastard or a complete gutless wonder.

After dinner, several of the boys and I fixed the seat on the bike.  Caine
gave it to Allen and the boys were off down the street.  Probably going to
the bridge before the sun set.

...

All the way home, I was thinking.  Highest hurdle cleared with my parents
but nagged by not being able to be completely honest with Caine and the
kids.  At home, I called Jesus immediately, "How did you know I was queer?
Am I giving off signals?"

"You're gay?  I wasn't sure."

"Keep it to yourself."

"Sure.  You too."

Silence.

"Coming over tonight?  I got news."  I was hard just thinking about being
next to him again.

"Come stay here."  For the first time in years I went to another person's
house.  Clean and neat, smelled good.  Jesus was cooking chili.  As soon as
he shut the door behind me, he grabbed me and kissed me.  I like kissing.

"Dinner?"

"Not hungry -- got to tell you I took Caine to lunch with my parents.  Made
my amends and even came out to my parents."

He smiled, "Braver man than me."  In the kitchen, he turned things off, and
came out with two sodas.  "Wanna rest for a while?"  I was up like a shot
and into the bath.  He joined me and for the first time I had the
incredible pleasure of showering with a man.  We were quick, not knowing
how good a few strokes would feel.

In a foreign bed with a warm body brought a peculiar moment of strangeness,
but when he settled next to me, that left.  "Tell me what happened."  He
whispered.

"Started with the emails like you said.  Laid it out ahead of time.  Had to
give me and Caine an out if we needed one -- made a signal.  Picked a
public place, brought Caine for lunch with my Mom.  Dad came later and it
worked out.  Made amends and came out while Caine was at the shore. Told
Dad I was pretty sure I was queer and he didn't flinch.  Even took Caine
for a new bike before we left."

"Be sure to thank them."  He said, kissing my cheek and rubbing his hard
dick on my side.  I turned to him and pulled him against me feeling his
hard rod alongside mine.  Hunching against each other, we came.  Cum hit
our chest and chins.  Jesus took some on his finger and put it in his mouth
then kissed me.  Don't remember much more of that night except a lot of
touching and kisses, heavy sighs and sweat mixed with our cum.  I would
have thought that tasting my own cum was filthy several years ago, and that
night it was perfect and, what's that word...  Oh yeah, "intimate."

No walk of shame in the morning, I was still grinning as I left Jesus' for
home.  On to the workshop and back to my leather.  Broke several hours
later to check my email for any new orders and thanked my parents after I
thanked Jesus for being who he is.

...

Jesus was getting to be a habit.  He came over one night with a flyer for
the Pride Parade in Tallahassee.  "What?  Not staying in town for the Seven
Queers of Bonifae parade?  Disloyal, unsupportive -- have you no pride?"  I
joked.

"There's seven in Bonifae?  Who are they?"

"There's two right here."  There had to be more.  "You know any?"

"I think there's a history teacher at the high school but I'm not sure.
Always suspected that lady who runs the water plant...  Probably stay
undercover -- we'll never know and I'm not going to the bars on the coast
to find any."

"We could go to Miami, take Caine to the parade.  The kids from the house
are probably hounding the managers to go."  Thought about that, "We'd never
get a room now."  I wiggled my eyebrows at him as I set our microwaved
dinners on the table, "Have to stay here and pump up our pride by
ourselves."

We started eating, then he stopped.  "I know how to manage space in Miami.
Get hold of Caine and ask if the kids are going to the parade and festival.
They got gay AA down there, I'll ask if anyone has a spare sofa for us."
He pulled his phone out and started texting.

Caine didn't answer my call so I texted the staff, asked if they were
going.

About thirty minutes later I got a call from the Urkle-man, "Are you going
to the parade?"  I asked.

"Trying to arrange it."  It took a number of phone calls about Jesus'
clearances for his work, and all that but it worked out.  We could help
with the kids at the parade and sleep on the sofas at the house the night
before.  I was excited -- felt like a kid before the fourth of July.

...

Packed and ready, we didn't go.  Got a call the night before telling us not
to come.  All plans cancelled till further notice.  Texted Caine, he said
he was alright, but couldn't talk.

"Caine, will you tell me what happened?"

"Maybe later."

Called the staff.  They said they had an incident and needed a few days.

"Jesus, call you mom.  Ask her to find out what's going on at the house.
They won't tell me anything."

Jesus called his mom and left for my house immediately for her return call.
Wasn't a long call.  There was a death at the house -- a suicide.  Allen.
Police and Family Service investigators were all over, interviewing all the
kids and going through the files, the entire house. I was stunned.  Allen
was Caine's friend and probably his first love. It was a disturbing, very
disturbing death the kid inflicted on himself.

"They're taking the garage down...  There's no way to clean it." Maria told
me.  Images came to my mind -- I became nauseated.

Later, staff assured me that Caine was doing well, and that the memorial
service would be later, after they dealt with Allen's family.  "We'll
call..."

...

The old southern tradition is to take food after any major life event.  I
squared my shoulders and called Mom.  Laid it out briefly and asked her if
she could get with Jesus' mom and take something to the house following the
tradition.  Really had no experience with this except for my grandparents
passing, everything felt vague, unfinished and fragmented inside me.

Mom and Dad called late that night.  "Yes, we went with Maria to the house.
Everyone's crying and upset.  I didn't know those kids felt they were
horrible, like freaks, when they're such beautiful children.  Dad spent a
lot of time with them...  You know, telling them it was going to be
alright."

Dad went into a house full of crying teens to reassure them?

"The house is under scrutiny now, so there were a lot of questions."  She
continued, "The church offered to help with the memorial.  Honey, it was so
sad, I was crying with them.  Why haven't any of the kids' parents come
over?"

"Mom, the kids are there because their parents don't want them because
they're -- well, too different.  They got the boot or left on their own."
I started, "How is Caine?"

She paused, making me uncomfortable, "A little distracted, quiet.  Didn't
like all the questions from the police.  I gave him our phone number in
case he wants to talk."

"Does he need me?"

"Not now.  I'll call later."

...

Jesus couldn't calm me that night, but he did get me to email my parents
thanking them and his mom.  I sent him home as rising waves of anger,
frustration and sorrow began crashing inside me.  In my workshop, I
finished up all my orders, cleaned and straightened and looked to the
narrow cot Caine had slept on while he was with me, lay down and fell
asleep there.  Wanted to cry, but I couldn't and I couldn't sort it all out
either.  The facts were clear, it was my responses that were confused.
Would I ever be able to handle this kind of crap going on inside me?

Went to an early AA meeting, hoping to hear something helpful.  I didn't.
Drove over to Niceville to the noon meeting.  Calmed a little and checked
my phone before I drove home.  Dad called.  "That boy Caine.  He's a
keeper."  He rambled on about visiting the house and how the kids were very
mature, working through their grief.  Where'd he get that phrase?

"Is Caine depressed?"  Jesus told me that one suicide can trigger others.

"I don't think so.  Mom's helping him with his speech, going to give it at
the service.  Doing a bang-up job on it."

"Dad, does he look like he might..."

"No.  He's going to be fine; I'll make sure."

"So Mom's okay, Caine's okay and you're alright -- right?"

"Does it hurt to worry about the people you love?"  He just had to get that
dig in.  I was living the past I'd shoved on him years ago.

...

The investigations on the house didn't turn up any covert activity, nothing
out of line -- state finished before the memorial service.  Jesus agreed to
come with me though I'd shunned him for a week.  Gave me a severe
chewing-out, "Can't be alone when you feel like that, makes it worse and...
Don't do it again, you jerk!"

...

I could see Mom's fingerprints all over the memorial service -- the program
was laid out just like Dad's old donut shop flyers, but had a photo of
Allen centered on the front.  Yeah, my eyes burned seeing that young face
looking up with a small smile in one corner of his lips.  Those lips had
kissed Caine.

Inside the sanctuary I saw Mom moving the flowers around.  "Hey, Mom, this
is my best friend Jesus."

"Nice to meet you, Jesus.  Go find your dad, he's supposed to be at the
door."

"Dad, at the door?"  My dad had acquired several new skillsets he didn't
have when I was a kid.

"Allen's father won't be here.  We're standing in for some of Allen's
family.  Go on."  She handed me a stack of programs.  "Help him if his back
starts hurting.  You too, Jesus.  Go on, they'll all be here soon, and if
the florist comes with the lavender roses, send him here."

Cars started filling the lot and people filed in, a lot of young adults in
the group.  A number of people in suits -- Jesus told me they must be from
the different LGBTQ organizations.  We welcomed everyone with a program,
asked them to sign the register as we shook hands.  The organ started
playing.  I stayed by the door while Jesus took Dad to sit with Maria and
Mom.  Then, the last person to come in was a woman with a short veil over
her face, couldn't help but notice her swollen, red eyes through the sheer
fabric.  That wasn't from drinking, that was Allen's mom.  Put the
brochures down and escorted her to the front row and sat beside her.
Wanted to say something -- the images of the tender, young body of Allen
flashing in my mind closed my throat.

The minister came to the front, no podium, lectern, nothing and led a
prayer for us, not for Allen.  The church became quiet and a boy came to
the front with a microphone and began singing, "Some say love..."  The
organist began softly behind him and the teens from the house walked out
slowly to stand behind him.  Each teen was wearing jeans and a maroon polo
shirt carrying a lavender rose bud.  The young man leading had a strong
voice, and the music built then the soft, small voices behind him became
louder.  Couldn't help but put my head down and cry, covering my face.  Old
song, but sounded like it was written about Allen's life, "...it is a
hunger, an endless, aching need..."

Allen's mother's hand came to my thigh, she patted it and handed me several
tissues.  Her face was wet, the veil clinging to her cheek with her tears.
Damn, I thought I wouldn't get through this but I had to.  The song
continued, "...the night has been too lonely and the road has been too
long..." I realized that this suicide could have been Caine.  A sting shot
through my chest; it could have been me.

Caine came to the front in a maroon polo shirt, "Brickett Mattress."
Allen's shirt.  The church went dim, a screen lowered behind him.  Standing
straight, without a quiver or tremble, he began.  Slides appeared on the
screen behind him as he described his friend.  My breath jerked when
Allen's face appeared in a slide.  Sorrow and fear filled me.  Yet, there
was Caine, speaking slowly and clearly about rebuilding family around him,
the way Allen had courageously tried. Confidently, Caine stated that family
keeps us tied to our dreams; love keeps families tied together, and that he
loved the family around him.  Then he pronounced that Allen was in our
greater family now, awaiting us.

Stepping to the side, he asked for others to share their remembrances.  A
number of the young adults lined up.  Former house residents, all tearful
and all encouraging as they encouraged attendants to remember the children
who needed a friend, a family.  Almost broke down several more times.  The
organist played the Ave, the minister prayed again, then the sanctuary was
quiet as people left for the reception.

Allen's mother stood with Mom, Dad and Maria greeting people looking like
family.  Jesus and I went to the teens, I hugged Caine. How had he survived
all he'd lived?

"Did I do okay?"

"Perfect.  I was proud."  Couldn't hold back, "Caine, are you depressed?"

"No.  Your mom said I have to work through it and we wrote my speech
together.  She came over every day. Your Dad told me I was doing all the
right things -- I had to be the leader today, an example to everyone."  He
was smiling.

"You were."  Mom and Dad -- where did they get the idea they could parent
my boy?  I let it go knowing my parenting would never match what they'd
done this week.

Still disturbed about the loss of Allen, I hugged Mom and Dad, Maria.
Gathered my courage and went to Allen's mother, hugged her and told her I'd
met Allen, he was a wonderful boy, "...in so many ways."  I was shaking
inside.  Couldn't take any more of this. I took Jesus home.

...

Silent drive as tears streamed down my face.  That could have been Caine a
number of times in his life, on the side of the road, behind a rest stop,
in that dump of a house...  I admitted to myself that I'd thought of that
myself as a boy.  Thought I was cursed, never understood why I couldn't fit
in or be like other kids.  I'd lived alone for years, never let anyone
close enough to touch, hold or kiss me... Too early I embraced a devil that
numbed my confusion and pain.  Hard, thick brick of pain closed my throat
tighter when I remembered, "...Many pursue it into the gates of insanity or
death."  Drinking is slow suicide.

I pulled off the road, "You drive the rest of the way."

After a few miles, "You know, AA is like a family."  Jesus offered.

"Yeah, I guess.  Even if you come out, the drunks are so black and white
about everything -- makes it hard just like another hard-ass family."

"I didn't do that.  Wanna hear some good news?"

"What?"

"Mom figured it out.  Our moms are passing notes.  Your mom remembered
Caine talking about me, then you introduced me as your bestie after you
came out to them.  Someone must have mentioned you were gay.  My mom's no
fool, she put two and two together, considered all the trips and phone
calls together, she asked me if we were lovers."

"Was she upset?"

"At the memorial of a gay boy?  She said she loved me and asked when we
were coming to vacation."

...

At home I called my parents to thank them.  I asked for Dad, thinking he'd
be home, but he was at the house helping with math tutoring on the kitchen
table, Mom told me.  "Tutoring Caine?"

"No.  One of the other kids, I don't know which ones he's working with.
Can't keep all the names straight, the kids keep wanting to be called
something different every week."

I chuckled, "Same here, Mom."

...

That next year was the easiest part of being a guardian, Caine was making
good grades, shot up at least an inch.  His eyes were at my shoulders
now. Dad, Mom and Maria were regular visitors at his house -- volunteering
several hours a week and probably loading the kids with pastries.

At home, I made a pair of mocs for Jesus and asked him to move in with me.
Fell in love with that shrimpy, dark-eyed Mesican that cooked for me and
pulled me though my days with bad jokes and the twelve-by-twelves.  The
wreckage of my past seemed to have been cleared away and I kept myself
strong - Caine's mother was getting out of jail in October.  The state
would contact me before her release.

Caine would be sixteen and ready to emancipate in February.  It was those
four months between October and February that bothered me.  An earlier
emancipation could happen though a complicated process.  Had a bag packed
in my room filled with my financials and anything else I could find to
prove I was the one to take care of Caine if it came to a decision between
her and me.

...

Like a bloodhound, Maria went sniffing around the social worker circles to
find out any information about Caine's mom: Upon release, Ms. Shirley would
go to a half-way house outside Miami for thirty days, then she'd be coming
back to Bonifae - the address of her last residence.

"Does she want to reunite with her kids?"  I asked Maria.

"I'll see if I can find out."  Didn't hear anything for several days,
finally she called.  "All I could find out is that she's thirty days in a
sober half-way house for women to get her benefits started then back to
Bonifae."

Couldn't sit outside Caine's house with my slingshot, so I asked Mom if I
could come stay for a month.  "You don't have to do that.  Maria and I'll
find out if she qualifies to get her children back.  The state won't just
give the kids to her without some kind of assurances.  It's going to work
out -- there's a lot of services for families."

"Mom, I want him with me."  She was silent, and that quiet burned in my
heart, she'd wanted me with her those years I was drunk and crazy,
disappearing for days.  "I love that boy."

Silence again, more painful silence; sharp and pointed into my chest.  "I
know.  I know.  Have faith, Efram.  You've given him the start he needed."
Then she said something that was a punch to my gut, "He may want to be with
his mother?  Didn't you say you took him to find her?"

All this time I'd only been thinking of myself, my wants.  He tried to find
his mom, was going to take the cash to her so they could be together.
"Self-centered bastard."  I thought, "Nothing but a self-centered bastard -
why wouldn't he love his mom the way I loved mine?"  Stayed at my workbench
all day.  Didn't notice the time until Jesus came home.

"Fish and chips tonight." He had a big bag in his hand.

"Not hungry." I grunted.

"Are you being a jerk again? C'mon. I found a box on the porch."

That got my attention.

...

As we ate dinner, I explained that I'd never asked Caine if he wanted to be
with his mom, I was ready to fight for him, and wasn't sure if that's what
he wanted. "Makes me worry I'll lose him."

"That's rational, we've both got an investment in Caine, so do your
parents, my mom, a lot of people.  Call Caine - ask him what he thinks."
He shoved my phone at me.

Thought about it for a moment, picked up the phone, put it on speaker and
called Caine, "How's it going?"  I started out easy.  He said he was
getting ready to do his homework, "Uh, you know your mom's going to be
getting out of jail in October.  Have you thought about that?"

"Yeah, the staff said I'd get a notice."

"Have you thought about living with her again?"  I held my breath.

"I asked to see my counselor, I'm going next week to talk to him.  Are you
worried?  Your dad says you're a worrier."

"You know you can call me anytime, and you've always got a place here.
Right?"

"You love me?"

"Too much, and a lot of other people love you, too."

"I know, I like to hear you say it.  I miss you."

"Miss you, too.  Go finish your homework, bug."  We hung up.

"Higher power intervene?  Looks like you got an ally you never met."  Jesus
winked.

Hoped he was right.

...

In bed that night, Jesus handed me the small cardboard box.  Came UPS.
Hmmm.  I opened it and found a vibrator shaped like a small bulb on one
part, and had some straps on the end.  There was a remote control with it.
"This better be for you."  I read the instructions and loaded the batteries
in the device.  Still couldn't get past anything being shoved up my butt,
kissing and rubbing came naturally, but couldn't abide my lover's finger in
my ass -- gave me the creeps.  One-way road down there.

"Stop thinking like a straight.  You might like it."

"Humph."  I held him close, "I love you."

"Feels good to hear that."  He reached under the pillow for the lube.
"Relax, just close your eyes and relax.  Please?"

Well, in bed he could have asked me for anything except anal and I'd give
it to him.  He was skating on my thin ice as he sneaked his hands between
my legs and touched the cold gel to my ass while he kissed me.  Still
kissing me, his hand fumbled for the vibrator and he put it between his
skinny legs to warm it.  Working quickly, he shoved my thighs open and laid
the remote control on my chest.  "I'm going to suck you and you're gonna
cum hard."

"Don't need anything up my butt for that."  I grabbed his head and pulled
him against me, kissing deeply as I felt the plastic being aimed at my ass.
Tried to be still and patient; this was uncomfortable and against my
anatomical functioning.  My ass didn't like this, I tried tightening my
muscles, but with the lube and the slippery bulb I didn't have much
control.

"Lift your knee.  I did and he shoved the contraption inside quickly.

"Hey, that hurt."

"I'll kiss it."  He pushed my knees back and began licking around my
asshole, felt warm, wet, good.  He had an incredible tongue.

"Take it out."  I whispered; I'd had enough.

His hand grabbed the remote control and he turned it on, then looked at my
butt, "Wait."  Watched me with a smile as my eyes opened wide.  He pressed
the device further in and moved it around, "Better now?"

Something inside me became excited, like electrified.  I could only grunt
through the next few breaths while Jesus smiled, came to my chest and began
sucking my nipples while the vibrator hummed inside my ass.  Most peculiar
feeling came over my skin, it began tingling.  I didn't move.  The longer
it that thing stayed in my ass, the better it felt.  I clinched and moved
around a little and it got really good.  Jesus slipped the remote control
in my hand.  I hit the button and the vibrations became more intense; shot
a quick breath when that happened.

Looking down, my rod was full, hard and leaking heavily.  I hit the button
again and my shaft twitched.  My balls started rumbling, pressure building.
I began stroking, moaning, my hips began bucking.  Closed my eyes for a
while, trying to round up all these sensations, aim them all in the same
direction, but they wouldn't cooperate.  We stayed like that for a while
until Jesus glanced at my dick, "Gotta ride that."

Anytime that man wanted to shove my hard dick up his butt was fine with me
and in that moment, I couldn't answer him.  Enthralled with the
remote-controlled mystery going on inside me.

I faintly recall him groaning and moving on me as I focused my
concentration on my groin.  Decided that vibration was good, well, better
than good.  More than sucking, it felt like it was going to push my cum,
forcing an orgasm.  "Hurry up, I'm gonna cum."

Breathing fast, I shut my eyes and let my body do what it wanted.  Heated
rushes, and all the pre-cum I was producing started running out of Jesus'
ass as my pulses of cum rushed into him.  My whole body tensed and I dug my
heels into the sheet getting as far into him as I could and opened my eyes.
Looked down to see Jesus' cum dripping, then a surge of cum, another, and
another.  Fumbling around to find the remote, I had to turn it off, and
still felt the contractions at my ass trying to push more out of my empty
balls.  Sweaty and hot, we lay together catching our breaths as our hearts
slowed.  What an orgasm.  Like it was shot out of a cannon I didn't know I
had.

From that moment on, Jesus owned my ass.

...

On the first of October, I got the notice that Caine's mother was getting
out of jail.  The counselor and Caine wrote a contract to sign with his
mother and sent it to her before release.  I wasn't sent a copy, but I
imagined that it was about staying clean, out of jail.  Wondered if his
mother knew about all his cash.

Ms. Shirley was taken to the half-way house on the fifteenth to begin
again.  Yeah, I was at Caine's house Saturday morning on the sixteenth.
This time, I would face a devil in person, "Ready to meet your mom?"

"Got to see if she agreed to my contract."  Caine was taller, his shoulders
wider, not bulky, but he was no longer an innocent child, easily duped.
Found the half-way house in an old neighborhood, big trees, cracked
sidewalks, dogs barking.  Caine knocked on the door.  "Ms. Shirley please.
Tell her Caine - I mean Devon's here."

Took a while, but we heard footsteps, then a woman appeared at the door.
Short, like five-foot, light brown hair tied back and her face carried a
few old scars.  "Devon.  Good to see you -- you're so big now."  She leaned
forward to hug him, and he hugged her.  "Who's this?

"Name's Efram, I'm Caine's guardian ad litem."  I reached to shake her
hand, she stepped back and looked me over before she did.

"Could you give us a few moments?"

I went to the truck and watched.  Ms. Shirley and Caine sat on the steps
and talked for a while, then they stood, hugged and he came back to the
truck.  "Did she agree to your contract?"

"Said we had to work a few things out.  She's getting an apartment in
November."

"You know she'll be back in Bonifae?"

"That's not what she said." He shot me a hard look.

"Okay, I don't know everything."  Damn, she lied to Caine again.

We went to visit Mom and Dad for a while, went to the clubhouse for dinner.
The whole time, Caine seemed preoccupied.  We both knew the worst was
coming.

...

By November thirtieth Caine still hadn't heard anything from his mother.
Staff called me and said Caine would be with them a while longer, his
mother couldn't be found.  Since I was in Bonifae, I called Mom and Dad to
go check on Caine -- he didn't answer his phone.  Seemed obvious that Caine
hadn't said anything about the stash to her or else she would be with him
or have ripped him off.

Mom called the next day.  "All okay now.  Dad went into his room and spoke
with him for a long time.  Hard losing your mother again and again."

Dad got on the phone.  "Yeah, he was crying so I hugged him -- rocked him
like a baby for a while.  You know that kid doesn't get much affection...
That was the last of his family.  Lost it all unless you can find his
brother.  Forget about the dad."

"Caine's okay?"

"Going to the counselor tomorrow."  Mom said.

...

That next year, Caine's situation improved.  He was in high school, doing
great in the drama department, and carried high grades in all his classes.
His counselors carefully helped him aim at college, UM.  He'd be applying
for scholarships, maybe taking a few loans.

He had money, he had all that cash still hidden somewhere in the house or
the yard.  The house would help him get into the dorms on campus the moment
he turned eighteen.  A little wiser perhaps stronger, I called Caine and
asked him directly, "What are we going to do with your stash?"

He was quiet.

"You might want a car if you go to UM on scholarships, maybe a bigger bike,
I don't know...  Might have to get to it in a hurry if something comes up."

"Let me think about it."

"How much do you have?"  I still didn't know where he hid it.

"Never counted it."

"Got some big changes coming - you might need it."  I said.

"In your workshop, pull the tool drawer all the way out.  Take everything
out and turn the drawer upside-down..."

...

As I was emptying the drawer, Jesus walked in, asked what I was doing.
Tools lay all over and I was pulling the deep drawer out, "Getting Caine's
money for him."  Underneath the wooden drawer were several struts.  Taped
between the struts were packets of the cash, each wrapped and flattened so
they wouldn't stop the drawer from opening.

"Shee-it!  Where'd he get all this cash?"

"Caine and his brother drained their dad's drug profits.  Remember I told
you I met him digging in the yard?  He was digging up his money.  Had more
in the old house."  Caine had almost forty-five thousand, but useless until
we found a way to bring it above ground.  "You know how we can get this
into the bank without questions?"

"Open an account for Caine and start with small amounts..."

"Need something faster."  Looked at the stacks and had to find another
place to hide it.  Then, Jesus told me it was blood money, probably a trail
of overdoses and heartache around it.  He was right, "And, it's his only
compensation for what he had to survive."

...

That next year, we went to the Pride parade and festival.  Never, never
chaperoning teens again!  They flew off in different directions as soon as
the music started.  I was yelling, Jesus was dodging the crowd trying to
get them back.  What a mess -- they'd see some good-looking person and had
to talk to them.  Ran onto the street to get beads, then stood there and
inspect them or trade to get matching colors.  Marching bands walked around
them, horns blaring and drums beating.  Completely out of control the whole
day.  Surprisingly, everyone met at the parking lot to leave -- hadn't lost
one of them.

Mom, and Dad.  Really came to appreciate their generosity.  Mom had a big
platter of sandwiches ready, and several pitchers of tea when we returned.
The teens ran outside to eat and talk, though it seemed they never stopped.

My dad was always good with finances, I took him aside while the feeding
frenzy continued, "Dad, if I had a bit wad of cash and needed to get it
into the bank, but didn't want to explain how I got it, how would I do
that?"

"In trouble again?"  He shot me a look.

"Not this time.  The money's not mine."  We went to the office to be alone
and I sat close telling him about Caine's cache.  "I've got to find a
legitimate way to put it in the bank."

"How much?"

"'Bout forty-five thousand." I whispered.

"Peanuts.  Miamians deal in billions.  Let me think about it."

Sweaty, with burned noses, Jesus and I drove that long road home.  The next
week, Dad texted me and told me to bring him a wad if I had one laying
around.

...

That July was steaming-hot with a new storm brewing off the coast every few
days.  Jesus and I packed our shorts and sandals and headed to Miami.  Went
to pick up Caine and took him to my parent's condo.  Felt great, like a big
family, eating, watching sports.  Dad had this way of wagging his index
finger, palm up, meaning "hand it over."  He gave it to me.  I brought the
bag of cash into his study and lay it on his desk.

"Son, you've got to have a weak memory when you leave..."  He began and
looked through the stacks of bills.  "You don't know anything.  Now, your
problem's going to be explaining this to Caine without getting me in
trouble."

"What are you going to do?"

"I got friends at the club - one is a financial advisor.  He's willing to
take the money and put it in a fund for Caine's education.  I told him I
kept cash from the donut shop in case of a flood or something and came
across it in a cedar chest...  I had this cash and wanted to open a
scholarship fund for a boy.  He's willing to take a chance because in my
doddering old age, I got a few privileges.  It's only forty-five thousand,
after all.  Bigger fish to fry in Miami."

"Why would Caine be upset with you?"

"Because he can't use the funds for anything else except his education --
the funds have to go to an accredited university or college.  Did he tell
you he had plans to for it?"  Dad opened his safe and put the cash inside.

"Not yet."

...

Thought about that.  Caine was excited about going to the university --
majoring in Information Technology.  Got a lot of funding from the state
and the university for his studies.

"Gonna use some of your cash?"  I asked Caine.

"I want to find my brother, part of the money's his.  There's a J. Shirley
in Decatur -- I found his phone number."

"Show me."  Got out his laptop and showed me a video from the evening news,
a rally of some sort in Atlanta at night.  A man, late twenties, early
thirties was standing beside a woman speaking about homelessness, street
people.  Without the headphones, I saw his lips moving, as he spoke a few
words and stepped away from the camera.  "What's he doing?"

"Something about the street people."

"Are you sure that's him?"  Didn't remember the face of the boy with the
drone so long ago.

"Pretty sure.  I waited till you were here to call him."  Caine looked
determined.  He called but only got a recording to leave a message.  Asked
if he was Jules Shirley who lived in Bonifae at one time.  "This is Devon,
your brother..."

...

Caine was moving on.  He wouldn't need me after February, I still needed
him and felt thirsty when I thought about it.  Caine would be an adult in
the eyes of the state, but always my boy in my heart.  There was going to
be a big, nasty hole inside me soon.

Caine began calling his brother, seems like things had worked out for
Jules.  Was about to graduate, and become a doctor - a psychiatrist.  Found
a girl, married while they were in school together.  She helped fund his
last few years; he was working as the weekend house manager at a recovery
center in Decatur.  A recovery center -- drug and alcohol rehab.

During the holidays, I drove Caine to visit.  Nice apartment, small, cozy.
Jules and his wife were hospitable, offering plenty of food and living on
little, seemed to me.  The brothers spent all their free time together
while I felt useless.  Decided whatever these two wanted to do with the
cash would be between them, had to happen after February; washed my hands
of the affair.  Copped a real hard attitude about that -- it was really
about ending guardianship.  Getting thirstier by the day.

Came back to Miami for New Year's at the house and stayed with Mom and Dad.
You know Dad asked about the money.  Stewing, "He's sharing it with his
brother."

...

Caine and his brother kept in touch, making plans and I didn't pay too much
attention, still unsettled about my impending loss.  Had to change my
attitude when Jesus threatened to leave after several weeks of me snapping
at him.  Said I needed a counselor, I said he could bite it.

He said guardians are supposed to feel happy when their charges become
adults; I countered with he didn't know what he was talking about, "You've
never been a guardian!"

"What do you think I do for a living?  My charges are all over eighteen and
still children."

That was the least I want to say about our scraps and I went into a funk.
Stayed at my workbench till I happened to see a suitcase by the door.
"Jesus, get your butt in here and explain this."  I was pissed.

Said he was leaving -- I was too difficult to live with.  He didn't want to
start using again.  Couldn't be that bad, but through that evening, I found
out I was aiming myself back to the bottle.  Cursed and argued with him
into the night, might as well have been drunk, I was nasty.  Nasty, and out
of control.

He slept on the couch.  I lay in bed alone and wanted to cry but couldn't.
Really didn't want to go back to living alone, that life was so far behind
me.  Everything inside me jumbled again -- couldn't sort it out.  Next
morning, I didn't have a choice about living alone, Jesus was gone.  Now,
I'd lose my parents, Caine and everyone.  Everything.  I needed the devil
that would numb it all away.

Got in my truck and headed to the convenience store.  The cashier who knew
me through all the years was silent when he handed me my changed and turned
away.

At home, I took a can and went to the deck.  Popped the top.  Immediately
the smell of hops -- repulsive, it smelled like tar.  Cold fluid, slight
burn and started salving the stings inside me, I lifted it to my lips
again.  My phone buzzed it was Caine.

"Can we come over spring break?"  He chattered on about his brother and him
coming, talked about his classes, insignificant things.  My house would be
a stinking wreck by then.

"I'm busy."

Long pause, I took another draw.

"Fram, don't cut me out -- you said I always had a place with you."  He
paused.  "I miss you."

Sat the can down as tears began streaming.  "Alright, come.  Anytime you
want, come."  Poured the can out, threw it at the plum tree and went in the
house.  Lay and cried in an empty bed missing the man who loved me.  The
wreckage of the past few weeks was piling up around me.  Hopeless.
Confidence, strength and I'd struggled to build was slipping away.

"Sorry" wouldn't come easily from my lips, but I picked up my phone to call
Jesus.  He didn't answer my calls.  He was always at the Friday night men's
meeting; I'd meet him there.  Didn't show up till half way through the
meeting, had a young guy with him.  Looked like the kid was just out of
rehab.  Did I look that bad when Jesus began taking me to meetings?

Waited till Jesus went for coffee, behind him, "Caine's coming with his
brother.  How about dinner when they get here?"

He didn't answer.  "Caine asked about you."  I lied, trying to get a
response.

"Drop your house key off tomorrow."  He whispered.  "I'm working now."

...

Shoulda been drinking when I argued with Jesus so I wouldn't have to relive
it.  That night in bed I remembered every filthy name I'd called him, all
the insults, everything.  Stinging, silent tears came, knowing full well
those insults were my own self-loathing.  Almost spun out of control but
got my phone and made a list.

Humility was at the top.  I had to apologize and beg Jesus for grace, then
had to text Caine.  Couldn't cut him out of my life, never.  He needed to
know I still loved him, missed him and needed.

Get rid of the beer - I decided not to do that.  Not yet.

...

The next morning, I went through the photos on my phone.  Sent one to my
email and went to the drug store and printed it out in color.  Me, Mom and
Dad, Jesus, Caine after the pride parade.  Laminated it and lay it on top
of the five beers left in the refrigerator.  Went to the yard, found the
empty can and put it with the others.  I locked that devil between the
photo and the beer.

...

Jesus came into my workroom; I hadn't heard him come in.  Looked serious as
he held my key to my face.

"Jesus, I know what I am. I've asked my higher power to help me admit my
wrongs, to assure me, stay with me, otherwise, I won't stay sober."  I
whispered what I could remember of the prayer.  "Sorry isn't enough to say
for what I've done to you.  I was out of control for speaking to you the
way...  I love you."

He was wary.  Handed me the key and left.

Turned back to my work and continued, shaking.

Had to get ready for Caine and his brother; I focused on that.  Cleaned the
yard, pruned the plum tree, cleaned the house and went grocery shopping.
Stayed in my house alone, began to play music all day.  Compay Segundo,
Arturo Sandoval, Dayme Arocena - hot music, moody and deep, all CDs Jesus
had forgotten.

...

Caine took the bus from Miami.  "Where's Jules?"  I asked when I saw he was
alone.

"At his in-laws.  He's gonna have a baby.  I'll be an uncle!"

Got home, and as usual, he went straight to the kitchen, looking in the
frig for pop.  "What's this?"  He pulled the photo out, then saw the beer.
I watched.

"Are you?"

"No."  I put the photo back over the cans of beer.  "That's a reminder."

"When's Jesus coming?"

"He won't be."  Stung to say that; turned to go to my workroom, but Caine
caught me in his arms.

"What happened?"

"Got into a bad place.  We argued, said a lot of things I didn't mean."
Spent the rest of the afternoon trying to explain myself.  Useless words,
there wasn't any good explanation.  Not a great homecoming for my boy, I
asked if he wanted to go to De Leon Springs to swim the next day.  He made
a few phone calls and came to bed early with me.

Now I was the one snuggling next to him; affection, the warmth of his touch
calmed me for a few moments.  Tired, confused and afraid, "I really fucked
up when I yelled at Jesus..."

Caine got on his phone and called Jesus, right there beside me.  "Hey, I
got here this afternoon.  We're going to the springs to swim tomorrow.  Can
you come?"

Jesus dodged saying he had to work.

"How about burgers tomorrow night?"  Caine held the phone so I could hear.
Jesus dodged again.

"I'll never see you again?"  Caine asked.

"Got to stay clean."

"Jesus, you've lived through harder things than Fram mouthing off -- you've
seen uglier jackasses."  Jesus chuckled.  "I'll leave the front door open.
Come over.  I miss you."  Just like that, he hung up and went to unlock the
front door.  "If Jesus comes over, keep your mouth shut."

...

Held Caine next to me for a long time, pushing back an onslaught of crazy
thoughts.  In a moment of inspiration, I thanked him, "You know when you
told Jesus you were queer, he found you a house, things got better for you.
I had to start thinking.  Did a lot of reading...  Did you know I was queer
when you came here?"

Before he answered, the thought, "Wasn't thinking about that when I first
came.  A while later I got an awful crush on you.  When you started coming
to visit me at the house, I knew.  Not a hundred percent, but I thought
so."

"Had a crush on you, too."  Had to pull him close and kiss his smooth skin.
"Still got a soft place in your heart for your old guardian?"


"Always."  He sighed and nuzzled against me.  Wasn't long before we were
naked, stroking each other but I needed kisses, I got him on my chest and
we made out.  He opened his thighs and rubbed himself against me.  I began
fingering his hole, "Ride me."  Handed him the lube.  Watching him oil me,
then him working himself inside me, damn he was beautiful.  Limber,
graceful legs and that smooth, flat belly.  I liked watching as much as I
liked feeling him work me.  He was breathing hard, anxious, beginning to
sweat.  Grabbed his shaft.  I saw his eyes shut tightly as he shoved me
inside him.

"Slow."  Caine was incredibly tight and hot.  Took me into him slowly,
sitting on one foot and one knee over my groin, I lifted his short, red
balls to watch him take me.  Drool dripped from his open mouth -- he was
oblivious to anything except my hard rod and his ass.

Didn't notice the footsteps, but heard keys hit the dresser and looked to
see a figure -- Jesus, the profile of his narrow body in the doorway.  He
paused for a moment, leaned over taking his shoes, then his jeans off.
When he was naked, he reached over to Caine and kissed his cheek, then got
on the bed, pushed Caine forward gently and grabbed the lube.  Didn't get
to see him work his finger alongside my shaft into Caine.  Tighter grip
around my shaft when he did.  He pressed my rod against the front wall of
Caine's hole rubbing the underside of my cock at the same time.  The boy
flinched, but half-smiled and kept moving, after a short tremble.  The two
different smells of the men in my bed made me heady along with the
sensations inside me, I grabbed my nipples and pinched myself hard, trying
to keep from coming too quickly.

Caine shook and gasped a few times -- didn't ask anyone to stop, instead he
began riding my rod, short strokes becoming longer and faster.  I was on
the uphill about to peak and watching Jesus kissing Caine caused a tight,
hard knot to form behind my balls, that knot was going to break sooner than
I wanted.

Caine grunted through the next few moments.  Jesus moved his finger,
sliding it in and out briefly, then finding the place that Caine wanted
him.  Aroused me when he did that -- the knot inside me was tighter.  Told
Caine I'd keep my mouth shut, and my brain was screaming to be fucked
harder...

Breathing hard when I felt hot pulses of cum shooting from deep inside;
kept moving my hips trying to get further inside Caine's tight ass -- I was
grunting, grabbing his waist pressing him against me.  Felt it dripping
down my balls, then more.  Jesus slipped his finger out and held Caine,
kissing his neck.  He reached around and I watched him jerk off Caine,
kissing his neck, almost biting his slender, white neck.  Caine began
moaning, louder until his cum filled Jesus' hand, and jumped across my
chest.  They fell on me, rolled aside to hold each other tightly.

Still keeping my damn mouth shut, I pulled behind Jesus, kissed his neck
and we fell asleep.

...

Didn't mind all the nagging the next morning -- seemed like Jesus would
never stop.  I listened while he chastised me again and again, knowing
behind his words were his love for me, our history and his love for Caine.
Caine made coffee, and got online while all that was going on.  Didn't
help, me grinning the whole morning -- damn, I was glad Jesus was back, and
better after what happened the night before.

Went to the springs every afternoon that week, swimming, then playing in
bed at night.  Caine helped Jesus move back with me, and I was humble,
making sure Jesus had plenty of whatever he wanted.

Five cans of beer and one empty can still in the frig under the photo
through all the chaos of moving back in.  Remembering back, I realized that
not being a guardian to Caine had some incredible benefits.

...

After a lot of discussion, phone calls, emails and research, Jesus and I
moved to Sweetwater, outside Miami.  Dad was in a care center; Mom leased
the condo and lived with us.  Maria and Mom still volunteered at the home
where Jesus and I took Caine years ago.  Maria convinced me to become a
guardian for another boy.  He was peppery -- full of energy, wanted to be a
dancer.  Terry was seventeen, so he didn't need me for long.  He had a
large circle of friends; not all of his family had rejected him so he had a
lot of support.  I did my best with him while Caine graduated with a degree
in Information Technology.

The cash?  Caine didn't need the funds for school, he was sailing by on
scholarships while he lived with Mom and Dad.  I wasn't sure what happened
to the money until I went to a housewarming for Jules and his family.
Jules and Caine bought a house together in Miami.  Both doing well in their
careers and Caine was an uncle to two.  I was sure Dad had something to do
with the house, and it wasn't my business.

...

Those last few years with my Dad we became closer than most fathers and
sons.  Found out we'd always loved each other.  Dad admitted that he felt
Bonifae was too small, too limiting for his dreams.  He was dealing with
other devils while trying to manage mine.

On weekends, Jesus and I visited Dad at the care center.  Jesus took Mom
out to get her hair done and shop.  Our lives became humdrum except for me
and Dad.  He'd get cranky when we came and complain about the nurses not
knowing what they were doing -- he wanted me to help him in the shower, get
him dressed and ready for lunch when Mom and Jesus returned.

During that September, Florida had just seen daylight after a series of
storms.  Called the nurse for an extra pill.  Today Dad was in a fiery
mood, threw his clothes around, wheeled himself into the door several
times, cursing, "Dad, calm down, warm water's gonna feel good." I wheeled
him next to the shower.

We were both naked -- this was a first-class production that took at least
an hour.  Dad made a real mess because he wanted the shower door open, a
certain kind of soap and five towels, no powder...  The staff thought it
was easier mopping than putting up with his demands so they left us alone.

Helped dad into the shower, and turned the water on.

"Slow down!"  He was still mumbling and griping as I stayed calm as he got
onto the bench.  I leaned to kiss his forehead, he lifted his face, looking
at me with those dark eyes, and kissed my lips.  I stared, then moved
forward with the soap and shower hose.  Dad is a big man, tall and lean.
He half-stood, grabbing the bar while I washed and rinsed his back.  I
reached around and grabbed his dick, washed his balls and between his legs,
ran the washcloth along his ass.  Rinse.  On the bench and I began on his
hair.  Still thick and wavy -- white now.  Handsome man, all his life,
striking with his brown skin, square face and black eyes.

I sudsed and felt him touch my cock, it filled.  Thought nothing of it
until he looked up at me, "Cum for me."

"Dad?"  Didn't know what to say, or do; my dick did.  Putting my hands over
his, we stroked, I leaned on one hand against the wall and gasped feeling
almost separated from what was happening.

Dad grabbed my rod and his face came close.  He kissed my foreskin and took
me in his mouth.  Slowly, began sucking, his hand rubbing up, down,
watching my face.  I moved his hand, stroked fast and gave him what he
wanted.  Several loads of hot cum.  Swallowed and he leaned back, "Thank
you."

After that, Dad wasn't so irritated with the world and became quiet.  Jesus
and Mom came in while we were still getting dressed, "Not finished.  Eat
downstairs."  Drying, lotion and dressing took about thirty minutes, then
getting back in the bed - it was a big effort for both of us.  Finally got
dad on the bed, he was tired.  "Come lay beside me."  He turned on his
side, I lay behind him and put my arm over him, pulling him close.  "I've
always wanted to be closer with you.  Thank you, son."

Dad slipped my hand under the sheet, into his pajamas.  I hesitated; this
didn't feel right.

He was half-hard and whispered for me to rub him.  Stroked, rubbed, kissed
his neck, and told him I loved him.  He sighed with pleasure.  I guess old
men don't get so hard, but he was leaking heavily, sighing while I told him
how I admired and respected him.  Loved his dark eyes and wavy hair, kept
kissing him as my tears came again for the pain I'd caused a man who loved
me more than I knew.

Dad's hips moved slightly and he released.  Continued touching softly as he
sighed.

"I love you."  Kissed his neck again.  We fell asleep, don't know how long,
but the afternoon sun lit the room brightly as Jesus and Mom came back,
"Pastrami on rye, want me to go heat it up for you?"  Mom said and came to
kiss Dad.  He didn't move.  Dad's body was still, heavy and he wasn't
breathing.

I shook him a little -- no response.  Mom stepped back, still composed and
smiling, "Couldn't think of a sweeter way to pass -- in his son's arms."
She turned to Jesus, "Get a nurse, tell her not to hurry."  Then, she
smiled at me, "Thank you, thank you."  Her eyes filled with tears and she
smiled at me.

...

Went through the arrangements and funeral in a daze.  All the people and
arrangements, I felt out of control; I wanted to drink.  Fell into a funk,
stayed at my worktable imagining the most bizarre thoughts -- fantasies of
me as a boy with my Dad, fondling, kissing, touching each other. Couldn't
get much sicker than that and it became worse when I recalled my desires to
touch Caine when he was young.  Perv.  The word kept coming back and only
triggered more thoughts and they always came back to jerking Dad -- then
his death.  One big, sick fuck, that's what I was.  Withdrew further till
Mom told Jesus something was wrong.

Jesus' answer to all problems was "Go to a meeting."  He took me to a gay
meeting that night.  Met several new guys.  We went out for coffee
afterward, the most important part of any AA meeting.  Listened closely
when they talked about the hard times on the streets getting clean.  I
never had to do that.  They gave a moment of realization.

Stinking thinkin' -- alkies are good at it.  I excelled in stinkin',
self-centered thoughts.  Always me, me, me.  There was more to life than
ruminating over my sick sexual thoughts!  The universe didn't revolve
around my supreme cock or my petty imaginings.  Perverse or not, Dad loved
me, provided for me and despite my wet years, I was able to turn around and
offer the best of my dad to a boy I loved deeply.  Together we'd lifted
Caine from a several dicey situations into a college graduate and back with
his brother.  The odds of all that happening were incredible.

Dad died in my arms with me telling him I loved him.  He wanted intimacy
with me -- to be as close as he could.  It was an honor to offer that to
him.  Wasn't perverse for a boy to want his father to touch him, kiss and
love him.  Parental boundaries be damned.  As a kid, I needed that and as
an adult, I cherished it.

Went home, kissed Mom and told her I loved her and thanked her for being
who she was.  Took my man to bed and thanked him in the way he liked best.
As I kissed my man, he made a small hum, I smiled.

Sounded like the hum of a small drone.


Fin.
Day at A Time