Date: Thu, 27 Aug 2009 08:22:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: MENTORING PAUL PEMBROKE  First half of Conclusion  (Paul)    By Donny Mumford

	       MENTORING PAUL PEMBROKE by Donny Mumford

		      1st half of conclusion ( Paul )

It's weird waking up in a strange bed disoriented, waiting for awareness to
arrive. Oh yeah, it's all coming back to me now... I'm in Paul Pembroke's
bedroom and there's Paul in the other twin bed still sleeping. He's a cute
kid but frail looking, all scrunched up in a ball like that, his skinny arm
hanging over the edge of the bed. A quiet burp slipped up from my stomach
making me think of General Tsao's crispy fried chicken with hot sauce,
Paul's and my dinner at the China Blossom restaurant last night. Paul had
never been there before yet his mother said it was his favorite restaurant.
Can you even imagine his mother not knowing her fifteen year old son had
never been to that place?  I mean, he couldn't get there himself, he
doesn't drive... it's crazy how disconnected Paul and his mother
are... actually, it's bizarre!  I feel sorry for him.  As I look around it
occurs to me that there's something wrong with this bedroom too... I mean,
it doesn't look like a teenage boy's bedroom.  Oh, it's messy enough to
qualify but there aren't any keep-sakes, or sports paraphernalia, or
personal items on display, or anything really. It kinda reminds me of a
messy motel room except... what are those two posters scotch-taped to the
wall above Paul's bed? I didn't look at them close enough last night to
make-out who's on the posters. Hmmm, now I see though... one is The Jonas
Brothers rock group and the other is a very old poster of a childhood
favorite of mine, a youthful Billy Gilman. That's interesting because when
I was ten years old or so I had the crush of my life on Billy Gilman.  He
was a twelve year old singing sensation who recorded his first CD at that
tender age. His CD made the country music's top 40 list... the youngest boy
to ever accomplish that.  Billy became a bit of a sensation for tweener
girls... tweener girls and me. Let's see, Billy's a couple years older than
me, he's twenty or twenty-one by now but hasn't really been heard from for
a couple of years so it's odd Paul would have a poster of him on his wall.
The Jonas Brothers, on the other hand, are quite popular and very sexy
although they're too Disney for me. Hmmmm, is Paul a rock n' roll fan or
just a fan of boy rock n' rollers?  Interesting that I haven't picked-up
any gay tendencies in him, but I haven't been looking for them either. And
oh God, that'll complicate things immeasurably... him being gay I
mean. I'll try the "don't ask/don't tell" approach about gayness... the
approach the military follows.

In time we both got up, showered, ate some of Mrs Pembroke's breakfast, and
then began loading the Jeep Grand Cherokee.  Loading the Jeep it's like
everything is too heavy for Paul... he picked things up using only the tips
of his fingers. I held my tongue though, no sense in starting off being
critical.  We packed a big tool chest, a radial saw, some barbells, a
basketball, my suitcase and a backpack of Paul's clothes, two sleeping
bags, an ax, a CD player with a pile of my CDs, couple of shovels, a
mattock, and a big cooler full of food and drinks. There was enough food in
the cooler to hold us over until we could get to the general store up
there.  I had a list of things I think we'd need, but more things kept
coming to mind.  It isn't clear how well-stocked the cabin is and neither
Paul nor his mother were any help there... neither of them have been to the
cabin in years... Paul doesn't even remember it. Uncle Tony gets up there
once a year or so to keep the thing in working order but he and I never got
around to discussing the place in any kind of detailed way. Everything
happened so quickly, I can hardly believe I'm here with these strangers
loading their Jeep with all this stuff, but here I am.  It's almost
like... how did I wind-up with this strange cousin, driving the two of us
to God-only-knows-where to build a fucking bunkhouse... why'd I ever think
I could do this? I'm an eighteen year old kid myself, for Christ sakes!

Unfortunately I allowed a number of negative thoughts along those lines to
parade through my head as we silently packed the Jeep... the atmosphere was
eerie and gloomy, at the same time.  We packed everything I could think of
to bring with us and then, what the hell... there's no longer any reason to
delay the start of this fiasco so I took in a big breath, looked over at
Paul's dour expression and, after a few beats, we both shrugged at the same
time. I'm finally getting the hang of the shrugging. I called inside the
house telling his mother we were ready to leave, Mrs Pembroke came outside
immediately.  She looked at both of us uncertainly, then made an awkward
gesture of a hug for Paul which she wasn't able to carry off... instead she
ended up putting one arm across his shoulders for a brief moment and barely
patting him on his back twice. Paul made a face and shrugged which ended
the tearful farewell.  She gave me a half-ass wave, more like shooing me
away than anything else, I said, "Bye", started the Jeep and off we went.
It's less than a two hours drive into rural New England to reach the town
closest to where the cabin's located. We found the town without a problem
and as we were driving down Main Street I realized that this place,
Mountain View, wasn't rural at all... it was a vacation spot actually, and
seemed quite up-to-date with clothing outlets, high-end restaurants,
hotels, motels... it was a very busy, trendy spot. We ate lunch in a nice
little hamburger joint decorated to imitate a time long, long ago...  the
sixties I think. Paul picked at a cheeseburger with little
conversation... no conversation although he did manage to make an annoying
noise by slurping through his straw in the ice of an empty fountain
drink... he did it until I thought I'd scream, but instead I calmly asked
if he'd like another soda.  He usually answers a question with "yeah" or
"no way" but this time he used his familiar shrug as an answer which didn't
really clarify the matter for me so I called for our check. This is going
to be tons of fun.

Uncle Tony's directions from town to the cabin initially seemed easy to
follow although two separate times near the end I was positive they were
wrong... "turn right at the first road past a broken pump" "go straight
until you see a John Deere tractor, then bare right" stuff like that.  And
then, there it was, a big sign clearly indicating this dirt road leads to
Lake Bluestone... and it did too.  Uncle Tony owned a secluded acre of land
bordering the lake, woods all around.  There was a small cabin at one
corner of the property with running lake water for showering, a well for
drinking water, electricity, and a flush toilet connected to a cesspool
which Uncle Tony says he just had redone, yuck to that job which he paid
someone almost ten thousand dollars to do... hard to believe it didn't cost
more. There was a nice stone fireplace in the living room and the small
kitchen had a ancient electric stove and and an equally ancient
refrigerator.  There was only one bedroom so we converted a small storage
room into Paul's bedroom.  That way he'd have some privacy to do,
whatever... and so would I.  Paul looked around, shrugged his shoulders
like... can I believe this?...  and then said, "We're not gonna stay here
long, are we?"  I said, "Yes, we'll live here and build the bunkhouse along
side this cabin.  He mumbled, "You gotta be shitting me? Where's the TV?" I
told him we didn't bring one, but I brought along my laptop with internet
capabilities, and we have CDs and a few DVDs... "but mostly we're going to
be working on building-up our bodies as we're building-up the bunkhouse".
He stared at me hard for a minute, a harsh frown on his face, muttered
something under his breath that included the word "fuck" and stormed into
his tiny bedroom slamming the door behind him.  Scrunching my face up, and
biting my lip to keep from screaming, I gave him a few minutes to collect
himself, then called for him to help unload the Jeep.

Paul stayed in his room long enough to save face, then came out walking
arrogantly, slamming the door to his room, out the cabin front door
slamming that, and finished-up by slamming the Jeeps door after grabbing
his duffle bag and the CD player. Back inside to slam another door.  In my
head I said "three more slammed doors and I blow my fucking top, then kick
the shit out of him". Out he comes with me standing there, the cooler in my
hands, watching him slam the door. I say, "Two more slammed doors and I'm
slamming you... hard!" From the way I said it there couldn't be any doubt I
was serious, I surprised myself with the vitriol... guess it was pent-up
frustration of my situation here, and everything in general.  Paul gave me
a look of pure hatred but stopped slamming doors. Everything was apparently
a struggle for him in life, much like most of our equipment had been too
heavy for him to lift.  To his credit, he unloaded what he could from the
Jeep. Even so he tended to do everything wrong, for example he carried one
of the shovels by it's blade, things like that. When everything was
unloaded he was sweating and red in the face... he leaned against the porch
railing and stared defiantly at me. I said, "Thanks for helping.  I'm going
to organize this stuff, you can take a break if you want." Inside the cabin
he goes, right into his tiny bedroom... no doors were slammed.

After taking a few deep breaths to collect myself, I organized the tools,
stacking some of the things on the porch under the overhanging roof
section, got the kitchen set-up with the food stuff we'd brought with us,
then unpacked a cot and took it into Paul's room. He was sitting on the
floor with his back against the wall... he'd been crying.  I set-up the
cot, put his sleeping bag on it and said, "I'm sorry I threatened you,
Paul.  The last thing I want to do is hurt you... I swear to God I want to
help you.  Your Dad feels terrible about the way you've been neglected and
he cares deeply for you. He's been wonderful to me so I want to help you
for his sake as well as for your sake, but I'm only eighteen years old
myself and I don't believe for a minute that I have all the answers, or
even many of them... that means we need to work on this together.  I
promise, my word of honor, that I'll do anything for you that will help you
grow-up a little."  He wouldn't look at me until I made him that promise,
then he looked up and asked, "You really mean it, you'll help me with
whatever I want?"  I clarified that, "I'll help you with anything serious
Paul, not some wise-ass thing" He goes, "Oh, never mind then..." but I
think he almost grinned, which would be a first.  I stood-up and patted his
new bed mumbling something about this being a better alternative than
sleeping on the floor.  I looked around the little windowless room and
said, "Paul, I think you have just enough room in here for that director's
chair and the little table next to it on the porch.  Help me bring them in
and you can use them in here... OK?" He got up and followed me out to get
the chair, I carried the little table.  His room was cramped, but with his
ipod he'd have a place to escape where he at least had a chair and a table
to support my laptop, if he ever wants to use it.  We all need our own
space in life.

Back outside, standing on the tailgate of the Jeep, I managed to nail a
three foot square piece of three-quarter inch plywood to a tree, then
screwed on an old basketball rim, then hung a new net from it... it's no
fun shooting baskets unless the ball goes "swoosh" through the net.  I'd
measured pretty carefully so the rim was almost exactly ten feet off the
hard patch section of ground where cars parked.  I shot a few baskets
feeling the flow of it... doing something I'm good at, something I know how
to do unlike mentoring Paul Pembroke which I know very little about. It was
the middle of June and nearly seven o'clock by now, close to dusk and the
bugs were out. There aren't many things I hate more than mosquitoes so I
went inside the cabin to start our supper. It was unusually cool in the
mountains for this time of year so I made a fire in the living-room
fireplace... it was amazingly cheery, the crackling sound of dry logs
catching and that nice smell, the sap drooling out to hiss and bubble in
the flames... cool!  In the kitchen I opened a big can of baked beans and
poured them into a casserole dish, added dark Karo syrup, brown mustard,
and some sliced red onions... mixed it up and then plopped four fat
hot-dogs on top of the beans and stuck the casserole in the oven.  For a
vegetable I cut big wedges of iceberg lettuce and added sliced beefsteak
tomato and slices of fresh crisp cucumbers, then put the salads in the
refrigerator to keep cold... Russian dressing on the side. I set the table
in the living room because the kitchen's too small. The fire crackling
cheerfully, I put out knives and forks, napkins, pickles, ketchup, french
bread and butter.  OK!  Not bad for our first dinner in the woods...  this
is kinda fun. Then I took a shower, dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt
with the sleeves cut off, and finally sat down to read my emails hoping
there was one from Gilbert, and there was.

It made my crotch twitter just seeing Gilbert's email address, then it
really got twitchy reading the email's contents.  What great sex we had
together, it's hard to imagine anyone being sexier than that little, toned
hottie.  God! he's so cute too, and he has a unique boyish oder about him
that gets my heart beating a little bit faster when I'm near him. Get's me
feeling like electricity's running through my veins whenever he looks at me
in that special way.  Anxiously I opened his email and discover he's having
a wonderful time in Europe, but misses me ... yea! and blah, blah, blah
about that, the email got so affectionate it almost embarrassed me, sweet!
His gymnastic club has won one meet and come in third in another. Gilbert's
specialty is vaulting and floor exercise.  Oh, he says he has a slightly
sprained ankle but he's competing anyway. You can't believe how strong that
kid is... thin, but strong!  Then there was some really naughty sex talk in
the email... oh boy, can't wait till August when we'll be back together
again.  It can't be love, it's too soon for that... but it's something
pretty good just the same.  Damn, after reading his sexual description of
what we'll be doing the first time we see each other again I feel like
jerking-off, but I better not because Paul might come looking for me and
there are no locks on any of these doors.  After replying to Gilbert's
email I read and replied to one from Uncle Tony who asked me to call him
when I get a chance, and then there was an email from Mom and a long
detailed one from my little brother Alex... I love that kid!  That was it
for emails though, except for nine spam ads which got deleted. It's weird I
guess, but I've never really made a close friend, one who would want to
communicate via email if I'm away somewhere, like I am now... wonder why I
never have?  It was dark outside by now, our supper was ready so I called
Paul and we ate.  He ate OK for once, silently... but he ate a decent
amount.  When done he looked up and said, "I like hotdogs and baked beans,
so that was OK, but I'm bored.  You should have brought a TV." I borrowed a
move from his response repertoire and shrugged... Paul frowned, then looked
pissed-off.  I made him help with the clean-up and then offered him my
laptop so he could watch a DVD. He thought for only a second, then took it
mumbling, "thanks..." and headed for his room.  I said, "FYI... We're
starting early tomorrow morning" I received no response from Paul as he
slowly made his way back to his tiny bedroom. Hell, maybe I'm little bored
now too, sure wish Gilbert were here, oh boy.  After reading awhile, I went
to sleep and had the best dream ever.

The dream was about me and Gilbert, of course... for some reason we were
naked in a tent, maybe because I'm in the fucking woods myself right now.
Anyway, I had my cock way up his ass as we stood there naked in our
tent. Gilbert was facing me with his arms around my neck and his strong,
thin legs around my waist... his hard uncut boner between our bellies.
Gilbert's dark, softly spiked hair tickled my chin as he rode my hard cock
using his arms to pull himself almost off of it and then slowly sitting
back down on that wet, slippery, hard-as-wood boner of mine... sitting down
till his firm, bubble butt ass was flat against my groin. Then the pull on
his arms and up he'd come again to bump the top of his head against my
chin... his smell was like an aphrodisiac to me. I groaned in my dream and
Gilbert leaned his head back so I could see his amazingly cute, boyish
face.  His eyes sparkled as he ran his tongue around his lips leaving a wet
trail of spit, his dripping, hard cock bobbing between us.  My head bent
down with my tongue stretching to reach his mouth, our tongues pressed
together and we began licking and lapping around each other's mouth and up
the front of our noses, then our lips kissed and kissed, my tongue back
into Gilbert's mouth, both of us making mewing sounds in our throat... his
spit taste so fresh, so clean, so bubbly... he'd scrap some off his tongue
using his upper teeth and I'd swallow it staring into his eyes as he humped
up and down on my cock which got so hard it almost split open at the head
every time Gilbert tightened the considerable muscles of his pelvic area,
shrinking his hole, then he'd drag his tightened asshole up my boner
slowly, slowly, slowly.... then slide down it causing such extreme
sensations black dots to fill my vision with tingling electricity shooting
out from my nuts to my cock to my belly and thighs... awesome... almost
painful, but awesome! When he picked up speed I heard someone in my room
moan "Ohhhh... ahhhhhh" as my cock exploded with spunk, once, twice and
then again "Ohhh... fuck...ahhh" I squeezed out one last tiny spurt of cum
realizing it was me doing the groaning, groaning in ecstasy ... felt so
good it's hard to believe it was a dream, but I was awake now and of course
there was no Gilbert, just my dream of him. But, be that as it may, to
spontaneously spunk in my sleep... wow that's uber hot!  It's new to me
too, an orgasm caused by a dream... messy, but quite a turn-on. Gilbert is
so sexy hot, oh my God I love our sex together.  Stroking by cock absently
now, my climax abating, I glanced at the clock... almost two in the
morning. Damn, gotta clean this spunk out of my sleeping bag.  It took me
awhile to get back to sleep as I wondered at the fact that I'd never before
missed anyone and how that compares to the way I miss Gilbert. Hmmmm, never
even thought about missing anyone before, it can't be love though... it's
the sex, right?

My next memory was of my alarm going off at seven a.m.  Time to start
mentoring Paul again. Dressed and finished with my bathroom routine, I woke
Paul who said "Why do I gotta get up?"  "We have a lot we need to do" I
said and he goes, "What'll you do if I won't get up?"  I told him I'd make
him and he got further down in his sleeping bag and mumbled, "Make me
then... if you can." Taking an exaggerated deep breath, I unzipped his
sleeping and picked him up. I'm over six feet, two inches tall, a hundred
and eighty pounds.  Paul is Gilbert's size at best and I've carried Gilbert
around on my dick so I sure as hell didn't have any problem carrying Paul
in my arms.  I took him into the bathroom, pulled down his shorts, taking a
quick look at a damn-fine five inch uncut cock, great healthy looking nuts
in a hairless sac, sparse pubic hairs that looked soft and I'll bet smelled
sexy... it was only a quick glance though, just before I put him into the
shower and held him in place with a grip on his upper arm... I turned on
the water and held his head under it. He struggled and made guttural sounds
in his throat, but it was no contest really, I'm much stronger than
Paul. When I had his long, unruly hair wet and lathered with shampoo he
yelled, "OK, ya big ox... you win.  I'll do it myself!"  I left him to it
only realizing how pissed-off I was when I started hyperventilating in the
kitchen... that little fucker really gets me mad and I gotta watch myself
so I don't hurt him.  Taking deep breaths I got myself calmed down... whoa,
that was weird. I made coffee wishing I still smoked, I could sure use a
cigarette with this situation.  As I finished frying bacon and scrambling
some eggs out comes a pouting Paul dressed in long corduroy pants and a
long sleeved flannel shirt.  I thought ... Jesus, he doesn't even know how
to dress himself, it's going to be eighty degrees this afternoon.  I didn't
criticize his attire though, I need to pick my battles with him because
otherwise we could argue about everything he does... he's so fucked-up it's
pathetic.  He said he didn't want anything to eat, but sat at the table
anyway and drank two tall glasses of orange juice.  I put a plate of eggs
and bacon in front of him, he gave me a disgusted look, picked-up a fork,
took a mouthful of egg, and asked, "Why'd you do that to me this morning?"
Stopping what I was doing, I said... "Two reasons.  One, you need some
structure in your life, some scheduling, to give you a sense of order. Two,
I was probably going to need to bring force into our relationship
eventually, might as well get it over with."  He shrugged and said, "That
sucks..."

After breakfast I told him the first thing we'll do each morning is
run... "Jogging wakes you up and gets your blood flowing nicely, it's
really good for you.  You got any sneakers?"  He shakes his head no, so I
put off the run until after we went shopping for appropriate clothing.  In
town, using Uncle Tony's credit card, I got Paul sneakers, sweat socks,
cargo shorts, T shirts, and a baseball cap. Then at another store we got
him some work boots and jeans to wear when we're building the bunkhouse. He
said, "I like those cargo shorts we bought, Mother wouldn't buy them for
me... she said they looked stupid."  I let that slide, me saying negative
things about his mother wouldn't necessarily serve me well.  Paul could
turn those negative comments back against me if it ever served his purpose.
Back at the cabin I told Paul to put his new stuff on so we could do our
run.  He asked, "You going to make me do it?" I said, "Yes" so he went
inside and fifteen minutes later reappeared wearing all the new stuff.  I
said, "Good.  We'll stretch first", and showed him how to do it.  He did
everything very awkwardly and tentatively as if he wanted to prove he
couldn't do it.  The stretching completed, we started a slow paced jog
following a path around the lake.  Paul looked as if he maybe has never run
before.  His movements seemed uncoordinated, un-synchronized.. he took each
step as though he had to think about it.  He also needed to stop often
because of a stitch in his side but we eventually covered about two
miles... it took almost an hour. After a rest and a drink of well water I
got out the weights.  "I do weights almost every day, Paul.  You'll see
positive results in your arms, stomach and chest pretty quickly... positive
results in your progression of increasing pounds on the bar too, and also,
like I said, in your muscle development".  Paul nodded.  I wondered if I'm
making progress with him or if I've just broken his spirit.  I said, "How's
that sound to you?"  He looked away, mumbled something under his breath,
and shrugged. Maybe I haven't broken his spirit after all.

We took our shirts off for the weight lifting. The weights and lifting
bench were up on the covered porch.  "We'll start with bench pressing" and
I showed him how it's done. "You try it Paul, with just the bar." "Without
any weights?" he asked incredulously, "That's stupid".  I got him to try
doing ten presses with just the bar and he couldn't even do that, I needed
to assist with the last three. "I can't do it" he said, his face dark red
from the effort. I reminded him that he'd make progress fast, that he'd be
pressing his own weight before we were done.  I got him to try it again.
This time I needed to help him right from the first press.  "I'm getting
worse!"  he cried. I go, "Naturally, your muscles are tired, but this is
when the old muscles break down and new, stronger muscles replace the old."
Paul lay on his back on the bench, red faced and silent.  There were fine
blue veins under the near-translucent skin of his chest.  His collarbone,
ribs, and sternum were all clearly defined against the tight skin.  He
weighed less than a hundred pounds. I showed him how to do some curls
then. I did all of my presses and curls in between Paul's efforts. We
worked at the weighs for maybe forty-five minutes and when we were done
Paul sat on the weight bench with his head hanging, forearms on his thighs,
puffing as if he'd run a marathon. I sat beside him, patted his back once
handing him a bottle of cold water and told him he'd done very well for the
first time. "How do you feel, Paul?" He just shook his head, then asked,
"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I said, "Because everybody else has
left you alone all your life and you are a mess as a result of that". He
looked at me frowning again and mumbles, "Whaddya mean, a mess?" I
explained he didn't have anything in his life to care about, or be proud
of... that he was pretty much neutral about every aspect of his life
because no one's taken the time to teach him anything or show him how to
act.  He said, "It's not my fault" and I said, "No, not yet. But if you
continue to just lay back and let oblivion roll over you it will become
your fault.  You're old enough now to become a person, an individual who
takes responsibility for his life.  You understand?"

He wanted to know what jogging and weight lifting had to do with taking
responsibility for his life and I told him it was a place to start, that we
can build up his body fairly quickly and we'll take it from there. Paul
shrugged and said, "So what... in a little while I'll be back home doing
what I always do... watching TV. What difference will it make if I'm
stronger?"  I looked at him, white and narrow and cramped-up
small... almost birdlike, his shoulders hunched and his head down.
Scraggly hair, and, oh hell... he's pretty much unlikable right now, except
I felt such empathy for him I wanted to hug him.  Instead I became more
determined than ever to help him.  I said, "That's not accurate, your
father is working toward getting custody of you and now that your mother
has her new boyfriend it'll happen sooner rather than later.  When you're
living with your Dad, you and me will be friends, I'll be there to continue
helping you with whatever you need."  He asked, "You still gonna keep your
promise to do something important for me?"  I nodded and said, "Of course,
but our major goal right now is to make you more autonomous... make you
more dependent on yourself, not influenced unduly by things outside
yourself." It must have seemed too big a task for him because his lips
started to quiver and he quietly began to cry.  I squeezed the back of his
neck and said, "We can do this, Paul... I promise.  You can get some pride,
some things you like about yourself.  I can help. We can do it... really."
He cried with his head down and his knobby shoulders hunched... I saw sweat
that had accumulated during his weight lifting drying on the back of his
neck.  Sitting beside him without touching him I said, "Crying's okay, I do
it sometimes myself." He leaned against me and in a few minutes stopped
crying. I stood up and said, "Come on Paul, lets eat some lunch" He
followed silently rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.  God, I
feel sorry for this kid!

As the screen door thumped closed I heard a horn blow and went back outside
to see who it was. A flatbed truck carrying the first load of building
materials from Home Depot was laboring down the dirt road to our
cabin. Uncle Tony has provided me with a roughed-out blueprint of the
bunkhouse he envisioned, his responsibility is to do all the ordering of
materials and coordinate the electrical sub contractors when the time is
right.  I stood there and watched as the first half of the bunkhouse was
unloaded.  It wasn't prefab exactly but the walls were assembled as far as
the two-by-fours frames are concerned... much work remained to be done of
course, but it helped to see that much was done already. I signed for the
delivery and headed back into the cabin. Paul had been watching the
unloading through the screen door... showing at least a little interest. We
spent the afternoon measuring and staking-out the bunkhouse location.  I
tried to avoid an area where stones were showing, but knew they'd be plenty
to deal with underground.  Next morning Paul grumpily got up when I called
him, we did the run before breakfast and lifted weights afterward. Then we
began the construction. By the end of that first week our routine was
established and Paul was running much better, like he didn't need to think
about each step.  By Friday he had five pound weights on either end of the
bar when he bench pressed and insisted I not help him with his ten
repetitions. I was very proud of his progress but didn't want to sound
condescending so kept my remarks simple, encouraging him from time to time
but not going over the top with it, like I felt like doing. Frankly, I
could hardly believe this was working as well as it was.

Friday afternoon we were finally digging the last hole for the foundation
tubes, and damn glad of it too.  It was hot and the going was slow through
rocks and root webs. I worked with a mattock loosening the rocky soil, Paul
used a shovel. In addition to the mattock I also used a crowbar, ax, and
long handled branch cutter... digging those holes was a bitch.  Paul was
dressed like I was, we both had boots and jeans on, bare chested.  The
sweat shone on his thin body as he dug at the dirt I loosened in the
hole. Later we'll put cardboard tubes in the holes, fill the tubes with
reinforced cement, and level them... they'll support the foundation for the
bunkhouse.  At first Paul held the shovel too far up on the handle and a
lot of the dirt flipped off the blade and back into the hole when he tried
to lift it out, but he got better as we went along. After digging a few
holes he asked, "Don't they have a machine to do this?" I said, "Yes, but
there's no satisfaction in it if you use a machine...  we'll build this
with our muscles mostly, although later on we'll use power tools too." He
looked at me like I was crazy, but said nothing.  We stopped each day
around five.  I always showered first, and then Paul.  Afterward we sat on
the porch drinking iced tea, and I tried to tell him about stuff... casual
stuff like what I did while working for his father or what I did in school,
and then I'd drift into bigger stuff like how his father feels this wicked
strong responsibility for Paul.  A large responsibility, but his father had
been handicapped legally to do anything about it until recently. Paul's
mother apparently had an epiphany a few months ago... she realized that she
was cutting off her nose to spite her face by refusing to let Uncle Tony
have custody of Paul... in other words, she gave up the idea of spiting her
exhusband by keeping Paul from him.

She never really liked the idea of being responsible for Paul in the first
place, but if it pissed off her ex-husband then having custody of Paul was
worth the trouble. What she now understands is that her desire to be an
unfettered single woman can't be realized with a fifteen year old son in
the mix. She was content to let her ex, my Uncle Tony, have the kid, it was
just a matter of legalese now. I talked and Paul listened, but he rarely
commented... he did seem interested though, or attentive at least.  I told
him how bad his father feels about letting Paul down in his early
childhood, about how his parents' marriage had not been a happy one and how
his dad had turned to alcohol because of that... and how terrible his
father now feels about his lack of responsibility back then. During those
early evening talks we also discussed, in a general way, responsibility and
how each of us must make decisions for ourselves and then live with the
consequences of those decisions. Every couple of days we talked with Uncle
Tony, Paul's father, on the cell phone... when Paul and his father talked
it was mostly a one way conversation, but there was at least some kind of
connection being made. I'd also have cell phone conversations with my Mom,
who was relieved things were going so well, and with my brother Alex, who
was always anxious to get my ear and complain about something or other,
trying to give me a guilt trip about not being there for him.  In the end
Alex always said he loved me and was looking forward to our week in
Wildwood when I got home... he really is a good kid.

A month into our adventure and things continued to go as smooth as silk.
Paul has really blossomed in the area of cooperation, his carpentry skills
were improved but still a little streaky.  For example, in the beginning
when driving a nail, Paul held the hammer midway up the handle, his index
finger pointing along the handle toward the head.  He took small
strokes. I'd say, "Don't choke up on the handle, hold it at the end and
don't do that thing with your index finger.  Take full swings, you'll miss
at first but you'll get the hang of it pretty quickly". Paul actually had
begun following my advise on how to do things correctly and while he didn't
do everything the best way, he was improving daily. I'd demonstrate how he
needed to do something and after a while he'd try it my way, slip back to
his way, and then try it my way again... like that.  His change in attitude
toward the positive end of the spectrum was the biggest accomplishment.  It
seemed to happen naturally but appeared to be connected to the amount of
undivided attention I paid to him. I was proud of both of us to be honest
about it. By that forth week we had the floor of the bunkhouse down and the
studded walls up.  I looked over at Paul, smiled and nodded my head at our
building... the place looked like something now.  He frowned, but held my
stare and almost let his lips grin with pride.

Paul's appearance had altered, I mean when compared to a mere month
ago... he was something to see alright.  Each day, like right now, he wore
a hammer holster on his belt with a nailing apron around his narrow
waist. This afternoon his bare upper body was sweaty and speckled with
sawdust... there was sawdust in his hair.  Definition in his biceps, chest
and stomach was very noticeable. He'd been increasing the weights in his
workouts every couple of days and that, plus the jogging and carpentry work
had changed his body structure.  Of course, when he began there was a lot
of room for improvement, but that's not to take anything away from what
he'd done in the way of hard work... and the results were obvious. I'd
catch him checking himself out in the mirror above the fireplace, expanding
his chest or flexing his biceps muscles.  Paul was proud of himself, it was
obvious... but I continued to steer clear of over-complimenting him, I just
kept up steady encouragement, although low key. He'd almost smile at his
progress at times, but his frown would usually still win out. We're making
excellent progress in all areas though and in the last phone conversation
with Uncle Tony he'd sounded very excited about Paul's progress, he told me
he could hear the difference in Paul's voice... almost sounding confident
at times, maybe even bragging.  You know what... I can't even imagine how
this first month could have gone any better.

Paul and I were sitting on the front porch drinking lemonade on our fifth
Friday at the cabin, it's around five-thirty, the sweats just drying on our
faces.  We're quietly studying the progress we'd made in the
bunkhouse... the framing for the roof completed just fifteen minutes
ago. As we drank our drinks and stared at the bunkhouse, a structure that
hadn't existed five weeks ago, a big fuzzy, yellow-and-black bumblebee
moved in a lazy circle above our heads and then planned off in a big
looping arch down toward the lake... we both watched it fly away.  The
clearing smelled strongly of sawdust and fresh lumber with a quieter sense
of the lake and the forest lurking behind the big smells... very
pleasant. Two squirrels spiraled up the trunk of a tree, one chasing the
other. Something plopped in the lake and you can hear a locust like hum
from somewhere... almost like background music. I broke our silence, "We'll
do whatever you want to do tomorrow Paul, it's Saturday and we're taking
the day off." We'd been working Saturdays, only resting on Sundays... that
is except for last week when we took the Forth of July holiday off and went
into town for a barbecue dinner and then, later that night, we watched the
4th of July fireworks display at the town common.  Our recent progress on
the bunkhouse, as well as the progress with everything else we're trying to
accomplish, was so excellent I feel we're able to take Saturdays off from
now on.

After thinking about it Paul started to say something, but stopped... then
said, "Um, ya think maybe we could see about me getting my drivers permit?"
I thought, learners permit?  What the fuc....? I said, "You need to be
sixteen for that, Paul". He looked down like he was embarrassed about
something, took a big breath, then mumbled, "Yesterday was my birthday, I
am sixteen... sixteen plus one day."  I rubbed my face with both hands
thinking this is wicked pathetic, then said, "Happy birthday, Paul..." I
was so pissed-off that his father hadn't remembered it was Paul's birthday,
never mind the mother... I'd expect her to forget it. Every year of my
life, every year I can remember anyway, my birthdays were celebrated in a
big way... like they were special days.  This kid probably never had a
birthday party in his life... hell, party? He's maybe never had a birthday
present.  Goddamn that woman, it was only five weeks ago, you'd think she
would have said something to me, or left a present with me to surprise Paul
with... something, anything. Jesus!  I tried staying calm when I said,
"Well, you got it then, partner... we're gonna be all over that drivers
permit tomorrow morning, first thing.  Let's get the laptop and go on line
right now to find the closest DMV location." He ran inside and came out
with my laptop, an eager expression on his cute face.  First time I'd seen
him get openly excited about anything.  I wanted so badly to show some
affection for him, not only because I was so proud of the progress he's
made, but also because I'd become really fond of him. I don't think he'd
appreciate the affection though and... you know, I'm gay and it might be
misinterpreted.  Of course, as far as I know Paul isn't even aware I'm gay.
I settled for patting him on the back.

We found the information we needed on line and I told him that his father's
birthday present will be the learners permit and the required
drivers-training program. We discovered from the DMV web site that driver
trainees need at least twelve hours behind the wheel with a licensed
driver-education instructor, which cost about three hundred dollars.  That
made me think, that's twenty-five dollars an hour and that doesn't seem
enough money per hour for being in a car with a teenager learning to drive.
Paul actually was a bit chatty at supper, excited about learning to
drive. As he went on, all of a sudden it occurred to me that it's also
necessary for driver trainees to spend at least twelve hours in the car
with a licensed driving... and that licensed driver would need to be
me... oh shit!  Of course I went through this whole process, including
studying for the written exam, two years age myself... I remember what a
big deal it is to get a drivers license so I'll do it for Paul.  Anyway,
this is the first time I've seen Paul look happy so I'm going to be happy
with him.  He'd need to take the written part again in Pennsylvania for his
PA. license, but why mention that now. We had a upbeat dinner and got to
bed early for an early start tomorrow... tomorrow our quest is to get Paul
a learners permit, something he really wanted to do, for once! Paul was
already out cold when I turned off the lights.

In my quiet moments, laying in bed mostly, I'd think about my Mom and
little brother, but mostly I'd think about Gilbert.  Since I've been here
Gilbert has been visiting me in my sleep three or four nights a week.  I
find that to be exotic, thrilling actually. Spontaneous orgasms, without me
touching myself... so cool, so sexy, so hot!  I've been emailing Gilbert
about my experiences with him in my dreams and the emails back and forth
between us have gotten steamier and steamier as a result.  For some reason
I allowed myself to be disappointed that Gilbert couldn't say he'd notice
me visiting him in his sleep, that is except for that one time the first
week we were apart.... it's silly of me to expect he'd dream of me on a
regular basis. I did wonder though if the reason I'm not in his nightly
dreams is because he doesn't need my visit as much as I need his... maybe
he doesn't miss me like I miss him.  Maybe he's found some alternative way
to relieve his sexual urges, perhaps he's found himself another sex
partners who's tall and lanky, the way he likes his boyfriends to
be... like moi. I'm maybe being a little paranoid though because he showers
lavish words of affection upon me in his emails and claims I'm the best sex
partner he's ever been with... not that he's had that many, but
still... it's nice he says that. Perhaps the reason I miss Gilbert so much
is because he's my first real-life sex buddy, maybe he's even more than a
sex buddy.

Ah hell, I don't know what love is, but Gilbert makes me crazy with desire
and I've loved every time we've been together, and I can hardly wait till
we're together again. There isn't anyway to accurately describe the
clinging ways of Gilbert during sex or the way our mouths are sucked
together, our tongues in constant motion sucking, licking, spreading saliva
around.  My boner up his ass, his arms and legs wrapped around me, and many
times he'll sit down on my boner to reach around me to poke his middle
finger up my ass, him fucking me that way... both of us humping against the
other. It's very active participation from both of us with a great deal of
energy exerted... we more or less fuck each other at the same time and the
climaxes are fantastic.  The cum shooting out in tight strings up Gilbert's
ass... one quick one, then the long one that causes me to squeal, and the
follow-up spurts that have me roughly humping against Gilbert's
buttocks... the smacking sounds of our bodies colliding, wet skin against
wet skin... him squealing as his cock fires off his hard shots of spunk,
usually up between, cum spray hitting my chin.  I get dizzy from the bright
spots blinding my eyes as every sensory nerve-ending in my body is
electrified, sizzling feelings up and down my spine, my toes curling,
Gilbert's toes curling... the sounds and grunts and moans of pleasure are
all part of our dance. It's something to take part in alright... and the
clinging hugs afterward, the kisses... awesome!  Gilbert says we fit
together perfectly which makes me smile because he's so small, and I'm not.
Ahh, maybe I'm in love after all. He's sent me many pictures of himself in
Europe and I've saved them all on my laptop.  What a beautiful boy he
is... well, he's two years older than me actually... ha ha.  I say boy
because he looks about Paul's age and, you know, he's little. That dick of
his though, so nice... not huge, but a really nice cock.  I've sucked him
off four times and wish it was more than that... I like sucking his cock
and swallowing his cum. It taste like something, but what?  I can't place
it. Gilbert and me had only been together a month when we were forced into
this ten week separation by prior circumstances... poor timing, but
hopefully we can pick-up where we left off, I think we can, and I think we
will.  I sure want to. The night Paul told me about his birthday I listened
at his bedroom door till I heard his steady breathing then, in my bedroom,
I jerked off looking at Gilbert's picture on my laptop and I had a big
sloppy climax stifling my groans of pleasure.  Yeah, maybe I am in love.
No, you don't fall in love in three or four weeks, do you? That night I saw
a naked Gilbert again and I made another mess in my sleeping bag too.  It
was a nice night.

Next morning Paul and I drove to the Department of Motor Vehicles and began
the necessary paper work, paid the numerous fees involved in Paul's
learners permit and were set to go. Paul told me on the drive to the DMV
that he'd brought a copy of his birth certificate and his high school ID
picture along with him to the cabin... just on the long-shot he could
somehow get his permit.  It was the first I'd heard of it. I said, "So, you
planned ahead... good for you Paul. That was smart!". He smiled at me then,
and what a nice smile he has too.  First time I saw the full
one-hundred-watt smile... cute! Dimples, youthful suntanned face, white
teeth and nice lips... good, boyish smile. The way he radiated happiness at
this rather routine aspect of being a sixteen year old somehow made me feel
sorry for him again.  It's like this is a huge surprise, a great treat for
him... the very idea that someone would help him with this routine ordeal
was thrilling to him... that's sad. I'm not thinking nice thoughts about
his mother, I can assure you of that.  Paul has been so neglected by her,
it's almost criminal... it's just not right... and all just to spite the
father who wanted custody of him. Oh well, what's the sense in beating a
dead horse?

We'd easily found the DMV location, it's in a big outdoor shopping mall.
Plenty of parking outside, but inside we'd discovered a long line... damn!
not good, but we were patient.  Paul, standing in front of me in line
looked good. I took the opportunity to look closely at him and marveled at
the way his body had filled out... he was still slim, but tight and toned
now. A real nice looking boy actually, except for his unruly hair.  When
we'd done what we needed to do to satisfy the bureaucrats and we're walking
out the door, I tapped him on the shoulder, he turned his head and I said
"While were in town how about you and I get our hair cut, we look like
mountain men or something."  To my surprise he goes, "OK, Jon... what kind
of haircuts should I get?"  I say, "You decide that for yourself,
Paul"... he did his shrug, but looked like he was thinking about it. As
soon as we were outside we saw a rotating red and white barbershop poll
across the way so we walked across the parking lot and went inside.

Paul wasn't shy in the barber chair, he said "I'd like a buzzcuts". I
gulped wondering what his mother will say, but fuck that...  a sixteen year
old should be able to wear his hair anyway he wants.  I tried to get mine
cut like Gilbert had cut it for me over two months ago, but it didn't
turn-out as cool as when Gilbert did it... it's OK though. Walking back
across the parking lot after our haircuts I'm thinking... oh my God, Paul
looks so boyish and healthy and perfect, he was smiling as we walked to our
car... actually smiling "We're looking good, cuz" he says.  I had to laugh,
seeing this transformation in Paul.  Then he told me his mother usually
took him to her hairdresser for haircuts and that she wouldn't allow him to
get a buzzcut because she said it looked too skin-head-ish.  I held my
tongue regarding that bitch because it would serve no purpose dumping on
her, Paul can see her for what she is himself.  Of course, the beginning of
his transformation had begun a few weeks before he got his driving permit
and buzzcut, but his progress accelerated after accomplishing those two
things. These are the simplest, everyday items for most teens... things
like a learners permit, wearing cargo shorts, or getting a buzzcut, but to
Paul they were very big deals because his mother wouldn't allow them for
him and wouldn't help him with anything either. Paul is smiling once in
awhile now and he's showing a little personality too.

It seems everything we needed was in the same open Mall... we signed him up
for twelve hours of drivers training in a conveniently located
driver-training facility right next to the DMV.  There were openings for
all twelve hours this week coming up so we took all twelve... get it over
with.  I paid with Uncle Tony's credit card. We'll need to come to town
three days next week... four hours each afternoon... Monday, Wednesday and
Friday.  That will cut into our progress at the bunkhouse, but the progress
of Paul's autonomous development more than makes up for that. As we drove
to the Supermarket at the other end of that same mall, Paul couldn't seem
to stop rubbing his buzzcut hair, almost beaming and I'm feeling very good
myself, thinking... this unlikely experiment is going to be
successful... hell, it already has been.  I felt so happy for Paul, and for
Uncle Tony too, and I felt proud of myself as well. I really don't have a
big head about any of it though, Paul's willingness to go along with the
plan is what made everything possible... he deserves the credit.  Inside
the supermarket Paul pushed the shopping cart as we stocked-up on food
stuff we needed. I glanced up and saw the bakery section at the end of an
aisle and the idea of a birthday cake flashed in my head... of course!
"Down here Paul, let's celebrate your birthday a little... we'll get a
birthday cake for you.  What kinda cake do you like?"  He's like, "Jeez,
Jon... I never had a birthday cake before, what kind do you think I should
get?"  I wiped my eyes thinking, somebody needs to bitch slap his
mother... he never had a fucking birthday cake in his whole life?!! You
gotta be shitting me!  Getting control of my emotions, I calmly say, "No
Paul, you decide on the cake." He screwed up his cute face and says,
"Ahhh... OK, chocolate cake with vanilla icing.  Is that OK?"  I go, "It's
perfect!"  At the counter there were a dozen cakes ready to go.  Two were
chocolate with vanilla icing, I bought the smaller one and had the lady
write "Happy 16th Birthday, Paul" in blue icing on top.  Paul acted
embarrassed, but I think he liked it.  We went up and down the aisles
picking up the rest of the stuff we wanted, me insisting Paul choose what
we bought. Tonight for his belated birthday dinner... New York strip
steaks, french fried potatoes, corn on the cob and cole slaw.  This is the
first time Paul's indicated that he even liked food...  his progress just
keeps on building... it's like a snowball rolling down a hill getting
bigger and bigger, faster and faster.

On our way to check-out I spot the wine and beer section.  Unlike the state
of Pennsylvania, where I'm from, New Hampshire Supermarkets are allowed to
sell beer and wine. Not that I'm much of a drinker, but come on... I'm
almost nineteen so of course I've been to beer parties with high school
kids.  Being almost nineteen isn't being twenty-one though, which is how
old one needs to be to purchase alcoholic beverages.  So what though, I'm
over six feet-two and even though my face looks like I'm too young, height
can sometimes fool em'.  I put a twelve pack of Heineken cans in our cart,
the reason I picked Heineken is simply because I liked the look of those
cool green cans... then I put a bottle of red wine next to the beer.  Paul
had an excited look of awe on his face, I smiled at him and said, "You
deserve a party on your sixteenth birthday, Paul."  He hugged me... he
actually hugged me!  It took me totally by surprise, it's the first time
he's purposely touched me.  I kept it light, asking "You ever had beer or
wine?"  He goes, "No, but I'd like to try it so I know what it is, ya
know?" I said, "Yeah Paul, I know... You probably won't like the taste
though, I didn't but I forced it down so I'd be one of the guys." And I
laughed at first, then hoped he wouldn't think I was a geek for saying that
as it didn't sound too cool in retrospect... I was actually telling the
truth though.  As we waited in the check-out line I explained that I'd
probably get carded to see if I was old enough and they'd see I'm only
eighteen, but maybe we'll get lucky. As fate would have it, we'd picked the
right line... a bored woman didn't even look up at me, just swiped the bar
code of our steaks, the birthday cake, five other things, the Heineken
twelve-pack, bath soap, and the same for the wine and the rest of our
order... no problem.  Everything was bagged by a grumpy teenage boy who had
the face of a choir boy.  I had to force myself to stop staring at him, he
made me think of Gilbert's incredibly cute face.  I took a deep breath and
willed myself to concentrate on the job at hand... which is, continuing to
help Paul be more autonomous, more like a regular sixteen year old.

Back at the cabin we put everything away and then spent two hours in the
Jeep, first getting Paul familiar with the instrument panel... then he
practiced starting and slowly driving up and down the dirt road.  We're
going to do some more tomorrow so Paul will feel a little bit comfortable
for his first drivers-training session on Monday. After the driving we shot
baskets until the bugs started biting.  Paul actually has an aptitude for
basketball... good eye-hand coordination, but since no one had encouraged
him to try sports he was still a novice at it.  You know, it should be a
crime to ignore a boy like Paul's been ignored.  We showered and made the
birthday dinner together while drinking a can of beer and listening to
music. Paul still isn't a chatty kid but he seems so much more relaxed now,
he seems to be enjoying himself... having fun even.  My beer didn't taste
too bad but it was obvious Paul was forcing his down so I suggested he have
a Coca Cola, he insisted on finishing the beer, although he didn't get
another one.  With dinner we had a juice glass of a red wine called Merlot.
Not bad. By the time we'd finished dinner and were eating Paul's birthday
cake, half the bottle of wine was gone and Paul was pouring each of us
another juice glass full. There was a fire in the fireplace, we needed it
because an unseasonably cool front had come through the area yesterday,
tomorrow was suppose to be thundershowers but we actually heard thunder
during dinner so the storm front was early.  We didn't care, it was cosy in
the cabin.  Paul wasn't into a lot of conversation as I said, and when we
did talk we never got into our personal lives... until tonight, he asked,
"Do you have a girlfriend, Jon?" I was prepared for this, was almost
waiting for him to get around to asking it... I looked him in the eyes and
quietly said, "Ah, no I don't... I'm gay Paul. I came out, as they say,
when I was a junior in high school."  I could tell he hadn't known, his
eyes visibly enlarged and moved around in their sockets a little. "You,
ya... are you kidding me?" he goes.  I shook my head "no" asking, "Why
would I say I'm gay if I'm not?"  He looked down and mumbled, "Oh, I don't
know... I thought somebody might have told you that I'm gay.  That's
all..."

My first thought was "Uh oh" and my second was of the posters on the wall
in his bedroom... Billy Gilman and The Jonas Brothers.  I quietly asked,
"Are you saying you are gay, or that you feel someone thinks you're gay?"
He took an exaggerated big breath and, looking at what was left of his
birthday cake said, "Both, but I'd rather not talk about it."  I nodded my
head, took a big slug of wine and mumbled, "OK, but if you ever do want to
talk about it, I'm here for you Paul..." Not looking up, he shrugged.  I
added, "Ah, this is a bit awkward, but I want you to know that I'd
never... um, well, you're safe with me, Paul.  Ya know?" He nodded his head
again and I started to fear I was losing him, that all the great progress
was getting lost in this uncomfortable situation. I don't think I'm
handling things very well.  He was silent so I said, "Just so you know,
your dad knows I'm gay and he trust me with his teenage son, who he
loves... so, ya know, you can feel safe with me..." Paul mumbled, so low I
could hardly hear him, "What if I don't wanna be safe with you....?"  I go,
"Huh, what was that..?" and he says, "Never mind, could we drop
this... please, Jon".  I go, "Sure Paul, of course.." Let's get some fresh
air.."  He stood up and I followed him out the door just as a huge
lightning bolt streaked across the sky, followed by a loud rumbling
thunder. Paul backed into me, startled by the size of the lightning bolt
and the loudness of the thunder.  Another lightning streaked across the
pitch-black sky with a deafening clap of thunder, I put my arm around
Paul's shoulder and when he leaned into me I mumbled, "Scary, huh?" He
goes, "Jesus... I never saw lightning like that before!" The storm somehow
bridged the gap for us and got us past the sexual talk about being
gay... and being safe, or not.  We watched the sky and saw smaller streaks
of lightning and less violent thunder and then the skies opened up and big
fat raindrops started pelting the tin roof of the porch, followed by an
avalanche of water... I've never seen it rain as hard as it was raining
now.

We went inside after a bit and I asked "You gonna be OK, Paul... you want
to bring your sleeping bag in with me so we can protect each other?" He
hesitated, then mumbled, "If you don't mind, Jon... tell ya the truth, I'm
a pussy when it comes to thunder storms."  I go, "Me too" and Paul actually
chuckled saying, "I doubt that, but thanks".  We left the dishes, just
scraped the food scraps in the garbage and covered the cake... then he got
his sleeping bag, I got his cot and set-up a bed for him in my bedroom.  We
silently took turns in the bathroom going pee and brushing our teeth and so
forth. Then undressed to our shorts and got in our beds.  When the light
was out Paul quietly said, "Thanks, Jon... thanks for everything."  I go,
"No problem..." After another minute of silence Paul says, "Um... maybe I
do need to talk to you, Jon... you know, sometime... um, about me... and
stuff, if it's OK."  I say, "Absolutely, Paul. And, I want to tell you
something too... it's just that, well... I'm very proud of you, you
know... proud of the way you've handled yourself from the first day I met
you. I'm proud to be your cousin."  I heard what may have been a sob, after
which he says, "Thanks... and, um... you said once that you'd do anything I
asked... something that wasn't smart-assed, if it was good for me or
something. Remember?"  Well, that's not exactly what I said, but close
enough so I mumble, "Sure, I remember..."  He goes, "Did you mean it?" and
I say, "Of course" but I had this sinking feeling in my stomach, I knew
what it was he'd ask for.  Paul very quietly says, "I know I can trust you,
thanks.  Good night, Jon"... my "Good night, Paul" was just barely heard
above another loud thunder burst.

The storm and our admission of sexual preference and everything else that
happened today, including the missed birthday and drivers permit and the
like... it was a lot to think about so I was wide awake now, but I heard
Paul's steady breathing almost immediately... like most middle teens, he's
a good sleeper.  I wondered... had the beer and wine been helpful in
getting Paul to open up or did it get him to open up only to have him feel
mortified in the morning when he remembers what he said?  And also, what'll
he feel when he remembers what he intimated just before falling asleep, it
seemed quite clear to me... to me it seems he confirmed he's gay and he was
on the verge of asking me to introduce him to gay sex... he's going to
call-in my promise to help him with anything he wants by asking that we
have sex together.  There's problems aplenty with that scenario, his age
for one thing, my age for another... and his father is the man who
entrusted Paul to my care hoping I'd help Paul find himself, set goals for
himself, become self reliant... certainly not to participate in gay sex
with him, that surely isn't in the blueprints Uncle Tony sent along with
me.  God dammit! Paul's made so much progress to date... if I mishandle
this sex thing though, it's possible he'll retreat right back into his
shell.

Eventually I fell into a fitful sleep myself... no Gilbert in my dreams to
help me through the night. Before falling asleep I decided that tomorrow
I'd do a cell phone call and be open with Uncle Tony about what Paul and I
discussed tonight. It seems to me though, if I do that... on the one hand,
it's like I'm throwing Paul under the bus, but on the other hand, he's
looking for me to help him, and he didn't mention anything about me not
talking to his father, and I need his fathers advise, so what else can I
do? Fucking catch-22 deal, that's what this is.  Yeah, in a way... but
Uncle Tony and I talk at least three times a week and then I always give
the phone to Paul so he and his father can talk... it isn't like I'll be
totally going behind Paul's back.  The bottom line is... I'm not even
nineteen and I feel lost with conflicting loyalties here... I've become
very fond of Paul and want to help him, but this is too major a concern for
me to handle without Paul's parent's input... I can't justify me fucking a
sixteen year old just because he says he wants me to. No, that's not a good
idea... I'll just have to trust Uncle Tony to keep our conversation
confidential, between just him and me, for now at least... it's a little
disloyal to Paul, but I swear I have his best interest at heart.

Sunday morning we both slept late.  I finally got up first, dressed, did my
bathroom routine, and was cleaning up the dishes from our birthday
party... actually I think I had a little hangover too.  Ha, I'm really not
used to any significant alcohol intake, not that we'd had that
much... enough to give me a little headache, that's all it was.  I was
taking two Tylenol when Paul sauntered in and said, "Morning, Jon..."  I
swallowed and said, "Hi, how ya feeling?" and Paul goes, "Good, can I
practice driving the Jeep today?"  That was it, nothing about last night at
all, he was fine.  Could it be he didn't remember? Should I forget about
approaching his father about the sexuality talk?  Hmmm?  I'll think about
it some more.  We had a little breakfast, went to the general store a mile
down the road for a Sunday Boston Globe, as well as for their specialty
Italian subs to have for lunch later, then back to lay around lazy-like
reading the paper... very little conversation. Later with Paul behind the
wheel and me clutching my seat belt for dear life in the passenger seat,
Paul practiced his driving.  He would lurch the car forward, then screech
to a stop, followed by a jack rabbit quick take off, then another abrupt
stop... all an attempt to practice his driving skills.  Well, there wasn't
much in the way of skills just yet, but he was practicing to get
some... nerve racking for the passenger though.  We had our subs for lunch
and then did some more driving before shooting baskets and generally having
a nice Sunday for ourselves.  Paul seemed fine, even smiley at times so I
didn't know what to think.

Monday morning we jogged three miles, had a healthy breakfast of apple,
banana, tea and cereal... then lifted weights for an hour before
cleaning-up and driving to the outdoor mall for Paul's first drivers
education session. I walked in with him to be sure everything was "go" and
then drove back to do some work on the bunkhouse.  Paul had a four hour
session ahead of him.  I didn't call Uncle Tony.  Tuesday we worked all day
putting shingles on the roof, then Wednesday went just like Monday except
Uncle Tony called Wednesday night and we had a nice discussion.  First
about Paul's sixteenth birthday... Uncle Tony thought it was July 30th, not
the 20th.  He was mortified he had it wrong, but grateful I'd set-up the
learners permit and so forth for Paul. Paul was more animated on the phone
then ever before and all three of us felt good by the end of our
conversations. Nothing about Paul's sexuality came up or was even hinted
at.  I still didn't know what to do about that, but I was basking in Paul's
triumphs, the big ones and the small ones... and daydreaming about the
reunion Gilbert and I were going to have later this summer.


to be continued              2nd half of Conclusion

by Donny Mumford          thinat20@yahoo.com