Date: Thu, 23 Jan 2003 16:15:54 -0500 (EST) From: J Subject: Runs in the Family I'm a computer networker. The late `90s were a crazy time, and our company was no different. Everything was wild, long hours, fun hours, and great people to work with. They got less fun after the 2000 crash, but that's another story. I had been at this company for five years. I think that I buried myself in work after I broke up with a mate I had had for many years. Keith and I had been in fuckin love, an unbelievably intense and romantic love that worked for a very long time. And work broke us up. His work. He got a new job. In the midwest. I couldn't believe it. I love California. I was born here, grew up here, and despite going to college in Texas, and a couple of years in the Marines, I kept coming back to this insane state that the rest of the country enjoys making fun of. I especially liked the freedom here, knowing that no one particularly cared if I was gay or straight or somewhere in between. But this job he got was great. One he could not turn down. Or at least thought he could not. And he and I who had never fought, fought. Like cats and dogs. For a month. He felt like he had to take the job, and I didn't, wouldn't, couldn't move. In the end, he moved. We were going to make a go of a long distance relationship. I could stay out here near the Russian river, and he would set up in Chicago. We would travel back and forth, we promised each other. Long phone calls, beautiful letters, and an aching I could not describe. The year hurt, but it worked, or at least sort of worked. But he and I are carnivorous men, and after a few months, the committment I had made to him seemed a little distant one evening when a beautiful young guy came on to me at a bar. It will be temporary, I promised myself. And it was. But those temporary liasons became more and more frequent, and I knew that I was not being fair to Keith. And, honestly speaking, not fair to myself. So after a cool admission -- This is not working out -- on the phone during a painful conversation, I flew to Chicago the next weekend, and we broke it off. Or acknowledged what we both knew to be true: we were not cut out for a long distance love. We remained friends. Still are. But we were no longer the couple we had been. It hurt to say it. Still does. But I put away the pictures and the memories and moved on. But not really. I was looking for love and not sex. And at 43, I was having trouble finding others who felt like I did. At least among those I was attracted to. I have a weak spot for younger guys, smooth, beefy muscle boys. Keith fit the bill, except that he was older than most I went for, just 5 years younger than me. But I found myself morosely wondering if I was too old for the college and 20 something guys I enjoyed. There was always the hot tension of flirting and the predatory prowl I enjoyed, but I found myself being treated deferentially by men I wanted to fuck, and being seriously addressed as "Sir." Which was not what I wanted. So I had put my love life on hold. Most of my evenings in the late `90s were spent working, so the moments of introspection, the wondering what-am-I-doing here were not so many. And I was glad for that. Weekends -- when not working -- were spent with friends, of whom I had a lot. They were sweet men, good friends, interesting to talk to. I wanted love. But I could not figure out how to get it. So I quit worrying about it. It worked. Most of the time. It was about this time that Jason came into my life, although I fought that entrance pretty hard. Human resources had called. They had a new networker coming into our group. Nice kid, the HR told me. Name is Jason Splawn, out of college 6 months ago, and just back from backpacking around Asia. They had originally planned on having him in our Sausalito office, but that had fallen through, which explained why I hadn't met him yet. He'd be coming in on Monday. It was Friday when HR called. I didn't think twice about it. I was used to this type of person coming on board, being with us 2 months, and heading on to something, somewhere else. Not that these guys were irresponsible. It was just a different time, and jobs flowed quickly, and good networkers could name their price and did. There was no shame to leaving a job quickly, and no hard feelings, either. I had forgotten about our new hire, to be honest. I had spent the weekend sleeping late, seeing a couple of movies, and flirting with a kid I met at a dinner party. Though friendly, he was not interested, and I began to wonder if this was to be the story of my life from here on out. Our HR man came in with Jason around 9 on Monday, and I involuntarily drew in a short, deep breath. Wow. Curly auburn hair, deep blue eyes, 6' feet or so, and a nice, solid build. Broad shoulders, nice pecs. An engaging smile, with a dimple on one side. And I could not help but notice his other qualities: a beautiful butt. A pleasant front package. And something else hit me. At the time, I was not certain what it was. But I felt mildly shocked, disengaged even, and couldn't figure out why. I put it out of my thoughts, and became my usual pleasant, friendly self. I wanted him to feel at home. We had a lot of work going then, and could always use another set of hands. Especially big hands like these. Get it out of your mind, I told myself. He'll be gone in three months. I can turn off the radar when I need to. I have learned as I got older that it is not wise to be obviously flirtatious in the office, and I have tried not to make that part of my work demeanor. So I am friendly, but slightly distant, keeping a wall between my co-workers and myself, even if the wall is only waist high. After a few days, I realized that Jason did not feel the need to turn off the radar. His friendliness had that sensual edge that is so pleasant, and so flattering. It was the too-long eye contact when talking, the overly familiar touching that most gay men have long known to be the signs of that electrical charge when men are attracted to each other. Not that the feeling wasn't mutual. Pleasant thoughts of Jason filled my mind before I slept and while I dreamed. He had a habit of locking his arms behind his back when in conversation. The result was to show his chest in full profile, and it was pleasant to behold. Even better was when he stretched back in a chair and his shirt hiked up, showing his muscular abdomen. I came to wait on these momentary visions of his body, and long to see more. And he wanted to date. It was obvious he was interested, and I'm sure he knew I was too. So at first there were the suggestions that we get together, the mentioning of movies he hadn't seen, concerts he'd like to hear. But I kept avoiding him, or at least avoiding being alone with him, although God knows I wanted him. The longing had become more intense, and I would eagerly wait for Mondays after a day or so without seeing him. Why was I avoiding him? Why did I even avoid lunch alone with him? I didn't know why. I am not a particularly introspective person. But I began spending long moments wondering about this man who filled my thoughts and fantasies. In the end, he confronted me. We were working late one evening. Another guy was supposed to be working with us, but the other guy had to leave early. Jason and I worked intensely on a problem for a couple of hours. We finished a little after 8. "How about a bite?," he asked, and I declined. "What's your problem?," he continued. "Why do you avoid me, when we both know there's attraction? On my end, for sure. And unless I'm getting very bad at reading men, on your end, too." I sighed. "OK, let's go get something." "Don't do me a favor," Jason said. He was angry, and I knew it. I owed him an explanation, and I gave him what I could. "I'm sorry, it's just me. I had a relationship go bad a while back, and I'm holding back. But let's go get something. I'd love to talk to you." Was it the truth? Was I keeping away from him for fear of falling in love? I didn't think so, but I couldn't place what else it might be. Unless it was exactly what I thought it might be. The meal was nice. I asked him where he wanted to go, and he told me Chinese. I knew he would want Chinese. And there is a little place just down the block from our office, quiet, private, good food, and the service is good, but not overly attentive. If I was going on a semi-date with this guy, I wanted it to be good. Or at least I thought I did. While eating, I asked him about himself. Graduated from Dominguez Hills, degrees in computers and math. Grew up close by, in the San Francisco `burbs. No siblings, he told me. "Or at least none I'm aware of," and he laughed. So did I. Dad? "Never knew him," he responded, "Just me and my Mom." "Your Mom still alive?" Sure, he responded. "In fact" -- he paused and grinned, a twinkle in his eyes, but no malice, "She's about your age, I'm guessing." "Gee, thanks," I responded, "And how old do you think I am?" "Uhh... I'm guessing 45. How close am I?" "Very good. I was going to lie and say 35, but I figured you'd come back with some smart comeback. I'm 46." "46," he mused, "A nice age." And a cloud of silence filled the space between us, and I didn't know if I wanted to ask what I had been wanting to ask for weeks. "What's the matter?" He looked puzzled. "Oh, nothing," I lied, "What's your Mom's name?" "Sharon. Why?" "Oh, just curious." And my eyes fell on the table, and I didn't know what to say. He continued the conversation. "OK, you've been asking me questions, now I'd like to ask you one. Or a couple, if you don't mind." I waved my hand. "Go ahead, I don't mind." "Why have you avoided me? If you don't mind telling. Got a lover? Are you married? Just what is it? I don't understand." "No, it's none of those." I hesitated. And hesitated again. I kept tracing patterns on the table, a nervous habit I had had for years. "Look," he went on, "I really don't care what it is. I just had to say that I really like you, that I'm really attracted to you. There. I said it again. But you've known it for a long time. As long as we've known each other, you've known it. And like I said, I think you're attracted to me, too. If you've got reasons not to pursue this, that's cool. And if you just don't want to say, that's cool, too. But just tell me, please. Something. Jef, I dream about you. And apart from the sexual, I like you. You like me, too, or you fake it pretty well. If we could only get this out on the table, maybe we could be friends. We don't have to be lovers, if you don't want to. But let's be friends, and part of being friends is not keeping a wall up like you've been doing since I met you." "A wall ... " I was muttering, thinking, wondering where I was, and what I could possibly say, and wanting to say everything I felt. He must think I'm nuts or senile or both. I sighed. "Jason, you wanted the truth, and I'm going to give it to you. I think I'm going to make you very angry, but please hear out all that I have to say. This is not easy. I'm trying to be as honest as I can." "OK," he said, "Shoot." "When I was 19, I decided I was going to be normal, and normal meant being heterosexual, and being heterosexual meant fucking women, and I did. Lots of them. I knew it was not me -- I had been attracted to other guys since I was a child -- but I did it anyway. I wanted to show that I could do it. I always felt sorry for the faggy men who seemed afraid of women, and when I was growing up, they were often the only gay men anybody. It was a different time, Jas. "But this phase went on for four years. Most of the relationships, if you could call them that, were temporary, casual liasons, women I met in bars or wherever. It was fun. I had a good time. I filled those cunts hard, and had a good time, and it was a great feeling of power. But it wasn't me, and I knew it, and after a couple of years, I knew it was basically a habit I had gotten into, and one I should get out of, and return to what was -- for me -- really normal. Then I met someone else. "This was different. She and I worked together, and I enjoyed her company, and her funny way of talking, and the fact that I couldn't snow her like I did so many women. She was beautiful, built, and I began to pursue her. She was younger than me, only 19, and by this point I was 23. But she held back, in a way that only deepened the attraction. But finally, I broke past her resistance, and we began fucking like rabbits. It was incredible sex, unbelievably hot, and I was big time, deep in love, heterosexual style. I was ready to settle down, marry. I thought that this woman had finally done what I wanted: made me normal. "But there was a problem, although I didn't realize it right away. I was not a good guy. Wild, reckless, and I had a bad reputation, and that went against me in the small town where I grew up. "One day she didn't show up at work. I didn't think much of it. Figured she was sick. But she wasn't there the next day, either. I called her the first day, and there was no answer. The second day I called, and the line had been disconnected. I didn't know what to think. The company we worked for was small, and they didn't know where she was either. She just stopped coming in. "I had never been to her house -- she lived with her parents -- but I did some searching that second day and found out where she lived. I drove by, something I hadn't done before because I thought her parents wouldn't approve of me. The house was empty. It was like she and everyone else had been abducted, removed, along with everything in the house. "I kept thinking she would call or write or something. Nothing. Nothing at all. And the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, and finally after a year, I gave up worrying about her, thinking about her, wondering about her. Over the years, I have wondered what happened to her, and why it was that what we had had to be broken off so suddenly that she couldn't or wouldn't even say good-bye. It hurt. "And that's when I knew not only my phase was over, but my dealings with women, at least sexually, were, too. "And you are probably wondering what this has to do with you. I met this woman in the spring of 1978. And you were born in early 1979, right?" He nodded. "Jason, I've said all this because I think I am your father." It was his turn to take a deep breath. He momentarily looked shocked, and then waved his hand, as if to say, Go on, and I did. "I didn't know. God knows that. If I had, I would have been there. But Sharon -- your mother -- never contacted me, and every way I tried to find her ended in dead ends. I don't know why she never got in touch with me. I suspected it had something to do with her parents, whom I never met. And I would probably have tried harder had I known there was a child involved. But I didn't know. I just assumed she had weirded out or something, and didn't want to see me again, or something had gone terribly wrong with her and her family." "How is she?," I slowly asked. "Mom?," he answered. "She's OK. I think it was tough on her. My grandparents are really strict, hard-assed people. Nice enough, but hard-assed. I don't think they ever forgave her. About me." "And you," I continued slowly, "How was it for you? How was your life? I'm sorry I wasn't there." I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. "It was all right. Mom ended up going into computers -- it obviously runs in the family -- and she did OK. I was pretty wild when I was a kid, and I think she knew before I did that the gay gene was there." He smiled. "It took a while for both of us to deal with that. I dated some girls, even fucked a few. But none of them weirded out on me. I think they enjoyed it too much." The grin got bigger. "Stop bragging," I laughed. So .... he seemed to hesitate. Another smile played at his lips, and he fingered the napkin in front of him, "Are you hung?" I laughed hard, and whispered, loudly, "Like a horse!" He laughed loudly, too: "Sweet! So it runs in the family!" "You, too?," I laughed, and we both giggled at the very inside joke we were enjoying with each other. For the briefest of moments, I pondered what was now standing, almost certainly erect, between his legs. I was already hard with a quivering excitement. "So what are we doing sitting here?", he asked, giving the question that both of us were asking. "Because I don't want to do anything else," I responded. "Bullshit," he answered me, and I knew it was. "You don't want to do anything else?", he continued. "After you couldn't quit checking out my ass the first day I got there? After you stared at my chest? After your hand brushed my leg? And all on the same day? My first day at work? Come on." "You come on," I answered him. "You're my son. How am I supposed to feel?" "You're my son," he responded, mocking me in a way that was both irritating and endearing. I wanted both to slap him and fuck him. "Jef, let me ask you something. When did you know I was your son?" I was honest: "The first day," I replied. "The first moment. It was like looking in a mirror." "And these noble feelings you have, did they stop you then? Did that stop you from going home and staining the sheets while thinking about me? Did they stop you from imagining it was me the next time you got blown? And don't give me that look like you didn't get blown pretty quickly. I know you better. You needed it. You were horned up right away. I suspect you got blown or worse." "Or better," I responded. "Or better," he repeated. We both laughed. "Let' s face it. There's something very hot going on here between us. Part of it is the fire of my being your son, and your being my father. I had wondered the same thing. When I kept getting questions about whether you were my older brother -- yeah, you can feel flattered, old man! -- and people commenting on how we were built alike, the thought got stuck there. Part of it is something I don't pretend to understand, some kind of electricity that I suspect would have been pretty wild, even without the -- how do I put this? -- relationship." "So what are we doing here?," he repeated. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "I'm scared. I'm afraid I'll hurt you. I'm afraid you'll hurt me. I'm afraid I'll fall in love, and this is all wrong. And I don't know how I would explain it to Sharon ... uh, your mother." "Would you lay off of this?," he went on. "Stop acting like I'm 12. I'm 23, you're 46, and I suspect that would not be the widest generation gap you have crossed. It's too late. You're already in love. You have already crossed the line that you are so terrified of. I'm scared too. But I'm a lot more scared of what will happen if I don't act on what I know I want to do." I stared at him. I was stunned by the honesty, the blunt way he spoke to me. I had had lots of dad and son roleplay sex, and they had always ended up with a simpering, whining kid who was a complete turn-off, somebody I couldn't respect, and who cowered in my presence. Now here was a real son, the genuine article, and he was one of the most brutally honest, sensually powerful men I had ever met. I felt like cowering in his presence. I knew that any sex between the two of us would be powerful, a meeting of minds and bodies, unlike anything I had experience. Maybe that's what I was afraid of. "Let's give it a day," I told him. "Give ourselves a rest, time to think about this. I know I need some space to sort it all out." "OK," he agreed, "Let's meet tomorrow night after work and see what we're thinking. Look, Jef, I'm not saying this wouldn't be weird. But I fell for you the first day I met you. Don't flatter yourself that it's some kind of recognition-of-daddy, though I won't deny that that's not pretty intense. But you are a very hot man, and you have this smoky sensuality that is a big turn on. And quit pretending you don't know about it." I thought of the obstacles. "We're both tops, you know," I pointed out. There was a slight twinkle in his eyes, and then it vanished. "One of us is," he said quietly. "What do you mean by that?" "What I mean by that," he went on,"is that I know I am a top, but whether you are or not is something I would find out. And if you are, then I guess we would fight it out for supremacy." His eyes were no longer smiling; there was an air of menace to his face. I knew that this verbal battle between the two of us was pure male posturing. That it was going on between two man, who happened to be in love or in heat or both, and who happened to be father and son, was just an accident of life. Work was odd the next day. Very odd. There was a lot to do, but I can assure you that I thought of nothing else all day than the conversation facing me that evening. I was mechanical, almost dreamy. Jason and I were cordial, friendly, but I think we actually avoided each other during the day. Everything was just too intense. We finally finished up around 6, and Jason walked over to my work station. "So where to talk, big man?," he asked. We decided to go to the same Chinese place, though I wondered if I wouldn't be far too nervous to eat. After we had placed our orders and a pot of tea arrived, he poured some for us both, and said, "So what do you think?" "I think I love you," I replied. "Love?," he said softly, "Yeah, I think love could be the term I would use. And how many times have you been in love, old man?" "In love like this? Intense, can't-quit-thinking-about-him, keep-hoping-you'll-run-into-him-at-the-grocery-store love? Once. Twice, if you count your mother." "Really?," he asked, "Were you really in love with her? Was that sperm shot out for love, or was it therapy for Jef, trying to normalize him?" He wasn't angry, he was genuinely wondering. "No, it was really love. Really, really love. I told you: I could have married her." "But then we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?," he asked, and his eyes twinkled. We were gently caressing each other's hands. "So ... I'm going to ask you what I asked you yesterday: what are we doing here?" And I smiled. "I think what we are doing here is waiting for the waiter to change our order to take-out so we can go to my place, and explore this more in depth." "Are you sure?," he asked. "Yeah," I responded, "Are you sure?" "Yeah. Jef, Mom and I talked a lot. I know when you guys were growing up, it was pretty weird being different, especially being gay. But it was not such a big deal with me. And I had a girlfriend once who accused me of being sexually adventurous. Guilty as charged. So maybe some guys would freak over having this conversation with their Dad. I don't. It's pretty hot. And last night's conversation made everything about you and me even hotter. So, let's go." We did. It was a cool and rainy night, and we walked quickly to my place, 5 minutes away. There was no time to waste, and plenty of catching up to do, and we were quickly down to his briefs and my boxers. "So what do I call you here?, he asked quietly, pointing to the bed. "What do you want to call me?," I answered, also quietly, "You can call me whatever you want." "Jef," he said dreamily, "I've always liked Jef." His big hand gently pulled open the slit in my boxers and guided my penis out. It was firm, an almost adolescent erection, stiff and angry. I felt like I was a spectator, watching an incredible moment in a play. His hand was grasped around my thick shaft. He gazed at it. "Beautiful ... fuckin perfect ... " He gently pulled my foreskin back to expose the slit, and he continued talking, as if to himself. "Where I came from." "What made me." "Damn." What followed was steamy and sultry, an almost savage coming together of our bodies, like animals going after the kill. It went on for hours, our bodies locked in sweaty contorted lovemaking. When it was over and we both lay back, exhausted, coated with the sweat and cum that moistened the bed, he began to laugh. It scared me at first, this laughing, and I propped my head up on my hand, and asked, "What is the matter? What are you laughing at?," and I was afraid of what the answer might be, but there was nothing to be afraid of, because he looked back at me, his clear blue eyes shining there in the soft light. "I love you, Jef. What have we been putting off for so many months? You are fuckin hot. Unbelievable. I want to spend my life with you." What was it that made that night -- the first of so many steamy nights -- so unbelievable. Was Jason looking for his origins? Or was I searching for someone I had a part in creating so many years before? Or some of both? I have grown more reflective in the year we have now been together, and Jason and I have pondered this issue many times. We have still not figured out what it was. He drifted off to sleep before I did that night, and as I lay there in the bed, staring at his perfect body, and feeling after only an hour the stiffening of my cock in excitement, somehow I knew that his wish would happen. We would be together. It would be odd, there would be problems, but I would not leave this man I created 24 years ago, never again. I loved him, I wanted him, and there was a lot of catching up to do. We would make it happen. Before I drifted off to sleep, I kissed him gently. A gentle smile came upon his lips. I turned off the low light beside the bed, and pulled the sheet quietly over his broad shoulders.