At long last I pulled into our garage, another workweek behind me. Traffic had been heavy on the way home and I was grateful to have finally arrived. Grabbing my laptop and my briefcase, which was overflowing with things I needed to work on over the weekend, I locked up my car and opened the door that connected the garage to our house.

The house was eerily silent and, for a brief moment, I hoped that our sixteen-year-old son, Jake, had gone out with friends. Sadly, I knew better. Jake was undoubtedly either busy with his homework or he was relaxing by playing a computer game — alone. I hated to see our son having such a rough time making friends but his life was typical of many teens today. More comfortable texting than talking, more comfortable playing multiplayer games on-line than socially interacting with his peers, he seldom had any physical contact with his friends outside of school.

I quietly made my way upstairs and stood just outside his open door, watching as he battled it out with countless enemies on his laptop in more graphic detail than I cared to see. He had his gaming headphones on, giving him what he liked to call an ‘immersive experience’. The world could have ended around him and he’d have been none the wiser — at least until the battery died.

As I watched him play with reckless abandon, I almost experienced a sense of awe that our only child was growing into a man. Clad only in his boxers, I was surprised at the amount of muscle definition he had for someone who wasn’t at all athletic. He had broad shoulders and a thin, but masculine physique that should have had the girls falling all over him, and yet, he’d never even dated. We’d bought him a car for his birthday with the hope that a set of wheels and the freedom they offered would be just the impetus he needed to go out and do things with his friends. Sadly, the car sat in the garage all weekend and was used only to go to and from school.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Jake suddenly roared as he slammed his fist down hard on his desk. Throwing off his headphones in obvious disgust, he shook his head slightly from side to side and ran his fingers through his golden locks to set them back in place, then apparently noticed my reflection in his dresser mirror and turned to face me. Turning a bright crimson all over, he said, “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t realize you were there.”

Walking into the room, I gently squeezed his shoulder, smiled and said, “Not that I approve, but I grew up in a household of boys. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, many, many times.” Actually, it made me feel good inside that my son had used profanity. Sometimes he acted too much like an adult. It was normal for a teenage boy to swear.

Just then there was the sound of the door to the garage opening, followed by the sound of my husband’s voice calling out, “Is anybody home?”

“I’ll be right there,” I answered back before turning to my son and saying, “I guess I’d better get dinner going.”

“What are we having?” Jake asked as I started to walk away.

“I have chicken thawing in the fridge,” I answered. “With the addition of a package frozen stir-fry veggie mix, I could have dinner ready in about ten minutes. How’s that sound to you?”

“Sounds good,” he answered with his sweet smile.

I got to the bottom of the stairs, to find my husband going through the mail. I made a brief detour on my way to the kitchen to give him a quick peck on the lips. “How was your day?” I asked.

“Busy,” he answered. “We had four fresh strokes for TPA.”

“That’s a lot in one day,” I acknowledged. Troy was a neuroradiologist at the Medical Center and, when he wasn’t threading catheters through the arteries into the brain to unblock the blood clots that cause strokes or performing other invasive procedures, he spent nearly all his time side-by-side with radiology residents, looking at MRIs and CT scans of the brain. Troy liked doing procedures. He found ‘reading films’ as he referred to it, even though no actual film was used anymore, to be an endless exercise in tedium.

“With four procedures,” I added, “I’m surprised you were able to get home at a decent hour.”

“We were shy an MRI today,” Troy answered, which explained everything. With only one functioning MRI scanner in the Neuro section, all non-emergency scans had to be postponed, which meant that there would be a price to pay. There would undoubtedly be a few late evenings spent at the hospital, catching up with the delayed scans.

“Sorenson screwed up yet again,” Troy added with a sigh. “I fear we may have to let him go.” Sorenson was a third-year resident who’d been having problems lately. “He seemed so promising when we interviewed him.”

“Maybe he’s having personal problems at home,” I suggested.

“Now that you mention it,” Troy replied, “I saw him showing baby pictures to one of the other residents.”

“The sleep deprivation of being a new dad on top of that from being a resident could certainly do it,” I commented.

“Yeah,” Troy responded, “but a doctor has to be able to separate their personal and professional lives. If he can’t handle it now when he’s young and resilient, how will he handle it when he’s older?”

“And when was the last time you changed a diaper at three AM?” I countered, and then added, “Men! How quickly they forget!

“Maybe he just needs some time off and some counseling,” I suggested. “After all, you yourself have said that unless a resident literally kills a patient, the process of firing one is long and arduous . . .”

“A hearing, followed by six months of probation with counseling,” Troy acknowledged, “followed by another hearing, at which time the resident can appeal to the Grievance Committee, half of which is made up of fellow residents.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to try to salvage his career rather than end it?” I added.

“Leave it to a lawyer to look at the big picture,” Troy replied. Following me into the kitchen, he then asked, “Speaking of which, how was your day, honey?”

“We got a new client who’s particularly demanding,” I answered. “It wasn’t enough for them to go over the contract, but they insisted on making a lot of substantive changes. They want every contingency accounted for — even the ones that have zero chance of ever happening.” Sighing, I added, “I brought home a shitload of work with me.”

“Such is the life of a corporate attorney,” Troy responded, “and none are better than the eminent Jessica Greenly.”

Turning to my husband and placing my hands on his muscular chest, I stated, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Warner.” I then gave him a quick peck on the lips, but this time he kissed me back. What started out as a mere peck soon turned into a passionate, prolonged deep kiss.

“Eww, gross,” came the sound of our son’s voice from behind me. Talk about spoiling the mood! “I came down to see if dinner was ready yet, but I guess you haven’t even started.”

“You’re welcome to make it yourself,” I suggested, which earned me a ‘yeah right’ look from our son, “or we could just order out.” The truth was that, although it might be the twenty-first century and I might work just as many hours as my husband, if I didn’t make dinner, we’d all starve.

Getting a much more serious look on his face — one that spoke volumes — Jake said, “Maybe we’d better order pizza tonight. I have some — stuff I need to talk to you guys about.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?” Troy asked.

Looking down, Jake answered, “Important stuff. Really important stuff. Stuff I’m scared to talk to you about, but I gotta. It took forever to get up the nerve and if I don’t do it now, I may never get up the nerve again. And if I don’t talk about it, things could really blow up and I can’t take a chance on you finding out from someone else.”

Getting really worried for my son now, I replied, “This does sounds serious.”

“Believe me, Mom, it is,” Jake answered, only fueling my concerns.

“Let me order a couple pizzas,” he added, “and then we can talk.”

As our son spoke on the phone, Troy approached me and asked quietly, “Any idea what this is about, Jess?”

“None whatsoever,” I answered, my worry evident in the tone of my voice.

“Well it’s not likely to be that he got a girl pregnant,” Troy stated quietly. “You generally have to go out with a girl for that to happen.” Not that I wanted Jake to become a father yet — not by a long shot — but, sadly, I had to agree with my husband.

“I certainly doubt he’s gotten involved with drugs,” I added.

Smiling, Troy agreed, “No way. No how. He hasn’t even touched the beer I keep in the garage, and he’s certainly had ample opportunity to do so.

Do you think that maybe he’s having trouble with one of his classes, or perhaps with bullies at school?” Troy asked.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “He’s always come to us when he’s needed help before, and bullying hasn’t been an issue since the seventh grade.”

Then suddenly my eyes opened wide as it struck me. Do you think that maybe he’s going to come out to us?” I asked.

“You mean you think he’s gay?” Troy said a little too loudly. I could only hope that Jake didn’t hear us.

“It would explain a lot,” I replied, “and it fits with everything he just told us.”

Troy seemed to become very nervous as he responded, “I’m not ready for him to be gay. I don’t think I can handle having a gay son.”

“Well you’d better learn to handle it real soon,” I countered, “because I think that’s exactly what we’re about to hear.”

Before my husband could respond, Jake hung up the phone and smiled weakly at us.

“I kinda think you may have figured out what I’m gonna tell you,” he began, “at least I think I heard a word that makes me think you have.”

“Why don’t we sit down in the family room?” I suggested. As with many contemporary homes, the family room was right off the kitchen, with a small table and chairs in-between. Jake sat nervously on the sofa while my husband and I sat separately in a pair of recliners on either side of him.

The look of worry that was evident on my son’s face made my heart go out to him as he sat before us in his black tank top and gray soccer shorts. He sat upright, leaning slightly forward with both of his bare feet planted firmly on the floor. This was so atypical for him — usually he sat leaning back with his feet propped up on the coffee table, in spite of numerous warnings to him not to do so.

Looking down at the floor, Jake began to speak again. Finally, he managed to blurt out, “Mom, Dad, I hope you can accept this, I — I’m gay…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Troy slump down in his chair with a look of defeat, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t let that affect our relationship with our son. Slowly, I nodded my head at Jake, showing what I hoped was a look of acceptance.

“Are you sure?” Troy asked. “I mean, you’re only sixteen. You’re just a sophomore in high school, for cripes sake.”

“I couldn’t be more sure,” Jake answered. “Actually, I’ve spent the last three years trying to convince myself I’m not gay, but no matter how much I tried to talk myself into it, I just couldn’t get interested in girls. I guess you may have noticed that I’ve never dated…”

“We’ve noticed,” Troy responded.

“And until recently I tried to pretend that I was just shy,” our son went on. “I figured that eventually I’d find a girl I liked and then I’d ask her out — but the only girls I like are the geeks and, even then, I like them more as friends than anything else. The thought of seeing them naked actually turns me off. I don’t want to see them naked. I don’t even want to see the popular girls naked.

“The boys, well — are another matter entirely,” he went on. “Subconsciously I guess I’ve been avoiding them since the seventh grade. After all, it’s hard to develop a crush on someone when you keep them at a distance. Unfortunately, the mere thought of a guy gives me a boner. Oops — did I really say that?”

“I think we get the picture, Jake,” Troy answered.

“Jake, you hinted that you were worried we’d find out about it from someone else,” I began to ask. Did something happen at school?”

Looking down and blushing, Jake got the sweetest smile on his face as he answered, “Yeah, it did.” It was the look I’d long expected to see on his face when he fell for a girl, but it wasn’t a girl he’d fallen for. It was obviously a boy. I was actually thrilled for our son — his sexual orientation meant nothing to me — I just wanted him to have friends and enjoy the kind of life that teenagers are supposed to have, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that my husband felt otherwise. His body posture and the dour, sad expression on his face were a give-away.

“There’s a boy at school, Gary, that I’ve known since the third grade,” Jake continued. “Gary and I were never close friends, ’cause he’s always been into sports and I’m anything but an athlete, but he’s not like most jocks. He’s really, really nice and even though I’d been avoiding getting close to boys for the most part ’cause I didn’t want anyone to get suspicious of my thoughts — my feelings — most of all me — there’s something about Gary that’s always put me at ease, you know? I guess I’ve always been attracted to him — well, since middle school anyway. He always talked to me with kindness and respect. He never let my shyness get in the way — he had a way of bringing me out.

“And maybe because we weren’t close friends, there never was any pressure. I’ve always liked Gary — really, really liked him and, thinking back, I’ve prolly had a crush on him for a while now.”

“So you decided you’re gay because you have a crush on a boy? Did he tell you he likes you?” Troy asked.

“No, it’s not that,” Jake responded. “Yeah, he did tell me he likes me, but that’s not why I decided I’m gay.

“Gary and I are in the same homeroom together,” Jake started to explain. “At the beginning of the school year, the teacher asked us all to tell a little about ourselves. She started with the end of the alphabet, so I was one of the first kids to speak. ’Course I spoke about my interest in science and in computer games and how I hoped to go into Medicine like my dad.”

Troy smiled at that, which gave me hope that no matter what, he still loved and was proud of his son — our son.

“When they got to Gary,” Jake continued, “he told everyone about his playing soccer and being on the swim team and all, but then he blew everyone away. He finished up by saying, ‘By the way, I’m gay — and I’m looking for a boyfriend.’ You coulda heard a pin drop when he finished and it was only the teacher calling on the next kid that got us all going again.

“Well the whole thing got me thinking. Gary Sanders was gay. Gary Sanders, who was popular and a major jock, was gay. I know the whole thing shoulda freaked me out and made me want to stay away from him, but it did just the opposite. Over the course of the school year we’ve gotten closer and closer together. I don’t know what it was that drew me to him — maybe it was my subconscious mind at work — but I found myself eating lunch with him, and spending break times with him — just the two of us.

“Eventually it dawned on me — we’d become best friends. Remember how I said I felt safe with Gary because we weren’t friends? Well when I realized he was my friend, I suddenly felt vulnerable and so, a few weeks ago, I started avoiding him. I totally freaked out. I shoulda known Gary would never let me get away with it, though.

“This morning before the start of homeroom, Gary confronted me. He said, ‘Jake, why are you avoiding me, man? I know it’s not ’cause I’m gay, or you wouldn’t have spent the last few months with me. You wouldn’t have become my best friend.’ But then the bell rang and he said, ‘We’re gonna discuss this at lunch. Don’t skip out on me.’ The way he put it, I knew I had to see him. I had to deal with my fear, you know?

“So at lunchtime we went outside to eat at one of the tables, so we could be alone. As we sat down, Gary said, ‘Jake, in a pretty short time, we’ve become best friends. I think you sense it too, so it really hurt when you started avoiding me — and don’t you dare deny you’ve been doing it either.’ What could I say to that except that I was sorry, but he told me in no uncertain terms that sorry wasn’t good enough.

“Then he brought up his being gay again, and said he’d hoped I might be gay too, but that that wasn’t the reason he wanted to be my friend. Whether I was gay or straight, or just not sure yet, he wanted to be my friend first and foremost. Being my friend was far more important than being my boyfriend.”

“So you decided you’re gay because you didn’t want to let him down?” Troy asked. That really angered me and I glared in my anger at Troy.

“No, Dad. It’s not like that at all,” Jake replied. “Gary wants me as a friend and I want to be his friend. That has nothing to do with my being gay, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to be Gary’s boyfriend. You see, when Gary spoke about not caring whether I was gay, straight or not sure, it dawned on me that that was exactly the question I’d been avoiding. I never asked the question because, deep down, I knew what the answer would be. It was in that instant it came to me — crystal clear.

“I reached across the table and grabbed Gary’s hands. You can’t begin to imagine the beautiful smile that lit up his face when I did that. ‘Gary,’ I said, ‘The reason I’ve been avoiding you is because I’m in love with you, man…’”

Troy gasped when he heard that, but Jake continued, “‘I’ve had a major crush on you for years,’ I told him, ‘but I’ve fallen totally, madly in love with you.’ Once I admitted it aloud, the rest became easy.

“‘I guess the problem is that I don’t want to be gay,’ I said, but Gary interrupted. He said, ‘No one wants to be gay, Jake. It’s not something you can choose. Everyone wants to be normal,’ he said as he made quote marks in the air with his fingers, ‘but we really don’t have a choice in the matter. If you’re gay, you’re gay and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.’

“‘I guess that’s what I’ve been avoiding,’ I told him. ‘It wasn’t you I was avoiding, but facing the truth about me.’ I knew that being gay isn’t a choice but, once I admitted it to myself, I knew I’d be turning my back on any hope of being straight, but today I realized something. Mom — Dad, it doesn’t really matter whether you’re with a boy or a girl. What really matters is that you’re with someone you love and so I told him, ‘I love you. I only hope that you love me too.’

“And you know what Gary said? He said he’s loved me ever since the seventh grade — that he fell in love with me three years ago!

“Oh, by the way, I have two more afternoons of detention to serve,” Jake added, which surprised me since he’d never been in trouble before. “I guess you’re not allowed to kiss in school,” he went on to explain, “and the kiss Gary and I shared in front of my locker was, to use the words of the vice-principal, ‘over the top’.”

“Shit!” Troy exclaimed, “Now it’s going to be just about impossible to deny it.” I was shocked. Troy never swears in front of Jake. Where the hell was his attitude coming from?

“Why would I want to deny it, Dad?” our son reacted with alarm. “I’m gay and I’m not the least bit ashamed of it. I’ve got an amazing boyfriend and he’s one of the most popular boys in the tenth grade. I want the whole school to know I’m in love with him.”

The look of defeat on my husband’s face was heartbreaking. There was no way Jake couldn’t have noticed it, but I had other concerns as well. My mind questioned his compassion at this moment — this moment when it was needed most.

“What about bullying, Jake?” I asked. “Is it safe for you to be out at school? I know kids are more accepting these days, but there are still plenty of people who like to pick on those they perceive as being different.”

“Our school has its share of jerks,” Jake admitted, “but being gay has little to do with it. They picked on me when they thought they could get away with it, even before the kiss. They liked to call me a fag and push me around,” he went on, “but they do that with all the geeks…”

“Honey, why didn’t you come to us?” I interrupted. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re still being bullied?”

“Our school is a safe place, Mom,” Jake continued. “I hardly get bullied at all and, when I do, it isn’t serious. Everyone knows there are boundaries and anyone stupid enough to cross them winds up getting expelled.

“For the most part everyone is accepting. There are a lot of ‘out’ gay kids and we have an active GSA, so being out for me isn’t that big a deal.”

Laughing, he continued, “All afternoon, the other kids made smooching noises and called me ‘Romeo’, but it was all in fun. They’d have done that if I’d kissed a girl, too.”

Just then, the doorbell rang and Jake said, “That’s prolly the pizza. I’ll get it.”

Our son literally leapt off the sofa with more energy than I’d seen him display since he was in elementary school. He ran to the door and opened it, where a teenage boy in a uniform waited on the other side. What happened next shocked the hell out of me — Jake leaned forward and kissed the pizza delivery boy on the lips!

“Hey, Babe,” Jake said, “come on in and meet my parents.”

Suddenly it all made sense. Jake wanted to order pizza, knowing it would be delivered by his boyfriend. This was his way of introducing us.

“I take it you told them,” the boy said as he walked into our house, carrying one of those soft insulated pouches used for transporting pizza. Following Jake into the kitchen, the boy opened the pouch and set a couple of large pizzas down on the counter.

Folding the pouch up and tucking it under his left arm, the boy followed Jake into the family room and Jake said, “Mom, Dad, this is Gary, my boyfriend.”

Even in their nervousness, it was evident that the two boys liked each other. There was an honest chemistry between them — a sparkle in their eyes. Gary was certainly a handsome young man with short, dark reddish-brown hair in contrast to our son’s longish blond hair, and it was evident that he was muscular. It was the sheepish look on his face, however, that was so endearing.

Rising to my feet, I grabbed Gary’s right hand in both of mine and said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Gary. Since we got home, Jake hasn’t talked about anything but you. I hope to see a lot more of you around here in the future.” The blush that Gary showed on his face when I said that made me fall in love with him, too. What a sweet boy! I couldn’t have been happier.

However, Troy didn’t even have the courtesy to stand, let alone greet Gary. What did it matter that our son is gay? Jake was happier than we’d seen him in years and that’s what truly mattered.

“I don’t suppose you have the time to eat with us?” Jake asked his boyfriend.

“The boss’ll have my hide if I don’t get right back…” Gary answered, “but I suppose I have time to scarf down a slice. I could always say I got stuck in traffic.”

“Pepperoni?” Jake asked his boyfriend as he got out four plates and began to set the kitchen table.

“That’d be perfect,” Gary answered as he threw his arm around our son and pulled him close, almost causing him to drop the plates he was carrying. Jake returned the favor by giving Gary a quick peck on the lips, then opened one of the pizza boxes and loaded a slice of pizza onto one of the plates, which he then handed to his boyfriend.

Taking hold of the plate, Gary responded, “I hate to have to eat and run — but I have to eat and run!” He then folded the slice in half, lengthwise, and proceeded to stuff it into his mouth. Seeing how we were all looking at him, he asked, “What are you guys staring at?”

Laughing, Jake answered, “It’s the way you eat your pizza, Babe.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Gary responded, “I was born in New York. This is the way you’re supposed to eat pizza.”

Jake then commented, “Well, I think it’s cute.” Our son then took his own slice of pizza and, rather than sit at the table, he joined Gary in leaning against the kitchen counter, folded his slice in half and proceeded to stuff his face the way only a teenage boy can.

In the meantime, Troy remained seated in the family room, staring off into space. It was as if he wasn’t even in the same room as the rest of us. Maybe the relationship between a father and his son is different and maybe Troy saw Jake’s homosexuality as a challenge to his own masculinity, but that still didn’t excuse his behavior. We had a guest and the least he could do was to be civil.

“Shall we?” I asked my husband, but he still didn’t respond and so I added, “Troy?”

Finally, he looked at me with a question in his eyes, and I repeated, “Shall we go eat some pizza with our son and his boyfriend?” The cringe Troy made when I said the word ‘boyfriend’ spoke volumes.

After just staring at me for what seemed like several minutes, he responded, “You go ahead, Honey. I’m not all that hungry. I’ll eat later.”

As far as I was concerned, that was not acceptable and so I stared at my husband with the glare that I often used when he wasn’t being reasonable. Rather than getting up and going with me to join the boys in the kitchen, Troy got up and simply left the room.

“Mom?” Jake asked, bringing me out of the state of bewildered anger I was feeling at the moment toward my husband. Turning to look at my son, I was heartbroken by the look of sadness and fear I saw on his face. Moments before he’d been so happy. I’d be damned if I was going to let Troy hurt our son. I’d waited so long to see Jake come out of his funk and Troy had single-handedly deflated Jake’s spirit, right before my eyes.

Striding into the kitchen and joining the boys, I attempted to soothe Jake by saying, don’t worry, sweetheart,” which earned a roll of the eyes from my son. “This is all new to us and Dad just needs time to get used to it. As parents, we all have expectations for our children and those expectations usually involve your getting married and having children. That is, after all, what we did and it’s the only point of reference most parents have.”

“But I’m still gonna do that, Mom,” Jake countered as his boyfriend nodded his head in agreement. I couldn’t exactly challenge that argument, although marrying a man and adopting children or using a surrogate isn’t exactly what most parents expect from their sons.

Changing tact, I continued, Dad’s reaction doesn’t mean he loves you any less, Jake. He just wasn’t prepared to have a gay son. Once he gets used to the idea, you know he’ll be fine. He’ll always love you — you know that, Jake.”

“You really believe that?” Jake asked.

“Yes, I do,” I answered, “and so do you. You’re our life, Jake. That will never change. Your being gay just came as a shock to your father but you know he’ll come around. He loves you more than anything.”

“I wish I could be so sure,” Jake responded and my heart went out to him.

Pulling him into a hug, I rubbed my hands up and down his back, speaking words of love as he cried his eyes out. As the tears finally started to subside, Gary interrupted with, “I'm really sorry Jake, but I gotta go. I’d really like to help you work this out, but my boss’ll crap his pants if I don’t get back right away.”

Turning from me to his boyfriend, Jake pulled Gary into a warm embrace and they hugged each other for dear life for a brief but poignant interval. As they released each other, they looked adoringly into each other’s eyes and then gave each other a short, but meaningful, kiss on the lips.

“You’ll call me tonight when you get home?” Jake asked.

“You can count on it, Babe.” Gary replied, and then added, “Love you — more than anything.”

After Gary left, I turned back to my son and said, “Jake, no matter what, you’ll always have me. I’m on your side, one hundred percent. Trust me, however; Dad still loves you and he will come around. It may take a little time, but I’m going to talk to him and, once he gets used to the idea of your being gay, he’ll consider it about as important as the color of your eyes.

“Are you going to be OK?” I asked as I gently squeezed Jake’s bare shoulder.

With the sweetest, wan smile, he answered, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I knew it could be tough, but I just didn’t realize how much Dad’s rejection would hurt. You couldn’t have been better, though, and I do know you both still love me, even if Dad’s having trouble accepting it.”

“And — you have a sweet boyfriend,” I added. “I really like Gary.”

“He’s awesome, Mom,” Jake responded. “I still can’t get over that he loves me too. He’s always loved me. How could I be so lucky?”

“You deserve it, honey,” I replied. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he said with a broad beautiful smile, and then he asked, “So — are you gonna have some pizza with me?”

“I’d love to,” I agreed. We both sat down at the kitchen table and I grabbed a slice of veggie pizza, folded it in half as I’d seen Gary do, and proceeded to eat it.

Over the course of the next hour, my son and I spoke of everything and a lot of nothing. We talked about school, about his desire to join the GSA, about what it’s like to go out on a date and what it takes to make a relationship work. It was one of the most enjoyable talks I'd had with him that I could remember. Jake was growing up and, for the first time, I could truly see a glimpse of the man he would become.

By the time we finished, I'd eaten two slices of pizza and Jake had inhaled four — a full half a pie. Teenage boys!

After saying goodnight to each other, Jake headed upstairs to his bedroom while I headed to the study. The light coming from under the door told me Troy was most likely inside, and we were going to talk.

I opened the door and seethed the words through my teeth. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He didn’t respond as I closed the door behind me. My anger peaked and I started shouting. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” OK, so maybe my idea of talking involved more shouting and yelling on my part than anything, but I wasn’t about to let my husband get away with treating our son and his boyfriend like shit.

“This is our son we’re talking about, damn it! Do you have any idea how much you hurt Jake’s feelings? And the way you treated poor Gary was inexcusable! Would you accept such behavior from Jake? What the hell’s gotten into you?”

As Troy began to open his mouth, I went on, shouting, “And don’t you say you can’t accept a gay son. I’ve got news for you. You have a gay son. We have a gay son. It’s not like Jake had a choice in being gay, you know. Being gay or straight is no different than being right of left handed. You’re a physician, for crying out loud! You know this.”

Troy once again started to open his mouth to get a word in edgewise but I wasn’t nearly ready to let him have his word. He didn’t deserve to speak after what he’d done.

Don’t you dare talk back to me, Troy,” I continued, “I’m just getting started.

“Why the hell does it matter to you that our son’s gay anyway? He’s the same Jake we’ve always known and loved. He’s still our son. He’s still that sweet, kind, gentle boy who’s brought so much joy into our lives. But lately he’s been so sad — so withdrawn and so alone. Coming out changed all that! Now he’s happy — and he has someone special.

“Gary seems like such a nice boy, too. You should have seen the two of them together — the way they touched and hugged each other and, yes, kissed.” Troy cringed at hearing the word ‘kiss’, but I wasn’t about to allow that to slow down my angry shouting. “More than that was the way they looked into each other’s eyes. It was so evident how much they love each other. Yes, they’re young, but there’s nothing like first love.

Don’t you remember your first love, Troy?” I asked. Don’t you remember what it’s like to feel on top of the world? Don’t you remember your first kiss? Don’t you remember how everything was new and exciting? Don’t you remember what it was like to feel your young sexuality awakening — to have someone to share that with, but being too scared to do anything? Don’t you remember what it was like, Troy?”

Finally I noticed a lone tear escape my husband’s left eye and start rolling down his cheek. Maybe I was getting through to him!

“Our son is in love!” I went on. “Isn’t that a wonderful thing? He’s so happy, and you had to go and wreck it for him! You had to introduce him to self-doubt and fear. How dare you!

“In a few years — less than that even, Jake will leave home for good. He’s sixteen and he’ll only be sixteen once in his life. Before you can turn around, he’ll be gone. How terrible it would be if you turned your back on him in his final years with us. We’ll never have these years again. How terrible it would be to realize too late that they’ve passed us by and they’re gone forever.”

By now Troy was openly crying. He was making a valiant effort to hold the tears back, but they streamed down his face in a torrent as he broke into a loud sob.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I yelled. Don’t just sit there and cry like a baby. Talk to me!”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he replied as he continued to cry. “I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was so, so selfish.”

At that moment my rage was spent — I melted like a caring mother and sat down beside him. Pulling my husband up into a tight embrace, I whispered softly in his ear, “It’s going to be alright, Troy. Yes, you hurt Jake, but you know how easily he forgives — and he loves you very much. Jake will forgive you — Gary will forgive you — and I will forgive you.”

“No you won’t!” Troy shouted with a vehemence I’d never seen from him before as he jumped to stand in front of me. “How could you possibly forgive me? I know I wouldn’t if the situation were reversed.” He glared down at me.

“Of course I forgive you, Honey,” I countered as I stood up and placed my arms on his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I? A lot of men have trouble accepting their gay sons, maybe because they see it as a threat to their masculinity, but none of that matters. All that matters is that you love Jake and accept him now…”

“But that’s not it, Jess!” Troy exclaimed. “Jake doesn’t threaten my masculinity — I’ve done a good enough job of that on my own! Don’t you see? I’m not upset because Jake’s gay. I’m bothered because he reminds me so much of me when I was his age. He always has, but his admission that he’s gay brought it all back to me. Too many unpleasant memories…” His voice drifted off as he turned away from me.

Still not seeing the connection, I responded to his back, “Did someone accuse you of being gay when you were a kid, Troy?”

Shaking his head, he replied, “That I could take, but it’s much more than that. I could hide from others, but I couldn’t hide from me.

“Just like Jake, I didn’t date in high school, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t interested. The trouble was, the girls I would have liked to date — the ones I should have dated — didn’t interest me.” He turned and stared at me. “But then someone who did interest me caught me staring. They could have easily blabbed it to the whole school but, instead, we kissed.

“Yes, I do remember my first kiss,” Troy went on, “and in that moment I knew I was at a crossroads. If I admitted to myself what I was feeling in my heart, my life would never be the same again…”

Still not comprehending what my husband was trying to tell me, I questioned Troy with my eyes and then added, “I don’t understand.”

With a loud sob, Troy answered, “Like Jake, I didn’t want to be gay, but I couldn’t deny what I felt when I kissed a boy — a boy I liked.”

My eyes flew open wide as I realized what my husband was telling me and on impulse I slapped him hard on the cheek and screamed at him, “YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” My motherly instincts just flew out the window.

“I never meant to hurt you, Jess,” Troy responded quietly. “I never meant to hurt anyone. I loved you. I’m still in love you…”

“And letting me believe you were straight was a gesture of your love for me?” I asked sarcastically.

Shaking his head, Troy answered, “Of course not. I just couldn’t be gay. My parents would have never accepted it. My friends would have never accepted it.” Then he added more quietly, “I would have never accepted it.

“It was a secret that was never supposed to come out. I never expected to come out. I figured I’d carry this secret to my grave.”

“Which you still might get to do,” came my retort with a snap as my nerves came to a new edge. “Sooner rather than later.”

Rather than say anything, Troy merely hung his head. He looked so dejected — so defeated — so vulnerable — so — pathetic. I almost felt sorry for him, the key word being almost.

That didn’t matter, though. Troy had deceived me and I could never forgive him for that. All these years we’d been living a lie. Now at the age of 42, I was truly on my own — except for Jake. Jake was the one bright spot in the whole debacle of our marriage. Because of Jake, the past eighteen years had not been a waste — at least not totally. Jake was now my life.

“Jessica…” Troy began, interrupting my thoughts.

“NO,” I shouted. “There’s no excuse for what you did, you bastard!”

Still hanging his head, Troy replied quietly, “I know.”

Although feeling the fury still seething inside me, some common sense prevailed from the back of my mind. I realized that things could only go downhill from here. The longer we fought, the more likely we would say or do things we’d only regret later on. We needed space, and we needed it now.

Lowering my voice, I asked tersely, “Is there some place you can stay for a few days? We have a lot to discuss, but now is not the time.”

Looking at his watch, Troy responded, “It’s already after ten, believe it or not; I’ll just go to a hotel.”

Thinking about it for only a second, I replied, “OK — I think that would be best,” and then I added, “Call me to let me know where you are, OK?”

Looking up at me for just a second, he nodded rather than saying anything, but then added, “I’ll go pack some things.” Turning from me, he left me alone in the study —  alone to contemplate — alone with my own thoughts.

Troy was gay. My husband — was gay. How could he have done that to me? How could he have lived a lie all these years? What was I going to do?

My mind spun continuously in circles — so much so that it barely registered the sound of the door to the garage opening and closing, or the sound of Troy’s car starting. It wasn’t until I heard the sound of my son’s voice that I even realized any time had passed at all.

“Mom?” I heard Jake ask, “Where’d Dad go?” He was standing at the entrance to the study, wearing only a pair of his boxer briefs.

Snapping out of my reverie, I answered my son without thinking, “I really don’t know, Jake. He’s going to spend the next few nights in a hotel, I think.”

Dad left?” Jake asked. “Are you guys — are you — are you getting a divorce?” There were tears flowing from my son’s eyes, but they barely registered on me. I was still very much in shock from what had happened.

With scarcely a thought of how Jake might take it, I answered him honestly, “I don’t know, Jake. I suppose we will. Your dad and I have a lot to talk about, but I thought it best we cool down first. Dad’s going to spend a few nights away, and then we’ll talk.”

Jake was sobbing openly now as he threw his arms around me and hugged me for all he was worth. “I don’t want you to get divorced!” he cried. “I want things to go back to the way they were.”

“Some things just can’t be taken back, Jake,” I answered my son, thinking only of the revelation that Troy was gay. That it was Jake’s coming out that had touched off the chain of events in the first place hardly entered my mind at all.

As Jake continued to cry on my shoulder, I noticed from the clock on the wall that it was already nearly two AM!

“I know it’s the weekend, but shouldn’t you be in bed?” I asked.

“I was,” Jake answered. “After talking on the phone with Gary for more than two hours, I tried to go to sleep but, with all that happened, I couldn’t. I heard the sound of Dad’s car starting up, so I came down to see what was going on.

“God, I can’t believe he left,” Jake continued. “I can’t believe you guys might even get a divorce. I thought you said Dad would love me no matter what!”

“Of course Dad still loves you,” I answered my son. “Your sexual orientation changes nothing…”

“But you might end up getting a divorce!” Jake wailed, “and it’s all my fault!”

“It’s not your fault, Jake,” I responded. “If your dad and I get a divorce, it will be cause he made a terrible mistake. Your dad should have never done what he did,” I explained, failing to realize that Jake had no idea what I was talking about.

Rubbing his back and kissing him on the shoulder, since he was so much taller than I, I looked up into his sad, green eyes and said, “If you can’t get to sleep, why don’t you download a new book you’ve been wanting to read. Perhaps starting a good book will help you take your mind off things — and help you get to sleep.”

“You buying?” Jake asked.

“I offered, didn’t I?” I responded.

“Even if it has a gay theme?” he asked.

“As long as it’s suitable for kids your age,” I answered. “I know you’ve probably spent as much time as any teenager looking at Internet porn…” which caused Jake to color up furiously, “and I know there are a lot of pornographic stories out there, particularly gay themed stories…” which made him color up even more. “Please make it something you wouldn’t mind me reading,” I added with a laugh.

“Well that certainly limits my choices,” Jake replied with his own, sweet laugh. It felt good to hear him laugh after the way he’d been crying. “Josh Aterovis has a new book out in the Killian Kendall Mystery Series,” he went on. “Perhaps I’ll read that, or maybe I’ll download the latest book from Mark Roeder in the Gay Youth Chronicles series. Or there’s an anthology out from some of the best authors on the Net at AwesomeDude.”

“Why not download all three?” I suggested. “Like I said, my treat.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Jake responded, and then he kissed me on the forehead.

After Jake left the study and feeling the strain of the day’s events catching up with me, I decided it was time for me to go to bed. I straightened up the kitchen, putting what was left of the pizza in the fridge, turned out the lights and headed upstairs.

Moments later, I finished washing up and was in bed. At first I merely tossed and turned as sleep seemed elusive. The next thing I knew, the sun was streaming in the windows. A quick check of the bedside clock told me it was already 12:37 in the afternoon! It wasn’t unusual for Jake to sleep that late on a Saturday, but Troy and I never slept that late — ever.

Getting out of bed, I threw on a robe and went to check on Jake. The scene that greeted me when I reached his door came as a complete shock. So atypical was it for Jake that at first it didn’t seem real — his bed was made, his floor was completely clear of clothes and everything was neatly put away. The room looked more like a guest room than one occupied by a teenage boy.

It was then that I noticed a note sitting on his desk. With trepidation, I approached it and picked it up. The words brought tears to my eyes:

Dear Mom,

When you talk to Dad, tell him he can come home now. I never meant to cause you and Dad problems. I just wanted to be myself and to share my happiness with you at having a boyfriend. I didn’t stop to think of the ramifications. I didn’t realize how Dad would take it and never in a million years did I think it would come between the two of you.

One of the things you said last night, or rather this morning, is true. Some things cannot be taken back. I can’t take back telling you guys I’m gay. To say otherwise now would be a lie and I think you know that. Just know that I’m happy — and I’m comfortable with who I am. I have a wonderful boyfriend and, in spite of what happened last night, I know I still have wonderful parents. I’m just not willing to let my sexuality come between the two of you.

I’ve decided the best thing is for me to go away, at least for a while. Without me around as a constant reminder that his son is gay, maybe Dad will get back to normal and the two of you can stay together. I’ll have my cell phone with me, but don’t try to call me. I’ll keep it turned off. I’ll call you when I’m ready — and when I think Dad’s ready. In the meantime know that I’m going somewhere where I’ll be safe — and know that I love you.

Love, Jake

Tears flooded my eyes as I realized the tragic mistake I’d made. Jake didn’t know about his father being gay, nor was it really my place to have told him. Now, Jake thought his dad had left because he had trouble dealing with having a gay son — rather than because he himself was gay. What a mess!

Jake was missing and I’d yet to hear from Troy and had no idea where he was. Who knew where in the world he was staying? Never had I felt so alone.

Then I had a thought — perhaps Jake was staying with Gary! Of course! That had to be it! The trouble was, I didn't know Gary’s last name. Fuck!

Then I thought, perhaps I could track him down from the pizza place. Looking in the refrigerator, I noted that the pizza box was a generic one that didn’t even have the name of the pizza place on it, which meant it had to be from a small, local independent pizza parlor nearby.

Looking on-line, I narrowed my search down to four potential pizzerias and called the first one. When I asked the person who answered if they’d made a delivery to our address last night, the man laughed and asked, “You don’t remember who you ordered your pizza from?”

“It was my son who placed the order,” I explained.

“How do I know you’re legit?” the guy asked, causing me to roll my eyes.

“Look, you’ve got my phone number from the caller ID,” I answered. “My son is missing,” I went on, “and the pizza was delivered by his boyfriend. I’m desperate. Could you at least tell me if you have a delivery boy named ‘Gary’ working for you?”

“We don’t have no faggots working here,” the man answered rudely, and then he hung up on me. I broke down and cried — what was I going to do? Gradually, it dawned on me that I might have inadvertently outed Gary, but then I remembered that Gary wasn’t at all shy about the fact that he’s gay. Like my son now, he was out and proud — at least he was at school. Might he be keeping it from his employer? I would have to be more discrete in talking to the other places on my list.

The second place I tried was considerably friendlier than the first, and the woman I spoke to not only confirmed that they’d delivered a pizza to our address, but that Gary would be working from three PM to midnight. She wasn’t willing to give me Gary’s home phone number, nor his mobile number, but she did promise to have him call as soon as he showed up for work. Now it was just a matter of waiting…

In the interim, I decided to try to locate Troy rather than waiting for him to call. Again looking on-line, I was surprised to discover that there were no less than twenty-eight hotels and motels within a five-mile radius of our home. Knowing that Troy would never stoop so low as to stay at a Motel 6 or a Red Roof Inn, I started with the local Holiday Inn Express and then the Fairfield Inn and worked my way up the chain. I began to lose hope as I reached the likes of Hyatt and Hilton — Troy would never splurge on something that expensive unless it was all that was available.

It was as I was on hold with the nearby Marriott that the call-waiting tone sounded. Hitting the flash button, my ‘Hello’ was greeted by the frantic sound of Gary’s voice. “What’s happened to Jake?” he practically screamed at me.

“It appears he’s run away…” I answered, but before I could say anything else, Gary interrupted with, “Shit!” and then added, “Oops, sorry.”

“I was hoping that maybe he was staying with you,” I interjected, “or that he’d at least contacted you, but I take it you haven’t heard from him either.”

“I had no idea,” Gary answered. “We spoke for more than two hours last night — I even drained my battery — but he never gave me a hint he was thinking of running away. I mean, he was freaked out with the way his dad reacted, but we spent a lot of time talking about it and he seemed to be OK with things when we finally hung up. I thought the love we shared would be enough…”

“I have no doubt that Jake loves you, Gary,” I responded. “This has nothing to do with the way Jake feels about you or even the way his father reacted to his coming out. It’s — complicated, and I made a terrible mistake.

“My husband and I separated last night…” I continued, but Gary interrupted with, “Fuck,” and then quickly added, “Oops, sorry again.” I was quickly becoming endeared to this boy!

“Jake thinks we separated because of my husband’s reaction to Jake’s coming out, but that was only the catalyst for — other things that happened last night. Jake feels responsible but, the truth is, he had nothing to do with it. Not directly, anyway, but Jake doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know the real reason my husband left.

“Jake thinks we’re going to get a divorce, and he feels responsible, and I did nothing to dispel that notion. I was just so wrapped up in my own self-pity that I failed to realize that Jake had no idea what was going on.”

With a loud sigh, Gary replied, “Let me guess — Jake wasn’t the only one who came out last night.”

Shocked, I responded, “How the hell did you know? I thought that gaydar was nothing more than a myth.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many stories there are on the Internet dealing with just this scenario,” Gary replied. “But we’ve gotta find Jake!” Gary continued, and then asked, “he didn’t say anything about where he was going?”

“He only said that he was going somewhere safe,” I answered. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“None whatsoever,” Gary replied. “Have you tried calling him?”

“He said he’d be keeping his cell phone turned off and that he’d call us when he’s ready.” I replied, and then added, “Gary, there’s a very good chance Jake will try to call you before he calls home. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t call you tonight.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to call me already,” Gary responded. “It just isn’t like him to leave so suddenly without talking to me. It doesn’t make sense.

“Maybe I can find someone else to cover for me at work tonight,” Gary then suggested, “and I could go looking for him.”

“Gary, what good would that do?” I asked my son’s boyfriend. “You yourself said you had no idea where he might have gone. You’d be going on a wild goose chase and, for all you know, Jake will contact you by placing an order for pizza, knowing you’ll be the one to deliver it.”

“Shit, you’re right — oops, sorry,” Gary answered. “That’s just the sort of thing Jake would do.” Some might have found Gary’s occasional lapses in language unnerving, but I found his apologies for them endearing. He was such a sweet young man.

Gary and I spoke for several more minutes, until he had to get to work. It was then that I realized that I had yet to take my shower and get dressed, or make the bed. Hell, I hadn’t even eaten yet — not that I was all that hungry.

Once I’d washed up and had eaten a light snack, and with a cup of coffee in my hand, I went back to trying to track down my husband and my son. Unfortunately, other than Gary, Jake had no real friends. Even Gary had acknowledged as much during our conversation. Hopefully, Jake would contact us or contact Gary tonight.

In the meantime, I tried contacting the police but, other than filing a missing persons report, there wasn’t anything they could do until Jake had been missing for 48 hours. Without evidence of foul play, to them Jake was just another teenage runaway.

Focusing again on Troy, I hoped that he might have some idea of where Jake might be, if only I could find him. In the end, I even resorted to checking with the local Motel 6 and Red Roof Inn, but Troy wasn’t registered at any of the twenty-eight nearby hotels. In desperation I repeated the Internet search using a ten-mile radius, but that resulted in an additional eighty plus establishments. There was no way I could call that many places in a reasonable amount of time.

Still, with nothing better to do, I started on the list, working my way from the nearest outward. After more than three hours of fruitless phone calls, it was approaching nine o’clock and I was no closer to finding my husband or my son than I had been when I first woke up several hours earlier. I was emotionally drained. Putting my head down on the desk in the study, I did the only thing I could in my emotional depression — I cried. My life was falling apart and the people I loved had disappeared from my life overnight — quite literally.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there with my head on the desk. Time just seemed so irrelevant as the minutes and hours ticked by. It could have been only a few minutes later, or all night for all I knew, when the phone rang, startling me out of my self-imposed reverie.

Yanking the receiver for the landline out of the cradle so fast that I nearly caused the base to fall to the floor, I answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Mom?” Jake responded. It was Jake, thank God!

“Jake! Honey, where are you? Are you OK?” I asked.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really, I’m fine,” he tried to reassure me, but that wasn’t good enough for me.

“Are you sure, Jake?” I asked. “I can come and get you,” and then I added, “There’s a lot we need to discuss. There are things you don’t know about what happened last night. Trust me, Jake. You aren’t the reason Dad and I separated. You had nothing to do with it.”

Laughing, Jake replied, “Yeah, I know. I’m with Dad right now and he filled me in on the details. It’s kinda cool having a gay dad, but I can imagine the fireworks last night. It was hard enough coming out to you guys. Hearing your son’s gay has gotta be quite a shock, but hearing your husband’s gay musta really thrown you for a loop!”

Dad’s with you?” I asked incredulously. “But how…?”

After a short delay, the next voice to come on the line was Troy’s. “Jess, I’m really sorry we didn’t call sooner. It’s just that, seeing Jake here was such a surprise, and then we decided to order pizza from Jake’s favorite delivery boy. Gary ended up deciding to stay and we’ve been talking ever since and — well, here we are.”

What the hell was he talking about? Men! Exasperated, I exclaimed, “Troy, you’re not making any sense!"

“No, I suppose I’m not,” he acknowledged. “Just give me a minute and I’ll explain.

“Last night when I left home,” he began, “my initial thought was that I’d find a hotel room for the night but, I thought to myself, ‘then what?’ The last thing I wanted to do was to spend the weekend brooding in a hotel room, and I certainly couldn’t spend it with friends.

“My friends would have wanted to know what happened and I couldn’t exactly tell them. I’m not at all ready to be ‘out’, you know? I can just imagine my friends’ reactions and, by Monday morning, the whole damn university would have known…”

“You’ll never find a boyfriend by hiding in the closet,” I replied with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

In a more somber tone, Troy said, “Jess, I don’t want a boyfriend. I’m still in love with you and I think you still love me too, and there’s Jake to think about.”

“Are you suggesting we stay together?” I asked in surprise.

“I’m suggesting we at least talk about it. It’s not like we exactly have the time to be intimate with each other that often anyway…”

Dad! I don’t want to hear this!” Jake interrupted. I hadn’t realized he was still on the line.

“It’s your fault for not hanging up,” Troy pointed out, and then he continued, “Jess, isn’t it love that matters? Many people spend a lifetime searching for love and never find it. We have something special. Why throw it all away?”

“I don’t know, Troy,” I responded honestly. “Yes, I still love you…”

“YES!” Jake again interrupted.

“But love isn’t always enough to maintain a relationship. We definitely need to talk and we should probably do it face-to-face.” I suggested.

“I’d love nothing more,” Troy replied, “but am I welcome?”

At first I wondered what he was talking about, but then I remembered that I had, for all intents and purposes, thrown him out of the house the night before.

“I’m sorry, Troy,” I responded, “but talking last night just wasn’t working…”

“That’s because you were doing all the talking, or rather all the yelling,” Troy interrupted, “but I agree — we really weren’t ready to discuss it rationally last night. Now I think we can — at least I hope we can.”

“Speaking of which, where are you, and what is Jake doing there? And Gary too?” I asked.

Laughing, Troy answered, “When I decided I didn’t want to spend the weekend brooding in some anonymous hotel, or spend it with friends, I decided I might as well spend it at the hospital getting some work done. There’s a very nice hotel and conference center on campus but, when I arrived, I discovered there’s a conference going on and it’s booked solid. Still wishing to stay on campus, I decided to stay at the Student Union.”

No wonder I couldn’t find Troy! I never once thought of him staying there.

“In my case,” Jake chimed in, “there are flyers up at school advertising services for LGBT and ‘questioning’ youth. There’s a help line — and they offer temporary lodging with no questions asked. I guess I’ve been wondering about myself for a while, ’cause I programmed the help line number into my cell phone last year.

“So I called the number and spoke to a college kid — they’re all volunteers — and he advised me to try going home. I told him I couldn’t, so he asked if I’d like to talk one-on-one with another volunteer who could give me a place to crash for the weekend. We agreed to meet in the food court at the Student Union on campus.”

“Anyway,” Troy resumed his part of the story, “I slept in this morning and then decided to grab a quick bite at the food court before heading to my office at the hospital. You can imagine my shock at seeing Jake sitting there, talking to an older kid I didn’t even know. I had no idea he’d run away or I might have been even more concerned.”

“So Dad surprised the hell out of me when he showed up at our table and asked what I was doing there,” Jake went on. “I kinda broke down and told him I didn’t want to come between the two of you.”

“Coming out to Jake was even harder than coming out to you, Jess — how do you tell your son you’re gay…?”

“But I’m gay,” Jake pointed out. “It was no big deal.”

“Maybe to you it wasn’t,” Troy countered, “but I was petrified by the prospect. Still, there was no way I was going to let you think that you were the reason I left. I had to tell you.

“So anyway, Jess,” he continued, “Jake and I went back to my room and we talked. We talked for hours.”

“Yeah, it was really cool,” Jake added. “When we got hungry, we ordered pizza and when Gary got here, he called a friend to take over his deliveries so he could spend the evening with us. Eventually he got around to telling us about how you were searching for me, so we decided we’d better call.”

“You can’t imagine what it’s been like for me today, wondering what happened to the both of you,” I commented.

“Actually, I think I can,” Jake countered. “After all, this morning I thought I’d lost both of you. I felt so alone — I was scared shitless…”

“Jake?” I interrupted, but with a smile on my face. ‘Shitless’ was exactly the way I’d felt all day. It was the perfect word and so I added, “I’ll let it slide this time, especially since I felt exactly the same way.”

“So can I come home?” Troy interjected.

“Of course you can, Troy…” I replied, but Jake interrupted once again with, “YES!” and I added, “but that doesn’t mean things can go back to the way they were. We still have a lot to talk about.”

“Indeed we do,” Troy agreed, “and we should probably do so after a good night’s sleep.”

Definitely,” I responded.

“We’ll be there in twenty,” Troy replied, but then Jake interrupted with, “Since it’s so late, could Gary spend the night?”

Laughing, I asked, “You’d like to have a sleepover with your boyfriend?”

“Well when you put it that way,” Jake answered, “Well, I could always hope. I had to ask.”

“I have no doubt the two of you will find a way to be together, regardless,” I replied, “but let’s plan on Gary sleeping in the guest room tonight, OK? I think we all need to talk about relationships and, well, sex, and we need to discuss it with Gary’s parents before we agree to any sleepover arrangements.”

“Your mother and I are on the same page with this, Jake,” Troy chimed in. “Rushing into sex can really screw up a good relationship, especially if you’re both not really ready for it. Sex is the icing on the cake of a good relationship — not the cake itself. Oh, and Gary — you need to call your parents to let them know where you’ll be tonight.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, I hung up the phone and thought about what Troy told the boys about sex being the icing on the cake and nothing more. Was I putting too much emphasis on the sexual aspect of our marriage and on Troy’s sexuality? Was the love we shared enough to hold a new relationship together? I truly had a lot to think about.

In many ways I thought it might be better to make a clean start. I deserved to have a man who loved all of me and, in a way, perhaps Troy would be better off if he were forced to seek a relationship with another gay man. In divorcing him, I’d be giving him his freedom. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel trapped in our relationship.

On the other hand, we had a history that spanned two decades. We shared a son that we both adored and we were in love with each other, even now. Could I really turn my back on all that? Should I when the two men in my life didn’t want me to? They both wanted me in their lives. Should I ask why or should I raise the flag of freedom and let each of us go our own way? Should I be the catalyst in all of this? Would it be a flag of freedom or a rejection of the only real love I might ever find?

Perhaps I should consider it a love at a different level. Had Troy been unfaithful to me during our years together? I didn’t think so, but would he continue being faithful to me now that we had shared the truth? Was I up for this challenge? Was Troy? Was Jake?

As the door between the house and the garage opened, I sighed to myself and realized that these questions would not be answered tonight or even tomorrow. Getting up from the desk in the study, I went to greet the two men who meant the world to me and the young man who meant everything to my son, confident that things would be clearer by the light of another day and many days to come.

I’ll never forget the day I first met Timmy. I was just a little baby back then. There were five other puppies in our litter an’ we liked to play all the time. My eyes were barely open when Timmy’s dad came to take me away that day. I sure missed my mom, but it was excitin’ to get out an’ see the world. That was the first time I rode in a car — not that I could see much, ’cause I was in a box. Actually, it was quite frightenin’ at the time, ’cause I din't know what was happenin’.

Anyway, Timmy’s dad drove an’ drove an’ drove, an’ then we pulled up in front of this humongous house — at least it seemed huge to me at the time, but I was real little back then. Not that I could see much of it from the car, ’cause the holes in the box were so tiny. When the car came to a stop, Timmy’s dad carried me inside.

The first thin’ I noticed right away was the strange smell. It was a smell of human sweat an’ dirt an’ somethin’ sweet, too. Later on I came to recognize it as the scent of human boys, but back then I’d never smelled it before. An’ there was a lot of noise! There were lots an’ lots of high-pitched voices, all screamin’ an’ hollerin’. It was so frightenin’ for a little puppy who’d never seen boys before. Din’t know it then, but I thought maybe they were gonna attack me!

Then this one, high-pitched angelic voice rang out. “Dad?” The voice said.

“You said you wanted one,” Timmy’s dad said. ‘Course I din’t understand any of what they said back then but I still remember the words, even now.

Suddenly, the box I was in was open an’ a face was peerin’ down at me. Behind him were many other faces, but Timmy’s was the sweetest of them all. He was smilin’, but there was somethin’ else I saw in his eyes. It was a look of awe, an’ of love.

Slowly an’ gingerly, Timmy wrapped his tiny hands ’round me an’ lifted me out of the box. He brought me to his chest an’ held me against him, huggin’ me to his body. The smell of boy was strong on him, as well as another smell that I’d later learn was the smell of swimmin’. He an’ his friends had been swimmin’ in the pool. I loved the feel of his smooth skin against my face.

Lookin’ up at him, I knew that he would be my best friend for life. I licked his face, causin’ him to squirm, but he din’t let me go, even when I gave a little yelp. It was love at first sight for both of us.

“Happy birthday, Timmy,” Timmy’s dad said.

Timmy looked up at his dad an’ asked, “Does it have a name?”

“Not yet, Timmy,” Timmy’s dad answered. “He’s all yours, so it’s only right that you name him.”

Lookin’ down into my eyes, Timmy said, “You sure are a beautiful little puppy.” Then he scrunched up his face an’ said, “I think I’ll call you Sandy, ’cause that’s the color of your fur.” I still don’t know what he meant by that. After all, hair is either light or dark. Mine’s kinda light, but not as light as Timmy’s.

“You know there’s a lot of responsibility in taking care of a dog,” Timmy’s dad said. “You have to feed him and give him water, and you have to take him outside so he can go to the bathroom, and that means cleaning up after him.”

“Eww, gross,” Timmy answered.

“You’re a big boy, now, Timmy,” Timmy’s dad said. “You’re five years old. Some day you’ll have children of your own and you’ll have to change their diapers, just as we did with you. Yes, it’s pretty gross as you said, but you won’t mind because you’ll do it out of love.”

“I’ll do it, Dad,” Timmy responded. “I’ll do it ’cause I love Sandy.”

Timmy an’ I had a great time that first summer. We were together all the time, day an’ night. Durin’ the day, some of his friends usually came over to play, to swim in the pool or to spend hours playin’ games on the TV. No matter what, though, Timmy spent time with me too, an’ I slept in his room every night an’ sometimes I even slept with him in his bed.

Then one day, Timmy came to me an’ said goodbye. He told me he had to go to school an’ he was real excited about startin’ kindergarten. I din’t know what he was talkin’ about but then he got on this great big yellow school bus — I had no idea what it was — an’ the bus drove away. I was so scared. I din’t think I’d ever see him again but then the bus brought him back that afternoon an’ we spent the rest of the day playin’ together.

Day after day the school bus came to pick him up in the mornin’ an’ to drop him back off in the afternoon. It took a while, but I got used to it an’ I eventually realized that I din’t need to fear he’d never come back, but I wondered what it was he did all day on that school bus.

I soon found out — he din’t spend all day on the school bus! Timmy’s mom took me to this great big buildin’. It was huge inside! We walked down a long hall an’ then Timmy’s mom opened a door an’ led me inside. Inside there were a bunch of children an’ the smell of boys was everywhere along with somethin’ else — a sweeter, more delicate smell I would soon learn was the smell of girls. An’ Timmy was there!

There was also a lady inside an’ she said, “Come on in, Mrs. Warren, an’ Timothy, why don’t you come to the front of the class?”

Timmy got up from a chair where he was sittin’ at a table, an’ he came to me an’ took my leash from Timmy’s mom. All the other children gathered around an’ sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Today for Show and Tell,” Timmy began, “I would like to show you my dog, Sandy. Sandy is a kind of dog called a golden retriever. Golden retrievers are very smart dogs. They come from a place called Scotland, where they were used to help hunters fetch birds after they shot them.

“Golden retrievers are very loyal to their masters. They love to retrieve. Sandy and I play fetch all the time.” I had no idea what Timmy was talkin’ about, but he sure seemed to know what it was he was sayin’.

“How old is Sandy?” a girl asked.

“He’s seven months old,” Timmy answered.

“He’s so big!” a boy exclaimed.

“He’s not done growing yet, either,” Timmy added.

All the children petted me while Timmy talked to them, an’ then Timmy’s mom took me back home.

“You were a good boy today, Sandy,” she said on the drive back. “I’m proud of you.” I liked it when she said nice things to me, an’ so I barked back to show my appreciation.

Timmy kept goin’ to school every day. When he first started school, the weather got colder an’ colder, but then it got warmer an’ warmer. Then one day Timmy came runnin’ into the house yellin’, “Hooray! School's out for the summer!” I wasn’t sure what he meant but I soon found out he din’t have to go to school anymore. We spent all our days together with his friends again. I was so happy.

On one day in particular, Timmy had a whole lot of his friends over. They all wore their bathin’ suits an’ swam in the pool. They played games an’ sang songs, an’ Timmy opened up a whole bunch of boxes wrapped with fancy paper. Timmy’s mom brought out a cake with fire on it an’ Timmy blew the fire out. Suddenly I remembered that this was what happened when I first met Timmy. It was the same thing. I was almost an adult now but Timmy was still a boy. It had been a year since I came to live with Timmy.

I’d hoped that Timmy an’ I would spend all our time together forever but then one day the school bus showed up again an’ Timmy got on. Timmy was goin’ to school again, an’ I saw even less of him durin’ the day than I did when he was in kindergarten. A lot of times we couldn’t play when he came home from school ’cause he said he had homework. I wasn’t sure what that meant but he’d open up his books an’ make marks on paper.

Every day when Timmy was at school, I imagined him sittin’ in that room with all the other children, sittin’ at that table an’ then gettin’ up an’ talkin’ in front of the class while all the other kids sat on the floor. I din’t understand why he went to school instead of just spendin’ the time with me but, like I said already, people are strange.

The years passed an’ I got older. Timmy got older too but he was still just a boy. People are so strange — it takes them forever to grow up! At this rate, I’ll be dead an’ gone before Timmy’s fully grown. At least he was finally beginnin’ to grow up. He’d gotten so much taller an’ his voice had gotten deeper, soundin’ a bit more like a man’s than a boy’s voice. His smell had changed too — it was much stronger but not unpleasant. His scent suited him well. He’d also gotten hair in new places — under his arms an’ above his pee thing. There was fine hair on his arms an’ legs too.

I ran as fast as my four legs could carry me, runnin’, runnin’, runnin’ across the yard. At eight, I sure couldn’t run as fast as I used to. I could feel my age in every joint an’ with every ache. Lets face it — I was gettin’ old.

When I caught up with the ball, I grabbed it an’ ran back to Timmy, enjoyin’ the taste of the leather an’ dirt of the ball in my mouth. I liked playin’ fetch. When Timmy an’ I were younger, we used to play it all the time, but when he started goin’ to school durin’ the day an’ doin’ other things with his friends, I din’t get to spend as much time with him.

“Good boy!” Tim shouted out as I dropped the ball at his feet. He reached down an’ petted me — I loved it when he petted me — an’ he looked down at me with his adorin’ eyes as I looked up at him with all the love I could give him.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday, Sandy,” Timmy went on. “Tomorrow I’ll be thirteen years old. Finally, I’m gonna be a teenager! We’re having a big party like always. We’re having a big party with a lot of the guys… and, this year, we’re having girls, too! Man, I can’t wait for tomorrow!”

By now I could understand a lot of what Timmy said. Not just from the words — people use lots of words I don’t understand, but I’ve come to realize it’s because they’re just dumb when it comes to communicatin’. They don’ know how to read body language, an’ they have such puny noses — they’re pathetic when it comes to recognizin’ the changes in smell that go along with the most basic of emotions. They just don’t get it, so that’s why they use all those words.

‘Course I can read all those things — the scents, the body language an’ a lot of the words — so I always know what Timmy’s sayin’ — at least when he’s sayin’ it to me. I wasn’t sure what a teenager was, but I had a feelin’ it was somethin’ like bein’ a young adult. An’ he was havin’ girls at his party. That was gonna be a first! I guess Timmy was startin’ to like girls. Yeah, he was growin’ up!

“C’mon, boy,” Timmy went on. “I’m gettin’ hungry. Let’s go inside and get somethin’ to eat. Would you like that, Sandy?”

Food’s always a good thing, so I barked back at him as I panted an’ wagged my tail. Speakin’ of tails, maybe that’s another reason people need so many words. Tails tell you a lot about what an animal’s thinkin’, but people don’t even have them. How strange!

Timmy an’ I went inside an’ Timmy got out my food bowl an’ filled it with some of my favorite dog food, an’ he filled my water bowl, too. He then went to the refrigerator, which is just a big silver box that’s cold inside, an’ he got out a bunch of things to make a snack for himself. Never could understand how much work people go to for food! Just to make a sandwich, he got out some bread, turkey, roast beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato an’ that spicy yellow stuff I don’t like. All that work, just for somethin’ he’ll finish in a few bites.

When we finished eatin’, Timmy an’ I went upstairs to his room an’ Timmy got out his laptop — boy, he could spend hours on that thing just lookin’ at the screen an’ tappin’ away on it. I din’t see why he liked doin’ it but he sure did it a lot.

Timmy plopped down on his bed, leanin’ against the headboard an’ placin’ the laptop on his lap. He opened it up an’ started goin’ at it like usual. I plopped myself down next to him, layin’ my head on his bare chest. Every now an’ then, Timmy petted my head an’ I swished my tail against his bare feet. Yeah, Timmy an’ I were the best of friends.

After playin’ around for a bit, Timmy got a real intense look on his face an’ I noticed right away that his scent had changed. He was sweatin’, but not the way he does when he runs or plays sports. No, this was a kinda musky, bitter sweat. He was sweatin’ from under his arms an’ from his groin. I’d seen this happen before, many times durin’ the last few months.

Sure enough, Timmy’s shorts started to stick out in front an’ Timmy reached down an’ stuck his hand inside his shorts. A moment later, he unsnapped his shorts an’ slid them down an’ off, along with his boxers. Now he was naked, which din’t bother me at all. I never understood why people wear clothes in the first place — well, maybe in winter when it’s cold, since they don’t have much fur, but not in the summer when it’s hot outside.

What I saw on Timmy’s laptop screen was certainly interestin’. There were a couple of boys — young men really — an’ one of them had the other guy’s pee thing in his mouth an’ was bobbin’ his head up an’ down on it. Both of ’em had big, stiff pee things, too, just like Timmy did, but Timmy’s wasn’t nearly that big.

Timmy’s pee thing was stickin’ straight out an’ he was touchin’ it, rubbin’ it up an’ down with one hand while he rubbed his balls with his other hand. That’s another thing that puzzles me. I remember as a young puppy that I used to have balls, too, but then Timmy an’ his dad took me to see the vet one day an’ I guess I went to sleep, an’ when I woke up, my balls were gone. I don’t miss ’em or anything, but Timmy sure likes to play with his.

“You don’t mind me doin’ this, Sandy, do you?” Timmy asked as he looked at me. Why would I mind? I gave a quick bark an’ licked his face to let him know it was OK with me an’ he went back to doin’ what he was doin’ before.

After a while, Timmy was rubbin’ his hand up an’ down his pee thing fast an’ furious. The smell of his sweat was really strong now, an’ then suddenly Timmy got real stiff, his toes curled up an’ his back arched up off the bed, an’ then he cried out an’ this clear, kinda whitish stuff spurted out his pee thing — I quickly got out of the way, or it woulda got all over my face. There wasn’t all that much of it though — nothin’ like when he pees into the big water bowl.

Then Timmy did somethin’ real strange — he licked his fingers an’ wiped the rest of the whitish stuff up with his fingers an’ licked that up, too. Yuck! I may like to smell my pee but I’d never lick it up like that.

“Timmy!” Timmy’s mom shouted from downstairs.

“Yeah Mom?” Timmy answered with a shout of his own.

“Robbie’s here,” Timmy’s mom replied. “He’s on his way up.” Robbie’s Timmy’s best friend — next to me, that is. They’ve been best friends since Timmy was eight years old.

“Shit!” Timmy cried out, but quietly. He closed up his laptop an’ set it aside, an’ he grabbed his boxers an’ his shorts an’ quickly pulled them on just as Robbie started bangin’ on the door.

“Hey, Dufus,” Robbie shouted from the other side of the door. “Let me in, would ya?”

Timmy opened the door an’ Robbie walked in. He was dressed just like Timmy, wearin’ just a pair of shorts.

“So… why was the door locked?” Robbie asked with a funny smirk on his face.

At first Timmy got a frightened look on his face an’ his scent changed again, but then he smiled an’ calmed down a lot an’ said, “Like you don’t do it too.”

“Do what?” Robbie asked, an’ then he laughed. Spottin’ the closed laptop still sittin’ on Timmy’s bed, Robbie reached for it an’ said, “Let’s see what kind of jerk-off material you were looking at.”

But then Timmy shouted, “STOP! No!” He was too late — Robbie already had it open an’ was starin’ at what was on the screen.

“Oh man…” Robbie said in a husky voice as he turned the laptop so both Timmy an’ I could see it. Before he did, I noticed that Robbie’s smell had changed — he was sweatin’ from under his arms an’ from his groin, just like Timmy had when he was playin’ with himself.

“It’s not what you think, Robbie!” Timmy shouted quickly. “Not at all!”

Laughin’, Robbie replied with, “If not, what is it, man?”

When Timmy started cryin’, Robbie wrapped his arms around Timmy an’ said, “Dude, don’t sweat it, man. It’s OK with me and, besides, those guys are pretty hot.”

Timmy stopped cryin’ instantly an’ he got this little smile on his face as his scent changed again. “Huh… You mean…”

“I guess that makes two of us, bud,” Robbie replied with a real big smile on his face.

“But what about girls?” Timmy asked. “I mean at school, you talk just like everyone else. All you can talk about is which girls are hot and their tits and how you’d like to get some pussy.”

“I could say the same thing about you, man,” Robbie replied. “I don’t need to tell you what would happen if we didn’t talk like that, but truth is girls don’t do anything for me.”

“Me neither,” Timmy stated, an’ then he added, “I can’t believe we both like guys. I was so depressed when I realized I was… you know, and it turns out you are too.

“So… do you maybe like me?” Timmy asked.

Rather than say anythin’ Robbie got a real serious look on his face, an’ then he moved his face closer an’ closer to Timmy’s, an’ then they pressed their lips together. They were kissin’ — on the lips — just like Timmy’s mom an’ dad do!

Soon, they were both lyin’ down on Timmy’s bed, rollin’ around an’ kissin’ each other, an’ touchin’ each other everywhere. They removed each other’s shorts an’ boxers an’ pretty soon they were doin’ what the boys on the laptop were doin’!

I couldn’t for the life of me understand why they were doin’ what they were doin’, but they sure seemed to be enjoyin’ it!

After a while, Timmy’s mom called up the stairs to let us know that dinner was ready. Timmy an’ Robbie got dressed — Timmy let Robbie wear one of his shirts — an’ we all went down for dinner. Timmy an’ Robbie sat at the table an’ ate with Timmy’s mom an’ dad.

I did my best job of beggin’ an’ eventually Timmy gave me a little of his roast beef — man, it was a whole lot better than my dog food — but, when no one else would give me some too, I sauntered over to my food bowl an’ ate the food Timmy’s mom set out for me. After I finished my food an’ drank from my water bowl, I crawled under the table an’ lay down, driftin’ off to sleep to the pleasant scent of all the people’s feet.

Next thing I knew, it was mornin’ an’ Timmy’s mom was at the stove makin’ lots of noise as she got breakfast ready. Like usual, she was stayin’ home for Timmy’s birthday. I got up, sniffed at my empty food bowl an’ then drank from my water bowl. Realizin’ I had to pee, I walked over to the back door, barked an’ started pawin’ at it.

“I’m sorry, boy,” Timmy’s mom said. “I can’t walk you right now. Why don’t you go see if Timmy’ll take you out? I let him sleep in for his birthday but breakfast is almost ready and we all know how much Timmy likes to eat.”

Well I sure din’t need to be asked again. I ran up the stairs an’ nudged Timmy’s door open, an’ I jumped on his bed, turned around in circles a few times an’ licked his face.

Timmy’s eyes had been closed the whole time but I knew he was awake an’, when I licked his face, he put up his hands an’ kinda pushed me away while sayin’, “All right. All right already.” Then he threw his arms around my neck an’ hugged me. I loved Timmy sooo much.

“Boy, something sure smells good,” Timmy barely whispered as he stretched himself out, an’ then he added, “I bet you need to pee, don’t you boy?” I barked in reply.

“I gotta pee too,” Timmy stated. “Just give me a minute and we’ll go outside.”

Timmy got out of bed, leavin’ the covers all rumpled the way I like ’em, an’ he walked into his bathroom, lifted the seat on the big water bowl an’ let loose a steady stream. What a shame it was to waste a perfectly good bowl of water like that!

“OK, let’s go, boy,” Timmy said as he turned around an’ started to walk out the door to his bedroom, but I stayed put — I knew he’d be back.

Sure enough, he called out, “Oops!” an’ then walked back into his bedroom, picked up the boxers an’ shorts he wore yesterday from off the floor an’ put them on.

“You knew I forgot my clothes, didn’t you boy?” Timmy asked me an’ I barked back in reply. “Let’s go.”

We walked down the stairs an’ through the kitchen on the way outside. Timmy stopped when he spotted his mom an’ said, “Man, that sure smells good.” It did, too. I could smell scrambled eggs, French toast an’ bacon.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Timmy’s mom said.

“Could I have some coffee?” Timmy asked. “You said I could when I’m thirteen.”

“I guess we did,” Timmy’s mom replied. “I’ll put on a pot — you want cream and sugar in it?”

“Definitely,” Timmy said with the sweetest smile on his face.

Timmy slipped his feet into his sneakers, grabbed the scooper thing, I guess just in case we needed it, an’ opened the door. I ran outdoors with Timmy right behind me. We walked almost the whole way down the block before I spotted one of my favorite trees. Lifting my leg, I took care of business an’ then I squatted when I realized I needed to do more. I guess it was a good thing Timmy brought the scooper. He really does know me well.

On the way back, Robbie spotted us an’ ran to catch up.

“Hey, Timmy. Happy birthday, man,” he called out. “You psyched about the party?”

“Oh man, am I ever,” Timmy replied. “I’m finally a teenager. All year long I’ve watched everyone else turn thirteen. At long last I’m old enough that my ’rents’ll let me do stuff on my own. They’re so strict… they wouldn’t even let me drink coffee!”

“It’s not like you don’t drink it when we all go to Starbucks,” Robbie pointed out.

“Shhh!” Timmy whispered, “They don’t know that and they don’t need to know that.”

“Gotcha,” Robbie replied.

As we got close to Timmy’s house, Timmy asked his best bud, “Hey, my mom’s fixed me a feast for breakfast. Would you like some?”

“I already ate…” Robbie answered, “but I can always eat a little bit more,” he added with a smile.

When we entered the kitchen, Timmy’s mom spotted Robbie right away an’ asked him, “Oh, hi, Robbie. Would you like to have breakfast with us?”

“I already ate, but I wouldn’t mind having some eggs and a little bacon,” he replied, “oh, and some coffee too.”

“Coming right up, boys,” she said.

It was funny watching Timmy an’ Robbie eat. They pretended to be enjoyin’ it, but the looks on their faces gave themselves away — neither of them liked the coffee.

After breakfast, we all went upstairs to Timmy’s room, but then Timmy turned on his TV an’ his game thingy an’ pretty soon the TV was makin’ all kinds of weird beeps an’ other sounds an’ the boys taunted each other an’ played games. After a short while, watchin’ them got boring as it always does. The world could disappear right around them an’ they wouldn’t even notice when they played games on Timmy’s TV.

With nothing more interestin’ to do, I sauntered downstairs, plopped myself down in the kitchen where Timmy’s mom was cleanin’ the dishes. The gentle sounds of the dishwasher lulled me to sleep.

Next thing I knew, there was lots of shoutin’ an’ screamin’ comin’ from outside, from the back yard. The door ’tween the family room an’ the pool deck was open an’ there was a whole bunch of kids out there, about half boys an’ half girls. Timmy’s birthday party was in full swing!

Timmy an’ Robbie were in the pool with a lotta the other kids, so I jumped right in with ’em, with a big splash. A lotta the kids screamed when I did that, especially the girls, but then everyone hugged me an’ we had a lotta fun playin’ around in the pool.

Later on, Timmy’s mom fired up the barbecue an’ grilled hamburgers an’ hot dogs, an’ she even let me eat them, too, like she always did on Timmy’s birthday.

After the kids all had cake an’ ice cream, Timmy opened up all his presents, an’ then he turned the music way up on his boom box an’ the boys all danced with the girls.

I started to get tired again an’ so I plopped myself down by the side of the pool an’ took a nap. I couldn’t sleep all that well with all the noise, but I guess I managed after all, ’cause next thing I knew, I felt the fur on the top of my head bein’ stroked. I opened my eyes an’ saw that Timmy an’ Robbie were both sittin’ next to me an’ pettin’ me.

At one point, Timmy’s an’ Robbie’s hands touched each other, an’ then Timmy grabbed onto Robbie’s hand an’ held it.

“Careful!” Robbie practically shouted in a whisper. “Someone might see us!”

Pullin’ his hand away, Timmy said, “I guess you're right, man. The thought of coming out scares the shit outta me, but there’s a big part of me that would like nothing more than to be able to hold hands and kiss you whenever I want. And to dance with you! What a fucking crock it is to dance with girls when the one I really want to dance with is you.

“I don’t want to spend the next five years in hiding, you know?” Timmy added. “I read on-line that kids are coming out younger and younger… even in middle school. Do you really want to pretend we’re nothing more than best friends… to date girls until we go away to college? Think how awesome it would be for us to be out… to be ourselves!”

“Man, I don’t know,” Robbie replied. “You know it’d be all anyone would be talking about when we start school in the fall. You know we’d get called names and maybe beat up all the time. Look what happened to that Wilson kid in the eight grade last year.”

“Yeah, but Wilson was a bully-magnet to begin with,” Timmy answered. “He was a loner who didn’t have any friends at all. Of course there were rumors but we don’t even know if he really was gay, you know? And he didn’t have a hot boyfriend like I do!”

“Shhh… not so loud!” Robbie interrupted.

“There’s a part of me that would really like to come out,” Timmy continued, “but I won’t unless you do.”

Sighin’, Robbie replied, “My mom would never understand.”

“God, I hadn't even thought of that!” Timmy added. “I have no idea how my ’rents would react, but they prolly wouldn't take it too good. I guess we’d better wait…”

“There’ll come a time,” Robbie answered, “Maybe when we’re in high school… just not yet.

“So… you wanna get back to the party?”

“Definitely!” Timmy answered with that sweet smile of his, an’ then they both got up an’ went back to dancin’ with the girls.

They danced, swam an’ played games until Timmy's dad came home. We all ate more hamburgers an’ hot dogs, an’ then the kids slowly started leavin’ to go home, I guess. The party din’t finish until it was startin’ to get dark outside.

Robbie stayed the night at our house, sleepin’ with Timmy in his bed, which left me to sleep on the floor. They did a lot more than sleep, too! At first they played with Timmy's game thingy an’, after Timmy's mom an’ dad went to bed, they locked the door.

Right away, they got naked an’ went back to doin’ what I saw those boys doin’ on Timmy's laptop. They did a whole lot more than that, too. It was sure funny, some of the stuff they did before they finally went to sleep.

The next mornin’ Timmy’s mom fixed a big breakfast again, an’ then Timmy an’ Robbie took me for my mornin’ walk.

After I finished my business, we went back home an’ swam in the pool. Timmy's mom had already left for work, whatever that was, so it was just the three of us. Rather than puttin’ on their swimsuits, Timmy an’ Robby swam naked, just like I did. I thought that was pretty cool, at least until they started doin’ stuff with each other’s pee things.

Gettin’ kinda bored, I lay down on the pool deck in a nice shady spot an’ I went to sleep.

Next thing I knew, Timmy an’ Robbie were pettin’ me. Timmy said, “Come on, boy. Robbie has to go home for dinner and I'm goin’ to walk him home. You wanna go with us?” I barked to let them know I did.

Timmy an’ Robbie got on their shoes, ’cause human feet aren’t tough like mine, an’ we all walked down the street to Robbie’s house.

When we got to the back door to Robbie’s house, Robbie said, ”You sure you can’t stay for dinner?”

“I can’t man,” Timmy replied. “The ’rents want to spend time alone with me tonight. I think it’s a ‘bonding’ thing, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Robbie replied, an’ then he added, “I had a great time.”

“Me too,” Timmy agreed, an’ then he brought his lips to Robbie’s an’ they kissed for what seemed like the longest time.

“See you tomorrow, boyfriend,” Timmy said as they separated.

“You can count on it, boyfriend,” Robbie replied as he opened the door an’ went inside.

Timmy an’ I returned to our house an’ we ate dinner with his mom an’ dad.

Later that evening, I heard the talk box make that funny, chirpin’ sound it often makes an’ Timmy's mom lifted up the handle an’ spoke into it like usual. I never could figure out why it made that chirpin’ sound an’ couldn’t for the life of me understand why people would talk to such a thing. I could hear that it talked back, but it was way too small for someone to be inside of it. Come to think of it, the TVs were way too flat for all the people that lived inside them, yet it seemed they did.

So Timmy's mom listened to what the talk box was sayin’ to her when she suddenly shouted into it, “THEY WHAT?” After listenin’ for another minute, she added, “Sharon, there’s no way he could be gay! Timmy’s not like that. He’s into sports… big time. There’s not a gay bone in his body!”

At that moment, Timmy’s dad stormed into the kitchen an’ I could hear Timmy in the family room mutter, “Fuck!”

“Are you accusing our Timmy of turning Robbie gay?” Timmy's mom went on talkin’ to the talk box. “If anything, it’s the other way around! Robbie’s the quiet, shy one. It’s Robbie who's a bookworm with little interest in sports. It’s Robbie who grew up without a father. A boy needs a man’s influence growing up. Maybe that's why Robbie turned out gay.”

“ENOUGH!” Timmy shouted from the open doorway. “Robbie did NOT turn me gay. I didn’t even know he was gay until the day before yesterday, nor did he know about me. I’ve kinda known I’m gay for the last couple of years now, and I knew it for sure a few months ago, when I had my first wet dream. Robbie told me he’s known he’s gay since he was nine. We did NOT turn each other gay… we were born this way.

“You are NOT gay!” Timmy’s dad shouted back. “You’re not going to be gay. No son of mine could be, so get over it!”

“It's not like I have a choice, DAD!” Timmy shouted back. “I couldn’t care less about girls. I have no interest in them other than as friends. All my wet dreams… God, this is embarrassing… are about boys. When I… you know… I do it thinking about boys.”

“Well that's going to change, right now,” Timmy’s dad replied. “We’re going to get you subscriptions to Playboy, Penthouse and Hussler…”

"DON!” Timmy's mom shouted.

“Well what would you suggest we do, Susan?” Timmy's dad replied. “It’s not like boys his age aren’t exposed to such things. When I was his age, I had my secret stash of porn, just like every other kid around. It’s normal for boys to look at pictures of naked girls.”

Then turnin’ to Timmy, he went on. “Where’s your stash? I won’t have you looking at pictures of naked guys.”

"I don’t have one, dad?” Timmy answered, but then Timmy's dad slapped Timmy!

“DONALD!” Timmy’s mom shouted at the same time that I started growlin’ at Timmy’s dad.

With tears in his eyes, Timmy ran out of the room.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Timmy's mom shouted at Timmy’s dad. “You think he’ll listen to us when you go and do something like that?”

“He lied to us, Susan,” Timmy's dad replied. “We can’t let him lie to us.”

“But how do we know he lied to us, Don?” Timmy's mom asked.

“Believe me,” Timmy's dad answered, ”He did. Every teenage boy has a stash of porn. Even if he thinks he’s gay, he’ll have one. It would be even more abnormal than him being gay for him not to have some porn.”

“But he just became a teenager,” Timmy’s mom replied.

“True,” Timmy's dad answered, ”but most of his friends have been thirteen for a while now. What matters is more what grade he’s in, and he’s about to enter eighth grade. He’s almost certainly got a stash of porn… I guarantee it.”

“What about his computer?” Timmy’s mom asked. “Maybe he’s getting his porn on his computer.”

“Not with the nanny filter we installed,” Timmy’s dad answered. “There’s no way he could have gotten past it.”

“I forgot about that,” Timmy’s mom replied an’ then she continued, “but slapping him did little to gain his trust. The question is, what do we do now?”

“Well the first thing is, we can’t allow the boys to be together… that’s a given,” Timmy’s dad stated.

“Agreed,” Timmy’s mom replied.

“We need to take away his phone and his laptop, so he can't talk to, text or e-mail Robbie,” Timmy’s dad added.

“But Don, he needs his phone for emergencies, and he’ll need his laptop when school starts up again,” Timmy’s mom replied.

“Simple enough,” Timmy’s dad answered. “We'll block messages on his phone and cap his talk time at five minutes a month. That’ll be enough to call us in an emergency but not enough to spend any time talking to Robbie or his friends.

“We can install tracking software on his computer, so we’ll know if he visits any inappropriate sites or if he tries to e-mail or message Robbie.”

“You can do that?” Timmy’s mom asked.

“That and a whole lot more,” Timmy’s dad replied. “Parents do it all the time.”

I was gettin’ bored an’, besides, I was worried sick about Timmy an’ so I made my way upstairs to Timmy’s room, but the door was closed. After pawing at the door an’ whining for a bit, I finally let out a short bark an’ Timmy opened the door for me.

“Come on in, boy,” Timmy said, but I was inside before he’d barely opened his mouth. I went straight to his bed, jumped up on it, turned around an’ around a few times an’ then settled down.

Timmy closed an’ locked his door, an’ then he joined me on the bed, snugglin’ up with me an’ pettin’ me. I loved the smooth feel of his skin on my fur as he nuzzled his face against my head. I’ve always loved that feel since the first time he picked me up an’ held me to his chest. We loved each other so much.

“It’s all fucked up, Sandy,” Timmy said as he stroked my fur. “It’s all so fucked up. Robbie and I were texting each other until his mom took his phone away. She’s gonna send him to live with his dad in Seattle. His father’s gonna teach him how to be a ‘real’ man, whatever that means.

“Oh God, Sandy,” Timmy continued as he started to cry. “I’ll never see Robbie again, but that’s the least of it. I can’t stand the thought of never being together again… I love him… but what’s gonna happen to him? What’s gonna happen to me? It’s gonna be awful for both of us but it’s gonna be so much worse for Robbie. I can’t bear the thought of what might happen to him in Seattle, or wherever he ends up. I can’t bear it.”

Poor Timmy cried an’ cried for what seemed like hours before his mom an’ dad finally came up the stairs an’ banged on the door. Timmy got up slowly, went over an’ opened the door. Timmy’s mom an’ dad pushed their way inside. Timmy sat back down on the bed an’ snuggled up with me.

“Timmy,” Timmy’s dad began, “I know you’re angry right now and believe me, we understand. You have to understand that learning you’re gay was quite a shock to us and it’s going to take some time for us to deal with it, and we’ll probably never understand it.”

“The most important thing for you to know is that no matter what,” Timmy’s mom added, “We love you with all our hearts and we will always love you. We just want what’s best for you.”

“The life of the average gay man is horrible,” Timmy’s dad went on. “The average gay man has thousands of sexual partners over their lifetime. Even if you use condoms, sexually transmitted diseases are common and the risk of acquiring AIDS is significant. Although treatments have improved substantially in recent years, they essentially do little more than buy time. If you choose to remain gay, you will ultimately die of AIDS.”

“That’s such horseshit,” Timmy replied.

“Timmy!” Timmy’s mom shouted.

“Well it is!” Timmy shouted back, an’ then he continued in a softer voice. “There’s a lot of misinformation and outright lies being spread about gay guys by so-called experts who only spread hate. Most gay men are the same as straight men. Some gay men sleep around but, then, so do a lot of straight men. Most of us want what everyone wants. We want to find love with one person…”

“And it pains me to think you never will,” Timmy’s mom answered. “That’s the biggest problem of all with being gay. You’ll spend your life searching for something that doesn’t exist. True love can only exist between a man and a woman, so you’ll spend your life jumping into one bed after another searching for a love that cannot be…”

“Bullshit!” Timmy shouted. “I don’t need to search for true love… I already have it. Robbie and I already love each other the same way you and dad do. We’ve been best friends for, like, ever. We’re meant to be together. We’ll get married when we’re ready, and we’ll go to college together, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”

“I know you’d like to think things will work out between you and Robbie,” Timmy’s dad replied, “but they won’t. First loves rarely last. Besides, the two of you will face tremendous obstacles straight kids never have to face… insurmountable obstacles that will only tear you apart. People won’t accept you. You’ll be ostracized… and worse.

“The path of a gay man is one of despair and destruction, but it’s not too late. There’s still time for you to change course… to be normal, to date girls, to get married and to have a family of your own. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“And except for dating girls, that’s the way it’s gonna be, Dad,” Timmy replied. “Robbie and I will get married and we’ll adopt kids of our own and raise a family. Or if we want, there are lots of ways for gay men to have children of their own.”

“Those all involve using women, and I’ll have nothing to do with that,” Timmy's mom answered.

“We’ve decided we need to take action now, while there’s still some time,” Timmy’s dad added.

Lookin’ real nervous, Timmy asked, “What sorta action?”

“There are places that specialize in helping kids like you,” Timmy's dad answered. “Special summer camps and even schools that help kids overcome their inappropriate desires. They help you learn to suppress your feelings toward boys and learn to like girls.”

“Dad, I've read all about those places on the Internet,” Timmy started sayin’. “The best of them teach kids to hate themselves and to pretend to like girls. The worst of them use physical torture to turn kids into mental cases incapable of liking boys or girls. And if it’s using women to pay someone to have our baby, what would you call it when a gay boy pretends to be something he’s not… ?”

“A good marriage is built on trust, Timmy,” Timmy’s mom answered. “It would only be fair that you tell the woman you marry everything, including about your past attraction to boys. She’ll only love you more for your honesty and for having overcome your weakness.”

“Yeah, right,” Timmy replied. “Somehow, I don't think, ‘Hi, my name’s Tim and I used to be gay,’ is the sort of pickup line girls like to hear.”

“Obviously, you need to wait until you get to know the girl before you tell her about your past,” Timmy's mom answered. “But seriously, think how much happier you’ll be living life as a normal man, getting married and having kids of your own instead of living life alone, always in search of a love that cannot be.”

“Argh! It’s like talking to a brick wall!” Timmy practically shouted as he paced the room and threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t you guys get it? Me and Robbie love each other. Someday we’ll get married and we’ll spend our lives together. I’m not gonna spend my life living alone. I’m not gonna have sex with every gay guy in sight. I’m not like that. Robbie’s not like that either.

“But you just can’t accept me for who I am, so you’re gonna send me to some kinda concentration camp with a whole bunch of other gay boys so I can be tortured until I hate myself, all the while being surrounded by boys who want to have sex with me and all the other boys… horny teenage boys with raging hormones. Do you really think a place like that can cure me of being gay?”

At that, Timmy burst into tears an’ his mom put her arm around him an’ comforted him. “Don, are you sure about this?” She asked.

Placin’ his hands on Timmy an’ Timmy’s mom, Timmy’s dad answered, “Learning how to control your desires, even when surrounded by other gay kids, is a part of the process of becoming normal. We’ll spend tomorrow researching all the alternatives we can find. I’m sure we can find a place with a good reputation.”

After standin’ there for a few minutes, Timmy’s dad left the room. Timmy’s mom stayed a bit longer as Timmy kept cryin’ an’ cryin’, an’ then she said, “You’ll see… everything’s going to be fine.” She then left the room too an’ closed the door behind her.

“What a fucking mess,” Timmy cried once we were alone in his room. “What a royal, fucking mess.”

Lettin’ out a big sigh, he continued, “No fucking way am I going to some camp to make me straight. No fucking way…”

After just layin’ there for a long while, Timmy finally got up an’ got ready for bed. After washin’ up an’ brushin’ his teeth an’ all, he got under the covers an’ turned out the lights.

I got up, turned around a few times an’ then settled down next to Timmy, snugglin’ up with him in his bed like I usually do. Timmy put his arm around me an’ pulled me close. I loved it when he did that.

I guess I musta fell asleep, ’cause the next thing I knew, the lights were on an’ Timmy wasn’t in bed anymore. I looked around an’ spotted him in his bathroom, gettin’ a whole bunch of stuff out of the box with the mirror above the sink. He was puttin’ it all in a plastic pouch, an’ then he put the pouch in his big backpack — the one he uses when he goes away every summer — the one that holds his sleepin’ bag.

Next, he got out a bunch of his clothes an’ he packed them into the backpack too. He looked around the room an’ added his laptop, then he spotted his game thingy, looked at it an’ shook his head.

Timmy picked up his phone an’ looked at it for a bit an’ held it in his hand an’ said, “I can’t believe they let me keep this, but it could be used to track me.” Lookin’ at it an’ tapping a bunch a times on it, he added, “I can turn off ‘Location Services’ and ‘Find my iPhone’, but I think the police can still use my phone to track me. Maybe later I can find an on-line hack to prevent it being tracked but, for now, I guess I’d better turn it off and use it only for emergencies.”

Throwin’ his phone in his backpack, he turned to me an’ said, “Well, this is it, boy. There’s no way I can stay here anymore. My parents hate me and they want to send me away to some God-awful place to have me ‘fixed’. Trouble is, I ain’t broke and no amount of ‘re-education’ and torture is gonna make me straight. If they can’t accept me as their gay son, then I can’t accept them as my parents.

“Goodbye, Sandy,” he continued as he crouched down an’ hugged me. “I’m gonna miss you something fierce. You’ve always been my very best friend… and I love you.”

Somehow I knew that when Timmy said ‘goodbye’, he din’t mean it the way he does when he goes to school or to play with his friends. No, this time Sandy was sayin’ it as in forever, and I couldn’t allow that. Timmy was my life!

After shoulderin’ his backpack an’ turnin’ out the lights, Timmy quietly made his way down the stairs in the dark, an’ I stuck with him. When we got to the kitchen, he opened one of the drawers an’ pulled out a whole wad of that funny green paper he keeps in his wallet, but this time he folded it up an’ stuffed some of it into each of his socks. Openin’ the back door, Timmy turned around an’ said, “You gotta stay here, boy. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I could tell that Timmy was lyin’, though. I could always tell when Timmy was lyin’.

Wearin’ his backpack, Timmy couldn’t move very fast, so I sat there an’ waited for him to turn back around an’ open the screen door. Soon as it was open, I ran for it, sneakin’ around him an’ out ahead of him.

“Sandy!” Timmy called out in a loud whisper, “Get back here! Get back here now!”

I wasn’t about to stay behind. If Timmy was leavin’ then I was leavin’ too. I started barkin’ knowin’ Timmy would have to come out to quiet me down or his mom an’ dad would hear me.

“Fuck,” Timmy said softly, an’ then he came to me an’ threw his arms around me an’ said, “OK, boy. I don’t know how we’re gonna manage, but you can go with me for now. Trouble is, I don’t know how I’m gonna feed ya. I’m not even sure how I’m gonna feed myself. I guess we’ll somehow manage, you and me and, I hope, Robbie.”

Gettin’ back up an’ closin’ the door behind him, he came back to me an’ said, “OK, boy, let’s see if we can spring Robbie loose before his mom sends him to Seattle.”

It was a short walk to Robbie’s house, an’ then Timmy told me to be quiet, but I already knew I had to be quiet. Robbie’s house is a lot smaller than Timmy’s — it only has one floor, an’ so we were able to walk right up to Robbie’s bedroom window.

Timmy knocked on the window a few times, an’ then the window opened an’ Robbie stuck his head out. “You came!” Robbie said in a loud whisper. “Thank God you came. I figured I was gonna hafta sneak out on my own.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” Timmy answered. “My parents decided to send me to one of those ‘reorientation’ camps.”

“Shit, that’s even worse than being sent to Seattle to live with my dad,” Robbie replied.

“Listen, I shoulda listened to you when we texted earlier tonight. I shoulda agreed to come with you in the first place,” Timmy added. “It’s not just that we’re boyfriends… even though we are. It’s not just that I love you, which I do. It’s way more than that… we’re friends forever. We’re in it together, no matter what.”

“Friends forever,” Robbie said as he stuck out his hand an’ they did that weird hand bumpin’ an’ grabbin’ thing they do. Then Timmy an’ Robbie kissed each other on the lips.

“Were you able to talk your mom into letting you pack your backpack instead of a suitcase?” Timmy asked.

“Thank God, yeah,” Robbie answered, an’ then added, “I coulda just repacked everything, but this made it so much easier. I just told her Dad and I would prolly go camping, and she agreed.” Turnin’ around an’ lookin’ back into his room, Robbie turned back to Timmy an’ said, “We’d better get going before my mom hears us.”

Robbie then pushed his backpack out the window an’ Timmy helped lower it to the ground, then Timmy helped Robbie climb out the window too. After closin’ the window behind him, Robbie shouldered his backpack an’ we all started walkin’ down the street.

“I raided my parents’ cash drawer…” Timmy started sayin’.

Robbie interrupted an’ said, “So’d I. Between that and my own cash, I’ve got close to two hundred dollars with me.”

“I’ve got just over three-fifty myself,” Timmy added, “so between the two of us, that’s over five hundred dollars.”

“That won’t last very long,” Robbie said. “It sounds like a lot but, at thirteen, we can’t exactly get jobs… not legal jobs and I’m not about to resort to selling drugs or prostitution.”

“God no,” Timmy answered. “No way in Hell would I want to do that. Yeah, I know the money has to last a long time. I know it won’t last forever but maybe we can find a place nearby to hide and maybe some of our friends can help us out.”

“We’d have to tell them why we ran away,” Robbie stated.

“Somehow, coming out to our friends seems a lot less scary than being out to our parents has been,” Timmy replied.

“Definitely,” Robbie added, an’ then continued, “By the way, why’d you bring Sandy along? Not that I mind the company… he’s a great dog… but having him with us means having three mouths to feed, and we can’t exactly go very far. We can’t ride our bikes, or take a bus or even hitchhike with him along.”

“I know,” Timmy answered. “It wasn’t my idea to bring him… I tried getting him to stay but he just ran out in front of me and started barking. Obviously, he understood I was leaving and wanted to be sure I took him with me.

“Besides, how could I leave him behind?” Timmy added as he scratched me behind the ears. I loved it when he scratched me behind the ears.

We walked for quite a long time — until the sky was startin’ to get light — an’ then we stopped at the big gas station we sometimes go to. Timmy stayed with me an’ watched Robbie’s backpack while Robbie went inside the store. A short while later, Robbie came out carryin’ a couple bags of stuff.

“They don’t exactly carry camping rations,” Robbie said, “but I got us enough to get by for a few days. I bought several bags of trail mix, ’cause it’s lightweight an’ filling. I got some cans of tuna for the protein, some string cheese ’cause it’ll keep, a couple bags of M&Ms to have something sweet an’ a bottle of vitamins ’cause we won’t be getting fresh fruit for a while. I also got some dry dog food for Sandy,” Robbie added as he scratched me behind the ears. “Sorry, but I didn’t get us anything to drink. Soda’s expensive and we can always refill our canteens in any public restroom.”

Just after Robbie put his backpack back on an’ we started walkin’ away, a car with flashin’ lights pulled into the station an’ stopped right in front of us!

“Fuck,” Robbie said quietly.

“You got that right,” Timmy added.

A man an’ a woman, both of them dressed in black, got out of the car an’ came right to us. The man started talkin’, sayin’, “It’s a bit of a long walk to the nearest hiking trail, boys. Would you mind telling us what you’re really up to?”

Sighin’, Timmy answered, “I don’t suppose you’d believe us if we told you we’re going camping, but that’s what we’re doing.”

Smilin’ an’ shakin’ his head, the man asked, “At five in the morning? I don’t think so. The gas station attendant thought it a bit suspicious too and gave us a call. And besides, we got a call about a couple of runaways. So I take it one of you is Timothy Warren and the other is Robert Goldstein?”

“I’m Timmy… er, Tim,” Timmy answered.

“And I’m Rob,” Robbie added.

“And who’s this?” the woman asked as she petted me on the head. I barked in return.

“This is Sandy,” Timmy said as he crouched down an’ hugged me.

“So… would you like to tell us why you ran away?” the woman asked.

“No ma’am, we can’t,” Robbie answered.

“Boys,” the man replied, “Believe me, we’ve heard just about every reason you can think of for a couple of boys to run away. Kids don’t leave everything they’ve known behind for no reason at all. Little kids sometimes do it for seemingly trivial reasons but teenagers generally have legitimate reasons… not always good reasons, but always important.

“Now the two of you don’t have police records and you don’t look like the kind to be involved with a gang or drugs. So I’m guessing it’s not anything bad either of you may have done. Family Services is going to be involved regardless, so please trust us. You can tell us anything, particularly if you’ve been physically or mentally abused.”

“It’s not that,” Robbie answered. “It’s just that my mom’s gonna send me away. She’s gonna send me to live with my dad in Seattle.”

“Is your dad abusive?” the woman asked.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Robbie replied. “She wants to keep Tim and me apart… and she thinks…”

“She thinks you need a man’s influence in your life?” the man asked.

“Shit, is it that obvious?” Robbie asked in return.

The man looked at the woman — they seemed to be communicatin’ the way us dogs do — an’ then he turned back to Robbie an’ got down at his eye level an’ said, “Believe me, Rob, I know just what you’re going through.

“When I was twelve, I knew there was something different about me… that I wasn’t like all my friends. It took me a while to figure it out but, by the time I was fourteen, I knew I wasn’t attracted to girls the way all my friends were. In my case, it wasn’t my parents that were the problem, however. It was me. I just couldn’t accept it. I’d always wanted to be a cop and I was pretty sure there were no gay cops… so I pretended to like girls.

“I dated all through high school and college and, yes, that included having sex with them. I was using them but, at a fundamental level, I thought I was making myself straight. Then one of the girls I dated told me she was pregnant.”

“Fuck!” Timmy said, an’ then he added, “Sorry.”

“Fuck was right,” the man replied with a wink, an’ then he continued. “The thing was, I didn’t love her and I sure as Hell didn’t want to spend my life with her. I couldn’t spend my life with her. A child needs a loving environment and parents who don’t love each other can’t really provide that. I ended up telling her the truth. I guess you could say I came out to myself as well as to her.”

“So what happened?” Robbie asked.

Laughing, the man answered, “The girl was a gold-digger. She wanted a husband, but not a gay one, and it turned out the child wasn’t even mine. The real father took off.

“After that, I decided I wasn’t going to pretend anymore, even if it meant I couldn’t become a police officer. I joined the GSA at my school and discovered that a lot of the members were planning to go to the police academy. It was a Criminal Justice program, after all. It turns out there are as many gay cops as gay anything and more and more of them are coming out.”

“How did your parents take it?” Timmy asked.

“They had a tough time with it at first but, eventually, they came around, particularly after they got to know my boyfriend,” the man answered.

“My parents want to send me away to one of those camps that claims to make gays straight,” Timmy said with a sad voice.

“Most of those places aren’t as bad as what you read about on the Internet, but they still do more to mess up peoples’ lives than anything,” the man replied. “Making a gay person straight is impossible and, fortunately, CPS views this sort of thing as abuse. Like it or not, you guys are way too young to live on your own. The best thing would be for your parents to come around… and most eventually do… but if they ever threaten you, feel free to call me anytime, day or night.” The man then handed Timmy an’ Robbie a small, stiff piece of paper an’ they smiled at him.

“Come on, let’s get you boys home,” the woman added, “and we’ll do everything we can to help your parents deal with it.”

The ride back to Timmy’s house was kinda fun. Timmy an’ Robbie an’ me got to ride in the back seat an’ the man an’ woman showed us all the cool stuff they had.

When we got to Timmy’s house, Timmy’s mom threw open the door an’ ran up to us, throwin’ her arms around Timmy an’ cryin’, “I’m so sorry, Timmy. I’m so sorry.”

“But I’m the one who ran away, Mom,” Timmy replied.

“I know, and now I think I understand why,” Timmy’s mom answered. “Dad and I heard Sandy barking and it sounded like he was outside. When I got up to see what was going on, you were nowhere in sight. We called Robbie’s mom and, when she checked, we found that Robbie had run off too.”

Robbie’s mom rushed out the door too an’ was huggin’ Robbie, an’ she added, “We called the police and then I rushed right over. After the police took our statements, The Warrens started talking about what they planned to do to help Timmy. They showed me some of the stuff they’d found on-line but then I suggested looking up reviews to see what the parents who sent their kids there had to say, and what the boys who’d actually been there had to say.”

“When we read the reviews people posted, we discovered the truth,” Timmy’s mom added. “The parents were disappointed in the results and the kids reported horrors I don’t even want to think about.”

“We started looking up all sorts of stuff about gay teenagers on the Internet and, well, we learned a lot,” Robbie’s mom continued.

“Most of what we thought we knew was just plain wrong,” Timmy’s dad added as he came up to us. “Most gay teens go on to become well-adjusted members of society. The majority of them settle down with a partner, just like straight people do, and more and more of them are indeed raising families.

“I didn’t want to have a gay son but I learned tonight just how much I’d rather have a gay son that no son.”

The man in black handed Timmy’s mom an’ dad an’ Robbie’s mom those small stiff pieces of paper an’ he said, “Like I told your sons, feel free to call me any time. And my boyfriend and I would be delighted to have them over for a barbecue or something.”

“You?” Timmy’s dad asked.

“Like you said, most of us are well-adjusted members of society,” the man answered.

We all went inside an’, after a while, a woman showed up an’ she asked a bunch of questions. After everyone left, Timmy an’ his mom an’ dad spent a lot more time talkin’ to Timmy an’ I got just plain bored. I din’t really understand what happened that Timmy an’ Robbie left home like that. People are so strange — they do a lot of things that don’t make any sense!

With nothing better to do, I headed up the stairs to Timmy’s room, jumped up on the bed, turned around a few times an’ settled down to take a nap.

I was having the most bizarre dream. More of a nightmare, actually. I dreamt that my wife was waiting at a bus stop. She appeared to be very young — perhaps even younger than she was when I met her. There was someone else waiting at the bus, too — a man, I think, but I couldn’t make out his face at first, and even when I could, it wasn’t one I recognized. My wife kept looking down at her watch the way she always did when she was late for something, and she was reading a newspaper.

In the background, I could hear the wailing sound of police sirens — many sirens. The sound was getting louder and louder. Suddenly from out of nowhere, a red Porsche came barreling around the corner, chased by the police cars. The Porsche veered to the side as it rounded the corner, and then careened out of control, slamming right into my wife.

I awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. My heart was racing.

“David, are you alright?” I heard the sound of a man’s voice. What the Hell? “Are you OK, honey?” the man asked again.

Slowly and nervously, I looked to my right and found a middle-aged man looking back at me from the other side of my king size bed. What was a man doing in my bed, and where the Hell was my wife?

‘What the fuck?’ I thought to myself.

I wracked my brain trying to remember if there was anything unusual about last night. As far as I could remember, it was a normal weeknight, and we hadn’t been out drinking or anything. We didn’t use drugs at all, so I was stone cold sober — I was sure of that. I remembered going to bed with my wife last night and making love to her, so what the Hell was going on?

“David? Come on, you’re scaring me,” the man said.

He was really quite handsome. He had short, straight grayish blond hair that framed the most angelic face. He had piercing blue eyes and although he appeared to be about my age, there was hardly a wrinkle on his face. He had a sexy mustache that was slightly darker in color than the hair on his head.

His chest and abdomen were well-defined, and there was a small patch of hair between his pecs, as well as a thin treasure trail leading down from his navel. As my eyes traveled further downward, I saw that the sheets were pulled back so that his left thigh was fully exposed. I could just see the base of his penis, which was broad and crowned by a thick patch of light brown pubic hair.

He was a very sexy man, I thought to myself, and seeing him there in my bed, nearly fully exposed, my own cock began to spring to life, tenting the sheets that were barely covering it. When the man noticed this and saw where I was staring, a smile took over his face.

“Why didn’t you say you were in the mood for a little fun?” he asked as he gave my cock a playful squeeze through the sheets.

When he put his hand where only my wife had touched me before, I reacted by pulling away. I literally lurched backwards and fell out of bed in the process, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“David, what’s going on?” He said again. “You’re scaring the shit out of me. Are you having a stroke or something?”

“Who — who are you?” I shouted out, panic stricken, “and — and where’s my wife?”

“David, you need to stay still. Just lay back down on the floor and I’ll call an ambulance. Everything’s going to be alright, honey.”

There it was again. He called me ‘honey’ Who the fuck did he think he was, calling me ‘honey’?

“Who the FUCK are you?” I shouted at him. “What did you do with my WIFE?”

“Calm down, David,” he said. “We’ll get some help. Everything’ll be fine.”

“No it won’t be!” I said and I leapt to my feet, grabbing a pair of boxers from my bureau. I wasn’t about to confront this total stranger in the nude — never mind that he was nude himself. My erection was gone now, but I couldn’t help but notice how physically beautiful he was. He had a perfect, seven inch circumcised cock. Even in my near-panicked state of mind, I thought about how I wanted to touch it, to hold it and to — do more, but for God sake, I’m a married man!

Was this a practical joke being played on me by my wife? No — it wasn’t like her to do something like that, and she would never let someone else talk her into it.

The man reached into my wife’s bureau and pulled out a pair of bikini briefs which he put on. What the HELL? What were men’s briefs doing in my wife’s lingerie drawer, and how did he know to find them there?

I opened our closet door to grab some more clothes, but stopped dead in my tracks. Instead of seeing my wife’s clothes taking up about eighty percent of the space, with my clothes tucked into a small corner of the walk-in closet, my clothes were spread out, taking up fully half, and there were other men’s clothes that I didn’t recognize, taking up the other half. I saw suits and sport coats I’d never recalled buying. There were shirts and slacks and ties that I would never have considered for myself, but somehow I inherently knew they would look great on the strange man I’d woken up to find in my bed.

Up until that moment, I’d thought there had to be a logical explanation for why a man was in my bed instead of my wife, but confronted by a world that had changed — somehow being fundamentally ‘altered’, my mind raced in circles trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. The room started to spin around me as it slowly faded to black.

I had no idea how much time I’d been out, but slowly, I started to come to. I heard a voice calling out to me as if from the other end of a long tunnel. “David? David, wake up,” it said. “Come on, David. You’ll be fine, honey. I’ve called for an ambulance. Now please wake up.”

I opened my eyes to find that handsome face peering down at me, showing obvious signs of concern. “Oh thank God,” he said when he saw that my eyes were open.

“Who — who are you?” I asked the man again.

“Jeff. My name’s Jeff — You don’t remember me?”

“Jeff? — hmm,” I said, not familiar with his name. “No, I don’t remember you.”

Slowly, I got up off the floor and sat back down on the bed. “I — I went to bed last night at around ten o’clock as I always do. My wife of the last twenty years — Mary, joined me in bed. We — we slowly made love to each other before we turned out the lights. What — What the hell happened?”

Jeff looked blankly at me with an expression that bordered on shock.

“Just before waking up,” I continued, “I had a strange dream. I dreamt that my wife and another man were waiting at a bus stop. She was young — even younger than she was when we met.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, I kept my eyes focused to a spot on the floor in front of me, still feeling uncomfortable with the presence of the man sitting beside me. As I related the dream, I could only give the odd nervous head-jerk in his direction. “The man I saw in my dream looked like a younger version of you — In fact, I — I know this is going to sound strange to you, but I’m pretty sure he was a younger version of you.

“Anyway, I heard police sirens in the background, and then suddenly a red Porsche came out of nowhere and plowed into my wife, killing her instantly. That’s when I jolted awake and sat up in bed.”

“I remember that!” Jeff said. “It happened so long ago, but I’ll never forget that day. I was on my way to a job interview when the accident occurred. I could literally feel the heat of the Porsche’s engine as it narrowly missed hitting me. I was so shaken up, I had to be taken to Emergency and given tranquilizers.

“I did end up getting the job anyway when I was interviewed the next day. They were very understanding. I had nightmares about that event for several years afterwards, though.”

“Wait a minute!” I suddenly exclaimed, looking directly into his eyes. “I remember my wife having nightmares when I met her. She told me about seeing someone die right in front of her, but she didn’t want to talk about it. All she said was that a man was killed right in front of her eyes, and that she’d stared death down herself.”

“David — this is just too weird,” Jeff said. “It’s — it’s like an alternate reality or something.”

An alternate reality — was that what this was? But such things didn’t really exist, did they? I remembered reading about such things, but that was the stuff of science fiction, wasn’t it? I remembered watching The Twilight Zone as a kid, and watching Star Trek growing up. These sorts of things didn’t really happen, did they? But if this wasn’t an alternate reality, what was it?

I was stunned. It was as if my life — the one I’d lived for the last twenty years, never happened. That was the only thing I could think of, but surely I couldn’t have imagined the whole thing, and what was I doing living with a man?

Well, that wasn’t so difficult to explain. Even when I first met my wife, I knew I was more attracted to men than to women. In retrospect, I’d probably known since junior high, but I’d been in denial nearly all my life.

When I first met my wife, she swept me off my feet and I fell in love on the spot. We had passionate sex that night and I’d never felt dissatisfied with the sex I had with her ever since. Our love only grew from there and I loved her dearly. She was my soul mate. I occasionally wondered about the path not taken, but my wife’s love more than made up for the sexual gratification I might have had with a man, and so I’d never looked back — until now.

So, yeah, I was more gay than straight, and had even come out to my wife a couple of years ago. All-in-all, she took it very well. She loved me as much as I loved her and neither of us could even contemplate life without the other. I assured her I would never seek a relationship with a man, and that was good enough for her.

But now, it appeared, I was living in my house with a man who called me ‘honey’.

“Let’s get you dressed before the ambulance comes,” Jeff said, bringing me out of my reverie. He grabbed some casual clothes out of my bureau, just where they were supposed to be, and helped me into them. Then he went to my wife’s bureau and pulled out some casual men’s clothes for himself. More men’s clothes in what was supposed to be my wife’s bureau!

“David,” he said, “we need to get you downstairs.” He took my arm and led me down to the family room. The furniture was all the same, but there were subtle changes. For one thing, the whole place had a slightly more masculine feel to it. The window treatments were slightly darker in color, and there were fewer ‘feminine’ touches to be found. I couldn’t really put my hand on what those touches were, but I could tell that no women lived here.

It was then that I noticed the pictures. Where there should have been a large photo of me with my wife in our cabin in the Adirondacks, hanging over the fireplace, instead there was a picture of me with Jeff in the same cabin.

Just then, there was a banging on the door. Before he went to answer it, Jeff said, “We need to get you checked out. This really could be a stroke or something, but I don’t want them putting you in a psych hospital. The one thing I’m sure of is, you’re not crazy.”

“You don’t think so? ’Cause even I’m not so sure.”

“Honey, I know you, and there’s nothing you’ve done to make me think you’re insane. Weird — yeah, well, that’s nothing new, but you’re not insane. When they ask what happened, we’ll tell them something about losing your memories and having difficulty standing and walking, but whatever you do, don’t tell them you think you’ve been married to someone else for the last twenty years.”

Jeff opened the door and told the EMS crew what had happened — that I woke up confused and had difficulty remembering what had happened the last few days, and then had difficulty walking.

They loaded me onto a stretcher, and Jeff assured me he’d meet me at the hospital. The drive took perhaps only twenty minutes, but it seemed like an hour. When I arrived, I was wheeled into a small room and a woman who identified herself as the triage nurse asked me some questions and briefly examined me. She shone a light in my eyes, asked me to smile and then to stick out my tongue, and arm-wrestled with me. After poking me with a pin and testing my legs, she told me it didn’t seem like I’d had a stroke and it was too late to use clot-buster medications, even if I’d had one, but they’d do a CT scan, just in case.

They moved me to another room, where I got bored laying down, so I paced for a while before Jeff finally caught up with me. “I’m sorry, David,” he said. “They told me they were taking you to St. Vincent’s, but when I got there, they had no record of you. Apparently, they were full and diverted you here, to Methodist instead.

“Anyway, how are you feeling?” he asked.

“OK, I guess.”

“Are they done with you, yet?”

“They haven’t even started with me,” I answered. “The nurse who checked me in told me it didn’t sound like a stroke, and she told me it was too late to use any drugs if I did have a stroke, but that’s it — I guess it’s not much of an emergency once they decide there’s nothing they can do.”

“Well, it’s better to be safe than sorry. We’ll get you checked over, and then we’ll figure out where to go from here.”

“In a way, I almost wish it were a stroke. At least we’d have an explanation that made sense,” I said. “The alternatives — are just too hard to — comprehend.”

“I know what you mean. I know you’re still my David,” he continued, lowering his voice, “but if you did somehow materialize from a different reality or something from that dream, then you’re not the David I’ve known for the past twenty years. You’re the same to me, but different. We’ve lost those years together. It would mean starting over. I’m a bit — bewildered.”

“How do you think I feel? Not only are you a total stranger to me, but the love of my life died in that dream last night. I may never see her again,” I said as I started to cry.

Jeff reached out to me and grabbed me in his arms. I ended up crying on his shoulder. As strange as it seemed, I felt as if I’d known him forever. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt safe in his arms. As luck would have it, it was at that moment that the doctor came to examine me.

Jeff stepped out while the doctor poked and prodded me, and asked me a bunch of stupid questions. True to my agreement with Jeff, I told the doctor I couldn’t remember anything that had happened over the past few days. I didn’t tell him anything about being married and having some other existence.

The doctor ordered a bunch of tests and a nurse came in and drew some blood. Later, I was wheeled to radiology, where I underwent a CT scan of my head. It was nearly dinnertime by the time a different doctor came in to see me. By then, I was starved — I hadn’t eaten all day. I marveled at the fact that Jeff had gone the entire day without food, too. Only love could explain him doing that.

When all was said and done, other than my blood pressure being a little high, which was understandable under the circumstances, they could find nothing wrong with me. My CT scan was perfectly normal and all my other lab results were picture perfect. I was told to make an appointment to see my primary doctor within a week, and that was that.

In celebration of my clean bill of health, Jeff took me out to one of his favorite restaurants — a Chinese place that was also a favorite of my wife and mine. Over dinner, we talked about the situation.

“Jeff,” I started, “like you said back at the hospital, I’m not the same guy you’ve known for the past twenty years.”

“God, this is all so strange,” Jeff said, seeming to be on the verge of tears.

“I know that you’re not quite the same as my David, even though you look like him and talk like him,” he continued his reply, “but whether it’s because of an altered reality, a parallel universe, or something else entirely, you are still David I’ve loved for the past twenty years. Just because you have no memories of me doesn’t mean I have no memories of you. It may have been a different you, but I’m willing to bet that you have exactly the same interests and tastes as the David I’ve known all these years. I’m also willing to bet that, given the chance, you’ll make all the same choices that he would under the circumstances.

“I may not understand what’s going on, but I can almost sense that there’s another David somewhere who’s sitting in that very chair at this very restaurant, talking to a very confused woman, who’s sitting in this very chair instead of me. I can sense that the conversation they’re having is nearly identical, even though I’ve never met — what was her name?”

“Mary.”

“Even though I’ve never met Mary before. Perhaps she is my psychological twin and perhaps that has something to do with why this exchange took place, but know this, David,” he continued, “whether or not this switch is real or imagined — whether or not it’s permanent or temporary, there’s someone here who loves you and will always love you. Sure, I want my David back, but you’re every bit the same David I’ve loved all these years, even if you can’t remember our life together.

“Know this too — that as long as you’re here with me, I will love you every way that I can. I know you must grieve your Mary just as my David would grieve me, but you fell in love with me once and you’ll fall in love with me again. Until that time, I won’t push you nor will I expect anything of you. Take your time, and when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“Wow!” was all I could say. The thought of these intertwined personalities was difficult to comprehend, but the one thing I didn’t doubt was the sincerity in Jeff’s voice.

“Jeff, I do trust you — I’m not sure why, but I do. However it’s going to take me time to accept all of this — and I’m going to have to do some research. I need to take things slowly. For the time being, however, I’m not going anywhere — I — I don’t think there’s anywhere I can go — and until we know what happened, we’d better stay together.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that evening was the start of a new relationship for me and the re-budding of a relationship for Jeff. Together we did some research, and armed with information I gave him about Mary, Jeff was very quickly able to verify that she was indeed the woman who was killed that day at the bus stop. He confirmed everything I’d told him about her. He even managed to track down some of her childhood friends and confirmed some of the more embarrassing stories she’d told me about her growing up. No one else knew those stories.

For my part, I knew that what was happening to me couldn’t be unique. There had to be other cases of people going through what I’d gone through. I started by searching the psychiatric literature.

There were several cases like mine reported and the consensus seemed to be that a traumatic event triggers an old suppressed memory — one so horrible that the mind literally creates its own fabrication of the past. In other words, the brain literally rewrites its entire past memories or a period of its memories in order to avoid dealing with something it can’t comprehend. In most cases, however, the subjects were otherwise well-adjusted, highly educated people like me. They had no reason to be delusional, and the fabrications were often far more detailed than one would expect from a simple delusion.

Well, that certainly fit my situation. No amount of psychiatric mumbo-jumbo could explain how I was able to recall vivid details about an individual I had supposedly never met. I knew things about her past that no one outside of her immediate family could have known. The mere idea that I had fabricated an entire twenty years of life with a complete stranger was just too hard to fathom.

But if the life I remembered wasn’t a fabrication, then what was it? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I’d really lived those years — years with a woman who’d been dead for more than two decades — at least in this reality.

After much reading, I came across a book written by a physicist, Dr. François DeCamp. Dr. DeCamp had been through an experience not unlike mine and had sought out others in similar circumstances to gain a greater understanding of the phenomenon.

In his book, he documented dozens of occurrences in which the plausibility of an alternative individual history could be confirmed — which in my opinion was the major strength of his work — that in each case he studied, the individuals and events experienced in the alternate reality could be traced.

DeCamp found a number of similarities among the cases he studied, and it was these similarities that grabbed my attention. Firstly, in each case the subject woke up to their new reality after dreaming about an event they never witnessed, but that had actually happened. Secondly, the event included a random occurrence — there was a chance of two or more roughly equivalent outcomes. Finally, the outcomes had minimal impact outside of the person whose reality changed.

After reading Dr. DeCamp’s book, I resolved to contact him myself. Whereas his book might explain how I got here, it didn’t explain why, nor did it tell me if I was here permanently, or if the realities might cross again. I was very much fixated on finding a way back, even as I was becoming closer and more intimate with Jeff.

“You look perplexed,” Jeff said one evening as we sat up in bed late one night, reading.

“I’m sorry, Jeff, it’s just that I’m not used to all this,” I replied.

“You mean living with a man?”

I nodded my head, but quickly added, “but it’s more than that, Jeff. I could easily live with someone like you for the rest of my life if I’d never met my wife. I don’t have a problem with being gay and out, but there’s a whole other life I experienced and I still really miss it.”

Jeff and I had been intimate for a couple of months now and although a small part of me felt guilty — that I was cheating on Mary, somehow I knew that she would understand — and approve.

“Let me see if I can help take your mind off of that,” Jeff said as he set his book aside.

Jeff leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I responded by pulling him into me and the kissing became increasingly passionate. Our hands roamed all over each other’s bodies as we explored with our hands, our lips, and our tongues.

Before the evening was over, Jeff was buried deep within me. As his deep, slow and steady thrusts became more and more urgent, my moaning became louder and more frenzied. I spent myself between our bodies as Jeff came deep inside me. I still couldn’t get used to the fact that I enjoyed being a bottom. I would never have expected it. After all, I could have never bottomed for my wife, yet here I was doing it regularly with a man who was becoming increasingly more important to me — a man I was coming to love.

As the weeks passed, I became more resigned to the idea that I was stuck in this reality for the rest of my life — not that it was a bad thing — it just felt that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

Finally, after weeks of trying, I managed to reach Dr. DeCamp. It was early in the morning when his call came through. I was in the shower at the time and Jeff picked up the phone. I was singing my lungs out, scrubbing myself down when there was a banging on the door. Jeff barged in and said, “Honey, it’s Dr. DeCamp, calling from France!”

I took the cordless phone from Jeff and spoke to DeCamp, dripping water all over the bathroom floor. After I finished my conversation, I hung up the phone and proceeded to clean up the mess I’d made.

“Well?” Jeff asked.

“DeCamp would like to come here to personally interview us,” I answered in a rush. I was so excited! “He’ll arrive here next Friday and spend the weekend with us. He asked if we would mind if he stayed in our house. I hope you don’t mind, but I said yes. He wants to spend as much time with us as possible — to get to know us thoroughly. He wants to see how we relate to each other, day and night.”

“Really?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, it seems that my situation is the first he’s ever come across in which there was a change in the gender of the partner.” DeCamp wanted to study us as a couple, while I got the answers from him that I sought.

I was very nervous that Friday evening as we waited for our guest at the airport. I had no idea what to expect and waited anxiously as each person came out of Customs at International Arrivals. I held up our makeshift sign. After what seemed like hours, a rather young man who couldn’t have been older than thirty approached us.

“David, Jeff?” he said. “Is it OK if I call you by your first names?”

“Of course,” I replied. “By the way, I’m David, and this is Jeff, and I presume you’re Dr. DeCamp.”

He laughed and said, “Whatever you do, please don’t call me ‘Dr. Decamp’. I’ll have none of that crap from now on. Just call me ‘Frank’ — it’s a lot less formal than ‘Dr. DeCamp’, and for you Americans, it sounds a lot less stuffy than ‘François’.”

“Sure thing, Frank,” I said as Jeff and I grabbed Frank’s luggage off the luggage cart. “You know, you’re not at all what I expected…”

He chuckled and said, “No one expects the eminent Dr. DeCamp to be a young kid of 29. I was working on my doctorate in particle physics at CERN when my shift occurred. As you probably remember from my book, I went to bed one night, snuggling up with my grey cat, Effie, and woke up the next morning with a calico cat on my bed. Now this may not have been as big a deal as going to bed with a woman and waking up with a man, but it still scared the shit out of me.

“I was going to put up posters offering a reward for the return of my lost cat,” he continued as we loaded up our car, “but when I went to my computer to retrieve some pictures of Effie to print out, in all of the pictures I had of Effie, she was a calico. All of the poses were identical — she was just a different cat than the one I thought I knew.”

“You must have thought you were crazy,” I said as I opened the front passenger door for Frank and let him get settled inside. Jeff sat in back, and I sat in the driver’s seat.

Once we’d exited the airport complex, Frank continued, “You have no idea. At least in your case, the difference was so striking that you couldn’t help but challenge reality. In my case, the change was rather subtle, and there was no hope of convincing anyone that a change had occurred.

“In the end, I went back to the woman who gave me Effie and asked her if she had any pictures of the other kittens in the litter. Sure enough, my Effie, a grey short haired cat, was among the bunch. I asked her how she had given away the others and she explained that the other kittens went to a single family — the parents had allowed each of their three daughters to choose one kitten.

“It was then that I remembered the dream I’d had before waking up the morning of my shift. I dreamt that there was a girl who couldn’t make up her mind between taking a grey kitten and a calico. She decided to toss a coin make her decision, and ended up taking the grey one. This is exactly what the woman said had happened. So it seemed I had my very own Schrödinger’s cat.”

“Schrödinger’s cat?” I asked.

He laughed and said, “Sorry, but it’s a common thought experiment that’s often used to demonstrate the bizarre nature of quantum mechanics, which is the underlying basis of modern physics. The idea behind Schrödinger’s cat is pretty absurd, but in a nutshell, if you take a cat and place it in a box, you can’t know if it’s dead or alive without opening the box. Until you do, the cat is essentially in both states simultaneously — it’s both dead and alive.

“Well my Effie is a kind of Schrödinger’s cat. Before the little girl tossed that coin, she was both grey and calico at the same time. If the girl tossed the coin but no one ever looked at the coin, then the uncertainty would have persisted indefinitely. In particle physics, this sort of phenomenon is observed all the time, and it has a name — the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. When applied to multiple realities, I call this the parallax effect.”

“Yes, I read that, but could you explain why you call it that?” I asked.

“Sure,” Frank replied. “It’s like when you look at an object in the distance, and see two images of a closer object — one with each eye. You see two of the closer object because each of your eyes sees the closer one from a slightly different perspective relative to the background.

“In the case of my Effie, the two different cats were simply different views of the same event — a little girl choosing a kitten to keep — viewed from the different perspectives of a coin toss. A slightly different amount of wobble and I ended up with a different cat.”

“But something happened that caused a change in the outcome,” I offered.

“Yes, something indeed happened,” Frank continued. “Something happened that caused the cats to switch places, or so I thought at first. A single change in a ‘quantum event’ and the outcome had been reversed. It was only later that I realized it was just as likely that I had switched places in alternate realities, and not the cat.”

“In the field of Cosmology, there are many, plausible explanations. For example, there are some who propose that each time there is a random event in nature, it actually splits the universe into two new universes — one in which the outcome goes one way and the other in which it goes the other way. Obviously, since there are an infinite number of random events, this ultimately leads to an infinite number of parallel universes. Because some of the random events, however, have the effect of canceling each other out, the number of such universes will never increase nor decrease and the conservation of matter and energy will be preserved.”

“Do you think this is what happens with the parallax effect?” Jeff asked.

Frank chuckled and said “A lot of cosmologists seem to think so, but while it seems plausible when all we’re talking about is subatomic particles, life is far more complex. Perhaps I’m just being chauvinistic, but I shudder at the thought that there are an infinite number of versions of me out there, and I cannot conceive of a process by which all those different versions could be brought into congruence. If there was a random event that led to me having a calico versus a grey cat, what other random event could negate the outcome? The only one I can think of is death, and I don’t even want to think about that.”

“So what do you think happened?” I asked.

Frank chuckled as he started to answer, “You’re going to think this is even crazier, but what I think happens is that only one outcome occurs at a time, but there is a kind of a ‘memory thread’ of the event that propagates forward in time, forever tying the present to the past. It’s as if a ghost universe is created, right alongside the real one. Then for whatever reason, something happens in the present that tugs on that thread, changing the original outcome and with it, the present reality — It’s as if the original outcome never happened.”

“Damn, that’s spooky,” was all I could say as I noticed Frank drifting off out of the corner of my eye. I only knew too well the effects of jetlag from the many trips I’d taken to Europe over the years with my wife. I let him rest for the remainder of the way home, waking him up only as we reached our house. Jeff and I unloaded the car and put Frank’s things in the guest room, and then we left him alone to catch up on his sleep.

“So what do you think?” Jeff asked.

“I think he’s nuts,” I replied. Jeff arched his eyebrows as I continued, “But no one else has a better explanation.”

Just then I let out a big yawn — I guess Frank’s jetlag was rubbing off on me as well, and Jeff suggested we hit the sack since Frank would undoubtedly be up bright and early.

And early he was up, indeed.

Jeff made a wonderful breakfast with an eggs Benedict look-alike for the entrée that substituted a bagel for the English muffin, lox for the ham, mozzarella capped by a cluster of red caviar on top for the egg, and a rich three cheese hollandaise sauce in place of the traditional hollandaise. To say it was very rich was an understatement. Served with side dishes of smoked whitefish, assorted fruits and vegetables, yogurt and espresso, it was a feast for the ages, and not at all unlike something Mary would have prepared.

After cleaning up, we retired to the family room — the one with the picture of Jeff and me in our cabin in the Adirondacks. Frank looked at me with a crooked smile as he looked at the picture hung over our fireplace and I confirmed that the same picture existed in the alternate reality, but with Mary instead of Jeff. Indeed, nearly all the pictures in our house had analogs in the other reality.

The three of us spent the rest of the day going over everything similar and everything different between the two realities. I spoke extensively about my Mary and her traits. I noted, too, some of the similarities between Jeff and Mary — although some of these could be explained by my influence on either of them — in either reality. There were differences as well, but they were so minor as to have been largely irrelevant — they didn’t effect the outcome of my existence or of the universe in any way at all.

In the end, we were left with no clearer a picture than we had before Frank’s arrival. We went out to eat that evening at one of the finest French restaurants in the city. As we finished the meal, Frank amused us by saying, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, guys, but given the choice, I prefer Italian.”

That earned him some retribution the next morning, as he awoke to find a single place setting at the kitchen table along with an assortment of dry cereals and a note that said, “There’s milk in the fridge and Folgers instant on the counter. We’ll get up when we get up. Just thought you’d like to observe us in our natural state.”

But sleeping in was not in the plans, as we awoke to the most amazing aroma, permeating the entire house. Jeff and I put on our robes and headed downstairs to find the dining room table set with our best china. In the kitchen, Frank was slaving over the stove.

“Hi, guys,” he said. “I had to do some scrounging around for proper ingredients, but I think I found enough stuff to make a proper breakfast, instead of the Rice Krispies you guys seem to think is a healthy meal,” he said with a smirk.

What Frank had put together from what we had on hand was amazing, particularly since we’d planned to take him out for Sunday brunch and hadn’t bothered to pick up anything special. From spaghetti, eggs, butter, milk, cream cheese, mushrooms, bell peppers and bacon bits, he made a carbonara that was unbelievable.

After we’d cleaned up, Frank sat down with us and discussed what he thought had happened to my Mary.

“When you and Mary stood together at that bus stop,” he said as he faced Jeff, “you effectively created a point of spatiotemporal convergence. For reasons we may never understand, the two of you were irrevocably bound at that point. Only one of you could occupy the universe after that point in time, and which one was largely determined by a string of random variables affecting a car crash.

”When the Porsche careened into the bus stop, it could have hit either of you, neither of you, or both of you. If it had hit both of you, the outcome would have been radically different and David would have never met either of you. His life and all the lives they touched would have gone in a different direction and the realities would have diverged.”

In that instant, I experienced what I could only describe as a vision. I pictured myself reading a story in a newspaper about a police chase gone tragically wrong, in which two innocent bystanders had been killed. I then saw myself living today, alone as a very lonely man. My life was empty and I often thought of suicide. And then in an instant, I was back in the present reality. I wasn’t sure if what I’d just experienced was an echo of a reality that never was, or just my wild imagination. I felt so — disoriented.

Frank continued, “Had the Porsche hit neither of you, both of you would have competed head-to-head for the job, and for David. Whichever one lost either or both competitions would have gone on to do other things and touch other people’s lives and, once again, the realities would have diverged. Obviously had either of these situations occurred, there would have been no switch and we wouldn’t be here, pondering the question.

And again, I felt as if I was transported back in time. It was not long after I’d met Mary, and we were making plans for our wedding. As we walked along the street, talking about this and that, I spotted Jeff walking on the other side. Our eyes met, and I had a vague sense of recognition. I was intrigued by this young man and I instinctively knew that he was someone special. Mary asked me what was wrong, and I told her I thought I’d seen an old friend. Somehow, I just knew that Jeff and I were destined to meet.

I wasn’t really paying attention as I crossed the street to introduce myself to him. Suddenly, there was the sound of a loud horn and I turned my head just in time to see a city bus barreling towards me. The bus driver applied the brakes, but there just wasn’t time for her to stop, nor for me to get out of the way. I felt a sickening numbness overtake my body as I suddenly became airborne. I saw more than felt my body slam into the pavement below — it was almost as if I was looking down on my body from above.

I heard Mary calling my name, and I saw Jeff peering over me, but it was almost like hearing and seeing them through a long, dark tunnel. And then, once again, the vision faded and I was back in the present reality.

My mind tried to wrap itself around what I’d just experienced, but the visions lacked the clarity of the dream I’d had the fateful morning of the switch. They seemed more like daydreams — perhaps nothing more than my imagination running wild, but I couldn’t shake the notion that they were the distant echoes of a nonexistent past.

“Honey, are you alright?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit — dizzy. Please go on.”

“So in order for there to be a parallax effect, we are basically left with roughly equal chances of the Porsche hitting Mary or Jeff. The crash split the universe into two realities — one with Mary in it, and the other with Jeff in it. That event constituted a fork in the road of time. Depending on whom the Porsche hit that day, the other one went on to interview for the job the next day, and ultimately met and fell in love with David.

Frank turned to face me and continued, “Your existence and your life with Mary, and alternatively with Jeff, kept the two alternative paths bound together and parallel. Such parallel paths probably exist all the time, but they rarely come to light except for the existence of a pivot point. Again, I can only guess what it is that makes a pivot point, but the fact is that they almost always occur when the person who shifts realities is asleep.

“David, you described dreaming of the car crash and waking up to find your life had changed. This is something that has been reported by nearly all my subjects. My best guess is that there’s something about the unconscious state that allows the brain to interact outside of normal space-time. Through the mechanics of your dreams, you become aware of the existence of an alternate reality.”

Incredulously, I asked, “Do you mean I actually caused the switch?”

“I’m not saying that at all, David, although I cannot entirely exclude the possibility. I’m just saying that your unconscious mind managed to discover the existence of an alternate reality. It’s as if your mind somehow re-randomized the past.”

I was shaking as I asked my final question. I know Jeff could sense it, and he lovingly took my hand in his. “Frank, do you think a person might actually be able to learn how to make reality shift back and forth?”

“That’s something I’m not going to even speculate on,” Frank replied. “We know people can train themselves to control their dreams, and if they could use their dreams to create pivot points at will, the implications could be frightening indeed. In effect, the uncertainty principle could be violated, and I shudder to think about what that would mean for the universe as a whole.”

“But wouldn’t those pivot points still be random?” I asked. “After all, just because you can dream-up the existence of a pivot point doesn’t mean you can control the outcome of a random event.”

“And so the event would remain random, and uncertainty would be preserved!” Frank said, finishing my thought for me. “Of course, you’re right about that. I’m not sure why I hadn’t thought of that. David,” he continued, “You’ve just made my trip across the Atlantic worth far more than you can ever imagine.”

“I’m glad I could help,” I said in earnest, “but it still doesn’t change things for me. I’m not sure if I really want to know if it’s possible to create pivot points at will. Would I take a chance on creating one if I could? If I did make the switch, could I make it back, or would my tampering alter the parallel paths enough to cause them to diverge?”

“A very good question indeed, David,” Frank added.

“And if I thought I could create pivot points, would that only serve to delay my grieving process for my wife and my acceptance of my life with Jeff?”

“Now that,” Frank replied, “is a question for theologians and philosophers rather than for scientists.”

It was not long after Frank’s visit that I started having dreams about the day Mary was killed. It was totally outside of my control and I usually awoke suddenly with the sheets drenched. No matter how hard I tried to put it out of my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about the parallax effect, and I couldn’t stop the dreams.

Jeff and I spoke about it and I could tell he was terribly worried for me — and I knew he could tell this was eating me up inside.

Finally, one night after I had woken up screaming, Jeff said, “David, I love you more than anything. Just know that even if reality switches back and you spend the rest of your life with Mary, I won’t love you any less if it happens because you want it to, or because it just happens. Hell, I’ll have died twenty years ago, so I won’t even know the difference.

“What I’m trying to say is that your happiness means more to me than life itself, literally, and that I don’t want you feeling guilty in the process. So stop fighting these dreams. They’re trying to take you somewhere you’re frightened to go, so don’t be frightened. See if you can control your dreams and, when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

I hugged Jeff tightly as I cried on his shoulder that night. Jeff was truly an incredible man who was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice in the name of love. How many of us could say that?

Although I slept restlessly after that night, the dreams never plagued me the same way. When the dreams occurred, I allowed myself to become aware of them — to bring them into my consciousness. In time, I did learn how to exert a degree of control over them, but they always remained dreams, and nothing more.

But then one night I realized I was in complete control. I could literally see myself looking down on two different realities. Creating the pivot point was easy — it was as if I’d opened a door and walked into the past, but the moment I crossed the threshold, I was no longer in control of events as they unfolded.

When I saw Mary and Jeff together at the bus stop, this time it was real. I could see and feel every detail, down to the color of Jeff’s socks and the scent of Mary’s perfume. It was almost surreal, seeing the two of them together — something I’d never seen in real life. This was in fact, the only time they ever were together, but it was more than twenty years ago!

My heart raced as the seconds ticked away. Neither of them was aware of what was about to happen, even as the sound of the sirens drew near. Seeing them standing there, I realized that I loved both of them equally, but in different ways. Mary truly was my soul mate, and I loved her with all of my heart. Jeff, on the other hand, was very masculine. He was a great lover in bed, but he was also sensitive, and nurturing. What I felt for him was more than just about the incredible sex we had together, but there was genuine affection on both our parts. No matter what the outcome, I would miss either one of them terribly.

Suddenly, a red Porsche came out of nowhere, pursued by several police cars. In horror, I watched as the Porsche veered out of control, heading directly toward the bus stop.

“I’m sure gonna miss this,” Rory said, just before he planted another kiss on my lips. “It’s been so fucking awesome having your house to ourselves every afternoon like this.”
“Yeah, but what can I do?” I asked rhetorically. “Dad’ll be back in town tonight, and when he’s in town, he does most of his work from home. I’ll have absolutely no fucking privacy for weeks — not until he leaves for New York again.
“’Course there’s always your house,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, and my brother and sister, who are constantly dropping in and out of the house with their friends. You don’t know how lucky you are, Jase, being an only child.”
“A father who works from home half the time, and my boyfriend has a younger brother and sister who are always under our feet,” I lamented. “It’s as if our relationship is doomed.”
“I’m just glad you had the balls to come out to me,” Rory acknowledged. “I never would have. I mean, we’ve been like, best friends since we were six and, shit, I’ve known I was gay since I was twelve.”
“It was pretty much the same for me,” I admitted.
“We could have been boyfriends for three years now if either of us had had the guts to come out to the other.”
“At least I did finally get up the nerve to tell you,” I said with a grin.
“Forgetting to erase your browser history did kinda help break the ice,” Rory chided me as he punched me lightly in the arm. “I s’pose you coulda made up some lame excuse, but you didn’t — you came right out and admitted being gay, and I’m sooo glad you did.”
“I’m glad I did, too,” I agreed, and then I planted my own kiss on Rory’s lips, a kiss that soon led to some more serious making out. We’d barely recovered from our last round of making love when I found myself buried deeply inside Rory. Sometimes we’d take turns doing it as much as four times in an afternoon. We just loved each other so much.
We were childhood friends — best friends — who already knew everything there was to know about each other. We both knew beyond any doubt we would spend the rest of our lives together, but for the moment, no one else knew about us, or even that we were gay, and we wanted to keep it that way. This was the Midwest, after all, and even in 2009, Grosse Pointe, Michigan was not the best place to be out.
The past three years, until we came out to each other, had been hell on earth. We’d been best friends for a long time, and practically joined at the hip as our mothers always used to say, but once we hit puberty and I started having wet dreams, I couldn’t get Rory out of my mind. I’d always loved Rory as a friend, but it was when I was twelve that I realized I was in love with him. It almost reached a point where I couldn’t stand being around him — it hurt so much to not be able to kiss him, hug him and, well — do other things.
The sleepovers at each other’s houses were the worst. It was bad enough seeing him changing in gym class in school, but when he stayed in my room in my own bed, wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers, it was shear torture. I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with him and make endless love to him, but of course I couldn’t. The funny thing was that as much as it was torture, if he didn’t invite me as often to his house as he used to, I’d get worried there was something wrong — I even asked him about it. It seems we were both dancing around the same insecurities.
For my own self-preservation, I tried diversifying my sexual interests through the Internet. I read a lot of stories on Nifty and downloaded a lot of porn, but they were a pathetic substitute for what I really wanted.
Yup, the happiest day of my life was when Rory was over at my house a few weeks back, working on a homework project with me, making use of my computer. I guess I’d gotten a bit careless and had neglected to clear my Internet history the last time I’d downloaded porn.
I was looking through one of our textbooks while Rory was on my laptop, getting ready to do a Google search, when he suddenly said, “What the fuck?”
When I looked up, Rory was intently watching a video of a couple of guys going at it - the same video I’d jerked off to the night before. He turned to me with a sheepish look on his face.
“I typed ’g’ expecting to get Google, and hit return, and this is what came up instead. He asked, “Um — is there something you’d like to tell me, Jase?”
Well, I could have made up some excuse about it being an accident and all, but I didn’t. I paused, full of anxiety, before I said, “Rory, I’m sorry if it freaks you out, and I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but I’m gay.” I then swallowed hard and looked at him pleadingly, hoping he didn’t bolt from my room and blab it to the whole school. I didn’t think he would outright hate me — we had too much history together for that — but I knew it could still wreck our friendship, permanently.
Instead of any of that happening, he got the sweetest smile on his face. “You can’t imagine how happy this makes me, Jase,” he began. “You see, I’m gay too, b — but I’ve been scared to death to tell you, ’cause I was scared I might lose you as a friend, and that would’ve been the worst thing of all. The only thing that could make me happier is for you to tell me you like me as much as I like you.”
Like? Man, we went from, like, coming out to each other, to making out, to engaging in a wild, passionate ’69’ within the space of fifteen minutes. Not bad for a couple of virgins! Like? No, it was finding a new way to love my life-long friend.
“So, about tonight,” Rory started to ask as we continued to snuggle in my bed, “your dad comes home, and then tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and he’ll be staying in town, working mostly from home until he leaves the fucking day after fucking Christmas. After three solid weeks of non-stop sex, we’re gonna have to, like practically give it up?”
“I’m sure we’ll find some time when we can be alone,” I tried to reassure Rory, but I knew that what he was saying was essentially true — even if he were to stay overnight, my parents would be in the house. Our chances for any real privacy would be few and fleeting.
“I’m just glad we have as much time together as we do,” I pointed out. “At least there is the half the year that my father’s in New York when we do have the house to ourselves.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Jase,” Rory said. After sharing another passionate kiss, he resumed, “Of course you’re right. We shouldn’t complain. It’s just that you’re sooo damn sexy and for three years,” we kissed each other again, “I’ve admired this hot body of yours, thinking it was off-limits, and now that I can have it all I want,” we shared another kiss, “it seems so cruel that I won’t be able to have it for more than a month.”
“I feel the same way about you, bud,” I admitted, and then kissed him passionately on the lips.
It was during our kiss that I heard the distinct squeak that my bedroom door makes when there is a change in air pressure in the house — a change in air pressure from someone entering the house through the garage. That could only mean one thing, and the implication instantly had my heart pounding in my chest.
“Shit!” I practically shouted, “Mom’s home early!”
“Fuck!” Rory said as he shot out of bed and started frantically searching the floor for his clothes and rushing to put them on. For my part, I was doing the same. I only hoped I was grabbing the right shirt and pants in the process. As I heard my mom coming up the stairs, I very quickly made the bed and did a last-second visual inspection of the room to make sure that nothing, such as a stray sock, was out of place.
She knocked on my door and said, “Jason?”
Opening the door, I said, “Hi, Mom. You’re home early.”
“Yeah,” she said, “with Dad coming home tonight and with the holiday coming up, I thought I’d better take off a little early to clean up.”
Seeing Rory behind me, she then said, “Oh hi, Rory,” and then she burst out laughing. She was practically convulsing with laughter. What the hell was going on?
When I turned around and looked at Rory, I couldn’t help but burst out in laughter, too, but I colored up. Rory’s hair was in complete disarray, and his shirt was inside out and backwards. I could only hope that I didn’t look that bad, but it didn’t matter any more. It was pretty obvious from Rory’s appearance what we’d been up to before Mom got home.
Seeing us laughing, Rory decided to find out what was so funny, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could say was, “Oh shit,” which of course caused my mom and I to laugh all over again.
It was finally with more than a bit of nervousness that I turned around to face my mother. She must have seen it on my face, ’cause she instantly grabbed me in her arms and gave me a tight hug as she rubbed me on the back.
“It’s OK Honey,” she began, “I already knew about your relationship with Rory. If you want to keep a secret like that, you need to wash your own sheets.”
Of course her saying that caused me to turn beet red.
“And Jason,” she continued, “your being gay doesn’t matter to me one bit. You’re a wonderful son, and I love you very much.”
“Thanks Mom,” I said as I hugged her back, and then I asked her, “Does Dad know?”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “That’s not the sort of thing I think he should hear over the phone. I think he should hear it directly from you, and I think you should tell him during this visit, but I’ll leave the ultimate decision to you.”
“Are you gonna tell my parents,” Rory asked with obvious trepidation in his voice.
“Again,” I think that’s something they should hear from you, and I’ll leave that decision up to you, Rory,” my mom assured my boyfriend. I could tell from the look on his face that he was instantly relieved.
Changing the subject, I asked, “Can Rory stay for dinner?”
“If it’s OK with his parents,” Mom answered. “You might want to strip your bed and open a window first, however,” she added. How embarrassing!
As soon as Mom left the room, Rory said, “God, I can’t believe I ’outed’ us like that.”
“You didn’t out us, Rory,” I reassured my boyfriend. “You heard my Mom — It’s entirely my fault for not washing the sheets myself.”
“Geez, Jase, I told you to wash the sheets, didn’t I?” Rory admonished me.
“You did at that,” I admitted, and then wrinkling my nose, I added, “and she’s right, it stinks in here. I can’t believe I never noticed how much it smells after we have sex. I was so oblivious.”
“You and me both, Babe,” he said before giving me a little peck on the lips. Of course, that led to me kissing him back, and pretty soon, we were engaged in a prolonged lip-lock. The sound of a throat being cleared behind us caused us to spring apart faster than atoms in a nuclear explosion.
“Like I said, don’t forget to change the sheets and to open a window,” Mom reminded us before heading downstairs.
“Damn!” I said, “Having my mom know is gonna take some getting used to.”
“Major getting used to,” Rory agreed.
Laughing, I said, “Why don’t you flip your shirt right side out and straighten your hair while I strip the bed?”
“Oh — um, yeah,” he said in the cutest voice.
As I pulled the duvet back and removed it from the bed, I couldn’t help but notice how utterly fucking cute my boyfriend was, with his strawberry blond hair in total disarray, his crystal blue eyes and his shirt inside out and backwards. His lopsided grin completed the picture of perfection. I’d always thought he was adorable, but untouchable, and now — now he was mine.
As he removed his shirt to turn it right side out, exposing his perfect torso in the process, I just about sprang a boner, even though I was still sore from all the lovemaking we’d enjoyed that afternoon. Damn, he still had dried cum all over his chest. He wasn’t the most muscular boy I’d ever seen, and he didn’t exactly sport a six-pack, but he had fairly decent muscle definition and there was just something about him that oozed sex. He was gorgeous.
“Jase,” my boyfriend said, bringing me out of my trance, “do you plan to finish stripping the bed?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I laughed. “I was just thinking about how fucking sexy you are.”
“Not sure about sexy, but fucking’s the right word, all right,” he agreed with a giggle.
“C’mon,” I said, “let’s see if my mom needs some help with dinner,” I said, mainly ’cause I knew from experience, she’d be back for us anyway if she did, and ’cause she tended to be more generous with my allowance when I volunteered. “Don’t forget to call your ’rents to get permission to stay for dinner first, though,” I reminded him.
“And don’t you forget to open the window,” he reminded me, which earned him a throw of my pillow.
It was just as we were finishing dinner that the company car dropped Dad off. As was usual, the only luggage he had was a small overnight bag and his laptop case. Because he had a fully furnished apartment in New York, as well as a full wardrobe there, the only clothes he ever needed to take with him were those he wore on his back, no matter how long he stayed.
Yeah, our household arrangement was unique, but we lived well and Mom and Dad seemed to be happy, so who was I to complain? Mom and Dad met while they were students at the University of Michigan. They both grew up in Detroit and, with many friends and their families here, wanted to remain in the area after graduation.
Trouble was, while they both got great jobs, my father’s company had its main office in New York City, and it was made clear from day one that he’d have to split his time between Detroit and the ’Big Apple’. The pay was phenomenal, so it was an offer that was pretty hard to refuse. It was more than enough to pay for a large house in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Detroit, and an apartment on Central Park West in Manhattan. The other cool thing was that even though he physically had to be in each of the two cities much of the year, he could handle most of the work from home.
Dad was always spending a month here, and then a month there, or two months here, and then two months there, and so on. We didn’t particularly like the arrangement, but we were used to it, and it did have the silver lining of giving Rory and me some privacy.
“Hey, Dad,” I said to my father, once he’d had a chance to set his stuff down. “How was New York?”
“Hi, Jase,” Dad said as he came up behind me and gave me a quick half-hug to my torso while he kissed the top of my buzz-cut. Geez, did he have to do that in front of Rory? “New York was New York,” he answered. “Same city, same chilly, rainy, late November weather.”
“Hi, Scott,” Rory said to my father, with a quick wave of his hand between mouthfuls of dessert.
“How’s it going, Rory?” Dad asked. “How’s school treating the both of you?” he went on to question us.
“School’s school,” I answered, making a play on Dad’s answer of a minute ago.
“And you,” Dad said, planting a big, wet kiss on Mom’s lips, “look as beautiful as ever.” How embarrassing to have Rory see that. Yuck!
Laughing, she responded with, “Flattery will get you everywhere. Now why don’t you take off your coat and I’ll get you some dinner?”
“Sounds wonderful,” he answered.
As Dad headed to his study with his overnight bag and laptop case in hand, Rory said, “Well, I prolly should be heading home. My grandparents are coming in from out of town and I really should be there when they arrive.”
“Damn,” I said, “I was hoping we’d have a few more hours at least before you had to go.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’ll be back over for Black Friday,” he reminded me, “and then we can do some serious shopping.”
“God, do we sound gay or what?” I asked my angel in a whisper and with a smirk.
“See you Friday, Babe,” he said one last time as he gave me a peck on the lips before he turned to head out.
Just as he turned, however, we heard my father say, “What the Hell?” from the hallway as he came back into the kitchen. “Did I just see what I thought I saw?”
“Oh shit,” Rory said. Turning to me, “I’m sorry, Jase, I forgot where I was. It’s all still new to me, you know?
“Would you like me to leave so you can talk to your dad in private?” my boyfriend asked.
“No,” I replied, “if you don’t mind, I think I’d like you here for this.”
“In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say, whatever that means,” Rory sighed as he took my hand in his. He was so fucking adorable.
“Dad,” I said as my father took a seat across from the two of us, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’m gay, and Rory’s my boyfriend.”
“Well that’s just fucking grand,” my father said under his breath.
“What?” I asked, looking at my father with a feeling of trepidation I’d never known before. In all the time I’d been alive, I’d never known him to swear. The way Mom had reacted, surely Dad wouldn’t have a problem with me being gay, would he?
“I mean it’s just — never mind,” he finally said.
“What do you mean by, ’never mind’?” I asked.
“I mean that it’s not what I wanted for you, Jase. What did you expect me to say? Did you expect me to jump up and down and shout for joy? Yay! My son’s a faggot. Whoop-de-doo!”
“Don’t you ever call Jase or Rory that,” Mom said in the sternest tone I’d heard her use in a long time.
“It doesn’t matter what you call it, Jen,” Dad countered. “Gay’s fine, but whether you call it that, or queer, or homosexual, or maybe call ’em poofs like the Brits do, it’s all the same thing. The bottom line is that nobody likes them.”
“Scott, Jase is your son, and you’ve known Rory since he was no taller than this table,” Mom admonished Dad.
Looking at her, he said, “You’re right, Sweetheart. It was just a rough flight on top of a difficult half-week. This whole thing was just a shock.”
Looking at me, Dad continued, “Jase, I’m sorry for the way I reacted, but I still don’t like it. I’d much rather you’d be straight. There’s no getting around it. You know your grandparents won’t like it. They’ll like it even less than I do. In fact, I wouldn’t tell them if I were you — ever.
“The bottom line,” he concluded, “is that you are my son, and I’ll always love you, but I don’t want to see Rory around here, period. I know you’re going to do stuff, and you can’t help wanting to do stuff, but I just don’t want to know about it, OK?”
“But Dad,” I said in exasperation, “Rory isn’t just my boyfriend. He’s been my best friend for nine fucking years.”
“Don’t you swear at me, Jason,” Dad scolded me.
“Sorry, but it’s true, Dad,” I reiterated. “Rory and I have been best friends for, like, ever. We study together. At his house, his little brother and sister are always around. Why can’t he come over here to study, like he always has?”
“Because you’re still holding hands,” Dad answered, which caused us to finally let go. “Listen,” he said, “I just don’t think you two can be around each other without acting like boyfriends, and even if you don’t, I’ll know, and I don’t want to be reminded you’re queer. You got it?”
“It’s your loss, Dad,” I wound up saying. “We see each other so little as it is.” Yeah, it was a mean thing to say to my father, but he sure as hell deserved it.
I ended up showing Rory to the door, and then gave him a hug and a long and passionate kiss goodbye, with tongue and everything, right in front of my father. I was steamed, and I’d be damned if I was going to tone it down just because he was uncomfortable with my sexual orientation.
That night, I could hear my parents arguing. It was one of the loudest arguments I’d ever heard them have, and I had little doubt that it was about me. I wasn’t about to apologize for who I was, though. I was just glad that at least Mom was sticking up for me. If she’d been like Dad, I honestly don’t know what I’d have done.
Thursday, Thanksgiving should have been a much happier day, but it was anything but this year. We had a traditional turkey dinner with my grandparents — Dad’s parents, actually — up in West Bloomfield Hills. For the most part, I liked my grandparents, even if they were pretty old-fashioned. My aunts and uncles were there, as well as a number of cousins. All together, there were around eighteen of us, I think.
Anyway, it was during dinner that Grandma Lisa said, “You’ll never believe what I heard the other day, Scott. Did you know that Larry Zimmerman’s son is queer?”
“Really?” Dad asked in seeming surprise, but I could tell that the conversation was prolly making him as nervous as it was making me.
“I know,” Grandma continued. “It’s hard to believe that Little Larry has a queer son. Larry always seemed like such a nice boy. How could he have a queer son? You’d think he’d do something about it.”
Before I even realized I’d opened my mouth, I found myself saying, “What in the world could he do, Grandma? It’s not like he could make his son be straight. It’s not like his son had a choice in the matter.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course he had a choice,” Grandma said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “No one in their right mind would go through being queer unless it was something they wanted.”
Just as I was about to open my mouth, Mom, prolly sensing I was about to dig myself in deeper and deeper, interrupted. “Lisa, that’s absurd. Every study out there says gay people are born that way. Why would anyone choose to be gay when all the peer pressure is for them to be straight?”
“I don’t buy any of that crap about being born that way,” Grandpa Ben broke in. “What’s the point in there being gay people?” he asked. “They don’t produce children — they don’t add anything to society — they don’t even contribute their genes to the gene pool. If being gay were genetic, wouldn’t the trait have been eliminated generations ago?”
“You don’t have to reproduce to contribute to the gene pool,” I countered, “Some of the greatest minds of all time were gay — men like Plato, da Vinci and Tchaikovsky. The genes that gave us those individuals helped society overall…”
“In the time of Plato, they did it with boys and sheep, and that’s part of what led to the downfall of the Empire,” Grandpa interrupted, “and da Vinci was celibate…”
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“He was,” Grandpa continued, “he was a God-fearing Christian, and Tchaikovsky was tortured throughout his life. There’s a fine line between genius and madness. My point remains, however; if being queer’s genetic, why weren’t those genes eliminated from the gene pool a long time ago. It’s not like queers have kids, after all…”
“A lot of them do,” Mom chimed in. “The pressure they feel from people like you to conform to what’s ’normal’ forces them into the closet. A lot of them wind up getting married and having kids, even though it’s not natural for them.”
“Which is my point exactly,” Grandma resumed. “They can be normal, so why doesn’t Larry put his foot down and insist his son stop being queer?”
The conversation was obviously going nowhere, and so we just left it at that.
I told Rory all about the whole exchange the next day as we were tooling around Eastland Center in Harper Woods, checking out all the Black Friday sales.
“So what’d your dad have to say about it all?” Rory asked me as we entered Macy’s.
“He didn’t say anything,” I answered. “He and all the other relatives were silent. The only ones speaking up were me and my mom, and of course my grandparents.”
“That’s your dad’s parents, right?” Rory asked.
“Right,” I confirmed.
“And his sisters and brother, and their children?” Rory added.
“Yeah, my aunts and my uncle, and all my cousins from my dad’s side of the family,” I agreed. “But why do you ask?” I added.
“Must have been hard for a gay boy growing up in that house,” Rory whispered, confusing the hell out of me.
Touching me on the arm, he went on to say, “Listen, we need to talk, but not here. Let’s hit Chili’s, OK?”
“Fine with me,” I answered, “but you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, ’cause you’re not making any sense!”
Once we were seated with our menus and a couple of Cokes, Rory started telling me what was up.
“Listen,” he began, “I need to apologize up front for bein’ so nosy, but I’ve known your dad as long as I’ve known you, and his reaction the other day just wasn’t like him, so it got me to thinkin’. You ever hear the saying, “Perhaps he doth protest too much?’”
“Well, yeah,” I replied, “but I was never sure what it really meant.”
“It means that someone who speaks up loudly against something very often has something to hide. For example, some of the worst homophobes are secretly gay themselves.”
Suddenly, my eyes flew open wide as the implication of what Rory was saying hit me like a ton of bricks. “Shit, Rory, are you sayin’ my dad’s gay? No way!” I practically shouted.
“Hear me out, Jase. I haven’t said that — yet, but naturally, your father’s reaction made me kinda wonder, so I decided to do some checking. You know, a little private-eye work?”
“How the hell did you do that?” I asked, just as our server, a boy not much older than us, came to take our order. I ordered the fire-grilled chicken fajita quesadillas with guacamole, and Rory ordered the fajita trio.
Once our server had left, Rory answered, “Well, first, let me explain a bit more. You know how you hear these stories of men who live double lives — men with two wives — sometimes even two whole families in two different cities. Well, when I got to thinking about it, I realized how easy it would be for your Dad to do that. I mean he lives in two cities, Detroit and New York, spending equal amounts of time in both places, so it would be pretty easy for him to get away with having completely different lives in each city.
“But then I got to thinking, well, what if he’s gay? You yourself told me what his parents are like. He couldn’t be gay in Michigan, so he found a nice woman he liked, got married and had a kid. But then he spends half his life in one of the best cities in the world to be gay, New York — so I got to thinking, maybe he met someone in New York and has a partner there as well.”
Laughing, I said, “You sure have one hell of an imagination, Rory. Sometimes, I don’t know where you come up with these ideas…”
Before I could even finish my sentence, Rory had gotten out a photo of a man, about my dad’s age, and put it on the table in front of me. “His name’s Kevin Langston, he was born in Toledo, Ohio, studied Engineering at the University of Michigan — a bit of a coincidence, perhaps — and he lives at the same address as your dad.”
“Wait a minute…” I interrupted, “how did you even find this guy?”
“Easy,” Rory explained, “I did an address look-up on your dad. I didn’t want to bother you to get his address in New York. I know it’s not supposed to be listed, but for a little money, any information can be had, and you know how generous my allowance is.”
That was true — Rory didn’t lack for anything.
“Anyway,” he continued, “then I did a reverse address look-up, seeing if anyone else could be traced back to that address, and sure enough, this Kevin Langston dude traced back to the same address. So it seems this other guy lives at the same address in New York as your dad.”
“Shit!” I said, just as the dinners arrived. Once the server left, I added a thought. “Maybe my dad took in a roommate. After all, the economy’s not so great these days, and the apartment’s vacant half the year, so maybe he took in a roommate to help share expenses.”
“Nice try, but they’re more than roommates, Jase,” Rory said as he took out another piece of paper and handed it to me. It looked like some kind of legal document.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s a marriage certificate,” he explained, “from Connecticut, from last year. They’re married, Jase. Scott and this Kevin guy are married. Your father is married to two different people, and one of them is a man.”
“Fuck!” was all I could say as I picked at my dinner. It wasn’t just that my dad was gay, but that he was leading a double life. He’d been deceiving my mom and me. All these years, he’d been sneaking away to New York not just for his job, but also to lead another fucking life. Did he even love us? Of course he did, I reasoned in my muddled thoughts. He could have and undoubtedly would have left us long ago if he didn’t, but still, the whole thought of this other, secret existence kinda gave me the creeps.
“So are you gonna tell Jen?” Rory asked.
“I think I have to,” I answered at first. “I mean, my mom has a right to know about this, but it’ll kill her to find out that her husband has been cheating on her all these years, and with a man. It’ll devastate her to find out Dad has another spouse in New York, and a husband no less.”
“Do you think your parents’ll end up getting divorced over it?” Rory asked.
“Shit, they prolly will!” I answered, “And that could be a fuckin’ disaster.”
“How so?” Rory asked. “Once it’s all out in the open, he can go live with his husband in New York, and pay alimony to your mom, so you should be fine.”
“But bigamy is illegal,” I pointed out. “He could lose his job over this, and he could even go to jail. There’s no way we could afford our house without his income.”
“Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that,” Rory said as reality dawned on him. “What about your mother’s job? Does she make enough that you could still afford a smaller place nearby? Property in Detroit’s pretty cheap these days. If you can’t afford Grosse Pointe, there’s always something like Hamtramck.”
“Mom works for GM,” I practically cried. “Every year, we’ve prayed hers wouldn’t be one of the middle management jobs they cut. If she loses her job, the chance of her finding something in her field here are slim to none. We’d almost certainly have to leave Detroit.”
“But you can’t leave Detroit, Jase,” Rory implored me. “Now that we’ve finally found each other, you can’t leave. I love you!”
“I know, Rory, I can’t let that happen, which is why I can’t simply take this to Mom. For better or worse, my parents have to stay together, but I can’t let Dad get away with this, either. He has to be called to task for the deception he’s been pulling on us all these years, and he can’t apply a double standard when it comes to our relationship.”
“So what are you gonna do?” Rory asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something,” I answered.
“Maybe you could confront your dad — and hold the information over his head to keep him from treating you the way he did, ever again — you know?”
“That’s an interesting idea,” I said, almost thinking to myself, but aloud, “but I’d still like the whole thing out in the open, somehow, and yet I want to keep things the way they are.”
Laughing, Rory said, “Shit, you don’t want much, do you?”
“Well, I can’t let him get away with it, but I want things to go on the way they have,” I said again. “I know I’m talking in circles, but if Mom and Dad love each other, if Mom can accept me being gay, maybe she can accept Dad being gay, too. Then if Dad and this Kevin guy are faithful to each other, if Dad’s gay, isn’t it better for him to be married to one guy rather than for him to be fucking around with a lotta guys? I mean, maybe this really is the best arrangement, and maybe Mom will accept it once it’s out in the open and once Dad fesses up, you know?”
“That’s a hell of a lot of wishful thinking, Jase,” Rory chided me.
“I know, but it beats having him lose his job and go to jail, and it sure as fuck beats us losing our home and maybe moving away,” I reminded my boyfriend.
“True that,” he agreed, “but if your Mom’s the least bit vindictive, she ain’t gonna go for it, you know. And what about this Kevin guy?” Rory reminded me. “Who’s to say he won’t want Scott all to himself?”
“But Kevin stands to lose as much as anyone if Dad goes to jail,” I pointed out. “The apartment in New York’s in Dad’s name, right?”
“Actually, I did check on that,” Rory admitted with a little embarrassment, “and yes, it’s still in your father’s name.”
“So if my dad goes to jail, Kevin would be out of a home, too — and he prolly wouldn’t be the type to fall in love with my dad if my dad had left a wife and kid for him.”
“That’s a stretch, Jase, but it might be something you could use to sell your argument,” Rory agreed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” And then I had a true epiphany. “Yes! That’s what I’m gonna do! I’m gonna get my mom and this Kevin guy together and get them to get to know each other, and to like each other, and accept each other, and only then will I allow the pieces to fall in place as to their relationship. Once that happens, I’ll lay out my plan to them both, and we’ll all confront him together.”
“And how in the fuck do you plan to get Jen and Kevin together in the first place?” Rory asked.
“Always the practical one,” I laughed at him. “Actually, I have a plan, but I’ll need your help for it to work. The first step is to make sure they end up in the same place at the same time. We’ll start by making sure we’re all in New York for the Christmas Holiday. You, too,” I added.
“Ohhh,” Rory said. “I think I see how that might work. Your dad could always go back a little early, just before the holiday rather than the day after Christmas, and he could take you and your mom with him.”
“And you too, Rory. After all, I might need you as a moderator,” I explained. “Besides, with four of us, we’ll have to stay in a hotel for the week, cause his tiny apartment on Central Park West isn’t big enough, and that should stop him from making excuses. After all, we know why we really can’t stay in the apartment, but with you along, there just won’t be enough space for both of us to crash on the couch in the living room. That’ll give him the perfect out to have us all stay in a hotel.”
“But after the way your dad reacted to us being together,” Rory asked, “how will he react to the two of us being together with him and your mom on vacation?”
“You leave that little detail to me,” I suggested.
“Oooookay,” he answered.
“The biggest challenge,” I continued, “will be to find a way to get Mom and Kevin together for a prolonged period, and to get them to actually know each other. It has to be something perfectly logical — something they would be involved in, regardless of our meddling.”
“Remember how I mentioned he went to the U of M, right?” Rory asked.
“Well, yeah, as did my Mom and Dad, both,” I said.
“Well there’s your answer. We just need to find an alumni event in New York that would appeal to both of them, but not your Dad. Something involving a common interest of theirs.”
“What’s the likelihood there’ll be something like that going on in New York while we’re there?” I asked in exasperation.
“There doesn’t have to be a real event, Jase,” Rory stated as if it were obvious. “Geez, sometimes you’re so dense. We can create a bogus event and send a spoofed e-mail to both of them for it, and then follow it up with a phone call. We can even send them a fake brochure for the event — with our computers, it’s so easy to make something that looks professional. We can arrange a day and time for the event and when no one else shows up, they’ll start talking, and with nothing better to do, have lunch or dinner together and get to know each other. You see what I mean?”
Grabbing my boyfriend’s hand, I exclaimed, “Rory, you’re brilliant! That really could work. We’ll need a backup plan though, in case our first attempt doesn’t work. In fact, having them bump into each other a few times would help to reinforce their friendship, which would be an excellent thing to have happen. Once they become friends, finding out they have the same husband won’t be quite so traumatic.”
“Oh, I think it’ll still be a shock,” Rory cautioned, “and what if they discover it right away? What if they start showing each other pictures of their spouses in the first few minutes after meeting?”
“That’s a good point, Rory,” I admitted. “I guess I’d better arrange for Mom’s picture folio to disappear from her wallet before the trip, huh?”
“Prolly a good idea,” Rory agreed, “and make sure she doesn’t have any family photos in her phone, either.”
“Good point,” I agreed.
All right, we had a plan — a lot of precise details to work out, but a plan nonetheless.
Although I’d initially thought we had plenty of time to organize our little plot, the reality was that a month was not all that much time to organize something of this magnitude. For one thing, alumni events are usually scheduled many months in advance, and so we’d have to improvise. Convincing my parents to take me and my boyfriend on a trip to New York was also a major challenge, but it really had been a while since my last visit to the city, and eventually they relented. Dad wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having Rory with us, but with both Mom and me working on him, non-stop, he eventually gave in. We’d stay in a suite in the W hotel on Lexington Avenue, which meant that Rory and I would have our own room. Sweet! That part of the plan worked beautifully.
Going back on-line, we discovered that, among other things, Kevin Langston was a member of the Museum of Modern Art. Knowing that Mom had a strong interest in modern art, we checked out the MoMA’s website and found that they had a special exhibition of Monet’s Water Lilies that would be in New York during our upcoming visit. We knew that Mom would definitely be interested in seeing the exhibit, with or without the alumni association, but having a special showing with the alumni would definitely be a bonus that would almost certainly lure her wherever we wanted her to be. The trick was to get Kevin there as well.
Agreeing on a date and time, we put together a very professional-looking e-mail from the Alumni Association, inviting members to a special showing of the exhibit. We chose a restaurant around the corner from the museum as a gathering place from which members would depart at the specified time. All we had to do was to get both Mom and Kevin to sign up. To that end, we sent out the e-mail, spoofing it from a U of M address, and then followed it up with a phone call. Rory made the phone calls, since he had the deeper voice of the two of us and could easily pass for being a university student.
Selling Mom on the event was easy, but Kevin was a much harder sell. After all, he lived in New York to begin with, and was already a member and could go to see the exhibit any time he pleased. Getting Kevin to show up took a little of Rory’s charm.
“Mr. Langston,” Rory said after he’d already run through our rehearsed spiel, “I understand that you could go see the exhibit anytime, but this will be a special tour, hosted by the curator of the exhibit. You’ll get unique, background information you’d never get seeing it on your own.”
“There are similar tours for museum members,” Kevin countered.
“But this would be a great chance to see it with folks from back in Michigan,” Rory shot back. “Who knows, you might see some friends from long ago.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have too many friends from my days in Michigan. The University was great, but growing up in the Midwest is something I’d really rather forget,” he said.
“Oh man,” Rory said with genuine concern in his voice, “I’m so sorry to hear that. I kinda know what you mean,” he went on to say. “I mean, we’re not supposed to talk about our private lives, but I understand New York’s pretty good when it comes to how they treat gay people, so yeah, my life kinda went to shit when my parents discovered I was gay.
“But things are so much better for me now that I’m at the U of M!” Rory continued. “I’ve made so many friends here — friends I know I’m gonna have for life.”
“Randy,” Kevin responded, using the name Rory had given him, “you hit the nail on the head. I’m gay, too, and my teenage years really sucked, but you’re right, the U of M was great. Better than great, actually, and I shouldn’t hold the attitudes of the Midwest against the University, now, should I? All right, you can put me down for the event.”
“Oh, that’s great, Mr. Langston,” Rory said with enthusiasm. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
Another major part of the plan was in place.
For our backup plan, we chose an off-Broadway musical called Convenience about a gay young man coming out to his mother. I knew Dad would have no interest in seeing it, so I talked Mom into taking Rory and me to a matinee performance. Rory told her he’d buy the tickets, as a thank you for us taking him on the trip, but when he placed the order, we made it for four people instead of three.
We sent the fourth ticket to Kevin with a letter on official-looking Starbucks’ letterhead, saying he’d won the ticket in a promotional drawing. We figured he prolly went to Starbucks at least occasionally, so although he wouldn’t remember entering the drawing, he prolly wouldn’t question it, either. To be on the safe side, we requested he RSVP using a spoofed Starbucks website that we set up for him to do so. Fortunately, he responded that he’d attend, so we were all set!
Our back-up plan was in place.
This was sweet. In a matter of days, we’d be having a blast in New York, and we were all set to deceive the deceiver.
As the time got closer and closer for our anticipated departure, however, I got increasingly nervous about our little scheme. I thought about everything that could go wrong — I was beginning to have my doubts.
Maybe I should have just confronted Dad. It would’ve been so much simpler to take the bull by the horns, but then the deception would have continued, and I couldn’t live with that. As much as I wanted things to continue as they were, I’d never be able to face Dad, or even Mom, the same way again, and the thought that I’d be participating in Dad’s deception was too much for me — I could never do that.
Finally, school let out for the winter break, and our trip was upon us. With trepidation, I packed up everything I’d need for the trip — mostly casual clothes, with a sports coat and tie for the fancier restaurants we’d probably go to for dinner on a few of the nights. It was kinda cool to pack a razor kit for the first time in my life. I’d only recently started shaving and even though I really only needed to shave once or twice a week, I felt pretty grown up traveling with the added essentials. I wasn’t a little kid anymore.
There’s no place like Christmastime in New York and we could all feel the energy of the season as we stepped off the airplane on Sunday, December 20. We were spending two full weeks in The City, flying home on Saturday, January 2, with Sunday to recuperate before the start of school on January 4. As is pretty usual from my experience, we were late getting into LaGuardia, but that hardly dented our holiday enthusiasm. The taxi ride into Manhattan was a fairly short one, and in no time at all, we were pulling up in front of our hotel.
Of course Rory and I talked non-stop from the time we left for the airport at home until the moment we arrived at our hotel. Even though we pretty much saw each other every day, we never seemed to run out of things to say to each other. We were just so in tune with one another — after all, we were best friends as well as lovers. We talked about anything and everything — except for our plans to get Mom together with Kevin and then confront Dad. That was something we could only discuss in private.
Our suite at the W Hotel was really pretty cool. There was a living room with a sofa, a couple of recliners and a huge motherfucker of a plasma TV, and there was a full wet bar with a nicely stocked refrigerator and a microwave. There were two bedrooms, each with another flat-screen TV and each with its own bathroom. My parents’ bathroom had a Jacuzzi; ours only had a conventional bathtub, but we weren’t complaining — we had a room all to ourselves, and two whole weeks to enjoy it.
As Rory and I stood just inside the entrance to our bedroom, arm in arm, looking longingly at the queen-size bed, Dad came up behind us and put a hand on each of our shoulders. As if he was reading our minds, he said, “A nice, comfy bed for sleeping, I trust. I realize you probably have other ideas, but keep in mind that Jen and I will be right next-door. We’d better not hear even a peep through the walls.”
Leave it to Dad to spoil the mood. He was right, though — we’d have to be careful to be extra quiet. Rory wasn’t about to let Dad have the upper hand, however, as he said, “Why whatever else do you think we’d do in the bed besides sleep, Scott?” That made both of us giggle, and even Dad couldn’t help but laugh with us. We were two, very horny teenagers, after all.
By the time we got settled in, we were all starving, especially Rory and me, so we dressed up and went out for a nice Sunday dinner at a fancy restaurant nearby. By the time we finished dinner, it was already getting dark outside, even though it was still only four o’clock in the afternoon. We spent the rest of the day window-shopping, and then called it an early night, as we were all pretty tired from getting up early to catch our flight.
When we got back to the hotel room, Dad announced to Rory and me, “Listen, guys. Jen and I talked about this, and we feel that since you’re both nearly sixteen, you’re old enough to get around Manhattan on your own. Hell, Jason, you’ve been coming here all your life, and know the city like the back of your hand, and the last thing you probably want is to string along with Jen and me when you and Rory probably have your own interests, just as we have ours. So we thought we’d let the two of you spend tomorrow and Tuesday out on your own. That is, unless you’d like to tag along with us.”
Wow! Never in a million years did I think my parents would trust us to be out on our own in the big bad city. But then, like Dad said, I knew the city even better than I knew Detroit, and New York was, frankly, a much safer place than back home, even in Grosse Point.
“Thanks for trusting us, Dad,” I replied. “It’s so cool that you’re letting us do that.”
“Just remember that your mom and I are just a cell phone call away, and don’t go anywhere off the beaten path. I want you to stick to Manhattan, and no further north than, say, 96th street. Other than that, you’re free to do what you want, within reason. How’s that sound?” Dad asked.
“Fantastic,” I answered.
“Try not to stay up too late,” Dad admonished us, “you’ll want to make the most of tomorrow, and that means getting up at a reasonable hour. Even so, I suspect Jen and I will be gone by the time you get up,” he laughed. “Here,” he added, taking out his wallet and handing me some cash. “There’s two hundred fifty bucks, which should be plenty for the next couple of days, even if you have to take a cab at some point. Just try to bring some of that back with you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I replied as I hugged him tightly.
“I want you back here by nine tomorrow night,” Dad added.
“But Dad,” I countered, “this would be a great time for us to check out some of the clubs in The Village, and they don’t really get going until ten.”
“I doubt that you guys will be going ’clubbing’,” Dad challenged. “You’re not even sixteen, yet, and you probably won’t be able to get in, in any case.”
Seeing the way Rory and I were both pouting, Dad added, “It’s not even wise for you to be ’out’, even here, but something tells me you’re going to have a hard time keeping your relationship in check in a place like New York, especially if you go to The Village.” Sighing, he said, “All right, you can stay out ’til ten, but no later, and call if you have any problems at all. And if you’re out past nine, promise me you’ll take a cab back to the hotel. I don’t want you taking the subway late at night.”
“We’re not stupid, Dad,” I responded. “Of course we’ll take a cab back if we’re out late, which I’m sure we will be — and thanks again.”
“Goodnight, boys,” he said as he exited our room, “and remember to keep it quiet.”
As soon as he had disappeared down the hall, I closed and locked our door.
“Two whole days on our own!” Rory practically shouted once the door was closed. “That’s fucking fantastic!”
“I especially like the ’fucking’ part,” I added as I turned around and brought my lips to his, encircling his body with my arms. The kiss seemed to last an eternity as our hands roamed freely up and down our backs. Rory was the boy I loved more than anything in the world, and I wasn’t letting go.
It wasn’t long before our clothes lay in a heap on the floor and we were writhing on the bed, our hands and mouths caressing, licking and nipping every place they could reach on each other’s body. I lost track of the number of times we brought each other to orgasm that night as we did our best to keep the noise level down. It wasn’t easy, with Rory being the screamer he is, but we managed to stifle our moans as we sucked and kissed with passion. We, literally, fell asleep in each other’s arms.
By the time we awoke, it was already bright and sunny outside and the hotel suite was quiet. It was already close to ten o’clock! We’d obviously forgotten to place a wakeup call or set the alarms on our cell phones. So much for getting an early start on our first day of freedom.
“Shit, it looks like we’re gonna have to have our clothes pressed,” Rory noted as he looked down at the heap of our clothes on the floor. They were our good clothes, too.
“There’s always a price to be paid, my love,” I said with a laugh, “but maybe next time, we should take a few minutes to hang our clothes up first.”
“No doubt,” my boyfriend agreed, “but last night, we were thinking with our ’little heads’.”
“And I ain’t complaining one bit when it comes to the results,” I said with a smile. “Last night was fuckin’ fantastic.”
“True that,” Rory said just before he covered my mouth with his. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before we both realized we desperately needed to brush our teeth if our making out was going to continue. Besides which, we needed to get going if we were going to make the most of the time we had left.
We settled for getting each other off in the shower as we got ready, and then headed out, stopping at a diner we’d spotted the day before to grab a hearty brunch.
“So watcha want to do first?” Rory asked as we ate.
“God, there’s sooo much to do, it’s hard to know where to begin,” I replied. “We could go shopping — the stores here are second to none — but it being so close to Christmas, they’ll be jammed to the gills. I think it might be best to wait until after Christmas, when everything’ll be marked down.
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” I asked my boyfriend.
“A couple of times,” he answered. “The last time my parents brought us here was when I was twelve, and we only split the week between here and Philadelphia. Most of the time involved going to the usual tourist stops, like Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. We didn’t get to any of the museums.”
“Wow, man,” I replied, “you haven’t seen anything of the city, and it’s been three years since your last visit, too.” Collecting my thoughts, I asked, “Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”
“I definitely want to see some of the museums,” he answered. “You know how much I love the Detroit Institute of Art back home, and who could forget our trip to the Chicago Art Institute — it’s awesome.”
Rory and I are both into art — in fact, Rory had made some really wicked sketches over the years, and more recently he’s done some awesome nudes of me, which I share with no one.
“Perhaps we should wait ’til Wednesday to see the MoMA, since we’ll likely end up going there anyway,” I suggested, “even after Kevin and Mom realize the special alumni tour isn’t taking place. The Metropolitan Museum is second to none, and we could spend days there. It’s usually closed on Mondays, but this being a holiday week, they’re open today — I checked it out on-line before we left — aaand we have a family membership, so it won’t cost us a cent.”
“That sounds wicked,” Rory responded, “but I’d like to leave early enough to do a little clubbing in The Village afterwards.”
“No sweat there, man,” I stated. “The museum closes at 5:30, and then we can head down to The Village and grab something to eat, check out the shops, and then go clubbing.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Rory agreed.
Taking an express bus up Madison Avenue, it didn’t take us any time at all to get to the museum. Rory was totally in awe of the place. It was so much fun to see it with him. In spite of Dad’s warnings, we spent the afternoon hand-in-hand as we toured the permanent collection and a couple of special exhibitions — one celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Robert Frank's influential black and white photographs, The Americans, and the other being an exhibition of carved Chinese lacquer. We stayed until they, literally, were turning out the lights, and both agreed that we’d return the next day, as we’d barely scratched the surface of the permanent collection.
After our afternoon at the museum, we took an express bus back down Fifth Avenue, right to Greenwich Village. By then we were absolutely starving and so we set about finding a nice restaurant in our price range, with a little help from my iPhone and Yelp�. After dinner, we did a little window shopping, occasionally stopping in some of the shops, all of which were open late for the holiday season.
Later, we went in search of a club for teens. Unfortunately, we quickly found that most all of them had a minimum age of sixteen, and they all carded us. Finally, we found one that let us in, since we were nearly sixteen, and it was the holiday week, after all.
Man, did we have a great time! We danced the evening away to the latest Top 40 hits. Just about everyone had their shirts off and, as they say, when in Rome — We both got hit on a lot, but it was kind of fun, dancing with a lot of other teenage gay boys. It felt great to be free and out. When it got to be 9:00, I called Dad and begged him to let us stay out until eleven. Finally, he relented, which was fuckin’ fantastic!
By the time we got back to the hotel, we were way too tired to even think about sex. Rory and I quickly fell into one of the most restful nights of sleep we’d had in some time. It had truly been one of the best days of our lives.
Tuesday was pretty much a repeat of Monday, except we started the day by making love to each other. After all, it had been more than twenty-four hours since the last time we’d had sex, which was way too long for a couple of sex-crazed teenagers like us.
By the time we left the museum at the end of the day, we both felt pretty well satisfied, even though there was still a lot we hadn’t had time to see. If my parents gave us more free time in New York, we were ready to move on to see some of the other great museums the city had to offer.
Our second night of clubbing in The Village was just as much fun as the first, and it left us wishing Detroit had more of a gay scene — particularly one that catered to teens.
Mom woke us up early the next morning at 8:00 — well, it was early for a couple of teenagers on vacation. She felt, and probably rightly so, that it would be a good idea for us to spend the morning at the MoMA in advance of the alumni tour, which we’d scheduled for 1:00.
The MoMA is a really sick museum, and both Rory and I were glad in the end that Mom got us up early enough to enjoy it before lunch. One thing that was really cool is that they have on-line audio accessible via Wi-Fi, which we took full advantage of using our iPhones. There was even a separate program done by teens for teens, which was incredibly sick. Unfortunately, we were both a little nervous the entire time, thinking about what was about to happen. The special part of the plan.
Soon, Mom would be meeting the man to whom my father was married. Soon, my dad’s double lives would come into contact with one another.
At noon, we all headed over to the restaurant where we were supposed to meet for the tour. Mom figured we might as well get our lunch there, since they seemed to have an extensive menu and were reasonably priced. When Mom asked the hostess where the group from the University of Michigan would be meeting, the hostess answered that she wasn’t aware that any group was meeting there as far as she knew. Indeed, she claimed to have no reservation on file whatsoever.
Oops — this was something we hadn’t anticipated. We’d na�vely assumed we’d wait at the restaurant, no questions asked, but Mom was being insistent and she even pulled out the brochure we’d made on Rory’s computer.
Even with printed evidence of the group meeting, the hostess continued to insist that she was unaware of the arrangement and, furthermore, they would never allow a group to convene there for the stated purpose — not unless everyone planned to buy lunch there.
“Well that’s very strange indeed,” Mom pondered with the hostess. “Oh well, let’s get lunch here, and then if no one else shows up by one o’clock, we’ll head over to the museum and see if they know anything about where we’re supposed to meet.” Shit! This was not how we’d planned for things to go.
Mom and Kevin were supposed to strike up a conversation while waiting for the rest of the group to arrive — not to go in search of the group. Murphy’s Law was definitely at work, here.
It was as we were looking at our menus that Mom suddenly called out, “Kevin!” Both Rory’s and my jaws dropped open as we saw the man from Rory’s photo of Dad’s husband approach our table. Double shit! They already knew each other.
“Jen, it’s so good to see you!” Kevin said when he reached us.
“You, too,” she replied as she stood and they kissed each other on the cheek. “What a coincidence to run into you here.”
“Maybe not,” Kevin added. “I’m here for the U of M alumni tour of the special exhibit at the MoMA.
“Same here,” Mom related, “but the hostess didn’t seem to know anything about the group meeting here.”
“That’s odd,” Kevin noted, “the instructions were explicit to meet here. Maybe they get a lot of groups meeting here and she just didn’t know about this one?”
“Not according to the hostess,” Mom replied. “In fact, she said they would never allow a group to meet here unless they were buying lunch. Speaking of lunch, we thought we might as well eat here, and then if no on else shows up, we could head over to the museum and straighten things out.”
“Sounds like a reasonable plan,” he agreed. “Do you mind if I have lunch with you guys?” he then asked.
“Of course you can have lunch with us,” she answered. Turning to Rory and me, she said, “Boys, this is Kevin Langston, a good friend of Scott’s and mine from back in college.” Holy shit, was our plan starting to unravel?
Mom and Dad both knew Kevin from back at the University of Michigan. We’d assumed he and Dad met in New York, and that they both went to the same school was coincidence. Obviously, we were wrong. Well at least we didn’t need to wait for Kevin and Mom to get to know each other, but with them having known each other for nearly twenty years, how would she react to Kevin and Dad being married? And obviously, Kevin knew Dad was married to Mom, and in spite of that, he married Dad. How weird!
“And Kevin,” Mom continued, “This is Jason and his boyfriend, Rory.” What the FUCK? Mom just outed us to Kevin!
I know I was blushing furiously, and I guess Rory was too, as Kevin said, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, guys,” as he pulled up a chair and sat down. “Scott already told me that you recently came out to him, and besides, I’m gay, too.
“So I understand you guys are in town until just after New Years,” he continued. “Scott told me you were planning to go clubbing last night. So did you, and how’d you like it?”
Holy fucking shit! Dad talked to Kevin just yesterday, and Mom was obviously aware of it. This was getting stranger and stranger by the minute.
Regaining my composure, I answered, “Yeah, it took a while to find a club that would let us in, ’cause we’re not yet sixteen, but it was awesome. It was great to be able to dance with Rory out in the open. There were a lot of cute boys there, too. None of them as cute as Rory,” I added, “but nice to look at, nonetheless.”
“That’s sweet of you to say that, Jase,” Rory interrupted. “I think you’re biased, but then I feel the same way about you.”
“They’re adorable together,” Kevin said to Mom, embarrassing the hell out of us. Turning back to us, he said, “It’s really an amazing story. Scott told me all about it, the way you two were best friends for all those years and then finally came out to each other. There’s nothing like true love,” he concluded with a wink.
“I know Scott had a tough time accepting you when you came out,” Kevin continued, “but then you know how homophobic his parents are. Mine weren’t much better, but I accidentally outed myself to them when I was around your age, so hiding in the closet was never really an option.
“My parents never stopped loving me, but from that moment on, they treated me like a stranger in my own home, and forget about having a boyfriend. I wasn’t permitted to hang out with my friends or do anything without parental supervision. It was pretty awful right up until the day I left for college.
“Thank God I found acceptance from the people I met at the U of M, or I’d have been a total basket case.”
At that moment, the waiter came to take our orders, temporarily ending the conversation and leaving me with far more questions then answers. Knowing that Mom already knew Kevin and had for years certainly changed the equation, but I sensed there was more to the situation than met the eyes — much more — and somehow I needed to find out. How could Kevin and my Dad keep their marriage a secret from my Mom when they were obviously in frequent contact? If I were Kevin, I’d never be able to keep up the deception — I wouldn’t be able to look Mom in the eyes without giving myself away.
As soon as the waiter left, I screwed up my courage and decided to engage Kevin in conversation. I had to know more. “So you’ve known my parents for a long time?” I asked Kevin.
“Since my freshman year in college,” he answered. “They’re two of my oldest and dearest friends. They know me better than anyone.”
“That’s cool,” I responded, and then my devious side took over and I asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Actually, I have a husband,” Kevin answered.
Holy shit! What now? I decided to ask more questions. “That’s sweet,” I said. “How long have you been married?”
“We got married just over a year ago in Connecticut, but we’ve been partners for much longer than that,” Kevin replied.
“How did you two meet?” I asked.
With a smile on his face, Kevin replied, “Scott and I met back in college at the U of M. Freshman year. We had a class together, and we struck up a friendship right away. I was very much out at the time, and eventually Scott confided to me that he was in the closet because of homophobic parents, but was very interested in taking our friendship to the next level. Up ’til then, I didn’t even know he was gay! Well the rest is history.”
Realizing that Kevin mentioned my dad by name, I asked, “Scott? Just like my dad’s name?”
Kevin blushed furiously, apparently realizing he’d revealed something he hadn’t intended to, he answered after a pause, “Right, just like your dad’s name.”
Then Mom interjected, “Kevin and his Scott and your father and I have been good friends all these years.”
HOLY FUCK! It suddenly dawned on me that Mom already knew! They’d been carrying on since before I was even born. I was the only one being deceived. But how and why? I had so many questions, but didn’t know how in the hell I’d ever get them answered without letting them know that I knew.
Our meals arrived, and Rory and I ate in silence as Mom and Kevin chatted away, just like the longtime friends they were. Rory was obviously as puzzled as I was, but we couldn’t exactly talk about it with Mom and Kevin at the table. What was going to happen to our plan now?
When the time for meeting with the alumni group came and went, we all left the restaurant and headed to the museum. Kevin took us right to the Membership desk and asked about the tour, and after talking to several people who all said there was absolutely no record of a University of Michigan tour on the agenda, that day or for the entire year, or even next year for that matter. Mom and Kevin both showed them their brochures, but that did nothing to convince them of the legitimacy of the event.
“It must have been cancelled,” Mom said, but then the museum staff pointed out the obvious — that they’d have a record of it if it had ever been planned. “When we get back to Michigan, I’ll look into this,” she told Kevin, and then asked, “Shall we go ahead and see the exhibit, now that we’re here?”
Sighing, he answered, “Why not?” And so that’s what we did — we went to see the exhibition by ourselves, using our iPhones to download and listen to the associated audio program.
When we finished the tour and exited the museum, preparing to go our separate ways, Mom said, “Well, it’s been nice catching up with you, Kevin.”
“That it has,” he agreed.
“Perhaps we can all get together sometime before we head back,” she suggested.
“That would be nice — perhaps we can get together sometime after Christmas,” Kevin agreed.
Just to stir things up a bit, I said, “That would be cool — I’d really like to meet your husband, Kevin. I mean, some day, Rory and I will be getting married, and I’d like to see how things work with a married gay couple.” And with that, I thought, ’Try and get out of that one.’
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” he replied, “but I’d still like to get to know you better, Jason, and you too, Rory. I’ve heard so much about you two, and it’s been nice to finally meet you.”
“It’s been nice to meet you, too,” I agreed.
“You know how to reach me,” he told my mom as we were about to part, but then I did something really stupid. Without thinking I added, “See you tomorrow, Kevin.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I knew I’d really fucked up.
“What do you mean, Jason?” Kevin asked. “Why do you say we’ll see each other tomorrow?” How the fuck was I gonna get out of this slip of the tongue?
And then Rory made things infinitely worse by interjecting, “At the musical tomorrow afternoon.”
“How in crap did you know I’m going to a musical tomorrow afternoon?” Kevin asked.
I was blushing furiously, and when I dared to look, I saw that Rory was too.
“I think I smell a rat here,” Mom said, and then she asked, “Let me guess, Kevin — you’re going to see the off-Broadway musical, Convenience?”
“I got the ticket through a promotional drawing at Starbucks,” he answered.
“By an amazing coincidence,” Mom replied, “we’re going to be there, too. What I’d like to know is how you knew about Kevin being there, Jason, particularly when you just met him today.”
What the hell could I say? I wasn’t about to admit to having pulled off my own deception, but there was no way I could explain it all away.
“It’s all my fault,” Rory interjected. His face was serious — his voice somber. “Please don’t blame Jase — I was just looking for reasons why Scott was so opposed to Jase being gay. I mean it’s not like he’s a religious fundamentalist or anything, so I thought there had to be another reason, and I thought it might be that he was secretly gay…
“But, then my imagination got the better of me, and I wondered if Scott could be leading a double life, so I did some snooping. Using the Internet, I discovered that you, Kevin, lived at the same address as Scott, and I was even able to pull up a marriage certificate to prove that the two of you are legally married.”
“Fuck,” Mom exclaimed quietly, surprising the hell out of me. I’d never heard her use that word before. She then asked, “Why this elaborate ruse? I take it the whole museum thing was just a ploy to get Kevin and me together, but why?”
“I was scared, Mom,” I admitted. “I thought that if dad was a bigamist, he could lose his job, or even go to jail, but I couldn’t just let him go on deceiving you — at least that’s what I thought he was doing. Rory and I came up with this plan to get you and Kevin together and maybe build a friendship, so it would make it easier to confront Dad. I just couldn’t confront him myself. I was hoping we could find a way to keep the status quo going somehow. If Dad lost his job, we might not be able to keep the house, and if we moved, I’d lose Rory.”
At that point, I started to lose it and Rory drew me into a hug and comforted me.
“Please don’t blame Jase,” my boyfriend said. “This really was all my doing. We just didn’t realize that you two already knew each other.”
“Wow!” Mom responded. “We never thought you’d be able to discover what’s going on.”
“Wha — ? What is going on?” I asked.
“It’s a long and complicated story, and I think your father should definitely be there when we tell you. He’s every bit as much a part of it as Kevin and I are. Although, the one thing you don’t have to worry about is Dad going to jail or even losing his job. Your dad and I legally divorced, so that he and Kevin could marry. We didn’t tell you about it, because we didn’t want you to know.”
Tearing up again, I asked, “Does this mean you and Dad are going to separate?”
Pulling me into a hug, Mom answered, “Oh heavens, no. Your father and I love each other, but just not in the way a husband and wife normally would.”
Turning to Kevin, she suggested, “Why don’t we all go out to dinner. I’ll call Scott, and we can fill in the rest of the details for the boys.”
Damn — best laid plans — as they say.
That evening was quite an eye opener. It seemed that my dad knew he was gay when he was growing up, but with such homophobic parents, he wasn’t willing to accept it. He dated my mom, hoping that he could force himself to be straight, and even though the relationship became physical, they both realized that it wasn’t working.
Finally, my dad admitted to Mom that he was gay, and she accepted it and actually talked him into going to some gay events with her and their mutual friend, Kevin. My Dad and Kevin fell hopelessly in love with each other, but then Mom discovered she was pregnant with me, and decided to keep the baby. Dad was thrilled to have a son on the way, because one of the reasons he didn’t want to be gay, was that he really did want children of his own.
In the end, Mom and Dad decided to get married and raise me together, with Kevin living with them as Dad’s lover. Unfortunately when they graduated, Kevin got a job offer in New York that was too good to pass up, but Mom didn’t want to raise a kid in The City. The perfect solution arose when Dad was offered a job that involved working in both New York and Detroit, allowing him to live a double life.
“We didn’t deliberately set out to deceive you, Jason,” Mom concluded as we ate our desserts, “we just thought it would be a lot easier on you if you thought Dad and I were a regular husband and wife. We didn’t want to confuse you, and so we never told you about Kevin.”
“But why did you divorce Mom and marry Kevin?” I asked my father.
Smiling, he explained, “When gay marriage became legal, your mother and Kevin and I decided that I should divorce so that Kevin and I could marry. In getting a divorce, we wouldn’t really be changing anything about your mother’s and my relationship, and legally, we’d still have joint responsibilities for you, but in marrying Kevin, we’d gain legal rights as husbands that we wouldn’t otherwise have.”
“So I guess I have a mother and two dads?” I asked.
“Definitely,” Kevin answered. “The one regret I’ve always had is that I never got to see you or know you Jason, but I promise that from now on, if you’ll let me, I’d like to be a part of your life — both yours and Rory’s lives,” he added.
With tears in my eyes, I got up and hugged Kevin, quietly saying, “I’d like that very much.”
“I’m sorry we deceived you, Jason,” Dad added as I pulled him into the hug with us. “We thought we were doing what was best for you. More than anything, however, I want to apologize for the way I treated you when you came out to me. It was uncalled for. It was just such a surprise to me and it brought back all the unpleasant memories of what I went through as a teenager, myself.”
“I understand, Dad,” I cried as I hugged him tightly, “and I love you very much.”
“I love you too, Jason, and I promise, no more deceptions.”
“Nor from me and Rory,” I said with a laugh as my boyfriend and Mom joined our group hug.
A NEW Dad! For sure, that was the best present I’d ever get for any Christmas.