Justin (#2)

Chapter 1

(Tim's Perspective)
       Kyle and I worked at one of his dad's motels the summer after my dad came back from the war in Afghanistan, and the jobs were pretty good. I made ten dollars an hour as pool boy, and Kyle made the same amount working concessions on the beach. The only difference was he tended to get better tips than I did.
       "It's because I'm cuter than you are, Tim. Face reality, dude," he had said.
       I knew he was just teasing me, but I also wouldn't argue with how cute he was. At sixteen and a half, he was five feet, ten inches, and he weighed about 170 pounds. A lot of his weight was muscle, and he was built more like a football player than a runner. He had been a standout on our high school's cross country track team when he was a freshman and sophomore, and he planned to run track his junior year, too. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and I wasn't the only one who thought that, either. Just because I was his boyfriend didn't mean I couldn't be objective about him. We both had awesome tans from being out in the sun all day, and we both had our hair bleached light blond so it would contrast with our skin. My hair was sort of a dark blond anyway, but his was dark brown without the bleach.
       Kyle and I had been boyfriends since January. Even though I had only turned fifteen in May, we got along great. In fact, we pretty much knew we were in love. We spent a lot of time together, but we also spent a lot of time with our friends Philip and Ryan, who were also sixteen, and our "big brothers," Kevin and Rick, who were both twenty-five. All of us were gay, and Philip and Ryan, and Kevin and Rick were couples, like us. We had a lot of straight friends, too, but I think we all felt most at home with each other. Kevin and Rick were out to everyone, and they had even had a marriage ceremony and wore wedding rings. We weren't that brave, and we really didn't see the need to be, yet. We all knew Kyle and I would probably do it eventually, but it wouldn't happen while we were still in high school. My dad and Kyle's parents were 100% cool with our being gay and being a couple, too, and that really helped.
       One of my jobs as pool boy was to sell bottles of water and soft drinks to the people who hung around the pool. The motel was right on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico, and, quite naturally, a lot of people went down there. But the sand and salt water can get pretty old, so most people who stayed at the motel spent at least some time at the pool, too. If I had been interested in eyeing up girls, I would have had lots of opportunities in that job. I checked out the guys, though, and some of them were enough to put a pretty good tent in my bathing suit. Kyle wore a Speedo a lot of the time on the beach, but I preferred trunks. Kyle and I took a shower together every afternoon when we got off work, and his Speedo was usually damp from all the juice he oozed all day long.
       One day in mid-June Kyle came up to the pool from the beach. We usually ate lunch together, but it was still about an hour early for that. I was surprised to see him when he walked over to where I was sitting, near the concessions.
       "Hey, what's up," I asked.
       He plopped down next to me and lit a cigarette. He didn't smoke much, but he did like to smoke a few every day.
       "I just got a call from Herman," he said. Herman was the motel manager.
       "What did he want?"
       "It was a pretty damn strange request. He asked if I would mind going to get some fried chicken for one of the guests." That motel didn't have a restaurant, so all the guests had to eat out every meal.
       "So are you going to do it," I asked.
       "Well, yeah. Why not?"
       "No reason. Can I go with you?"
       "That's why I came up here. To see if you wanted to go," he said.
       "Do you know what the guy wants," I asked.
       "Yeah, Herman told me. I'm supposed to pay for it, and he'll pay me back when I take it to him," he said.
       "You know what? I'll bet it's that old guy with the walker. I saw his family pull out earlier this morning, so maybe he's hungry and can't go anywhere to eat."
       "I'll bet that's it," Kyle said. "He's a nice old guy, so I don't mind doing it."
       We drove to the fried chicken place. Instead of going through the drive-thru, we went inside to order. When we got a whiff of the food, we decided it wasn't too early for us to have lunch, so we ordered the buffet for each of us. We spent the next twenty minutes or so eating our lunch, and then we got the food for the old guy. I was glad I had thought to grab my tee shirt before I left the pool. They might not have served us if we had been bare chested. Kyle's shirt covered his Speedo, so he looked like he could have been naked down below. That would have been totally cool, but he wasn't.
       When we got back to the motel, we parked in Kyle's usual spot, and we took the food up to the room that Kyle had been given. It would have been strange for somebody on a walker to be on the second floor, but I didn't think of that then. We knocked on the door.
       "Come in. It's open," a voice said. It sounded more like a kid our age than an old guy, but we didn't comment.
       When we opened the door, Kyle and I got the shock of the week, if not of our lives. Sitting on the bed was a boy who looked like he was about sixteen, naked. There were no sheets or pillowcases on the bed, and the curtains had been taken down, too. The TV was on what looked like a movie, and the rest of the room was completely bare. There were no suitcases or clothes thrown around or anything to make you think people were staying there. The kid had some kind of metal bar between his ankles about a foot apart, and his ankles were attached to the bar by what looked to me like steel handcuffs.
       "Oh, dude. I'm so sorry, man. We'll go," Kyle said. "Shit," he said to me, "Herman gave me the wrong damn room number."
       "That's okay. Come in. Please come in," the kid said.
       "Are you sure, man," Kyle asked.
       "Yeah. It's okay. I don't mind. Did you bring me some food?"
       "Yeah. I'll just set it down out here, and you can get it later, after we're gone," Kyle said.
       "No, man. Bring it in, please." The guy was sort of pleading with us.
       "Maybe he's crippled and can't walk," I said. "Did you see that thing on his ankles?"
       "Yeah, maybe you're right. I feel really weird doing it, though. Come in with me," Kyle said.
       "Okay," I said.
       Kyle pushed the door back, and we walked in. The place had a really nasty odor. It wasn't shit or puke or anything, though. It was just nasty.
       "Oh, thanks, guys," the boy said.
       We walked over to the bed. I really wanted to check him out good, but I was afraid he'd get pissed off if he caught me looking. I figured Kyle was thinking the same thing. That boy was really nasty, too. He must have shot his load on himself a bunch of times, and it was all dry on his chest. He didn't smell good, either, when we got up closer. He smelled like somebody who hadn't taken a shower in a week.
       "Man, I really appreciate this," he said.
       Kyle handed him the box with the chicken and side orders in it, and he tore it open. He grabbed a leg and cleaned the bone in one bite. He ate a wing almost that fast, and then he opened the coleslaw. He ate three huge mouthfuls of that, and then he dove into the fries. After he had eaten that much, he slowed down to a more regular speed.
       "Shit, I was so fucking hungry," he said. "I haven't eaten anything since Sunday morning." It was Wednesday.
       "Sit down, guys," he said.
       Kyle and I looked at each other, and then we each pulled up a chair and sat down. When I knew the boy wasn't looking at me, I checked him out. His penis looked just like Kyle's, circumcised and about as big, and his pubic hair must have been clipped or something. He had some, but very little. I could see some dried cum in it, too. Nasty, I thought. He had dark blond hair about my natural color, and he was almost pure white. I figured he hadn't been out in the sun in a long time. He had gold hoops hanging from each of his nipples, and they looked pretty cool. I wondered if they hurt having them put in.
       "What are you doing here like this," Kyle asked him.
       "It's a long story. I think I've been fucked, is what I think has happened," he said.
       "Can you walk," I asked.
       "Not very good with this thing on," he said. "He puts it on me so I can't run away."
       "Who does that," Kyle asked.
       "My mom's boyfriend," he said.
       "Where's your mom," I asked.
       "Dead. I think the son of a bitch beat her to death, but I can't prove it. He claimed intruders did it, but I put my money on him." He had finished eating by then, and he had set the carton and bones aside. "You boys got a smoke I could bum," he said.
       Kyle took his pack out of his shirt pocket and handed it, and his lighter, to the boy.
       The boy lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
       "Thanks, man," he said. "I smoked my last one last night."
       "Speaking of money," Kyle said, "you owe me seven fifty for the food."
       The boy got a funny look on his face, and he checked out both of us from head to toe, like he was just noticing us for the first time.
       "Er, I don't really have any money. That bastard takes everything I earn."
       Kyle and I looked at one another, not knowing what to do next.
       "But I've got a deal I don't think you can refuse. How about if I pay you off with a blowjob, one for each of you?"
       Kyle and I both got kind of nervous when he said that.
       "What do you say, guys? Huh? It won't make you queer, and I give great blowjobs," he said.
       I saw Kyle begin to smile, and the boy took it that he was seriously thinking about his offer. He looked at me with a full grin.
       "It won't make us queer," Kyle said.
       I laughed, and the boy really looked puzzled.
       "Are you gay," I asked him.
       "Yeah. So what? Everybody knows gay boys give the best blowjobs, man. I guarantee I'll give you a better blowjob than your girlfriend, and, if I don't, I'll let you fuck my ass. Whatcha say?"
       "I say we're not interested, man. What's your name, anyway," Kyle asked.
       "It's Justin. What's yours?"
       "Kyle."
       "Tim."
       "Do you guys work here or something," Justin asked.
       "Yeah. Where do you work," Kyle asked.
       "Here and there," he said. "Mostly in motel rooms like this one, as a matter of fact."
       "What do you do in motel rooms," I asked.
       "Turn tricks." He said that as calmly as he might have said, "make the beds."
       I thought I knew what that meant, but I wasn't sure.
       "You have sex with guys for money," Kyle asked. I knew he was as shocked at that as I was.
       "You got it, Kyle," Justin said. "Only I don't get to keep any of it. He keeps me naked all the time like this, and I've got to wear this thing when he's not around." He grabbed the bar between his ankles when he said that.
       "Do you want us to help you run away," I asked.
       "I appreciate that, Tim, but it would be just my luck he'd come driving up as I was leaving. If he caught me, he'd beat me so bad I couldn't even work for a week. Hell, he might even kill me."
       "We can't just leave you here like this, Justin," Kyle said. "We can call the cops."
       "Oh, Jesus, no, Kyle. Please don't do that, man. I'm begging you. Please don't." Justin looked really worried. He had a really cute face and a very nice body. I felt sorry for the poor guy.
       "I'm not leaving you here like this, Justin," Kyle said. "For one thing, this is my dad's motel, and he could get into all kinds of trouble if anything happened to you. For another, you're in trouble, and I want to help. How old are you, anyway?"
       "How old do I look," Justin asked. He smiled like he was flirting with Kyle. He probably went through that age routine pretty often, and he knew how to play it for all it was worth.
       "You look like you're sixteen," Kyle said. "Same age as me. Am I right?"
       Justin thought a few seconds before answering. "Aw, what they hell. Yeah, I'm sixteen."
       "Where are your clothes and your other things," Kyle asked.
       "I don't have any. At least, not up here. He keeps a couple of changes of clothes for me in the trunk of his car, but that's all I've got. I hope he never comes back."
       "How long has he been gone," I asked.
       "We checked in here Sunday afternoon about five o'clock. He left right after that to round up some johns, and I haven't seen him since. Today's Wednesday, ain't it?"
       "Yeah. Wednesday," Kyle said. Then he said, "Tim, step outside for a minute so I can talk to you."
       I stood up to leave, and Justin got a kind of frantic tone in his voice.
       "Don't leave, guys. Please. Please don't leave me. I'm scared shitless if you leave."
       "We'll be back," Kyle said.
       We stepped out onto the covered balcony that connected all of the rooms.
       "Phew. That guy stinks, Babe," I said.
       "I know," he replied.
       "What do you think we should do," I asked him.
       "I don't know. I wish Kevin or Rick was here. They'd know what to do. But we can't just leave the guy."
       "I know. Why don't we call them and see if they can come over," I said.
       "Good idea."
       Kyle tried to reach Rick first, but his office said he was out supervising some landscaping. He tried his cell phone, but Rick must have had it turned off. Kyle didn't leave a message for him. Then he called Kevin's office, and Kevin answered after his secretary put the call through. Kyle explained where we were and what was going on in very brief terms. Kevin said he would be there in ten minutes.
       When we went back inside, Justin was propped up against the headboard, smoking another cigarette. He smiled at us.
       "Our friend will be here in a few minutes," Kyle said. "He'll know what to do."
       "Who is he," Justin asked, obviously suspicious.
       "He's just our friend. Sort of like our big brother. You'll like him," I said.
       "He ain't a cop, is he," Justin asked.
       "No, he ain't a cop. He's our friend," Kyle said.
       Justin spread his knees as far apart as he could get them with the ankle thing on, and his dick flopped against his thigh. In a second, it started moving by itself, and, before I knew it, he was getting hard. Seeing him get hard made me, and I'm sure Kyle, too, start to get hard. I must have blushed noticeably, and Justin smiled at me.
       "You want some of this, Tim," he asked seductively.
       "Come on, man. Cut it out, Justin," I said.
       "It's just my way of letting you know I think both you guys are hot as hell," Justin said. That made me blush more. "We could have some fun together, guys, before your friend gets here. It won't make you queer."
       "Let me get you a towel," Kyle said. He got up and went into the bathroom. He came out of there in about ten seconds, empty handed.
       "Where the hell are the towels," he asked Justin.
       "He took 'em," he said. "He always does that so I can't leave, even if I jump around in this thing to do it," he said, meaning his ankle thing. "That's why the sheets and curtains are gone, too."
       "How is it you're with this guy," Kyle asked.
       "Well, after my mom died, he just kind of took me, I guess. We stayed living at his trailer, and I just stayed. I didn't have any place else to go. He turned me out when I was thirteen."
       "Turned you out? Made you leave," I asked.
       "No. Turned me out to trick," he said.
       "He made you start having sex for money when you were only thirteen," I asked. I'm sure I sounded dumb, but that stuff was all brand new to me.
       "Yeah. Some start younger, but he wanted me to wait until I could shoot cum. And he wanted me to develop some, too. He made me work out with weights starting when I was eleven. You like my muscles?" He flexed his biceps, and, I had to agree, he was built.
       Nobody said anything for a few seconds.
       "You guys ever have sex," he asked.
       Kyle and I looked at each other. Then we both said, "Yeah."
       "With a girl or a guy or both," he asked.
       "Justin, man, you're laying there with a dripping hard-on. Can we just cool it with the talk about sex? Okay?" Kyle sounded a little impatient.
       "Are you afraid I'll turn you on, Kyle? I can see that pole your buddy there is packing. How about you, dude? You want some of this?"
       "Okay. That's it. We're waiting outside for Kevin."
       Kyle and I went out onto the balcony and waited.
       "He's pretty fucked up," I said.
       "No kidding," Kyle said. "I feel sorry for him, though, you know? What if that had happened to one of us? Or Philip? Or Ryan? I guess we've been pretty lucky."
       "For sure," I said.
       We saw Kevin's car pull into the parking lot just then, and we waved him up.

Chapter 2

(Kevin's Perspective)
       I was really bored when my phone rang. Business had been decent for the last couple of months, and I had plenty to do, but I just didn't feel like doing it. When my assistant told me Kyle was on the phone, I perked right up.
       "Hey, buddy," I said. "What's up?"
       "We need you."
       There was a seriousness and urgency in his voice that let me know somebody was in trouble.
       "Is anybody hurt," I asked.
       "No."
       "Where are you?"
       "We're at work," he said. "We found a boy who's in trouble, Kevin, and we don't know what to do about it. He's sixteen, and he's gay, and he has to have sex for money. He's naked in the room, and he's got this bar between his feet and handcuffs around each ankle. He can't walk with it on, I don't think."
       "Where are his parents," I asked.
       "His mom is dead, and I don't guess he has a dad. This guy who used to be his mom's boyfriend sort of has him prisoner. Herman, the motel manager, got me and Tim to go buy him some food. That's how we discovered him. He hadn't eaten since Sunday."
       "Is he sick or anything," I asked.
       "No. I wanted to call the police, but he begged me not to do that. He said the guy would kill him if I did that and he found out about it. Tim and I don't know what to do, but we know we have to do something. We can't just leave him in that room."
       "No. You're right. I'm glad you called me. I'll be there in about ten minutes. Let me talk to Tim."
       Kyle put Tim on.
       "Hey, buddy. Are you all right," I asked.
       "Yeah. Kyle's about to shit his pants, he's so scared. But you know me. I'm the brave one."
       I heard flesh hit flesh, and Tim said a loud "owww," which was immediately followed by laughter. God, I love those kids, I thought.
       "You better come quick to save Kyle. I'm about to throw him off this balcony." More laughter from their end.
       "What room," I asked.
       "236," Tim said.
       "Be there in a minute," I said, and I hung up.

       I saw them on the balcony when I drove into the parking lot. The lot was crowded, and it took me a few minutes to find a parking place. Once I did, though, I hurried up the outdoor stairs to where the boys were.
       "Hey, little brothers," I said when I got up to them. I put an arm around each of them and hugged them. They smelled good, healthy, clean, like boys are supposed to smell.
       "Hey, big brother," they said in unison.
       "What have y'all gotten us into here, boys," I asked.
       "I don't know," Kyle said. I could tell he thought the situation was serious.
       "Well, let's go talk to him," I said.
       "He's naked," Tim said.
       "And he's hard," Kyle said by way of elaboration.
       "Thanks, guys. I think I can handle it," I said.
       They both giggled.
       I was kind of surprised at how barren the room looked when I first walked in. Then I realized the bedding was all gone, and there weren't any curtains in the room. The room smelled like pot smoke. There, on the bed propped up against the headboard, was a very nice looking boy of about sixteen. He was, indeed, naked, but he wasn't hard, as I had been led to believe he would be.
       "Hi," I said.
       "Are you a cop," he asked. "You have to tell me if you are, you know." His voice was awfully defensive sounding, and it was pretty obvious he had been around the block a time or two.
       "No. I'm not a cop. I'm a friend of these guys," I said, gesturing with my head toward Tim and Kyle. "Their big brother, in fact."
       "Big brother," he asked, incredulously.
       "Well, honorary big brother," I said. "My name is Kevin. What's yours?"
       "Justin. Why are you wearing a tie?"
       "I was at work when they called. I wear a suit and tie to work every day. I'll take the tie off, if it bothers you," I said, thinking, If it bothers you as much as it bothers me in this heat.
       "No. It makes you look really handsome." He moistened his lips seductively. Justin was quite a piece of work, he was. He didn't know me from Adam, and there he lay, buck naked, flirting with me.
       "Tim, would you get Justin a towel, please, son," I asked.
       "There aren't any," Kyle volunteered.
       "You guys go down to the office and see if they have a hacksaw. I'm going to get him out of this thing," I said, referring to his shackles.
       "Yes, sir," my boys said at the same time.
       "So, what are you going to do? Are you going to fuck me," Justin asked.
       I was quite taken aback by that question, but I decided I could be just as tough as that kid could be.
       "No, I'm not going to fuck you. In fact, I'm not even going to touch you. Lose the tough guy stuff, okay? Those two boys don't need that, all right? We ain't your tricks, man. If you're lucky, we might become your friends, but you have to meet us half way. Nobody here is interested in sex with you."
       "Yeah, you say that, but..."
       "But I mean it. Where do you come from?"
       "Alabama," he said.
       "That's a big state. Did you live in a town?"
       "Outside Birmingham," he said.
       "Why did you come here," I asked.
       "He got into some trouble on a drug deal. He's a fugitive."
       "He?"
       "The guy I'm with," he said.
       "A lover," I asked.
       "Shit, no, man. He's fucked me a bunch of times, and he's made me suck his cock, but he ain't my lover, that's for damn sure. He's more like my master."
       "Voluntary," I asked.
       "No way. This thing on my legs ain't kink. It's to keep me from running. That's why I ain't got no clothes and this room don't have no sheets or towels or curtains. Hell, he even ripped down the shower curtain to make sure I couldn't cover myself to run."
       Justin spread his legs a little, and he started getting an erection. His body was filthy, and his body odor was pretty powerful.
       "I thought I asked you to cool it with the sex stuff, man," I said rather gruffly when I noticed it.
       "I ain't doing it on purpose, Kevin. I'm only sixteen, man. It just happens, you know?"
       "I know, buddy," I said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
       He smiled a shy smile at me just then, and I wondered if maybe I could get somewhere with that kid.
       Tim and Kyle came back into the room just then, empty handed.
       "Herman couldn't find a hacksaw," Kyle said. "Do you want me to go home to get one?" They both saw Justin's erection, and they looked at him with utter contempt and anger. They were protecting me, and I knew it.
       "Leave him alone, guys," I said. "It's just a 'free bone.'" That was our term for the spontaneous erections they got constantly. I hoped they understood Justin wasn't putting the make on me, at least not at that moment.
       "Do y'all know what a hacksaw looks like," I asked.
       "Is it a power saw," Tim asked. "My dad has a power saw, but it's part of this big table thing."
       "No, that's not it, Tim. Kyle, let me see your phone, please."
       I dialed Rick's cell phone number, and it directed me to his voice mail. I dialed his pager number, and I entered the numeric code we had worked out for when we absolutely, positively had to talk to one another right at that moment. We had only used it about a dozen times, so I knew he would know it was urgent and get back to me as fast as he could. Sure enough, Kyle's phone rang in less than a minute.
       "What? Where are you? Is everything all right?" He was almost breathless.
       "I'm fine. The kids are fine." I told him where I was and that I needed him to bring me a hacksaw and a couple of extra blades as soon as he could.
       "Are you breaking in or breaking out," he asked.
       I couldn't help laughing at what he said.
       "Breaking out. Now get your ass over here on the double! Please?" He laughed at what I said.
       In just a few minutes Rick knocked on the door, and Kyle let him in. He did a double take when he saw Justin on the bed and the rest of us sitting around.   He looked at me, at Tim, and at Kyle. He was wearing one of those faces that made me laugh and, under different circumstances, get hard at the same time.
       "Er," he said.
       "It's a long story," I said. "Just cut that thing off his feet, okay?"
       "Okay, but if this is some kind of foot fetish situation and he floods my face, I'm out of here," Rick said.
       Justin laughed immediately, and I laughed, too, when I figured out what he had said. It was totally lost on Tim and Kyle, and, frankly, I was glad it was.
       "Can we have a towel or something," Rick asked.
       "Tim and Kyle, go get some towels from somewhere," I said. "Better yet, run home and get some clothes for him."
       "Yes, sir," they both said. They were out of that room in an instant.
       "What's your name, buddy," Rick asked. I was absolutely amazed at how gentle he sounded. Rick was an imposing guy by any stretch of the imagination, and hearing him talk to that boy like that warmed my heart.
       "Justin," the boy said.
       "Hey, Justin. I'm Rick the Liberator." They shook hands.
       Rick went to work with his hacksaw on Justin's shackles. The handcuffs were made of steel, but cutting them was the only hope we had of getting that contraption off Justin. He got the first side cut through in about fifteen minutes. When his right leg was free, Justin stretched his entire body in a way he hadn't been able to do for days.
       "God, almighty, that feels so good," he said.
       "Are you cramping, buddy," Rick asked.
       "Yeah, a little bit. I can handle it, though. Just keep cutting."
       The spermlets returned just about then, and they had clothes for Justin. Since both boys wore briefs, that's what they had to bring to Justin.
       "What, no boxers," Justin said, teasing.
       "Shut up and put the fucking briefs on so you can get that thing out of my face," Rick said. He was teasing, too, and Justin laughed.
       Rick had been in the room less than a half hour, and already he and Justin had bonded in a way that I knew I probably never would with that kid. Justin put on the briefs, passing the bar through the left leg hole, and then he put on the khaki shorts the boys had brought for him. I assumed the clothes belonged to Kyle, but they just as well could have belonged to Tim. His growth spurt was well underway, and he, Kyle, Rick, and I were almost identical in height.
       Rick worked another twenty minutes on the other handcuff, sweating profusely, and finally Justin was free.
       "I feel like I ought to hug you, man," Justin said to Rick, when he was all through.
       "That's allowed," Rick said, and Justin hugged him hard. "All right, now let's get the hell out of here."
       "How am I gonna pay," Justin asked. "I don't want the cops on my ass for skipping out on the room bill, that's for sure."
       "You're not going to pay," Kyle said. "The stay was complimentary."
       "What," Justin asked.
       "Watch this." Kyle picked up the phone and dialed the front office. He asked to speak to Herman. He told Herman that room 236 was a comp. He was showing off for us and for Justin.
       "A 'comp' means it's complimentary. He doesn't have to pay." His voice sounded just a little impatient when he said that.
       Pause.
       "I'll talk to him about it, Herman. Don't worry, man. It'll be fine with him. Just do the books, okay?" Kyle made a facial expression that said "Sheesh" and communicated his frustration with Herman's thickness.
       Pause.
       "No, I'm not paying. Nobody is paying. It's free, Herman. Just enter c-o-m-p where you would ordinarily put the charge. They'll know what that means." His frustration was mounting, and when he spelled the word, Rick and I giggled. Tim was watching and listening intently as his boyfriend tried his power play.
       Pause.
       "I know you are accountable to corporate, Herman. But guess what? I am corporate. I own this place, Herman, or at least I will in a few years. Just go with me on this one, okay?"
       Pause.
       "I know you're the general manager, Herman. And I know I'm just the beach boy and Tim is just the pool boy. I know that. But I also know my dad, Herman, and you really don't."
       Pause.
       "If you get the fucking police after this boy, Herman, I will key your car. I will poison your cat. I will make your life miserable, and that's after I convince my dad you've been embezzling from US. Do you now think you can type c-o-m-p?" Kyle was red in the face, and I was doing everything in my power to keep from laughing my ass off. Rick no longer looked amused.
       Pause.
       "No, I really didn't mean that. I'm sorry I said it."
       Pause
       "Yes, I know you have two little kids and a third one on the way, Herman, but please don't call the police on my friend." He had switched to a pleading tone.
       Pause.
       "That didn't hurt, did it? Thank you, Herman. And have a nice day. Bye." Kyle hung up the phone. "Jesus Christ!"
       Everybody in the room had listened with rapt attention, and Tim and I applauded when he hung up the phone.
       "Was Herman a little recalcitrant," I asked.
       "What does that mean," Kyle asked in return
       "Hard to get along with," I said.
       "Yeah. What's it to him? He doesn't know my dad like I do. My dad don't give two farts in a windstorm whether he comps this room or not."
       Rick, Tim, and I did know Gene Goodson, Kyle's dad, and we knew Kyle was absolutely right.
       "You're right, Kyle, but you challenged Herman's authority, didn't you," Rick said. "You were acting like you were the boss, and you're not. Herman is. You really are just the beach boy."
       Kyle thought for a few seconds about what Rick had just said.
       "I guess what I did was pretty shitty, wasn't it? Trying to pull rank because I'm the boss's son when I don't have any rank to pull."
       "No, what you did in saving Justin's ass wasn't shitty at all, buddy," Rick said. "But the way you did it was maybe just a little shitty."
       Kyle's eyes started to fill up, and I knew that crying in front of Justin was absolutely the last thing he wanted to do.
       "Are you mad at me," he asked Rick.
       "This is about how mad I am at you Kyle." Saying that, Rick gathered him into a bear hug. Tim grinned when Rick did that.
       We had spent an enormous amount of time with Tim and Kyle in the previous five-and-a-half months, and there had been many teachable moments like that one during that time. Once or twice each boy had bowed up when I got on to them, and the other one usually tried to defend his boyfriend when it happened. When Rick got on to them, as he had more times than I had, they actually seemed grateful that he had set them straight. That was a tribute both to their strength of character and to Rick's way with kids.
       "Let's get out of here," Rick said when they finished their hug. "This place makes me nervous."

       The boys went back to work pushing bottled water and sun screen, and Rick returned to the golf courses and mowing crews he supervised. I had the pleasure of doing something with Justin. What to do, I wondered. I figured that eventually we'd have to make contact with some kind of authorities, but I didn't even know for sure who those authorities might be. Calling the police was the obvious thing to do, but the kid really hadn't committed any crimes that I knew of, at least not crimes that had victims.
       "What's your last name, Justin," I asked as we drove out of the parking lot.
       "Davis," he said. "What's yours?"
       "Foley," I replied. "Do you have any relatives?"
       "I've got some grandparents I think, but they don't really know me, or maybe not even that I'm alive," he said. "My mom ran away from home when she was fourteen, and she never went back home. They didn't come to my mom's funeral when she died."
       "How old were you when that happened," I asked.
       "I was eleven."
       "Do you miss her," I asked.
       "Not really," he said. "I guess I did a little bit when she first died, but she was usually pretty wasted on drugs, best I can remember."
       "What about you? Do you do drugs," I asked. I really didn't know what to expect by way of an answer. He had certainly been forthcoming about his lifestyle and profession, so there was a chance he would be honest about that, too.
       "I smoke weed sometimes, but that's all. No hard stuff for me. He'd bust my ass for me if I couldn't perform when I'm needed to, and I don't want to be a junkie, anyway."
       "You said something about a drug deal gone bad. What happened," I asked.
       "I don't know too many details, but I do know he killed a guy. An undercover cop. He came home covered with blood, and he made me wash him. Then we hauled ass for down here. I didn't think that was too smart, what with this place crawling with people from back home, but he didn't ask me." I could tell Justin was used to talking with adults. "Where are we going?"
       "I'm taking you to my house," I said. "I'll call the office and tell them I can't come back in today. I'll stay there with you."
       "What's your wife going to say about me being there," he asked.
       "I don't have a wife. You've met my partner. Rick."
       "Your partner? What do you mean?"
       "He's my partner. My life partner," I said.
       "Are you guys gay?"
       I nodded.
       "Holy shit! I figured you guys for friends, but straight friends. This kinda changes things, don't it?"
       "What do you mean," I asked.
       "Well, at least y'all don't think I'm scum just 'cause I'm gay. For starters."
       "That's true," I said. "We don't think you're scum just because you're gay. Some of our best friends are gay." I had intended that to be funny, but he didn't laugh.
       "I guess so," he said rather seriously. After a pause he asked, "Do you guys do three-ways?"
       "You don't really know us, but what do you think the answer to that question is based on what you've already seen of us," I asked.
       "It was a dumb question. I'm an idiot. Forget about it," he said.
       "No, it wasn't a dumb question," I said. "A lot of couples do three-ways, gay and straight. We don't judge what other people do. And maybe some day we'll decide we'd like to try that for variety or curiosity or something. If that ever happens, though, it will be with another adult, not a kid. Right now we're totally monogamous, though. Do you know what that means?"
       "It means you just do each other. That's cool, man. No shame in that. I'd get pretty damn tired of the same ole dick up my ass, day in and day out, but if you don't, then I won't judge you, either."
       It occurred to me to have a little talk with him about love and commitment and about life being more than random sex, but I realized I wasn't talking to Tim and Kyle. I had no idea, really, what that boy had been through, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't have many handles from his past to hang those ideas on.
       Driving down our street, I pointed out Kyle's house.
       "Goddamn! That's a fucking mansion. I been in a place like that a time or two, for tricks."
       "That's where Tim lives," I said, "and this is our house." I turned into the driveway and parked in the garage.
       "Jesus Christ! This is nice, too," he said. "And Tim and Kyle are your neighbors. Do they know y'all are gay?"
       "Oh, yeah. Tim lived with us for five months recently while his dad was on a ship with the Navy. His dad has just been home about two weeks. He's going to be staying with us for the rest of the summer, too, starting this coming weekend. His dad has to go down to the University of Florida to take a prep course for his state license exam."
       "Does he know y'all are gay? His dad, I mean?"
       "Of course, he does. He's a very good friend of ours."
       "And he still left his kid with y'all?" Justin was having a difficult time with what he was discovering about us. I wanted to lecture him about the fact that gay couples could live ordinary, normal, happy lives, but I figured there wasn't much point in it.
       We entered the house from the garage into the laundry room, and from the laundry room into the kitchen.
       "Damn, this is nice, dude," he said.
       "Thanks. It's comfortable for us."
       Justin opened the refrigerator and looked around inside. He reached in for what I thought would be a coke, and he pulled out a beer.
       "You mind," he asked.
       "Yeah, I do mind," I said. "The beer is for the adults. You can have anything else you see in there, but kids don't drink in this house."
       He sort of grinned and chuckled a bit at what I'm sure he considered the eccentricity of an old fart, but he put the beer back and pulled out a coke.
       "Hand me one, too, please," I said.
       He thought for a moment, and I was pretty sure he was going to hand me a beer. After a few seconds, though, he handed me a coke.
       "Thanks. Let me show you around," I said. We walked into the den with our cokes.
       "This is the den. It's where we spend most of our time. We have a living room and dining room off that way, but they don't have furniture in them yet."
       We had a pretty nice entertainment center with all the latest gadgets, and he checked it out pretty thoroughly.
       "All this stuff work," he asked.
       "Sure," I said.
       "Nice. Nice," he said, nodding his head.
       "This is our bedroom," I said, opening the door. "And through there is our bathroom, although Rick usually showers in the hall bathroom in the morning to save time."
       "This looks like something out of a fucking magazine," he said. He walked to the door to the bathroom. "Oh, wow! This is fucking awesome, dude. I wonder how many guys could fit in that tub all at one time." He winked at me when he said that, and I wasn't sure if he was teasing me or flirting with me.
       "I know it'll hold two," I said.
       He looked at me like he didn't believe those words had come out of my mouth. Then he grinned.
       I showed him down the hall in the other direction. We passed the hall bathroom and then the guest bedroom. Across from those were two smaller bedrooms, Rick's room and a room that didn't have any furniture in it.
       "Who sleeps in these rooms," he asked.
       "This was Tim's room when he stayed with us, and we promised him and Kyle it could be their room when they sleep over with us. This is just a spare room, and this is Rick's room," I said.
       "He don't sleep with you," he asked incredulously.
       "Sure he does. He doesn't sleep in here. It's where he keeps his stuff. He comes in here once in a while when he wants some privacy, but that doesn't happen more than three or four times a year. You can sleep in here tonight."
       "He won't mind," he asked.
       "No," I said. "He won't mind. I suspect Tim and Kyle will spend the night here tonight, too. They'll want to get to know you."
       "They're best friends, aren't they?"
       "Yes, they are. They're very special boys, and Rick and I love them like they were our sons."
       "Must be nice," he said rather dryly.
       I wondered at that moment if anyone had ever really loved Justin. I had a sudden surge of compassion for that kid, and I wanted to hug him the way I had hugged Tim and Kyle on so many occasions and squeeze the pain out of him. I didn't, though, for fear he'd think I was coming on to him, and that was the last impression I wanted to give him.
       "Let's go outside and see the yard," I said.
       We went out through the French doors that led to the patio behind the house. Rick's hard work as a gardener had really paid off, and the yard looked wonderful.
       "Goddamn, this looks like a park or something," Justin said. "This is beautiful, dude."
       "Thanks, but Rick gets all the credit for it. I help by keeping him company and praising the work he does."
       "How long have your guys been together," Justin asked.
       "It was four years on May fifth," I said.
       "Jesus Christ! Four fucking years! Unbelievable!"
       I didn't respond to that. I couldn't tell if he admired the fact we had been together that long or if he pitied us for having to endure the same old dick up our asses for all that time.
       "Let's go inside. I want to change clothes, and I want you to take a shower. On second thought, I think you probably need to soak in the tub for a while."
       "I guess I stink pretty bad, huh?"
       "Let's just say you have kind of a...an earthy smell to you. You could use a shave, too, buddy."
       "Will you take a bath with me in that big ole bathtub in there," he asked flirtatiously.
       "I didn't appreciate that question, son," I said in a very serious tone of voice. "No, I won't take a bath with you. I think you knew that."
       He flashed me a big grin that was quite charming. I noticed that his teeth, while not perfect, were surprisingly straight and white.
       "I was just teasing you, dude," he said. "Kevin, I mean."
       "That's okay, Jus," I said, "but I really would appreciate it if you didn't make remarks like that, okay, man?"
       "Okay, Kev. I understand."
       When he called me "Kev," it suddenly occurred to me I might have offended him by calling him an abbreviated form of his name.
       "Did it bother you that I called you 'Jus' just now," I asked.
       "I can count on one hand, hell, on one finger most of the time, the number of people who even use my name in a week, man. You calling me 'Jus' is like saying you want to be my friend, you know? I've never had any friends. Not one. I loved it that you called me 'Jus,' Kev. I really did."
       I smiled at him. He might come across as tough and street-wise and seductive, but under all that he was just a boy.
       "Let's get your nasty ass in that tub," I said.
       "Will you stay in there and talk to me? I'm kinda scared, you know?"
       "Yeah, I'll stay and talk to you," I said. Then I hugged him. He sort of went limp against me during that hug.
       He stayed in the tub for almost an hour. I filled the big tub almost to the top, and I made him get down under the water as far as he could. I told him to go underwater and wet his hair, which he did. I could actually see the dirt and grease from his body floating on top of the water. After ten minutes, I made him get out. I let the water out of the tub.
       "Let's make this a bubble bath, okay," I said. "Have you ever taken a bubble bath?"
       "That trailer we lived in didn't have a bathtub, just a shower. What do you think?"
       "I think you might like this, then," I said.
       I had gotten a bottle of Bubble Bath for Men for Christmas from somebody at work two years before. I rummaged around in the cabinet and found it. It was still unopened. I poured about a third of the bottle into the tub as I started the water back running to refill it. It must have been pretty potent stuff because the bubbles started rising pretty quickly. Justin laughed delightedly, just as I had when I had taken a bubble bath when I was eight years old.
       He got into the tub slowly, afraid to crush the bubbles. He might have been a hustler in another place and time, but at that moment he was a little kid delighted with his surroundings.
       The bubbles started breaking up fast.
       "Damn, they're going away," he said.
       "That's okay. Watch this," I said.
       I took off my shirt and tie so they wouldn't get wet. Justin checked me out thoroughly, but I pretended not to notice. I knelt down at the side of the tub.
       "Move your legs over," I said.
       He did as I requested. I put my hand on the surface of the water and shook it back and forth as fast as I could. That created those big bubbles that I used to love as a kid, and Justin laughed in delight.
       "Let me do it," he said. He shook his hand as I had, and in a minute he had a huge cloud of big bubbles all over the tub. "That is so cool," he said.
       "Just keep doing that whenever the bubbles start to pop," I said. "Go under and wet your hair and face. Rub it in. The bubbles will get you clean."
       He did as I directed. He came up with bubbles all over his head and face, and he looked like the little kids you see in commercials.
       Justin played with the bubbles for another ten minutes, and then he settled down for a good soak. He was quiet for a little while.
       "Why are you doing this," he asked. "You say you don't want sex from me, so why are you being so nice to me?"
       "Has nobody ever been nice to you, just to be nice? Just because they liked you," I asked.
       He thought for a moment.
       "No," he said. "Guys have been nice to me so I would suck their cock or let them fuck my ass, but it was always for sex."
       "What about your teachers? Haven't they been nice to you for no reason other than they liked you?"
       He thought for a second. "Yeah, I guess some of them were, but ain't that what they get paid to do? Be nice to kids?"
       "You can't pay people to be nice to other people, to really care about other people, Jus. They do it because they...well, because they care. Teachers are people. Rick's mom was a teacher. Now she's the principal of a middle school, and she cares about her students way more than she gets paid. In fact, I think she would be insulted if somebody thought she cared about her kids at school because she got paid to care about them."
       "Well, I don't know that much about teachers. I ain't been to a whole lot of school," he said.
       "You haven't been in school," I asked.
       "Not since I was thirteen and got turned out. Didn't go a hell of a lot before then, either," he said.
       "Er, can you read and write," I asked.
       "I can read pretty good, but I can't write writing for shit. I can print, though."
       "That's writing, man. I meant, can you get your thoughts down on paper? Can you print stuff that makes sense?"
       "I ain't wrote much, you know? I make up things in my head like the stuff I read. I think I could do it."
       "Have you ever used a computer to write," I asked.
       "Naw. I thought they was just for pictures and movies and shit."
       "Not at all, Jus. Why did you think they were for pictures and movies?"
       "Well, three or four guys who were some of my regulars took pictures and movies of me, and they put them on their computer. I seen a few of them. Ain't that what computers are for?"
       I knew if I stayed there another minute I would be in tears for that boy. I had been sitting on the toilet cover talking to him, but I got up. I found a disposable razor and a can of shaving gel. I put them on the edge of the tub for him. I also set out some deodorant and some aftershave.
       "Stay in the tub another little while and use these," I said.
       "Hey, did I make you mad at me, Kev?"
       I had turned away from him to conceal the emotion I was feeling just then, but I turned back toward him.
       "No, Jus. You didn't make me mad at you. I'm mad and I'm upset right now because of what people have done to you, but it is totally and absolutely not at you, son. I'm going to leave some fresh clothes for you on the bed. Put them on when you finish in here, okay?"
       "Okay," he said, and I left the bathroom and closed the door.
       I was trembling with rage and emotion when I got into our bedroom. I quickly found him some underwear, a shirt, and a pair of Rick's running shorts. I set a pair of old tennis shoes on the floor beside the bed. He had come to our house barefoot, but he needed shoes. I picked up off the floor the clothes he had worn to our house from the motel, and they stank and felt dirty to the touch. They had been clean when he had put them on a short time before. I took them to the laundry room and started a wash. Then I went into the den.

       He plopped down on the sofa after his bath. He looked like a new kid, and I was sure he felt that way, too.
       "You mind if I check this stuff out a little bit," he asked, meaning the TV, stereo, DVD, VCR, etc., on the entertainment center.
       "Help yourself," I said.
       I went into our bedroom to change. I called my office while I was in there and told my assistant I wouldn't be in the rest of the day but that I'd see him tomorrow. He told me he would be late because his wife had an ob/gyn appointment in the morning, and they were supposed to hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time. I told him that was no problem and that I would be there with him in spirit. Lucky bastard, I thought as I hung up the phone.
       I put on a pair of khaki shorts, a tank top, and a pair of sandals, and I walked back into the den. Justin was busy with some afternoon TV talk show that featured a great deal of screaming and a whole lot of bleeps. He seemed enwrapped. I went out and got the mail, and I flipped through the copy of a sports magazine that had come that day when I got back inside. I found the page that had the weekly piece by my favorite columnist, and I started reading. It was about the evils of state boxing commissions, but I could no more concentrate on what I was reading than I could have worked a calculus problem right then. I was thinking about Justin.
       "Fuckin' nigger!" Justin blurted out at the TV.
       "Hey, buddy," I said. "We don't use the N word in this house, okay?"
       "There's a lot of shit y'all don't do in this house." The vulnerability he had exhibited while he was taking his bath was gone, replaced by his brash and rebellious street persona.
       "That's right, and as long as you're in this house, you won't do it either." I used what Rick referred to as my "and I mean business" voice, but I wondered if Justin got the message.
       "Do y'all smoke in this house," he asked, back to the uncertain boy with that question.
       "Yeah, we do. I smoke, Kyle smokes, and several of our friends smoke. You can smoke if you want to." I tried to make my voice sound like there were no hard feelings from minutes before.
       "I know Kyle smokes. He gave me his pack back at the mo-tel." He emphasized the first syllable in a way that I mentally identified as "country." Working in the hospitality industry as I did, I heard ho-tel and mo-tel constantly, but it never ceased to annoy me. I said nothing, of course.
       Justin stared at the TV set as another raucous talk show replaced the one he had been watching. Around four o'clock I made a pot of coffee and offered Justin a cup. He accepted it, but without saying "thank you," and we sipped our coffee and smoked our cigarettes in front of the TV.

Chapter 3

       At 4:20, the back door burst open and a barrel of monkeys poured in. Tim and Kyle had spent at least some time at our house every day since Tim's dad, George Murphy, had come home from his hospital ship duty in the Indian Ocean. They usually waited until around seven, when we got home from our workout at the gym, but that day was special because of Justin.
       They told me and Justin "hi," and they immediately got themselves a snack.
       "You want a snack, Justin," Tim asked when he came back into the den with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a glass of milk.
       "What are you eating," Justin asked.
       "P B and J," Tim answered.
       "Like peanut butter," Justin asked. Tim and Kyle used those initials all the time, and I had assumed that was kid talk for peanut butter and jelly. It had been for me and my brother when we were kids.
       "Yeah, you want some?"
       "Yeah. I wouldn't mind having one or two," Justin said. He started to stand up, but Tim stood up before he was fully off the sofa.
       "I'll make 'em for you," Tim said.
       Justin got a rather surprised look on his face, but he sat back down. Tim and Kyle came back in together, Tim with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a glass of milk for Justin, Kyle with two hotdogs, chips, and a coke for himself. They started munching away.
       "I guess I don't get anything," I said forlornly.
       "Shit, I'm sorry, Kevin," Tim said. "That was rude of us."
       "I'm fine, Tim," I said, "but it was a little rude, you know? I'm really glad you offered Jus a snack, but you should have included everyone in the room."
       "I feel like shit about that, Kevin," Kyle said. "I know better than that."
       "I know you do, Kyle, and so does Tim. We forget sometimes, though, you know? You didn't hurt my feelings, but, remember, you could have," I said.
       "I know, Kevin. Thanks," Kyle said.
       "Jesus Christ! What is this, fucking Leave It to Beaver," Justin asked. Like us and our boys, he obviously knew the old TV shows from Nickelodeon.
       "Justin," I said in a serious voice. "That's another thing we don't allow in this house."
       "What?"
       "Beaver," I said.
       It took all three boys a second to get my pun, but, when they did, they all laughed, Justin the loudest.
       "Did you guys have a good day at work," I asked Kyle and Tim.
       "Yeah. We met this really cool naked guy, and he had a hard-on," Tim said. "It was pretty awesome."
       Justin brightened up at that line, his mind's eye no doubt seeing the dollar potential in what they had said.
       "Yeah? Who was he," Justin asked.
       My boys looked at each other and then at me, and all three of us laughed.
       "It was you, man," Tim said.
       Justin blushed. It was cute. He was cute when he did that, and my heart did a kind of flip for him.
       "We're sleeping here tonight, okay," Kyle asked.
       "Of course it is, but you don't have to ask, Kyle," I said.
       "We know," he said. "Our parents already know."
       "Cool. So what are we going to do tonight," I asked.
       "When is Rick coming home," Kyle asked.
       "He usually works out on Wednesday. We both usually work out on Wednesday," I said.
       Just then we heard Rick's car screech into our driveway. He could do some amazing things with his car that I couldn't do and really didn't want to learn how to do. Laying two month's worth of rubber coming into our driveway was definitely not something I valued, but I knew he had done it to impress the kids. Rick had given Kyle lessons on how to make his tires squeal, but Kyle didn't have the balls to do it like Rick showed him. We all waited for The Man to come inside.
       Rick came through the door from the garage and stopped in the kitchen for a few seconds. He picked up two bananas and an apple on his way in. He kissed me hello when he came in, and Justin was all eyes when he saw that happen. Rick sat next to me on the sofa, and his musk filled my nose. I started to get hard, but I knew there was no way anything would come of that right then. He took his shirt off and dropped it onto the floor. Again, Justin was all eyes.
       "Did you have a good day, Babe," I asked.
       "I met this really cute kid today," he said. "He was wearing some really unusual jewelry, and I had to work my ass off to get him out of it. Oh, that was you, Justin."
       Tim and Kyle laughed delightedly at him. In their eyes, Rick was the perfect guy: gorgeous, built like a brick shithouse, and a hell of an endurance athlete. Plus, he was funny and smart and compassionate. What was not to love? I realized I was probably overlooking a flaw or two in my assessment of him, but, hell, he was mine, and I had a right to think what I wanted to.
       Justin blushed again, and I wondered if we were actually getting to him at some level.
       "What are we going to do tonight," Rick asked
       "Who wants to swim," Kyle asked.
       "Oh, yeah," Rick said. "Let's swim."
       Swimming meant we would go down to Kyle's house and use his pool. Rick and I had keys to the Goodsons' house and to the Murphys' house--Kyle's and Tim's, respectively--and the boys both had keys to our house. That meant the three families were free to come and go as they needed to in each other's homes. During the summer, the Goodsons were rarely home before nine or ten at night, and, since his discharge from the Navy, George Murphy wasn't home very often, either. He had an oral surgery practice to get off the ground, and he definitely worked at it. Tim and Kyle basically migrated among the three houses, and I doubt that they spent a night apart that whole summer. Rick and I both thought of ourselves as those boys' auxiliary parents, and that little encounter I had had with the two of them over not offering me a snack was typical of the kind of parenting we did.
       Tim and Kyle were such good kids that we rarely had to get down on them, but they were still kids. They pushed the envelope from time to time, just as Rick and I had done at their ages. A couple of times when Tim was living with us full time, we heard them come home when we thought they had been drinking. One night in particular they had taken Kyle's car down to the beach a few blocks from our house to meet up with some of their friends, and they had walked home. That, in itself, was a give away, but at least they had walked home and Kyle hadn't driven home. We heard one of them puking in the hall bathroom.
       "Shit. One of them's drunk," I said, as I was starting to get out of bed.
       Rick grabbed my arm. "Whoa, Babe," he said. "They're probably both drunk. Let 'em be kids, okay?"
       Just then we heard a second round of puking, and the sound was distinctly different from the first time. We knew it was the second one, but we didn't know which one it was.
       "But they can't do that," I said.
       "Why the fuck not, Babe? I did it at their age. Didn't you?"
       "Yeah, but..." I started to say.
       "Yeah, but nothing," he said, interrupting me. "Let 'em be kids. They acted responsibly. They walked home. Kyle didn't try to drive home. They're probably feeling pretty miserable right now, just like you and I did. It's the ritual, Babe. We did it. Our dads did it. They're doing it. The next generation will do it after them. Just chill, okay?"
       "How the fuck did you get to be so smart," I asked him. I knew he was right and that we had to give them freedom to experiment and be a little bad now and then.
       "By marrying you, that's how. Now shut up and go to sleep."
       We snuggled up against one another and sleep came quickly.
       The next morning Rick asked the boys if they felt okay. They both blushed a deeper red than I had ever seen before. Rick insisted they each drink a glass of water with two seltzer tablets in them, and they puked again. They both looked and, I was sure felt, like shit. I offered Kyle a cigarette and blew smoke right at him, and he almost puked again right there. Rick was silently laughing his ass off while that was going on.
       I won't say those boys never drank again while they were with us, but what happened that night never happened again.

       We piled into Rick's Trooper, us in the front seat and the three boys behind us. Kyle lived in the next block, and the walk would have taken us no more than five minutes. We took the car anyway. I grabbed a bunch of towels before we left our house. Rita Goodson, Kyle's mom, had a maid a couple of times a week, but I always felt like we should take our own towels.
       The spermlets and Rick jumped out of the car as soon as Rick parked it. Justin hung back with me, as we walked to the pool in the back yard.
       "I don't have a suit," Justin said.
       "Yes, you do," I said. I was sort of touched by the fact that our big gay hustler thought he needed a suit to swim with us.
       "No, I don't," he said.
       "Your birthday suit, man. That's how we're going to swim. You got a problem with being naked in front of other guys," I asked.
       "Shit," he said, grinning at me.
       All five of us dove into the pool with reckless abandon. We dunked each other, lifted each other by the feet to throw back into the water, dove off the diving board, and had a rollicking good time. Kyle was the first to get on the diving board and bounce up and down so that his penis flapped up and hit his stomach. Tim did it next, and Rick, not to be outdone by his little brothers, did it, too. I noticed that Justin was all eyes when they were up there.
       After a long while, I needed a break. I asked Rick to join me poolside, just when the boys were starting a game of "dick tag."
       "He's an interesting kid, isn't he," Rick asked.
       "You don't know the half of it," I said. Then I proceeded to tell Rick all the stuff that had happened that afternoon after I took Justin home.
       "What's going to happen to him," Rick asked.
       "I don't know. What do you want to happen," I asked him.
       He thought for a few moments. He looked at me, and then he said, "I want him to be our kid, Babe. He's going to have to be in foster care somewhere. Why not with us?"
       I laughed and grinned and just about lost it in the tear department, all at the same time. "God, I love you," I said.
       "What?"
       "I was thinking exactly the same words you just said."
       "Jesus, that's fucking scary, but I kind of like that, you know?"
       "Oh, Babe. I know. I truly know, man." I kissed him after I said that, and, of course, the boys saw us. Justin screamed out "whoo hoo!" Kyle, our self-appointed protector, jumped on Justin and dunked him deep when he did that.

       The next morning all three boys showed up at the breakfast table.
       "Justin's going to work with us today," Kyle said. "He's going to be liaison boy between the beach and the pool. It's a new concept I've been working on for some time."
       "Bullshit," Rick said. "You've been working on that since last night. Didn't we have a conversation about you and Herman yesterday, Kyle?"
       "Yeah, we did Rick, and I said you were right. But I talked to my dad about this last night on the phone when we came home. He's cool with it, Rick."
       "Is your dad going to talk to Herman," Rick asked.
       "Find out, please, before Justin goes with y'all," I said.
       "Call him now, Kyle," Rick said.
       "Yes, sir," Kyle said. He tended to use "sir" and "ma'am" a whole lot more often than Tim did, and I attributed it to the fact that he was from the South, where well-raised kids address all older people with one or other of those titles.
       Kyle went over to the phone and called his dad. He asked Gene Goodson if he had talked to Herman about Justin.
       "What'd he say, Daddy," Kyle asked.
       Pause.
       "Oh, good. I think you'll like him when you get to meet him. He swam with us at the house last night."
       Pause.
       "Yes, sir, he is."
       Pause.
       "No, sir, he's not from here. We'll find him one, though."
       Pause.
       Kyle laughed. Then, "Bye, Dad. I love you, too. Kiss Mom for me." Then he hung up.
       "It's all done," Kyle said when he came back to the table. "I feel better knowing that. I thought about what I did yesterday, and I'm going to talk to Herman and apologize. I really did act like a prick to him."
       Nobody said anything, but I knew Rick was beaming with pride at his boy inwardly.
       "What did he ask you about me," Justin asked.
       "He asked if you were gay," Kyle said. "I told him you are."
       "Why'd you do that, man," Justin asked. He pronounced "man" with two syllables.
       "He's cool with it, Jus," Kyle said.
       "Just 'cause he's cool with these two don't mean he wants his kid hanging around with a fag," Justin said. "It's called guilt by association, you know, Kyle?" Justin looked down at his plate.
       Kyle froze in his place. Then he slowly looked at Rick, Tim, and me to see our reactions. Tim mouthed "tell him."
       "Jus, you haven't figured it out," Kyle asked.
       "Figured what out, dude?" Justin had lit a cigarette a few moments before, and he thumped ashes from it into his plate. I wanted to scream at him at that moment. Instead, I reached for an ashtray that was on the counter and put it down in front of him. He didn't respond in any way.
       "Tim and I are gay. We're boyfriends."
       It was Justin's turn to freeze. In a few seconds he said, "Jesus Christ. I ain't fucking believing this shit."
       "I don't get why you're upset because these guys are gay, Jus," Rick said gently.
       "I ain't upset that they're gay. I'm just confused, is all," he said.
       "Why are you confused," Rick asked.
       "Yesterday I offered these guys blowjobs, and they said 'no.' I tried to come on to Kevin yesterday three or four times, before and after I knew he was gay, and he told me to not do that no more. I just don't know what to think."
       "Do you think blowjobs and butt fucking is all there is to being gay," Rick asked.
       "Well, ain't it," he asked.
       "Jus, everybody at this table likes blowjobs and butt fucking, man. But it's a way of communicating something to the person we care about. The person we love." Tim and Kyle were taking in Rick's every word, and so was I. I had no idea what effect it was having on Justin.
       "I don't know nothing about caring about somebody who fucks me or whose cock I suck," Justin said.
       "I know you don't, buddy, but fucking ass and sucking cock ain't all that being gay's about," Rick said. "That ain't even ten percent of it."
       Justin didn't respond.
       "We all need to get to work now, guys," Rick said, "but we're going to talk about this some more, okay, Jus? As a family. Okay, Jus?"
       Justin didn't reply.
       "Okay, Jus," Rick said again.
       "Whatever," Justin said.
       I wanted to wring his fucking neck for disrespecting my guy with that comment, for disrespecting all of us. I started to say something in anger, but Rick grabbed my hand. He raised his eyebrows at me, and that meant "lighten up," so I held my tongue.
       "Justin, I know you don't have any money," Rick said. He took out his wallet and laid a twenty on the table. "You're going to need some smokes and some lunch and about a gallon of sun screen on that snow white ass of yours. See y'all later, guys." He kissed me goodbye, told me and the kids he loved us, and then he was gone.
       "Shit, we're already late for Justin's first day," Tim said. "Let's go."
       They were out the door in a flash, leaving me with a pile of dirty dishes. I poured myself another cup of coffee from the thermos pot on the table and lit up a smoke. I thought about many things. I thought about what Rick and I had agreed upon the night before at the pool, and about us taking Justin in as a foster child. I thought about the conversation I had had a few months before with my friend Monte on his boat about the landmines that littered the path of fostering an older kid, especially one with Justin's history. I thought about Tim and Kyle, and how easy they were to love, how wonderful they were as human beings. I had never felt toward them the rage and animosity I had felt toward Justin that morning when he had said "whatever" in that dismissive and contemptuous tone of voice when Rick had tried to reason with him and extend his love to him.
       "Jesus," I prayed out loud, "I put it all in your hands. Let me have the kind of patience with Justin that Rick has. Make Justin understand that it's okay to be gay but that being gay isn't really about the life he's been living for so many years. Please bring him around so he can be happy. I know this isn't a very good prayer, but I mean it from my heart, Jesus. Amen."

       I got to work an hour late that morning, but nobody even noticed. They all knew I often worked till eleven o'clock, or even midnight, and my boss knew I wasn't a slacker. Jeff, the assistant I shared with the rest of the sales team, wasn't there yet because of his wife's doctor's appointment. The first thing I did after I got some coffee was call my brother.
       "What the fuck do you want," he said instead of the usual "hello."
       "I was calling my best friend, a guy named Craig Foley. You see him around there anywhere?"
       "What's the matter, Kev? You sound like you're in trouble, bro. What's going on? Is Rick okay? Are the kids okay?" He was talking a mile a minute.
       "Everybody's fine, bubba. I need some advice, that's all," I said.
       "Kevin, I'm sorry I started the conversation the way I did. I figured you just called to rag me about something, that's all."
       "I know, Craig. I don't take any offense at your shit. You know that."
       "I know, but your voice..."
       "Rick and I are distressed, and the boys are a little distressed, too, and we don't know what to do. I need legal advice."
       "What the fuck's going on," he asked.
       I told him about Justin in pretty good detail.
       "Whoa," he said when I was finished. "This kid ain't no Tim or Kyle, is he?"
       "This kid ain't worth one of their pubic hairs in the bottom of a urinal," I said.
       There was a pause, and then he laughed hard.
       "Little brother, if they gave Nobel prizes for metaphors, that one would be a winner, hands down." Pause. "So I gather you don't think all that much of this kid. What's his name?"
       It was my turn to laugh. "His name is Justin."
       "Does Justin have those big, outrageous tattoos all over him," he asked. He was playing with me, and I suddenly realized it.
       "No tattoos, but he has a gold loop through each nipple," I said.
       "Oh, my God. I'm getting an erection."
       "Shut up and tell me what the fuck to do, asshole," I said.
       "Ssssuck them, brother. Ssssuck those nipples," he said.
       "Okay. That's it. I'm hanging up now. I'm calling Cherie. I need serious legal advice about what to do with this critically abused, sixteen-year-old gay orphan who happens to be living in my house, so I'm calling your wife. Goodbye."
       "HEY," he screamed into the phone. "Don't hang up! Don't call her! I can help you."
       "I know you can, Craig. That's why I called you. But will you?"
       "I was just playing with you, Kevin. You know that. Please don't be mad at me, man."
       "I know you were playing with me, Craig, and 99.9% of the time I love doing that shit with you. But this is serious, bro."
       There was a pause for a pretty long time. I could hear him breathing hard, and I knew he was trying to keep from crying. Finally he spoke.
       "I know it's serious, Kevin, and I'm sorry I was so immature just now."
       He paused, but I didn't say anything.
       "Here's what the deal is. You don't want to get the police involved. It's not really a law enforcement issue, at least not from the boy's point of view. But you do need to get the child welfare people involved. I don't know what the agency is called in Florida. Here in Louisiana it's called Children's Protective Services. It might be the same thing there, but, if it isn't exactly that, it's going to be something that means the same thing. Look it up in the white pages of the phone book, under "Florida, State of." Call them and ask to speak to a supervisor. Don't deal with an ordinary worker. Those people are way overworked and underpaid. Talk to a boss. Tell her, or him, what you told me. And call me back after you talk to them, okay?"
       "Okay, I'll do it. Thanks."
       "Are you mad at me? Please don't be mad at me," he said.
       "Yeah, I was mad at you. You really pissed me off," I said.
       "Are you still mad at me," he asked in a pitiful voice. "I don't want you mad at me."
       He was very close to tears, if he wasn't actually crying at that moment.
       "How could I stay mad at my brother and best friend," I asked.
       "You're my best friend, too, Kevin, and I love you," he said.
       "I know you do, and I love you, too. Let's just forget this conversation ever happened, except for the good stuff you told me just now, okay?"
       "Okay, but I can't ever forget that that kid ain't worth one of Tim's or Kyle's pubic hairs at the bottom of a urinal, man. That was fucking poetry."
       "Go to work," I said, laughing. "Bye. I love you."
       "I love you, too."
       We hung up.
       I didn't waste any time in pulling out my phone book. I looked up "Florida, State of," and I was amazed at the number of listings. I found a listing for "Children & Families, Department of," but that had a whole array of divisions, too. There was a number for a Child Abuse Hotline, but I decided that wasn't really what I wanted. Then I saw a listing for something like "Foster care and adoptions, legal." I called that number.
       I didn't get a person, of course. I got an electronic system that gave me many choices, none of which meant anything to me. I listened to the menu once and couldn't decide whom I needed to talk to, so I went through it a second time. I finally decided to press 4 for Foster Care Services.
       "What," a man's voice said.
       "Is this Foster Care Services," I asked.
       "Yeah, sorry. My secretary must be away from her desk. This is Foster Care. Are you a foster parent?"
       "No, I'm not. Not officially, anyway. Can you help me with a problem with a kid?"
       "Well, you probably need the school district. Their number is..." and he rattled off a number.
       "No, the kid's not in school," I said.
       "Well, here's the number for Truancy Control," he said, and he said another number.
       "It's the middle of the summer, man. No kids are in school right now," I said.
       "Oh, yeah. Right. Why don't you just tell me what the problem is, and maybe I can refer you to the right agency," he said.
       I told him Justin's story, including the part about Rick having to cut the handcuffs off his ankles.
       "Where are you right now," he asked.
       "I'm at work, in the sales department of the hotel at the Surfside Resort."
       "Wow, a high roller," he said.
       "I'm not a high roller. I just work here, man," I said. "What happens next?"
       "I'm going to go out there to see you. Is that okay?"
       "Yeah, please come out. I'll be here," I said.
       "Okay, I'll be there in thirty minutes," he said.
       "Okay. I'll be looking for you."
       After we said goodbye, I called Rick.
       "Can you come to my office right now? I need you here."
       "Is this about Justin," he asked.
       "Yeah."
       "I'll be there in ten."
       He got there in a few minutes. He closed the door to my office when he walked in, and he kissed me.
       "Why are you so stressed," he asked.
       I told him about my reaction to what Justin had said to him, about my phone call to Craig, and about my adventures with the welfare system's phone thing.
       He took them one at a time.
       "I knew Justin pissed you off by what he said, Babe, but you can't let that bother you, you know? He's fucked up really bad, you know, and you and I and the boys have to help put him get back together again. Do you know what I mean?"
       "Do you think we can do that," I asked.
       "I don't know, but we can try. But I know we absolutely can't let him get under our skin the way he got under yours this morning. Are you with me on that?"
       "If you keep me balanced, I will be. I need you for this, Rick."
       "I know you do. I'm here for you, Kev. You know that, man. I'm here for you first and always. You know I love our boys, but they ain't shit compared to you, okay?"
       I knew he meant what he said before he said it, but it sure was good to hear him say it.
       "So what about Craig," he asked.
       I recapped our conversation for him.
       "Kevin, he was joking you, man. You know that. Craig loves you almost as much as I do, and you know he does. I agree he went too far, but you know he loves you, don't you?"
       "Yeah, I know that, but he didn't take me seriously at first, you know? That really hurt."
       "But it sounds like he did take you seriously, eventually, right?"
       "Yeah, but it was only after I said I was going to call Cherie that he got serious," I said.
       "Kevin, Craig has never impressed me as the model of maturity. Do you know what I mean?"
       "Yeah, I do, and he even said on the phone he had been immature."
       "Well, what about the welfare people?"
       "The guy's going to be here in just a few minutes. That's why I wanted you here."
       "Well, here I am," he said.
       I didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then I said, "God, I love you."
       "I know you love me, and I love you. We both know that. We don't have to say it all the time, but I love you, too."
       "What did I do to deserve you," I asked.
       "Well, it's your right eye. The one that sort of stares off into space at that funny angle, seeing nothing. I can't resist that."
       "You asshole," I said. I hit him affectionately on his arm, and he laughed.
       "Where did that come from," I asked.
       "Where does anything I say come from?"
       "Left field?"
       "Yeah, but you can't see it with that funky eye."
       I laughed. God, I loved that boy.
       The child welfare guy arrived just then, and Rick and I were laughing our asses off when Jeff brought him in to my office.
       "How'd it go," I asked Jeff in a quiet aside.
       "It was unbelievable, Kevin," he said. He grinned a broad, toothy grin, and I was happy for him. He had heard his baby's heartbeat, and I knew that had to be a wonderful sound to him.
       "Let's talk about it when I finish with this, okay?"
       "Okay," he said. "I can't wait to tell you about it. Do y'all need coffee?"
       "Wait up a minute. Let me see." I turned to the child welfare man. "I'm Kevin Foley, and this is Rick Mashburn," I said.
       "Williams. Tyrone Williams," he said, shaking my hand first and then Rick's.
       "Please have a seat, Mr. Williams. Can I offer you some coffee, or maybe some water or juice," I asked.
       "Coffee sounds good," Williams said.
       "I'll have some coffee, too, Jeff. Do you want anything," I asked Rick.
       "Some water, please, Jeff," Rick said.
       "Mr. Williams, I told you pretty much all I know about Justin on the phone a little while ago," I said by way of an opener.
       "Please call me Tyrone, and may I call you Rick and you Kevin," he asked, looking first at me and then at Rick.
       "No. Call me Kevin and him Rick," I said.
       Tyrone chuckled. "Sorry about that, fellas. I think it must be the heat." We chuckled politely. "First of all, you did the right thing by calling me, Kevin. I know it probably took you a half hour to get to me through that damn telephone system we have, but you made some lucky guesses and got to the right place."
       You got that right about the lucky guesses, I thought.
       "Do you know if the boy has any relatives who might be interested in him," he asked.
       "He thinks he might have some grandparents, but he's never met them," I said.
       Jeff brought the refreshments in at that moment, and we took a few seconds to get those sorted out.
       "So, effectively, he really doesn't have anybody, is that your read, Kevin?"
       "That's our read," I said.
       "'Our' read," Tyrone asked. He sounded puzzled. "You and your wife?"
       "Rick's and mine," I said. "We're a gay couple, Tyrone."
       "Oh, I see. I was wondering why you were here, Rick, but now it makes perfect sense."
       "Does that present a problem," I asked.
       "Not to me," Tyrone said.
       "To us being his foster parents," Rick asked.
       Tyrone's face sort of lit up at those words.
       "Would y'all be willing to do that," he asked, rays of hope shining from his face.
       "Yeah. I thought that's what this was all about," Rick said.
       "I hadn't said that yet, Babe," I said.
       "No, he hadn't, but, my God, that changes everything. I had no idea what I was going to do with that kid," Tyrone said. "Do either of y'all have any experience working with kids?"
       We told him about Tim and our involvement with him over the last six months or so.
       "Jesus be surely smiling on me today," Tyrone said. That was the first African Americanism I had detected in his speech, and it truly did seem to fit perfectly. "I'd like to talk to Justin."
       "He's at work with Tim and Kyle right now," I said.
       "Now, who's Kyle," Tyrone asked.
       I explain who Kyle was.
       "You fellas are pretty remarkable," Tyrone said.
       "Well, I don't know about that. Let's go talk to Justin," I said.

Chapter 4

       We each took our own vehicles to the motel to meet with Justin. Rick and I started to ride together, but then we decided we didn't know what would have to be done after Tyrone interviewed the boy. I might have needed to go in one direction, and Rick might have needed to go in another.
       Tim was the first one we saw when we drove into the parking lot. There were only a handful of people around the pool, and he didn't look very busy. He was wearing a Speedo for some reason that day, and it looked like he might have just finished a workout with the weights. For whatever reason, he looked really impressive.
       We introduced Tim to Tyrone. Tim said that Justin was on the beach with Kyle, so he used his cell phone to call them up to the pool. Kyle was in a Speedo, too, and he, too, looked unusually good. Poor Justin most closely resembled a plucked chicken, with his too-white skin and very baggy board shorts. He looked pumped up, too, but, without so much as a trace of a tan, his physique didn't really compare very well to the other boys.
       After the introductions, Tyrone moved aside with Justin to one of the tables that had an umbrella so they could talk privately. That left the four of us together.
       "Have y'all been working out," I asked.
       "Yeah. Can you tell," Kyle asked.
       "Definitely," Rick said. "Y'all are looking pretty good there, little brothers."
       They beamed.
       "Do you guys want some water or something," Tim asked.
       We all said "yes" to the water, and Tim got us each a bottle. We sat down at one of the other tables that had an umbrella.
       "What's going to happen," Tim asked, after we had settled down.
       "He's going to live with us," I said.
       Tim and Kyle looked at one another, grinned, and touched their fists together.
       "What," Rick asked.
       "We knew that was going to happen," Kyle said.
       "Are y'all okay with that," Rick asked.
       "Of course we are," Kyle answered for both of them.
       "What about you, Tim," I asked. "You're going to be with us while your dad is gone. Is that all right with you?"
       "When Kyle first said he thought you guys were going to take him in, I got a little jealous. But he made me see that Jus needs us, and I am very cool with having another brother."
       "It's going to have to be a team effort, boys," I said. "All four of us. Y'all are probably going to end up spending more time with him than we do. Are you sure you can handle that?"
       "Piece-o-cake, buddy," Tim said.
       Rick and I grinned at our boys. "Y'all are something else, you know that," I said, and they both grinned. In some ways Tim and Kyle were grown-ups in a full-fledged sexual relationship that could easily last a lifetime, but in other ways they were still little boys who craved the attention and approval of the adults they cared about.
       "Y'all are the ones, Kevin, not us," Kyle said. "Do you happen to have cigarettes with you? I gave mine to Justin yesterday, and I haven't had one since yesterday morning."
       I reached into my pocket to take out my pack. "If you haven't had a cigarette in over twenty-four hours, why don't you just quit," I asked.
       "Why don't you," he replied.
       "Touché," I said, chuckling.
       Kyle and I lit up smokes, and Tim got up to look after a customer who wanted a bottle of sun screen. He came back to the table with a deck of cards.
       "Who wants to play cards," Tim asked.
       "I do. Let's play strip poker," Kyle said.
       "Very funny," I said, and all of us laughed a little.
       "Let me see those cards," Rick said.
       Tim handed them to him, and Rick proceeded to entertain us with card tricks. At one point, Kyle stood up and started digging into his butt with his hand, obviously scratching himself.
       "What the hell are you doing," Rick asked.
       "My butt itches. I'm scratching it," he said.
       "Ain't that supposed to be his job," Rick said, indicating Tim.
       "Jeez," Tim said. There was no trace of embarrassment on the face of either of them. We've come a long way with these two, I thought.
       After talking with Justin for a half hour or more, Tyrone walked over to our table.
       "What's up," Rick asked.
       "Would you excuse us, please, boys," he said to Tim and Kyle. They started to get up to leave.
       "Can't they stay," I asked. "They're going to play as big, or bigger, role in looking after him as we are."
       "Yeah. Sure," Tyrone said. "He seems to be pretty excited about living with y'all. At first he grilled me about who I was and what I wanted, and so on, but then he relaxed and opened up a little. He's been through a lot, but I think he's got potential."
       "Well, that's good," Rick said. "Did he proposition you?"
       "Yes, as a matter of fact, he did, but that's one of the hazards of working with street kids. It happens all the time," Tyrone said. "He seemed really pleased about having you two as brothers, boys. Then he said something I really didn't understand. He said he felt like Eddie Haskell. Do y'all know what that means?"
       It took us all a second to process the reference to the kid on Leave It to Beaver who was always dripping with politeness around adults but who was a pure jerk with the other kids. When we got it, we all laughed.
       Tyrone looked a little puzzled at our reaction, but an explanation would have taken too much time.
       "Well, anyway, there is going to have to be some paperwork, of course. I'll need to do a background check on the two of you, and that means being fingerprinted. You'll both have to apply for licenses as foster parents, and that might take a couple of weeks to process, unless I can get them to accept this as an emergency placement. Ordinarily, with a couple who are legally married, we license the home, but I think it's a good idea to license both of you individually. That way you can both act as his guardians. In the meantime, though, Justin will continue to live with you fellas."
       "What happens if there's an emergency," Rick asked. "We both have power of attorney to take care of Tim if we need it. Who do we call or what do we do if that happens with Justin?"
       "That's a good question. I'll request a decree of temporary custody just as soon as I get back to the office. In fact, can I use that phone, son?"
       Tim handed him his phone. Tyrone dialed a number and gave instructions to someone to get temporary custody papers in the works. He asked us for the exact spelling of our legal names, and he also needed our Social Security numbers, our address, and our phone numbers at home and at work. He asked if we could stop by his office that afternoon to sign the papers. We said we could.
       The whole time we were talking to Tyrone, Justin was waiting patiently at the other table. When we were finished with our conference, Rick said,
       "Tim, go get your brother. Y'all put some clothes on, and we'll go eat lunch."
       Tim got up and walked over to Justin. Kyle got up, too, and headed off to get their clothes.
       "'Go get your brother,'" Tyrone asked, somewhat in disbelief.
       "Was that okay," Rick asked.
       "You're kidding, right," Tyrone asked.
       Rick didn't answer, but he looked confused.
       "That is so okay, Rick, I don't even know how to begin explaining it," Tyrone said. "Justin is one lucky young man. I sure hope he can learn from you guys."

       Tim and Kyle didn't spend that night at our house. George was leaving on Saturday for two months of intensive study at the dental school of the University of Florida to get ready to take his state licensing exam, and Tim would be with us while he was gone. George had wanted to do something alone with his two "sons," as he put it, that night.
       George had been over the previous Saturday afternoon, and we had talked about Tim and Kyle.
       "When you guys told me Kyle might very well turn out to be my son-in-law, I was a little shocked at first. Now that I've been around the two of them together, I think you guys might be right," George said.
       "What do you think about that," I asked.
       "Kyle seems like an extremely nice kid," he said.
       "But...," Rick interjected.
       "But they're so young. They seem to be very much in love with one another. Do you think they're having sex," George asked.
       "They haven't said anything to you about it," I asked.
       "No. Not yet."
       "Would it bother you if they were, George," Rick asked.
       "We're Catholics, as you know, and all my life I've been taught that premarital sex is wrong. It's sinful. I'm worried that I'm condoning something I've always been taught was wrong."
       "So, it's not the fact that two guys