Tim (#1)

Chapter 1

       When I woke up that morning in late January, I felt for Rick beside me in bed. He wasn't there, and his place wasn't even warm. Then I remembered that it was Saturday and that he would be doing a long run. How anybody could take pleasure in running twenty miles when he could be home in bed was beyond me, but Rick was almost as devoted to running as he was to me. Saturday morning was a chance to get in long-run training for the marathon, and he looked forward to that as much as a kid looked forward to Christmas.
       I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I showered, but I didn't bother to shave. Rick and I rarely shaved on Saturday mornings, and if we made love on Saturday afternoon, he would rub his bristly chin on my butt to tease me. Thinking about making love to Rick made Mr. Happy tingle, but I ignored it and got dressed.
       I considered myself just about the luckiest man on earth that morning. Rick and I had made a solemn life commitment to one another about a month before, and the golden gleam of my wedding ring sort of symbolized that golden time for us. We had been together for a little more than three-and-a-half years when we took the plunge, and we both looked forward to spending the rest of our lives together. A child, a little boy of our own, we hoped would one day round out our family, but, at twenty-five, neither of us was ready to take on the responsibilities of fatherhood, and nobody was willing to let us, anyway.
       I had set up the coffee maker the night before when we went to bed, and I turned it on. I got the newspaper from the holder under the mailbox out front, and the coffee was ready by the time I got back inside. I poured myself a cup, adding sweetener and fat-free half-and-half, and I sat at the table in the breakfast room part of the den to read the news. I scanned the front page and read part of an article about the war in Afghanistan, glad that it didn't touch us in any way. Then I turned to the sports page to read about the awful beating the University of Alabama football program had taken the day before at the hands of the NCAA. I wasn't an Alabama fan, but I certainly respected the University and its football program. I thought the punishment was a bit excessive, and an honest-to-God chill passed over me when I read that the next step would be the complete elimination of football at the school if they violated their five-year probation. No football at Alabama? That was unthinkable.
       I looked up from the paper and caught sight of what was going on in the yard next door. George Murphy, our neighbor and good friend, and his son, Tim, were in what looked like a pretty serious conversation. George had a basketball cradled between his right arm and his body, and he had his left hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim looked distraught, and George kept gesturing toward our house. I wondered if they were talking about us.
       George was of indeterminable age somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five, and he was in excellent shape. George was a Navy dentist, and they had lived in that house about a year, having bought it from the Navy dentist who lived there before them. There was no Mrs. Murphy on the premises, and there were no other children. George didn't date as far as we knew, and he and Rick and I had spent many hours talking over coffee, dinner, or drinks. George had seemed genuinely excited when we got married, and he was one of only a handful of people to give us a wedding present.
       Tim was a good looking kid of fourteen. He stood about five feet, six or seven inches tall, almost as tall as George. The fading remnants of his summer tan were faintly visible on his shirtless back. Just the week before, George and I had discussed the fact that the seventy-five-degree temperatures of north Florida in January were blowing his Massachusetts-bred mind, and Tim's acknowledgment of the temperature and his blatant disregard for the fact that it was mid-winter no doubt added to George's consternation at the weather. Tim's dark blond hair looked wet. It might have been wet from the sweat of a one-on-one with George, but it could just as easily have looked that way from the gel he used on it to keep it in its totally disheveled hairstyle. Tim had filled out noticeably since they moved in, and he was well on his way to developing into Rick's, and (to a lesser extent than Rick's) my own, athletic body form. Tim had played baseball for his middle school, and Rick and I had caught a few games the previous spring, especially when George couldn't be at them. Tim had gone out for freshman football, too, that fall, but he had quit the team over some kind of altercation with an older and much larger teammate. Tim felt completely at ease in our house, and he had been our guest five or six times when George had to be out of town on business for a few days.
       I focused my attention back on the newspaper. In a few minutes, I poured another cup of coffee and returned to my reading. Just then the phone rang.
       "Hello," I said.
       "Can you believe that fucking shit?!"
       It was my brother, Craig, the mild-mannered New Orleans attorney who just happened to be a rabid football fan, albeit a Tulane partisan. The bastard had actually wormed my mother out of her ticket to the Super Bowl the next day, so the phone calls from the Super Dome would be fewer than I would have otherwise expected had he been watching the game at home.
       "Did you just read about it in the paper," I asked.
       "Yeah. Did you?"
       "Yeah, but I saw it on CNN last night, too," I replied.
       "Why didn't you call me, asshole?! What good are you, anyway?"
       "Oh, so it's 'asshole,' is it," I asked.
       "Sorry. I meant to say 'Shithead.' You know that, baby brother." We both laughed. "Shithead" was his and my dad's term of endearment for me, and, frankly, I loved it when they called me that. They never said it in anger or with a mean twist; I was just Shithead.
       Thus began a thirty-minute conversation about the University of Alabama and it's tale of woe.
       "So, are you and Rick watching the game tomorrow night," he asked.
       "What game," I asked in return.
       "Eat me!"
       "What's the matter, bubba? Isn't Cherie taking care of your big stud cock?" Cherie was his wife, also a lawyer, and one of the nicest people I had ever met. If I hadn't been gay, I might have tried to win her away from him. "Besides, you know we promised Mom and Dad we wouldn't do that." We loved teasing one another, and it was often about our respective sexual orientations. Craig had always been my best friend, staunchest ally, and boldest defender, and he would have cheerfully tried to stand down a tank-load of gay-bashers if they were after me. He was so totally at home with my sexuality, and so accepting of it, that he could poke fun at me about it without a trace of rancor or ridicule. When Rick and I first got together, and Craig did the same thing with him, Rick was puzzled and a bit confused at first. When Rick figured out that it was all a game and as much an expression of love as anything, he joined the fray, giving Craig as good as he got from him.
       "Fuck you," he said.
       "Oh?" There was a ten-second pause, and we both burst into laughter.
       "Hey, listen. I've got to go. Rick's just getting home from his run. Enjoy the game. Call me."
       "Don't you dare hang up, motherfucker! Put my brother on this phone." Craig was very excited. Sometimes he called to talk to me, and sometimes he called to talk to Rick. We were both his brothers, in his mind, and he was our brother in our minds, too.
       Rick opened the back door and walked in. He was dripping sweat, but his breathing was back to normal. He came over to me and kissed me good morning. I could feel the heat emanating from his body.
       "Is that Craig," Rick asked.
       I nodded and handed him the phone. I hit the speaker button so I could hear the opening exchange.
       "Did you just kiss him," Craig demanded.
       "Yeah. So what?"
       "It's disgusting, that's so what," Craig said.
       Rick was grinning.
       "I kissed his butthole last night. And then I ran my tongue up into it as far as I could get it. Then, when I had him all opened up and dripping, I fucked his ass till he couldn't stand it, and he shot a load of cum that drowned a dozen bedbugs. One of these days it'll be your turn, Big Boy."
       All three of us roared with laughter. When it died down, Craig said,
       "Did you have a good run?"
       "Yeah. Real good."
       "How many?"
       "About twenty, maybe twenty-one," Rick said.
       "Damn. That's pretty good for a fag," Craig said. Rick grinned.
       "Naw. Most fags do forty miles on a day like today. But I was trying to pass for straight."
       Craig screamed with laughter, and Rick and I joined in.
       When the laughter subsided, Craig said, "Turn the fucking speaker off, Kevin. My brother and I need to talk."
       "Yes, sir, Mister Craig," I said. "Kiss my sister-in-law for me with plenty of tongue, you hear?"
       "Shithead," he said, and we all laughed.
       I turned off the speaker, and Craig and Rick launched into their conversation. I poured myself another cup of coffee, and I got Rick a cup, too. I tuned them out because I was sure Craig was telling Rick the same stuff about the Alabama fiasco he had told me. In fact, I was pretty sure he was also telling Rick stuff I had told him, without attribution, of course. They talked for a good thirty minutes before hanging up.
       "Did you have a good one today," I asked Rick when he had finally hung up.
       "It was okay. I've got to figure out how I can get more water, though. I'm going to suggest that the club set up hydration stations on that course on Saturday mornings. Running with a back pack sucks."
       He was referring to the back pack he used to carry bottles of water when he's on a long run. The "club" was the North Florida Running Club, and many of their members did long runs on Saturday mornings. I was a non-running member, and I didn't really relish the thought of getting up at 5 o'clock on the weekend to man a hydration station. I'd do it, of course, for the man I loved, but I'd do it half asleep.
       "What are you going to do today," I asked.
       "I'm going to get the leaves up in the yard, for one thing. If those people next door ever move, I'm going to cut that damn sycamore tree down while the house is vacant." He was referring to a tree in the yard of the neighbors to the south, not the Murphys. The house the Murphys lived in had had a popcorn tree in the back yard that spewed seeds in Rick's flower beds every year. Those seeds germinated prolifically, and Rick cursed every one of the seedlings that popped up. After the previous dentist moved out and before George and Tim moved in, Rick had taken his chain saw over there and had cut the popcorn tree down. The sycamore tree in question was much larger than the popcorn tree had been, and the leaves were as big as hats. He loved the big pines and oaks we had in our yard, but he hated sycamores and sweetgums for the messes they made. "What are you going to do?"
       "The usual errands," I replied. We had divided the labor. On Saturday morning, I went to the cleaners, went to the bank, went to the grocery store, and got the cars washed. If the cars needed an oil change or tire rotation or some other service, I took care of that, too. He took care of the yard. That was something I hated and he loved. We had a maid service that came on Fridays to clean the house, so we didn't have that to worry about. We could have had a lawn service, too, but Rick insisted he do that himself.
       Rick and I had a good life. We were both managers for an international hotel/resort corporation, and together we earned over $100,000.00. Our house was paid for, thanks to some generous grandparents of mine who believed every kid should have a trust fund from birth. That year for Christmas my parents had given each of us $10,000.00, which was the maximum they could give without having to pay gift tax, and Rick had used his money to buy himself a car. It was a used car, but it was a real honey of a four-wheel-drive SUV. My car was a lease, and the lease was paid for. We had no debts except for our monthly utility bills and such, so we had lots of money to dispose of, if we wanted to.
       We weren't at the table for more than five minutes when the phone rang.
       "I'll bet that's Craig again," Rick said. "Let me get it."
       "What?!" And then, "Oh, jeez, George, I'm sorry. We thought you were Kevin's brother calling back with more of his bullshit."
       Pause.
       "Of course, man. Come on over." Rick hung up the phone. "Yikes! That was George, not Craig."
       I laughed. Just about everything Rick did and said amused and delighted me. It must have been the "honeymoon effect" at work.
       "Did George say what he wanted," I asked.
       "No. Just that he wanted to talk to us. I hope I didn't do something to piss him off," Rick said.
       "I saw him and Tim in their driveway earlier. They were having what looked like a pretty serious talk, and George kept pointing to our house," I said.
       "Hmmmmm," was Rick's only reply.
       George tapped on the back door and opened it as he was tapping.
       "Hi, George," Rick and I said in unison.
       "Hi, guys. Are you guys looking forward to the big game tomorrow night," he asked, jovially.
       "Yeah," Rick said. "We're having some guys over to watch it. You want to join us?"
       "I'd love to, but I doubt I'll even see the game, where I'm going," he said. I suddenly realized that George's joviality had disappeared, and he wore a look of concern on his face.
       "Where are you going," I asked.
       George took a seat at the breakfast room table, and Rick got him a cup of coffee. He refilled our cups, as well.
       "My unit has been called up. I'll be on my way to a hospital ship in the Indian Ocean by tomorrow night."
       "What? When did you find out," Rick asked.
       "Late yesterday afternoon. We leave from the air base tomorrow at two."
       "Shit," Rick said. "They sure didn't give you much warning."
       "They rarely do, especially in war time," George said. "When the war first started, I did some investigating, and I was led to believe we wouldn't be needed over there. It's gotten bigger than they anticipated, though, and there are all the POW's they're catching."
       "But you're a dentist," I said.
       "An oral surgeon, actually, and I'm sure that's why I'm on the list. People get dental wounds in war, too. Professionally, it's a great opportunity for me, but personally it couldn't have come at a worse time," George said.
       "Why? What's up?" That was a personal question, and I never would have asked it if I thought George didn't want to talk about it.
       "It's Tim."
       "Jeez, George, I didn't even think about my buddy," Rick said.
       "What's going to happen," I asked. "Will he have to go live with his mom?"
       "That's out of the question, Kevin," George replied. "Ordinarily, my parents would come, or at least my mom would, to look after him, but my grandmother had a stroke during the holidays, so Mom and Dad have to be on hand to look after her. My dad's just about an invalid because of his rheumatoid arthritis, so he can't come. Guys, I'm going to cut to the chase. I'm here to ask for your help."
       "Well, you know you've got it," I said.
       "Of course, you do, George. What can we do?" I wasn't surprised that Rick would feel that way, too.
       "I need to ask you guys if Tim can live here with you." The look on George's face let me know we truly were his only hope.
       Rick and I both grinned broadly.
       "Oh, man. That'll be great," Rick said. "Now I'll have two playmates!"
       I laughed out loud at what Rick said, but George had a much more serious look on his face. Rick read his expression and panicked.
       "Oh, George, I didn't mean anything sexual by that comment * at all! * I just meant another person to hang out with and have fun with, like with sports and all. Kevin and I would never, ever do anything sexual with Tim."
       "Calm down, Rick. If I didn't know that to the very core of my being, do you think I would be here right now? I'm ready to trust you two with my son. I don't take that lightly at all. And I trust you guys in every way. Totally."
       "Phew! I'm glad you feel that way, George," Rick said.
       "Rick. Kevin. Tim's going through a very difficult time right now. For the last week, ever since his scout camp out, he and I have spent time talking about sex and sexual orientation, and Wednesday night Tim acknowledged that he's gay."
       "And...." I said.
       "And...I don't think he's very comfortable with that, yet," George said.
       "What about you," Rick asked.
       "Me? He's my son. I've always loved him, and I always will. Nothing's changed, Rick. I would have hoped you already knew that about me."
       "I did, George. I just wanted to hear you say it, is all. Kevin and I have never doubted where you stand, man. You've been a good friend, and we appreciate that."
       "Tim's going to need a lot of guidance and support in the next few months, guys, and I wish to God I could be here to give it to him. But that's going to be your job, if you're still willing to do it."
       "George, if Rick and I know anything, we know what it's like being a gay teenager. He won't find any stronger support than he'll get from us, that's for sure. No offense to you, but we've been there, and you haven't."
       "I know that, Kevin, and don't think you guys would have gotten off the hook of being big brothers to him, even if I were going to be here. I was already counting on you guys to help us get through the adjustment. It didn't come as a surprise to me, by the way. Did it to your parents?"
       We both shook our heads 'no.'
       "What you guys don't realize is, you have already made it a lot easier for Tim," George said. "And for me, too, frankly."
       "What do you mean, George," Rick asked.
       "Well, look at yourselves, guys. You're young, good looking, virile men, well educated, successful in your jobs, obviously very much in love with one another, and obviously very happy. And you, Rick. You're an athlete's athlete. For a gay fourteen-year-old to have you guys living next door is pretty compelling, you know? Hell, I'd be proud to be gay if I could be like you guys."
       "Jeez, George...," Rick said, "I don't know what to say."
       "Don't say anything. I wasn't flattering you. I was just telling it like I see it," George replied.
       "But, George, you have flattered us and honored us beyond words, man. And if I don't shut up right now, you're going to see just how virile this young man is when I start crying my eyes out," I said.
       George stood up. "Come here. Both of you."
       Rick and I moved over to him, and he grabbed us into a hug. Rick and I responded in kind, and the three of us stood there embracing. George kissed each of us on the cheek, and we broke our hug.
       "I took a chance and made an appointment with the base legal office for two o'clock. I sure hope that won't spoil any plans you have," George said.
       "No, of course not," I said, "but what's up?"
       "It's a standard kind of thing, really. We'll meet with a lawyer or a paralegal to get stuff like guardianship papers filled out and signed. I'll also execute a full power of attorney so you can have access to my bank account. I'm set up on direct deposit for my paycheck, and all my regular bills are paid automatically by charging them to my credit card. I'll be able to handle that, I think, but you'll need money for Tim and for emergencies with him, if any come up."
       "We've got money, George..."
       "Rick, don't even go there. I don't want to hear it. I'll probably be able to monitor my bank account on line from the ship, and if I don't see money taken out of it on a regular basis by you guys, you'll both have hell to pay when I get back. And I mean it. Okay?" George had used his most authoritative Navy officer voice on that one.
       "SIR, YES, SIR," Rick said. George grinned and punched Rick lightly and affectionately on the arm.
       "Well, listen, guys, I need to get cleaned up before our appointment, and I do have a little packing to do. Why don't you come over at 1:30, and we'll take my car. Is that okay?"
       "You betcha," I said. "See you later."
       After George had left, I said, "Can you believe this? Are you okay with this?"
       "Okay with it? I'm so damn excited about it I'm about to wet my pants." On that line, Rick left the room for the bathroom.
       Upon his return, Rick started talking a mile a minute.
       "Man, Kevin, we're going to be daddies. We're going to have our own kid, and he's gay and everything. Did it surprise you that Tim is gay? He sure doesn't act gay."
       "Oh, Jesus, here we go again," I said. Rick was unquestionably 100% gay, and he and I were fully out to everyone, but every once in a while he allowed the old stereotype about "acting gay" to surface.
       "Damn, that was a dumbass thing to say, wasn't it," he asked sheepishly. "Are you mad at me?" He gave me one of his puppy dog looks that never fail to melt my heart. I grabbed him around the waist and kissed him hard on the lips.
       "Is that a 'yes' or a 'no?'"
       "Get your cute little ass in that bathroom and take a shower so the lawyer won't think you're a derelict," I said, grabbing his cute little ass.
       "Come with me," he said.
       He knew that was an offer I couldn't refuse.
       We played with each other in the shower, kissing, rubbing, and bringing one another to the height of arousal. We dried each other off and adjourned to our bed. Rick was an inspired cocksman that day, and he filled me with his love and made me explode.
       After we had come down from the height of passion, we held one another, occasionally kissing, occasionally petting one another, constantly enjoying the closeness and tenderness we felt for one another. We communicated our love nonverbally for a long while. Finally, Rick spoke.
       "I wonder if Tim has a boyfriend."
       "Did you have a boyfriend when you were fourteen," I asked, knowing the answer ahead of time.
       "You know about Jason," he replied.
       "You told me yu guys had never fooled around," I said.
       "We still haven't, and we never will, as long as you're alive."
       "I thought Jason was straight," I said.
       "He is. He was my boyfriend, but I wasn't his."
       I chuckled.
       "Did he know you had a crush on him," I asked.
       "Not then. I told him I loved him when I came out to him when we were seventeen. It was right after we graduated from high school. Kevin, I've told you all of this stuff before."
       "I know you have, but I still like hearing it. But back to Tim. Would it bother you if Tim had a boyfriend?"
       "No, why would it," he asked. "If he has questions about sex, though, you're going to have to answer them."
       "No, we'll answer them together, and we'll be totally honest with him, too. Okay?"
       He hesitated for a moment. "What if he asks about anal?"
       "We'll tell him about it. And if he asks if we do it, we'll tell him we do. But we'll also tell him that we waited until we were absolutely sure we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together before we started having anal sex, and we'll encourage him to save it for someone very special. We'll teach him about safe sex, too."
       "What if he asks if we use condoms," Rick asked.
       "We'll tell him the truth. What we do is safe. Neither of us has ever had sex with anyone other than each other where there was the transfer of semen, right?"
       "Kevin, if you're asking me if I've cheated on you, you know I haven't. What's up with you, man." I had, in no way, intended to challenge Rick about his fidelity, but what I had said came out wrong. He was pissed off at me at that moment, and he had every right to be. I continued holding him, but he had tensed up.
       "Babe, calm down. That was not what I meant to imply. I was just confirming the point that what we do is safe. Please forgive me, Rick. I know you're all mine, and I've never even had a hint of a doubt about that." He relaxed in my arms. "Besides, if I had any doubt, do you think I would have let you shove this thing up my ass just now?" I took hold of his penis as I said that, and it immediately began coming to life. That was a sure sign his anger had passed.
       "What time is it," he asked.
       "Shit! It's ten after one. We don't have time right now. But this bad boy belongs to me later, you hear?"
       "I'm sorry I got annoyed at you a few minutes ago, Babe," he said. "If I had been paying better attention, I would have known what you were doing. Forgive me?"
       "Come here, you little sex monkey. There's nothing for me to forgive unless you don't forgive me." "Little sex monkey" was a pet name we used for one another, and it delighted both of us.
       "There's nothing for me to forgive, either," he said, smiling sweetly at me.
       "So why am I holding your dick," I asked.
       He laughed, and his laughter made me laugh, as well.

Chapter 2

       Rick and I wondered whether we should wear a tie to our legal meeting, but we both opted for something more casual. I half expected George to have on his uniform, but when we got to his house at the stroke of 1:30, we saw that he was dressed as we were. Tim came out from his bedroom to join us in their den.
       Tim's grin when he saw us lit up his whole face. I tried to picture him in bed with another guy, but the image wouldn't come.
       "Hi, guys," Tim said.
       "Hey, buddy," Rick said.
       "Hi, Tim," I chimed in. "We're really excited about you living with us. We know you'll miss your dad, but we'll try to fill in for him."
       "Miss who," Tim asked coyly.
       "Very funny, mister," George said. He hugged Tim around the shoulders, and Tim grabbed him around the waist.
       "I will miss you, Dad. A lot." Tim's voice was close to breaking.
       "I know, son, and I'll miss you, too. But we've always known this could happen, haven't we? And you couldn't be in a finer household than Kevin and Rick's, that's for sure."
       "You and your dad can e-mail each other every day," Rick said.
       "Hell, for that matter, we can set up a cam, and you guys can get on NetMeeting or something like that and see one another to chat," I piped in.
       "The e-mail might work, but computer security is pretty tight in the military, especially in a combat situation, so I doubt if any of that other stuff would fly. But I'll check it out, just as soon as I can." George certainly knew more about that than we did. "Well, we better get going. We don't want to be late. They might not let me go, if we are."
       We all chuckled.
       "By the way, guys, feel free to smoke if you want to," George said. George winked at Tim, and Tim blushed a bit.
       "I quit about eight months ago," Rick said.
       "I still smoke a few every day, but I can wait," I said. "Do you smoke, Tim?" Yikes, I thought, as the words were coming out of my mouth. What a dumbass question to ask a kid in front of his father.
       "No," Tim said.
       "One of his friends smokes," George said. Tim cringed. I figured it had come up between them.
       "This talk about smoking brings up the issue of rules for Tim. We can talk about this more later, if you like, but I want it fully understood by you and Tim that you guys make the rules. I have complete confidence in the two of you as a team and in each one of you individually, and what you guys say goes. And, Tim, there will be none of this `but my dad lets me do it' stuff, either, you hear?"
       "Yes, sir," Tim said. He turned around to us in the back seat and grinned. What a cute kid, I thought.
       "Oh, and I've put together a packet of stuff you might conceivably need at some point, guys. It's stuff like insurance cards, his birth certificate, phone numbers of my parents, how to get in touch with me in a real emergency. Stuff like that. I'll give it to you when we get back from the base. Oh, and you will have shopping privileges on base. You can save a lot of money there, and Tim can show you the ropes. Base security is much tighter now than it was, but we'll get you the right ID to get in. You can even use the recreation facilities."
       "Wow, that seems awfully generous, George," I said.
       "Not really. You guys are doing the Navy and our country a huge favor. The least Uncle Sam can do is try to help with the hardship," George said.
       "This little...monkey will be a pleasure to have, George. Not a hardship," I said.
       Rick immediately burst out laughing. I had trouble keeping from laughing, too, and I squeezed his thigh as hard as I could to make him shut up.
       "What's so funny," George asked.
       "I'll tell you later, George, but you really probably don't want to know," I said.

       We spent close to two hours filling out forms, signing forms, getting our ID cards made, and the like. At one point George pulled us away from Tim for a private conversation.
       "I should have brought this up earlier at your house, guys, so I apologize in advance for what I'm about to ask you," George said. "It's a formality, really, and it slipped my mine until just now."
       "What is it," Rick asked.
       "Well, it's kind of a tough one, and I'll understand if you say no. I've got to have a will before I go. Since Tim is totally dependent on me, I have to name a guardian for him, in case I don't make it home. Now, given what I'll be doing, the likelihood of that happening is practically zero, but it's in the regs, and I can't not do it. I'd like to ask the two of you to have joint custody of Tim as his legal guardians in the event of my death."
       Rick and I were stunned. We looked at each other for the other's reaction, and I'm sure he saw the same confusion and disbelief on my face that I saw on his.
       "Do you need some privacy to talk about this," George asked.
       "Yeah, if you don't mind, George," I said.
       "Sure, I'll be down there with Tim when you're ready," he said.
       Tim was sitting in a chair about twenty feet away. He looked so alone and forlorn that my heart almost broke.
       "What do you think," Rick asked me.
       "Well, we've talked about having a kid. Plus, you heard what he said. This is going to be a formality. He'll be back. We'd be great parents, though, Babe."
       "I wonder what's up with Tim's mom," Rick said. "We're not exactly lifelong friends of George. Of course, it's not like he's leaving an orphan on our doorstep, either."
       We were both silent for a few minutes, each of us thinking about Tim and about us as a couple. It was all terribly sudden, but the thought of a gay kid cast into the world of foster homes at his age just about made me wretch. George looked up at us, and I waved him over.
       "George, what's the story on Tim's mother," I asked.
       "We're divorced," he said.
       "I assumed as much, but isn't she the likely one to get Tim if you died," I asked.
       He hesitated a few moments. "Okay, you guys have the right to know, but please don't think I'm looking for sympathy, okay?"
       "No, not at all," I said.
       "Right after Tim was born, she had a very bad and very long episode of post partum depression. She got good treatment for it, of course, and she was even hospitalized for it for a short time. Eventually, though, she got better. It was a close call, and I honestly thought I had lost her for a while. Together we decided there would be no more children. We were both only children, and we wanted at least two, but we made the sacrifice when it became clear that her health would be in jeopardy. Unfortunately, the inevitable happened, and she got pregnant again. We're Catholic, and, while I might have considered an abortion, she wouldn't even allow the word to be spoken in her presence."
       "We're Catholic, too," Rick said. "We understand."
       "Oh, really," George replied. "That's a plus I hadn't expected. Anyway, back to my wife. She carried our daughter to term, but the depression returned with a vengeance about halfway through the pregnancy. She had the baby, but she was in depression so deep at that point that she couldn't take care of her. Then, to make matters worse, Ann, our daughter, died of SIDS when she was four months old."
       "SIDS," I asked, not really sure what that was.
       "Sudden Infant Death Syndrome," George replied. "It doesn't happen as often now as it used to, but it's still there. Ann's death triggered a psychotic break in my wife, and she's been in a residential psychiatric facility ever since. There's really no hope that she'll ever be able to function outside of the place. I take the vow `in sickness or in health' very seriously, and the only reason I divorced her was so she could get Social Security disability and Medicaid. As a military dependent, she wasn't eligible for those. Her parents are both dead, and my parents can barely care for themselves. And now they have my grandmother, too. It's not a very rosy picture, I'm afraid."
       When George finished talking, Rick put his hand on my forearm. I looked at him, and he gave one quick nod that was probably imperceptible to anyone but me.
       "We'll do it, George," I said.
       He grabbed both of us by the arm and closed his eyes. "Thank you, God, for these men." Then, opening his eyes, he looked into our faces and said, "This won't go unrewarded in heaven, boys. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."
       "Well, hell, we haven't done anything yet, and I hope to God we won't have to," Rick said.
       "But you have done something, Rick. You've opened your hearts and your home to my son. Do you have any idea what that means to me? Can you even begin to imagine the debt of gratitude I owe you? I could never repay you."
       "Yes, you can. I've got this loose filling back here, and..."
       George laughed hard, the relief he was probably feeling at that moment making the comment a lot funnier than it really was.
       "Get it taken care of soon, but that will be the last dental bill you'll ever pay, my friend," George said. "Let's go finish up so I can take you guys out to dinner."
       That night, Rick and I stripped down to our briefs, as we often did. I got into my usual position on the sofa, and he joined me there, his back against my chest. I folded my legs over his, and I let my arms lie on his chest. Sitting that way was a kind of a pre-foreplay for us, and it was one of our most intimate encounters short of out-and-out sex. I stroked Rick's chest very gently, occasionally grazing one of his nipples. His nipples seemed to be a lot more sensitive than mine, and more than once I had brought him to orgasm just by stimulating them as I was doing then. I watched his erection grow in his underwear, and that caused my own to assert itself.
       "We're not going to be able to do this after tonight, are we," he asked.
       "Why the hell not," I asked in reply.
       "Well, with Tim here, and all," he said.
       "Ohhhh. I see what you mean. I hadn't thought of that."
       "We can do it in bed, though, can't we," he asked.
       "Yeah. I'm never giving this up, Babe. We can also do it right here when he's not around or already in bed."
       "I want us to talk about Tim and sex and all, okay," Rick said.
       "Like what," I asked.
       "Well, just some guidelines, I guess. For him and for us. I don't want him to ever get embarrassed by what we do, but, at the same time, I want him to learn how two men who are in love express their feelings for one another. I think that's really important for a gay kid to learn."
       "Where is this coming from. You're not smart enough to think this up on your own."
       "Very funny, you little...monkey," he said.
       He made me howl with laughter with that line.
       "You almost called him a little sex monkey in the car today, didn't you," he asked.
       "Yes, I did, and I could have strangled you when you started laughing your ass off. Thank God George didn't press the issue of what was so funny. Evidently, he forgot about it, too, because he never brought it back up."
       "That's some of what I'm talking about. That would have embarrassed Tim to death, even if you had been talking to me instead of to him."
       "I know," I said. "And can you believe I asked Tim if he smokes right there in front of George? I really need to start thinking about what I'm about to say before I just blurt out the first thing that comes into my head."
       "Yes, you do, and Tim does smoke, at least occasionally. I saw him the other day with his friend, the smoker, out by their pool. I think the smoker's gay, too."
       "How do you know? Have you seen them doing something," I asked.
       "I've only seen the kid once, but it's just a hunch," he said.
       "Well, unless you've had a sudden infusion of gaydar, the kid is probably totally straight."
       "True," he said.
       "I wonder if the smoker has a name," I asked facetiously. I was playing with his mind and his body at the same time, and I loved it.
       "No, he doesn't. Everyone just calls him the smoker. Even his parents."
       That made us both laugh hard.
       "You are too cute for your own good, do you know that, boy," I asked him.
       "So, what are we going to do about smoking," he asked.
       "What are you talking about?"
       "Tim. He smokes sometimes. Do we make a rule against smoking?"
       "Did you sneak a smoke occasionally when you were fourteen-and-a-half? I did," I said.
       "Well, yeah, but this is different. We're in charge, now."
       "So how is it different," I asked. "If he lights up after dinner when I do, then we address it. Otherwise, I say it's his own business, just like you wanted it to be your own business and I wanted it to be my own business when we were his age. That's pretty much a no-brainer, Babe, as far as I'm concerned."
       "Good. I feel the same way. What about nudity? That's going to come up, I think."
       "Yeah, you're right. Let's think about it. What was it like at home when you were a kid?"
       "Duh! It was just me and my mom, remember? There was no way I was going to parade around the house naked when she was home. Especially after I started pubing out. What was it like at your house?"
       "Well, Craig and I had absolutely no modesty with just the two of us. We saw each other hard just about every morning in our bathroom, and we took a shower together whenever we were running late for school," I said.
       "Did y'all ever go downstairs nude? Or be nude around your mom?"
       "Not really. She had to come in a few times when we were nude to break up a fight or to settle down some horseplay, but I guess that was when we were younger than Tim is. Do you think Tim would feel comfortable nude around us?"
       "He might, Kevin. It's just been him and George for as long as Tim can remember, and it wouldn't surprise me if they saw each other nude all the time," Rick said.
       "Are you worried about him seeing you or you seeing him? I've seen you nude holding conversations with other nude guys in the locker room at the gym a whole bunch of times. Hell, you've even taken measurements of nude guys, and let other guys take your measurements when you were nude. And you have damn sure never been shy around me."
       "I know," he said. "I'm not shy of Tim. I just don't want to embarrass him. I guess we could just let him call the shots on that one. Let him do whatever he's comfortable doing."
       "That's probably the best idea."
       "And what about masturbation," he asked.
       "Jesus Christ, Rick, we can't make a rule that says no masturbation. Get serious, dude."
       "I * know * that, Kevin. Sheesh, give me a little credit, please. I meant, what if he asks us if we masturbate. What do we tell him?"
       "We tell him the truth. In fact, what is the truth? Do you jerk off?" We had never really discussed masturbation before.
       "Sometimes, but not very often. I did when I was home at Christmas, but I haven't since then. Does it bother you that I do it sometimes?"
       For some reason, I had never thought about Rick masturbating since we'd been together. I did it occasionally, especially when he was gone for a few days, but he basically met my sexual needs. If he was out training and I was reading erotic fiction, occasionally I would spank the monkey. Usually, though, I tried to wait for him to get home.
       "Why would it bother me, Babe? What do you think about when you're doing it," I asked.
       "I think about fucking my girlfriend." He said that without a trace of irony in his voice, and for a second it didn't quite register. When it did, I roared with laughter. "I think about you. What do you think about?"
       "Who says I even do it," I asked in jest.
       "You do, though, don't you?"
       "I do now and then. Especially when you're gone. And I think about you, too, when I'm doing it."
       "Before we got together, I used to do it at least once a day, sometimes twice or three times. But it's been so good with you, I would rather wait for stuff like what you're doing to me right now than do it by myself. It still feels good, though." He grinned when he said that.
       Rick didn't say anything further. My erection had my briefs soaked through, and his were in the same, or worse, condition. I increased my attack on his chest, and he started moving rhythmically against me. He knew what I was going for, and he wanted me right there with him. After ten minutes of that, the job was done. Rick got up to get a warm, moist towel for us, and he came back with fresh underwear, too. We stayed up long enough for me to have a cigarette, and then we went to bed.
       Sunday morning was one of the best times of the week for us. Rick didn't run on Sundays, and that was a time for slow, gentle lovemaking. We made love when he returned from his run three or four mornings a week, but time was always an issue on work days. Sundays were different, though, and we often lounged in bed for several hours, talking, drinking coffee, reading the paper, and dozing after we made love.
       "I think you're getting better at it, Kevin," Rick said when we were finished. "Sunday morning won't change when Tim's here, will it," he asked.
       "Not on your life. We'll just let the smoker spend every Saturday night over here, and they can have their own fun," I said.
       "What about that? Any rules for the bedroom?"
       "Yeah. Make your bed every day, just like we do; don't play music too loud; put your dirty clothes in the hamper in the bathroom, not on the floor in your room; and if you have company, close and lock the door. That should do it, don't you think? Oh, and if you don't want anybody to know what you and the company are doing, keep it quiet."
       "I agree totally. Why don't we want him to leave his clothes on the floor? I thought every kid did that."
       "You might have, but I didn't. Well, I guess I did, actually, but the maid picked them up every day. She also made the bed. But, we don't have a maid every day, and you and I don't leave our clothes all over the place. He can do that," I said. "That's not a major imposition, and it won't scar him for life. And, knowing George, I'll bet he makes him keep his room neat, anyway. He'll just think it's business as usual."
       "You're right," he said. Then, "You know what? I've got a lot to do today. We've got company for dinner and the game tonight, remember?"
       "Damn, I forgot all about that. I'm glad you remembered. What can I do to help?"
       "Nothing, really. The house is clean. I just need to buy groceries and start the dinner. How are we fixed for liquor?"
       "I think we're in good shape. I'll check, though. Will you buy some beer, please, at the grocery store?"
       "Sure. What kind do you want?"
       "Get two twelve-packs, Miller and Corona. That should be plenty. Oh, and Rick?"
       "Yeah?"
       "I love you."
       "I love you, too. Now let's get busy," he said, and he gave me a quick kiss on the lips.
       "Don't forget. We're supposed to take George out to the air base. He has to be there at one o'clock, and it'll take a good thirty to forty minutes to get there. Is that going to give you enough time," I asked.
       "Oh, yeah, I think so. I'll need about an hour and a half to shop and another two hours or so to cook, but we'll have time. It's ten o'clock now. Let me haul ass. Bye."
       With that, Rick was out the door. I heard his car pull out. I wished there was something I could do to help get ready for the party, but I guessed there wasn't. I decided to check out the bed Tim would be using to make sure it was made. I was glad I did check it, too, because it wasn't. I made the bed and straightened up the room a little, and it was quite presentable. It looked masculine enough. It was our guest bedroom, and any odd guests we had could either evict him temporarily or sleep in "Rick's Room," the bedroom where he kept his stuff. We had always slept together in the master bedroom, but there was his childhood bed in his room, his desk, a couple of loaded bookcases, and his sports equipment.
       When I finished in the bedroom, I called my parents to wish them a good game and to tell them about Tim. They confirmed that my mother had, indeed, given her ticket to the game to my brother. They had a million questions about Tim, but they were really proud of Rick and me for taking him in. They offered any support we might need, which I already knew they'd give if we needed it.
       We had a good time on the phone, as we usually did. When that conversation was over, Rick pulled into the garage from the store. I helped him unload the car, and he and I put the stuff away. He got started working on dinner right away.
       "What are we having," I asked.
       "Pork tenderloin, the macaroni and cheese dish that you like, roasted vegetables, and salad. For dessert we're having chocolate orange cake."
       "Oh, man. What a meal! Do you want me to set the table," I asked. That was usually my job, and I actually enjoyed doing it.
       "No. I thought we'd do this buffet style. That way we can eat while we watch the game. Does that suit you?"
       "Whatever you want to do. You're in charge, but, yeah, that sounds real good," I said. I did set up the buffet line, though, setting out plates, napkins, silverware, and the like. We had a nice set of silver that had belonged to one of my grandmothers, so I got that out for us to use. It wasn't tarnished or anything, so I didn't even have to polish silver.
       Rick's years as a restaurant chef in college paid off once again. In an hour, he had everything set up and ready to go into the oven. Our stove had two conventional ovens, one at the top and one under the burner space, so we tended to serve food at parties like that one that could all be cooked in the oven. He would have to make the sauce for the meat right before he served it, but he got all the ingredients ready and in the pot. He rinsed and dried the salad greens, made some dressing from scratch, and boiled a couple of eggs to chop up for the salad. He made the cake in no time and set it aside. It was a bowl cake, so to speak, and it had a liquid center. He'd serve it with a spoon, rather than in slices, and he'd put some canned whipping cream on top to dress it up. Orange and chocolate together are a taste combination that is hard to beat in my books, and I loved the cake he was making. The macaroni and cheese had cheddar cheese and blue cheese, cream of mushroom soup, sliced mushrooms, onions, green pepper, pimentos, mayonnaise, and it was topped with crushed saltine crackers. One serving had the daily fat allowance for three people, but it was incredibly good. We only had that on special occasions, like when he wanted to impress new friends.
       Rick was sweating lightly by the time he finished. We both checked our watches, and it 11:45, almost time to leave for the air base. Rick dropped down in the leather club chair he had given me for Christmas, and I could tell he was tired.
       "Do you want to stay here and let me and Tim take George," I asked. I wished I had thought of that earlier. He could have cooked at a more relaxed pace if I had.
       "Hell, no. I want to go. I might lie down for a nap when we get back, if there's time."
       "I figured that's what you'd say, but I wanted to offer. It's going to be an awesome meal, man. Thanks for cooking it for us," I said.
       He looked at me and smiled. "I'm sorry I didn't buy more zucchini. I thought it would be enough, but it's lost among the carrots. Oh, well."
       "Don't worry about it. It'll be great."
       "I hope so," he said. Then, "Is Mike coming?"
       "Yeah. It'll be Mont and Terry, Mike, and Mont's brother, Fred. And Tim, of course."
       "So, do we know anything more about Fred?"
       Mont and Terry were a gay couple that we had just gotten to know the previous weekend at the Mardi Gras parade Rick and I rode in. They were both twenty-eight, both engineers, and they had been together since they were nineteen. Like us, they wore wedding rings as a sign of their commitment to one another. We had clicked with them instantly. They had had us over the previous Sunday to watch the New England-Philadelphia playoff game, and that's when we had met Mont's younger brother, Fred. He was our age, single, and a hell of a nice guy, too. Mike was one of the guys I hung out with at lunch every day. He, too, was in his mid-twenties and single. He didn't date, but he had never indicated he was gay. My other two work friends, Bruce and James, couldn't come because of previous commitments. They were both married, although that wouldn't have stopped Bruce. The fact was that he was coming in that day from having spent a week surfing in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Mexico. I didn't know what James had going on.
       "Nope," I said. "Nothing. If I have a chance, I'll pull Mont aside tonight and ask him if Fred is gay." Pause. "Do you think we ought to see if Tim wants to invite the smoker so he'll have a friend here, too? All of us older guys might be kind of overwhelming to the poor kid."
       "Good idea," Rick said. "God, there's enough food to feed a small army."
       I reached for the phone and dialed the Murphys' number. Tim answered. I explained to him what would be going on at our house that night and told him he could invite a friend if he liked. He sounded pretty enthusiastic about the idea.
       "Tell him they'll all be getting here around 4:30. The game starts at five o'clock."
       "Cool. Thanks a lot, Kevin. I'll call him right now," Tim said. "I'll see you guys in a few minutes. Bye."
       "Bye, buddy," I said, and hung up.
       "What did he say," Rick asked when I hung up the phone.
       "He seemed to really like the idea. I'm glad we thought of that."
       "I'm glad you thought of it," he said.
       Rick flicked on the TV and channel surfed for a while. By the time he made it through all eighty or so channels, it was time for us to go. We took Rick's SUV because it had more leg room than my Mazda. George had relatively little luggage. I guessed there really wasn't a whole lot of room to store stuff on a ship, and it wasn't like he was going on vacation.
       "George," I said, turning to the back seat from the passenger's side front seat to look at him, "how long do you think you'll be gone?"
       "That's the first question I asked, Kevin, but all I got was `as long as it takes' out of anybody who might actually know something. I wish I could tell you that."
       "It's not a problem, of course, but I was sort of curious," I said.
       "Well, I don't blame you. Hey, listen, guys, I was serious yesterday when I said you guys are doing the Navy and the country a great service with this thing."
       "It's our pleasure, George," Rick said, and George smiled.
       "So, Tim, did you call your friend about tonight," I asked.
       "Yeah, and he's coming over. His name is Kyle. He's my best friend," Tim said.
       "He's the one who smokes," George said.
       "Daaaaaddddddd," Tim said.
       George ruffled Tim's hair and pulled back a handful of gel. He wiped his hand on a handkerchief.
       Nobody said much for the rest of the trip. The air base was a good thirty miles from our house, but it was a straight shot down a four-lane federal highway, and the traffic was almost non-existent at that time on a Sunday afternoon. We got to the base at about quarter to one, and it took us the extra fifteen minutes to go through security and to find the plane on the flight line. We unloaded George's stuff from the car. Rick and I both hugged him hard, and he and Tim walked off together toward the plane. Rick and I hung back to give them the last few minutes together.
       "So, the smoker does have a name," Rick said.
       We both burst out laughing.
       "I thought for sure you were going to say those exact words in the car back there," I said.
       "I sure thought them," he said. "I guess George cleared up any issue we might have with Tim smoking."
       "Yeah, but I don't want you encouraging him, okay?"
       "Me?????!!!!! I'm the one who fucking quit, remember? I'm not the one who smokes anymore. You are!"
       "Why are we arguing about this? Do you want me to quit smoking?"
       "We're not arguing, and, no, I don't want you to quit smoking unless you want to. I quit because I was embarrassed about finishing a triathlon or a marathon and wanting a cigarette so bad I was just about crazy. Now, that's dumb. Besides, you don't smoke enough for it to matter."
       "How do you know how much I smoke," I said. I knew I was being contentious, but I enjoyed teasing him like that.
       "How do I know? I live with you, Kevin. I've lived with you for three years, remember? How many have you had today? Any?"
       "Not yet," I said.
       "Do you see what I mean? It's one o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, and you haven't yet had a cigarette. I refuse to continue this discussion. Shut up."
       I started laughing, softly at first but it gradually built to a much louder and much stronger laugh. He looked at me with disgust, and he knew that, once again, I had gotten him. He was so cute when he looked at me that way I could have eaten him alive on the spot.
       The time was up in a few minutes, and they made George board the plane. There were a lot of people there to see their men off, but none looked as forlorn and miserable as our little boy.
       "Let's go get him," Rick said, and the two of us jogged toward Tim. Rick got there first and grabbed him up into a hug. He literally picked Tim up off the ground, and, when I saw Tim's face, it was wet with tears.
       Rick was patting his back, softly saying, "It's okay to cry, buddy, but he'll be back soon. We've got you now. You're going to be safe with us and well loved by us. We can't replace your dad, man, but we're going to be the best big brothers you ever even dreamed of having. Kevin and I love you, man, and we're going to make it all right."
       Tim didn't say anything, but his tears abated before we got to Rick's car. Rick told me to drive, and he got into the back seat with Tim. He held him in his arms until we got off the air base, petting him and nurturing him the whole way. Eventually, Tim sat up straight in his seat and put on his seatbelt.
       "I'm okay now, Rick. Thanks," he said. "And thank you, too, Kevin, for letting me stay with you. I really don't have any place else to go."
       God, when he said those words it was like someone had grabbed a long, pointed shard of glass and rammed it into my heart. I knew it had the same effect on Rick, but he recovered quickly.
       "So, who do you like in the game today, Tim," Rick asked.
       "Who's playing?"
       "Rams and Patriots. Do you follow pro football?"
       "Not really. Who's favored?"
       "The Rams are, but the Patriots have been a Cinderella team all season. I believe they can take it, but it's going to be close. It should be a hell of a game."
       "Cool," Tim said.
       "Tell us about your friend Kyle," I said.
       "He's so cool, Kevin. You guys are really going to like him, I think. He's really smart and really good looking, and he's really built, too, just like you, Rick."
       "Sounds like he's a football player, Tim. Is he?"
       "Well, he's built like one, but he's a hell of, er, heck of an actor."
       "Hey, Tim, if he's a hell of an actor, then he's a hell of an actor. Not a heck of an actor. If somebody is a bastard or a bitch or a son of a bitch, then call him that around us. If he's a fucker, a shithead, an asshole, a dick, a prick, a cocksucker, whatever, then call him that. Just don't call us that, okay? At least not to our faces."
       Tim was giggling at all the bad words Rick was saying, and it sounded delightful. His sad mood was definitely over.
       "Do you guys mean that for real," he asked.
       "Fuckin' aye, we mean that, Tim," I said. "We're guys, and guys tend to talk like guys, at least around other guys. Your dad can't let you talk like that around him because he's your dad, and that would be disrespectful. He also doesn't want you thinking that kind of language is okay in just any circumstances, because it isn't. We'd both get fired if we used that kind of language with a customer or a big boss. But we think you already know that. We're your big brothers, and brothers say stuff to one another that you and Rick wouldn't believe. Trust me. I have a brother."
       Tim laughed some more, and I could tell he was feeling pretty at-home with us.
       "But tell us some more about Kyle," Rick said.
       "Okay. Kyle is totally awesome. He's very smart and funny, just like you guys, and everybody who knows him likes him. He's a sophomore, but he should be a junior. He got held back in kindergarten because his teacher thought he wasn't mature enough to go to first grade. He has his license and a car, and his parents give him a nice allowance so he can concentrate on his school work instead of having a job. He ran cross country last year and this year, and he likes to work out. What else do you guys want to know?"
       "Is he gay," Rick asked.
       It was as though I had slammed on brakes and come to a instant dead stop when Rick asked that question. I looked back at Tim through the rear view mirror, and his face suddenly turned bright red. He stared down at the floorboard of the car. In a few seconds he was ready to talk again.
       "Did my dad tell you I'm gay? I asked him to tell you that."
       "Yeah, he did. And what is this being embarrassed and turning red shit all about," Rick asked.
       "This is really hard for me, you know," Tim said.
       "Yeah, we do know, as a matter of fact. We've done it, Tim. We know. But it shouldn't be hard for you with us, man. We're just as gay as you are, buddy. We know what you're going through better than you do, man. And we know that one day it's going to be just fine for you, just like it is for us. If you can't trust us, Tim, you can't trust anybody. Ever. And that's a hell of a way to lead you life, man."
       The tears were streaming down Tim's face again, and Rick pulled him to himself once again. God, I was proud of my boy at that moment! If any man was ever made for fatherhood, it had to be Rick. He seemed to know just what to do and say instinctively.
       After a few minutes of crying, Rick said, "Er, Tim, this was a fresh shirt a little while ago. It might dry out and I'll be able to wear it tonight if you don't get every booger in your head on it, man. Can we, like, lighten this up a little bit?"
       Tim started laughing, and it sounded so good that Rick and I started laughing, too. We drove down the highway through town laughing our asses off. Jesus, what an emotional roller coaster this day has been, I thought, and the Super Bowl hasn't even started yet.
       When Tim calmed down, he said, "Yes. I'm gay. And Kyle doesn't know if he's gay or not. He thinks he is, but he's not really sure."
       "Hell, I'm not really sure Kevin is gay, Tim."
       I reached back and tried my best to slap Rick for comic effect, but he was too far away from me.
       "Do you see what I mean," Rick asked. "He can't even bitch-slap somebody. What gay guy can't do that?"
       I totally lost it at that point, and we would have all ended up in the hospital if we hadn't had to stop for a red light. I was laughing so hard I could hardly breathe, and Tim and Rick were laughing almost as hard as I was.
       "Rick, shut the fuck up so I can drive," I said between gasps. He must have made a face or done something else to ridicule me because Tim was laughing hysterically once again.
       We got home around 2:30. By that time, George's plane was well on its way to where ever it was going. Rick and I showed Tim his bedroom, which he seemed to like, and then we went next door and started moving his stuff over to our house. His desk and computer were his biggest concerns, and we got those moved over in no time. Then we started on his clothes. I was pleased to see that the floor of his room was devoid of dirty clothes, but I knew that might have been just because he was moving. He had quite a few things in his closet, and we moved those over in several trips. The books were next. He had two six-foot-high bookcases, and we decided that those could remain where they were. He culled two grocery bags full of books he wanted with him from the shelves, and we moved an empty bookshelf from their spare bedroom over to our house to accommodate them. I noted that the Harry Potter books were in that lot, and I was also interested to see that he took a Bible, several books about baseball, and some books about scouting with him. What a neat kid, I thought.
       "Hey, Tim, you ain't selling the house, man. You can get your stuff any time you want to. I've got some major grub to get on the table tonight, and them boys is going to be here any time."
       "So, when did you turn into a redneck," Tim asked.
       "The day I was circumcised," Rick said. "How'd you know I have a red dick?" Once again, Tim and I laughed our asses off at his humor.
       Rick got busy in the kitchen, and Tim and I settled in the den.
       "Who's coming over tonight," he asked me. "Anybody I might know?"
       "I sort of doubt it," I said, but I gave him a run-down of the names.
       "The guy's name is Mount? What is he, a top or something," Tim asked with a straight face.
       I laughed. "No. It's Mont. M-O-N-T. Short for Monte. And what do you know about being a top, anyway," I asked.
       He just grinned.
       "So, what's going to happen about school tomorrow," I asked.
       We spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking about his morning schedule. He told me about when he got up, when he left to catch the bus for school, and everything else I needed to know about his morning routine.

Chapter 3

       I met Kyle right after we moved to the beach. He was in my scout troop, and I liked him right away. He was really good looking and very well built, but the most important thing was how much fun it was to be with him. He was always smiling, and he had a million wise cracks that broke me up. We used to have fun together, along with some other boys who became my friends when I joined the scout troop, but I really got to know Kyle on a camping trip about two weeks before my dad left when we were assigned to the same tent. I later found out that that particular troop always assigned an older boy to look out for a new scout on his first few camping trips. I had been a scout since I was eleven, and I was close to being an Eagle Scout, but I was new to them. They accepted my rank because I could prove it, but they still considered me a new guy.
       They had a rule about no talking after taps, same as my old troop, but pretty much nobody obeyed it (same as my old troop). As long as you stayed in your tent and kept the noise and lights down, you could stay up as late as you wanted to. That's when Kyle and I really got to be friends.
       "How do you like it here," Kyle asked, once we were alone in our tent.
       "It's okay. I missed my old friends at first, but I've made some new ones," I said.
       "Cool. Do you play any sports," he asked.
       I told him that I played baseball. From there the conversation was all over the place, touching on just about every subject kids talk about.
       In that conversation, I learned that Kyle was sixteen and that he had been kept back in kindergarten. He was a sophomore in high school, and he was on the cross country team. I didn't really know what that was, so he explained about running long distances on the street and through fields and woods, instead of on a track. It sounded cool to me. He said he had an older brother who was away from home in college, and his parents owned some motels and stores on the beach. He told me he really liked acting, and he had been in two plays since he started high school. He was going to be in another one in the spring. He had his license and a car, and his parents were pretty cool about letting him come and go as he felt like doing.
       Eventually, the conversation got around to sex. We were both in our briefs lying on top of our sleeping bags, and I could see the outline of his penis and balls through his underwear. We had a tiny flashlight turned on, so it wasn't totally dark in the tent. I tried not to look at him in a way that was obvious, but he had a beautiful body. I wanted to touch him, but I knew he'd beat the shit out of me if I did.
       "Have you ever seen a girl naked," he asked.
       "Pictures, but not the real thing," I said. "Have you?"
       "I saw my cousin once. It wasn't much, but I saw her completely naked when I passed the room she was in to change into her bathing suit."
       "Wow. Was she fine," I asked.
       "Yeah. And she had hair down there, just like I do. Do you have any hair yet," he asked.
       "Yeah," I said.
       "Cool," he said.
       "Did you get a boner when you saw your cousin," I asked.
       "Naw. Did you get a boner looking at those pictures of naked girls?"
       "Not really," I said. "Do guys always get boners when they see pictures of naked girls?"
       "I guess not. I don't, and you didn't. You're not gay, are you?"
       My heart skipped a few beats, and I suddenly became nervous as hell. I had been wondering about that about myself for a couple of years, but I was pretty sure I knew I was gay. I hadn't talked to anybody about it before, even my dad, and I had read a bunch of Web sites that had stories about gay guys coming out and stuff. I knew it was okay to be gay, or at least they thought it was okay to be gay. I knew that I got a boner when I looked at pictures of naked guys on the Web, especially if they were hard or were with another naked guy. I also knew that I wouldn't say no if Kyle wanted to kiss me at that moment.
       My lack of a quick denial must have made him more curious.
       "It would be okay with me if you are gay, Tim." He said that very gently, and his tone of voice implied complete acceptance.
       "Maybe," I whispered.
       "Maybe what? Maybe you're gay?"
       "Yeah," I said, again in a whisper.
       "Maybe I'm gay, too," he said.
       I felt a sudden surge of excitement at those words.
       "Does seeing guys naked make you hard," I asked.
       "Yeah. You?"
       "Yeah," I said.
       "What else about a guy makes you hard," he asked.
       "Well, sometimes just looking at a good looking guy, especially if he doesn't have a shirt on, makes me hard." I didn't say, "And lying next to you in just our underwear makes me hard," but I was thinking it. In fact, I was well on my way to a full boner.
       Kyle propped himself up on the elbow closest to me, and he looked at me.
       "You're hard right now, aren't you," he asked.
       I nodded shyly. Nobody but my dad had ever seen me hard before, and he only had a couple of times when he came into the bathroom when I was peeing in the morning. He had just ignored it, and I hadn't really given it much thought. Having Kyle that close to me, looking at me and knowing I was hard, was a tremendous turn-on, and I could feel the front of my briefs getting wet.
       I don't know what would have happened next because right at that moment there was a whisper outside the front of our tent.
       "Kyle," the voice said.
       Kyle jumped a little.
       "What," he whispered back.
       "It's me. Philip. You got any smokes?"
       "Shit," Kyle said to me. "Wait up," he whispered to Philip.
       I hurried up and got inside my sleeping bag. Kyle stood up, and I saw him in profile. His dick was pushing out against his underwear, and it looked huge. He reached his hand inside his briefs to adjust himself to point straight up, and he got into his jeans. Once his jeans were zipped up, I could only see the faintest outline of his erection. He put his shoes on without tying them, and he left the tent. I heard another voice whisper, "All right, man," and then the three of them moved away from our tent. Kyle was gone for about twenty minutes, I guessed, and, when he came back in, he smelled like he had been smoking and maybe drinking, too. I pretended I was asleep when he got back, and that was it for that night.
       The next day, Kyle and I didn't talk about our mutual revelation about ourselves the night before. We had a great time playing football, cooking on the camp fire, and doing all the things you do on scout outings.
       When I got home late that afternoon, my dad asked how the camp out went. I told him I had a great time and had made a new friend. He asked me who, and I told him about Kyle. I didn't tell him everything, of course, but I did tell him I liked him enough for him to be my best friend.
       That night we were in the den watching TV, and the show Queer As Folk came on. Dad was reading, and he didn't notice what it was, at first. He glanced up, though, and saw two guys kissing.
       "What are we watching, son," he asked me.
       "It's Queer as Folk. It's on Showtime," I said.
       "Did it bother you that those two guys were kissing," he asked.
       I shrugged.
       "You know what `gay' means, don't you?"
       "Dad, I'm fourteen, not four. Of course I know what `gay' means."
       "I didn't mean to offend you, Tim, but I just wanted to make sure. And I didn't care much for your tone of voice."
       "Sorry, Dad."
       He closed his book and paid attention to the show. He didn't say anything during the show, and I didn't, either. I wished I had gone to my room to watch it, but I was afraid to leave, for some reason.
       "I heard something about this show on the radio the other day. Apparently many gay men are offended by it."
       I didn't answer for a few seconds. Then, "Why?"
       "They say it trivializes homosexuality and makes it seem that the only things gay men want is sex, drugs, and booze."
       I didn't say anything.
       "I wonder if Kevin and Rick watch it," he said.
       Kevin and Rick were our next door neighbors, and all four of us had gotten to be pretty good friends. Rick was a great athlete, and he told us he had run in the Ironman Triathlon and finished it. If he saw me outside shooting baskets, he would usually come over and shoot with me. He was fun to hang out with, and, while I knew he and Kevin were gay, I never really thought of them that way.
       "They sure aren't like those guys on that show," I said.
       "I think that's the point the critic was making. Those boys next door are a loving, committed couple. They're not out picking up guys and partying all night long."
       There was a short pause.
       "Well, sport, it's time for bed. Good night, Tim. I love you."
       I got up when he did. "I love you, too, Dad. See you in the morning."
       I thought about Kyle that night in bed, and I tried to picture what his penis looked like. I had measured mine, so I knew how big it was. I wondered how big his was. I also wondered if he had a foreskin like I did. I hated not looking like the other guys when I was little, but by then I was pretty much used to being stared at in locker rooms and public showers.
       I thought about Kyle's chest and his beefy legs. I even thought about the shadow of beard I had noticed that morning when we got up. I wondered what it would be like to touch his face and feel the prickle of his whiskers.
       In bed that night, when the pressure down below got to be too much to bear, I used my left hand and pretended it was Kyle. I grunted when the time came, but I was sure my dad hadn't heard.
       I didn't see Kyle at school on Monday or Tuesday. That wasn't unusual, though. I rarely saw him, except occasionally at lunch, and he would always be at a table with two or three people, usually girls. We ate lunch at the restaurant that was part of a hotel a block from school. They had a big buffet, and it was good.
       Wednesday of that week was the monthly School Improvement Day. That basically meant we had our four class periods, but they were only fifty minutes instead of the usual ninety. They turned us loose for the day at 11:15. I stopped that day at my biology classroom to pick up some forms for the science fair, and I ended up missing my bus. That had happened before, and it was no big deal. I lived about three miles from school, and I could walk it easily. It was a beautiful day, and I took my tee shirt off to get some sun on the way home. The warm winter weather in Florida freaked my dad out, but I loved it.
       I was about six blocks from home when this car came up behind me. I was on the sidewalk, so I didn't even look over at it. Then I heard a whistle, the kind some guys make to flirt with pretty girls. I turned to see who it was. To my surprise, it was Kyle. He was leaning partly out the window. He stopped, and I stopped walking.
       "Come on. Get in, and I'll take you home," he said.
       "That's all right," I said. "I've only got a few more blocks. I'll walk."
       "Aw, Tim. Come on, man. Let me drive you home." There was a pleading quality to his voice, and he looked so cute I couldn't resist.
       I got in the car, and Kyle extended his hand for me to shake. I did, and he seemed to hold it just a little longer than you might ordinarily do.
       "What's up, dude," he asked.
       "Not much. What's up with you," I replied, like I always did.
       "Not much. Where do you live?"
       "On this street. Three more blocks," I said.
       "No, shit! This is the street I live on, too. In fact, that's my house right there." He pointed to a really nice house on the water side of the street. The street ran down a lagoon, and the houses that were on waterfront property were much nicer than the ones on my side of the street.
       "Cool. We're neighbors," I said.
       There was a pause in our talking.
       "How do you get to school in the morning," he asked.
       "Cheese wagon," I said. That was our name for the yellow school buses I rode.
       "Bummer. Want to ride with me?"
       "Hey, this is my house," I said. He turned into the driveway. "Yeah, that would be cool. I won't have to leave the house as early. It's only three miles to school, but they pick us up at seven o'clock."
       "Fuck, man. Do you have time to eat breakfast," he asked.
       "Yeah. Cereal or a couple of pop tarts," I said.
       "Me, too. But at least I can get up a little later. Or spend a little time with my friend in the shower." He grinned a wicked grin. At first I didn't know what he was talking about. Then he glanced down to his lap, and I caught it. I'm sure I blushed. He laughed.
       "Thanks for the ride," I said as I started to get out of the car. "Do you want me to walk down to your house tomorrow morning? What time do you leave?"
       "I leave at 7:20, but I'll pick you up. Walking's okay on nice days, but it would suck on rainy days. I'll pick you up at 7:20 Be ready."
       "Right," I said. Try standing in the rain to catch a bus, I thought.
       "What are you going to do this afternoon," he asked.
       I shrugged. "Hang out, I guess. Watch TV. I don't know."
       "Can I hang out with you?"
       I couldn't believe I hadn't thought to ask him. I had thought about almost nothing but him since the camping trip, and I hadn't recognized the opportunity of a whole afternoon with nothing to do but hang out with him.
       "Sure. Come on in."
       Kyle followed me into my bedroom when we got inside. It was a wreck, as usual, but not as bad as it sometimes was. My dad believed everybody should have privacy in their bedroom, so he never went into mine. He made me keep the door closed at all times, though, because he didn't want to see my mess. The door had a lock, but I rarely used it because I knew he'd never barge in on me.
       "Nice room," Kyle said. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, so I just said "thanks."
       He walked over to my side of the bed and bent down. He picked up the sock I had been using to clean up with for the last week or so, held it up to his nose, and took a deep smell. He looked at me and gave me a wicked grin.
       I was embarrassed almost to death, and I know I turned bright red because I saw myself in the mirror.
       He laughed at my embarrassment, and that only embarrassed me more.
       "Why are you turning red? All guys do it, man, and this is better than a big old wet spot that you have to sleep in." His logic was impeccable, but I had had enough of it.
       "Let's go," I said and turned to leave my room.
       He caught up with me.
       "Hey, you're not mad at me, are you? I was just teasing you, Tim. I don't want you to be mad at me."
       He put his hand on my shoulder, and I stopped. I turned to face him, and he had the cutest sad look on his face I had ever seen. I grinned, and he beamed back at me.
       "I'm not mad at you, Kyle. I was just caught off guard a little. Of course it's my own damn fault for leaving it out in the middle of the room."
       "Did you think about me while you were doing it? `Cause lately I've been thinking about you when I do it."
       Oh, my God, I thought. I'm going to faint. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. For one thing, I couldn't believe he had asked me that, and for another thing I couldn't believe he had said he'd been thinking about me lately when he masturbated. My dick got hard as a rock in an instant. I liked Kyle more than I had ever liked anybody before, and for him to think about me when he masturbated was more than I could have hoped for.
       "Well, do you," he asked. "Don't be shy, man. I told you, didn't I?"
       "Yes," I said softly.
       "Yes you think about me when you jerk off, or yes I told you?"
       "Both," I whispered.
       He grinned at me in a way that let me know I had said what he was hoping to hear. Neither of us knew what to do after that revelation. In a few seconds, though, I came back to planet earth.
       "Let's make some lunch," I said.
       "Good idea," he replied, and we went to the kitchen.

       We each made ourselves two ham and cheese sandwiches, and I put them on paper plates. I piled on a generous serving of chips, and I got us each a couple of medium-size pickles. I pulled two drinks from the fridge, and started moving over to the table.
       "Let's eat outside," he said.
       Without responding, I picked up my plate and drink, and headed toward the back door. Kyle was right behind me. We set our food on the table, and I sat down. I was still without a shirt, and Kyle took his off before he sat down across from me. We didn't say much while we ate, but we kept looking at each other.
       After he finished eating, Kyle got out his cigarettes.
       "Do you want one," he asked me.
       I had smoked a few times with my friends in the past, and every time I had gotten a light-headed feeling. I didn't especially like the taste of cigarettes, but I did like the way they made me feel. Since I had already done and said things that day that were way out of character for me, I figured, what the hell.
       I took a cigarette, and Kyle held his lighter to it for me. I inhaled too deeply, and I coughed a little. After another drag, though, I was fine.
       My neighbor Rick chose that very moment to show up in his back yard. He was looking around like he was looking for something.
       "Jesus Christ! Who is that piece of eye candy," Kyle asked.
       "Shhhh. Not so loud. He'll hear you. That's Rick, and he's married."
       Kyle didn't react to that last statement.
       "To a guy," I said. My dramatic pause before that last line had the effect I had hoped it would.
       "No fucking way!" Kyle said.
       Kyle said that pretty loud, and Rick must have heard him because he looked over toward us. He waved. Without thinking, Kyle and I both waved back with the same hand we were holding our cigarettes in. Rick would had to have been blind not to see them. He laughed a little.
       "Are you guys skipping school, Tim," Rick asked.
       "No, half day today," I said in reply.
       "Enjoy the afternoon, guys," he said.
       "Thanks. You, too, Rick," I said.
       He answered by making a gesture like he was digging with a shovel and throwing the dirt over his shoulder to mean he'd be working. I laughed, but it wasn't really funny. He went over and looked at a sprinkler head, and then he counted other sprinkler heads. He gave me the okay sign and left.
       "He's married to a guy," Kyle asked incredulously. "Is he gay?"
       "Have you ever had your IQ tested," I asked.
       Kyle saw the stupidity of his question and laughed.
       "Damn, man. You have a gay couple living right next door. Do your parents know about them?"
       "It's just my dad, and, yeah, he knows. They're good friends of ours. I've even stayed with them a few times when my dad had to be out of town."
       "He's let you stay with two gay guys," Kyle asked, not believing it once again.
       "Yeah. Why the hell not? They're great guys. They're both real smart, and they both have awesome jobs. That guy you just saw, Rick, is a big-time endurance athlete."
       "What does that mean," he asked.
       "Triathlon and marathon," I said.
       "No shit! That's awesome. Did he run the Ironman they had here a couple of months ago?"
       "Not this year. He ran it last year, though. He had a bike accident right before New Years, and he told me his triathlon days are over, for now at least. He's gonna concentrate on marathon for now."
       "Awesome."
       We finished our smokes in silence. Then Kyle spoke up.
       "Have you ever talked to them about sex?"
       "No. Why should I have," I asked.
       "Aren't you curious about what they do together," he asked.
       "I know what gay guys do for sex," I said.
       "Well, yeah, I know you do, but, damn, I'd love to talk to them," he said.
       We relaxed for a while in the sun, but I got kind of bored.
       "You feel like playing some video games," I asked.
       We played video games the rest of the afternoon. We went back outside for a little while for Kyle to smoke, and I had another one, too. After a few hours, we heard my dad pull up.
       "I guess it's time for me to go home," Kyle said.
       "Wait and meet my dad. I'd invite you to stay for dinner, but we just sort of snack on our own. This has been a great day for me, man."
       "Me, too, Tim. I feel like there's some kind of link between us, you know?"
       "You think it's that we're maybe both gay," I asked, as much to see his reaction, as anything.
       "That's part of it, for sure, but I just like you. I feel like I've always known you, you know?"
       "Yeah, I do. I feel the same way."
       Kyle and I both had our shirts on by then, and Kyle had put his cigarettes in his shirt pocket. I didn't think anything about it, and I was sure that was what he usually did. When I introduced him to my dad, I could tell Hawkeye George spotted them first thing. He didn't say anything to Kyle, though, and that was a relief. He waited until Kyle was out the driveway before he started.
       "Tell me about your friend," he said.
       "What do you want to know," I asked.
       "Well, just general stuff. You know."
       "He's an Eagle," I said.
       "An Eagle Scout?"
       "Yeah. He's a sophomore. He is on the cross country team at school."
       "How old is he," he asked.
       "Sixteen."
       "And he's a sophomore?"
       "He had to repeat kindergarten," I said.
       I hated it when I got the third degree from my dad. I always felt like I had done something wrong and was being interrogated by the police or something.
       "Was that his car?"
       "Yes." I knew I must have sounded defensive, but I felt like he didn't like him even though they had just met.
       "Nice car," he said. "And he smokes."
       It was just a statement, but I knew he wanted some kind of response from me. My dad was the coolest guy in the world about 98 per cent of the time, but times like that, when I was under interrogation, were terrible.
       "Yeah," I said.
       "A lot of boys his age, and your age, too, experiment with cigarettes, Tim. I know that. If you decide to smoke, I won't be able to do anything about that. My parents couldn't, and I know I can't either. Starting smoking was the dumbest thing I've ever done, and quitting was the hardest. But I want you to know the health risks involved."
       He went into a thirty minute sermon about smoking and health. I had heard it five or six times before, and besides boring the piss out of me, it made me feel guilty as hell because I had smoked those two cigarettes that afternoon. By the time he finished, I was in a foul mood.
       "What's the matter, son?"
       "Well, it's just that every time you talk about stuff like that I feel like you're yelling at me."
       "Tim, it was never my intention to make you feel bad," he said.
       "I know."
       "Does Kyle have a girlfriend," he asked, no doubt to change the subject.
       "No. Not that I know of," I said.
       "I would think a boy as good looking as he is, and with a car, would have lots of girls chasing him," he said.
       I just shrugged without any expression on my face, but inside I was a nervous wreck. Please don't say the G word, I thought. Then I decided, hell, why not?
       "Do you think he might be gay," I asked.
       "It wouldn't make any difference to me if he were gay, Tim. Surely you know that."
       "I guess."
       "Is he gay, Tim?"
       "Would it make any difference to you if I was gay," I asked. I didn't look at him. I was scared.
       "Are you gay, son," he asked. Whatever hostility he might have shown earlier toward cigarettes was totally gone from his voice. He was gentleness itself when he asked that question.
       "Yes," I said in barely more than a whisper.
       "Are you sure?"
       "I think so," I whispered again.
       He hugged me hard. I felt the warmth from his body, and I knew my being gay would never be an issue between us.
       "I love you, Tim. And thank you for trusting me," he said.
       "I love you, too," I said. I squirmed a little, and he broke the hug. It was great, but it was getting uncomfortable.
       "Will you tell Kevin and Rick for me," I asked.
       "You don't want to tell them yourself," he asked.
       "No. I'd be too embarrassed," I said.
       "Those boys are our friends, Tim. We're lucky to have them. In my mind, at least, they're what Gay Pride is all about. But, yes, I'll tell them." Then, after a pause, "Have you read anything about being gay?"
       I told him about some of the Web sites of gay teens I had read.
       "Did any of those boys say anything about being picked on for being gay," he asked.
       "A few, but not many. I know some gay kids get picked on, Dad, and some even get beaten up, but I don't think that happens to everyone. But I'll be super careful, if that's what you're worried about."
       "It is, Tim, and I know you will be. Do you think any of your friends are gay," he asked.
       "You mean besides Kyle? I don't know. Probably. There is a club at school called the Gay-Straight Alliance. I'm sure some of those people are gay or lesbian."
       "Are you a member," he asked.
       "No. Should I be?"
       "Well, you have to be the judge of that. On one hand, it might give you a chance to get to know other gay kids. There's strength in numbers, you know. On the other hand, though, it might make people suspicious of you. As I said, you have to judge that for yourself."
       "Okay."
       "Would it offend you if I asked whether you've had sex?"
       "No, it wouldn't offend me, but, no, I haven't. I've never even kissed anyone."
       "I didn't think so. Well, son, I'm sure when the time comes you'll handle it well. I'm sure you'll have questions about sex that I can't answer, though. Never be afraid to ask me, but I'm not promising I'll know the answer. But I bet Rick and Kevin will."
       I nodded.
       "Do you know about safe sex," he asked.
       "Well, a little. I've read stuff on the Web about it," I said.
       "Before you have sex, anal sex, anyway, please find out all you can about how to be safe."
       "I will, Dad, but I don't see that happening," I said.
       "Well, you'll know, if it ever comes to that," he said.
       I couldn't imagine ever having butt sex. I wanted to touch Kyle and kiss him and jerk him off, even, but anything else was a little more than I wanted to think about.
       "How do you feel right now?"
       "I feel good. Why?"
       "Do you feel like going out to eat?"
       "Sure." And we did.
       That night in bed I thought about everything that had happened that day. I thought about what it would be like to kiss Kyle and to see him naked. I thought about what he had said about thinking about me while he jerked off, and it thrilled me that he did that. I wanted Kyle badly. I didn't understand exactly why I wanted to touch him and kiss him and cuddle with him, but I wanted to. I used the left-hand technique again that night, and Kyle was in my mind's eye the whole time.
       The next morning when we were talking on the way to school, I brought up the idea of joining the GSA. He said he had thought about it, too, but then he said he had all the gay friends he needed.
       "Like who," I asked.
       "You, dumbass. Who do you think I meant?"
       I laughed, and I felt warm and wonderful.
       Thursday and Friday were just ordinary days. Kyle and I hung out after school, and we talked to one another on the phone at night. I liked him more and more every day, and I wanted to touch him and kiss him and rub my naked body on his more and more every day.
       My dad and I didn't have any more heart-to-heart talks Thursday night or Friday morning, and everything was just like it always was. Friday night was another story.
       I had planned on asking if Kyle could spend the night, but the look on my dad's face when he came home from work told me that probably wasn't a good idea. He said 'hi' when he came in, but he went directly into his office and closed the door. It made me a little nervous for him to do that, but I figured he had had a hard day or something. In a little while he called me to come to his office.
       "Hi. What's up," I asked.
       "It's something at work. I've been assigned to a hospital ship to help take care of our soldiers and marines. I have to leave Sunday."
       "Shit!" I said. It had slipped out, but he didn't comment. I had said that word a few times before around him, and he always corrected me. That time, though, he didn't even flinch.
       "Shit is right, son. I just got off the phone with your grandparents, and they're not able to help."
       "Dad, I really don't want to move up there."
       "I know, and I don't want you to. They couldn't handle you, anyway."
       "Because of Gramgram," I asked. She was my great-grandmother, and I knew she was sick.
       "That, and grandpa's in a wheelchair full time now because of his arthritis. I've known for a couple of months about him, but I didn't want to worry you."
       "Why can't I just stay here?"
       "You can't stay here by yourself. That's out of the question."
       "Rick and Kevin would check on me, and I could go to them if I needed help with anything I couldn't handle," I said.
       His facial expression changed suddenly, and I could tell he was thinking. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. He put it down without saying anything.
       "I'll talk to them about maybe letting you stay with them," he said. "They're not home yet, though."
       "Dad, you've always said this could happen on a moment's notice. This is something bad, but at least you won't be fighting."
       "Good point. Well, I've got a lot to do in the next couple of days. I need to get started. Call for a pizza, why don't you?"
       "Okay. Is there anything I can do to help," I asked.
       "Yeah, actually, there is. Will you wash my clothes for me?"
       "Oh, sure." I had washed my own clothes since I was ten, and I knew just what to do. I called for pizza, and then I got busy on the clothes.
       After we had eaten, Dad went back into his office. I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I went into my room, got on my knees and prayed. I prayed that my dad would be safe, and I prayed that Kevin and Rick would say yes. In twelve hours my second prayer was answered.

Chapter 4

       Mont and Terry were the first to arrive, along with Fred. We shook hands all around and then introduced them to Tim. By the time everyone had something to drink and had taken their places to watch the game, Mike showed up. I introduced him to everyone, and he took a place next to Fred. I watched as the two of them checked one another out. It wasn't overt or inappropriate by a long shot, but it fueled my curiosity about the two of them.
       Kyle was the last to arrive, and Tim introduced Rick and me to him as his foster big brothers. I definitely liked the sound of that, and I know Rick positively loved it. Kyle was a hottie, by anybody's definition. He was my height, five feet, ten inches, and he weighed about as much as Rick, 175 pounds. Like Rick, he had a powerful upper body, and I wondered if he also had Rick's rock-hard leg muscles. Tim had said he was a runner, so my guess was that he did. He had dark hair and brown eyes, and I noticed the tell-tale shadow of a full beard on his face. I suddenly wondered if Tim had to shave, and when I looked closely at his face, I could traces of the beginnings of a beard that probably required no more than weekly attention, if that. Kyle had a deep, manly voice, and I was sure it projected well on stage. He wore his hair in the same random, uncombed gelled style that Tim wore, and it actually made him look rather rugged. His handshake was that of a confident man, not a boy, and he could easily have passed for twenty-one or twenty-two in the right light.
       Mont and Ter, as we had observed the weekend before, were right at home in new company. They immediately engaged the boys in conversation, and it wasn't long before Rick had all of us in stitches with his wisecracks. Everybody seemed at ease with everyone else, and it didn't take me long to know that that was going to be a good party. Ter had made a delicious cheese ball, and Rick had put out some mixed nuts and a bowl of olives for us to munch on before dinner. Tim took Kyle back to see his new room, but they were back in the den in less than five minutes.
       Rick excused himself to take care of chores in the kitchen. After fifteen minutes he started putting dishes of food on the counter that separated the kitchen from the part of the den we referred to as the breakfast room. I got up to help him, but he shooed me out of the way.
       "See if anybody needs a beer or something," he said.
       I did as told. In five minutes Rick made the announcement:
       "Come and get it, guys."
       There was the usual reticence of nobody wanting to be first in line. Kyle stepped up, saying, "Hell, I ain't shy," and started the line moving. Tim was right behind him. Rick and I brought up the rear.
       The game started, and everyone ate. There wasn't a whole lot of conversation at first, but, once everyone had finished eating, conversation started up. One of the great things about watching a game with friends is that you can watch it and still talk. We all quieted down for the legendary commercials, of course, and some of them were pretty good. As usual, the beer commercials were some of the best. I saw Kyle and Tim slip out the kitchen door into the garage, and Rick saw it, too. He mouthed "the smoker" to me, and I grinned. They came back inside in about ten minutes.
       I had often found Super Bowl games less than exciting. When the two best teams in the NFL go at it, the offense has trouble against the defense of both teams. There is the occasional spectacular play, as there was that night, but the Patriots made everyone gasp with their forty-eight-yard field goal in the last seconds of the game.
       At one point Mont went into the kitchen for a beer, and I followed him.
       "Having fun," I asked.
       "The best, man. I wish Terry could cook like Rick. That meal was fantastic," he