Date: Sat, 08 Sep 2012 10:31:55 -0400
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: Trials_and_Triumph_Part_1

TRIALS AND TRIUMPH -- PART I


Chapter 1: SINKING INTO A PIT OF MISERY

Eric's life was disrupted when he was twelve years old.  His
mother moved out to live with an already married man she had
met while working as a paralegal in a local law firm.  The boy
couldn't understand why she abandoned her husband and family.
He felt she had been a good wife and mother.  His father had
been a good husband.  Sure, there had been a few arguments
between them but none of them were violent or prolonged.  Why
would she destroy two families: her own and that of the man she
chose to live with?

Eric had to grow up fast.  At his young age he had to learn to take
care of himself while his father was at work.  Out of loyalty to and
sympathy for his father, he took it upon himself to fix dinner every
weekday evening, do the laundry, and keep the house neat and
clean.  But that wasn't enough.  Because they had to get along on
one income, Eric hustled jobs mowing lawns and doing odd jobs
for neighbors.  His father, out of pride and concern for his son,
objected to the outside work and emphasized the need to do his
school homework and have fun with his friends.  In the end, after
the boy's repeated assurances that schoolwork would not suffer,
his father stopped complaining.

Four years passed with not a single contact from his mother who
had moved across the country to Oregon.  That was a bigger
disappointment than when she abandoned her husband and son.
Sorrow turned to bitterness.  It was not because he had to
assume more responsibilities around the house but because he
resented his mother's desertion and obvious lack of interest in
him, her only child.

At sixteen, he had a part-time job in the grocery store, stocking
shelves and bagging.  The paycheck was meager but a significant
help in the finances at home.  It left little or nothing for personal
spending money.  That meant that he could not participate with
friends in the normal activities of teens.  He felt isolated but, at the
same time, proud of his contribution to the household expenses.

His mother's leaving was a disruption to his life but what
happened next was a disaster.  His father's job was eliminated
because the plant where he worked was closed and all
manufacturing was transferred to Mexico.  Lacking a job and
money to support himself and his son, combined with the
frustration of not finding another job.  It drew the man into the dark
depths of despondency.  Regrettably and tragically, the only relief
he found from his agony was alcohol.  What little money he could
beg, borrow, or steal was squandered on beer and cheap wine
only to be pissed away after it had dulled and distorted his good
sense.

Eric tried to persuade his father to stop drinking but, to his
astonishment, it only sparked a furious tirade from the previously
good-natured man.  He still loved his dad but despised his self-
destructive behavior.  The pain of watching his dad stumble home
at all hours of the night, sleep away most of the day, and make no
effort to keep himself clean and tidy was insufferable for the teen.
Utterly frustrated that he seemed powerless to help his dad, the
love he had for him in earlier years turned into anger.  That anger
was the spark that ignited a flame, which caused him to say what
he would later regret.  Eric came home from school to find his
father relatively sober but looking like a homeless tramp.  After
cleaning up the dried vomit in the front room, he confronted his
father.  "Dad, if you don't straighten up, quit the drunken binges,
and go back to being the dad I loved, I'm outta here.  I just can't
stand to see you destroy yourself."

"What the fuck does that mean?" the man growled.

"It means what I said.  Stay sober.  Find a job.  Be the dad you
used to be...the one I was proud of and loved.  If you don't, I'm
leaving.  For good.  I can't live here with a man I don't
know...clean up his messes...and watch him kill himself with
booze."

The man glared at his son and shouted, "You're lecturing me, kid?
What makes you so fucking smart to tell me what to do?  If you
don't like it here, get the hell out.  Walk out on me like your
mother did, that fucking cunt bitch.  I'll be glad to be rid of a
goody-two-shoes who thinks he's big enough to fend for himself.
Ya hear me, kid?  GIT THE FUCK OUT!  THE SOONER THE
BETTER!"

Eric's attempt at shock therapy had backfired.  It had been an
empty threat but his father's reaction and his ferocity stunned him.
He was left speechless.  Panic overwhelmed him.  How could he
ever manage to live on his own?  What would happen to his dad if
he left?  How could he ever have made such a foolish demand?

He went to his room, flopped on the bed, and cried.  Partly
because of his now dubious fate, but mostly for the loss of a dad
whom he loved in spite of his current addiction to alcohol.

Later, he heard the front door slam.  He knew that his dad was on
his way to the neighborhood bar.  He also knew, because it was
by now routine, that his dad would come home drunk well after
midnight and sleep it off until near noon the next day.  Eric hoped
-- in fact he prayed even though religion had not been a part of
his life -- that the ugly episode would be forgotten and he
wouldn't have to leave home, abandoning his father to the fate of
an alcoholic.  He went into the kitchen and found a can of soup,
which was frequently his only supper lately.

The next morning he saw father sprawled on the sofa in the living
room where he had apparently spent the night in a drunken
stupor.  Although he went to school, it was a wasted day because
his thoughts were consumed with what the future might be for him
and for his father.  There was nothing he could do to help his dad.
If the man had been serious about demanding that he move out,
there seemed to be no possible way to live on his own.  Where
could he live?  How could he eat?  What about clothes?  Already,
his worn and shabby clothes had drawn not always joking insults
from other students in school.

As he walked from the bus stop to his house, he refined his plan
for mitigating the damage he had done when he threatened to
leave home.  He climbed the four steps up to the front porch of his
house not knowing what awaited him behind the front door.  Hope
and fear battled each other in his mind.

He found his dad in the kitchen slouched over the table with a cup
of coffee.  The slovenly, prematurely old-looking man had a black
eye and a trail of dried blood below a nasty looking wound on his
right cheek bone.  Ignoring the disgusting sight of a man who had
fallen so far from the once model of a good neighbor, citizen, and
father, Eric said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster,
"Hi, Dad."

The man looked up, scowled venomously, and snarled, "You still
here?  I thought I told you to get the fuck outta the house.  I don't
need you to preach to me no more.  Get out and maybe you'll
learn something about what life is like."

"Dad, I'm sorry.  What I said yesterday..."

Interrupting, the shell of a man shouted, "You don't even
understand English, twerp!"  He staggered to a drawer, pulled out
a butcher knife, waved it at his son, and screamed, "GET THE
FUCK OUT!  If you don't this here knife will give you something to
remember.  AND DON'T COME BACK!  EVER!"

Eric didn't move, frozen by the finality of his plight and the lost
hope of reconciliation with his father.  But the frightened teen ran
when the hulk of a man started toward him.  He escaped out the
front door of the house and didn't stop running until he was two
blocks away.  He then collapsed on the lawn next to the sidewalk,
panting and on the brink of tears.

He lay there for he didn't know how long because his mind was a
jumble of fleeting thoughts.  About his father who had become an
inhuman creature, willing to injure (kill?) his own son.  About his
own remorse for threatening to leave home and triggering the
anger.  About what was once a happy childhood in a loving home,
now only a memory.  About the evil in a bottle that had poisoned
his father's mind.  And about his own future.  What could he do?
Where would he live?  How could he survive with only a part time
job and not a penny of his own?

He was jarred out of the maelstrom of emotions when a voice
registered in his mind.  "You all right, sonny?" an elderly man
asked for the third time.  "Looks t'me like yur not.  Kin I he'p ya?"

Eric looked up and saw Mr. Jenkins, a frequent customer in the
grocery store.  Afraid and ashamed to reveal his troubles, Eric
replied, "Yes, Sir.  I'm okay.  I just laid myself down to rest up a bit
after running for a while."

"Better get yourself on home, sonny.  There's a mighty storm
brewing and coming right at us."

Home!  He didn't have a home any more.  "I guess you're right,
Mr. Jenkins.  I'll be on my way now."  The distraught teen rose
and started walking toward the house in which he was no longer
welcome.  No longer safe.  There was no longer a kitchen with a
meager supply of food to eat or a warm bed to sleep in.  "But
wait," he thought.  "Dad will be going to the bar soon like he
always does.  I can sneak in the house when he's gone, try to find
something for supper, and then...  Then what?  I'll gather up a
blanket, a pillow, and a few clothes and sleep in the garage out by
the back fence.  If I'm careful, the old man won't even know I'm
around.  Maybe in a few days he'll settle down."

He stopped about a block away from his house (Could he still call
it HIS house?) to watch for his father leaving for the evening.  He
had to wait more than an hour before he finally saw the man
("Was he still my father?") lumber down the front porch steps,
amble down the driveway, and head off in the direction of the
neighborhood bar.  What was he carrying?  "MY STEREO!" he
gasped.  "The bastard is selling my stereo for booze money!"

Fifteen minutes later, Eric was in his bedroom collecting a few
things he thought he might need while hiding away in the garage.
He also collected his school books and notes.  He wasn't sure
he'd need them but he did enjoy going to school and wanted to
complete his senior year with a diploma.  When he carried the last
few things to the garage -- a few changes of clothes -- he began
to arrange his new "home."  The garage was virtually empty; the
car had been sold weeks ago to pay a few bills and settle up his
dad's burgeoning tab at the bar.  Eric looked around.  Was there
anything in the garage that his dad might come out to retrieve and
therefore discover that his son was living there?  No.  In better
times, he would come out for tools but in his present state, there
was no danger that he would trouble himself to fix anything in the
house or work in the yard.

<><><><><>

The next day, Eric was at school talking to his only friend, Brian,
also a loner who, like Eric, didn't mingle with the other students
and refused to conform to peer pressure and rigid expectations of
behavior.  He was bright and almost a straight-A student.  That
would have been enough to invite envy-based derision from other
students but he was also the opposite of a handsome teenage
boy: four inches shorter than other boys his age, thin to the point
of being scrawny, totally unathletic, and suffered from acne that
seemed to linger far longer than with other teens.  Eric met Brian
in their freshman year but it took two years for either of them to
progress to the point of being buddies.

"What's the matter?" Brian asked as the two sat in a corner of the
cafeteria where no one had ever joined them at their table.

Ashamed to admit his problems, even to his only good friend, Eric
replied, "Nothing much."

"Come on, Eric.  You're not yourself today.  Is it school work?
You know I'll help you with that.  Your job at the grocery store?
No.  I happen to know that you're doing well there.  Something
going on at home?  Tell me.  If there's any way I can help, you
know I will."

"I'd rather not say, Brian."

"Shit, Man!  I thought we were friends.  What are friends for,
anyway?  Oh!  I see the problem now.  You don't want to talk
about it here because somebody else will hear.  I understand.
Suppose I drop by your house tonight and we can talk in private."

`NO!" Eric almost shouted.  "Don't do that!"  Having his friend find
out how and where he was living would be far to humiliating.

"See what I mean, pal?  It's not like you to flame out over
nothing."

Before Eric could apologize, the warning buzzer blared signaling
time to return to classes.  As they got up to return their trays,
Brian said earnestly, "Listen to me, Eric.  Meet me at the flagpole
after school.  I know something's wrong and I want to help if I can
because I like you.  A lot.  If you're not at the flagpole, I'll come to
your house tonight."

Eric immediately recognized yet another problem.  He would have
to tell his friend about his predicament.  He was certain that Brian
would persist until he got the information he wanted.  That would
add still another layer of guilt and shame on top of what was
already crushing his spirits.

Eric dreaded having to tell anyone, even Brian, what had
happened but he knew it was unavoidable.  He briefly considered
making up a lie -- health, school work, an incident at work -- but
none of them were plausible and Brian would detect the deception
easily.  He was good at that; Eric recognized long ago that
although Brian was socially inept he was extremely perceptive of
others' feelings, intentions, or hidden meanings in what they said.
While he quickly perceived others' motives, for whatever reason
he simply chose not to interact with people.  Except, of course, for
the one person, Eric, whom he decided to befriend.


Eric left the building after his last class and saw Brian waiting by
the flagpole.   "Hi!" he called out, putting as much cheer as he
could muster into his greeting.

"Hi yourself," Eric responded.  "Let's go over to the football field
and sit in the bleachers where we can talk.  That is, you talk; I'll
listen.  And trust me.  If there's anything I can do to help, I'll do it
in a heartbeat."

Eric related the depressing details that led to his being homeless
and barely succeeded in holding back his tears.  Brian listened
sympathetically until his friend fell silent with his head drooping
low.

"Bummer, Dude!" Brian said, breaking the awkward silence.  "I
said I'd help if I could.  Let me think a minute."


Chapter 2: RESCUED IN THE KNICK OF TIME

Brian used his native talent for quickly perceiving and evaluating
options and alternatives.  He genuinely wanted to help Eric find a
way to escape from the mental turmoil and the depressingly
spartan living arrangements his friend had been forced to endure.
There was another compelling reason for his altruism: he
regarded Eric as a good friend, yes, but also -- at least potentially
-- much more than that.  IF, that is, he had the same secret
needs.

There seemed to be few options.  He dismissed most of them as
inadequate, ineffective, or unacceptable for a variety of reasons.
One option, however, seemed to meet Eric's and his own needs.

"I've got an idea," Brian began.  Carefully choosing his words in
order to gain Eric's acceptance of the plan, he continued.  "First of
all, we've got to get you out of the situation you're in.  Living in a
garage is bad enough but the chance of your father finding out is
too great.  Heaven knows what he would do if he found you there.
Not if but when!  He's bound to find you.  Based on what you've
told me about his deranged fury, I think your safety and possibly
your life is in jeopardy.  My idea is this: stay at my house.  It's far
enough away from yours that your father will never see you come
and go."

"I can't ask you to do that," Eric interrupted.

"Hear me out," Brian urged.  "First of all, it solves your immediate
problem ... at least part of it: having to sneak in and out of the
garage.  You'll be able to sleep in a proper bed.  When winter
comes, you'll have a warm place to stay.  It may not solve the
problem of your father's irrational anger or help you cope with the
loss of what was once a healthy father-son relationship.  That will
take a long time and you may never completely forget about it.
But in the meantime, you'll be safe.  You can finish the school
year, receive your diploma, and get on with your life.  Believe me,
Eric.  I know for sure that you've got a lot of potential.  You're a
good student, you've got promise; it would be a damn shame to
waste that."

Eric looked up at his friend with a blank stare.  After a moment's
pause, he asked, "Why are you doing this?  Helping me, I mean."

"Simple!" Brian replied.  "Two reasons.  First, I like you.  You're
the one person in the whole goddamn student body who treats
me like a decent human being.  You may recall that I resisted
your friendship for a long time.  What you may not know is that I
didn't trust you.  I thought you were just trying to kiss my ass in
order to get help with your school work.  Or worse, set me up for
some kind of malicious prank.  I was wrong!  You didn't need help
in school; you never asked for it.  Over time, I recognized that you
are incapable of malicious behavior against anyone.  It took me a
long time to realize that you're friendship was just that and no
more.  You'll never know how much I appreciate that, Eric.  Sure,
I project the image of a guy who doesn't give a rat's ass about
other people.  But that's just a façade, a wall I build to protect me
from taunts and snide insults.  In short, you've given me far more
than I'm now offering you."

Eric was stunned by Brian's earnest confession.  He had never
given enough thought to the matter to fully recognize how lonely
Brian must be.  He, like everyone else, had been fooled by the
"misfit's" highly effective pretense of not caring about others or
their opinions   He wanted to know more about this isolated
person who had a mind that bordered on the brilliant but trapped
in a body that drew nothing but contempt and hurtful criticism from
thoughtless peers.  Inside that unappealing body was the mind
and soul of a veritable gem ... a priceless diamond in the rough.
Eric replied with what seemed at the moment to be needed,
"You're a prince, Brian.  I'm honored to be your friend."

Ignoring the compliment, Brian continued, "That's the first reason.
You'll be better off staying at my house.  Here's the second.  It will
make me feel good.  To be able to help a true friend in need.  So
how about it?  Will you accept my offer?"

"I'm tempted.  But what about your folks?  Will they agree to take
in a stray?"

"I'm sure they will.  I'll ask them tonight.  How much can I tell them
about the reason?  Would you be comfortable if I told them why
your safety and possibly your life is in danger?"

"Geez.  I don't know.  I suppose you'll have to tell them so they
understand the situation.  But ask them not to tell anybody else.
Okay?"

"Deal!"

Eric wanted to hug his friend in gratitude for offering him a place
to stay.  But that would not be proper and they might be seen.
Two boys all by themselves in an otherwise deserted football
stadium hugging each other would surely generate rumors that
would spread throughout the student body and result in cruel
persecution.  Brian also resisted the urge to hug his friend to
demonstrate his compassion and to comfort a friend in pain --
and to express a long-felt attraction to and even affection for Eric.
But it would be premature and counterproductive to risk too much
physical contact while Eric was in emotional pain.  He would have
to proceed slowly and carefully to gain what he fervently wanted.

<><><><><>

Eric walked the two miles from school to his austere temporary
home in a garage.  It wouldn't do to arrive there when his father
was still home.  Although he walked slowly, he still arrived in his
neighborhood long before he knew his father would be going out
for the evening to drown his sorrows.  He had to wait almost two
hours before his father's normal departure.  But he didn't see him
leave the house.  Had he already gone to the bar?  Was he still in
the house?  He waited another hour before convincing himself
that his father had left earlier than usual and that he could sneak
into the garage undetected.

Nearing the house in which he grew up and that held so many
fond memories, he saw a alarming sight.  All of his clothes and
personal possessions (few though they may be) were piled at the
curb for the next morning's trash collection.  With utmost caution,
he maneuvered behind bushes on a route that might, with luck,
allow him to reach the garage unnoticed.  Inside his temporary
shelter, he was shocked again.  There was a pile of feces on his
blanket; his clothes were damp and smelled of urine.  The
flashlight he used to study after dark was smashed.  His school
texts and notebooks were scattered across the dirt floor of the
garage.  All he could do was crumple down to the floor and sob.

It was getting dark when he managed to pull himself together and
think clearly.  His father had obviously discovered his hideaway
and, in his deranged mind, got revenge on his son for confronting
him.  Not willing to face the truth about himself, he transferred his
self-hatred to his son.  The idle threat to leave and the insistence
on sobering up was just a spark that ignited an inferno of anger.
Eric decided that his father was sick.  Sick by reason of addiction
to alcohol.  Sick because of a deep, unacknowledged hatred of
who he had become.  Sick in a way that a teenager was
powerless to help.  The frustration of losing the loving father he
once had and not being able to do anything to help or turn back
the clock was unbearable.

Then a question burst into his consciousness: What to do now?

There seemed only one answer: salvage what he could -- with
his school work as a high priority -- and leave.  For good.  But
where?  Of course!  To Brian's house.  It was still uncertain that
his friend's parents would agree to the arrangement.  It was a slim
chance but the only hope he had left.  He would have liked to call
Brian on the phone but it had been disconnected weeks earlier for
nonpayment of the bill.  He realized then that he couldn't just walk
over to Brian's house because he didn't know whether his parents
would agree to his living there.  And he couldn't stay in the garage
because his father knew he was there.  It was an imponderable
dilemma.

While desperately trying to solve his problem -- what to do and
where to go -- he gathered up his school papers and books.  In
the process he found a note.  In barely legible writing it said,
"Can't fool me, you dumb shithead.  LEAVE.  You're not my son
anymore.  Fact is, you probably never were MY son.  You're no better
than your cunt mother."

"Never MY son?" Eric said aloud.  What did that mean?  What
could it mean?  Was his biological father just a temporary
boyfriend of his mother?  The possibility only intensified his
resentment of her.  But it also helped to explain why his father
was so irrational and insistent that he leave home.

He put all his schoolwork, a few unsoiled clothes, and a half-full
box of dry cereal into a large shopping bag and walked
despondently and confused out of the garage.  Passing the pile of
his things at the curb only served to remind him of what he had
lost and his desperate and destitute situation.  He scanned the
pile and checked how much room was left in the shopping bag.
There was room enough for a few things, small things that
wouldn't take up a lot of space but were, especially in his
situation, treasures: a photo album with pictures of happier times
in his childhood, a small trophy he won for being the outstanding
player on his Little League team, his boy scout Eagle badge --
odds and ends, really, but symbols of when his life was happy.
There were more items he wanted to salvage but the shopping
bag was full.  Regretfully and painfully, he would have to leave
them behind to become part of the trash in some stinking, rat-
infested landfill somewhere.  He would remember them not as
personal possessions but as symbols of the good times, good
times that were now irretrievably lost.

Ominous black clouds overhead foretold an impending
thunderstorm but contributed to his gloom and represented the
sorrow and helplessness he felt.  He trudged off.  To where, he
didn't know.

Only half a block from his former home, a van passed by him on
the residential street.  Curiously, it came to a sudden stop and
backed up.  Eric heard a familiar voice call, "Eric!"

Brian jumped out of the passenger side of the van and walked
toward him.  Eric dropped his shopping bag, ran to his friend and
hugged him.  It was not the "proper" thing for teenage boys to do
but Eric was no longer in control of his jumbled mind.  He clung to
Brian as tightly as a drowning man would to floating debris from a
ship wreck.

"You all right, pal?" Brian asked.  "You're trembling like you've
seen a ghost or something."

Eric willed himself into releasing his grip on Brian.  He fought to
hold back the tears that had been building up over the misery he
felt but also tears of joy at having at least one good friend who
had, if only for the moment, stood by him.  He struggled to say (in
a distinctly shaky voice), "My Dad found out I was staying in the
garage.  He trashed the place.  Left a note warning me to get out.
All the stuff from my room is at the curb for the garbage man
tomorrow morning."

Brian broke the hug, held his friend by the shoulders, and looked
intently into his friend's eyes.  "Settle down, Eric.  It's going to be
all right.  Mom and Dad have agreed to let you stay at my house.
Let's load your stuff into the back of the van.  We're going home
... my home and your new home."

Without thinking of how it appeared, Eric resumed hugging his
savior as the only way he knew to express his boundless
gratitude.  He was startled to hear a voice coming from the van,
"All right, guys.  Enough of that.  Let's be on our way before the
storm hits us.  If we hurry, we'll have time to collect your
belongings back at your house."


The rain started just as Brian's father, Dr. Winston, drove up the
driveway, pressed the button on the remote garage door opener,
and pulled the van into the attached, two-car garage.  Safely
inside, the man turned around to speak to the two teens in the
back seat.  "Welcome to your new home, Eric.  Brian will take you
upstairs.  Can I help you carry your things inside?"

"Thanks, Dad," Brian said, "but Eric and I can take care of that."

"Actually, Sir," Eric said.  "All I need immediately is in this
shopping bag.  Would it be all right to stack the rest in the corner
of your garage and take care of it later?"

"Of course.  I'm guessing that means you and Brian have a lot to
talk about so I'll leave you alone until dinner time."

The two boys climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to
Eric's bedroom.

"But this is YOUR room," Eric protested.

"No, it's OUR room now," Brian chuckled.  "My older sister's
bedroom is across the hall but Mom took it over when my sister
got married and moved out.  She turned it into a studio -- she's
quite an artist.  I hope you don't mind sharing a bedroom."

"Anything is better than a dirty, dusty garage but it makes me feel
like an intruder.  I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help
but giving up your privacy is too much to ask."

"Nonsense!" Brian snorted.  "Fact of the matter is, I'm delighted to
have the company.  You already know I don't have any friends at
school ... only you.  What you may not know is how lonesome it
can be.  Dad's in his office seeing patients all day and doing
hospital rounds until eight at night or later.  Mom is busy keeping
house or in her studio and doesn't like to be disturbed in there.
Not that I'm complaining!  Dinner time and sometimes on the
weekend we're all together.  But mostly I'm almost as alone in the
house as I am at school.  Having you for company will be a real
treat."

<><><><><>

After almost two hours of largely one-sided conversation (Eric
talked, Brian listened and occasionally asked questions.), they
heard Mrs. Winston call them for dinner.  It was the best meal Eric
had enjoyed for many weeks and he had to continually remind
himself not to make a pig out of himself.  The conversation over
dinner was lively but Brian's parents were discrete; they asked no
questions of Eric about his troubled life with a drunken father.
Eric's offer to help clear the table after the meal was politely but
emphatically declined.  "You two probably have homework to do,"
Mrs. Winston smiled.  "So go on upstairs and we'll see you at
breakfast."

The boys did more talking than homework but by half past nine
Eric was clearly physically and mentally exhausted so Brian
suggested, "Let's get some sleep.  If you want to shower, the
bathroom is at the end of the hall.  There's plenty of soap,
shampoo, and towels.  Don't be shy about using them.  After all,
this is your home now, too."

Eric luxuriated in the hot shower.  Growing up, he had access
only to a bath tub.  The first time he showered was after Phys Ed
in Junior High School.  Recently, he had to shower at school after
Gym class; there had been no hot water at home (his FORMER
home, he reminded himself) because of a delinquent gas bill ....  It
only had electricity because of a city ordinance that mandated
minimal electric service to occupied residences.  While lathering
up, he was sure to get clean all over.  He would be sharing a
double bed with Brian and didn't want to offend him with any
residual body odor.  His cock responded rapidly to the attention it
was getting, attention that had been absent for ... what was it? ...
almost two weeks while Eric was obsessed with dealing with his
father.   The ejaculation was copious and extraordinarily
gratifying.

Brian, meanwhile, was refining his strategy.  He would have to
move very cautiously and never rush things.  The first night, he
concluded, he would simply lay an arm across his friend's chest
and whisper reassuring comments about how Eric had turned a
corner in his life.  The tribulations of the past were behind him.
Gradually, Brian hoped, the physical contact would continue and
lead to ...  But the probability of that was minimal.


Chapter 3:  HIDDEN AGENDAS

Eric returned to the bedroom wearing only his tattered boxer
shorts.  "That was wonderful!" he said.  "It's almost like washing
away the agony I've felt for a long time.  At least some of it."

Brian grinned and replied, "That's good.  I'm sure it will continue.
Every time you shower, every time you have a decent meal, every
time you sleep in a comfortable bed, more and more of those
memories will fade."

Brian's eyes inadvertently dropped to the slight bulge in the front
of his friend's boxers.  Normally, he was adept at controlling his
glances but having speculated on what might eventually happen
between himself and Eric must have weakened his customary
discretion.

Eric noticed the wayward glance and said, "Kinda worn out, aren't
they?  My shorts, I mean.  I've got a better pair in the shopping
bag.  But I didn't want to parade through the hallway totally naked.
Excuse me a minute while I change."

Brian's new roommate turned away and bent over to retrieve
fresh boxers from his stash of possessions, which gave Brian a
tantalizing view.  But when Eric removed his underwear, the bare,
firm, graceful contours of a very appealing ass triggered a tingle in
Brian's crotch.

Having pulled his fresh boxers up, Eric turned around to face
Brian and said, "There!  They feel better and I'm sure they look
better."

"They look fine, Eric."  And fine they did!  They fit somewhat more
snuggly and therefore revealed more.  The bulge almost defined
the size and shape of the penis it hid.

"I don't have any pajamas.  I hope you don't mind my sleeping in
my skivvies."

"I don't mind at all," Brian replied.  "That's how I sleep, too."  He
lied about his nighttime attire; he normally wore nothing at all.  But
it was a white lie to make Eric more comfortable.

The sight of Eric's defined chest, lightly sprinkled with hair, and
the prominent package between his legs was too much for Brian
who knew he would have to make an exit before his swelling cock
became an embarrassment.  "Crawl into bed, Eric.  I'm going to
shower.  I won't be long."

While Brian showered, his mind's eye imagined in vivid detail
what was lurking inside his friend's underwear.  The result was a
raging hard-on that demanded relief and could not be ignored.  It
was far too soon to provide that relief with Eric -- it would require
time and patience before anything could be attempted with his
friend -- so he made do with his fist.  With the vision of Eric in his
mind, the orgasm was among the best he had ever enjoyed.

Brian was disappointed when he returned to the bedroom.  Eric
seemed to be asleep.  He carefully slipped into the other side of
the bed.  There would be no physical contact tonight, he
regretfully thought.  But he was wrong.  Eric said softly, "I can't
thank you enough for what you've done.  I was at my wits end
when you rescued me from ... from an uncertain future."

Seizing the opportunity, Brian rolled over to face his friend, laid an
arm across his bare chest, and said, "I thought I explained it,
buddy.  We're doing each other a favor.  You have a safe place to
live and I have a friend to keep me company.  Matter of fact, I feel
I'm getting the better deal.  I recognize and appreciate your
gratitude but please ... don't beat a dead horse about it.  Okay?"

Eric had not resisted or reacted in any way to an arm across his
chest, which pleased Brian and allowed him to maintain the
position.  It would, he reasoned, be an important first step in his
friend's comfort with skin-to-skin contact and later ... well ...
maybe more.  With no further conversation, both teens soon fell
asleep.

<><><><><>

The next morning, the two roommates waited at the corner for the
school bus.  Six other teens were also waiting.  Normally, they
completely ignored the unsociable and unattractive "nerd" as he
did them.  However, they took note of the stranger in their midst
and puzzled over the fact that the uncommunicative loner was
chatting with the newcomer.  Some glanced, a few stared, and all
spoke in hushed tones to each other. Not one greeted the
outsider much less bothered to introduce themselves.  Brian
expected to be ignored but regretted not warning Eric of the silent
treatment they would most likely receive.

The bus driver's reaction to an unfamiliar passenger was more
overt.  "And who are you?  You've never been on the bus before."

Brian was ready with an answer.  "It's okay, Sir.  This is a Eric
Mathews.  He's a senior at Grady" [High School] "and he's staying
at my house while his dad is sick."

"Okay this time," the driver said with no noticeable displeasure.
"But notify the office at school.  I could get in trouble giving a ride
to anybody not on the approved list."

"Will do," Brian smiled.  "Thanks."


That night after dinner, the teens went to THEIR bedroom to finish
their homework.  One of the few interruptions came when Eric
said, "That was clever ... the way you covered up for me on the
bus this morning."

"It was the truth, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't false.  I'm just glad he didn't ask about my dad's
sickness.  That would have been embarrassing."

"I was ready for that if he had asked.  Your dad has some sort of
nutrition imbalance.  `Course I'd have said that with terms he
didn't understand -- some words that I've heard my dad use --
but it would have satisfied him."

"You're truly amazing, Brian!  I knew that before but you continue
to amaze me."


The teens finished their homework and went down to the kitchen
for a snack before getting ready for bed.  Brian went into the
garage to get some ice cream from the large freezer.  Eric waited
at the kitchen table with his back to the entryway.  Dr. Winston
entered the kitchen and said, "Hi, son.  Homework done already?"

"Your son is out in the garage getting some ice cream.  And yes,
our homework is done."

Dr. Winston grinned and replied, "I apologize for taking the liberty
to call you `son' but that's how I think of you ... as Eric's `sort-of'
brother.  I hope you don't mind.  If you don't, feel free to call me
`Dad'.  I know I'm not your real dad but I'd like to play the part."

"No, Sir.  I don't mind.  In fact, I'm flattered."

"What did you say?" the man asked in a pleasant but earnest
tone.

Eric repeated himself.

"That's what I thought.  If you want to address me as `Sir' I'll
accept that but I would prefer that you call me `Dad' and let me
call you `Son.'"

"Thanks ... Dad.  I may slip up once in a while but I'm extremely
grateful that you have not only taken me in but accepted me into
your family."

The man looked around to assure himself they were alone, placed
a hand gently on Eric's shoulder and whispered, "And I'm grateful
to you, son.  Your friendship has made a world of difference in
Brian.  I'll say no more now; he may return at any minute.  But
thanks and welcome to the Winston household."  With fortunate
timing, the man was opening the cupboard to get a tea bag when
Brian returned with the ice cream.

"You seem rather cheerful," Brian remarked.

"I am that!" Eric gushed.  "I'm getting used to living a more normal
life and that makes me very happy."

Unseen by his two `sons,' Dr. Winston smiled broadly.

<><><><><>

A few days later, at three in the morning, Brian was awakened by
a screaming "NO!" from his bed partner.  Instantly awake and
utterly worried, he asked, "What's wrong, Eric?"  Eric was sitting
bolt upright and trembling.  He didn't respond to Brian's question.
"What's wrong?" Brian repeated.

"A nightmare.  My father was chasing me with a butcher knife
yelling obscenities at me."

Brian sat up and, with no motive other than to comfort his friend,
grasped him in an embrace and said, "It's all right now.  You're
here with me.  You're safe."

Eric wrapped his arms about Brian, clung to him tightly, and laid
his head on his friend's shoulder.  "When will it stop, Brian?
When will I forget the misery and fear?"

"Honestly?  I don't know.  All I do know is that it will get better.
You'll still remember what happened but the emotions -- the fear,
the sadness, the frustration -- will diminish over time.  And know
this, my friend: I'll be at your side to help you through the bad
times."

They lay back down but neither boy relinquished his hold on the
other.  It was only then as they lay locked in an embrace with
expanses of bare skin pressed together that Brian thought of his
hopes for even more intimacy.  But he consciously dismissed that
thought partly because it might cause a swelling in his loins but
mostly because the clear priority was to give support and comfort
to one who was still hurting.

Although Eric thoroughly enjoyed the comforting hug and the
close contact that was evidence of true friendship, he broke the
hug, pulled away, and said, "Thanks.  I'm sorry I woke you up.
But I'm okay now.  I think I'll try to get back to sleep now."

Brian accepted the words at face value but what he did not know
was the real reason that his best friend terminated the embrace.
The reason was not because he had recovered from the traumatic
nightmare.  Instead, the troubled young man's thoughts had
suddenly realized that he was hugging and being hugged by
another male ... and they were both almost naked!  What now
disturbed Eric was not his nightmare and nor memories of his
ordeal with his drunken dad.  They had been replaced by concern
over his swelling penis.  There's no way he would let his good
friend and generous host know about getting an erection while in
his arms.  Eric might interpret it as something sick and perverted.
It could destroy a friendship and cost him his only chance to avoid
homelessness.

<><><><><>

Eric had been living in his new home -- with his new family -- for
nearly five weeks.  He was finally feeling at ease with the situation
and not like an intruding guest in a strange household.  The
friendship with Brian grew stronger by the day as they talked,
laughed, and shared thoughts openly.  Eric had begun to leave
his former life behind.  The painful memories of his dad's
alcoholism and angry outbursts were losing their power to
depress him or to arouse feelings of fear (for his safety) and panic
(over an uncertain future).

Brian recognized the change in Eric from a desperate, hopeless
teen toward a cheerful, confident young man.  It was time to begin
implementing his strategy of seduction.  He had delayed doing it
because he didn't want to take advantage of a vulnerable person.
If there were to be any intimate sex, Eric would have to agree to it
willingly.  It HAD to be consensual.  If Eric refused to engage in
sex, he would abandon his strategy out of respect for his best and
only friend.  But conquest seemed within his grasp.

It had been extremely difficult for Brian to be in bed next to his
friend, a friend with a body he admired enormously ... and envied.
Many were the nights that he yearned to touch, to caress, to
fondle, and MORE -- to do the things he had never done but had
craved to do and fantasized about for years.  But he endured the
frustration of being inches away from a nearly naked, very
masculine body while harboring the hope that one day he and
Eric would unite in mind-blowing sex.

The opportunity to launch his strategy came when Dr. and Mrs.
Winston left for a weekend to visit their daughter in Sacramento.
He and Eric would be alone in the house for two days.  Brian
knew he would have to keep his lust in check and progress in
carefully measured steps.  Moreover, every tactic had to be
executed in a way that would permit him to withdraw his advances
if Eric showed any signs of resistance or disapproval. The goal
was gay sex but there would always have to be a retreat plan,
one that would at least preserve their friendship.  It would be
difficult but he had considered (or so he hoped) all the techniques
and settled on a plan of attack.  Conquest was likely but an
honorable withdrawal must remain a possibility.

What Brian didn't know was Eric's deepest feelings about
homosexuality.  They had never discussed it.  Both, it seems,
regarded the subject off-limits.  Nor had Eric ever unconsciously
showed any signs of attraction to men.  On the contrary, he had
often commented about particularly attractive girls at school.  That
was but one of the dangers Brian faced in seducing his friend.
But given his strong desire for gay sex, he considered it as just
another challenge along the path to his goal.

There was another thing he didn't know about Eric: that he was
exceptionally skilled, after years of practice, in concealing his
socially and religiously condemned interest in men.  Both of his
parents had been virulently homophobic as he grew up.  And his
peers at school reinforced his determination not to project the
wrong image nor say the wrong thing lest he be persecuted and
punished mercilessly.  He learned early and often to keep that
part of himself very deep in the closet.

To be continued


My thanks to Iatia for his consistently meticulous editing and for his
continuing encouragement.