Date: Wed, 7 Jan 2009 13:55:16 -0800 (PST)
From: Master Terra D <masterterradil@yahoo.com>
Subject: Home for Teenagers

Three weeks after I came out of the closet, things got weird.

I already knew my parents would be unhappy, and we dealt with that. I
didn't run around the community telling everyone and putting up "Here,
Queer, Bite Me!" signs on my property, but word spread.

Three weeks after I came out of the closet, Roland and Mariam Harnass
appeared on my doorstep with their teenage son, Michael.

	I'm Wilson Kerry. I live in a rural community. The nearest "city"
has a population of 4,320, and I live just outside of town, in an old
farmhouse.

	I was surprised when the Harnasses appeared the day after
Christmas. But they were clear and brief.

	"Our son's queer like you," Roland said with that humble rural
drawl. "You deal with him."

	And with that, Marcus' parents turned and left.

	Marcus Harnass wasn't just "some kid." Marcus was the local school
district's sports star. Whatever sport Marcus played, he dominated:
football, basketball, baseball. He even wrestled. His dad was a farmer, and
his mother stayed on the farm, tending to the household, and the other six
Harnass children. Marcus was 17, the second child and second son.

	He had his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and locked eyes with
me.

	"No use goin' after them. Once they heard there was a homo to dump
me off on, they packed me up," Marcus drawled. "No use tryin' to talk to
them. Pa can't afford me anyhow."

	He walked past me into the house.

	Roland and Mariam Harness pulled out of the drive, never to be
seen, until the next basketball game.

	At 40, I had no idea how to deal with a teenager. The house
certainly wasn't set up for a teenager.

	Marcus set at the dining room table, tossing his duffle bag on the
table.

	"Bag goes on the floor, Marcus," I said. "What exactly is going
on?"

	"Pa heard you were queer, and he certainly knows I am," Marcus
smiled, trying to charm me. The boy did have some charms.

	Marcus stood 6'1" tall, lean and muscular, great smile, and a face
somewhere between cute and handsome. Dark blonde locks curled down the
sides of his head, nearly to the shoulders.

	"They've been trying to find someone to deal with me, and you're a
pillar of the community, so when Pa heard, he had me pack up tonight."

	"I'm not a home for wayward...guys," I protested, lamely. Roland
Harnass was a church-going poor farmer. A gay, sports-star son must have
been driving them insane. "Doesn't your father still need your help on the
farm?"

	"Yeah. I'll catch the bus in the mornin', and dad will pick me up
from practice after school, or I'll ride the bus out ta the farm. Then dad
will drop me off here after we're done.

	"Where am I sleepin'? Guest bedroom?"

	"Couch. I'll grab you some sheets," I said. "When your dad drops
you off tomorrow night, I want to talk to him. Tell him that when he picks
you up. He can talk to me, or I can drive out to the house and talk to him
there."

	"Man, you're crabby," Marcus groused. Then he swung his mood around
and asked, "Wanna fuck?"

	"No," I said flatly. "The bathroom's this way..."



	Marcus got his dad to speak with me, at his truck in my driveway. I
was glad it was fairly warm out that night.

	"Roland, I'm glad you have the time to speak with me, but I'm not
looking to take care of your son."

	"Well, we can't handle him," Roland drawled. "It's not the queer
thing either. My brother in Chicago's like you, too. But Marcus...he's got
no shame. He struts around the house naked, and...worked up half the
time. He'll invite friends over and do it in the living room, or the yard,
or...

	"I don't care what people do in their bedrooms, but Marcus does it
right in front of his mother! It's shameful. I was hopin' you could deal
with him."

	"Have you thought about discipline?"

	"He seems to, um, like that," Roland blushed. "I haven't spanked
him for a long time.

	"He's probably naked in there right now."

	Roland pointed at the house.

	"Okay, Roland, but if I'm going to take care of him, I could use
some help." I wasn't really in a financial position to have someone living
with me, but I knew the Harnasses weren't in great financial shape either.

	"We'll feed him before we bring him here. He took in a dozen eggs
and some homemade pork sausage when I dropped him off," Roland said,
starting the engine. "Foods about all we can do."

	"Doesn't he have anything else? More clothes? Electronics?"

	"Nope. Thanks Mr. Kerry."

	Roland was right.

	Marcus was not modest. He was indeed strutting around the house,
without a stitch of clothes.

	"Get dressed. I wear clothes round my house, and so will you," I
ordered. "If you're going to stay here, there are a few rules, which we'll
go over once you're dressed."

	While he dressed, I thought about the house.

	The farmhouse was a large, traditional structure had received a
modern make over in the 1970s. The first floor was entered through a front
door, which opened into a hall with a stairwell and four doors, two near
the entrance and two near the end of the hall.

	The two doors to the right entered into connected sitting rooms,
which I'd converted into a den and a library.

	To the left were once a parlor, then dining room, then kitchen,
added on the back, as three separated rooms, but the renovation had made
them one long room. Out of the kitchen was a stairwell up to the second
floor, theorized to be a servants' entrance from a small room above the
kitchen.

	Another part of the renovation was connecting the back stairwell to
the front of the house, making a complete circuit. The four upstairs
bedrooms had become a large master suite above the living and dining rooms
with its own bathroom, partially made from the suspected servant's
quarters. The rest of the space was converted to a guest bathroom, serving
the other two bedrooms above the den and library. A full basement ran under
the house, with it's own bathroom. A bathroom off the kitchen served the
first floor.

	I put Marcus in the upstairs, back bedroom. The room was decorated
in red, white and blue. I'd toyed with making a bed and breakfast, and had
started doing themes in the two upstairs bedrooms. This was the
star-spangled room. Red sheets with blue and white pillow cases. Blue walls
with white trim and red drapes. White-painted wood floors with red rugs.

	"Looks like fuckin' flag in here," he snarled when I opened the
door.

	"Okay! The rules will begin. You'll be clothed in the house at all
times, when not in your room. Watch you language; don't make me write out
all the words.

	"You'll eat with me of a morning and on weekends. You have an 11
p.m. curfew..."

	"Hell, no!"

	"Hell, yes! You'll stop interrupting me, too."

	I stared him down.

	"So, 11 p.m. curfew on school nights and 1 a.m. on weekends."

	"Oh." He was barely audible.

	"Are those all the clothes you have?"

	"Yeah, ma and pa can't buy me a lot. I borrow from some buds so I'm
not wearin' the same stuff all the time, but people know my folks are
poor."

	"We're obviously not the same size. I'll see if I can get you some
more clothes. You probably noticed last night, I don't have a lot of
electronics."

	"I'll live. It's not like a had friends over to play video games."
He snickered, and I remembered his father's tale.

	"Yeah, well, you're not going to like the next rule. No sex in the
house, or the barn, or on my property. Your parents may have put up with
that, but I will not. Don't try me on it; I don't bluff."

	"Fine."

	"You have the run of the house, expect for my bedroom and my
personal office, my den. You're welcome to the library. When I'm not
watching the TV, have at it.

	"Have you eaten yet?"

	"Yeah, Pa fed me before droppin' me off."

	"I haven't eaten yet, so I'm going to get something. If you want
something, let me know. I'm guessing since I don't see the eggs, you found
the frig."

	"Yep."

	And that was basically how the school's junior sports star ended up
living with me. Marcus and I started adjusting to one another for four
weeks when on Friday night, things changed again.

	I'd just arrived back at the house from Marcus' basketball game in
late January. I'd begun to regularly attend his activities, which in
January was basketball and wrestling. Marcus had gone out with the guys,
and would be home later. Marcus staying with me had become fairly common
knowledge throughout the community.

	Some friends had pitched in to get Marcus an actual wardrobe, and
the food from the Harnasses was helpful, but I really wasn't adjusting well
to having a teenager in the house. He ate all the time, and I could never
keep track of where he was.

	But I digress.

	Claudia Blankenshiff was waiting on my porch with her son, Oscar.

	Oscar was one of the smartest kids in his class. He was a junior
like Marcus. He was about my height, 5'8", dark hair, glasses, with looks
teenage girls seem to love, but I've never understood. He looked
intelligent, but awkward.

	"Hi, Mr. Kerry. I'm glad I caught you," Claudia started,
smiling. "Oscar is gay, and since you took in Marcus, I thought you could
deal with Oscar."

	"No." I stood there. I was not taking in another gay teenager.

	Well, God won't have him and neither will I," she
harrumphed. "Better for him to rot with you than rot in Hell."

	She was evil. I knew I'd take in Oscar, too, but I could barely
deal with Marcus.

	"You're going to need to pay rent, Claudia," I said, adding in my
thoughts, "You callus, Godless bitch."

	"He has a trust fund, and it's all yours." She handed me a
leather-bound book. "I signed it over this morning. His father, God rest
his soul, left Oscar a nice trust fund to make sure he'd be taken care of,
and now, it's yours."

	"Then get off my property." I shoved her to her car.

	"Hi, Oscar. I'm Wilson Kerry," I said, extending a hand. He shook
it.

	"We all know who you are, Mr. Kerry," he said, picking up two
pieces of luggage. "Since you took in Marcus, I've been begging my mother
to bring me here."

	"You could have called," I said, sympathetically. "'We'?"

	"All the gay guys at school. Most of us have an okay home life, but
a few of us have been hoping."

	"I'm not a home for gay teenagers," I said, "but with that mother,
I'm happy to remove you from that atmosphere."

	"So am I. She drags me to church every Sunday, and we spend 15
minutes in prayer with the minister for my eternal soul," Oscar
confided. "It's unrelenting."

	"Well, I'm not sure what you're used to, but I have a bedroom
upstairs. We can redo it, or at least tone it down. For my bed and
breakfast, it was going to be `Grandma's Attic', so it's a little...old
fashioned. And grandmotherly."

	"I'll live, as long as there isn't a cross or Bible in there,"
Oscar said.

	"I can't remember. We can always remove them."

	The front bedroom was a contrast to the back one. The front room
had a wooden frame bed with a yellow quilt on it, Grandma's Garden or some
such pattern, the floor was covered in a rag rug, the drapes were flowery,
a camel-back trunk was at the foot of the bed. The room was designed to
have the feel of a grandmother's attic, warm and homey.

	"Seriously?" Oscar asked.

	"I know, it wasn't designed to appeal to teenagers," I said.

	"I'll live, barely," he chuckled.

 	I went over the house rules.

	"Marcus will be in before 1 a.m.," I commented.

	"Shouldn't be a problem. We don't run in the same circles," Oscar
said.

	"That's not a surprise."

	"My car's parked in back by your garage. I'll go get most of my
stuff tomorrow," he said.

	"You have stuff?"

	"Yeah. Couple of game stations, DVDs, Ipod, TV, Blue Ray player,
computer, stereo...I don't think it'll all fit in here," he observed.

	"We can work on setting some of it up in the living room, although
we may want to set up some of it on the landing outside your bedroom
door. No reason to have two TVs in the living room."

	"Sure there is! Just let me set it up. We can move your TV up
here."



	Saturday morning, all three of us headed to Oscar's house. His
mother made sure she wasn't there.

	Oscar, Marcus and I loaded his stuff in my truck and Oscar's car. I
could see a twinge of envy in Marcus' eyes. I figured he'd seen this kind
of stuff at his friends, but Oscar was a techno-geek. His computer had four
interconnected flat screens that covered a wall. Okay, they were High-Def
Televisions.

	We spent the afternoon setting up the landing, the living room, and
Oscar's bedroom. He asked me to tap the trust fund to get us supper, so I
did, calling out for Chinese. Oscar was busy showing Marcus the ass-driven
Wii.

	Apparently, everyone ordered Chinese that night. It took more than
45 minutes for the order to be ready.

	I parked the truck in back and entered through the kitchen, calling
out for Oscar and Marcus to come get it. When they didn't come running, I
looked up to see they weren't in the living room. I figured they'd gone
upstairs to look at something on Oscar's computer. I walked through the
dining room and into the hall under the stairs.

	I heard grunting, and though they were moving something, but then I
noticed the grunting was rhythmic. Coming around the stairs, I was greeted
by the site of Oscar's hairy ass pumping into the muscled butt of Marcus,
hunched over on the stairs.

	"BOYS!" I shouted. "NO! Not on the stairs. It's hell getting cum
stains out of that carpet!"

	The boys disconnected, flushing red with embarrassment, but their
cocks barely went stiff, if at all.

	"Guys, no, not in the house. You know I can't have that!" I was
frustrated. I knew they were horny, randy boys, but I hoped. "Pretend
you're brothers."

	"I'm done my brother," Marcus said.

	"That's not going to work," I said reflexively.

	"Brotherly love," Oscar quipped.

	"Stop..." I sighed.

	"We're both legal," Oscar said.

	"Okay. Go put some clothes on, guys," I ordered. "We'll have some
supper and finish discussing this over the sesame chicken and beef
broccoli."

	"Tell me you got some egg rolls," Marcus begged, trodding up the
stairs with Oscar grabbing his ass.

	"They had low mien, right? I asked when I called in; they better
have included the low mien," Oscar said.

	And that was the start of Wilson's Home for Wayward Homos.



To be continued?



Men and boys, thanks for your comments. If you send something, remember to
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delete it.

Master Terra D

masterterradil@yahoo.com