Date: Thu, 4 Sep 2014 13:47:28 -0500
From: Jack Schaeffer <jack.schaeffman@gmail.com>
Subject: Forever - Chapter 1 (Beginnings)

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic scenes of man on man sex so if your
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Authors Note: This is a work of fiction, and the characters, places, and
events are not real, nor are they based on real events. They exist only in
the mind of the author. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is
unintentional.

Comments welcomed: jack.schaeffman@gmail.com

FOREVER

By Jack Schaeffer


Chapter 1

March

"Call on line 2 for you, Jack." Mary pressed the button to put the call on
hold, then pressed another one to take another call. God, what is it with
this day? I had been running non-stop all morning and just couldn't catch a
break. It was only Tuesday, but it felt like I had worked a full week
already. I was exhausted and stressed out, and still had hours to go. I had
finally finished payroll and gotten the paperwork sent to the payroll service
so our checks would arrive for Friday's pay day - we couldn't have a mutiny
now, could we. I still had accounts payable and invoicing to get done before
I could go to lunch. Ugh!

"This is Jack," I said, speaking absent-mindedly into the phone while sorting
out the vendor invoices that needed to be paid this week. Out of the corner
of my eye, I noticed Mary pretending to work, all the while eavesdropping on
my call from her desk across from mine, like she always did. Apparently her
other call was dispatched quickly in case she might miss something from mine.

"Is this Jack Schaeffer?" replied the voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, who is this?" I can answer a questions with a question, too.

"My name is Bart Wilson. I'm an attorney with Wilson, Matthews and
Associates. Do you have a couple of minutes to talk, or is there a better
time for me to call you?"

Attorney? Uh oh. I quickly tried to think of anything I may have done
recently that would involve an attorney needing to talk to me. Trying not to
sound panicky, I hesitantly replied, "I have a couple of minutes now I guess.
What's this about?"

"Well, Mr. Schaeffer, I'm here in our Chicago office and I was asked by
another attorney in Denver to give you a call and see if you would be willing
to meet with me to discuss a legal matter that has arisen in Denver that
concerns you. I am calling to see if we could set up that appointment as soon
as possible."

Okay, he now had my full attention, and this sounded serious - and very much
like trouble. It started - stomach doing flip-flops, palms sweating. I
glanced over in Mary's direction, hoping she was no longer paying attention,
but no such luck. I certainly didn't want her prying into my conversation
with a lawyer. The Spanish Inquisition would have been child's play compared
to what I would face if she knew the direction this call was going.

Trying for a non-committal tone, I answered, "You will have to explain that a
little further."

I'm sure he could sense my reluctance, so he quickly stated, "I understand
that, Jack. May I call you Jack?" he asked. "Sure, that's fine," I replied.

"Okay, Jack, I don't want to get into too much detail over the phone, but I
can tell you that another lawyer, his name is Clyde Watson, in our Denver
office, has been representing someone who has recently died. Apparently that
person has possibly named you as a beneficiary in her will."

If he could have seen me, Mr. Wilson would have noticed my narrowing eyes and
defenses rising even further. This was starting to sound very weird and I was
totally on guard. Now I was smelling a scam. We had people pretending to be
one of our vendors call all the time wanting to confirm orders for printing
supplies and such, when we had never placed such orders. And that was just
one of the scams these criminals tried out on unsuspecting business peons
like myself. But none of the attempts had ever been personal, now that I
thought about it further.

"That's interesting," I replied, with a noticeable edge to my voice. I was
still trying to hold a conversation with him without revealing the subject
matter to other listening ears.

He must have notice my reticence to his unfolding story. "Look, I'm sorry for
the confusion, I know that this doesn't make total sense, but would you be
able to meet with me after hours this evening or tomorrow and I can explain
it more clearly?" he commented.

I didn't know what to say really. Maybe it was fatigue and stress, maybe it
was worry that Mary was listening a little too closely and I wanted to end
the call. I don't really know. Bart Wilson was making no sense, but he
somehow seemed genuine and real. Maybe this wasn't a scam. So against all
better judgment, I replied, "I guess so. What did you have in mind?"

I listened as he outlined his plan for meeting in the lounge at a nearby
hotel that evening. He suggested a 6:00pm meeting time, which was doable for
me, so I agreed with a simple, "That sounds fine. Thank you."

After describing himself a little bit so I would know who to look for he
signed off by thanking me for agreeing to meet. Crazy! But I was curious now,
too.

Mary, whose desk sits opposite mine, was looking at me with a question on her
face. I can only imagine what hearing only one side of that conversation
sounded like.

"What was that all about?" she asked, clearly curious herself. I turned to a
tried and true subterfuge and said the guy on the phone was trying to sell me
something (which was sort of true) and would be getting me more information
later (also true). I hoped she would drop it at that explanation. Thankfully
the phone rang again and she had to answer it, effectively ending the
inquisition for now.

I like Mary, and working with her was sometimes fun. She could make a long
day go by faster with her sense of humor and good nature. But she was a
notorious gossip and loved to involve herself in everyone's affairs. So I
quickly decided to not reveal all that was said in the phone call. I didn't
really know myself what was going on. Yet.

With Mary now chatting away on her call, I quickly busied myself with
gathering invoices and accounting registers to review accounts payables with
my boss, the CFO, and got up to go find him. Mary looked like she had
accepted my answer, and I was saved from any further interrogation by yet
another call coming in that she had to answer. Literally saved by the bell.

As I walked towards the CFO's office, I noticed not for the first time the
drab, worn out, beige-colored office cubicles and mismatched fake wooden
desks, with antiquated touch tone phones and, yes, typewriters instead of
computers, outfitting our humble workspace. Not the picture of a high-rolling
enterprise, but it was my home away from home, most days. Actually, I spent
more time in this place than anywhere else. It was okay. Don't despise small
beginnings, right?

I was the current office manager/bookkeeper for a very small, 15-person
company in a suburb of Chicago, located in a light industrial office park
just west of O'Hare airport. Not worth mentioning the name, cause no one has
ever heard of it. We sold some specialized communications equipment to large
fortune 100 firms, and it was all done over the phone. We had five sales guys
who cold-called all day long and every few days, one of them might get
someone to agree to take a trial on one of our units. If they liked how it
worked, they would buy it, otherwise they would return it and the cycle
repeated itself. Last year we had just over three million in revenue, which
sounds like a lot, but the margin on that was not great, so profits were
almost non-existent.

I didn't care too much, as long I got paid. Which I made sure I did since I
was responsible for payroll every week. When you are the guy who hands out
the checks on Friday morning, you always make sure there is enough cash in
the account to cover those checks. In fact, my boss and I have an unwritten
agreement. There will always be at least three weeks payroll in the cash
account at all times, no matter what. Nothing gets paid out to anyone if we
start to look short on that. Thankfully, that has only happened once in the
nearly two years I've been here, and we got a surprise deposit from a
deadbeat customer that afternoon, so I went home that day somewhat relieved
that I was still employed - at least for the next three weeks.

An hour later, after reviewing the payables with my boss, I was still
thinking about the phone call. It really made no sense, and I laughed at
myself when the thought crossed my mind that wouldn't it be cool if I was
suddenly left millions from a long lost relative. Problem was, I didn't know
anybody in Denver, I had no family there that I knew of, and besides, I don't
know anybody who has 50 bucks in their pocket, let alone millions to leave
behind. My luck it was a case of mistaken identity entirely, or the
inheritance was a pile of bills that I would now be legally required to pay
off. Ugh!

My stomach grumbled and I still had stuff to do before I could knock off for
lunch, so I got back into my work. While the company where I plied my trade
was nothing to write home about, I loved my actual work. I did payroll,
accounts payable, accounts receivable, and some general ledger work for the
boss man, Marcus Thompson, the President & CFO of our happy little group. And
speaking of the boss man, I liked him okay. He was very nice to me for the
most part, and we worked pretty well together. He was the father of a college
buddy of mine, a little older than my mother, and he was a good teacher of
all things accounting.

When I first took the job, I was sort of desperate. At first I was like, oh
man, what did I get myself into with this job? It was accounting crap, and I
really did not like accounting in college. I took the required two classes to
get my degree, and that was it. Now I was doing bookkeeping all day long. But
surprise, surprise, after a few weeks of Mr. Thompson's tutoring, it turned
out I was good at it. He eventually even let me assist in preparing quarterly
SEC report filings, which I really, really did not understand at all. But it
was cool to work on them just the same. Made me feel like I was doing
something important somehow. Even if I had no idea what that was.

The other thing I loved about my job was the computers. I had talked Mr.
Thompson into letting me get a couple of computers in the office, at first
just to do the accounting work on. I set up the accounting software and got
things running and eventually we were able to cut the time it took to do the
books in half. It took almost a year, but he eventually trusted the printed
reports that came out of the software, so he did away with most, but not all,
of the hand written ledger books we used to use.

We still had to use typewriters for sales orders, invoices and other multi-
part forms. Lately I had begun exploring writing database software, hoping to
find a way to enter our orders and invoices directly into the computer and
printing the paperwork, rather than having to type it all the time. Computers
are more forgiving on the typos. Many nights I would go home needing to scrub
off multi-colored white-out typo correction fluid from my fingertips.

When I wasn't doing accounting, I was office managing. That is to say I was
doing everything that an office requires that Mary, the sales secretary, did
not do. Mary worked pretty hard, and she was faithfully at her desk every
day. But she had her hands full answering the phones, processing orders and
filing other paperwork to support the sales guys, so a lot of the other stuff
fell to me. Ordering supplies, typing invoices, mail processing, etc. We were
a small company, in size and dollars, but there is still a certain amount of
paperwork and crap that all companies have to do to function.

What to say about Mary. I probably talked to her more than anyone else. We
had almost nothing in common other than where we worked. I'm 24, she's 44,
and divorced, and estranged from her two kids, and generally lonely, I think.
She has some friends that she plays cards with or goes to theater shows with
and every Monday morning she has several new dirty jokes to tell me that one
or more of her girlfriends came up with over the weekend. Some of them are
funny, most just make me uncomfortable, but I try to smile and play along.
She doesn't seem to notice my discomfort at the subject matter, especially
the sexual ones, but that's okay. I'm not going to clue her in. That could
lead to more unwanted conversations.

While she talks about her love life all the time, and that of her friends, I
never, ever discuss that part of my life. In the beginning she would ask if
there some special girl in my life, and I would try to say things like I'm
not comfortable sharing those personal things with coworkers, but that made
me sound pretentious and aloof. So now I made excuses that I was too busy to
date, or never went anywhere to meet anyone. It was a crock, and she probably
knows that, but she's nice and never mentions it. Now she never asks.

The reason I avoid the subject is that there has never be a girl in my life,
special or not. I know that I am gay - I've suspected since junior high - but
I don't even discuss this with myself, let alone anybody else. I am terrified
of it, and there is nothing I can do about it. So I do nothing. Well, not
nothing. I am after all, a 24 year old male, and I can take care of my own
desires by myself, thank you very much. Yep, me and my five best friends -
the fingers on my left hand. Sigh.

Growing up gay in a small Midwestern town is basically a death sentence if
you are found out, so no one found out. Not going to happen, no two ways
about it. So like I said, I didn't even allow myself to think too much about
it. I just ignored it. Or tried to.

I never really had any problems until junior year in high school; the prom
arrived just in time to terrorize me. Feeling tremendous pressure to have a
date or risk exposure or ridicule for being gay, I reluctantly asked a nice
girl from our Drama team to go with me, and she was ecstatic to be asked. We
doubled with her best friend and her date. It was okay, I had a nice time. I
danced one slow dance with her, no sexual stuff, and avoided any of the
faster songs. I love music, especially singing, but cannot seem to figure out
the dancing thing. She didn't seem to mind. She was very pretty, and I liked
getting her the flower corsage and all that. Plus dressing up in a tux was
cool, too. That night, since I wasn't driving, we dropped her off first at
her home. I walked her to door, and shook her hand, thanked her for a lovely
evening, and said I better get back to the car, they are waiting for me. She
smiled and said she had a nice time too. Whew, kissing avoided. We never
dated again.

The next year, senior year, I was propositioned by a guy on the debate team
when we were hanging out in our hotel room during an out-of-town meet. He
told me basically that he was gay and asked if I had ever thought about doing
anything with a guy. Laying there in the dark, I on my bed, he on the other,
I was literally shaking, breaking out in a sweat, feeling like I was going to
throw up any second. Yes, I knew I was gay, but he was not someone I was
attracted to at all. I liked him as a friend, but not that way. And how did
he know I was gay? I was so, so careful. I never expressed any interest in
anyone, never a hint. My world was caving in around me, and I was trying not
to panic. Then he suggested that maybe he should move over to my bed for the
night, leaving the other bed open for the other guy who was sharing with us
and was still out with the team doing who knows what. Stomach nearly heaving,
I somehow found my voice and said as confidently as I could muster that I
think we should just leave things as they are. He said okay, no problem. Then
he told me the names of a couple of other guys that were also apparently gay,
none of which I was surprised by. He was mostly gossiping about them, and was
not talking about me anymore. Thankfully he ended the conversation after
that. I did eventually fall asleep that night, but I know it was a long time
coming. I don't know what I was more frightened of, that guy coming over into
my bed or the idea that someone might find out I was gay.

Apparently he got the word out to the other gay guys in school that I was not
playing for their side, so no one else ever bothered me. I was fine with
that. But my self-esteem and self-image continued in a long, slow slide
downhill. I had my grades, which were excellent, and my singing talent which
got me solos in concerts, but that was about it. I couldn't wait to leave
home and go to college and start a real life out of this small, small world I
lived in. So I continued my asexual existence. I skipped my senior prom - I
think I pretended I was on an out-of-town college visit. When I graduated
ninth in a class of 600 plus, I was proud of my accomplishments - including
keeping my secret. On my way to college, never been kissed.

College was more of the same pretense, and a chronic loneliness descended and
took up residence in my soul for the duration. I had friends - including a
really nice roommate, so I had guys to eat meals with and play cards with and
that kind of thing. They all seemed to accept me for who I was, sort of an
asexual kind of guy, but then, none of them were really dating or pursuing
relationships much either. We mostly focused on school work and playing
cards, not much else. I enjoyed my time with them, but I was missing any real
close, caring connection to anyone.

Another plus about college was that it got me away from my family. My mother
is my mother - I guess she loves me in her own way. I could be nice and say
she wants the best for me, but it would be more accurate to say she wants the
best for herself, so she hopes I will turn out to be a good reflection on
her. So I knew without a doubt that she would not ever accept me being gay.
Never. So I kept her happy by being a good boy, getting good grades, doing
what I could to help out around the house, and generally tried not to cause
her any worry or bother. It was easier that way.

Screwing up was my brother's job. Terry is a year younger than me and a
perfect asshole. Alcoholic, drug-addicted, violent and unpredictable, and
those are his good points. Pure evil, if you ask me, but no one ever did. I
made it my business to avoid him at all costs since junior high when he
started running around with total losers. He was such a fool - he let them
use him to do the illegal stuff, like drive the stolen car when he had no
license - and then left him to take the wrap for it. So dumb.

He was always picking on me, calling me faggot, and worse, and generally just
terrorizing me. I tried to avoid him and for the most part he left me alone.
I do remember one night though, he came home particularly wasted on who knows
what, and my mother was not home. He never really bothered me too much when
she was around. Probably because he was too busy fighting with her. Anyway,
for some reason, which I have never understood, he took one look at me that
night and attacked. Calling me all kinds of vile names, he got me down on the
couch and had his hands around my throat and was strangling me. I was
starting to blackout, and I knew I was going to die that night. And I
remember asking myself, But Why? What did I do? At the last second, I flailed
my arms towards his neck and somehow broke the gold chain he always wore,
which he loved. He roared backwards and screamed at me his many obscenities
but he had taken his hands off of me to clutch at his necklace. I was able to
push with everything I had, got out from under him and ran 10 blocks through
the dark before stopping to breathe again.

As I calmed down and the adrenaline drained from my body, I started to cry,
which morphed into wretched sobbing, as the despair descended onto me. I
realized I had nowhere to go, no money, and no options. With no choice, I
slowly walked back home, and watched the house from the shadows of the
neighbors hedge, trembling with fear that he would somehow know I was out
there and come finish what he had started earlier.

I finally saw the light in his bedroom window go out. I waited another 30
minutes and there was no movement in the house, so I got back in as quietly
as I could and went to the kitchen. I got a glass of water and could feel the
soreness of my throat as the cool water trickled down. I was still kind of
shaking a little, I think. I then grabbed the biggest, sharpest knife we
owned and went to my room. Unfortunately my door did not lock. That was the
first of many nights that I slept with that knife under my pillow. My mother
asked me the next morning if I had seen her chef's knife, but I just shook my
head no. My brother apparently slept off whatever he had taken and was
actually civil to me the next morning, sort of. He seemed to have forgotten
all about what he had tried to do the night before. But not me. I would never
forget.

So with that sort of immediate family, there was absolutely no way I could
come out to them. I would be dead. Period. And I haven't even mentioned my
redneck extended family. My mother is one of 6 children, and all of them are
bigoted and homophobic to the core, as are all my cousins. Gay jokes and gay
bashings are some of their favorite conversation starters. No way will I ever
risk exposing myself to a death sentence like that.

So I decided I would be celibate the rest of my life. Well, I still had my
left hand, so it wasn't totally hopeless, I guess.

Graduating college was anti-climactic for me, as I really had no idea what I
wanted to do with my life. I just knew I was not going to stay at home, which
was a small Illinois town, less than an hour outside of St. Louis. I had had
a taste of life outside of the pressure cooker of my family, and I was not,
under any circumstances, stepping back into that. I never went home during
the school year, except for those times the dorms were closed, leaving me no
choice. Sometimes I would get a campus work assignment during a break so I
had an official reason to stay. I didn't want to go back "home" at all, but I
still had no job after college, no money, and nowhere else to go. My buddies
in the dorm had sensed my increasing depression as our undergraduate college
careers were winding down, and they asked me about it during dinner right
before finals week. I told them I was fine really, just absolutely did not
want to go back home, but I was stumped as to what else I could do for the
time being. No job, no options. Life sucks.

My mother didn't even bother to come to the graduation ceremony, even though
it was only a four hour drive. My brother had taken to disappearing for
months at a time by this point, so no idea where he was. Even though I was
the first in my generation to complete a four year college degree, you can
forget anyone in the family thinking that was worth celebrating. After
changing out of my cap and gown, as I was packing up my few belongings into
my beat up Ford Fairmont, one of the guys from my floor, Fred Thompson,
stopped me in the hallway and asked me if I had a minute.

"Sure, Freddo, what's up?" I replied.

"I just wanted to say that it's been great living with you and the others
these past four years. I'm glad we all decided to stay in the dorms. It kind
of kept us all together, you know?" He was looking a little sad eyed, which
was not normal for him.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's been good, but I'm kind of glad it's over now, too.
Aren't you?"

"Well, I'm glad I've got my diploma, but I'm gonna miss the card games and
pizza nights with my buddies." He laughed as we both were obviously
remembering some of our more raucous games.

"Yeah me too! That part's been real fun," I agreed.

"Hey, what I wanted to ask you was, would you like to come up to my parent's
house in Schaumburg (a suburb of Chicago) and stay for a week or two? You
could maybe look for a job up there. I start my new job like immediately, so
I won't be around much but you could use my car to go on interviews if you
can line any up. It's my mom's idea." He seemed a little sheepish asking me
this, like he was only doing it because his mom said he should. I had met
both his parents on a couple of Parent's Weekends, and they were very nice
people. They always took all of us guys out to a dinner on a Sunday when they
came down to campus, which was a big deal for all of us. Steak was always
better that another slice of pizza.

"Wow, Fred, that's huge. Yeah, that would be great. But I don't want to put
your family out on account of my needs." I reluctantly said.

"Nonsense. It was my mom's idea," he repeated. "She was asking how all my
friends did with college, and I told her we all got jobs or were going to
grad school, all except you. She asked me what we could do to help, and I
said I know you really don't want to go back home, and she said, well, have
him come here. We will help him find a job."

I was shocked. They were basically almost total strangers yet they were
concerned about helping me find a job?

"Seriously, Fred? I don't know what to say." I was stunned.

"Say you'll come. If I know my mother she will have interviews lined up for
you already when you arrive."

How could I say no to that? "Okay Fred, you've convinced me. How should I get
to you guys though? Not sure my car will make the trip in one piece getting
home today, let alone all the way to Chicago." I was seriously concerned my
car would literally crumble into pieces on the side of the road.

"Take the train, silly. It will drop you off at Union Station downtown and
then you grab the Blue Line train out to O'Hare airport. I can get you from
there." He outlined this travel plan for me, most of which I think I
followed. I was still amazed at the offer and not thinking too clearly.

"Okay, I'll look into it and call you with a plan. Thanks, Fred. A lot.
You're a life saver." I was slowly accepting this new turn of events.

"Save your thanks for my parents, and only after you find a job. Then the
pizza's on you!" He laughed as he grab his last bag and headed out of the
dorm.

I know what you may be thinking, but Fred was straight as an arrow. He had at
least three different girlfriends throughout college, and one got very
serious. He was even talking engagement, but then like often happens with
young love, they wizened up and acknowledged it was more hormonal than true
love. They parted friends. I knew my virtue was safe with Fred. Too bad
though, because he was kind of cute. He had a killer smile.

As expected, my car barely got me home. I had many white-knuckle moments
during the 4 hour trek, with strange sounds coming from the engine, and at
one point, some especially dark, smoky exhaust coming from the rear of the
car. Thankfully that stopped almost as soon as it started. After two days at
home, I had more than my fill of my mother's bad attitude and hateful,
judgmental conversation about everyone and anyone. She started in on me about
a job with in the first hour I was home.

Desperate for escape and some kind of path to any future different than the
one I was on, I started to seriously think about Fred's offer, or rather his
parent's offer, to come up for a visit. What was throwing me a lot was that
they seemed like they genuinely cared about me. And I was not used to that
kind of attention. I don't want to sound pitiful, but I'm being honest when I
say that feeling cared for was not an emotion I was super familiar with.

I was so stressed at that point - my car was nearly dead and I wasn't sure it
would ever start again. It was parked in the driveway and even looked like it
had died. So I called Amtrak and asked about tickets to Chicago. There were
four trains per day, so schedule was not a problem. I had very little money,
but one of my aunts had been gracious enough to give me a small graduation
gift, and with the money I had left from my campus library job, I thought I
could swing a ticket and still have enough money to live off of for a short
while.

So I did it. I bought a one way ticket to Chicago for the next morning, and
packed a bag with some clothes and the few meager things I thought I might
keep with me. It was kind of sad that my whole world summed up in possessions
fit into one duffle bag. I was thinking even then that I would probably never
return. At least I hoped not.

The next morning I awoke with an excitement that had long been missing. I was
ready to venture out into the big bad world and find my place in it. As long
as it was nowhere near here. My mother didn't bother to wake up to say
goodbye to me, even though she knew I was going to Chicago. She had a few
choice things to say the night before about a fool's errand and wasting good
money on a train ticket instead of on gas money for a job search here. Bye
Mom, thanks for the memories.

I asked a cousin who lived nearby to drive me to downtown St. Louis to catch
the train. He talked incessantly about the girl he'd met at the bar the night
before and the many different positions they'd had sex in. It all sounded a
little forced and made up to me, but then, I really had no interest in the
subject and had nothing to contribute. His parting shot to me after dropping
me off was watch your backside up there in the big city. They have a lot of
fags running around. He took off laughing with a squeal of his tires. I
looked at the fading car, and sighed deeply. I said a silent prayer that I
would find a job quickly and not ever have to come back to this hell hole.

The train ride was cool, and I was alone for 6 hours with my thoughts. They
were a mixed bag of fear and excitement, wariness and hope for a better
future. I knew that a lot of things needed to fall into place quickly as my
meager monies would not last long, and I was determined not to overstay my
welcome at Fred's house.

I arrived in downtown Chicago around 2pm. I found an information desk and
they directed me to where I could catch the Blue Line subway to O'Hare.
Thankfully the airport was the last stop on the line and I wouldn't have to
pay too much attention to all the names of all the stops in between. At first
I was a little turned around when I got up to the street level and out of
Union Station, but after walking to a nearby street corner, I could see the
entrance to the Blue Line about a block away.

The subway was very interesting. Even at 2:30 in the afternoon, it was
packed. And hot. And smelly, full of so many different kinds of people. And I
loved it. I spent the next 40 minutes watching people get on and off the
train at the various stops and kept fantasizing about what their lives were
like. Some of the guys were incredibly hot looking, but I was still very deep
in my self-imposed closet. I did find myself wondering if any of these guys
might be gay. I knew a couple of them would feature in my upcoming jackoff
fantasies.

Fred met me as promised at the exit to O'Hare airport terminal, and we beat
the rush hour traffic back to his home in Schaumburg. His mother was
incredibly welcoming to me, so different than my own, and I was instantly
jealous of Fred and what he had. A supportive family, a good job coming up,
and a beautiful, peaceful home to live in. Simple things that mean everything
when you have none of that.

I shook myself out of the pity party that was brewing and unpacked my clothes
in the guest bedroom. I was told dinner was at 6, so I decided to rest a
little beforehand. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, from the
trip. I was also full of anticipation of discovery. I couldn't wait to find
out what my next steps would be.

At dinner that night, the conversation predictably turned to my looming job
search, and Mr. Thompson surprised us all, I think, by asking me about my
possible interest in office work. I said I was open to anything really, and
he said they had a recent opening for an office manager that he thought I
might be good for. After explaining a little more about it, I was definitely
interested, so after dinner, he and I headed to his office, which was about
15 minutes away. He showed me the small company, described what they did, and
then told me the starting salary. I had never made anything more than minimum
wage, and this was more, but not by much. Without hesitating, I asked, when
do I start? He said how about tomorrow? Who knew it could be that easy to
find a job? I didn't even have to go to Goodwill to buy a suit to interview
in.

The next day I rode into the office with Mr. Thompson and began my education
into accounting and being an office manager. Unbeknownst to me, as I was
getting my first exposure to debits and credits with Mr. Thompson, his wife
was working on her own project.

Dinner that evening was take-out, as Mrs. Thompson informed everyone that she
had had way too much to do that day to have time to make dinner. The Chinese
food she brought to the table was delicious. I gathered that home-cooked
meals were the norm in the Thompson house, another thing to be jealous of. I
couldn't remember the last time my mother had cooked a full course meal at
home, which was too bad, because she was a pretty good cook, I think.

After dinner Mrs. Thompson asked if I would take a ride with her to pick up
some desert for later. I could hardly refuse after all that they had done for
me in such a short time, so we headed out and were soon pulling into what
looked like a fairly large apartment complex. The buildings were nicely
painted, the grounds were beautifully landscaped and cared for, and there was
no trash or junk around. As she parked, I asked what we were doing here and
she said she had something to show me, so I followed her to one of the
buildings and up a flight of stairs to Number 2105. She opened the door with
a key and pulled me inside with her. There was no furniture to be seen, but
the kitchen looked like it had some dishes in it, a trashcan with a liner,
and some new-looking pots and pans sitting on a shelf above the stove. She
motioned for me to follow and led me down the hallway, past the clean
bathroom, which had nice looking brown towels hanging on racks on the walls,
and into the single bedroom at the rear. Centered on the main wall underneath
the double window was a queen size air mattress with some pretty sheets and a
simple duvet cover. A plastic nightstand stood near the head of the bed,
holding up a simple lamp.

It was all clean, simple, and homey. Looking around with a smile on her face,
she asked, "How does it look?"

"I think it is very nice. I love the sun coming in through the windows in the
front room and the bedroom. But, if you don't mind my asking, who are we
meeting here?"

She laughed sweetly and grabbed one of my hands gently. "No one, sweetie.
This is all for you. You live here now."

I felt my mouth drop open and a wave of something warm and wonderful wash
over me. I immediately felt the tears well up and I so did not want to cry in
front of her, but there was no stopping it now. As the tears fell, I just
stood there, looking around the apartment and then back at her, questioning
and wondering. Why? Why would someone I barely knew do all this for me? I was
nobody to her. Nothing made sense.

I tried to ask her my questions, but I think she already knew what I was
going to say and stopped me.

"Jack, you don't need to say anything. I hope I haven't overstepped in doing
this for you. It's just that my husband and I talked about it and I know that
you have not always had an easy time of things, and right now you need a
little help to get things going right in your life. If you are going to work
with my husband then you need a place to live that you can afford. I knew
that the rent here would be doable and that they would rent for 6 months at a
time, so you can always go somewhere else when you have a chance to explore
the area a little bit. There is a bus stop right inside the complex here and
the bus takes you within two blocks of the office. That should work until you
can find a different car. I went to Wal-mart and added a few small things to
hopefully make it feel a little more like home for you. I know you didn't
bring anything with you but some clothes. I hope you like it."

I wiped my eyes and face with the bottom of my shirt, having nothing else for
the task, and looked at her in wonder.

"No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Ever. I don't really
know what to say. I appreciate it very much, it all looks perfect. But why
me?"

"Why not you? You are a smart, good-looking, gentle, nice young man who has
every right to have a great life. You've worked hard in school, been
responsible to work and take care of things, and you strike me as a diligent
sort of person. I think you are well worth investing in, and I wanted to
help."

"Well, I will pay you back for everything just as soon as I can."

She gently laughed. "Nonsense, you will do nothing of the sort. I won't
accept it. This is not a loan, it's a gift. Besides, you have to pay your own
rent and utilities, so save your hard earned money for that."

"But I can't just let you set me up in a home and do nothing in return," I
pleaded. "There must be something that I can do to say thank you."

"There is Jack, there is. Do this for me. For the rest of your life, remember
that someone once cared for you and helped you when you needed it the most.
Then go and do the same for as many people as you possibly can. I believe,
Jack, that you are a true giver, someone who has an infinite capacity to care
for others. Fred has told me how you are the one who was always there when
one of the guys needed something. How you would always share your pizza with
someone who didn't have the money for their own, or how you would always
offer to buy gas if someone else was driving you guys somewhere, or even how
you worked to collect enough money for a bus ticket for Tim when he needed to
get home to see his sick father. You made it possible. You even helped the
guys who needed tutoring, and according to Fred you would not accept anything
back. He says you're the reason why he passed calculus his sophomore year.
You just haven't been taken care of very well yourself, and so right now you
are the one who needed a little help. So accept my help humbly, and continue
to be you and go discover your life and all the people that you will care for
in the future."

I smiled at all that, hoping that what she was saying was true. I didn't see
myself that way, but I was glad she did. She made me sound like the kind of
guy I could be proud to be.

"I will do my best. I promise."

"I know you will, Jack. Now, here's your keys. Let's go get the ice cream for
the crew back home, and if you want to, you can grab your stuff and come back
here tonight. But Jack, you are always welcome in our home. Always."

She hugged me, and I tried to hug her back. I didn't have much experience in
hugging. I was close to crying again, which was getting embarrassing. So I
just nodded to her and took the keys from her. I put my hand in my pocket as
if to drop the keys in there, but I held on to them in my closed fist as we
walked back out to the car. They felt good in my hand. Those keys were the
first sense I had that my new life was real, and that it was going to work
out.

To be continued...

Author's Note: This story will eventually include more graphic sex between
men, but that will occur only as Jack slowly opens himself up to that. Stay
tuned...