Date: Fri, 6 Mar 2009 17:07:53 -0500
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: our_wyoming_summer

OUR WYOMING SUMMER

[Author's note:  This story takes place in the mid-1960's
and is the final part of a trilogy.  For background, you
should first read Part 1: "One Glorious Weekend" and Part
2: "Who Can Know What Will Be?"]


I met Jose at the Greyhound bus station on a balmy day in
early June, the day after the last final exam of my
freshman year in college.  My mood was a mixture of relief
that the arduous school year was over, excitement about
returning home to Wyoming, and anxiety over how Jose would
adapt to a summer that was quite the opposite of New York
City, the only environment he had known in his seventeen
years of life.  His mood contrasted with mine; it was pure,
uninhibited enthusiasm.  Not only did he look forward
eagerly to the adventure but he had achieved -- at least
for the summer, I had often reminded him -- his wish of
being with me.

I had no doubt that he was sincere when he said he loved
me.  I suspected, however, that his feelings were due only
to the fact that I had been kind and respectful toward him
and he hungered for that after running away from home where
his parents were his only source of unconditional love.  He
had known privation as a street hustler.  He had tired of
being kept as what is now called a "boy-toy" for a
lascivious old man and his equally selfish friends.  Was he
grasping for and clinging to the only thing in his life
that offered a way out and up?  Would the love he professed
for me fade as he matured and found not only life's
opportunities but other, more desirable companions?

I was also conflicted over my own feelings toward him.  I
was sure that I cared for him enough to help lift him out
of his tragic background.  I respected his character and
ambition.  I was also grateful to him for giving me intense
sexual satisfaction, a need that had gnawed at me for
years.  But was that enough to justify the emotional leap
to acknowledging that I loved him?

Perhaps, I hoped, my doubts would be confirmed or shattered
by the end of summer.

The bus was crowded until we got to Chicago so we had
little chance to talk about what was on our minds.
Instead, we chatted about safer topics: the scenery (He
thoroughly enjoyed the window seat.) and what to expect
when we arrived at my parents' ranch: a very modest house
surrounded by acres of land; ceaseless and exhausting work;
but plenty of fresh air.

The bus west from Chicago was only sparsely filled.  We sat
in the back, gratefully isolated from the other passengers
up front, where we could cuddle, kiss, and talk more
freely.

Night had fallen and the driver turned off the interior
lights to allow the passengers to sleep.  But sleep was not
foremost in Jose's mind.

"By the way," he whispered in my ear.  "I'm legal now."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Today's my birthday.  I'm eighteen.  You don't have to
worry about having sex with a minor any more."

"I wish I had known, Jose.  I'd have bought you a birthday
present."

"You have," he said and kissed me.  "This trip.  Nothing
could be better than spending the summer with you."

"Still," I replied.  "We ought to celebrate your coming of
age.  How's this?"  I gave him a very long, very passionate
kiss.

He snuggled into me even more tightly.  A few miles further
on, he said, "I know what you're thinking."

"You seem to always know what I'm thinking.  What's your
guess this time?"

He didn't answer right away.  Instead, he unfastened my
belt and began to unzip my fly.

"Not here!  Not now!" I protested.

He smiled at me.  "It's dark.  Nobody can see us.  Am I
right?  Is this what you were thinking about?

"Well ... almost," I conceded as he reached down into my
boxers to fondle me.

My resistance and better judgment completely failed me.  I
lifted my hips, an invitation to pull down my pants so he
had unobstructed access.  With my pants down around my
ankles, he skillfully applied his talent for the next
several miles

I muffled my groans of ecstasy, and, after a brief
recovery, kissed him.

"That wasn't fair!" I whispered.  "It's your birthday but
you gave me a present."

"Well now," he said and chuckled.  "What can we do to make
it fair?"

I took the hint and gave him his present.  We both enjoyed
it -- Jose for the crescendo of stimulation and the
exploding conclusion -- me for making him happy and, to be
honest, the thrill of doing it in the back of a moving bus.

"Thanks," he said.  "I really needed that.  I've been
saving it all up for you."

We snuggled together blissfully for the remainder of the
night.  Sleeping on a bus is neither comfortable nor
restful but with Jose's arm around my waist and his head on
my shoulder, I was more than contented.

We awakened when the bus made a 30-minute stop for
breakfast and a bathroom break.  Jose and I argued about
who would buy breakfast.  I was astonished when he said,
"Ray, my customers paid me well and I didn't have anything
to spend it on.  I have several hundred dollars.  That's
probably more than you have."

Reluctantly, I yielded to his insistence on buying
breakfast.

When we got off the bus in Cheyenne, my parents were
waiting to meet us.  They had insisted on driving the four
hours down highway 87 from their ranch near Casper because
it would have been a six hour layover in Cheyenne.  My
parents gave me a hug and warmly welcomed Jose to Wyoming
as I knew they would.

On the long ride home, both Jose and I were peppered with
questions.  A few of the questions were land mines; if I
answered fully and honestly, I would be revealing the true
nature of my relationship with Jose.  Fortunately, I was
able to give partial answers and lead the conversation in
other directions.  Jose was quick to follow my lead when
asked about school, his home life and parents, and what he
had been doing since high school.  I admired the way he
avoided many details by giving a short answer and then
changing the subject.

When we arrived home, it was late.  My mom offered to fix
us a meal but I said, "If you don't mind, it was a long
trip and we'd like to go to bed."

"I understand, dear," she said.  Turning to Jose, she said,
"We only have two bedrooms.  I hope you don't mind sleeping
with Ray."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.  "Ray explained that to me.  I'm
sure we'll be comfortable."

I almost laughed because, for a change, I knew what Jose
was thinking.

Jose and I took our luggage to my room.  It was upstairs in
what was once the attic but had been remodeled into a
bedroom when I outgrew my crib.  Its location assured a
degree of privacy that I appreciated while growing up and
even more so now.  It was spacious -- larger than my
parents' bedroom -- but the sloped walls limited the usable
floor space.  We wasted no time unpacking and got into bed
naked for some serious love-making.

After breakfast the next day, Jose and I spent all morning
and most of the afternoon helping my dad clean out the
stalls in the barn ("I never warned you about shoveling
shit all summer," I joked with Jose who only laughed.) and
repairing the sagging barn door.  Dad was typically silent
for most of the time except to tell us what had to be done
and how to do it ... and to ask Jose some questions from
time to time.  The questions were, on the surface, a
friendly interest in his life in the "big city," his
background, and his interests.  However, a few questions
made us both nervous because they might have required Jose
to admit to being a hustler.  I thought he handled the
questions admirably.

It was our custom to shower off the day's grime before
supper.  Dad, for no particular reason except custom was
always the first to shower.   Although I wanted to shower
with Jose, I thought it best to suggest that he take the
second shower and I would shower after him.

While Jose was in the shower, my dad took me aside and
said, "That friend of yours is a good worker, especially
for a city boy.  Tell me again how you met."

Knowing my dad, I suspected there would be many more
questions.  "It was during Spring break.  I went down to
the park to read.  Jose happened by, we struck up a
conversation."

"So how is it that you became friends?" my dad asked.

The line of questioning seemed to be zeroing in on things I
was not ready to disclose.  "I took a liking to him.  He's
bright, personable, ambitious ... he's not like the typical
New Yorker.  He's authentic ... not like the self-centered,
snobby students at school.  I just like talking to him."

"Is that why you invited him here for the summer?"

"That's part of it.  But, if you haven't guessed already,
he comes from a miserable background.  His parents love him
but he's lived in poverty, surrounded by drugs and crime.
He had the courage to get out of that environment.  I think
he needs help, dad.  I thought spending the summer here
would be good for him."

My dad looked at me for a few moments, making me slightly
uncomfortable about what the next question would be.

"And what will he do in the fall when you go back to
school?"

"I don't know yet.  Get a job.  And a place to live.  One
thing's for sure.  I'm going to help him over the summer
studying for the GED exam so he can get his high school
diploma."

"I'm proud of you, son.  Helping a young man who deserves
help is something more people should be doing."

It seemed I had successfully satisfied my dad's curiosity
and averted having to divulge more than I wanted to.  "Can
I ask a favor, dad?"

"Sure."

"Could you and mom not pry into his background?  Right now,
I think he's embarrassed and ashamed of where he comes
from.  When he gets over that, I'm sure he would be willing
to talk about it."

"Deal!" he said moments before Jose returned from the
shower.

A week later, Jose and I were sitting on the steps of the
front porch watching the sun set over the Laramie Mountain
Range.  Mom and dad had gone in to Casper shopping.

"So what do you think of the Wild West?" I asked.

Jose didn't answer for a few minutes.  I wondered whether
he was deciding how to tell me he didn't like it.  The work
was hard.  As I predicted, he had suffered from sore
muscles and blisters.  He may be missing New York City's
constant array of sights and sounds.

"I like it, Ray.  It's completely different than New York.
And different than what I expected.  But I like it here.  I
like your parents.  They've been wonderful to me.  It's no
wonder that you're so kind and accepting of a ..."  His
voice trailed off.

"Of a what?" I asked.

"You told me never to call myself that again."

"Because you aren't," I said emphatically.  "You did what
you had to do.  Besides, that's all behind you now.  We
have to think of the future."

"Sure," he said.  His mood changed suddenly.  He had been
enthusiastic about my parent's treatment of him but his
expression turned sullen.  "You have a future.  You'll
finish college and get a job.  When summer's over, I'll go
back to being a ... to being what I was."

"Not if you don't want to, Jose.  Not if you choose to be
part of my future."

He looked at me with a mixture of confusion and
astonishment.  "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Remember when you said you loved me?  I said then that I
couldn't think of anybody I'd rather share my life with.
But I also said I needed time to think about committing to
a permanent relationship.  Well, I've had time to think
about it.  I've finally realized that I love you and I want
to be with you for as long as you'll have me."

He looked at me as if in disbelief.  His eyes began to
water.  He grabbed me in a hug, laid his head on my
shoulder, and cried.  I hugged him back.  That moment of
togetherness was heavenly.  Yes, I had helped a boy at a
tough time in his life but that paled in comparison to the
fulfillment I felt in having a courageous, bright, and
caring young man to love and to return that love.  I had
made the emotional leap.  I could no longer deny my love
for him.  I wanted nothing so much as to be with him, to
show my love and accept his, and to dedicate my life to
making him -- no, both of us as partners -- happy.

"Oh, Ray," he blubbered through his tears.  "I'm the
happiest I've ever been in my life.  I'm probably the
happiest person on earth."

"It won't be easy," I cautioned.  "I have to finish
college.  When we go back to New York in the fall, you have
to get your GED ... a job ... and a place to live.  Then,
when I graduate ... wait ... I'd better ask you.  How do
you feel about living in Wyoming?"

"I love it here," he gushed.  "But I love you more.  I'd
live anywhere to be with you."

"That brings up another issue," I said.  "My preference is
to live somewhere near Casper.  I don't want to be a
rancher like my dad but there are a lot of places in town
where I could work.  If we live around here -- and that may
not happen because we can't predict the future -- it's
inevitable that my parents will find out about us.  It's
better that we tell them.  Your parents already know but we
have to decide when and how to tell my parents."

"I suppose so," he replied.  "I'm just afraid they'll hate
me when they find out.  For corrupting you, I mean."

"I don't think so," I said without full confidence because
they may express their disappointment by focusing their
anger on Jose.  He didn't need that.  I didn't want that.
Trying to inject an optimistic tone, I continued, "They are
not particularly religious so that should not be a big
problem.  They'll be surprised and maybe disappointed but,
given time, I think -- I hope -- they'll accept it."

"You would risk hurting them?  For me?"

"I love my parents dearly, Jose, but I love you more.  In a
different way, of course."

"When do you think we ought to tell them?" he asked.

"I don't know.  Let's both think about that for a while."

Within a few weeks, Jose had been introduced to nearly
every chore that a ranch requires.  He worked hard and
learned quickly, which impressed my dad.  We were both
tired at the end of the day but always had time to express
our love when we went to bed.  Gradually, he came to be
treated almost as a member of the family.  That meant that
dad would speak sharply to him (as he did to me) whenever
he did something wrong or dangerous.  That bothered Jose at
first but I convinced him that it meant he had been
accepted and reminded him that my parents often treated him
kindly.

The ultimate vote of confidence came in early August.  My
dad asked me if, with Jose's help, we could take care of
the ranch over the weekend.  He wanted to take mom to visit
her sister in Cheyenne, leaving Friday night and returning
Monday night.  It had been over a year since they visited
my aunt, he explained, and they needed a little vacation.
Of course, I agreed.  There wasn't that much to do beyond
routine chores that could be finished well before noon.
Jose and I would have plenty of private time, which we had
been able to enjoy only in brief periods -- at bedtime and
occasionally when we were working alone away from the house
and barn.

When my parents drove down the lane toward the highway on
their way to Cheyenne, Jose grinned at me and said, "I know
what you're thinking."

"You always seem to know what I'm thinking," I said, faking
irritation.

"You're thinking about all the sex we can have while we're
here alone."

"That's only part of it, Jose.  It isn't just sex any more.
Sure, we'll have lots of sex but it's different now.  It's
a way of expressing our love for each other.  The love part
of the equation is what really matters."

It was a glorious weekend.  We hugged and kissed whenever
we wanted.  We showered together.  We had sex anywhere in
the house, the barn, or outdoors in the shade of a tree
whenever the mood struck us.  We went skinny-dipping in a
small tributary of the North Platt River that ran through a
corner of the ranch.  We worked hard in the morning but
mostly to finish the chores so we could play together the
rest of the day.

I was always sure to spend an hour or two each day helping
Jose prepare for his GED exam using the books and notes I
had used in high school.  He was a quick learner and soon
became confident that he could pass the exam for his
diploma.  I no longer had to remind him to write to his
parents; he had so much to tell them and wanted them to
know how happy he was.

It was during that weekend that I became more convinced the
Jose and I belonged together.  But the problem of returning
to New York was looming ahead of us.  I would return to
college but Jose's immediate future was uncertain.

As we cuddled together one night in bed, I said, "Jose,
I've been thinking."

"I know what you're thinking," he said and laughed.  "Not
really.  I'm joking."

"In a few weeks, we'll have to go back to New York.  I have
a few ideas and I want to know what you think about them.
First, I'll be living in the dorm.  I suggest that you move
back in with your parents while you look for a job."

"You want me to go back to the South Bronx?" he objected.

"Temporarily.  When you have your diploma and if you get a
Social Security number, I think there's lots of places that
will hire you.  On weekends, we can look for an apartment.
All we need is a clean one-bedroom apartment or studio
apartment.  Close to campus."

"We?" he interrupted with a puzzled look.

"Yes, we.  That brings me to the next part of my plan.  I'm
committed to living in the dorm for at least the first
semester.  But if we find the right apartment and share the
rent, it would cost them no more than the dorm."

His expression brightened considerably.  "Then we can live
together?  As a couple?  Really?"

"Yes, really.  Can you put up with that?"

Rather than answering my question, he smothered me with a
kiss that was almost violent.

"There's one more wrinkle in my plan, Jose.  I'll have to
explain to my parents why I'm moving in with you.  That
probably means telling them the truth about us."

"Oh," he said as his expression turned sour.  "How do you
think they'll take it?"

"I'm not sure," I said honestly.  "I'm still trying to
figure that out.  But one thing I am sure of.  They like
you.  They like you a lot.  Both mom and dad have told me
how much they admire you."

"How do you want to tell them?  And when?" he asked.

"The `how' I don't know yet.  The `when' seems pretty
obvious.  It's not the sort of thing you tell your parents
in a letter or on the phone.  It has to be done in person.
That means we tell them before we go back to New York."

"There's that `we' again," he said.  "You want me there
when you tell them?"

"Only if you're willing," I said.  "But I'd really like you
to be there."

"Okay," he said.  "But will you do the talking?"

"Most of it.  They may have questions for you and you
should feel free to say anything you want."

Although I knew we had to break the news to my parents, I
dreaded it.  When August turned into September, I realized
the time was growing short.  I had given a lot of thought
to how to tell my parents but none of the options were
appealing.

On a Friday evening, just ten days before Jose and I would
be returning to New York, we were finishing supper when my
dad said, "Jose, you and Ray will be leaving soon and I
want to tell you something before you go.  It's been a real
pleasure having you here.  I really appreciate all the work
you've done on the ranch.  You're a fine young man and I
understand why Ray likes you."

My mom quickly added, "I couldn't agree more.  This summer
has been like having a second son in the house.  I hope
you'll be able to come visit us again."

Both Jose and I were pleased with the expression of
admiration and friendship.  It seemed like a golden moment
-- the perfect opportunity to reveal the truth about my
relationship with Jose.  "Mom.  Dad." I began, "I'm glad
you see what a terrific person Jose is.  And I -- that is,
we -- have something to tell you.  We're more than just
friends.  There's no easy way to say this so I'll come
right to the point.  We love each other.  We want to spend
the rest of our lives together.  As a couple.  And before
you ask, that means that we are homosexual.  We love each
other just as deeply as you two love each other.  We can
only ask that you understand that our love for each other
is genuine."

I paused to study my parents' reaction.  Their expressions
gave little clue as to how they felt.  There was no hint of
a smile or, for that matter, any evidence of displeasure.
Was it confusion?  Disbelief?  I hungered for some kind of
reaction but there was none.

I glanced over at Jose.  He had been caught off guard.  He
knew that we would be coming out to my parents but I had
not told him that this would be the time.  I regretted that
but it seemed the right time to say what I did.  I thought
I saw fear in his eyes.  And why wouldn't he be afraid?  In
addition to my triggering a potentially explosive
situation, my parents' reaction might jeopardize our
relationship.

My stomach was churning and my hands were shaking as I
awaited some clue about their reaction.  It was a long,
uncomfortable, and fearful moment before dad said, "Are you
telling me that you two are queer?"

I was somewhat relieved that his tone was not
confrontational; it was quizzical.  "That's the common term
but yes, we're homosexual.  And we're in love."

Dad stared at me for a few more awkward moments.  I had no
idea what he was thinking but I feared the worst.  Would he
think his only son being queer would challenge his concept
of masculinity?  Finally, he said, "How can you be sure,
son?  You're a young man.  Your hormones are in overdrive.
It may be just a stage you're going through."

"No, dad.  I've known for years that I'm attracted to men.
Girls don't interest me; they never have.  I've kept it a
secret thinking that maybe it was just a passing phase but
my feelings have only grown stronger.  It's not a phase or
a sickness or a sin.  It's who I am, dad.  When I got to
know Jose, I admired him from the start.  The more I leaned
about him -- his courage, integrity, and ambition, the more
I was sure that he was the one I wanted to share my life
with."

"Well," he said, now turning aggressive.  "I never would
have guessed.  You've lied to me."

"No, dad.  I haven't lied to you.  Everything I've ever
said to you is the truth.  Except when I was a little boy
and wanted to keep out of trouble.  I've kept a secret from
you, yes, but I haven't lied.  And I'm not lying to you
now.  I love Jose.  He loves me.  We plan to spend our
lives together."

Dad turned to mom and said, "Did you know about this?"

"No," she said.  "But I guess I'm less surprised than you
are.  Mothers sense things that fathers don't.  Call it
intuition ... call it a hunch ... I can't explain it but I
sensed a bond between Ray and Jose.  Until this minute, I
thought they were just very good friends.  I never
suspected they were more than that."

For the next fifteen minutes, using what I had read in the
public library over the years, I tried to convince my
parents (mostly my dad) that homosexuality was far more
common then he thought, that it wasn't a choice I made, and
that it wasn't something that can be `cured.'  I concluded
by emphasizing that our decision to live together was based
on our love for each other.

I don't think he was fully convinced.  He took the
conversation in a new direction.  "What about your
education?  Your mother and I had hopes for you.  You're
too intelligent to be a rancher like me.  You have promise.
You can't give up on your education and making something of
yourself."

"I don't plan to give up my education.  And believe me, I
know what you have sacrificed to make it possible.  What
you've taught me about independence, hard work, and
responsibility enabled me to win the scholarship.  I love
you for what you've given me.  I'll always love you for it.
I just hope you can understand that I am what I am.  If
I've disappointed you or hurt you, I'm truly sorry but I
had to be honest with you."

A few more awkward moments of silence passed.  I was glad
my dad hadn't exploded in rage and my mom hadn't collapsed
in tears.  But I knew the discussion was not over.

Finally, dad said in a surprisingly calm voice, "Go out to
the barn.  Both of you.  Change the oil in the tractor.
Take your time.  Your mother and I need to talk."

His request (command?) was completely unexpected.  It
brought an abrupt end to a conversation with no clear
resolution.  I rose from my chair.  Jose followed my lead.
"Whatever you decide to do to me," I said, "I want you to
know that I love you both and always will."

Jose and I left the kitchen and walked wordlessly to the
barn.  Not knowing what my parents would decide to do felt
like hanging by a thread above a dark pit.  We sat on a
bale of straw in the barn.

"I know what you're thinking," Jose said to break the
silence.

"Of course you do," I said with too much sarcasm.

"You're thinking of all the bad things that can happen.
Losing the love of your parents.  Having to drop out of
school.  Not being able to see me ever again.  Well, STOP
IT!  Think about what just happened.  Your parents didn't
get angry with you.  That means they love you even after
what you told them.  You can finish college even if it
means working and going to school part time.  Most
important, we have each other."

"If only it were that easy," I said.

"Listen, Ray.  With your help, I was able to put that queer
whore boy behind me and become a somebody.  With my help,
you can be an even better somebody.  We help each other
because we love each other.  Sure, we will have problems
but together we can solve them."

His encouragement didn't erase my anxiety but it did remind
me of how lucky I was to have his love.  I kissed him and
said, "Thanks, my love.  Shall we get to work?"

We changed the oil in the tractor while speculating to each
other what my parents might decide and exploring our
options for what they might do.  We finished the oil change
and sat down, continuing to guess what would happen to us
and lay plans for any outcome of my parents' discussion.

It seemed like forever before we heard dad call from the
house to come inside.  Expecting the worst, hoping for the
best, and nearly incapacitated with nerves, we joined my
parents in the living room.  My mom smiled at us.  That was
a good sign.  My dad looked at us sternly.  That was not
good.

"Your mother and I have tried to take in what you told us,"
my dad began seriously.  "Obviously, it was a surprise.  I
might even say a bit of a shock.  We've talked it over and
come to a few conclusions.  First of all, we disapprove of
your living together.  Not because we think it's sinful but
because you're going to face a lot of problems.  You'll
suffer a lot of hurt from other people.  No parent wants to
see their son hurt or unhappy."

I was relieved that they didn't think a homosexual
relationship was disgusting.  But I was still afraid of
what else my dad would say.

"Second, we love you.  Your decision to live with Jose
doesn't change that.  And finally, we have some questions."

My dad was like that.  He didn't have a lot of formal
education but he was very wise.  He always sought out as
much information as he could before making an important
decision.

"You've told us that you want to live together and that you
want to finish college.  How can you do both?"

I explained our plan.  I would live in the dorm for one
semester.  Jose would get a job.  Together we would find an
apartment.  In January, I would move into the apartment
until I graduated.  Then we would move to Wyoming.

"Hmmm," my dad said.  "Sounds like you've thought things
through.  Can you afford rent, food, and school expenses?"

His question implied that he would no longer pay for my
education.  That was one of the things Jose and I had
discussed in the barn.  "We've thought about that," I
replied.  "Half the rent on an apartment would be less than
the cost of a dorm room.  If you don't want to help me
through school, I would understand.  In that case, I would
also get a job and finish school part-time.  It would take
longer to get my degree.  But I would be with the man I
love."

Dad's expression changed slightly into a frown.  Bad sign!
He looked at Jose and said, "You've been very quiet, young
man.  Do you have anything to say?"

The question caught Jose off guard but only momentarily.
"Yes, sir," he replied.  "You may doubt how much we love
each other.  I don't blame you for that but I do love your
son.  He's thoughtful, considerate, and wise.  No just
smart; he's wise.  Since I've been here, I found out why
he's that way.  It's because you taught him about honesty,
hard work, and helping other people.  You have every reason
to be proud of him.  And to love him.  The same reasons I
have for loving him.  I only hope I can make him as happy
as he has made me.  I would do anything to be with him.
I'll work two jobs if I have to so he can finish school."

That last part about working two jobs took me by surprise.
We had not talked about that and I would have objected if
we had.  However, it seemed to impress my dad.  A smile
crossed his face for the first time since supper.

Dad looked over at mom.  She nodded.  I had no idea what
that meant until dad said, "I don't have much education but
there's two things I know.  I know ranching and I know
people.  I'm convinced that you two have a very strong
affection for each other.  I also think you're a fine young
man, Jose.  Neither me nor my wife will stand in your way.
We don't like the idea of your living together as a couple
because of the hatred and insults you will suffer through.
But I'm sure you've thought that through also.  You've made
a big decision.  You're not little boys anymore.  You have
to make your own decisions and live with the consequences."

"Thanks, mom, dad, for understanding.  I love you both."

Jose turned to me and asked with a silly grin, "Is it okay
if I love your mom and dad, too?"

I had to laugh.  Then everyone laughed.  It seemed to be
the perfect tension reliever.  I felt like hugging and
kissing my lover but didn't want to embarrass him or offend
my parents.

"There's one more thing, son," my dad said.  "You must not
drop out of school.  I don't want you going to school part-
time, either.  We will continue to pay your school
expenses.  Even when you're in an apartment and not the
dorm.  But you have to promise me one thing.  Keep your
grades up!"

Love was a constant in my family as I grew up but
expressing that love with hugs and kisses was extremely
rare.  In spite of that, I walked over to mom and gave her
a long hug that she returned.  Then I hugged my dad (who
didn't return the hug) and said, "Thanks for being the most
wonderful parents on earth.  I love you both."

Mom surprised us all when she said, "Jose!  Don't we get a
hug from you, too?"

Jose blushed (the first time I had seen him do that),
hesitated, but gave my mom and dad a quick hug.

"It's been quite an evening," my dad said.  "It's late.
Morning will come early."  He stood and walked down the
hallway to the bedroom.  Mom got up and started clearing
the table.

"Let us do that, mom," I said.

She looked at us for a moment and said, "You know how your
father is.  He may not say that he loves you but he does.
All he wants is for you to be happy.  It took some
convincing but I think he realizes that you'll be happy
with Jose."  Then, turning to Jose, she added, "You're a
wonderful young man, Jose.  If we didn't admire you so
much, things might have been quite different tonight.
We've always wanted the best for Ray and I think he's found
it in you."  Then, seeming to act on impulse, she hugged
Jose and said, "Welcome to the family."

Jose was in tears.  I was close to it.  Mom turned and
walked down the hall.  I suspect she was also close to
tears.  When she was out of sight and the bedroom door
closed, I hugged and kissed my life-partner.

"I know what you're thinking," I said.

"Hey!  That's my line," Jose objected.

"You're thinking the same thing I am.  You're thinking how
wonderful my parents are.  You're also thinking of the
lifetime we can spend together, loving each other."

"You're right," Jose grinned.  "Pretty good for an amateur
mind-reader."

We celebrated our good fortune that night with a long,
meaningful coupling in bed.  Our union had been accepted by
Jose's parents and mine.  Our future was still uncertain
but one thing we could count on: our complete dedication to
each other and our resolve to withstand any misfortunes
that we may face.

For the next few days before returning to New York, my
parents treated Jose with even more admiration and
affection.  Life was good!  Until the tearful goodbye at
the bus station.  Even my dad, whom I couldn't remember
ever showing more than a modicum of emotion, hugged us and
wished us well.


EPILOG

As I look back more than forty years to my chance encounter
with a street hustler, to losing my virginity and my heart
to a courageous young man, to the triumph of parental love
over insidious prejudice, and to decades of contented
partnership with Jose, I often wonder why I have been so
lucky.

Jose went beyond his GED to earn a degree from the
University of Wyoming in Laramie where we settled after my
graduation.  Jose spent a career in Human Resources at an
oil company while I worked for a regional bank and rose to
an executive position.  We're retired now.  While our love-
making is far less frequent than in our youth, our love has
only deepened and strengthened.

Only our closest and most trusted friends know of our true
relationship although I'm sure there are suspicions and
rumors among our acquaintances.

I may have helped a destitute youth escape from poverty and
life as a hustler but, in my mind, he has given me far more
-- companionship, constant encouragement and inspiration,
and an appreciation of the power and rewards of genuine
love.

The end