Date: Tue, 26 Feb 2002 19:38:24 -0800 (PST)
From: Brew Maxwell <brew_drinker23@yahoo.com>
Subject: Tim, Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real
people or events is coincidental.  It contains descriptions of sex between
teenage boys and between adult men.  If you are offended by this type of
material, or if you are forbidden by law to read it, please exit the story
now.  E-mail comments are gratefully accepted.

Tim
Chapter 1

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