Date: Sat, 14 Nov 2009 05:03:31 -0800 (PST)
From: Henry Brooks <hankster1430@bellsouth.net>
Subject: The Fourth of January

The fourth of January has always been an important day in my life.  For
some reason anything significant that has ever happened to me, has occurred
on the fourth day of January.

For instance, I was born on January 4th.  Now, some people might not
consider that to be a `significant' event, but I sure do.

Then on my second birthday, my dad was hurrying home early from work to
attend the tail end of my birthday party.  His front tire hit a patch of
black ice, and he spun out of control and right into a big old oak tree.
He was killed instantly.  Please don't cry for me.  I really don't remember
him at all.  My mom married my father's best friend a year later.  Of
course, it was on the anniversary of my father's death, and on my third
birthday on January 4th.  I'd label birthdays two and three pretty
`significant.'  Wouldn't you?

My adoptive father has always been the best father a guy could ever hope
for.  He never made me feel any different than the three half brothers he
and my mom had together, and my brothers never let me feel like I was
anything less than a full blooded brother either.  The four of us were
raised, nurtured, and sent through college equally.  So, I repeat.  No
weeping for me, please.

At my tenth birthday party something really significant happened to me.  It
started as a whisper at the party, but in the days to come and in the years
to come, it became a roar.  Looking at pictures of me in my infancy and
early childhood, I have to say that I was one of the cutest babies, I have
ever seen.  My hair was platinum blond, but it is now mousy brown.  My eyes
were a pale blue and still are.  I had a tiny pug nose, and now I have a
high bridge.  My cheeks were puffy and rosy.  They are neither puffy nor
rosy now, and they usually have a day's growth of stubble.  People used to
stop my mother when she had me out in my stroller, and they would pinch my
cheeks while exclaiming how cute I was.  Of course, that made my cheeks
puffier and rosier than before.  I'm afraid that the man did not live up to
the promise of the child.  I'm not bad looking, but I am far from the
beauty I was.

Why do I digress from the events of my tenth birthday party to tell you how
cute I was?  Well, it's important.  You see, as each girl at the party
handed me a birthday gift, they took the opportunity to kiss me.  Some
kissed me on my still rosy cheeks, but most chose to plant one on my lips.
The boys, of course did no such thing.  They just handed me a gift.  One
proper young man actually shook my hand.  That was a definite first.

During the process, I became aware that I didn't care much for the girls
kissing me.  In fact, it was rather yucky.  I really wanted to kiss the
boys, and have them kiss me back.  Now, I may have been only ten years old,
but I knew that something was not right with that sort of thinking.  Even
my younger brothers were trying to grab kisses from the much older girls at
the party.  You can bet that I thought about it a lot in the days and years
to come.  Just as I said, the little whisper in my ear became a roar in my
brain.

By the time my fourteenth birthday was approaching, I had every reason to
believe I was gay.  By that time I was masturbating regularly, and I was
fully aware that when I did it, I fantasized that I was with one of my boy
class mates.  Once, much to my horror, I fantasized that I was doing it
with my dad.  During the fantasy, we reached over and stroked each other.
I was too young to envision oral or anal sex yet.  After that, I diligently
tried to confine my fantasies to boy friends.  I was only partially
successful, because when I would approach orgasm, my dad would pop into my
head.  I was mortified.

I tried very hard to hide my dirty little secret.  There were at least two
guys in my high school, who were openly gay, and I longed to approach one
of them and seek advice, and maybe even sex, but I was too chicken.
Instead I chose to date girls, and play high school sports.  I avoided sex
with my dates until one of them became very aggressive and I couldn't see a
way out.  She even had condoms with her.  Well, when you are a horny
seventeen year old, a few delicate strokes and you are up for the task.
She got me up for the task, and I had a good time, but I must admit I was
fantasizing that I was with the star of our high school football team.
Then as orgasm approached, I found myself fucking my father.  When I came
down from the glory of a great orgasm, I became horrified once again.  What
the hell was wrong with me?

On my eighteenth birthday, in my senior year of high school, I did what I
did every day after school.  I went down town to a local, privately owned
drug store, where I had an after school job.  I worked from 3 PM to 7 PM.
Try to find a privately owned drug store today.  I lament sometimes how
things have changed since I was a kid.

Across the street from the drug store, there was an adult book store.  Some
of the churches had tried for years to close the store, but they were not
successful, and apparently they had finally given up.  I had decided that
as a coming of age birthday gift to me, I was going to pay the store a
visit after work.  I knew that I would find magazines with pictures of
naked men.  I had no intention of buying, but I could certainly browse.

I could hardly wait for 7 PM to come around.  I literally ran into the
store, not for the reason you are thinking.  It was dark now and bitter
cold.  I ran to get into a nice warm space.  Once inside, I did a quick
orientation.  There were bookshelves after bookshelves of porn magazines
and books, and bins and bins of porn DVDs and video tapes.  There were
three distinct sections of the store.  The largest section contained
straight porn.  A smaller section contained gay porn, and that's where I
focused my attention.  The smallest section contained Lesbian porn.  Next
to the check out register there were several bins containing sex
paraphernalia including some pretty huge dildos.  I was fascinated, and
totally aroused.

I stood at the gay bookshelves and browsed as I had promised myself.  It's
a good thing it was winter and I was wearing a heavy coat.  My erection was
ripping at my denim jeans.  I don't know why I looked up when I did.  Maybe
it's because I heard two male voices laughing.  I nearly died.  My dad was
entering the store, and he was with another man, who could not have been
much older than I.  I ducked behind a book shelf.  My dad went straight to
the bin containing GAY DVDs and videos.  The younger man stood back.  He
made no attempt to help in the selection process.  My dad pulled out a DVD
and the two headed to the back of the store.  They approached a doorway,
which was covered by a curtain.  They held the curtain open and went right
in.  As soon as they disappeared, I came out of hiding.  I wanted to run
and get out of there ASAP, but I was too curious.  I needed to find out
what was behind the curtain.

I was about to ask the guy at the cashier counter, but just then I heard a
voice asking, "Hey handsome, do you come here often?"  I turned to see a
very good looking older man.  He was about my father's age, maybe forty.

"No," I answered.  "This is my first time.  Today is my eighteenth
birthday."

"Well then," the handsome stranger said, "would you like to join me in the
back room?  I'd love to give you a birthday present." His head nodded
toward the curtained mystery room.

"Exactly what's back there?" I naively asked.

He realized that I actually didn't know, so he answered me without
laughing.  "There are small rooms back there.  You have to pay for the use
of them.  Two guys can watch films back there, and they have complete
privacy to do whatever gets them going.  I'd be glad to pay if you would
like to play."

I smiled at the man.  "Truthfully, I would love to, but unfortunately I am
not able to today.  I promise to come back here.  Maybe we'll run into each
other again."  I was pretty determined, at that point, to lose my
virginity, and a handsome, experienced, older man seemed the right guy to
take said virginity.  I turned to leave, but he took my arm gently.

"It doesn't have to be here," he said as he handed me a business card.  "I
live alone and I'd love to have you for dinner sometime. Give me a call,
OK?"

I nodded and ran out of the store, afraid that my father would come out of
the back room.  I wanted to go home, but I was more curious to see when my
dad would get out of the store, and what he would do next.  It was too cold
to wait outside so I went into the drug store where I could see the front
entrance of the book store.  I called my mom from the pay phone in the
store.  At that time few people had cell phones yet.  I told her I had to
work late.  She told me that my dad was working late too.  Then I stationed
myself near the front door where I could keep an eye on the book store
entrance.

About a half hour later, my dad and his friend came outside.  They hugged
each other and went separate ways.  My dad's office building was a block
away and I knew he was headed for the parking garage to get his car.  I
could have used a ride home, but I didn't dare make my presence known.
Instead I ran to the bus stop and waited for twenty minutes in the bitter
cold.

When I got home, my mom made a late supper for my dad and me.  He was in a
very good mood, and was chattering away about some of the stuff that
happened to him today.  He neglected to mention the adult book store.  I
was very confused about everything, but when Dad asked me why I was being
so quiet, I decided to try out some of the acting lessons I had learned in
drama class.  I immediately became as bubbly as my dad, and made some silly
idle chatter.

When we were finished eating, Mom brought out a cake with one candle.  The
whole family sang "Happy Birthday" to me and we each had a piece of cake.
It was pretty late by the time we finished, but we all watched television
for an hour or so and then Dad announced that it was time for everyone to
go to bed.

My mom asked me to come into my dad's study for a minute.  All the others
scurried up the stairs and headed for their bedrooms.  When we were alone,
she pulled my head down to kiss me.  I was now a good foot taller than she.
"Happy birthday, son," she said, and she looked at me proudly, I thought.
"I have a different kind of present for you this year," she said.  She went
over to a roll top desk.  It was her desk and she kept it locked.  She
removed a chain that she wore around her neck, and I could see a small key
dangling from the end.  She opened the desk with the key, and removed a
plain box about ten inches by four inches and about three inches tall.  I
could see that the box had a lock.  She opened a small drawer in the desk
and removed a tiny key.  She handed me the box and key, and then she locked
the desk, and returned the chain, with her key, to its place around her
neck.  I waited expectantly to hear what she had to say.

"This box belonged to your father, your birth father," she corrected
herself.  "He kept it locked, and I knew that it was his secret little box,
so I never questioned what was in it.  After he died, I could have opened
it, but I wanted to respect his privacy, so I never did.  I figured that if
he had wanted me to know the contents, he would have told me while he was
alive.  Now that you are an adult, I want you to have the box and the key.
Do what you want with it.  You can open it or destroy it without opening
it.  It's your choice."  She kissed me again and left me alone in the
study.

I wasn't sure what I should do.  I thought that maybe I should just sit on
it for a few days.  For sure, I wasn't going to open the box in my bedroom.
I shared a bedroom with one of my brothers and this was too private to
share with him.  We always shared our secrets with each other, and I didn't
want to give him a chance to wonder why I didn't share this one.  If the
truth be told, I would have returned the box to the desk, but the desk was
locked and the key hung around my mom's neck.

I sat meditatively in my dad's chair trying to make a decision.  It didn't
take me long.  Today was January 4th.  I had already learned that my dad
probably watched a gay porno with a much younger man, and maybe they did
more than just watch.  That was significant, right?  But it really was
messing up my brain.  I rationalized that if my birth dad had secrets too,
they might be in this box.  After all my two dads had been best friends.  I
took the key, inserted it into the lock and opened the box.

The box was stuffed with maybe thirty or forty photographs and about twenty
letters.  The letters were carefully bound with a rubber band.  The band
was so dry, it split the minute I touched it.  I put the letters on my
dad's desk and started looking through the pictures.  They were tied with a
string, and the picture on top was of two cherubic four year old boys
smiling at me, well, smiling at the camera.  The pictures seemed to be in
chronological order.  I was happy about that.

I knew immediately that the boys in the pictures were my two dads.  The
early pictures seemed to be taken at different events, birthday parties,
leaving for camp, at camp, etc.  They were several pictures of the two boys
in the nude.  They were teenagers and they appeared separately, indicating
that they were alone and took each other's pictures.  They appeared to be
at some sort of swimming hole.  What was significant were the activities of
the two nudes.  They each waved their obviously erect cocks at the camera;
or they were seen masturbating.  The final two pictures in the nude series,
showed cum all over their abdomens.  I really didn't want to make too much
out of this.  It was, after all, typical teen age activity.  They weren't
having sex or anything, at least not on camera.

But what if they did have sex off camera?  I immediately pictured them
playing sixty-nine and even fucking each other.  The thought of my two dads
doing that both revolted and aroused me.  My brain seemed about to explode.

The very last picture was taken at my parents' wedding.  My mom is in the
middle, looking out of this world gorgeous, and wearing a beautiful white
wedding gown.  She is smiling broadly.  My birth dad is in tails on one
side of her, and my adoptive dad is on the other side of her, wearing his
best man's tux.  Neither of the two men is smiling.  In fact they look more
like they are at a funeral than a wedding.

I carefully retied the pictures and replaced them in the box.  Then I
turned to the letters on the desk.  Each letter was still in an envelope
which had been neatly slit open with a letter opener.  I removed the
earliest letter and read:

My dearest: Whatever possessed us to go to different colleges?  My nights
are sheer agony.  I lie in bed with my fist wrapped around my cock,
whacking off and dreaming of you.  How I miss your tongue caressing my
tongue, and then caressing my cock.  How I miss cumming in your ass and
lying inside of you until I am too soft to remain in the most wonderful
place on this planet.  I miss, even more, the feel of you inside of me, and
the wonderful taste of you as you fuck my face with your amazing dick.  I
am counting every day until Thanksgiving when we will be together again.

The letter was unsigned, but the envelope bore a return address at Tulane
University and my adoptive dad's name.  Anyway, I would know his
handwriting anywhere.  The letters continued to be expressions of love and
most read like erotic gay stories, but with about four letters left,
everything changed.  Here are excerpts from the final few letters.

I hate to agree with you, but I know in my heart that you are right.  We
can never live together as a gay couple.  Life would be too hard for
us. Straight guys have it much easier.  I am glad that you have met a woman
who turns you on, and you can actually have sex with her.  I haven't been
so lucky.  Will you still have sex with me when we see each other this
Christmas?

I'm glad you said yes to sex this Christmas.  I have been dating women, but
so far there isn't even a stirring down there.  I have a confession to
make.  The picture you sent me of your girl friend actually turned me on.
Do you think she would want to share us?  Just kidding!

Of course, I'll be your best man.  When I met your fiancée last Christmas,
I became instantly jealous of you.  You're a lucky guy.  I have another
confession to make.  So far I have not been successful with women in the
sex department, but I have been enjoying one night stands with some of the
guys here at Tulane.  Forgive me for being unfaithful.  Are we on for
Easter vacation?

I'm sorry we didn't get to enjoy our bodies this past Easter vacation.  I
can understand how busy you are with wedding plans and such.  I also
appreciate that you don't want to cheat on your future wife, but I am
grateful that you still want to be my best friend.  It will be hard for me,
but I heard a wise man say once: If you can't have a loaf of bread, it is
better to settle for crumbs than to go without.  I'll always love you.

That was the last letter.  I put it in the box with the pictures.  Then I
placed the box with its contents in the kitchen garbage bag.  I removed the
bag from the can and put in a fresh one.  I carried the garbage bag to the
can outside the kitchen door.  I removed two previously discarded garbage
bags and threw the one with the letters and pictures to the bottom of the
can.  I replaced the other two garbage bags, effectively covering the
incriminating evidence.

Finally I went to bed.  My brother was already snoring a little too loudly
in the other bed.  I lay still in my bed knowing I would never sleep that
night.  I had plenty of time to think.  So what were the significant events
on this January 4th, my eighteenth birthday?

First off, I learned that my two dads were closeted gays, and if that were
not enough they were lovers.  Secondly, my adoptive dad was covertly giving
in to his homosexual desires.  I was amazed that I wasn't angry at him.  I
knew how hard his struggle was, and I felt sorry for him.  I vowed to come
out one day and not live a fraudulent life.  Finally, after viewing the
pictures, I learned that I was the spitting image of my dead father, more
like a clone.  My mom and dad had never mentioned it, and I could only
wonder why.  I figured that enough significant events had occurred this
year to last for the next several January 4ths.

Also, lying there in bed, in a meditative state, I wondered what I was
going to do with all this knowledge.  I wondered if I should do anything at
all.  For sure, I knew that I wouldn't do anything at all without a lot of
thought.

I graduated high school that year and worked all summer in the drug store.
I was so tempted to lose my virginity in the back room across the street,
but I was just too scared.  I thought of calling the nice gentleman whose
card I still had in my wallet, but that was even scarier.  So I did
nothing, and let my fist work overtime, still fantasizing that I was doing
it with my dad.

I never saw my dad go in the book store again.  I had no doubt that he was
meeting his friend there.  I just never saw it again.  I did notice that he
worked late at least one night a week.  One night, after I left work, I
walked over to his office.  He had told us that he was working late, and I
thought that if he was still there, I could hitch a ride home.  His office
was dark and the door was locked.  He had to be cheating somewhere else.  I
was about to turn and leave when I heard something.  I leaned up against
the door and although it was indistinct, I swear I heard my dad's voice.
"Fuck me harder," he said.  "It feels so good."

I ran outside and tried to get my breath back.  I was totally conflicted.
I was jealous.  I wanted to be the one who was fucking him.  I wondered if
he could sense that.  Would I ever have the guts to tell him?  Would he
even want to hear such incestuous prattle?  When I got my senses back, I
ran to the bus stop.

I have not figured out the `why' of it to this day, but I decided to come
out to my parents before I started college.  I was going to attend Boston
University and I could easily commute to school.  My dad wanted me to live
on campus, but I knew how expensive room and board would be so I insisted
on living at home.  That's why I have never figured out why I needed to
come out at this time.  Maybe it was because I knew about my dad's secret
life; both my dads' secrets, in fact.

However, I planned to do it in stages.  About a week before school was to
begin, I got my three brothers together in my bedroom.  I made no excuses;
I didn't make long speeches leading to nowhere; I simply stated, "Guys,
before I start college, I need to tell you something.  Before I do, I want
you to know that I love all of you unconditionally, and I hope you feel the
same way.  Fellas, I'm gay."

My two younger brothers said simultaneously, "No way!"

"Yes way," I answered.  My room mate brother, who was the oldest of the
three, insisted that he suspected.

"In fact," he said, "I was hoping you would live on campus before you
brought some guy home and played around in our bedroom.  I'm not sure that
I could be very liberal about that."  He started to laugh, and then he
threw his arms around me.  "I was just kidding," he confessed.  I'll always
love you, bro."

Then the other two embraced me also and the youngest kissed me on my lips.

"Please don't say anything until I tell mom and dad myself, OK?'  They all
nodded and the two youngest ran out of the bedroom to do their things as if
my announcement was no big deal.

"Have you ever done anything with a guy yet?" my room mate brother wanted
to know.

"Alas," I answered.  "Not yet."

"Bummer," he commented.

At my parents' insistence, I gave up my job at the drug store.  They wanted
me to concentrate on my school work.  They said that with the money they
were saving on room and board, they could give me a generous amount of
spending money.  I reluctantly gave in to their request.  On my last day of
work, my dad said that he had to work late so I should meet him in the
office, and he would drive me home.  I guess he really was working late.

I got to his office about 7:15.  My dad seemed ready to leave.  He was
talking to the young man whom I had seen in the book store with him.  For
some crazy reason, I felt a stirring between my legs.  Now that I got a
good look at him, I could see how handsome he was.  My dad introduced him
as one of his staff, and he left.

"I'll lock up and we'll leave," Dad said.

I had planned on telling both my parents together, but driving home alone
with my dad, I got the idea to tell him first.  I knew he would be more
than sympathetic and he could help me with my mother.

"Dad," I started.  "I need to tell you something, but I'm scared about how
you'll take it."

"Nonsense, you can tell me anything.  You're my son."  He meant it. He
adopted me right after he married my mom, and I bore his name.

I decided to come right out with it.  "Dad, I'm gay."  It's a good thing
that it was past rush hour and the traffic was light, because he actually
drifted into the adjoining lane.  There was a small strip mall at the next
corner.  He pulled into it and parked the car.  When he looked at me, I
could see that he was crying.

"I'm sorry to be such a disappointment to you, Dad.  I can't help being who
I am."

"Are you sure?  Have you ever...?"

I interrupted him.  "I'm sure, Dad.  It's all I ever think about is being
in some guy's arms and making love to him.  It hasn't happened yet, but it
will."

"I know it will, son.  I'm glad you told me, and we'll tell mom together
tonight when we get home.  Promise me something.  Promise me that you will
always be true to yourself.  Don't try to live a life you can't be happy
with.  Promise!"

"I promise, Dad."  I knew exactly what he meant.  He leaned over the car
console and gave me a hug.  Before letting go, he kissed me on the lips.

"Does anyone else know?" he asked.

"I told my brothers and they're cool with it."

"Good," he said.

My mother cried a little, but in the end, she kissed me and said
philosophically, "Well I have plenty of other opportunities to be a
grandmother." Dad and I laughed with her, and life returned to normal
except I could not stop lusting after my father.

I established a routine when school began.  After my last class I went to
the library to study and do homework.  I took a bus to downtown Boston and
got to my dad's office just before six.  He would close up and we would
drive home together.  We spoke easily to each other, mostly about my
expectations for the future.  His advice was always solid and I appreciated
it.

When he "worked late" he gave me fair warning and I took two busses home.
I knew what working late meant and I was unreasonably jealous.

One day driving home, I decided to open a sealed door.  "Do you have any
pictures of my birth dad?" I asked him.

"Sure I do.  How come you never asked before?"

"I don't know.  I guess I'm curious to find out if I look like him." I knew
that he had no idea about what was in the box my mom gave me on my
eighteenth birthday.

"Trust me.  You look just like him.  Tell you what.  Your mom is going to a
meeting after dinner so we'll go into my study and I'll show you some
pictures.  I don't want your mom to see some of them.  We're in the nude."
He broke out laughing.

"Cool!" was all I could think to say.

The top drawer of my dad's desk was always locked.  He unlocked it and took
out a picture album.  It looked like he had handled the album often.  It
was frayed all around, but especially at the corners.  We sat side by side
on the love seat in his den, and he turned to the first page.  He was
unaware that I had seen some of these pictures already, but he had more to
show me.

"These were taken at my sixth birthday party and these were taken at your
dad's birthday," and so it went.  Finally we came to the nude pictures.

"We were sixteen here.  You can see from these pictures how much you
resemble your birth dad.  We were junior counselors at sleep away camp.  We
had found this secluded place on the lake, and on parents' day we snuck off
there.  The senior counselors were stuck with the parents.  What fun we had
as you can see."

"I see you guys jerked off. Did you do each other?"

He looked at me and smiled.  "We were teen agers, just kids.  Why lie about
it?  There's nothing to be ashamed of.  We did whack each other off.  It
was fun and I loved your dad."

I was getting aroused and I grew bolder.

"Dad," I started.  "You know that box that belonged to my birth dad, that
Mom gave me on my last birthday?  Well, I destroyed it along with what was
in it, but I want to share the contents with you."  My dad turned ashen.  I
could hear him suck in his breath.

"There were letters in it that you had written to my birth dad during your
college years.  I know that you were lovers, but I'll never reveal your
secret.  The two of you vowed to stay in the closet, and I and my three
brothers are grateful, otherwise we wouldn't be here, but I can't say that
you made the best choice."

My dad was silent, but he was shaking his head sadly.  "Dad, I continued,
"I know that you are having sex with men.  I saw you once going into the
back room at the adult book store, and once I came to your office.  It was
dark and the lights were out, but I could hear you through the door."

He was sobbing lightly now so I put my arms around him.  "It's OK," I
assured him.  "I totally understand, and it remains between us.  I just
wanted you to know that I know and you can unburden yourself to me anytime.
I love you."

"I love you too," he said.  "After your dad was killed, I was afraid that
if your mother remarried I would never see you again.  Truthfully, your
mother was the only woman that ever turned either of us on.  I decided to
pursue her, and I begged her to marry me so I would never lose you.  Also,
marrying her gave me the opportunity to live a so called normal life.  If
you are truly gay, you know that the hunger never left me.  I hate myself
when I have sex with a man, but I can't help it."  He started to sob harder
so I began to hug him harder.

When he calmed down a little, he said, "I'm glad you know.  It was a
terrible burden to carry by myself.  I was still holding him hard, and I
was sure now that I felt his hard member pressing against me.  I wondered
if he could feel me pushing hard against him.

"Every time I look at you," he said, "I see your father and I want to make
love to you the way I made love to him."

"I have never been with another man, but every time I dream of it, I am
with you." I wanted to let him know that the feeling was mutual.  I had
grown taller than he was, and he had to reach up to kiss me.  Our lips
parted and our tongues clashed.  All my dreams and fantasies were coming
true.  He unraveled himself from me and locked the study door.  My brothers
were somewhere in the house.  Seconds later we faced each other naked.

"Please do to me everything you did to my birth dad, and then I want to do
it to you."

The floor of his study was covered with a thick shag rug.  We lay down on
it and it was just as comfortable as a bed.  He wrapped himself around me
and we began to kiss.  Our tongues reached hungrily deep within our mouths.
Little by little, he slithered down my body.  He sucked my ears, my tits,
and my belly button, and somehow he finally started to suck my pubic hairs.
He lingered there too long and I was desperate for him to finally take me.

"Please," I mumbled.  He knew what I meant, and I felt his warm mouth, lips
and especially his tongue, envelope my jerking cock.  I can't describe the
joy I felt as his tongue swabbed up and down the bottom of my shaft.  I
wanted to cry out loud, but I stifled my screams.

Over the next two hours, he taught me how to give head, how to rim, how to
enter a man's ass with the least pain, how to take it in the ass, and in
general, how to give a partner the ultimate pleasure that two men can give
each other.  Reluctantly we started to dress.  My mother would be home
soon.

Before he unlocked the door, he said.  "My dear son, this may never happen
again, but if the opportunity arises, I'm not sure I can turn away from it.
It's important to me that you find a life partner and live the life that
was denied to me and your birth father.  It's what I want for you more than
anything else in the world."

"I'm not afraid anymore, Dad.  I'll do what you ask.  It's what I want
also.  I have one more question to ask you, and I beg you to tell me the
truth.  Did you and my birth father have sex after he was married?"

My adoptive dad nodded his head sadly.  "I'm not proud of it, but I'm not
ashamed either.  We loved each other so deeply that we just couldn't resist
each other.  We made love at every opportunity.  We would tell your mom
that we were going to a ball game or to play golf, but we would take a
hotel room and demonstrate our love.  We needed each other so badly."  He
started to cry.

"It's OK, Dad," I said.  "I truly understand.  I love both of you, more
than I can put into words."

I never did have sex with my dad again, but he was honest and he let me
know that he still had to have sex with other men.  He couldn't help
himself.


At the beginning of the second semester of my freshman year, on January 4th
to be exact, I was paired with one of my fellow students in chemistry lab.
I had seen him around campus, but we had never done more than nod at each
other.  Now we were going to work on a project together for at least six
weeks.  Needless to say, we became very good friends.  How good?  Before
two weeks were over, we were frolicking in bed together.  I taught him
everything my dad had taught me.  We have been frolicking together for many
years now as a committed couple.

Every once in a while he says to me, "Sometimes I think your dad is gay.
It's the way he looks at me."  I just respond by hitting him in the head
with a pillow.  I'll never tell.