Date: Thu, 23 Jan 2003 16:15:54 -0500 (EST)
From: J <burlguy@excite.com>
Subject: Runs in the Family

   	I'm a computer networker.  The late `90s were a crazy time, and our
company was no different.  Everything was wild, long hours, fun hours, and
great people to work with.  They got less fun after the 2000 crash, but
that's another story.
	I had been at this company for five years.  I think that I buried
myself in work after I broke up with a mate I had had for many years.
Keith and I had been in fuckin love, an unbelievably intense and romantic
love that worked for a very long time.
	And work broke us up.  His work.  He got a new job.  In the
midwest.  I couldn't believe it.  I love California.  I was born here, grew
up here, and despite going to college in Texas, and a couple of years in
the Marines, I kept coming back to this insane state that the rest of the
country enjoys making fun of.  I especially liked the freedom here, knowing
that no one particularly cared if I was gay or straight or somewhere in
between.
	But this job he got was great.  One he could not turn down.  Or at
least thought he could not.
	And he and I who had never fought, fought.  Like cats and dogs.
For a month.  He felt like he had to take the job, and I didn't, wouldn't,
couldn't move.
	In the end, he moved.  We were going to make a go of a long
distance relationship.  I could stay out here near the Russian river, and
he would set up in Chicago.  We would travel back and forth, we promised
each other.  Long phone calls, beautiful letters, and an aching I could not
describe.
	The year hurt, but it worked, or at least sort of worked.  But he
and I are carnivorous men, and after a few months, the committment I had
made to him seemed a little distant one evening when a beautiful young guy
came on to me at a bar.  It will be temporary, I promised myself.  And it
was.  But those temporary liasons became more and more frequent, and I knew
that I was not being fair to Keith.  And, honestly speaking, not fair to
myself.
	So after a cool admission -- This is not working out -- on the
phone during a painful conversation, I flew to Chicago the next weekend,
and we broke it off.  Or acknowledged what we both knew to be true: we were
not cut out for a long distance love.
	We remained friends.  Still are.  But we were no longer the couple
we had been.  It hurt to say it.  Still does.  But I put away the pictures
and the memories and moved on.
	But not really.  I was looking for love and not sex.  And at 43, I
was having trouble finding others who felt like I did.
	At least among those I was attracted to.  I have a weak spot for
younger guys, smooth, beefy muscle boys.  Keith fit the bill, except that
he was older than most I went for, just 5 years younger than me.  But I
found myself morosely wondering if I was too old for the college and 20
something guys I enjoyed.  There was always the hot tension of flirting and
the predatory prowl I enjoyed, but I found myself being treated
deferentially by men I wanted to fuck, and being seriously addressed as
"Sir."  Which was not what I wanted.
	So I had put my love life on hold.  Most of my evenings in the late
`90s were spent working, so the moments of introspection, the wondering
what-am-I-doing here were not so many.  And I was glad for that.  Weekends
-- when not working -- were spent with friends, of whom I had a lot.  They
were sweet men, good friends, interesting to talk to.  I wanted love.  But
I could not figure out how to get it.  So I quit worrying about it.  It
worked.  Most of the time.
	It was about this time that Jason came into my life, although I
fought that entrance pretty hard.
	Human resources had called.  They had a new networker coming into
our group.  Nice kid, the HR told me.  Name is Jason Splawn, out of college
6 months ago, and just back from backpacking around Asia.  They had
originally planned on having him in our Sausalito office, but that had
fallen through, which explained why I hadn't met him yet.  He'd be coming
in on Monday.  It was Friday when HR called.
	I didn't think twice about it.  I was used to this type of person
coming on board, being with us 2 months, and heading on to something,
somewhere else.  Not that these guys were irresponsible.  It was just a
different time, and jobs flowed quickly, and good networkers could name
their price and did.  There was no shame to leaving a job quickly, and no
hard feelings, either.
	I had forgotten about our new hire, to be honest.  I had spent the
weekend sleeping late, seeing a couple of movies, and flirting with a kid I
met at a dinner party.  Though friendly, he was not interested, and I began
to wonder if this was to be the story of my life from here on out.
	Our HR man came in with Jason around 9 on Monday, and I
involuntarily drew in a short, deep breath.  Wow.  Curly auburn hair, deep
blue eyes, 6' feet or so, and a nice, solid build.  Broad shoulders, nice
pecs.  An engaging smile, with a dimple on one side.  And I could not help
but notice his other qualities: a beautiful butt.  A pleasant front
package.  And something else hit me.  At the time, I was not certain what
it was.  But I felt mildly shocked, disengaged even, and couldn't figure
out why.  I put it out of my thoughts, and became my usual pleasant,
friendly self.  I wanted him to feel at home.  We had a lot of work going
then, and could always use another set of hands.  Especially big hands like
these.  Get it out of your mind, I told myself.  He'll be gone in three
months.
	I can turn off the radar when I need to.  I have learned as I got
older that it is not wise to be obviously flirtatious in the office, and I
have tried not to make that part of my work demeanor.  So I am friendly,
but slightly distant, keeping a wall between my co-workers and myself, even
if the wall is only waist high.
	After a few days, I realized that Jason did not feel the need to
turn off the radar.  His friendliness had that sensual edge that is so
pleasant, and so flattering.  It was the too-long eye contact when talking,
the overly familiar touching that most gay men have long known to be the
signs of that electrical charge when men are attracted to each other.
	Not that the feeling wasn't mutual.  Pleasant thoughts of Jason
filled my mind before I slept and while I dreamed.  He had a habit of
locking his arms behind his back when in conversation.  The result was to
show his chest in full profile, and it was pleasant to behold.  Even better
was when he stretched back in a chair and his shirt hiked up, showing his
muscular abdomen.  I came to wait on these momentary visions of his body,
and long to see more.
	And he wanted to date.  It was obvious he was interested, and I'm
sure he knew I was too.  So at first there were the suggestions that we get
together, the mentioning of movies he hadn't seen, concerts he'd like to
hear.
	But I kept avoiding him, or at least avoiding being alone with him,
although God knows I wanted him.  The longing had become more intense, and
I would eagerly wait for Mondays after a day or so without seeing him.  Why
was I avoiding him?  Why did I even avoid lunch alone with him?  I didn't
know why.  I am not a particularly introspective person.  But I began
spending long moments wondering about this man who filled my thoughts and
fantasies.
	In the end, he confronted me.  We were working late one evening.
Another guy was supposed to be working with us, but the other guy had to
leave early.  Jason and I worked intensely on a problem for a couple of
hours.  We finished a little after 8.  "How about a bite?," he asked, and I
declined.  "What's your problem?," he continued.  "Why do you avoid me,
when we both know there's attraction?  On my end, for sure.  And unless I'm
getting very bad at reading men, on your end, too."
	I sighed.  "OK, let's go get something."  "Don't do me a favor,"
Jason said.  He was angry, and I knew it.  I owed him an explanation, and I
gave him what I could.  "I'm sorry, it's just me.  I had a relationship go
bad a while back, and I'm holding back.  But let's go get something.  I'd
love to talk to you."  Was it the truth?  Was I keeping away from him for
fear of falling in love?  I didn't think so, but I couldn't place what else
it might be.  Unless it was exactly what I thought it might be.
	The meal was nice.  I asked him where he wanted to go, and he told
me Chinese.  I knew he would want Chinese.  And there is a little place
just down the block from our office, quiet, private, good food, and the
service is good, but not overly attentive.  If I was going on a semi-date
with this guy, I wanted it to be good.  Or at least I thought I did.
	While eating, I asked him about himself.  Graduated from Dominguez
Hills, degrees in computers and math.  Grew up close by, in the San
Francisco `burbs.  No siblings, he told me.  "Or at least none I'm aware
of," and he laughed.  So did I.  Dad?  "Never knew him," he responded,
"Just me and my Mom."
	"Your Mom still alive?"  Sure, he responded.  "In fact" -- he
paused and grinned, a twinkle in his eyes, but no malice, "She's about your
age, I'm guessing."  "Gee, thanks," I responded, "And how old do you think
I am?"  "Uhh... I'm guessing 45.  How close am I?"  "Very good.  I was
going to lie and say 35, but I figured you'd come back with some smart
comeback.  I'm 46."  "46," he mused, "A nice age."  And a cloud of silence
filled the space between us, and I didn't know if I wanted to ask what I
had been wanting to ask for weeks.
	"What's the matter?"  He looked puzzled.  "Oh, nothing," I lied,
"What's your Mom's name?"  "Sharon.  Why?"  "Oh, just curious."  And my
eyes fell on the table, and I didn't know what to say.  He continued the
conversation.  "OK, you've been asking me questions, now I'd like to ask
you one.  Or a couple, if you don't mind."  I waved my hand.  "Go ahead, I
don't mind."
	"Why have you avoided me?  If you don't mind telling.  Got a lover?
Are you married?  Just what is it?  I don't understand."  "No, it's none of
those."  I hesitated.  And hesitated again.  I kept tracing patterns on the
table, a nervous habit I had had for years.
	"Look," he went on, "I really don't care what it is.  I just had to
say that I really like you, that I'm really attracted to you.  There.  I
said it again.  But you've known it for a long time.  As long as we've
known each other, you've known it.  And like I said, I think you're
attracted to me, too.  If you've got reasons not to pursue this, that's
cool.  And if you just don't want to say, that's cool, too.  But just tell
me, please.  Something.  Jef, I dream about you.  And apart from the
sexual, I like you.  You like me, too, or you fake it pretty well.  If we
could only get this out on the table, maybe we could be friends.  We don't
have to be lovers, if you don't want to.  But let's be friends, and part of
being friends is not keeping a wall up like you've been doing since I met
you."
	"A wall ... "  I was muttering, thinking, wondering where I was,
and what I could possibly say, and wanting to say everything I felt.  He
must think I'm nuts or senile or both.  I sighed.
	"Jason, you wanted the truth, and I'm going to give it to you.  I
think I'm going to make you very angry, but please hear out all that I have
to say.  This is not easy.  I'm trying to be as honest as I can."
	"OK," he said, "Shoot."
	"When I was 19, I decided I was going to be normal, and normal
meant being heterosexual, and being heterosexual meant fucking women, and I
did.  Lots of them.  I knew it was not me -- I had been attracted to other
guys since I was a child -- but I did it anyway.  I wanted to show that I
could do it.  I always felt sorry for the faggy men who seemed afraid of
women, and when I was growing up, they were often the only gay men anybody.
It was a different time, Jas.
	"But this phase went on for four years.  Most of the relationships,
if you could call them that, were temporary, casual liasons, women I met in
bars or wherever.  It was fun.  I had a good time.  I filled those cunts
hard, and had a good time, and it was a great feeling of power.  But it
wasn't me, and I knew it, and after a couple of years, I knew it was
basically a habit I had gotten into, and one I should get out of, and
return to what was -- for me -- really normal.  Then I met someone else.
	"This was different.  She and I worked together, and I enjoyed her
company, and her funny way of talking, and the fact that I couldn't snow
her like I did so many women.  She was beautiful, built, and I began to
pursue her.  She was younger than me, only 19, and by this point I was 23.
But she held back, in a way that only deepened the attraction.  But
finally, I broke past her resistance, and we began fucking like rabbits.
It was incredible sex, unbelievably hot, and I was big time, deep in love,
heterosexual style.  I was ready to settle down, marry.  I thought that
this woman had finally done what I wanted: made me normal.
	"But there was a problem, although I didn't realize it right away.
I was not a good guy.  Wild, reckless, and I had a bad reputation, and that
went against me in the small town where I grew up.
	"One day she didn't show up at work.  I didn't think much of it.
Figured she was sick.  But she wasn't there the next day, either.  I called
her the first day, and there was no answer.  The second day I called, and
the line had been disconnected.  I didn't know what to think.  The company
we worked for was small, and they didn't know where she was either.  She
just stopped coming in.
	"I had never been to her house -- she lived with her parents -- but
I did some searching that second day and found out where she lived.  I
drove by, something I hadn't done before because I thought her parents
wouldn't approve of me.  The house was empty.  It was like she and everyone
else had been abducted, removed, along with everything in the house.
	"I kept thinking she would call or write or something.  Nothing.
Nothing at all.  And the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into
months, and finally after a year, I gave up worrying about her, thinking
about her, wondering about her.  Over the years, I have wondered what
happened to her, and why it was that what we had had to be broken off so
suddenly that she couldn't or wouldn't even say good-bye.  It hurt.
	"And that's when I knew not only my phase was over, but my dealings
with women, at least sexually, were, too.
	"And you are probably wondering what this has to do with you.  I
met this woman in the spring of 1978.  And you were born in early 1979,
right?"  He nodded.
	"Jason, I've said all this because I think I am your father."
	It was his turn to take a deep breath.  He momentarily looked
shocked, and then waved his hand, as if to say, Go on, and I did.
	"I didn't know.  God knows that.  If I had, I would have been
there.  But Sharon -- your mother -- never contacted me, and every way I
tried to find her ended in dead ends.  I don't know why she never got in
touch with me.  I suspected it had something to do with her parents, whom I
never met.  And I would probably have tried harder had I known there was a
child involved.  But I didn't know.  I just assumed she had weirded out or
something, and didn't want to see me again, or something had gone terribly
wrong with her and her family."
	"How is she?," I slowly asked.  "Mom?," he answered.  "She's OK.  I
think it was tough on her.  My grandparents are really strict, hard-assed
people.  Nice enough, but hard-assed.  I don't think they ever forgave her.
About me."
	"And you," I continued slowly, "How was it for you?  How was your
life?  I'm sorry I wasn't there."  I could feel the tears welling up in my
eyes.
	"It was all right.  Mom ended up going into computers -- it
obviously runs in the family -- and she did OK.  I was pretty wild when I
was a kid, and I think she knew before I did that the gay gene was there."
He smiled.  "It took a while for both of us to deal with that.  I dated
some girls, even fucked a few.  But none of them weirded out on me.  I
think they enjoyed it too much."  The grin got bigger.
	"Stop bragging," I laughed.
	So ....  he seemed to hesitate.  Another smile played at his lips,
and he fingered the napkin in front of him, "Are you hung?"
	I laughed hard, and whispered, loudly, "Like a horse!"
	He laughed loudly, too: "Sweet!  So it runs in the family!"
	"You, too?," I laughed, and we both giggled at the very inside joke
we were enjoying with each other.  For the briefest of moments, I pondered
what was now standing, almost certainly erect, between his legs.  I was
already hard with a quivering excitement.
	"So what are we doing sitting here?", he asked, giving the question
that both of us were asking.  "Because I don't want to do anything else," I
responded.  "Bullshit," he answered me, and I knew it was.  "You don't want
to do anything else?", he continued.  "After you couldn't quit checking out
my ass the first day I got there?  After you stared at my chest?  After
your hand brushed my leg?  And all on the same day?  My first day at work?
Come on."
	"You come on," I answered him.  "You're my son.  How am I supposed
to feel?"
	"You're my son," he responded, mocking me in a way that was both
irritating and endearing.  I wanted both to slap him and fuck him.  "Jef,
let me ask you something.  When did you know I was your son?"
	I was honest: "The first day," I replied.  "The first moment.  It
was like looking in a mirror."
	"And these noble feelings you have, did they stop you then?  Did
that stop you from going home and staining the sheets while thinking about
me?  Did they stop you from imagining it was me the next time you got
blown?  And don't give me that look like you didn't get blown pretty
quickly.  I know you better.  You needed it.  You were horned up right
away.  I suspect you got blown or worse."
	"Or better," I responded.
	"Or better," he repeated.  We both laughed.
	"Let' s face it.  There's something very hot going on here between
us.  Part of it is the fire of my being your son, and your being my father.
I had wondered the same thing.  When I kept getting questions about whether
you were my older brother -- yeah, you can feel flattered, old man! -- and
people commenting on how we were built alike, the thought got stuck there.
Part of it is something I don't pretend to understand, some kind of
electricity that I suspect would have been pretty wild, even without the --
how do I put this? -- relationship."
	"So what are we doing here?," he repeated.
	"I don't know," I answered honestly.  "I'm scared.  I'm afraid I'll
hurt you.  I'm afraid you'll hurt me.  I'm afraid I'll fall in love, and
this is all wrong.  And I don't know how I would explain it to Sharon
... uh, your mother."
	"Would you lay off of this?," he went on.  "Stop acting like I'm
12.  I'm 23, you're 46, and I suspect that would not be the widest
generation gap you have crossed.  It's too late.  You're already in love.
You have already crossed the line that you are so terrified of.  I'm scared
too.  But I'm a lot more scared of what will happen if I don't act on what
I know I want to do."
	I stared at him.  I was stunned by the honesty, the blunt way he
spoke to me.  I had had lots of dad and son roleplay sex, and they had
always ended up with a simpering, whining kid who was a complete turn-off,
somebody I couldn't respect, and who cowered in my presence.  Now here was
a real son, the genuine article, and he was one of the most brutally
honest, sensually powerful men I had ever met.  I felt like cowering in his
presence. I knew that any sex between the two of us would be powerful, a
meeting of minds and bodies, unlike anything I had experience.  Maybe
that's what I was afraid of.
	"Let's give it a day," I told him.  "Give ourselves a rest, time to
think about this.  I know I need some space to sort it all out."
	"OK," he agreed, "Let's meet tomorrow night after work and see what
we're thinking.  Look, Jef, I'm not saying this wouldn't be weird.  But I
fell for you the first day I met you.  Don't flatter yourself that it's
some kind of recognition-of-daddy, though I won't deny that that's not
pretty intense.  But you are a very hot man, and you have this smoky
sensuality that is a big turn on.  And quit pretending you don't know about
it."
	I thought of the obstacles.  "We're both tops, you know," I pointed
out.  There was a slight twinkle in his eyes, and then it vanished.  "One
of us is," he said quietly.  "What do you mean by that?"  "What I mean by
that," he went on,"is that I know I am a top, but whether you are or not is
something I would find out.  And if you are, then I guess we would fight it
out for supremacy."  His eyes were no longer smiling; there was an air of
menace to his face.  I knew that this verbal battle between the two of us
was pure male posturing.  That it was going on between two man, who
happened to be in love or in heat or both, and who happened to be father
and son, was just an accident of life.
	Work was odd the next day.  Very odd.  There was a lot to do, but I
can assure you that I thought of nothing else all day than the conversation
facing me that evening.  I was mechanical, almost dreamy.  Jason and I were
cordial, friendly, but I think we actually avoided each other during the
day.  Everything was just too intense.
	We finally finished up around 6, and Jason walked over to my work
station.  "So where to talk, big man?," he asked.  We decided to go to the
same Chinese place, though I wondered if I wouldn't be far too nervous to
eat.  After we had placed our orders and a pot of tea arrived, he poured
some for us both, and said, "So what do you think?"
	"I think I love you," I replied.  "Love?," he said softly, "Yeah, I
think love could be the term I would use.  And how many times have you been
in love, old man?"
	"In love like this?  Intense, can't-quit-thinking-about-him,
keep-hoping-you'll-run-into-him-at-the-grocery-store love?  Once.  Twice,
if you count your mother."
	"Really?," he asked, "Were you really in love with her?  Was that
sperm shot out for love, or was it therapy for Jef, trying to normalize
him?"  He wasn't angry, he was genuinely wondering.
	"No, it was really love.  Really, really love.  I told you: I could
have married her."
	"But then we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?," he
asked, and his eyes twinkled.  We were gently caressing each other's hands.
	"So ... I'm going to ask you what I asked you yesterday: what are
we doing here?"  And I smiled.  "I think what we are doing here is waiting
for the waiter to change our order to take-out so we can go to my place,
and explore this more in depth."  "Are you sure?," he asked.  "Yeah," I
responded, "Are you sure?"  "Yeah.  Jef, Mom and I talked a lot.  I know
when you guys were growing up, it was pretty weird being different,
especially being gay.  But it was not such a big deal with me.  And I had a
girlfriend once who accused me of being sexually adventurous.  Guilty as
charged.  So maybe some guys would freak over having this conversation with
their Dad.  I don't.  It's pretty hot.  And last night's conversation made
everything about you and me even hotter.  So, let's go."  We did.  It was a
cool and rainy night, and we walked quickly to my place, 5 minutes away.
There was no time to waste, and plenty of catching up to do, and we were
quickly down to his briefs and my boxers.
	"So what do I call you here?, he asked quietly, pointing to the
bed.
	"What do you want to call me?," I answered, also quietly, "You can
call me whatever you want."
	"Jef," he said dreamily, "I've always liked Jef."
	His big hand gently pulled open the slit in my boxers and guided my
penis out.  It was firm, an almost adolescent erection, stiff and angry.
	I felt like I was a spectator, watching an incredible moment in a
play.  His hand was grasped around my thick shaft.  He gazed at it.
	"Beautiful ... fuckin perfect ... "
	He gently pulled my foreskin back to expose the slit, and he
continued talking, as if to himself.
	"Where I came from."
	"What made me."
	"Damn."
	What followed was steamy and sultry, an almost savage coming
together of our bodies, like animals going after the kill.  It went on for
hours, our bodies locked in sweaty contorted lovemaking.  When it was over
and we both lay back, exhausted, coated with the sweat and cum that
moistened the bed, he began to laugh.  It scared me at first, this
laughing, and I propped my head up on my hand, and asked, "What is the
matter?  What are you laughing at?," and I was afraid of what the answer
might be, but there was nothing to be afraid of, because he looked back at
me, his clear blue eyes shining there in the soft light.  "I love you, Jef.
What have we been putting off for so many months?  You are fuckin hot.
Unbelievable.  I want to spend my life with you."
	What was it that made that night -- the first of so many steamy
nights -- so unbelievable.  Was Jason looking for his origins?  Or was I
searching for someone I had a part in creating so many years before?  Or
some of both?  I have grown more reflective in the year we have now been
together, and Jason and I have pondered this issue many times.  We have
still not figured out what it was.
	He drifted off to sleep before I did that night, and as I lay there
in the bed, staring at his perfect body, and feeling after only an hour the
stiffening of my cock in excitement, somehow I knew that his wish would
happen.  We would be together.  It would be odd, there would be problems,
but I would not leave this man I created 24 years ago, never again.  I
loved him, I wanted him, and there was a lot of catching up to do.  We
would make it happen.  Before I drifted off to sleep, I kissed him gently.
A gentle smile came upon his lips.  I turned off the low light beside the
bed, and pulled the sheet quietly over his broad shoulders.