Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 04:17:48 -0400 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: Of Our Teenaged Years - Chapter 7 - Gay Y/F Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ What's New at TomCup.com? Of Our Teenage Years Chapter 13 Added 5/20 The Innocents Part 4: Paulo and Beto By Richard Dean Chapter 8 Added 5/18 Private Lessons Chapter 6 Added 5/12 KOA Boy Chapter 6 Added 04/23 Stephen Miller's Journal Chapter 12 Added 4/13 Mentoring Brandon Chapter 8 Added 4/13 Raptors By Richard Dean Chapter 7 Added 4/13 Age Before Beauty Chapter 4 Added 4/08 Calvin: Identity Crisis Chapter 12 Added 4/02 In Memory of Steve: Chapter 9 Added 2/13 Short Story: Ambrosius Added 1/29 Short Story: Blair Manor Added 1/29 Sexfiles File 10 Added 11/30 Short Story: Can I Stay With You Added 11/30 ************************************************************************ Of Our Teenage Years By Tom Cup Chapter 7 Family Ties I was waiting in front of Sam's house when Mr. Swanson's '73 Thunderbird came to a halt at the curb. Sam immediately turned to exit the car. Mr. Swanson grabbed him by the arm. They began to argue. I felt like a peeping tom and wished I had waited for Sam to call and tell me he was home. But I couldn't. I spent the night tossing and turning, longing to see Sam again, butterflies in my stomach, a teasing tingling of an erection, visions of touching him and being touched by him, I hardly slept; and when dawn broke I determined I could wait no longer. The light to Mrs. Swanson's bedroom was on when I arrived. I watched her silhouette pacing back and forth against the fading yellow-white glow of her table lamp. She had seen me through the window an hour before Sam had arrived and invited me in to wait with her. I declined. Though our fears had a similar root, they were not the same. And truthfully, neither of us wanted to discuss with the other what we intimately feared. The car door slammed and Sam strode determinedly towards me. He grabbed my hand and glanced back at his father. Mr. Swanson glared at us before the wheels of the car squealed and the car lurched forward carrying him away. "Are you all right," I asked. "Yeah. Asshole," Sam commented, his eyes still fixed on the direction of the vanished Thunderbird. "I'm sorry. I should have waited for you to call." Sam's eyes turned to mine. They were bright. A smile spread across his face. "I was hoping you would be here," he said. "Really?" My heart pounded in my chest. We stood facing each other on the concrete walkway leading to his front door. I wanted to kiss him, right there in plain view of our neighbors. Rushing waters sounded in my ears. My face radiated the heat of desire. I smiled into Sam's eyes as he smiled into mine. The front door opened and Mrs. Swanson cleared her throat. "You two going to stand out here all day," she said, "or are you going to come inside. I'm dying to know how the weekend went." Sam's eyes never left mine. I nodded. His smile said that we would observe courtesy and then satisfy our need for privacy. ************ "I don't want to see him anymore," Sam began. Mrs. Swanson pause before placing Sam's plate of fried eggs, bacon and toast in front of him. I nervously re-smeared grape jelly on my toast, placed it on my plate, and finger rolled and flicked the crumbs on my plate. If Sam had made the statement full of anger and rage maybe it wouldn't have hit us with as much force. We could have concluded that he was momentarily angry with his father and that once that anger passed he would want to see his dad again. But there wasn't a hint of anger in Sam's voice or demeanor. He bit into his toast gleefully, waved it in the air like an orchestra conductor and proclaimed, "He's an asshole." "Honey," Mrs. Swanson said, "you don't mean that." Her smile betrayed the insincerity of the statement. Looking at her I felt as if all the ages of mankind would forever repeat themselves. I felt a deep sadness that Sam would turn away from his father and cleave to his mother. I feared that one day I would also have to choose between my mother and father. Would I like Sam follow in the footsteps of Zeus? Was it the destiny of boys to feel so threaten and devoured by their fathers that a conspiracy between mother and son to destroy husband and father was scripted into life. I could understand how Mrs. Swanson felt. She had given up her husband for her son's sake. She must have wondered if Sam would resent her for that decision. Sam's statement was a declaration that Rhea had won over Cronos for their son's love. For me, though, there was a weird mixture of acceptance and tragedy in the situation. Why must Cronos devour? Why must Zeus wage war against his father? "I hate him," Sam said when we were alone in the treehouse. "Why?" I asked, my voice was husky as I fought the caldron of chaos that threatened to overflow into tears. "Jesus Gerald. He's an asshole. All the shit that he said about you and your Dad? All the shit he said this weekend... why are you defending him?" "I'm not," I whined, knowing that I was. I needed conventions. I needed to know that my father and mother would always be together, that they both would always love me, and that I would always love them. Our nation had been through hell and back over the Vietnam War; we had come out the other side not as heroes and victors but as broken and skeptical, without a clear national identity. If there was a last vestige of identity, it was in family. If our nation's facade of unity had been ground to dust and blown to the four corners of the earth, it didn't matter to me, because I believed that the corner stone of American life was the family unit. I could survive anything if my family was behind me. And because my family did support me I found it hard to grasp the idea that losing your family was a reality that most gays faced. I had feared losing my family, yes, but when that hadn't occurred, when my family had accepted me unconditionally, I began to wonder if the rumors of familiar abandonment were over stated. I began to believe that in time the shock of Sam being queer would wear off of Mr. Swanson and the divorce would be cancelled. Mr. Swanson would return home. The divorce rate for our neighborhood would return to zero percent. All would be right with the world. But Sam's tone had such finality that my illusions of a return to Mayberry were dash on the rocks of Moria. There would be no father and son bonding. Sam and I were being cast into a world where boys must survive the vast wasteland of life alone. "Yeah, you are. And that's why I love you. You always see the best in everything Gerald. But there is no best in this.... At least not the way you want. You want my dad to come back and for us to be a family again. But that isn't going to happen. My dad isn't like your's. He doesn't hate me but he hates that I'm gay. He says there's a difference. He says he just wants what's best for me. But what he doesn't see is that I can't change. And if I can't change, Gerald, then hating that I am gay is the same as hating me." "But maybe he just needs time..." "No," Sam said authoritatively, "He's had enough time. It's over. I'm not seeing him anymore. I don't want to hear how much better things would be for me if I weren't queer anymore. I don't want to hear what a bad influence you and your dad are on me. I don't want to hear how I couldn't really be queer because I'm his son. I don't want to hear that shit anymore!" I nodded the tears down my face. There were no illusions left for me to defend. Family is not immortal. Sometimes families break up. ************ "I hate divorce," I bemoaned to my mother with my head cradled in the hook of my arm. "Of course you do," mom said, adding carrots, celery, onions and potatoes to the already browned cubes of sirloin on the stove, "Everybody does." "Mr. Swanson doesn't." "That poor man," Mom said shaking her head and adding garlic to the aromatic perfume of the air, "He doesn't know what he wants." I wanted to yell at my mother in that moment -- to tell her to stop being so fucking naive, to tell her that she was living in a fantasy world, a world in which she had raise her children to believe in that didn't exist. Wasn't she aware of the fact that I would never produce a progeny? It pained me that I would never be able to honor my father with a child that carried in its veins his blood and bore his name. It angered me to think that on some level Mr. Swanson's practicalities out weighted my mother's sentimentalities. "He does know what he wants," I said. Mom stopped, turned, and stared at me. I sighed. "He wants Sam not to be queer. And me too." Mom untied her apron, folded it neatly, and sat at the table with me. She took my hand into hers. "People make choices," Mom said, "right or wrong, for better or worse they make choices. But some things in life we don't choose. We don't choose who we fall in love with or who falls in love with us. That just happens. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Maybe it would be easier for you and Sam if you didn't love each other but easy isn't what love is about. Marriage hasn't always been easy for your father and I but we are committed to each other. That matters more. Are you committed Gerald? Is Sam committed? Because if you are then that's all that matters. You'll have good times, you'll have bad times but you'll have each other. And if you ever believe anything your mother has to tell you, believe this, that's all that matters." Mom stood, still holding my hand and kissed me. "I love you Gerald," she said, staring into my eyes as tears poured from her eyes, "Your father loves you. Don't you ever forget that. Ever." She wiped her face and returned to cooking. ************ Labor Day weekend was one of the happiest holidays of my life. Sam and his Mom spent the day with us. The scent of bar-be-que filled our neighborhood. All the lawns were well manicured. Part of our backyard was set up for badminton and part for croquet. Doug's family joined us. I was nervous about meeting my future in-laws though Sharon said I shouldn't have worried, she was right. The Jensens were hippies in my eyes. Everything was cool to them. No matter what you said to Doug and George's father the reply was always the same, "That's cool, man, really cool." I liked him immediately. I was surprise at how well everyone got along. I wasn't sure that everyone knew my secret but I knew that George did so it didn't stun me when Sam said, "I really like George. He's cool." "Yeah," I said. I hadn't told Sam about the day at the pool. "And he's kinda cute too." "What?" "Oh, don't pretend you haven't noticed. Come on!" My blushing was the answer that caused Sam's laughter. I had noticed and Sam knew it. "You're such a perv. Lusting after your sister's boyfriend's brother. What am I going to do with you?" "Stop it," I whispered, "You're embarrassing me." "Nope," Sam said, "not until you admit the truth." "OK. I think he's cute. Can we drop it now?" "So does he know?" "Know what?" Sam rolled his eyes. "About you and me." "I don't know. I mean, I think so." "Hmmm..." Sam said, "better make sure. I don't want to lose you." Silence erupted in my backyard that day as Sam pulled me into a kiss. I remember my hesitation and release, and Mr. Jensen saying, "Cool man, really cool." ************************************************************************ Send comments to: comments@tomcup.com To support this and other stories by the author, join at http://www.tomcup.com. If you like this story, check out Tom Cup's "Calvin: A Coming of Age Story." 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