The Castaway Hotel
Book 1

By: B W
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 1
How It All Began. 

I guess I should begin by telling you about how I came to run the ‘Castaway Hotel,’ and the best way to do that would be to start when I was the same age as those I was about to help.  My name is Josh Currie, and although my early years were happy and pretty uneventful, I had a fairly rough adolescence.  You see, when I reached puberty and my sexual urges began to manifest themselves, I became very confused.  I didn’t understand why I was not thinking and acting like others of my gender.  Why was I drawn more toward guys than girls?  It’s not like I chose to do that, but it seemed to be who I was and what I was supposed to do.  It was as if I had no say in the matter.  As I grew older, I tried to hide and suppress these urges, because it seemed like everyone else, including my family, thought it was wrong.  This was a very trying time for me and I became extremely conflicted. 

With practice, I became fairly good at deceiving others about my hidden desires and fumbled my way through many encounters with females.  Although I would never claim to be popular or even considered among the elite of my high school class, I did find a way to hold my own and my secret was never discovered.  After years of dating, throughout high school and college, I even managed to fake my way through several intimate contacts.  I had now done all of the things a normal male would do with a female, even though it might not have been for the same reasons or in the same frame of mind.  During my first attempt at intercourse, my penis wouldn’t respond, but I knew I had to solve this problem quickly or the rumors would begin to fly.  Immediately, I began to focus mentally on a male acquaintance of mine, someone whom I’d secretly been attracted to and had seen naked in the showers.  With his image fixed in my mind, I was able to get an erection and perform successfully, but no one knew about my fantasizing  – except for me.  I did feel guilty about the deception, but my partner had no idea that she wasn’t the center of my attention, so that became a pattern for my future exploits.

I eventually got married to a wonderful young woman, whom I met shortly after taking my first professional job.  As much as I liked and cared about her, especially as a friend, I was never truly ‘in love’ with her, but proposing seemed like the right thing to do at the time.  She wanted to get married and I knew it would take the pressure away from hiding my true identity and be very helpful in pursuing my career as an educator.  From the start, I had to use the same trick when making love to her, and over time I honed my technique of having sex with her while thinking of a male counterpart.  In a little over a year after exchanging our nuptials, we began having children.  To be more accurate, my wife had them, and we settled into a so-called normal life.  This was a happy time for me, from the day my first child was born and then being an active part of each of their lives as they matured, but it wasn’t perfect.  There was always a part of me that felt empty and unfulfilled, and no matter what I did or how many years passed, this feeling never left me. 

Over time, my children grew up, went off to school and eventually moved away, to begin pursuing their own dreams.  That was only the first set of events that set me into a downward spiral. 

My wife and I were alone after that, but unfortunately she passed away several months ago, in February, and I’ve been rattling around in this big old farmhouse in which we had raised our children.  I hated to sell our home, because I always loved the place and it held so many memories for me.  No matter where I looked, I would find a reminder of some cherished event from my past.  For example, being in the family room would jog my memory about all of the slumber parties my children held there with their friends.  This was because they always seemed to end up in that room, watching the television or playing games, before they fell asleep.  The rec room made me think about the hours the kids and I spent playing ping-pong, pool, board games, or later - on the computer. 

When looking out at the yard, I would be flooded with visions of the children playing with our collection of pets, the boys riding their dirt bikes or the girls on their bicycles or the many times they played tag, hide-and-go-seek or rode their sleds over the snow and down our small hill.  Looking at the lawn would also remind me of the countless number of children who came here to play with mine and the cookouts we were so fond of holding for our extended family, friends and neighbors.  Finally, there were the woods, where I took the boys hunting, the whole family went hiking or held camp-outs for the children.  It was also where I went to find solitude, when I was troubled or needed some time alone.  No, I just couldn’t sell it!  No matter how empty the house seemed or how underused it was, there was just no way I could ever give this place up.

At 47, I had lived totally alone for quite a few months and was now beginning to wallow in the pangs of loneliness, which this large home only seemed to magnify for me.  The house had a total of twelve rooms, which included six or seven bedrooms, depending on how you wished to count them, as I am currently using the old master bedroom on the first floor as an office.  In addition to the bedrooms, there is a kitchen, dining room, living room, family room, rec room, plus three full baths, and the entire place seemed to long for the laughter and life that only a family could bring to it. 

One of my friends suggested I rent out some of the rooms or open a ‘Bed and Breakfast’ to help rid me of this problem.  He even pushed it a step further by adding the lure of the extra money I could make on the side.  Although I was doing fine financially, I still considered his suggestion, until another friend gave me an alternative idea.  She worked for the Department of Social Services and informed me that there was a tremendous shortage of good foster homes in our area.  Even though I was a widower and lived alone, she suggested I could put some of those empty bedrooms to use by taking in a child or children who desperately needed a home.  She thought that after raising four children of my own and being the principal of the middle school, I had the experience to handle the challenge.  I thanked her for her idea and told her I would consider it, but felt this would be more of a commitment than I wanted to make.

I didn’t want to decide hastily, so I took my time.  I considered all of the alternatives and kicked the various ideas around in my mind for several weeks before I finally made my decision.  After weighing all the pros and cons about giving strangers access to my home, one thought kept popping into my head.  Wouldn’t it be nice to hear a child’s laughter echo through this place again?  After many internal debates and numerous sleepless nights, I finally came to a determination.  I would take in foster children. 

Sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I apprised my friend of my decision and told her I would accept any child who needed my help, but I did have one condition.  I thought it might be best, or safer for me personally, if I only accepted boys.  She agreed with my logic, but I did not let it end there.  I went on to tell her that I’d even decided that maybe I should specifically take in gay or bi boys, although I wouldn’t turn away others.  She gave a puzzled reaction to this comment, so I thought it would be best if I explained my suggestion in more detail.  I informed her that through my job I had witnessed how tough life can be for boys with those particular sexual orientations and felt I could make the greatest impact by trying to assist them. 

I stopped short of telling her about my deep, dark, little secret - that I also fit into one of those groups and had actually suppressed my feelings and urges throughout my entire adult life.  My main driving force for doing this was simple.  Knowing what I had gone through, I wanted to make it possible for other young males to avoid the mental anguish I had endured, by denying my true self.  Sure, I still have to admit that I’ve had a good life, a wonderful wife, terrific children and a fulfilling career, but no matter how good it all was, this stinging emptiness still gnawed inside of me.  For years, I’ve had to live with that void, buried deep within the dark recesses of my soul, which I knew could only be filled by man-to-man love.  I longed to act upon this need, but never allowed myself the pleasure, because of what it might do to my family or due to the fear I retained about jeopardizing my career.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking and you’re wrong.  I’m not taking boys in to live with me just so I can gratify my own sexual needs.  That is certainly not the case.  I want them here so I can help them understand their feelings and learn how to cope in a world that vilifies and derides those lifestyles.  I want to help them understand they don’t have to hide or suppress their feelings, but with some discretion, they could enjoy a loving relationship with another male, something I have always longed to do.  By accomplishing this, I hoped to not only help them, but also prayed it will allow me to purge some of the regrets I’ve endured about my own life.  This might be the only chance I will ever get to enjoy a catharsis of this nature and let go of the feelings of remorse I’ve harbored about never letting myself become the person I truly am inside.

After agreeing to do this, I discovered it was now too late to begin the process and nothing would be started until after the holidays.  Sally explained that the state would not process applications during that time span, because of all the special functions they were performing and due to all of the year-end paperwork and reports that needed to be completed.  Therefore, the process didn’t even begin until mid-January and it took several more weeks after that until I was actually certified by the state.  It was nearly the first week in April before I finally received a call at work from my friend, Sally, telling me I had been approved.  She also told me she already had a young boy she would like for me to consider taking in.  He was twelve years old, hyperactive and all alone.  His mother had been a drug addict and died from an overdose a few months previously.  She had no family members who were interested in taking her son in, so he had been temporarily placed in a shelter until a suitable placement could be found for him. 

She went on to explain that his father had never been identified, but it was strongly believed he was either a pusher or another user who had swapped drugs for sexual favors.  In the long run, however, the boy’s mother ended up with more than just drugs out of that deal.  Sally also informed me that she didn’t know if the boy was gay, bi or straight, because he was probably too young to even know himself.  She did point out that he had enough going against him already and could use a stable environment, so she thought he would be the perfect choice for me.  She described him as an average student, although some of his teachers considered him a behavioral problem, and he was currently in the seventh grade.  She said that I probably knew this young gentleman already, because he attended my school, but hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.  She strongly urged me to accept him into my home and thought we would get along well.

I considered everything she told me, but I knew she was correct in her assumptions.  From her description of the boy’s background information, I deduced she was talking about none other than Ricky Glover.  He wasn’t a bad kid, although he did seem to spend a lot of time in my office.  He was just so full of energy and mischievousness that some of the teaching staff could not handle him within a group setting, since they had to deal with twenty or more other students at the same time.  He wasn’t a mean or vicious young man, but he was a whirling dervish who could only be subdued by a tranquilizer dart filled with a dosage large enough to calm a raging elephant.  I actually had a soft spot in my heart for this kid, as he was quite humorous at times, but I was not sure if he was the right individual with which to start this experiment.  To allow me time to mull this over, I told Sally I would have to give it some thought, but I would get back to her within twenty-four hours. 

After getting off the phone, I worked in my office for a while longer and then went out to make a tour of the halls.  As I entered the waiting area outside my office, after completing my tour, guess who was there!  “Ricky, into my office, now,” I blurted out, more harshly than I probably should have. 

Temporarily startled, he rose to his feet and looked at me cautiously, but when he noticed I wasn’t about to burst into a rage, a smile began to form on his face.  Feeling a little more confident, he strolled past me and into my office, as if he owned the place.  “Hi, Mr. Currie,” he greeted me, as he walked by.

Although I wanted to put him in his place and show him who was the boss, it was hard for me to be upset with this adorable little imp.  Ricky stood about five-feet, two-inches tall, with shoulder-length blond hair, smoky-gray eyes, and a nearly constant toothy smile.  That last part always amazed me.  I often wondered how this little guy could always appear to be so happy, when in reality he had suffered through so much.  He was a little on the slender side, without being skinny, but looked as if he had a fairly decent build.  If he ever got into a fight with someone who was around his own size, I suspect Ricky would win that battle.  He was a street-wise, scrappy kid who had just about raised himself, and he certainly was more mature in some areas than his peers.  “What are you here for this time, Ricky?” I demanded.

My tenor caused him to look down at the floor, to avoid my gaze.  “Mrs. Snyder sent me to your office because I couldn’t stop laughing in class,” he responded, quite sheepishly. 

“And what was so funny?” I wanted to know. 

He flashed me a wide grin before he answered.  “Seth Horvath cut a big fart in class and it really smelled.  That made me laugh a little, but it was even funnier watching the other kids trying not to breathe. I just couldn’t stop myself from laughing when they started gagging, because they couldn’t hold their breath any longer.  I tried not to laugh out loud, but I just couldn’t hold it back.”  He was almost in hysterics again, just relaying the story to me.

“I guess I can see the humor in that situation, Ricky,” I advised him, “but you’ve got to practice better self-control.  I’m sure there were others in the class who thought it was funny too, but they were able to contain themselves.  You’ve just got to try a little harder.”

“I know, sir,” he told me, and I could tell he was trying to be sincere.  He was just so lovable, but he could be an irritant to those without a sense of humor or who were already stressed out.  “I’m really sorry and I’ll tell Mrs. Snyder that too.  I’ll try harder next time.  I promise I will.”

“I know you will, Ricky,” I assured him, “and that would be greatly appreciated.  Please go back out and sit in the other room until the bell sounds for your next class.”

“Yes, Mr. Currie,” he responded, as he headed for the door.  Part of the way there, he stopped and turned to look back at me.  “Thank you, Mr. Currie, and I am really sorry.”  He flashed me another smile and then turned and went back out to the reception area.

I trust you are beginning to get an idea what I mean about this particular young man.  He is not the unrepentant devil that some of the teachers want to portray him as and is not hopelessly incorrigible, but he can be a disruptive force in the classroom.  He did make me chuckle, though, when I pictured what that scene must have looked like through his eyes.  I immediately picked up the phone and called Sally.

“Hello, Sally Swarthout.” I recognized my friend’s voice. 

“Sally, this is Josh Currie.  I’ll take him,” I stated, succinctly.  I heard her chuckle and then we concluded the necessary information exchange.  By the time we finished, I had totally committed myself. 

That evening I went home and readied the place for my new foster son.  I didn’t really have to do much, as the room still contained the furniture that one of my children had used when he lived at home, but it did need a quick cleaning.  It didn’t take long for me to dust the furniture and run the vacuum over the carpet, before I put fresh sheets, pillowcases and blankets on the bed.  I even fluffed the pillows for him.  Once everything was in order, I made my way back downstairs.  As I was about to descend the final steps, I heard the doorbell ring.  Suddenly, I felt a little nervous, but still managed to walk over and open the door.  There stood Sally and Ricky, each carrying a small suitcase.

“Hi, Mr. Currie.  Are you going to be my new dad?” Ricky blurted out, immediately.  As he spoke, he looked directly into my eyes, like he thought he could absorb the answer from them.

“Yes, I guess you might say that,” I agreed.  “Come on in and I’ll show you around.”  I stepped aside, so they could both pass by me, and then I started to show my guests around the first floor.

“You live in this big house?”  Ricky asked, his eyes bulging from their sockets.  “Doesn’t anyone else live here with you?”

“Yes, I live here,” I confirmed, “and my family used to live here with me.  My children are all grown now and on their own, and my wife died last year.  Since that time, I have been living alone in this big, old house, but that’s why you’re here.  We’re going to keep each other company and you’re going to bring some life back into this place.”  Hearing me say this, his grin broadened, if that were actually possible.  “Come on,” I continued, “and I’ll show you to your room.”

Ricky’s enormous grin never faded, as he and Sally followed me up the staircase to the second floor.  I took them down the hall to a small bedroom, right across from the master suite.  “I thought you would like this particular room,” I advised him.  “It used to belong to my older son.”

Ricky went in and looked around, checking out every detail.  He looked closely at the walls, investigating the dark wood paneling that covered the lower half, before checking out the wallpaper on the upper portion.  The wallpaper pattern was selected especially for my son, when he was about Ricky’s age, and it depicted young boys playing various sports.  From there, he went over to investigate the ample closet in the corner, the window at the far end of the room, which had a built in desk beneath it, and then he looked down at the blue carpet, which covered the floor.  He also took time to check out the single bed, the nightstand and the chest of drawers, all made from light oak, and then he looked back at me.

“This is really nice.  You mean it’s mine now?”  His expression told me he thought I was going to say no and tell him I was just joking, so I knew I had to put him at ease.

“Yes, it is, and my room is just across the hall, in case you need anything.”  Hearing that, he walked past me and strolled into my bedroom, as he wanted a peek at the master suite.  When he had sufficiently satisfied his curiosity, I decided to tell him a little more. 

“You passed the main bathroom on the way to your room.  It’s between your bedroom and the stairway.  All we have to do is put your toothbrush in the holder on the sink, because I put everything else you’ll need in there earlier.”

“Thanks, Mr. Currie.  I like it here already,” he told me.  His ever-present grin seemed to brighten the entire second-floor.  After making that comment, he moved toward me and wrapped his arms around my waist, to emphasize his point.  It looked as if it wasn’t going to take much to make him happy, but it was sure a joy to see him so excited.

“Well, it doesn’t appear as if you gentlemen need me here,” Sally suddenly announced, “so, I think I’ll be heading home.”  We both followed her, as she made her way down the staircase.  When she reached the bottom, she stopped and turned toward Ricky. 

“I’ll see you again in a few days,” she informed him, “to see how you’re doing.”  He smiled up at her and then hugged her about the waist, before she turned toward me.  “Thanks, Josh,” she added.  “I think this is going to work out splendidly.”

“I hope so, Sally, and thanks for your help.  Have a safe trip home,” I added, out of habit.  It was the way I said good-bye to my children, whenever they came to visit, since none of them lived close-by any longer.

“Night, Mrs. Swarthout,” Ricky chimed in, peering out from under my arm, which was holding the screen door open.  Sally had already reached her car by that point, but she waved before getting into her vehicle and driving away.  After watching her make her way down the street, I looked down at my new housemate.

“So, are you hungry, Ricky?” I asked him.

“Yes, sir.  I am,” he advised me, with his perpetual grin still spread eagerly across his face.  He truly was easy to become attached to.

“Well, what would you like to eat?” I inquired, not sure what types of foods he might enjoy.  He thought about this momentarily, before offering his suggestion. 

“How about a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup?  Do you got that stuff?” he responded. 

“It’s - do you HAVE that stuff?” I corrected him, “and yes, I do.”  He nodded at my grammar lesson, letting me know he understood, and then I set about fixing our meal.  It wasn’t what I would have normally thought of having for dinner, but seeing he had suggested it, I decided I could live with it too.  It didn’t take long before everything was ready. 

I took the appropriate dishes, silverware and glasses from where they were stored in the cupboards and asked Ricky to take them into the dining room and set the table.  I carried the food in right behind him and dished it out, and soon we were enjoying our simple fare.  Ricky managed to devour his food in record time, so I asked him if he wanted more.  He paused before answering, giving me the feeling he was afraid of looking greedy. 

“Don’t be bashful,” I urged him.  “If you want something else, just say so.”  He looked at me suspiciously, trying to determine if I was being sincere, before he responded. 

“If you don’t mind, I could use a little more,” he conceded, still somewhat tentative about giving me his reply.  I quickly fixed us both another sandwich and then scooped the last of the soup into his bowl.  After moving back to my seat, I watched in amazement as he eagerly devoured his second helping. 

After Ricky and I finished our meal, I showed him how to rinse off his dishes and put them into the dishwasher.  He thanked me for the food, before following me into the family room, and then he sat on the sofa beside me.  “Ricky, do you have any school work that you need to finish?” I asked him, not wanting to let him start off on the wrong foot. 

“No, sir.  I did it while I was waiting for Mrs. Swarthout to bring me here,” he answered, before flashing me another of his special grins.

“Very good,” I praised him.  “Would you like to watch some television then?”

“Yeah.  That would be nice,” he responded, wiggling about next to me.

“Here, you can use the remote to find something you’d like,” I told him, while handing him the thin, black controller.  “I’ll just make sure I approve of it, once you make your choice,” I warned him, just to let him know there might be some restrictions.

He eagerly took the remote from my hand and it appeared as though he was starting to believe I wasn’t out to trick him.  He immediately began flipping through the channels, and after a brief search, he found one of those sitcoms geared toward teens.  I judged it to be suitable for his viewing, so I buried my nose into the evening paper, while he enjoyed his program. 

To be continued...

Posted: 06/15/12