CHOICES
By:
Morris Henderson
(Copyright 2013 by the author)
The author retains all rights. No reproductions
are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear...
— Robert Frost, 1916
CHAPTER 1
Steve Randolph was midway through his senior year in high school. He was eagerly anticipating the graduation ceremony that would be the culmination of years of study—most of which was exciting and enjoyable but some of which was little more than a tedious chore.
His role as editor of the school’s yearbook gave him a seat on the student council but that was not enough to earn him admission to the social elite in the student body. If he were more extroverted and had he not devoted so much time to the yearbook and studying, perhaps the popular students would have given him more than grudging acceptance. But his reputation as what would later be called a nerd meant that he was routinely ignored in student council or, at best, tolerated.
Hours after the end of the school day, he sat in the yearbook office—a small, windowless room not much bigger than a broom closet—reflecting on a decision he had made earlier in the year and wondering if it was the right choice. He had been offered a scholarship to an East Coast university but his parents had made clear their preference that he should attend a local university. He had been conflicted over the decision and sought advice from a teacher whom he respected for her wisdom and genuine regard for her students. To her it was not a room full of bodies but each was a unique individual with distinctive needs.
<><><><><>
“Come in,” she said cheerily after a long day of teaching six classes.”
“I need some advice,” Steve said hesitantly. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course, Steve. Problems with today’s assignment?”
“No, ma’am. The assignment was quite clear. It’s something else.”
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward a front row seat and sitting in the adjacent seat. “How can I help?”
“It’s about college. I’ve been offered a scholarship to an Ivy League school...”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” she interrupted. “Congratulations! You deserve it.”
“But I’m not sure I should accept it. You see, my parents are opposed to my going to school so far away. They want me to go to BYU. Their reasons? It’s closer to home and I could visit on weekends. Also, it’s sponsored by the church. They say I’d be surrounded by positive influences and not enticed by temptations in a foreign city...yes, they called it foreign. They think it’s populated by heathens. On the one hand, I want the best education I can get. On the other hand, I would hate to disappoint my parents.”
The teacher, always perceptive to voice tone and facial expressions, thought for a moment and said, “I can see you’re troubled by the dilemma. I would be, too.” (Masterful empathy was just one of her admirable attributes.) “It’s not an easy decision but it’s a very important one. If you want me to encourage you one way or another, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you. It’s a decision you have to make on your own. And you have to own the consequences of your choice. The best I can do is to remind you of a Robert Frost poem we discussed earlier this year. Do you remember it?”
Steve struggled to recall the poem. Finally remembering it, he blurted out, “The Road Not Taken!”
The teacher smiled. “That’s the one. It’s not the first time you’ve chosen one road over another in your life and it surely won’t be the last. We all make decisions constantly. Many are trivial—what to order from a menu in a restaurant. Some are more significant—selling a home and moving to a new house. A few are quite substantive—accepting one job offer over others—and thereby foregoing a potentially rewarding career. This is perhaps the first choice you make that will have profound effects on your future. The sad part is: you’ll never know what’s down the road not taken. You’ll never know how much pain and satisfaction it would have given you. We can’t know what lies ahead in the road we reject.”
Steve was pensive for a few moments and countered with, “But I don’t know how much pain and satisfaction there will be on the road that I choose, either.”
“True,” she said. “All we can do is speculate what the future will bring. You must use our own values, priorities, and experience to choose what seems to be the better choice.”
They sat quietly for several minutes. The teacher let Steve absorb the counsel and weigh his options. Finally, Steve said, almost to himself, “It’s a matter of soul versus mind.”
“What do you mean?” the teacher asked. Although she recognized the meaning, she wanted to be sure that Steve grasped the implications.
“Soul,” Steve replied, accustomed to the teacher’s oblique probing. “I have to choose between family, my parents, and my religion’s teaching. Mind, on the other hand, is intellectual growth and opening myself up to other cultures.”
The teacher smiled again and said, “They’re not completely incompatible, you know.”
Steve was puzzled but resolved the issue and said gleefully, “You’re right! As usual! Whatever I choose, I don’t have to give up the other completely. If I stay here for college, I can also study other cultures. Even if I have to teach myself. I can learn about any academic discipline I want. On the other hand, If I go east, I can retain my faith and do what it takes to maintain family ties. Thanks, ma’am! You’ve been a great help.”
“Even if I didn’t cast a vote in favor of one choice over another?”
“You did more than that. You respected my ability—and responsibility—to make a choice. And you helped consider in making a decision.”
<><><><><>
Steve was shaken out of recalling the conversation with his teacher when Mr. Harwood, a Health Education teacher and the yearbook advisor, walked into the room and asked, “Working late again, Steve?”
“Yes, sir. But I just finished up looking over some proofs from the printer. I guess I should be on my way home.”
“That’s right. They’ll be locking up the building soon. I don’t think you want to spend the night here.”
Steve gathered up his notebooks and stood. For a brief moment, he considered asking “Woody” (as Mr. Harwood preferred to be called outside of the classroom) about another dilemma that had tortured him for years. His friendship with the man had grown during four years on the yearbook staff and included a respect for the teacher’s genuine interest in students’ needs and progress—in and out of the classroom. In spite of the easy rapport when working with Woody, two things muted his voice. The first was the urgency to leave the building before it was locked up; there was no time for a potentially long conversation. The second and far more compelling reason was a reluctance to reveal the cause of the torment that had plagued him since shortly after passing through puberty. It was what was euphemistically called “a love that dare not speak its name” in Oscar Wilde’s trial for gross indecency in the late nineteenth century. At first, Steve denied his homosexuality. He prayed about it. He constantly chastised himself for “unclean” thoughts. He regretted his addiction to masturbation. He lived in fear of being caught admiring other boys’ bodies. The fear was particularly intense in the shower after phys ed class when it took every iota of self-discipline not to let his gaze linger too long on the display of youthful genitalia lest he be caught—or worse—sprout a hard-on. That would inevitably label him as a queer, a homo, a fag. (The term “gay” only meant happy in the mid-fifties.) And he would not only be shunned but he would be persecuted by his peers.
Walking to his car in the student parking lot, he felt relieved that he had not divulged his dark secret.
<><><><><>
The first year of college in New York City was a difficult adjustment. A large component of the difficulties he encountered was the strange way of life in the big city. Everything was different than on his family’s farm in northern Utah. His curiosity and often puzzlement was intense over crowded streets, densely packed high-rise buildings, regional accents, and what he perceived as a lack of courtesy. Also, he knew he was an oddity in his new environment. Many classmates knew less about where he was from than he knew about their home communities. Their comments and questions (if serious and not oblique sarcasm) were unbelievable:
“I took a trip out west once...to Chicago.”
“Do you have television out there yet?”
“You grow sugar beets? What the hell are they?”
“How many wives does your father have?”
The major difficulty was surviving the grueling academic work and having to compete with classmates who had attended prestigious preparatory schools. Only through extensive study of things that most of his peers already knew did he barely manage to earn decent grades. The extra hours studying and a part-time job to pay school expenses left him little time for socializing or, for that matter, reflecting on his unusual attraction to men.
End of Chapter 1
******************
Steve made a choice of roads to follow.
Now you, the reader, must make a choice.
How do you want the story to continue?
If you think Steve will remain a virgin
and conceal his homosexuality, continue by
reading Chapter2, Version A immediately below. 2-A
If you think he will yield to his desires,
jump to Chapter 2, Version B by clicking on this link: 2-B
******************
(You chose: Steve will remain a virgin)
By the middle of Steve’s sophomore year he had become accustomed to the culture that was alien to that of his formative years living on a farm in Utah. His comfort level allowed his basic nature to re-emerge and the fantasies of intimate contact with a man to gradually return—usually as he showered or wearily fell into bed for a night’s sleep. Circumstances permitting, the fantasies led to masturbation. Because of the values that had been ingrained into him—not the least of which was the depravity of what was euphemistically called self-abuse—the thrill of his climax was followed by regret and self-castigation.
Still, the fantasies returned regularly. In spite of recurrent promises to himself to refrain from what he still believed to be an immoral act, he routinely broke the promise when the urge to masturbate overcame his resolve. He tried to console himself with the rationale that masturbation was not nearly as sinful as homosexual contact with another man. He compared the situations to the difference between privately hating someone and maliciously slandering him; it was the difference between a victimless transgression and harming another person. In moments of mental clarity he recognized that he was deluding himself and that a sin is a sin. But, he ruefully acknowledged, the sensual rewards of masturbation were worth the risk of mild (he hoped) punishment for a trivial transgression. That process of rationalization freed him to more fully enjoy the electric sensations of orgasm. Significantly, his thinking evolved into considering yielding to his desire to share pleasures of the flesh with another man. But he promptly dismissed the idea because it seemed impossible to find another student with similar cravings. Therefore, he concluded, the road he had chosen offered no chance for the pleasures he yearned for. Moreover, the other road was sure to be full of malevolent people sneering epithets like Queer! Fag! Homo! Sinner! In addition to the persecution, yielding to his abnormal desires would lead him far from family and his faith.
But his faith was increasingly fragile. While attending college in New York City Steve was exposed to a wide variety of value systems, life styles, and religious beliefs. He tried to reconcile what he had been taught by his family and his church with the astonishing diversity in religious principles and practices. Was there but one “true” religion? Was the one he followed any better than others? Was there one God or several as the ancient Egyptians, Romans, and Norse believed? It would take a long time but Steve gradually migrated from devout Christian toward agnosticism when he couldn’t answer the question: Did God create man or did man create God(s)? The growing doubt about a Creator and suspicion about the validity of religious dogma—including that of his own church—was a source of considerable distress. While his doubts seemed to undermine the legitimacy of a prohibition on homosexuality, there remained the overwhelming condemnation of the practice in current, secular society. The inescapable conclusion was that his homosexual thoughts must never be acted upon or he would pay a terrible price: estrangement from his family and jeopardy to his career.
<><><><><>
It was Christmas in 1958. Steve took a Greyhound bus across country to visit his family between semesters of his junior year. To pay for the trip, he worked in a department store in a small town ten miles from his parents’ farm. There he met Linda, an attractive, vivacious high school senior and immediately liked her. As well as liking Steve, she was awed by meeting a college frat boy from back east. Although he had dated only twice in high school and once in college (not enjoying the dates but hoping to burnish his image as a “normal” young man), he asked Linda out for New Year’s Eve. He was surprised that she didn’t already have a date and accepted. If nothing else, Steve thought, going out on a date would reassure his parents and friends that he was “normal.” Chances were that he would not see Linda again.
He was wrong. Occasional letters—all very “newsy”—over the next few months seemed to deepen the bond of friendship. It was inevitable, therefore, that the two young friends would see each other frequently through the following summer.
A second life-changing decision confronted Steve that summer but he failed to recognize its significance at the time. Driven by dual forces of hormones and a compelling need to extinguish his shameful homosexuality, he made a choice. The result was a pregnancy and, because abortion was abhorrent in the community, marriage.
Steve was one of only three in the entire college student body of two thousand who was married and in April became the only father. Although it was difficult to support a family while paying school expenses, Steve consoled himself that he had finally overcome his “unnatural” yearnings. But the road was an arduous one. His parents’ distress over his premarital sex combined pain and anger. It was not as devastating to them as it would have been if they learned he was homosexual but it was nevertheless traumatic. He had alienated his family and violated his religion’s standards.
The road he had inadvisably taken by having unprotected sex was not without its pleasures. Heterosexual intercourse was surprisingly gratifying. He achieved his goal of a college degree. He enjoyed his roles of husband and father. Also on the plus side of the ledger was a growing conviction that he had conquered his “deviant” homosexuality.
<><><><><>
Five years and two more children later, Steve was a casualty of another’s decision: divorce.
He lived alone for a year and a half except on weekends when he delighted in the company of his three young children.
Often during the lonely weekdays, Steve’s thoughts reverted to his attraction to men. He reasoned that during the week he had an opportunity to satisfy his need. But a trio of forces kept him on the road of total abstinence and concealing his reawakened urges. Foremost was the potent need to retain the respect and love of his still impressionable children. Respect of his colleagues at work was also influential. Finally, there was the massive problem of finding another man with similar interests. No doubt they were out there but they were all concealing their sexuality for similar reasons. He couldn’t know who they were any more than they could know what he wanted.
Reconciliation with and re-marriage to Linda united the family. It was Linda who persuaded Steve to agree to the marriage. He agreed in spite of speculating, without convincing evidence, that the divorce was due to her infatuation with another man but the new relationship soon soured. The compelling reason was that he welcomed the chance to be a full-time father and provide his children with a more stable home life. In addition, he would be able to have sexual partner other than his fist. For a long time in a loveless but cordial marriage, the frequent gratification of his carnal needs reduced his homoerotic fantasies. But they still haunted him from time to time.
<><><><><>
His children grew up and moved out. The empty nest could have been a welcome relief and it was ... except for the gradual diminishing of conjugal coupling that led to separate bedrooms. Sex became no more than a memory and the homoerotic fantasies resurfaced. Still, for family and career reasons, he maintained the façade of a straight, respectable citizen. Many years later, public opinion would become more accepting of gays but Steve was living in an environment that was exceptionally toxic for homosexuals.
Frequent business trips left Steve in a hotel room evenings and overnight for prolonged periods. Alone with the television in his room was not enjoyable. He was never one to easily meet strangers and socialize in a bar. But the solitude of a hotel room seemed to fuel his fantasies and he found relief by masturbating. Unlike when he was younger and controlled by his religion’s teaching, however, he never felt regret, guilt, or shame in the erotic pleasure of masturbation.
On one trip to a foreign country, his client asked if he would like company in the evenings. Steve asked for clarification. “You know. A beautiful young lady who knows how to entertain a man,” the executive said with a sly grin and a wink. Steve declined but later wondered whether he might have dared to ask for a male companion. No! The risks of that would have been much too great.
End of Chapter 2, Version A
******************
Will Steve’s fidelity to his marriage vows continue?
Or will he seek and find what he has always yearned for?
Now you, the reader, must make a choice.
How do you want the story to end?
If you think Steve will remain in the closet
and take comfort in his family and a successful career
jump to Chapter 3, Version A-1 by clicking on this link: 3-A-1
If you think Steve will find the opportunity
and courage to engage in sex with a man
jump to Chapter 3, Version A-2 by clicking on this link: 3-A-2
******************
(You chose: Steve will yield to his desires)
The dorm was almost empty during Spring Break. The few friends Steve had made at college had gone home or to Florida for the traditional spring break revelry. His room mate had gone home to Long Island. Going home to Utah was out of the question since his parents were scrimping to pay college expenses and couldn’t afford plane fare. His room mate invited him to his house for the week but he declined. His room mate’s constant arrogance and subtle insults about living on a farm in “Indian territory” was intolerable even in small doses. Spending a week with him would be more than Steve could endure.
Months before, Steve had looked forward to the peace and quiet of Christmas Break after a grueling period of classes and far more homework than he had expected. Being alone at Christmas time was difficult but he caught up on his homework and even got ahead in the assigned reading. He spent some time, in spite of the cold weather, as a tourist, exploring a rich variety of the big city attractions—at least those he could afford. Spring break, however, being shorter and warmer, promised to be more enjoyable.
By Wednesday, however, boredom crept in. Steve had finished all his course assignments and could do no more until the profs laid on more. He had even read a couple of books for pleasure that he hadn’t had time to get to. What would he do that evening? He had a wicked thought. He would do something that he had always wanted to do but never had the opportunity.
He took the subway down to Times Square. At that time 42nd street hosted a number of adult book stores and small theaters showing X-rated films. Steve intended to see a porno movie but after roaming around for a long time, he saw from the marquees and posters that all the films featured women, sometimes servicing men and sometimes each other. That’s not what he wanted.
Steve had researched what little there was to be found about homosexuality in the high school library but the library had been “cleansed.” The college library was much more helpful and he learned that there were men out there like him. However, almost all of them hid their true identity from the public. One day, Steve hoped, he would find one.
Having given up on the movie theaters, Steve ventured into an adult book store. Perhaps he could find something there to interest him
After ten minutes, it was clear that he would not find what he was looking for. There were some dildos and other toys that Steve found fascinating but the prices were unbelievably high. The magazines were also pricey but he would have paid for one if it was what he was looking for. He walked out of the store disappointed and frustrated. After roaming around Times Square for a while just to kill time he took the subway back to 116th Street.
Back in the dorm, Steve showered off the city grim. Taking advantage of the vacant shower room in the largely deserted dormitory, he leisurely jerked off. It was still early, not quite ten, but Steve climbed into bed and fell asleep wishing he had found what he was looking for downtown.
The next day was warm. Steve put on gym shorts, tee shirt, and sneakers and walked over to Riverside Park to enjoy the weather and a good book. He hoped that a little reading would dispel his loneliness. He found a grassy area, stripped off his shirt to restore his faded tan, and lay down on his stomach to read.
Several minutes later, Steve was startled by a voice right next to him. “That must be a very good book,” it said.
Steve looked up and saw a teenager sitting on the grass next to him. He had the complexion, jet-black hair, and features of a Latino. He wore no shirt, only baggy shorts and worn sneakers with no socks. But it was his face that captured Steve’s attention. Dark eyes sparkled from under arched brows and a half-smile that signaled a friendly nature.
“I called to you twice, mister. But you didn’t answer," boy said.
“Sorry,” Steve apologized. “I guess I was wrapped up in my book.”
The boy glanced at the book and asked, “You like mysteries?”
“Once in a while, yes,” Steve responded while wondering why the young teen had interrupted him.
“I do, too,” he grinned. “But I don’t get much of a chance to read.”
“And why’s that?” Steve asked.
His expression turned suddenly sour. “Too busy,” he said as he cast his eyes to the ground.
“Busy?” Steve asked. “What keeps you so busy?”
The suddenly nervous teen stalled, pulling up few blades of grass and rolling them in his fingers. “Whatever I can do to earn a few dollars. That’s why I came over to talk to you. But I see I’m disturbing you so I’ll leave you alone.”
He stood up to leave but Steve’s curiosity was aroused. “Wait,” Steve said. “You don’t have to go. In fact, I would enjoy having someone to talk to. Sit down.”
The boy sat down, cross-legged this time. Steve couldn’t help but see up the leg of his baggy shorts. He had no underwear and the tip of an uncut cock was plainly visible. Steve quickly averted his eyes, a habit Steve had practiced for a long time, but the image remained in his mind, eliciting thoughts he couldn’t suppress. It was then that Steve became aware of his visitor’s body: thin but not skinny, firm but not muscular, and dark nipples contrasting with his tawny skin. The young man wouldn’t turn heads but was nevertheless handsome.
Although Steve had tried to be discreet, the length of his gaze and his failure to say anything must have revealed his thoughts because the stranger smiled and asked, “Like what you see, mister?”
The question threw Steve’s mind into a spin. He groped frantically for something to say that would explain or excuse the thoughtless and dangerous behavior. Nothing came to mind so he stammered, “I was just admiring your nice-looking body, that’s all.” Steve immediately regretted saying that. It’s not the sort of thing one says to another guy, much less a stranger.
But the young man raised the stakes by asking “Want to see more?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the leg of his shorts back to give an unobstructed view of his cock that hung invitingly across a pendulant ball sack.
Alarms sounded in Steve’s head. The young man was obviously coming on to him. If he accepted his implied offer, he would reveal for the first time ever that he was queer. Instinctively, he retreated by saying, “What makes you think I’d be interested in seeing more?”
“Hunch,” the grinning boy said. “Maybe hope. When I saw you here reading, I liked what I saw. So I called to you and then came over. Then I saw how you looked me over. I’ve had a lot of experience. I’ve come to know when a guy is interested in me. I think you are. Am I wrong?”
Steve was not ready to admit his interest but he was tempted. He was on the verge of saying, “No! I’m not interested!” But the words never made it out of his mouth because the teen hiked up his pants leg and briefly fondled himself. It was brief but enough to cause a rapid inflation of Steve’s cock.
“Nice cock,” Steve said without thinking. Suddenly filled with terror, he realized that he had confirmed his fascination with the tempting rod of flesh that the young teen so blatantly displayed.
Encouraged, the hustler quickly got down to business. “I can give you a blow job. Or you can fuck me. I like your looks so I’ll give you a bargain rate.”
Steve marshaled his senses and asked, “Is that how you earn your money?” By selling your body to anybody with cash?”
It was not meant as an insult him but the teen obviously took it that way. “Hey!” he said defiantly. “It’s better than selling drugs. My neighborhood is full of dealers and junkies. I want no part of that. If I can make men happy, isn’t that better than ruining the lives of drug addicts and risking my own life at the same time?”
“I apologize,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I didn’t know what kind of life you faced. Forgive me?”
“Okay,” he said. “But how about my offer? You wanna have some good sex?”
Steve did indeed want to have some good sex. He had wanted it for years. And this young man was not only willing but good looking. He was fairly articulate and showed unusual initiative in approaching a stranger. Steve’s acute loneliness and the disappointment in Times Square the previous night had disarmed his habitual aversion to seeking carnal pleasure. His craving for intimate male contact was near its peak before the teen interrupted his reading in the park. But when the stranger enticingly displayed his manhood Steve’s inhibitions evaporated. This was an opportunity for real sex.
He would have preferred sex with someone other than a hustler but Steve knew all too well that he may not have that chance for a very long time if at all. He was at a fork in the road but didn’t even consider the option of maintaining chastity. The road that opened up to him was simply too enticing. “How much?” Steve inquired.
The lad quoted a price and quickly added, “That’s half of what I usually charge but you’ve got a sexy body.”
“I have a problem,” Steve said regretfully. “I don’t have any money to spare.” Steve hated having to turn down his offer. Just looking at the sexy, willing young man made him horny as hell.
“Too bad,” he groaned. “I guess I’ll have to find somebody else. But they won’t be as good looking as you.”
Steve didn’t want him to walk away. Even if he couldn’t afford his price, he would enjoy the company of a handsome young man for a while. “The best I can do is to buy you a good meal. Will you join me for lunch? I’d really like the company.”
The boy scowled and said, “I’m not giving you sex for just a meal, mister!”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Steve said. “The fact is, I’d like to have company for lunch. No obligation for sex. How about it?”
The truth was that Steve did want company—someone to talk to—but his insatiable curiosity wanted to find out more about why a young man was selling his body.
The teen thought briefly and said, “Okay. I haven’t had a good meal for a few days.”
Steve realized that they could not talk about his life and “occupation” in a restaurant so he suggested, “How about we get a carry-out and come back here to the park for a picnic?”
“Sounds good,” the young man said. “Most places won’t serve me anyway because of the way I’m dressed. Some get downright mean about telling me to leave.”
They walked to a nearby McDonald’s. At the door, Steve asked, “What would you like?”
“You’re buying, mister. You choose. Surprise me.”
Steve bought two big Macs, two large fries, a large drink, and an apple pie for his guest. Steve settled on a cheeseburger and a drink because there was not enough cash for more.
The teen’s eyes nearly popped when he saw the size of the sack Steve walked out with but he made no comment. They returned to the park, found a shady spot, and settled down on the grass. Steve handed his new friend the larger sack.
“That’s all mine?” the boy asked incredulously. “You’re not hungry or are you really broke?”
“Both,” Steve said. The broke part was true. Steve was hungry but his companion needed food more than he did.
The young man devoured his food without stopping to talk, which seemed to confirm that he hadn’t eaten for days. Steve nibbled on his sandwich and sipped at his drink while a thousand questions popped into his mind. What drove a young teen to hustling? What kind of family did he have? Did he live on the streets? If so, how did he cope?
When he finally finished, he said, “Thanks, mister. I feel a lot better now. You’re really nice to buy my lunch ... and not expecting sex, I mean.”
“Well,” Steve said. “There’s one thing you can do for me. I’m curious about why you do what you do. Would you tell me about yourself?”
Steve couldn’t interpret the curious expression his question elicited and he began to worry that he was prying into something the boy didn’t want to talk about. But his concern was short-lived when the young hustler began to speak. “You probably don’t know what it’s like living in public housing in the Bronx,” he began. “Drugs. Crime. Gangs. Poverty. Going to school was the highlight of my day. At least it was reasonably safe. That is, until the kids in school found out I was queer. I could live with them calling me names but they started beating up on me. I dropped out of school. I couldn’t tell my parents the real reason because they would hate me, too. For being queer. So I told my folks I was joining the army and left.”
“Are you old enough to join the Army?” Steve asked. “You look no more than sixteen years old.”
“No. I’m seventeen. But it’s easy to get fake ID. They tried to talk me out of it. I said I didn’t want to end up like my brothers. I’ve got two older brothers. One is in prison for dealing drugs. The other was killed before the cops could bust him. Mom was upset that I was leaving but dad understood. He said he was proud of me for not being like my brothers.” He paused and frowned before continuing. “He wouldn’t be proud of me now if he knew what I’m doing.”
“So how long have you been on the street?” Steve asked.
“About three months,” he replied. “The first week or two was the worst but then I learned how to attract men who want what I want. I’m not bragging when I say I can give them some really terrific sex.” He paused and looked at Steve as if to see whether the ‘really terrific sex’ comment might entice him to pay his price.
NOTE: This is a modified excerpt from a much longer story “The Virgin and the Hustler” previously posted on this site.
End of Chapter 2, Version B
******************
Steve will soon face a choice of roads to follow:
gratify his lust or refuse an offer of sex.
Now you, the reader, must make a choice.
How do you want the story to end?
If you think Steve will resist the opportunity
to have sex and to be true to his values,
jump to Chapter 3, Version 3-B-1 by clicking on this link: 3-B-1
If you think he will yield to his desires,
jump to Chapter 3, Version 3-B-2 by clicking on this link: 3-B-2
******************
Steve’s life was generally good. He was very successful in his career, having risen to the upper ranks of the company. He had the respect of everyone that worked for or with him. He thoroughly enjoyed his job—especially the frequent business trips. Traveling to and from a location was a pain in the rear but the destinations, many locations in the U.S, Europe, South America, and Japan, often afforded opportunities to spend time as a tourist. He relished being at home when he could spend time with his children and grandchildren. There was only one part of his life that was not rewarding. His secret self, his yearnings, his fantasies of gay companionship, and his regret for choosing a socially acceptable life were a recurrent source of frustration. For a time, he was able to experience sexual pleasure with his wife but, although the marriage was still cordial, it no longer included intimacy. They each had a career, Steve as a rising business executive and his wife as a surgical nurse. Both were contented...or so it seemed to the rest of the world.
But both were concealing their frustrations. Steve longed for male companionship. His wife was smitten by a doctor who had lost his wife to cancer. The attraction was mutual and they had been secretly dating for several months. The excuse of “Sorry, Steve, there’s been an emergency at the hospital and I have to work late” was a convenient lie. Instead, the widower and the married woman would meet for dinner and conversation. That’s as far as it went but both of them experienced increasing affection for the other and wished they could unite as a couple. Steve, meanwhile, would eat dinner alone and go to his home office to catch up on email and memos that he had no time to handle while in the office.
Steve was scheduled to fly to Miami on Wednesday afternoon for a two-day meeting. After breakfast on Wednesday he said to his wife, “It will be a quick trip. I couldn’t get return plane reservations until Saturday morning but I should be home around noon on Saturday. See ya then.”
“Have a good trip,” his wife said and left the kitchen to get ready for work.
When checking his email at work, Steve was surprised to read one that said, “Sorry, Steve. We have to postpone our meetings. I hope it doesn’t cause you any trouble. I’ll contact you as soon as I can reschedule.”
Steve was not upset. It would have been a boring trip and it gave him a lot of time to catch up on a backlog of work in the office. He asked his secretary to cancel the plane and hotel reservations and got to work.
His wife, Laura, and the doctor, Ray, met for dinner that night. Upon learning that Steve was out of town until Saturday, Ray said, “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the times we’ve been able to get together. And I wish it could be more often. I hope you’re not offended if I ask you to spend the night with me. Steve’s away. This is a perfect opportunity to demonstrate my affection for you. If you decline the invitation, I’ll be disappointed but I’ll understand. If you agree, however, you’ll make me very happy. And I’ll do my best to make you happy.”
Laura took no time to respond. She broke into a broad smile and said, “I thought you’d never ask, Ray. Yes! I’d love to spend the night with you.”
Steve got home at a little past six that night to find the house empty. There had been no message from Laura about working late so he was puzzled and mildly concerned. By ten his concern intensified. He called his wife’s cell phone only to be bounced to voice mail. That was not unusual; using cell phones was prohibited inside the hospital. He left a message: “Call me as soon as you can.”
When he woke the next morning and found his wife’s bed empty, he was beside himself with worry. He called the hospital and, after considerable difficulty, was able to get the information he sought. There had been no emergency surgery the previous day and yes, Laura Randolph had reported for work at the usual time of eight that morning.
Rather than going to the office, he drove to the hospital. After more than an hour of inquiries and searching, he found his wife doing paper work outside the ER. The confrontation was ugly. She refused to explain her absence overnight. He got angry. She berated him for not telling her the business trip was cancelled. Steve stormed out. He was so angry that he knew he would not be able to concentrate at work so he returned home. The rest of the day was unpleasant for both of them.
That evening, Laura refused to be engaged in conversation. The atmosphere at home was chilly for weeks. Neither could tolerate being around the other.
The silence was broken when Laura, having been persuaded by her doctor lover, announced. “I’m leaving. I’ll be filing for divorce. You’ll hear from my lawyer.”
“Why?” Steve asked.
Laura said assertively, “Our marriage has been a sham for too long. It can’t go on like that.”
Steve found the explanation to be weak at best because even without sex, their relationship had been marked with civility and occasional friendliness. His irritation exploded into an accusation. “Oh. So you’ve found somebody else to give your body to. He must be quite a stud. Who is he?”
“That’s none of your business,” she replied, unwittingly confirming Steve’s suspicions. She marched out of the kitchen and took refuge in her bedroom. Steve, still stunned from the unexpected declaration, sat at the table and tried to cope with the questions that kept popping into his mind.
Within a week, Steve had an answer to at least one question. He knew the name of the man who had lured his wife away and made him a cuckold. Many other questions remained. Who was to blame? Laura? The doctor? Himself? If all three shared blame, what could he have done to preserve the marriage? How would their children react to the divorce? To whom would they give their allegiance? The most troublesome question was: Might being free of a wife, allow him to seek a male partner? He grudgingly answered that one. Career and, more significantly, his children and grandchildren dictated which road he must choose: the façade of a straight man. But could he be discrete? Could he finally enjoy what he yearned for? Extreme caution might make that possible.
<><><><><>
The divorce was final. The children had been almost as stunned by the news as their father had been. They expressed their sympathy to Steve and continued to show their love for him. They said little in Steve’s presence, however, about their feelings toward their mother or their relationship with her.
After much deliberation, Steve accepted the unfortunate fact that the male companionship he had always wanted was not to be. Again, career (especially in puritanical Utah) and family were dominant arguments against seeking his goal. But now there was a third factor that influenced his reluctant conclusion. His age made him less desirable to other men and had begun to cripple his ability to achieve and maintain an erection. Who would tolerate an old man that couldn’t perform? The road not taken was now unavailable to him. He consoled himself with the realization that there were an infinite number of roads to follow but his circumstances presented a small fraction of those. He resigned himself to the fact that the road to love with another man was no longer available to him. He cheered himself by recalling the joys he had found along the road he had traveled: achievements and success in a fulfilling career, children and grandchildren who were a source of pride, and the contentment of having lived honorably.
The internet became his sole source of vicarious, erotic entertainment—Web sites with photos...videos...chat rooms...stories—readily available and accessible anonymously. But eventually that became less and less interesting. Sitting at his computer at home, he recalled an incident many years ago. His youngest son was about to turn eighteen. Steve asked what he wanted for his birthday and was surprised to hear, “A visit to a triple-X porno movie and stopping at a bar for a legal drink.” Steve granted his wish and took him to a sleazy theater in Elko, Nevada (since there were none in Utah). His son seemed to enjoy the movie and the live strip-tease that followed but Steve was barely aroused. On the drive to a casino where the just-turned-eighteen young man could get the legal drink he had asked for, Steve asked, “So what did you think of the movie and strip-tease?”
“Okay, I guess. After a while, though, it was about as exciting as watching a cow chew its cud.”
That comment came disturbingly close to what Steve felt lately while surfing gay sites on the internet. The feeling was particularly strong when he read stories many of which he judged to be much too narrowly focused on bodies with orifices and appendages and on transient gratification of primal needs. Often, they seemed to be written by authors who failed high school English. Very few stories focused on the entirety of a gay man—his fears and frustrations, his emotional needs and satisfactions, and most of all his belief that pure sex was pleasant but is infinitely more meaningful when it is but one means of achieving, nurturing, and maintaining a loving bond. In a moment of reflection, Steve allowed himself the arrogance of thinking he could do better. He wrote a few stories and anonymously submitted them for posting. He tried to weave a plot. He tried to develop characters as humans with a full range of complexity. You are reading one of the results of that attempt.
THE END
NOTE TO READERS: If my hunch is correct, virtually all readers of gay fiction will have chosen the options in this story that led to sexual activity. Very few, therefore, will be reading this note. To those (few?) who read only the non-sexual parts, my thanks for your patience. To those who may have explored the other roads that branched off between the beginning and this point, I congratulate you for your curiosity and persistence in exploring the alternate roads.
Steve was in Miami to work with a recently acquired subsidiary of the company he worked for in Utah. It had been a long four long days of detailed work to merge two incompatible accounting systems. Most of the time was spent with Mark, his counterpart, a balding man of nondescript appearance but a keen mind. In spite of the disparity of the systems and the fierce independence of the subsidiary’s founder and chief executive, Mark and Steve were able to find solutions to a large number of problems. Converting the subsidiary’s financial accounting system to the parent company’s system was tedious and exhaustive but there had been no resistance from Mark over the necessary changes.
By late afternoon on Thursday it seemed that the intricacies and conflicts in the two systems were resolved. Steve said, “Thanks, Mark, for your efforts. I hope your family didn’t mind your working late.”
Mark laughed. “I’m a family of one. My wife divorced me two years ago and my kids are all grown.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve said.
“Don’t be,” Mark grinned. “The marriage was rocky at best and I’m a free man now. I’ve got a great condo overlooking the beach. I’m not accountable to anyone...except at work, of course. I’m a happy man. Now that I’ve told you about my personal life, how about yours?”
“Pretty ordinary,” Steve replied. “Wife. Three kids. All grown. Typical suburbanite.”
“But are you happy?” Mark asked.
Steve was surprised by the question and for a while didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want to mention the sexless marriage. That was just too personal. And he certainly didn’t want to say or even imply his unhappiness over being a frustrated gay. He chose a diversionary tactic. “Yes. Life’s been good to me. Since you don’t have a family to go home to and I’m stuck in a hotel room, may I take you out to dinner? You’ll have to recommend a place since I’m a stranger in town.”
“I’d like that. Thanks. I’ll pick you up at your hotel. Say...about seven?”
Both men thoroughly enjoyed dinner and their conversation. Within a short time, both felt as though they had been friends for a long time. Mark dropped Steve off at the hotel, thanking him again for the meal and the company, and said, “I guess you’ll be going home tomorrow. Your wife will be happy to see you home early, I’m sure.”
“No,” Steve replied. “My plane reservation isn’t until Saturday afternoon. I thought I’d spend tomorrow just being a tourist.” He couldn’t elaborate, of course, because he planned on ogling the nearly naked men on the beach.
Steve spent much of Friday on the beach admiring the tanned bodies of men and wishing that it were possible to make friends with one who was willing to spend some time with a horny, middle-aged man. It was, of course, an impossible dream so, feeling frustrated and lonely, he grabbed an early supper. He dreaded returning to an empty hotel room and decided to walk around for a while. Turning a corner, he saw a gay bar and was immediately tempted to go inside. At least, he thought, a pick-up in a gay bar might put him in the company of a man who was willing, if only for one night, to share some sex. Nobody in Miami knew him so there was virtually no chance that his carefully protected reputation back in Utah would be tarnished. However, after decades of practice his obsessive concern over hiding his sexuality had become an automatic reflex. He walked past the bar. Less than fifteen minutes later, he changed his mind, convincing himself that it would be safe and that he would be missing perhaps the only opportunity to experience again what had been a suppressed dream since one memorable night in his dormitory room with Jose.
In the time it took to return to the bar, his anticipation created a stir in his groin. He sat at the bar and ordered a drink before turning his attention to the clientele—predominantly young, under 30, and several obvious couples. Their attire ranged from leather-butch to yuppie-chic. Their behavior ranged from pseudo-macho to fairy-feminine. He found none of them especially appealing but neither did he seem to be appealing to them because everyone ignored the fit but middle-aged man nursing a scotch and soda at the bar.
He was discouraged and was about to leave when someone called his name. He turned and saw Mark. In a fraction of a second, his reaction changed from surprise to fear and then to desperately trying to fabricate an explanation for being in a gay bar.
Mark saw Steve’s expression of discomfort but graciously ignored it and said very cheerfully, "What a pleasant surprise. I thought our next meeting would be on your next trip to Miami."
Try as he might, Steve could only think of one thing to say. “Good to see you again, Mark.” The comment was not only frivolously trite but was a lie. He was not happy to see Mark. He was mortified. His mind was in debilitating turmoil.
Mark sat next to Steve, ordered a beer and another scotch and soda for Steve. When their drinks arrived, Mark paid the bartender and suggested, "There's an empty booth over there; let's grab it. It's more comfortable than these stools."
Walking to the booth, Steve realized that there was no plausible excuse for his being in a gay bar. He made a snap decision to be frank, hoping that the rapport they had developed meant that he could trust Mark not to spread the news. As soon as they settled into a booth, Steve said, "Look. I didn't expect to be recognized in...ahh...in a gay bar. It's...well...it's a side of me that nobody knows." To emphasize the point, he added with distinct stress, "Nobody!"
"Nobody will. I was in the closet for a long time myself so I know exactly how you feel."
"My friends, my family, my business associates..." Steve began.
"Say no more," he said. "They'll only know what YOU choose tell them. Nobody will hear anything from me."
"Thanks for understanding," Steve said sincerely.
"It is a bit of a surprise, though. I mean you talked about your wife and children so I thought..."
"That I was straight? Only to the outside world."
"Let me guess," Mark said. "You've been gay for a long time. You married and had a family because it was expected of you. But the gay side of you never went away. Am I right?"
"Exactly. How did you know?"
"That's my story, too. I've been gay since puberty but only admitted it to myself at about age eighteen. Like you, I married because it was the thing to do."
"And nobody knew?" Steve asked.
"Nobody. Until about three years ago. I made friends with a guy I met on the beach and we...ahh...became very friendly. When my wife found out, she divorced me."
"Then you have a boyfriend?"
"Had. He split, leaving me without a wife OR a boyfriend.”
They swapped stories about living straight and being constantly frustrated. Steve felt perfectly comfortable telling Mark of his life-long frustrations and it was liberating. They finished their drinks and Mark said, "Let's go to my place. It's a lot quieter and more comfortable. It's just a short walk from here."
His meaning was fairly clear. The visit to his condo might result in more than conversation. Steve wanted to accept the invitation but his habitual caution made him hesitate.
"Look," Mark said softly. "You've lost some opportunities. Don't let this one slip by. I think we both need some...shall we say... companionship?"
"Thanks for the offer. And the encouragement. I'd love to."
At Mark’s condo he fixed drinks and they settled on the sofa.
It wasn't long before Mark asked, "You'll spend the night, won't you?"
With no hesitation, Steve replied, "Yes, I'd like that."
Mark took his guest’s hand and led him to the bedroom where a double bed awaited. Steve suddenly grew nervous, which Mark noticed right away. They sat on the edge of the bed. "Relax," Mark said reassuringly. "You set the pace. Take control. Don't feel as though you have to do anything you're not comfortable with. Let's just take it slow and easy and enjoy each other."
Before long, they were naked on the bed, hands and mouths roaming freely across each other's body. Both were driven by pure lust. Steve’s cock was harder than it had been for years and the precum was flowing profusely.
Impulsively, Steve switched to a 69 position and hungrily sucked on Mark’s rigid cock, tasting for the first time another man's precum. When Mark began to swallow his partner’s cock, Steve gasped, stopped breathing for a moment, and felt his heart skip several beats. Mark’s skillful mouth and tongue brought Steve to the brink very quickly. Without so much as a word of warning, Steve discharged several loads of cum into a welcoming mouth.
Soon, Mark presented Steve with a considerable quantity of hot cum that was savored before swallowing.
They cuddled together for quite some time, saying little. Steve was surprised that post-orgasm cuddling was as satisfying in its way as the preceding climax. Perhaps, he speculated, it was because Mark was not a casual pick up in a bar but a person he had grown to like and admire. Sharing naked bodies in an embrace was therefore extremely fulfilling.
It was nearly three in the morning, after a second session of sex when they fell asleep in each other's arms and almost nine in the morning when they woke. After breakfast, they returned to Mark’s bed where Steve was introduced to the joy of fucking and being fucked.
Steve retrieved his things from the hotel. Mark drove him to the airport for the flight home. During the drive, Steve said, "I really appreciate your hospitality and would like to return the favor. There's a lodge just an hour's drive from my home with a great fishing lake. If you're ever in the neighborhood, I'd like to show it to you."
Mark grinned to signal his understanding of Steve’s intent and said, "I've got a vacation scheduled for next month. Lake fishing sounds a lot better than hiking in the Appalachians."
"Great," I said. "I've got plenty of fishing tackle...that is, if you think we'll need it."
THE END
(You chose: Steve will remain true to his values)
Steve continued asking questions about the hustler’s life on the streets and his experiences with customers. The problems with sometimes kinky customers didn’t bother him nearly as much as the poor soul’s having no home. Steve felt overwhelming sympathy and said, “It must be quite a problem to live on the streets with no place to do normal things like eat regular meals, shower, and sleep in a comfortable bed.”
“”Yeah. I miss those kind of things. But what choice do I have? It’s either doing what I do or going back home where the neighborhood is full of drug addicts that are desperate for a way to feed their habit. They don’t think twice about beating you up or even killing you for whatever cash you might have. It’s living Hell just to walk to and from school. Always looking over your shoulder for some crazed asshole wanting to steal from you. Or beat the shit out of you just to find out you got no money. My life isn’t good now but it’s a damn sight better than what I escaped from.”
Compassion prompted Steve to say, “I’ve got an idea. I live in the dorm over on campus. My room mate has gone home for while and won’t be back until late Sunday night. I’ve got no money that I can give you but I can offer you a few nights of sleep in a real bed. It isn’t much but you’ll be comfortable and safe for a little while. You can come and go as you like but you’ll have a bed to sleep in. And a hot shower if you want. How about it?”
The teen stared at Steve for a moment with an expression that suggested disbelief. The expression turned to a scowl when the hustler said emphatically, “Nice try, Mister! If you think I’m gonna give you sex just for letting me sleep in your room, you’re crazy.”
“That’s not my reason,” Steve objected. “There’s no obligation for sex. I promise. I just want to do a small favor to a young man who deserves a little comfort.”
“Sure,” the teen snarled. “That’s what you say now. But I’ve learned to see bullshit for what it is. I’ve had to to survive. You’re like everybody else. You’ll do or say anything for a piece of my ass. It ain’t gonna happen! I’d rather be out finding horny men who’ll pay me for a few minutes of sex.”
Steve tried to assure the hustler that his promise of no sex was genuine. “It’s not bullshit! I just want to...”
The young man interrupted, “Don’t pile on more bullshit! I’m outta here! Sorry for bothering you.”
He stood and started to walk away, ignoring pleas to come back and talk. Steve’s promise of no expectation of sex was legitimate. He genuinely wanted to do a favor for an unfortunate young man while fully recognizing the temptation it would be to sleep in the same room with a very attractive guy...a guy who could satisfy his lingering desires. He was shakily confident that he could resist the temptation. Not that long ago, when his devotion to his religion was strong, his confidence level would be much higher. Now, however, he had begun to doubt his religion’s precepts and, in particular, it’s condemnation of homosexuality, so his level of confidence was not complete. He also recognized that the hustler might use the seduction skills that the young man had obviously developed and would lure him into a sexual trap. If that were to happen, he was even less confident that he could resist the temptation. But he privately vowed to protect his virginity until he met someone who shared his priorities. Promiscuous sex with strangers was not his goal.
Steve watched the young man stride purposefully toward Riverside Drive and toward a continuation of the life he had chosen, a life of seeking and finding men in need of sexual gratification and filling that need. For a price. He sat for a long time contemplating the pitiful plight of a young man with obvious initiative, courage...and potential...who because of circumstances was forced into prostitution. Deep in Steve’s psyche, however, was another thought that he refused to fully acknowledge. He had missed out on an opportunity to experience what he had craved. In doing so, he denied himself the possibility, however remote, of experiencing—or at least experimenting with—sex with a man. Yes, he regretted losing the opportunity but he had chosen the respectable path of offering at least temporary help to another soul who had to cope with homelessness and insecurity. He even consoled himself with the possibly that he had protected his remaining aversion of homosexual acts. A desire for sexual gratification with a man was unfortunate but actively engaging in forbidden sex was unforgivable in the eyes of God (perhaps) and certainly in the eyes of society.
When the sun descended toward the skyline of the New Jersey shore Steve made his way back to his empty dorm room. It wasn’t safe to be in the park after dark. He skipped dinner because he had spent more than his daily food budget buying lunch for an unfortunate young man. The satisfaction of giving a little bit of help to one in need trumped the hunger pains that he felt. He went to bed early. Because of the heat in the room without air conditioning, he took advantage of being alone and stripped off all his clothes. He positioned a small fan to blow air across his completely naked body. It helped only a little. And he couldn’t fall asleep. His mind was reflecting on the encounter with the hustler and wondering about the teen’s uncertain future. Significantly, however, images of the boy—youthful, attractive and virile in an inexplicable way—persistently arose in his mind. One very memorable image was the clear view of the hustler fondling an impressive cock invitingly, enticingly, arousingly. Steve was powerless to avoid maintaining that image in his mind, which, of course, caused his own cock to assert itself by engorging and demanding relief.
After a particularly intense orgasm (Masturbation. a victimless transgression can be tolerated...unlike the more serious sin of sex with a man.), Steve was able to fall asleep. But his sleep was disrupted by a dream. He was still in Riverside Park. With the hustler. Hidden behind some bushes. He was exploring all over the young man’s completely naked body. His eyes and hands were paying particular attention to the surprisingly stiff and firm cock that arose like a monument to virility from an undergrowth of profuse, black, curly pubic hair. Precum oozed from under the protective foreskin and fell in a glistening string to pool just below the navel on the young man’s magnificent body.
Steve awoke with a start. He had erotic dreams before but this was exponentially more vivid and real. He would usually reflect on those dreams after awakening but not this time. His cock was fully erect—that was not unusual—but this time it was different. His cock was throbbing painfully. He immediately, one might say instinctively, moved his hand down to ease the mild pain. He was surprised to feel that it was slippery. It only took a moment to realize that he had ejaculated. A smear of cum coated his abdomen ran down to stain the bottom sheet of his bed. It was his first wet dream or, as he preferred to call it, nocturnal emission, and he was understandably surprised. Even more surprising was his first thought: disappointment that he had been asleep and not able to enjoy the thrill of another climax. His second thought was that he would have to take the sheet to a nearby laundromat and pay twice what it would cost in the student-run laundry. The embarrassment of having his obviously cum-stained sheet discovered by another student was intolerable...such was the thinking of a naïve, almost prudish college sophomore.
<><><><><>
Steve earned his degree not with honors but with a record impressive enough to win four job offers. For the first time, he faced the challenge of having to choose from among four roads leading to different and largely unpredictable futures. After agonizing over the potential benefits and risks, he accepted a job as a civilian employee at Hill Air Force Base thirty miles north of Salt Lake City and about the same distance from his parents’ farm. The proximity to his family was a major consideration but the job was at least equally promising.
Within a year, he met a vivacious and personable young woman. The friendship grew to be remarkably strong because of many shared interests. With the hope that a traditional marriage would quell his hidden desires and would earn him the respect of family and colleagues, he proposed. They were married (in a civil ceremony, disappointing his parents). He found that sex with a woman was more than tolerable; it was downright enjoyable. For a very long time, his secret yearnings faded. But they were not dead...only hibernating
Six years and three children later, the marriage began to change, imperceptibly at first but gradually becoming noticeable. The couple remained cordial enough but by mutual although tacit agreement, sex was less and less frequent. Ten years into the marriage, sex was only a memory. Steve’s homoerotic thoughts and fantasies returned.
Soon after the last child had grown and moved out, Steve, with no objection from his wife, took over a vacant bedroom. He had lived a straight life—not without considerable happiness in his career and marriage—and earned the acceptance and respect of society. But the embers of unfulfilled desires ignited. His hunger for intimate male companionship was only partially appeased by uninhibited fantasizing and frequent masturbation. The long-suppressed hunger intensified. Satisfying that need was impossible so he continued down the straight and narrow road that he had chosen many long years ago.
<><><><><>
Many more years later, he grudgingly accepted the unpleasant fact that he would never experience gay sex. Although he managed to maintain a fit physique, he recognized that his age made him less attractive to other men. He was, after all, a grandfather. In addition, the reputation he had so successfully worked to earn would likely be shattered. In spite of society’s gradually increasing tolerance toward gay men, the environment was still quite toxic for homosexuals, especially in Utah. Far more significant in his thinking was that abandoning his wife for another man would cause severe pain to his children whom he loved dearly.
Two of his children were happily married and parents of adorable children. The third, the youngest, was a twenty three year old bachelor living in Chicago. Steve was returning from a business trip to New York and was to change planes in Chicago but the connecting flight was cancelled. The next available flight was at ten the next morning. Steve decided to use the time to visit with his son, Gary. He phoned repeatedly but got a voice mail. Trusting luck, he took a cab to Gary’s address, hoping that by the time he got there his son would be home from work. It was not a “Glad to see you” welcome. A complete stranger opened the door.
“Sorry,” Steve said. “I thought Gary Randolph lived here.”
“He does,” the stranger said. “Who wants to see him?”
“I’m his dad. I got stuck in Chicago by a snafu in my plane connections. I tried to call him but couldn’t reach him. So I decided to take a chance on coming here from the airport for a short visit.”
“Come in, Mr. Randolph. Gary’s due home any time now. In fact, he’s a little later than usual. Probably another long meeting at work.”
They settled into the living room and chatted until Steve couldn’t resist saying, “Gary never told me he had a room mate so I don’t even know your name.” Steve wondered if the stranger’s sudden change of expression revealed worry.
“Tom Andrews. I apologize for not introducing myself.” He then paused to think of an explanation for Gary’s not mentioning his new living arrangement. “Perhaps the reason he didn’t mention me is that I moved in here only last month.”
“You’re probably right,” Steve said while suspecting it was a lame deception.
“If you’ll excuse me for a little while, I have a casserole in the oven. I should take it out before it burns.”
Just then, the front door opened and Gary walked in calling, “Hey, luv! I’m home. I’m hungry for dinner and hungry for you.” He went immediately to the kitchen without noticing Steve in the living room.
Tom began to reply, “There’s a big surprise...”
Gary interrupted by saying, “I hope it has to do with the bedroom.”
“NO!” Tom said. “Your father is here. In the living room.”
“Shit!” Gary murmured almost inaudibly.
“Go in and greet him. I’ll finish fixing dinner.”
Gary inhaled sharply and tried to prepare himself for what would surely be an unpleasant confession. “Hey, Dad,” he called as cheerily as he could when he walked into the living room. “It’s great to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Son.” He proceeded to apologize for the unannounced visit and explain what brought it about. Gary listened but was perceptively nervous.
Gary mustered his courage and said, “I suppose the cat’s out of the bag so I might as well be honest. Tom and I are lovers. Yes, you have a gay son. I only hope that you can accept that and won’t be ashamed of me. I was planning on telling you eventually but wanted to prepare myself for your reaction before saying anything.”
“Ashamed?” Steve responded. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I loved you as a child. I loved you as a teenager. I love you now. I’ll always love you. The only thing that’s important is your happiness.”
Gary was dumbstruck by his father’s reaction but managed to say, “But...you’re straight as an arrow. You loved Mom and took such pride in having grandchildren.”
“That’s true,” Steve replied and then paused to assess the consequences of what he wanted to add. “Well...half true. I’ve lived a straight life.”
Gary puzzled over the ‘half true’ part and the thoughtful pause that preceded it. He suspected the highly unlikely but had to confirm it. “What do you mean by ‘half true’? Does that mean that....” He couldn’t finish by implying that his presumably heterosexual father was a closet gay.
“It means what I think you think it means,” Steve said with a smile born of relief at finally, after decades of secrecy, revealing what had been painstakingly buried in his being. “It means that I’m attracted to men. It means that I’ve lived a lie all my life. All for the sake of ‘fitting in’ with society. But society has changed, hasn’t it? Gays are still discriminated against but there’s been a gradual growth of tolerance. I guess I was born thirty years too soon. If I were your age today and single, I would do exactly what you’ve done.”
Tom, having heard the conversation and its abrupt end, walked in from the kitchen to find Gary and Steve in a tight embrace. Both had been crying.
The three men talked and laughed throughout dinner and well into the evening. Nearing midnight, Steve said, “I have some advice for the two of you. It’s something I recently read in a magazine. There are two silly rules you should ignore. The first is: don’t go to bed angry. Everyone argues from time to time but wait to settle your differences when emotions calm down and you’re both ready to talk. I think the second myth is more important to ignore: you can resolve all your differences. That’s nonsense. Your partner will inevitably have a set of problems that you’ll be coping with for ten, twenty, or fifty years. Accept them. Don’t try to ‘fix’ each other. And let me add a rule you should never to ignore. Cherish your love for each other. Constantly. Don’t let it wither for lack of nourishment.”
Tom said to Gary, “I can see why you’re so proud of your dad. He’s top notch.”
Steve appreciated the comment but didn’t give a response. Instead, he said, “It’s late. I should leave you two alone before I totally wear out my welcome.”
Both Gary and Tom objected, encouraging him to stay the night but Steve was firm in his decision. As Steve left, Gary grabbed him in another tight hug. Steve said to Tom, “Come here. Join us. You’re part of the family now.
THE END
(You chose: Steve will have his first gay sex)
“Anything else you want to know about a queer whore-boy?” the young hustler asked as he cast his eyes toward the Hudson River.
“Hey!” Steve interrupted. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. You’ve obviously got courage to get out of a bad environment. You’ve got initiative to make it on your own. I can tell from just talking to you that you’re bright. And believe me; I don’t condemn you for what you’re doing.”
A half-grin crossed the young man’s face as he said, “Thanks, mister. Most people treat me like scum—even my customers. You’re not like that.”
“I’m still curious,” Steve said. “Why do you hustle sex? Have you tried to get a regular job?”
He laughed for the first time since we met. “Whose gonna hire a seventeen-year-old high school drop-out?” he asked with a confrontational tone. “I’ve tried a lot of places but the only one that was half interested was a greasy spoon café. They wanted a dishwasher but sent me away because I didn’t have a Social Security number. Don’t need that for what I do now. Besides ... I don’t know why I’m telling you this but I enjoy what I do. I like sex. Even if the customer is old or fat or drunk or stinks of cigarette smoke.”
“So you’re happy doing what you do?
He thought about that for a while and said, “Mostly. I really do like the sex. I can’t seem to get enough of it. But then...”
He dropped his eyes to the ground. Steve guessed that he didn’t want to talk about the downside of his work. However, Steve had a number of questions so he said, “But then...what?” Steve wondered if it was his imagination or did the boy seem suddenly sad.
“It’s not all pleasure,” the teen almost whispered. “I go hungry when I can’t find a customer. Living on the street isn’t like living with a family. And there’s the occasional odd ball who gets off on kinky stuff like spanking or making me act like a ten-year-old. One guy even wanted to shave me to make me look like a little kid. I grabbed my clothes and ran. Most guys just want a blow job or to fuck me. That’s the kind of sex I like.”
Steve felt terribly sorry for the young man. The problems with kinky customers didn’t affect him nearly as much as having to live on the street.
“Do you ever spend a whole night with a customer and sleep in a real bed?”
“Twice,” he replied. “Most guys just want a quickie and then I’m off, hoping to find another customer.”
“I can offer you a bed to sleep in. I live in the dorm. My room mate is gone until Sunday night. You can stay in my room for three nights. There’s no obligation for sex. I just want to give you three nights of comfort. You’ll be free to come and go as you please but you’ll have a bed to sleep in ... and a hot shower if you want. How about it?”
“You don’t want sex?” the wide-eyed boy asked in a tone of disbelief.
“I would love to have sex with you but that’s not why I made the offer. It’s not much but I’d simply like to do you a favor. And I would enjoy having company.”
“I’d like to, mister, but I’m supposed to meet one of my regular customers tonight.”
“Like I said, you’re free to come and go as you like. Will you spend the night with your customer?”
“Nah. All he wants is to undress me in the back of his van and jerk me off. By that time, he’s hard. He gives me a quick fuck, pays me, and says goodbye.”
“Okay. Come with me to the dorm. You can shower. Change clothes if you like. I’m guessing you have clothes in your gym bag.”
The young teen looked at Steve for a long time without speaking. Steve was about to encourage him further but the lad asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you. I want to do you a favor. You’re a good kid who’s had a tough time. Maybe I can make it easier for you ... at least for a few nights of decent sleep.”
“Okay,” he said.
Steve took him to his dorm room. It was sparsely furnished but his guest was impressed with the books, the posters, and the clothes in the closet. Steve asked if he wanted to shower and he said that would be nice. Steve gave him a towel, soap, and shampoo, and then said, “The dorm is almost empty but I think I’d better go with you in case someone finds a stranger in the shower. I’ll introduce you as my cousin who’s visiting. What’s your name?”
“Jose Delgado.”
“Mine is Steve Randolph. You don’t have to call me Mister any more.”
He took a very long, very hot shower and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.
Since there was no longer any need to conceal his sexual interests, Steve didn’t try to be discrete. Instead, he took full advantage of the opportunity to feast his eyes on his sleek, firm, naked body. The teen noticed Steve’s admiring stare—and growing erection—grinned, making a deliberate effort to show off his manly cock and balls. He even turned away and bent over to dry his legs, showing his firm ass and puckered hole. His exhibition gave Steve a full erection that he tried to hide. The lad saw it and laughed, “You like what you see, Mister?”
“Yes,” Steve said hoarsely. “Very much. But call me ‘Steve.’ No more ‘Mister.’ Okay?”
“Okay, Steve,” he said before taking an unnecessary amount of time to dry his crotch.
As they walked back to the dorm room, the promise of no sex haunted Steve. He had been sincere in inviting the homeless boy for a few nights sleep in a real bed but his resolve to keep his promise was fading. Lust was gaining the upper hand over honoring the promise.
Back in the dorm room, Steve went to the closet for some clean clothes. Jose dug through his gym bag for his.
When Steve saw that Jose’s clothes were not only dirty but threadbare and ragged. he said, “It looks like your clothes have seen better days. I have some I don’t need.” He pulled out a pair of chino slacks from the closet, a tee shirt, a sweat shirt, and two pair of socks from a drawer, and handed them to him. “Take these. To keep. You’ll look even more handsome in them.”
Jose looked at Steve as though the offer may have been perceived as an insult but said, “Mine are sort of dirty, aren’t they?”
“That’s understandable,” Steve said, trying to soften the criticism implied by my offer.
Steve thought he saw a tear in Jose’s eye as the young man looked up and said, “Why are you being so nice to a whore-boy?”
“STOP IT!” Steve exclaimed. “You’re not a whore-boy. I’ve already told you. You’re a young man who had the good sense to get out of a bad environment ... who has the initiative to make it on your own ... who uses the talents you can to survive. Why am I being nice? Because I respect you! There’s not much I can do to help you except give you a few nights of comfort but you deserve that and more.”
Jose was startled at the emphatic tone and just stood looking at his benefactor. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, laid his head on Steve’s shoulder, and cried. Steve returned his hug and held him tightly. They stood there with only the towels around their waists preventing full-body, skin-on-skin contact. Were it not for the tears and shuddering sobs, it would have been highly erotic. But at that moment, all Steve felt was sympathy for a young man who no doubt had a lot of potential but was the victim of both poverty and others’ hatred of homosexuals.
When he gained a little control of his emotions, Jose apologized for crying. Steve assured him that it was okay for a man to cry and he should not be ashamed of it. Jose seemed to settle down and Steve led him to over to sit on the edge of my bed. What came next was a complete surprise.
Jose took off the towel from his waist and dropped it on the floor. He took off Steve’s towel and let it fall to the floor. He lay back down, pulling Steve down to lie beside him. He then crawled on top of Steve and began kissing him. Steve wondered if it was just gratitude. The question was answered when Jose ground their crotches together. The motives, Steve correctly concluded may have included gratitude but sex was a prominent part of the mix.
Steve pushed Jose’s face away and said, “I promised you. You’re not obligated to have sex with me.”
“But I want it!” he exclaimed. “I want you. I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you in the park. This is not business like the others. I like you. I want to make you happy. I want to be happy too. Please don’t say no. Let me make love to you.”
Steve didn’t need any more convincing. As a frustrated homosexual, he was about to lose his virginity. He had been propositioned by a street hustler but was in bed with a tragic and admirable young man who was demanding sex ... not for money, not entirely out of appreciation for a small favor, but (he wanted to think) because a deeper bond had been formed between the two.
More than an hour later, after an experience that persisted vividly in Steve’s memory for decades, they broke their contented embrace and got out of bed.
“Let’s get some supper,” Steve said. “Then you can go to your appointment with your customer.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “You bought me a big lunch. You don’t have to buy me supper, too.”
“Nonsense,” Steve replied. “I have to eat anyway and I’d like to have the company of a handsome young man. Now let’s get dressed.”
Jose gave Steve a hug and a kiss and said, “Thanks, Mister ... Oops! I mean thanks, Steve.”
Without logical analysis of the two roads that opened up before him, Steve chose the one that would lead to a lasting, loving relationship.
THE END
This Part, (3-B-2), is a modified excerpt from a longer story,
“The Virgin and the Hustler” previously posted on this site.
It chronicles the two lovers’ subsequent lives together.
Posted: 01/18/13