Do Unto Others

By: Morris Henderson
(© 2009 by the author)

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

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

I grinned when I retrieved my mail from the mail box. Right on top was a letter addressed to Dr. Jeremy Collins. My PhD in Biology was less than two months old and I was still coming to terms with the fact that a barefoot boy from rural Mississippi had managed not only to escape the poverty of a hardscrabble farm life but had won a scholarship to college and, with a combination of financial aid, student loans, and part-time work, had completed graduate school. “Dr. Jeremy Collins,” I thought to myself. “Can that really be me?”

It was the return address, however, that then captured my attention. The letter was from one of the colleges to which I had applied for a teaching position. I braced myself for the bad news. Surely it would be a politely worded, “Sorry, but we have selected another applicant.” Even its inevitable wishes for success in securing a position elsewhere would ring hollow. I had already received three similar letters. Confident that it would contain bad news, I returned to my apartment with the unopened letter.

I fixed myself a bologna sandwich for lunch and heated up the last of my morning coffee. Settling down at the kitchen table to eat, I prepared myself for disappointment and opened the letter. I whooped loudly when I read, “We are pleased to offer you a position of Assistant Professor...” I read that three more times to be sure of what it said. Then, I read the rest of the letter. The salary was slightly more than what I had guessed it would be and I was to start with the fall term. It was only a one-year contract but I couldn’t believe my luck!

I promptly signed the contract and drove to the post office to mail it.

By that evening, the euphoria of a dream job offer gave way to the realities of relocating to another city -- packing (mostly books as my sparse furniture was not worth moving), finding a place to live, change of address notices, and a dozen other practical details -- all in less than six weeks.

As I lay in bed that night, sleep was impossible. I had too many plans to make. Ultimately, my thoughts turned to reflecting on how I had reached this point in my life. The youngest of five children, growing up hungry and wearing worn, hand-me-down clothes. Parents who were basically loving but had little or no time to show their children that love because of the demands of a large family and a small farm. And the chores. Endless chores. As a pre-teen, I was working virtually full-time on my parents’ farm or for a meager wage on a neighbor’s farm while trying to maintain my grades at school. I loved school not because it was a relief from back-breaking work but because I wanted to learn enough to avoid a future of struggling to survive the way my parents and all of our neighbors did.

Later, having gone through puberty, I was confronted with another challenge. After a long period of guilt, denial, and agony, I realized that I was gay. That provided another reason to get away from where I lived. The fundamentalist preachers--and the parishioners who followed them--were virulent in their condemnation of homosexuality, convinced that eternal hellfire and damnation was the inevitable fate of those deviant sinners.

Throughout high school, college, and graduate school, I hid my secret. My fist and my fantasies were my only relief from the pain of not being the person I knew I was and the apparent futility of hoping that -- one day -- I could find someone to share my life.

With those thoughts in mind, I made a decision. Whatever cards I may be dealt in life, I would try to help other struggling young men. I would do what I could to encourage and support them in getting an education. Perhaps, if the occasion arose, I could help some tormented young man come to terms with his sexual orientation. My intentions were no more clear than that. I didn’t know how or when I could do it but, by god, I would do something!

********************

My first year of teaching was as demanding as any year I had experienced as a student but I gave it my all in order to win more than the one-year, “probationary” contract the school offered. Helping my students learn -- and helping them think analytically -- was a labor of love in spite of a few frustrations such as departmental politics and students who were lazy or argued unreasonably over their poor grades. My efforts were rewarded when, in March of that year, I was offered continuing employment. I was elated because I loved my job and could continue helping students learn.

Near the end of the spring semester, I was making plans for a vacation trip over the summer. There was, however, a minor obstacle. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving my house unoccupied for that length of time. I had rented a small house in a deteriorating neighborhood, which was all I could afford and still buy furniture. Vandalism and occasional burglaries were a constant concern.

One of my students, a handsome young man, visited me during my office hours to ask for guidance on a term paper. I had long since recognized his keen mind and exceptional motivation in class. Having dispensed with the reason for his visit, I said, “Keep up the good work, Jason. You’re bound to be successful. I hope to see you in one of my classes next year.”

His expression immediately changed from intense interest in his term paper to a very sad frown. “Maybe,” he said while looking at the floor. “Maybe not.”

His sudden change in mood confused and alarmed me. “What?” I exclaimed. “You don’t like biology? You don’t like me? What does maybe mean?”

“It’s not that,” he promptly replied. “In fact, I’m thinking of changing my major to biology. Mostly because of your class. You made it more than interesting. You made it almost exciting.”

“Then why the maybe? Why the sour expression?”

He paused, awkwardly, before saying, “I may have to drop out of school.”

“You can’t do that!” I exclaimed without thinking. “You have far too much promise to give up on your education!”

“I have no choice, Dr. Collins. My dad lost his job. My mom had to take a job as a waitress to pay the bills. There’s no money left for tuition. I’ll just get a job and ...” Jason suddenly paused, broke eye contact with me and said despondently, “Why am I telling you this? It’s no concern of yours!”

I was nearly as despondent as young Jason because I knew he had the talent and ambition to achieve great things. The vow I had made to myself popped into my mind. Here was the perfect opportunity to help a young man facing a serious setback. But how? I didn’t know yet but I was certain that I had to try. “With your permission, Jason, I’d like to help. Give me some time to explore a few possibilities. Can we talk again? Not during regular office hours; let’s keep this separate from your course work.”

“That’s kind of you,” he said with no perceptible improvement in his mood. “But you don’t have to.”

“Ah, but I do!” I replied. “Maybe I’ll explain why one day but, believe me, I want to help. Can you stop by to see me ... let’s say next Tuesday at five? I can’t make any promises but you can count on my doing whatever I can to keep you in school.”

“Okay,” he said emotionlessly.

“Great! Now get busy on that term paper. And try not to worry about dropping out of school.”

After he left, I sat for the better part of an hour trying to think of some way to help.

********************

The following Tuesday, Jason tentatively knocked on my open office door five minutes before we had agreed to meet.

“Come in, Jason. Close the door and have a seat. I think I have a plan.” He did as I had asked but I thought he looked a little apprehensive. “I’ve spoken to the Provost, the Financial Aid office, and a few faculty members.” Jason frowned and I made a guess as to why. “I didn’t mention your name; I only talked about a deserving student who showed great promise.” The frown disappeared; my guess was right.

He listened attentively as I laid out my plan. He could work part-time during the school year in the Biology Lab -- not as a teaching assistant because only graduate students did that -- but there would be a lot of odd jobs that didn’t involve working with other students. He could apply for a student loan. If his mother’s dire financial situation was a problem, I would co-sign the loan. Maybe (a very big maybe) he could win a scholarship; even a small one would help. The keystone of my plan was saving as much as he could from a summer job. That, I conceded, could be a problem with so many local companies laying off workers or simply not hiring. However, I presented a contingency plan: I would hire him to help me do some much-needed work on my house and yard that I had been neglecting for too long. I concluded by saying, “What do you think? Are you willing to work and keep your grades up? Are you willing to take on a student loan?”

He just looked at me for an uncomfortable amount of time before saying, “Why are you doing this for me, Dr. Collins? I mean co-signing a loan, hiring me over the summer, even taking an interest beyond my course work.”

“I thought I made that clear,” I replied. “You’re a very bright young man who has great promise but, through no fault of your own, your schooling -- and your future -- is jeopardized. I can’t let that happen.”

He continued looking at me. His expression was one that I had seen before when he was in my class and thinking deeply about what I had said or what he had read. I could almost see his mind analyzing the situation.

Finally he said, “It might be doable. I’m certainly willing to try. But I have a question if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I always welcome questions, Jason. You know that.”

“Why? Why me? What’s in it for you?”

“The simple answer: satisfaction. But I recognize that you want a better answer than that. As a student, I faced different problems than you now face but they were just as daunting. A lot of people helped me avoid certain poverty in rural Mississippi by giving me opportunities for an education. I promised myself that I would repay that debt by helping others. So you see, you’re helping me by accepting my help. Does that make sense?”

The young student and, I hoped, future scholar left my office in a much better mood.

********************

In the last class meeting of the semester, I returned the students’ graded papers. On Jason’s I had written a note: “Superb work. Please stop by my office when you have time.”

Later that day, Jason appeared in my office doorway. I was prepared for him. I invited him in and said, “I don’t know if you’ve found a summer job but I have a list of things for you to do for me over the summer.” I handed him the one-page list on the bottom of which was what I hoped would be an enticing rate of pay that would strain my budget but would be affordable.

He began to read the itemized list. Before finishing, he said, “I don’t know how to do some of these things.”

“Neither do I,” I confessed. “But we can learn together.”

He grinned and continued reading. When he got to the bottom of the page, his eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Geez, that’s a helluva lot more than I’d earn flipping burgers.”

“Do we have a deal?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” he enthused. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.”

“Yes you can!” I replied. He looked at me quizzically. “Stay in school. Keep your grades up. That’ll be my thanks.”

For the first week of summer break, the two of us kept busy outdoors: planting, weeding, trimming trees, and other tasks I had neglected. I had to admit that Jason was a hard worker and it was all I could do to match his energy and effort. While working, during frequent rest breaks, and over lunch, we engaged in conversation. It wasn’t long before I began to regard him as a friend as well as a student and employee. On Thursday of that week, the weather turned unseasonably hot. We both were sweating profusely by the end of the day. The next morning, Jason arrived at eight in the morning, as usual. But, unlike before, he wore a pair of very short gym trunks that exposed almost all of his muscular legs. As we set to work pruning a hedge, I found myself paying more and more attention to the bulge in his crotch. It was soon clear that he wore nothing under his gym trunks; there seemed to be nothing restricting the free movement of that tantalizing bulge. It was also obvious that he was amply endowed. By ten, he had shed his tee shirt, revealing a superbly sculpted chest and abdomen. The sight of his nearly nude body proved to be a major distraction for me.

I had admired his handsome looks in my classroom but can honestly say that I never had more than a fleeting thought of what he might look like without clothes. He had been, until that time, one of many students -- a very bright student and one who needed help to stay in school but not someone who triggered sexual thoughts. Now, however, those thoughts were irresistible. While I chastised myself for what I was thinking -- he was, after all, my former and possibly future student -- the sight of his admirable body dominated my better judgment.

We took our mid-morning break, sitting on the front porch and finishing off a large pitcher of ice tea. During our break, out of the blue, he said, “I can go home and change clothes at lunch time if you like.”

His remark confused me. “If you want to,” I said, not knowing why he made the offer but wanting to be agreeable.

He took a long drink from his glass and stared out toward the street for several minutes while I puzzled over what he had said. Then, he turned his gaze toward me and said, “I get the impression that you disapprove of the way I’m dressed.”

“What in the world made you think that?” I asked, still perplexed over his comments.

He hesitated as though wondering how or whether to explain his reasons. “Well,” he finally said. “It’s the way you’ve been looking at me today. It’s the way my mom looks at me when she’s upset with what I’m doing.”

“Quite the contrary, Jason. It’s hot today. And you’ve got a wonderful body.”

I immediately regretted complimenting him on his body. It was the sort of comment that a man rigorously concealing his sexual interests should not make. A slight grin appeared on his face. Was he simply pleased with the flattery? Or did his perceptive mind recognize the possible clue to my carefully guarded secret? I couldn’t risk any more lapses in my behavior. To avoid a verbal misstep, I changed the subject. To avoid any nonverbal mistakes, I was particularly careful not to look at him too often or too long for the rest of the day. I think I was successful in controlling my gaze but I continually fought to control my thoughts.

By late afternoon, the heat was oppressive and I sent him home with his first week’s pay and wished him a pleasant weekend. I told him that if the hot weather did not abate, we would work indoors the following week. I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on and could use his help in organizing my chaotic files.

I showered, ate supper, and made my weekly trip to the grocery store. When the groceries were put away, it was almost nine in the evening. I settled into the living room to read. It took less than ten minutes to realize that I couldn’t concentrate on the book. The image of Jason, his nearly naked body shimmering with perspiration, his simultaneously strong and graceful movements, and his infectious laugh intruded into my mind persistently. I gave up reading and, although it was early, I was exhausted and went to bed.

I woke up with a start after a most unusual dream. I checked the time: just after three in the morning. In my dream, I was lying in bed with Jason in my dimly lit bedroom. We were both naked. No sheets or blankets covered our bodies that were pressed together. His head was on my shoulder, his arm across my chest, and one leg draped over mine. We were awake but not speaking. I was consumed with a glorious feeling of blissful contentment. The euphoric feeling was shattered and my dream ended when I looked up to see my father standing in the doorway, scowling.

I couldn’t get back to sleep for a very long time. I laid there recalling the dream, wondering about the symbolism of being with Jason in bed and of the disturbing appearance of my father in the doorway. Most troubling, however, was the difficulty of coping with being around Jason for the rest of the summer now that my psychological defenses against sexual attraction had been breached. Previously, through mental discipline, I had been successful in completely suppressing any conscious thought of sexual contact with another male. Now, however, those latent desires had broken through the barrier. Resolving to contain any further lustful thoughts toward Jason, I fell back to sleep.

Over the weekend, I tried to find activities to occupy my mind but I couldn’t get the image of Jason out of my mind for very long. I saw young men at the Mall and compared them (unfavorably) to Jason. I took in a movie but lost track of the plot when I tried to think of ways to circumvent any situation when Jason was around that would trigger inappropriate desire. Crossword puzzles that I normally relished were no help (clue for five-letter word: ‘want’ -- the right answer: ‘crave’ -- my answer: ‘Jason’). My customary masturbation in the shower was the most disturbing as I fantasized that Jason was with me. It brought me to orgasm much more quickly but, afterward, I felt nothing but guilt.

********************

Monday came and with it, a continuation of the blisteringly hot weather. Jason rang my doorbell just before eight. Upon opening the door, I saw he was wearing long chino slacks and a tee shirt emblazoned with some rock group or another. “I’m ready for office work,” he said cheerily.

Together, we laid out a scheme for organizing the massive stack of papers, articles, and correspondence that I had been accumulating haphazardly and had not had time to file away properly. He then suggested a database to cross-reference everything that we filed away. It was a splendid idea and I booted up my computer. He was a whiz with a computer and in a short time had the structure of the database ready for use. Time passed quickly as I checked each item in the stack, suggested keywords for later searching of the data base, and he entered it all into the computer. It was only when we took our mid-morning break that my attention was drawn to the strikingly handsome young man that was helping me. Those forbidden thoughts returned and I had to struggle to control them.

By lunch time, I had yet another reason to admire Jason’s keen mind. He had begun to suggest how to index the items, aided by his remarkable grasp of biology. Just before two in the afternoon, I said, “I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Just a routine check-up. I’m sure you’re able but are you willing to continue working while I’m gone?

“Of course,” he replied. “If I have any questions, I’ll put the item aside to ask you when you get back.”

Two hours later, I returned to find that Jason had made a sizable dent in the second stack of papers and journal articles and had only a few set aside to ask me about. “My goodness!” I exclaimed. “You’ve done a lot of work while I was gone.”

“It wasn’t work,” he replied, beaming with pride. “Not like working in the yard. In fact, it was really quite interesting. I’ve been at it since you left. Would you mind if I read some of the articles on reproductive abnormalities some time?”

“Not at all,” I replied but declined to comment on his special interest in reproductive biology. “You didn’t take a break at all?” I added.

“No, I guess I just got caught up in the work.”

“Well, come into the kitchen,” I said. “I picked up a couple of milkshakes on my way home. I don’t think they’ll spoil your appetite for dinner.”

While sitting at the kitchen table, he peppered me with questions about some of the papers and articles that he found. I was pleased with his interest and gave him an eclectic tutorial on topics that -- if he pursued biology -- he would cover later in his college studies.

“You don’t mind all of my questions, Dr. Collins?”

“Hey!” I responded. “I thought we agreed that off campus you would call me Jerry. And no, I don’t mind your questions at all. Keep it up. I’m delighted that you’re interested.”

“You really don’t mind being asked questions?” he asked with a surprising hesitancy.

“I welcome them.” I said with conviction. “Even if I don’t know the answer,” I joked.

“Even if the questions are ... well ... kinda weird?”

I could tell he was leading up to something but I had no clue what it might be. But I could never discourage his search for knowledge so I said, “Even weird ones. What’s on your mind?”

I waited several awkward moments for him to reply. Eventually he did but not with the eager enthusiasm he had shown in his earlier interrogation. “Well ... it’s kinda personal.”

“You’re welcome to ask personal questions, too, Jason. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll say so.”

He fidgeted for a while before saying, “I was wondering ...” He abruptly stopped.

“Wondering what, Jason?”

“Maybe I should explain something first. It’s something I can’t talk to my parents about. You’ve always been helpful to me. You seem to take an interest in my school work. You treat me like an adult. Not the way my parents do. To them, I’m just a mouth to feed ... a kid who’s wasting time in school when I could get a job. Don’t get me wrong. They’re not mean to me. It’s just that they aren’t interested in my school work. You’re different. You understand what’s important to me. I feel like I can talk to you and get a straight answer. And I can’t talk to my parents about ... about my problem. If that’s more than you wanted to know, I apologize.”

“No apology necessary, Jason. And as far as helping you is concerned, I’ve already told you why I want to do that. Now, what’s the question you wanted to ask?”

“I need to explain one more thing before I ask. I came across a fat manila envelope in the stack of papers. It was marked ’X Mags’ on the flap.”

My heart sank because I instantly knew what he had found and I had long ago forgotten about. It was three copies of a gay magazine filled with explicit photos and stories. Jason continued, “It wasn’t sealed so I looked inside.”

“OH SHIT!” I blurted out.

Inventing some excuse or explanation for what he found was impossible. My emphatic reaction was surely evidence of guilt or shame or both. He knew my secret! I had been outted!

Jason resumed, “At first, I was going to put the envelope at the bottom of the pile and pretend that I hadn’t seen what was in it. But then I got to thinking. If you had those magazines, then you’re probably like me. And if you’re like me, then maybe you can help me. I sure don’t know anybody else who can.” He looked at me with what I interpreted to be a pleading expression.

There was little ambiguity in his words. ‘Like me’ in the context of finding gay magazines could only mean that he was gay. There was no ambiguity in his facial expression. His distress was obvious. I guessed that he was struggling to accept his homosexuality and all of its complicated implications. But I thought it best to clarify my assumptions.

“Can I conclude from what you say, Jason, that you’re gay?”

“Yes,” he said meekly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“First of all, cut the ‘sir’ shit. Off campus, I’m Jerry. Secondly, am I right in guessing that being gay bothers you -- that you’re worried about it?”

“You don’t know how much it bothers me,” he said with obvious emotion. “My family would hate me if they knew. And I’d lose most of my friends if they found out. What should I do, Jerry? I was hoping that you could ... well ... seeing those magazines made me think that you would understand my problem and could give me some advice.”

I knew the torment he was going through. I experienced the same thing only a few years earlier. But I was still reluctant to tell him that. Even though he was sure of my sexual interests, I was simply not ready to explicitly confirm his suspicions. But then I remembered the promise to myself that I would help a young man who was troubled by the conflict between his needs and society’s expectations. It took courage for him to seek my help. Could I do less than equal his courage?

“Do I understand your problem? Yes, Jason. I understand. I’ve lived what you’re living now. I’m still living with it. Can I give you advice? I’m not sure. All I can do is tell you what worked for me. It may not be the best option for you. I chose to keep my secret and to suppress my desires. That’s not the only answer. And it’s surely not the best answer for everybody. You will have to arrive at your own answer. What I can do, however, is listen whenever you want to talk to me. I can give you information -- if you don’t already know -- on risks of living gay. But some information I cannot give you -- how to find a partner, for example, because I’ve never done that.

I read relief in his face, no doubt because I did not condemn him. “So it’s true,” he said after absorbing my comments. “You’re gay as well.”

He forced my hand. I had to be honest. “Yes, I am.”

“But you’ve never had a partner?”

“No. I guess you could say that I’m a virgin.”

“So you can’t tell me what it’s like to be with a man. In bed, I mean.”

“No, I’m afraid not. But then again, I’m not sure even an experienced gay man could adequately describe in words what it’s like.”

We spent the next hour talking about prejudice, bigotry, and persecution; about STD’s; about the difficulty of living straight; and extensively about the difference between sex and love. When he went home that evening he thanked me profusely for helping him. I couldn’t be sure how much help I had been but I think he was perhaps a little more at peace over his homosexuality.

 ********************

I thought it best to let him initiate any further discussion and was confident that he would whenever he wanted my help. The subject didn’t come up again until Thursday. The organization of my files was completed; the hot weather had abated, so we were working outside trying to repair my overhead garage door. It was difficult because we had to figure out how the thing worked. Even though it was somewhat cooler, we both worked up a sweat by lunch time.

Over lunch, we joked and laughed over our incompetence when Jason said, “Remember when you showed me the list of jobs you needed done and I said I didn’t know how to do some of them?”

“Yes.”

“Remember what you told me then?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.’

“You said, ‘Neither do I. We can learn how to do them together’. Did you mean it?”

“Of course.”

Seriously but with noticeable hesitation he said, “We could learn other things together. We could ... that is ... maybe ... if you’re willing...”

I waited for him to finish but he didn’t so I said, “What other things, Jason?”

“Well ... I was thinking. You’re gay and never had a partner. I’m gay and never had a partner. I thought that we might ...”

I cut him off. “If you’re talking about sex, the answer is NO!”

He acted as though I had hurt him deeply so I continued, “I admire your keen mind. And your ambition. You’ve got a body that, quite honestly, arouses me. Sex with you would be fantastic. But it can’t happen. We’re not that far apart in age and you’re legal but you should find someone closer to your age. More significantly, the fact remains that you’re my student. Having sex would pollute the relationship that must exist between teacher and student, not to mention that it would destroy my career if word got out. As much as I would like it --and believe me, I WOULD like it, Jason -- it can’t happen. Yes, I want to help you. But that help centers on completing your education. And by that I mean your college studies, not pleasures of the flesh.”

“I’m sorry, Jerry. It was wrong of me to even ask. Please forgive me.”

“No forgiveness necessary,” I said. “And it was not wrong to ask. In fact, I’m flattered that you felt comfortable enough to ask. And, I must emphasize, that if the situation were different, there’s no one I’d rather give my virginity to. You’re smart. You’re very good looking. And may I say, sexy as hell. There’s somebody out there for you, Jason. It may take a while but you’re going to find the right man. That is, if you decide you want a committed gay relationship.”

“But I’ve screwed up our friendship,” he complained bitterly.

“Nonsense! If anything, we can be better friends.” (I didn’t believe that but I hoped it would alleviate Jason’s regret.) “You’ve been honest with me about your feelings. That’s what good friends do with each other. I sincerely hope that you will continue to be honest. As I’ve told you, I’m willing to talk to you at any time you want to talk. I can’t promise to give you the best advice but I’m a very good listener.”

It was getting late. Jason had to get home for supper. As he was about to leave, I said, “I know I said we can’t have sex. But a good hug is not sex.” I pulled him into a warm embrace. He seemed to collapse into my arms and laid his head on my shoulder. Moments later, he broke the hug and turned to leave but not quickly enough to prevent my seeing tears in his eyes.

I worried about him most of that evening, which was disturbing but at least it prevented me from thinking about how wonderful it would be to share our bodies.

********************

When he arrived Friday morning, his first words were, “Do you still want me to work for you?”

“Of course!” I exclaimed. “You’re a tremendous help and I enjoy your company.”

He beamed. “Okay,” he said, “What’s the schedule for today?”

“How are you with a paint brush? Every room in the house needs a fresh coat of paint.”

“Never done it,” he said, still smiling. “But it can’t be all that hard.”

“Never done it?” I asked, pretending to look worried. “Well ... that could be a problem because neither have I. Come with me.”

I lead him into my bedroom. I was being a little mischievous and he reacted as I expected -- with a confused and worried look. After our parting discussion about sex on Friday, his anxiety was understandable. “We’re likely to get paint on our clothes. Can’t have that. Change into these old clothes of mine. I think they’ll fit you. Come out to the living room when you’re ready.” I promptly left the room, closing the door behind me. I went into the bathroom and changed into another set of clothes that were well beyond their useful life.

When he came into the living room, I looked at him with fake surprise and said, “Hey! What happened to that handsome young man? You look like a homeless urchin!”

He laughed. Oh, how I loved to hear him laugh. I didn’t expect him to join in the joking so quickly but he shot back, “How about you? What happened to the distinguished professor I’m supposed to be helping?”

As I brought out the paint cans, brushes, and rollers, he said, “Jerry?”

“What?”

“You planned it, didn’t you?”

“Planned what? The painting? Of course!”

“No! You know what I mean! You took me into your bedroom so I would think that you had changed your mind about having sex. That was not nice.”

“Yes and no and yes,” I replied. “Yes, I planned it, to play a little trick. No, I haven’t changed my mind. And yes, it was not nice. I apologize if it upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” he said. “Frustrated but not upset.” He paused a moment before adding, “I haven’t given up hope.” I shot him a disapproving look. I didn’t think he should be hoping for me to relax my prohibition. But he just grinned and said, “You asked me to be honest!”

“Let’s get to work,” I said.

By the end of the following week, with both of us working, every room in my house sported a fresh coat of paint. I was extraordinarily pleased with the result. And the work was not that unpleasant. Jason and I maintained a thoroughly enjoyable repartee with a lot of conversation and plenty of laughs. The worst part of each day for me was when he went home. That left me with fond memories of our time together and a feeling approaching dread at the thought of spending the evening hours and overnight alone. I had never felt lonely before and, in fact, had cherished the solitude of an evening with a four-mile run, a hot shower, dinner, and a good book. Then Jason entered my life and changed everything: happy companionship on week days; a strange, empty feeling at night and on weekends; and a new, richer dimension to my fantasies as I masturbated. I had categorically ruled out sex but was having some regrets for doing so. In more rational moments, however, I knew that it could not -- must not -- happen.

On Friday, as he was leaving for home and I gave him his week’s pay, I said, “Next week is my vacation. I’ll be gone for a week. Are you still willing to stay here all week to ‘house-sit’?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“You have cleared it with your parents, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. They’re fine with it.”

“Okay. You’re free to come and go as you please but I want somebody living here while I’m gone. Your only responsibility is to bring in the mail and newspaper every day. There shouldn’t be any problems as long as you’re living here -- it’s a fairly safe neighborhood -- but there have been a few vacant houses broken into. Don’t hesitate to call 911 for any problems.”

“I know,” he said, acting as though I was stating the obvious. Indeed, I was; we had discussed it at length previously.

He drove me to the airport on Sunday afternoon. I had been looking forward to my vacation but my eager anticipation was now diminished by the thought of not seeing Jason for a full week. Before clearing through security to go to the concourse and my boarding gate, I said, “You have my cell phone number?”

“Yes,” he said somewhat indignantly. “You’re acting like a doting parent, Jerry. Everything will be all right. Enjoy your trip.”

“I apologize. I guess I’m worried about you more than my house.”

The week visiting my family and fishing in the Gulf was enjoyable but would have been more so were it not for recurrently thinking of Jason, my attraction to him, and his request to have sex with me. I was not able to resolve the conflict in my mind. Yes, I would welcome the chance to share our bodies. But the risks -- to us both -- were substantial.

He met me at the airport when I returned on Friday evening. When I saw him in baggage claim, I had a strong urge to hug him, to hold him close, and tell him how much I had missed him. But better judgment prevailed; we shook hands.

We arrived at my house just after nine. He helped me carry my bags into the house where we set them down in my bedroom. Standing next to my bed, he said, “I can stay overnight, if you like. I told my parents I may not be home until tomorrow morning.”

I was tempted. Seeing him again made me horny. Not the horniness that I had often experienced. This time, it was more wanting to be with him than simply having sex. Again, I took what seemed at the time to be the better route. “Thanks, Jason. But I’m exhausted and just want to shower and get some sleep. You go on home. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

During the following week, we erected a new board fence around the back yard. I had expected it would take all week but was surprised that we finished it by mid-afternoon on Thursday. As we sat on the back patio, sipping ice tea and admiring the results of our labor, Jason asked, “So, Jerry, what are the plans for tomorrow?”

“There are lots of options,” I replied. “There’s lots of work to do yet. But I have a better idea. I think we’ve earned a day off. Have you ever been to Cedar Point?”

“No, but I promised you I would save as much money as I could for school. I can’t afford it.”

“I think you can,” I said. “It will be a paid vacation day for you. And the expense of our spending a day at an amusement park will be a bonus for all you’ve helped me accomplish around the house. Explain that to your parents when you ask them if you can go.”

“But...”

“But nothing! We’ve earned a day of fun. Now go home and get your parents’ permission. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning. Oh, and tell them you’ll be coming home late tomorrow. We should spend all the time we can at the park.”

“Yes sir, boss!” he said with a broad grin.

********************

We had a glorious time at the amusement park. The excitement, the fun, the thrills, the laughter, and even the food surpassed my expectations. The greatest satisfaction, however, was seeing how much Jason enjoyed himself.

He fell asleep on the drive home. That gave me time to think. We had enjoyed ourselves. And each other. That part troubled me. I seemed to have formed a special bond with my young friend, a bond that would handicap my judgment if I were tempted to yield to my fantasies and allow intimacy between us.

It was almost eleven at night when I pulled the car into my garage. I woke Jason who looked at me with a spontaneous smile. He surprised me when, instead of walking to his car, he followed me into the house. He impulsively gave me a hug, saying, “Thanks, Jerry. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

“I’m glad. I enjoyed every minute of it also,” I replied as I returned his hug.

“It was extra special because I was with you,” he said, still holding me tightly.

A faint alarm bell rang in my head. “It’s late, Jason. You’d better be on your way. Your parents might be worried about you.”

Without releasing me from his hug, he looked at me and said, “I told my parents not to wait up for me. If it was late, I would spend the night here. I hope that’s all right.” His facial expression and tone of voice was nothing short of a plea.

The alarm bell rang more loudly. I suspected his motivation was to seduce me. And I was genuinely afraid that I would not be able to resist. “No, Jason. It’s not all right. It’s better -- for both of us -- if you go home.”

I was stunned by what happened next. He put one hand on the back of my head and drew me into a passionate kiss. I was so bewildered that I couldn’t react. For too long I allowed the kiss to continue. But I regained control of my thoughts and broke the kiss. Grasping his shoulders but holding on to them, I pushed him away. “Stop, Jason. Please.”

He suddenly looked terribly frightened. He broke away from my grasp and ran for the door. I ran after him. I couldn’t let such a wonderful day end so badly. I caught up to him as he was at his car fumbling for his keys. “Come inside, Jason. Please. We need to talk.” He ignored me. He wouldn’t even look at me. “Jason! Please! I’m not angry. I’m not disappointed. I just want to talk to you. Please, Jason.”

He turned to look at me. Tears filled his eyes. I took his car keys out of his hand and said, very softly, “You’re in no shape to drive right now. Come inside. I need to tell you something.”

He just stood, looking at me quizzically. I put my arm around his shoulder to guide him back into the house. He meekly walked with me. Inside, I sat him on the sofa and took my place next to him.

“Jason,” I began. “You don’t know how much that kiss meant to me. It was an expression of affection that touched me very deeply. I probably sounded ungrateful when I told you to stop but the last thing I want to do is to hurt your feelings ... or hurt you in any way. I’m sorry. Let me try to explain why I reacted the way I did. I don’t know if it will make any sense to you but let me try. Less than a year ago, you were just a student in my class. I admired your intellect. Then I got to know you better and I recognized that you have a superior character. Now fast-forward to this summer. While you’ve been working here, I’ve developed a real affection for you as a very good friend. Now comes the tricky part, a part that I haven’t yet sorted out in my mind. We’re both gay. The first time you asked to have sex, I was adamant in refusing. That was partly to preserve the student-teacher relationship and avoid the risk of destroying my career. Another reason was that it would have been little more than gratification of a sensual need. Call me a romantic but I think sex should only be an expression of genuine love. But there’s more that I didn’t dare say at the time. As a gay man, I am strongly attracted to you. I dream of you. I let myself fantasize that we’re together, doing things to, with, and for each other. I’m scared, Jason -- scared that if we had sex just once, I couldn’t bear to have it end. And I’m scared of hurting you by having sex. I want you so badly that it’s like a constant pain knowing that I can’t have you. Now let me talk about tonight. On the drive home, I came to the conclusion that you’re much more than a good friend. You’re exactly the kind of person I would like to spend my life with. Your kiss was not only appreciated, it galvanized my thinking. The effect of your kiss was to make me realize that I love you. Unlike before, sex with you now would be an expression of my love for you. But my sense of ethics derailed my thoughts and I asked you to stop. I blurted it out and immediately regretted how thoughtless I was. So there’s my dilemma, Jason. I love you. I want you. I want to show my love in the most intimate ways. But I’m not sure if you love me and I’m scared to hurt you ... or lose you ... or jeopardize my career by having sex with you.”

We just looked at each other for a few minutes. I had exposed my feelings in a way that would have been unthinkable only a few weeks earlier. I could only hope that Jason understood and believed me.

“My turn?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

“I thought you were hot the first day in class. As the school year went on, I learned to respect you for your interest in the subject and, more importantly, in students’ learning. I’ve fantasized about you, too. That’s why I asked you for sex. Looking back, I realize that it was just my hormones talking. When you refused, I was disappointed but it wasn’t long before I respected you even more for refusing. Since you’ve been helping me by letting me work here, I’ve gotten to know what a wonderful man you really are. You’re everything that I want to become. But here’s the heart of the matter. That kiss was not just appreciation for a wonderful day at Cedar Point. I didn’t kiss you in the hopes of getting into your bed. You ruled that out and I understand why. But you said a hug is not sex. I was hoping that a kiss was not sex, either. I kissed you because I wanted to tell you something. That something is that I love you, Jerry. If there ever comes a time when we can share that love fully, it will be the realization of my fondest wish. It won’t be hormone sex; it’ll be an expression of my love for you. Geez! Do I sound corny or what!”

“Not corny at all, Jason. It sounds beautiful. Now, we have to decide what to do. And don’t say go to bed! I want to go to bed with you but we need to think about it. Right now, I think the best thing is for you to go home. But go home knowing that I love you. And that over the weekend, I’ll be thinking of you and missing you. We’ll talk again on Monday. Maybe ... just maybe ... we can come up with a solution to your problem -- your family hates gays -- and my problem -- safeguarding my career. Will you do that for me?”

“On one condition,” he replied with a grin. “A goodnight kiss?”

We stood, embraced, and gave each other a long, meaningful kiss.

********************

End Part 1...

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Obviously, the story of Jeremy and Jason is not fully told. How do you think it should end? Let me know what you would like to happen. I’ll then complete the story based on the best ideas I receive.

Part 2

          Author’s Note: Thanks to those who accepted my invitation to

          influence the story line.  I have incorporated several suggestions

          in this part and will include others in Part 3.

The weekend was particularly lonely for me.  I spent nearly the entire time thinking of Jason and, more specifically, what should or should not be done about our mutual attraction.  I suspected he was doing the same.  I resented the time I had to spend on routine chores like grocery shopping and having my car serviced because it took time that I wanted to spend trying to devise a plan by which we could attain what we both clearly wanted.  I was sure that I wanted him in my bed, not merely for sexual gratification but to express my love for him in the most meaningful way possible.  Based on what he had said -- and I had no reason to think he was insincere -- he wanted it as much as I did.  But one question haunted me: was it worth the risks?

The risks were real but difficult to assess. 

For my part, I had to overcome the moral training (brainwashing?) that had been programmed into me as a youngster.  As I progressed through puberty and realized that what excited and aroused me was a mortal sin.  I fought to resolve the conflict.  I suffered through periods of frustration, shame and depression.  Eventually however, I had accepted my sexuality and achieved peace of mind.  I had expunged the notion that homosexuality was abnormal and sinful.  Or so I thought.  The opportunity I faced -- to enter into a union of bodies, minds, and souls with another male -- was like tapping into a hidden pocket of molten lava that exploded to the surface of my consciousness in a searing, volcanic eruption.  The symbolism of my dream -- my scowling father in the doorway of my bedroom as Jason and I lay naked and embracing -- seemed obvious.  I loved my father.  I respected his perseverance while leading a troubled life.  I appreciated (at least in retrospect) his demands on me to be responsible, ethical, and to “behave myself.”  How could I betray his patently obvious desire to raise me to be a “respectable” adult?  Those thoughts that I had dispensed with long ago reincarnated with surprising and frightening force and created significant emotional turmoil.

On the practical side, there were two risks.  First, I had told Jason that sex would corrupt the relationship that should exist between a teacher and a student.  That reasoning no longer carried any weight.  Each of us had admitted to our attraction to each other and, in fact, loved each other.  The student-teacher relationship that ought to exist had now been compromised.  Consummating that love with sex would, however, make an unacceptable situation much worse.

The second practical risk was even more serious and harder to assess.  That was the damage to my career if it were to become known that I was in a sexual relationship with a student.  At least I could think through that risk unemotionally even though the probabilities were arbitrary assumptions.  I had a continuing contract to teach at the college but I was a long way from being tenured, which meant that I could be fired (in the language of the contract) “at the sole discretion of the college administration for any grievous conduct detrimental to the college, or to its students, staff, or faculty.”  The terms, grievous and detrimental, were ambiguous and clearly left to the largely unpredictable judgment of the college administration with no appeal possible.  Who would hire a professor with that kind of blotch on his record?  The attitude toward homosexuality in the academic subculture was more liberal than in society at large.  But sex with a current student, consensual or not, male or female, would surely be deemed detrimental and grounds for dismissal.  The specter of losing a job that I loved with little or no chance of finding another similar job remained as an insurmountable argument against having sex.  In weaker moments, I tried to convince myself that Jason and I could be exceptionally secretive about our relationship.  No one would know.  I wouldn’t tell.  And I trusted Jason to keep the secret.  As I began to soften my objection to sex, I would inevitably realize that, through some careless mistake, our illicit affair would be exposed.  But we could be careful, I argued with myself.  Then I would imagine the situation, however unlikely, that our relationship might sour.  Jason might seek revenge by publically accusing me of molestation, or even rape.  Would such an acrimonious falling out happen?  Possibly.  If it did, would he be spiteful enough to extract vengeance?  Doubtful but still possible.

Through hours of agonizing thought, I had calmed my emotional turmoil over betraying my parents’ teachings.  I was anything but successful in assessing the practical risks.  I came close to overcoming my resistance to entering into a gay relationship with Jason several times.  Throughout my soul searching, a parallel train of thought was never far from my mind: the joy of loving Jason, the thrill of receiving his love, and the ecstasy of intimate bonding.  But the risks loomed too large.  I changed my mind repeatedly.

There remained another uncertainty: Jason.  He expressed, with his impulsive kiss and in explicit words, that he loved me.  I was extraordinarily flattered and humbled by that.  I believed that he was sincere and honest with me.  But was he only feeling what he thought was love?  Was it the result of an intense craving for sex?  Was he mature enough to know the difference?  Would he, to put it bluntly, grow out of his hormone-driven lust or infatuation with me?  I knew that he was intellectually mature beyond his years but I had too little evidence of his emotional maturity.  That led to an even more troubling unknown.  By allowing sex, I would be expecting commitment to a long-term relationship.  Was he emotionally ready to make that decision?

I reminded myself of my self-imposed obligation to help a troubled young man.  But I was no longer sure of what “help” is needed and appropriate.  Nor was I sure of my willingness to sacrifice years of deprivation and schooling to provide that help.

I wanted to take the young man I loved into my bed and seal our loving bond.  But would it harm him?  Would our love survive until he graduated in two years?  Could we keep our secret that long?  If not, would I be fired?  Could I find another job? 

I spent the entire weekend agonizing and I couldn’t resolve my dilemma.  I went to bed Sunday night without having made a decision.

Monday morning dawned.  Instead of greeting the day enthusiastically anticipating the arrival of Jason, I felt only dread because I knew I had promised to talk about our relationship and our future and I was no closer to a plan that I had been on Friday afternoon when he left.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asked cheerfully when I opened the door to let him in.

“Well,” I replied, relieved that our discussion could be at least temporarily postponed.  “I was hoping you could help me with my computer.  I haven’t been able to get my wireless router to work for quite a while.  I was hoping you might be able to fix it.”

“I’ll try,” he replied as he walked toward the spare bedroom that I had converted to an office.

I watched him check all the wires and connections and then sit down at the keyboard.  His fingers flew over the keys, pulling up screens that were totally unfamiliar to me.  “If you don’t mind, Jason, I’d like to switch roles.  You be the teacher and I’ll be the student.  Explain to me what you’re doing so maybe I can do it myself if there’s another problem.”

He grinned, no doubt proud of the fact that he knew something that I didn’t.  “Sure,” he said.

For the next two hours, I got a crash course in geek.  I was awed by his mastery of the mysterious working of computer hardware and software.  He was patient with my ignorance and clear in his explanations but I’m sure anyone else would have learned much more quickly because I was distracted.  As I sat next to him, our proximity, the scent of his aftershave, and my conflicted feelings about what to do or not do about my attraction to him, muddled my mind.

At ten, I suggested it was time for a break.  My head was spinning from trying to absorb everything he had shown and explained to me.  We sat on the front porch drinking ice tea.  For the first several minutes, we talked about what I had learned.  Then, he got very pensive and stared out into the street.

“Jerry,” he began while still looking off into the distance, “I’ve done a lot of thinking over the weekend.  About us.  You said we could talk about it.  Is this a good time?”

I couldn’t refuse.  I suspected that he was troubled, that he needed to talk, and both our anxieties would increase if we kept it bottled up inside us.

“As good a time as any,” I replied.  I wanted to hear what he had to say before I admitted that I was still uncertain.  “Wanna go first?”

He then turned to look at me and said, “Jerry, I want you to know ... I want you to be absolutely sure ... that I love you.  Not as a great professor, which you are.  Not as a father or brother.  Not just as a good friend.  I love you like ... well ... like a man I want to spend my life with.  At first, I admit that I was mostly being horny.  I craved the satisfaction of having sex with a man.  And when I found out you were gay like me, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to find out what gay sex is really like.  That’s not how I feel anymore.  The more time I spend with you, the more I respect you.  Not as a male body with a penis but as a compassionate, caring, human being.  I’m happiest when I’m with you.  You’re the kind of person I could devote my life to.  I don’t know any other way to say it, Jerry.  I love you for what you are not for just your body.  I’m still horny and want to have sex for that reason but not with just anybody.  I want you, Jerry, because I love you.  Am I making any sense?”

“Yes,” I said.  “I’m touched.  I’m flattered and humbled by your eloquently expressed feelings.  I have the same feelings for you.  I’ve never met anyone that has meant as much to me as you do.  But I have to tell you ...”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Let me finish.  I understand why you don’t want to have sex.  No.  That’s not right.  You want to but you don’t want to.  I understand the position you’re in and why you’re afraid of having sex with me.  Over the weekend, I realized that if I were you and you were me, I would be afraid, too.  Am I disappointed?  Yes, very disappointed.  There’s nothing I would like more than to go to bed with you.  But if you think it’s too dangerous for you I won’t subject you to that danger.  I almost wish that I had dropped out of school.  That way, you wouldn’t be having sex with a student.  But I can’t do that.  Not after all the things you’ve done for me, not after you’ve made it possible to finish my education.  So here’s the bottom line.  I love you.  I want you.  Forever.  And I hope and pray that you’ll change your mind about having sex.

I was speechless.  I fought to stem the tears.  As soon as I was able to think clearly, I said, “Jason, in the few short moments that you spoke, my love for you increased to a level I never thought possible.  You have demonstrated an emotional maturity that I had doubted.  You expressed a convincing desire to form a long-term relationship, which is very important to me.  You seem willing to sacrifice in the short term in the hopes of achieving a long-term goal.  I’m overwhelmed by what you’ve told me.  You have proven without a shred of doubt that you’re the one I want to spend my life with.”

His smile was radiant!  I’d like to think that my smile told him how pleased I was.

“How about you?” he asked.  “Is there any chance you’ll change your mind about having sex?”

“Before I answer,” I began, “I must tell you what I was thinking over the weekend.”  I then related a summary of the mental torture I fought through -- my overpowering love for him and my fervent wish that I could express that love intimately -- how I had to re-conquer the irrational prohibitions against gay sex instilled in me as a youth -- how I had tried, without total success, to assess the probability of someone finding out and the possibility of losing both my current job and any prospects for another -- and, finally, my consuming fear that by having sex, I would be hurting the one who meant so much to me.

“So here’s my bottom line, Jason.  I love you more than I ever imagined it would be possible to love another person.  But I must -- at least for the time being -- deny myself and you the pleasure of consummating that love by having sex.”

It was obvious that he didn’t like what I said.

“So what you’re saying, Jerry, is that we’ll have to wait.”

 “It will be difficult,” I acknowledged.  But anything worth having comes with a price.  And you are definitely worth waiting for.  Now let’s step inside.”  I rose from the chair and walked indoors.  There was something that I felt compelled to do.  Jason followed.  I closed the front door, put my hands on his shoulders, and said, “This will be the closest thing to what we both want but it will have to do.”  I pulled him into a tight embrace and kissed him -- a long, passionate, meaningful kiss.  I felt my dick swell.  I felt his press against me.  When he began to grind his hardening cock against my equally stimulated one, I broke the kiss before our passion overwhelmed our judgment.

Speaking softly to avoid the possibility of his feeling rejected, I said, “We can’t go any further.  I know you want to.  I also want to.  But we can’t.  I have to ask you -- and demand the same from myself -- to exercise self-discipline.  We simply cannot allow ourselves to become so aroused that we make a mistake.  I know it will be very difficult.  But it’s something we must do.  Can you do that for me?”

He looked sad.  I’m sure he was as frustrated as I was.  But he replied, simply, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I said.  “And I’ll try as well.  I don’t like it any more than you do but we must wait.  And we may have to avoid any more kissing because that could lead us where we must not go.”

****************

Two weeks later, I got a call from Dr. Robert Thompson, the chairman of the Biology department at school.  Initially, it seemed to be a friendly call to inquire about how I was enjoying the summer vacation and did I need any help preparing for classes in the upcoming school term.  Then, he changed the subject.  His suddenly serious tone was somewhat ominous.  “There’s a matter I need to discuss with you, Jerry.  Would you have time to come to my office?  It’s something I’d prefer to discuss with you personally.”

“Surely,” I replied, confused over what might require a face-to-face meeting.

“Splendid.  Is two o’clock tomorrow afternoon convenient for you?”

“That will be fine,” I replied.  “Is there some sort of problem?”

“We can discuss it tomorrow, Jerry,” he said enigmatically.

I worried about the meeting the rest of the day, into the evening, and throughout the morning of the next day.  My students’ evaluations of my classes were good to excellent and my performance appraisal had been more than satisfactory.  However, I knew that enrollments were down.  Budgets were tight.  Could it be that I was about to be laid off?  It seemed to be the only explanation for wanting to see me in his office.

Jason noticed my concern and asked what was bothering me.  I didn’t want him to worry so I said it was nothing serious and tried to act normally.  Either I was unsuccessful or he was far more perceptive than I gave him credit for.  Or both.  Yielding to his insistence, I told him that it appeared I might (emphasis on ‘might’) lose my job.

“NO!” he screamed.  “They can’t do that to you!”

We were both despondent for the rest of the afternoon.  We discussed options, including his transfer to a school near wherever I was able to find a new job, a choice I discouraged for a number of reasons.  He would likely lose credit-hours in the transfer, his parents would not agree, and the whole process of securing part-time work and financial aid would have to start all over.

We accomplished nothing -- no work done in the house and no satisfactory resolution to the problem that I was sure I would face by losing my job.

As the time for the meeting drew near, I had nearly convinced myself that I would be out of a job ... in spite of Dr. Thompson’s inquiry about my preparation for the fall term of school.  I would ask for a letter of recommendation that Dr. Thompson would no doubt agree to write but the prospect of relocating to another city, far from the young man I loved, was distressing.

The department chairman invited me in cordially when I knocked on his office door, perhaps a little too cordially, which I interpreted to mean that he was trying to soften the blow.  He began by telling me that my performance was exemplary.  I felt more strongly that he was setting me up for an apology about terminating my contract.

But then he launched into a new direction.  “As you know, Jerry, the college places a high value on our relationship to the community.  Our reputation -- and that of the faculty and staff -- is critical to our success.”  I was thoroughly confused by the sudden departure for the earlier conversation until he continued by saying, “I’ve received information that’s troubling.  It’s about you and one of your students, Jason Hendricks.”

My heart nearly stopped.  There was no way he or anyone else could know about our feelings for each other, much less about our completely chaste relationship.  “I don’t understand,” I said.  “What information?  From whom?”

“As I’m sure you will understand, the source of the information cannot be revealed.”  I didn’t understand but I let him continue.  “You have done some extraordinary things to help the young man.  You lobbied the faculty to hire him in the lab.  You expedited the processing of his financial aid application.  You even co-signed his student loan application.  That’s unusual but commendable.  But now I find out that he’s spending his summer with you.  At your house.  All day, every day.  That goes beyond the unusual.  It’s given rise to some ... well ... speculation about your ... shall we say -- improper relationship with the boy.”

I probably sounded too defensive when I emphasized Jason’s superior intellect and great promise as a scholar, his unfortunate family economics that surely threatened his continuance in college, and my hiring him for the summer to work around the house doing things I hadn’t had time to do and that would provide him with money to afford  his tuition.  I concluded by saying, “My relationship with the young man is to see that a deserving student earns his degree, no doubt with honors.  I don’t see how that would jeopardize the reputation of the college.  Any allegations or innuendos that suggest the relationship is improper are false and -- may I say -- malicious gossip!”

“Calm down,” Dr. Thompson said.  “I’m not accusing you of any improper behavior.  I’m merely following up on information that I’ve received.  I’m obligated to do that.”

With great effort, I spoke in a more even tone.  “I understand your obligation but I can assure you that in spite of appearances -- appearances that have been flagrantly misinterpreted -- my motives are simple: to help a deserving student.  Furthermore, I wonder about the motives of whomever suggested to you that my behavior is suspicious.”

“My thoughts exactly!” he exclaimed.  “That you would engage in an improper relationship is unthinkable.  If I’ve learned anything from this discussion it’s that I should trust my judgment of you.  And be suspect of the judgment of ... well ... of the person who warned me of a potentially embarrassing situation.  I apologize for subjecting you to a patently false accusation.”

“False and insulting!” I retorted.  “How you deal with the malicious informant is, of course, your decision.  That’s a good thing.  Because if I knew his or her name, I don’t know if I could control my anger.”

After a few more minutes of casual conversation in which he inquired about Jason’s progress in his studies, I prepared to leave.  In parting, he said, “I’m sorry that I had to have this conversation, Jerry.  But I hope you understand I had no choice.  And, quite off the record, if the allegations were true, I would be even more saddened because I firmly believe that everyone has a right to their private life.  I would have fought for you even if the college tried to invoke disciplinary action.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied.  “But I’m sure I won’t be putting you in that position.”

I left feeling pleased that he was open-minded and greatly relieved that I was not losing my job.  My relief, however, was overshadowed by my paranoia over my relationship with Jason.  And I was completely mystified about how the anonymous informant could know or even suspect the true nature of my inappropriate relationship.

I was still distraught when I arrived home.  Jason ran out of the house to meet me, asking, “What happened?”

“Good news - bad news,” I replied.  “Good news here: I didn’t lose my job.  Bad news in the house.”  He followed me into the house.

“So what’s the bad news?” he asked.

I summarized my meeting with Dr. Thompson and concluded with, “Somebody suspects, Jason.  I don’t know who.  A neighbor, a faculty member, somebody else ... I just don’t know.  Whoever it is has absolutely no reason to know or even suspect.  We’ve been very careful.  Whoever it is either has a very dirty mind or is out to get me.  Or both.  What I know for sure is that we will have to continue to be very careful.”

Like the previous afternoon, we accomplished no work.  We just talked.  Upon leaving, Jason said, “Don’t even think about paying me for the time I didn’t work yesterday and today.”

“I most certainly will,” I said emphatically.  “You’ve been a great help to me by listening, by asking questions, by giving advice.  That meant more to me than any physical labor you might have done.  I have to tell you.  It’s extremely comforting to know that I have someone to talk to, to confide in, and to help me think through things.”

When Jason left that day, I felt better and I’m sure he did, too.

****************

Several days later, after supper in the evening, I checked my email.  One was strange.  I didn’t recognize the sender and was about to delete it as spam when I read the subject line: “I’m watching”.  Thinking (fearing better describes my feeling) that it had something to do with the unknown person who talked to the department chairman, I opened it up to read it.  “I know about you and that boy.  You must have lied your way out of it the first time but you won’t get away with it.  If you don’t stop, I’ll stop you.”

I briefly debated whether I should tell Jason about the threatening email but decided that he should know if only to increase our vigilance about not giving any clue to our love for each other.  When I showed it to him on my computer, he was visibly upset.

“Who’s it from?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  Look at the “From” line at the top: “sw37m.”  I don’t recognize it.”

Without a word, he started clicking on the screen to reveal what looked to me like a bunch of jibberish.  “What’s all that?” I asked.

“Codes that trace the route taken by the email from the sender to you.  Whoever sent it has an account at one of the free email services.  Lots of people use them because they’re free.  Some people use them to conceal their identity.  They give completely phony information when they register so there’s no way of telling who the sender really is.”

“So we still don’t know who sent it,” I said dejectedly.

“Not without a court order.  A court can subpoena the ISP records.  That will include the URL of the sender.  But even that’s not much help if he’s using a public computer like in the library. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.  ISP?  UR?  But I gather that we can’t identify the bastard.  And the only thing we can do is to continue to be careful?” I mused.

“Right,” Jason said.  “That means we’ll have to lock the doors and close the blinds when we have sex.”

“JASON!  You know we can’t do that!” I exclaimed forcefully.

“Hey, chill out, Jerry.  I was joking.”

****************

The summer passed all too quickly.  There were no more threatening emails.  I had thoroughly enjoyed having Jason around and, together, we finished an amazing amount of work.  While we both were frustrated that we couldn’t consummate our love and were close to paranoid about doing anything that would hint of our affection for each other, being together was a joy.  I dreaded the approach of the Fall term when I would be able to see Jason only occasionally.  At least I would see him three times a week because he had registered for one of my classes.

Four weeks into the school year, I noticed that Jason and another student, Todd Barrington, had become good friends.  They sat next to each other in class.  They laughed and joked before and after class.  They petitioned me to assign them as Lab partners and I agreed.  I thought very little about it until one day I left the classroom but had to return five minutes later to retrieve some notes I had left behind.  Jason and Todd were standing in the hallway talking or, to be more accurate, whispering.  They didn’t see me and I was about to approach and greet them when they went into the rest room together.  As I collected my notes from the classroom, another student came in to ask questions about an assignment.  We spoke for about 15 minutes.  When I left the classroom, I saw Jason and Todd exit the rest room grinning.  They didn’t head in my direction but walked down the hall toward the exit.  I returned to my office and sat obsessing over what I had seen.  Fifteen minutes in the rest room together.  Whispering before they went in and grinning when they came out.  When I recalled something else, my suspicions exploded into irrational jealousy.  Jason’s shirt had been tucked into his trousers when he entered the rest room but hung out loosely when he came out.

I worried about what I saw all evening.  I wanted to trust Jason.  I wanted to believe that he loved me and would keep his promise to wait until we could safely join together.  I tried to think of a plausible explanation for what I witnessed but was unsuccessful.  I couldn’t decide what to do with the information I had.

Two days later, in class, I returned some homework to my students.  On Jason’s I wrote a note: “Please see me after class.”  At the end of the class period, I noticed Jason and Todd talking at the doorway.  At one point, they both looked at me briefly.  Moments later, Todd left and Jason approached my desk.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked.

“Yes.  Do you have a few minutes to come to my office?”

“Sure,” he said brightly.  “Is there a problem with my assignment?”

“Not at all,” I replied.  “It was your usual superior work.  Let’s go to my office.”  He looked puzzled but followed me down the hall.  After walking into my office, I said, “Close the door, please.  And sit down.”  Before he could say anything, I said, “Jason, we don’t have much chance to see each other ... not like last summer.  I’ve been thinking about you a lot.  I miss you.  I want you to know that I love you as much or more than I did last summer.  But I’m a realist.  I know that you’re younger than I am.  I have no doubt that you want to be with someone for ... well ... I know that you get horny.  I just wanted to tell you that if you want to hook up with somebody, I’ll understand.  It won’t affect my love for you in the least.”

“Hook up!” he exclaimed.  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“We’ve talked about the difference between casual sex and loving sex.  We can’t have loving sex and that leaves you high and dry, so to speak.  I’m just saying that if you want to have sex with, say, another student, I would understand.”

“I would never do that!  I told you I would wait for you!  Didn’t you believe me?”  He seemed to be angry with me.

“I believed you, Jason.  All I’m trying to say is that while we’re waiting, you shouldn’t feel obligated to deny yourself some pleasure.  If you have the opportunity.”

“NO!  I won’t!  It has to be with you!”  He was getting more upset.  Or was it a convincing act?

“Okay.  I apologize if I’ve upset you.  I just want you to be happy.  And if a little bit of  innocent sex play makes you happy, then do it.  Not with some stranger but with a good friend.  Todd, for example.”

I watched carefully for his reaction to my mention of Todd.  I could detect no sign of guilt or fear.  But could I recognize it if it was there?  Could he be putting on an act?

“Todd?” he exclaimed.  “We’re friends, sure.  But he’s as straight as they come.  He fucks his girlfriend every weekend.  He’s even offered to set me up with his girlfriend’s little sister who, in his words, is a hot little bitch.  Naturally, I declined.”

“Okay.  Just file this conversation away.  And if you want to ... and if you have an opportunity at some time in the future ... don’t be concerned about my reaction.”

He was quiet for a moment but he took me by surprise when he said, “What’s really behind this, Jerry?  Have you found somebody?  Are you giving me permission so I have to ignore it when you sack up with somebody?”

“Absolutely, unequivocally not!  I’m a virgin and will stay a virgin until I can have the perfect man.  That’s you!  There’s nobody else I would even give a second thought to and there never will be.”

He fidgeted a while before replying.  “I’m sorry, Jerry.  I guess I accused you of something with no reason.  I shouldn’t have done that.  It’s the kind of thing that bastard who sent the threatening email did.  I’m truly sorry.”

The significance of what Jason said hit me like a blow to the abdomen.  I had made a judgment about him and Todd based on partial and inconclusive information.  It made me sick to think that I almost accused him of something that I had only imagined and, in the process, almost put our relationship in serious jeopardy.

I stood, walked to the door, locked it and returned to Jason.  “There’s one more reason I asked you to come to my office.  I want to give you something that I haven’t given you for too long.”  I lifted him up, hugged him, and gave him a long, passionate kiss that he eagerly returned.  It was too soon, it seemed to me, that we broke the kiss.  “That,” I said, was by way of telling you how much I love you.”

He grinned.  “Can I tell you the same?” he asked.  Without waiting for an answer, he attacked me with a forceful kiss that was even more enjoyable than the one I gave him.

****************

Near the end of the Fall term, I was grading papers at home in the early evening when my door bell rang.  I was surprised and delighted to open the door and see Jason.  “Come in,” I said enthusiastically.

“I’d better not,” he said ominously.  “Can we talk for a while here on the porch?”

“Sure,” I said.  “But why?”

“It’s getting dark.  I don’t think I should be seen going into the house.”

We sat on the porch where he stunned me by saying, “I can’t be absolutely sure but I think I know who the bastard is that sent you the email.”

“Who is it?” was my obvious question.

“First you have to promise me that you won’t do anything foolish ... like beating him up or something.  I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I won’t do anything illegal, if that’s what you mean,” I said to reserve my rights for some kind of corrective action.

“Do you know Professor Taylor in the Chemistry Department?”

“Charles Taylor?  About 50?  Graying hair?  Sort of pudgy?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yes.  We worked together on a Curriculum Committee last year.  Not the kind of guy I would call a friend but I know him.  You can’t be serious that he’s the one!  He’s a bit of a milk toast, not the sort I would imagine to send a threatening email.  Besides, how would he even know about you and me?”

“I told you I wasn’t absolutely sure but let me tell you what happened and you be the judge.  I’m in one of his classes this year.  Early in the term, he seemed especially friendly to me.  He was giving me extra help -- more than the other students.  At first I was flattered.  I thought it was because I was more eager to learn and maybe a bit smarter than the rest of the class.  Pretty soon, though, when he was helping me in the lab with an experiment, he would lay his arm around my shoulder.  I still didn’t think much about it but one day he started holding me tighter and rubbing my back.  I thought that was odd.  I just smiled and let him do it.  That was a mistake but I’ll get to that part in a minute.

“Last week, he asked if I would help him set up some equipment in the lab for an experiment the class was to complete the following week.  He said it took two people and his regular lab assistant would be out of town.  I agreed to help him.  He asked me if I could come in on Sunday as that was the only time he had available to do it.  Again, I agreed.  So far, so good.  I got to the lab and it only took half an hour to set up the equipment.  He then pulled a couple of beers out of a cooler, saying that he wanted to pay me for my time.  I declined the beer -- alcohol on the campus is against the rules.  Then, he wanted me to stay a little while to talk.  I thought it would be about the course but he was asking questions about my life and family and whether I had a girlfriend.  He told me I was a very handsome young man.  What happened next was ... well ... weird.  He put his hand on my knee and asked me if I would like a guaranteed A in the course.  I didn’t know what to say and just looked at him.  He started slowly moving his hand up my thigh.  I stood up and said I’d better leave.  He stood to face me.  He grabbed my arm and said, ‘Not so fast.  All you have to do is one more favor for me and I guarantee you’ll get an A in the course.’  I tried to break free but he grabbed me into a hug and kissed me on the side of my neck.  I kicked him in the shin.  He let loose of me and I gave him a knee in the groin.  I ran from the lab, leaving him doubled up on the floor.”

“That filthy son-of-a-bitch!” I exclaimed.

“There’re more.  When I checked my email that night, there was one from “sw37m,” just like the one you got.  It said, “Don’t even think about telling anybody what happened.  Especially JC!  There were no witnesses.  It’s you against me and you’ll lose.  Big time.” 

“So it really was Charlie Taylor,” I said.  “It’s hard to believe.  He’s married with children and grandchildren.  And he’s such a wimp, it’s hard to picture him being so brazen and foolish.”

“I said I couldn’t be absolutely sure it’s him, Jerry.  But who else could JC be?”

“Pretty incriminating, isn’t it?” I said.

“Remember,” Jason said.  “You promised not to do anything foolish.”

“I promised not to do anything illegal.  And I won’t be foolish.  I’ll have to think it through before doing anything.”

“I’d better go now,” Jason said.  “He obviously saw me here last summer.  He may have even been stalking me.  For all we know, he may have followed me here tonight.”

****************

Jason later told me that Taylor was somewhat aloof toward him in class on Monday.  He also confessed that he was worried about being punished with a low grade for rejecting the Taylor’s advances.

In the meantime, I decided what I must do.  I appeared at Taylor’s office unannounced, walked in, and closed the door.  The look of alarm on his face was strong indication that he had sent the emails.  “I won’t take much of your time, Charlie,” I said, controlling my fury over what he had done.  I handed him a printed copy of the email he sent to me.  He read it, said nothing, but began to fidget and sweat -- a final confirmation of his guilt.  “You obviously jumped to conclusions that are totally unfounded,” I said.  “I won’t even inquire as to how you knew that I hired Jason to work in my yard and house last summer.  Nor will I probe into the reasons for your interest in him.”  With that last comment, I gave him a menacing glare and watched him fidget some more. 

I then placed a printed copy of the email he sent to Jason in his trembling hands.  He read it and stammered, “What’s all this got to do with me?”

Ignoring his question, I said, “Your behavior in the lab on Sunday was inexcusable and revolting.  You will resign your position effective the end of the current term.  You will have absolutely no contact with Jason -- or any other student -- apart from professional communication in the classroom and lab.  You will award Jason a grade based exclusively on his work in class -- no more, no less.  If you do all those things, I will consider the matter settled.  If you don’t, things might get ugly -- very ugly.  Do I make myself clear?”

His body went limp.  He buried his face in his hands.  I walked out of his office, leaving him to his misery.

I returned to my office.  I didn’t feel good about terminating Taylor’s career but, I reasoned, I would feel worse if he assaulted another student.  It seemed eminently clear to me that his behavior toward Jason was motivated by prurient lust whereas my feelings toward Jason were respect and love.  My decision to avoid sexual contact, it seemed at the time, gave me license to administer justice to a predator.

A week later, the faculty newsletter announced the resignation of Dr. Charles Taylor for “health reasons” that were unspecified.  There was a glowing report of his distinguished career and his contribution to the college.  It concluded with the formation of a search committee to replace him.  Recalling my own anxiety about the possible loss of my job, I had a brief moment of sympathy for my colleague and a sense of guilt for causing him to resign.  But that was quickly replaced with the satisfaction that I probably prevented his victimizing other students.

Dr. Taylor came into my office soon after the announcement.  Without his customary greeting and pleasantries, he immediately asked, “Have you heard about Charlie Taylor’s resignation?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “Bit of a surprise, isn’t it?”

He cocked his eyebrows and said, “I’d like to know what’s behind it.  Official announcements always seem to put a positive spin on information.  I don’t suppose you would know.”

Avoiding his implied question, I said, “You recently told me that you couldn’t divulge the source of information you received about me.  I’m sure you’ll understand that I now find myself in the same position.  I am in possession of information that goes far beyond what you heard about me and I’m not at liberty to reveal it.”

He just looked at me, seeming to be momentarily confused, and then said, “I guess I really don’t want to know, then, do I?”

“It’s better that way, believe me,” I replied.

A very broad smile crossed his face as he said, “Well, the college has lost a senior faculty member but I’m glad we have bright new ones like yourself on board.  See ya later.”  He left me wondering just what role he thought I might have played in Taylor’s resignation.

Jason, not surprisingly, received an A in chemistry just as he did in every other course that term and I had no doubt that he had earned it.

****************

I took a quick trip to be with my family in Mississippi for Christmas.  Jason agreed to check on my house periodically.  He offered to stay there as he had done the previous summer and without pay but I emphatically declined his offer.  I would be gone for only three days and I felt he ought to spend his holiday with his family.  I did accept, however, his offer to drive me to and from the airport.  As he dropped me at the curb in front of the terminal, he handed me an envelope.  “Open this on the plane,” he said.  I was curious about what was in the envelope but agreed to his request.

Waiting at the boarding gate, I could no longer contain my curiosity.  I opened the envelope to find a Christmas card and a picture of Jason.  On the back of the picture he had written, “Don’t ever doubt my love for you.”  On the card, under the standard Hallmark greeting, he had written, “This card is not the present I’d like to give you.  But rest assured you’ll have it whenever you can accept it.”  I knew immediately what the present would be and why he couldn’t give it to me now.  It was the same present that I wished I could give to him.  I fervently hoped we could exchange our gifts to each other soon.

End Part 2... 

Part 3

In several discussions about our future together, Jason would imply or explicitly suggest that we forego the abstinence that I had imposed on our relationship.  In each case I remained firm in my reluctance although it was increasingly difficult to do so because my resolve was fading.  One reason was, frankly, lust; I yearned to enjoy the pleasures of sex, something that I had always wanted but loving a willing and eager partner significantly elevated my hunger for sex.   Another was more deep-seated; I wanted to strengthen our connection through intimacy.  Yet another was that my diminishing doubts about whether Jason had the emotional maturity to commit to a permanent relationship.  Arguing against relaxing my resolve was the potential risk of harming Jason and the very real risk being discovered and jeopardizing my career.  The push and pull recurrently dominated my thinking.

In late January, the beginning of Jason’s second semester of his sophomore year, circumstances would unexpectedly change and threaten to destroy my resolve.

Jason stopped by my house late one Saturday afternoon, which was not unusual and was always welcome.  However, his mood was unusual.  Instead of an enthusiastic greeting, he said, “Jerry.  I’ve got a problem.  Can we talk?”

I invited him in as I grew increasingly concerned that he seemed more despondent than merely upset.  We sat at the kitchen table (where we had had many serious discussions with this one promising to be another).  I asked him what the problem was and he explained while becoming more distraught.

His father, who had been out of work for almost a year, had had no success in securing employment.  He had been the manager in a local accounting firm that was bought by a larger, regional firm.  In the reorganization, half the local employees were laid off, Jason’s father among them.  He had hoped to find another job within commuting distance and had several interviews but no job offers.  He expanded his search after finally accepting the fact that relocation, which both he and his wife found unappealing, was the only option.  That much I already knew.

Jason’s explanation began with the fact that his father had received an attractive offer from a large company three hundred miles away in Seattle and had accepted it.  He broke the news to Jason the previous evening.  Jason’s first reaction was relief that his father had found a job, a very good job.  But that was immediately replaced with concern and then worry about school.  His father suggested transferring to another college and argued that he could now afford the tuition and other school expenses.

“I don’t know what to do, Jerry,” he said as tears began to form in his eyes.  I don’t want to leave you.  And I can’t tell my parents that.  They’d want to know why.  If I tell them that I’m gay and in love with you ... I just don’t want to think about what they would do -- probably throw me out of the house or refuse to pay for the rest of my college.  At a minimum, it would hurt them deeply and damage or completely destroy my relationship with them.  I don’t want that because I love them.  I want to stay here.  Finish school here.  When I graduate, we can be together but I can’t stand the thought of moving and losing you.  And don’t tell me I wouldn’t!  I know that if we separate now, there’s a good chance that we’ll never get back together.  So you see my dilemma.  I don’t want to move and change schools but there’s no way to avoid it.”

Although he fought bravely to stem his tears, he lost the battle and broke down crying.

I moved into a chair next to his, put my arm over his shoulder, and said, “We’ll figure something out, Jason.”  I had no ideas; all I had was hope that we could resolve the dilemma.

He buried his head into my shoulder and sobbed.  I felt like crying as well, mostly because the one I loved was in such pain.  We hugged each other for several minutes while Jason regained control and I tried vainly to come up with a solution to his problem.  No, not ‘his’ problem, but ours!  We were a couple; he was an integral part of my life; his problem was my problem.

“First of all, Jason, let me ask a question.  Perhaps then I can suggest what we can do.  And I mean ‘we’ because I don’t want you to move away any more than you want to.  When does your dad want to move?”

“He starts work a week from now but will live in a furnished apartment until he can sell our house, pack up, and move.  In the meantime, he’ll be looking for a house in Seattle to buy.  I don’t know how long that will take.  Our house might sell right away or it might be on the market for months.  My mom has talked about quitting her job, putting our furniture in storage, and leaving the empty house to the realtor.  Dad wants her to join him right away so they can look for a new house together.  That could mean there’s not much time.”

“No,” I agreed.  “That would not be much time.  It seems to make sense to me that you finish the semester here even if your parents move right away.  I think they would agree to that.  One possibility is that you could stay in your house while it’s for sale.  That might buy us more time to come up with a plan.  I doubt you could find space in the dorm at school in the middle of the term -- I understand there’s already a long waiting list -- so that’s not a possibility.  Finding a suitable apartment for you here would be difficult and a lot of extra expense.  But whether your mom moves right away or not, it would seem that you’ll be here for the rest of the school year.  The only unknown is where you will live if the house is sold before then.”

We both had the same thought but he voiced it first although hesitantly.  “I could maybe ... that is if it’s okay with you ... stay with you.  And before you object, let me assure you I wouldn’t share your bed.  I’ll sleep on the couch and behave myself.”

“Not the best idea, Jason.  I want to help you and I WILL help you but we agreed that we must be extremely careful not to arouse suspicion.  At least until it is safer.  Right now, you’re still my student.  To a lot of nosey people, it would create a false impression.  That might cause even bigger problems.”

Jason look disappointed but said, “I suppose you’re right.  And who knows what might happen.  I don’t know if I could stand trying to sleep knowing you’re in the next room.  God, Jerry!  I want you so much!”

“I want you just as much, my love.  But we’ll just have to think of some other way.  I know it’s hard -- and I don’t mean your penis! -- but we’ll have to tough it out for a while longer.”

“It is hard,” Jason grinned.  “And I do mean my penis.”  He laughed and I was pleased to see that his mood had improved enough to joke.

We talked for another half hour in which we explored several options, concluding that, for the time being, the best option was to wait and see ... wait until his parents decided what they were going to do and hope that Jason could live in his house until the end of the school year or until the house was sold.

Then Jason had an idea.  “My parents already have a good opinion of you because of the help you’ve given me in school.  Suppose we somehow arrange a way for them to meet you.  I know they would like you even more.  Then, if it comes to that, they would feel much better about my moving in with you.

I was still troubled by the prospect of Jason’s moving in with me but had to admit that, as a contingency plan, his idea made sense.  “Okay,” I said.  “The most desirable option is for you to live in your house until at least the end of the school year.  Perhaps by then, we’ll have a plan for you to finish school here and avoid the appearance of inappropriate behavior.  Let me know how you would like to introduce me to your parents.”

His broad grin was a stark contrast to the way he had arrived.  I had given him hope.  I had given us both hope.  But could we figure out a way to ensure he stayed here in school for another two years?

We shared a kiss before he left in a much better mood than when he arrived.

******************

Jason called me that evening to suggest that we invent an excuse for me to meet his parents soon because his dad was leaving within a day or two to find an apartment.  “It’ll have to be tomorrow,” Jason said.  “And I have a plan.  Before dad got laid off, we would have brunch every Sunday morning after church.  To celebrate his new job, he says we’re going to do it again tomorrow.  I was thinking that if you just happened to stop by at the same time, I could introduce you to them.  With luck, they’ll even invite you to join us rather than eating alone.  That will give everybody a chance to get better acquainted.  Do you think it will work?  Are you willing?”

“Sounds reasonable enough, Jason.  What time should I be there?”

“Usually just before eleven.  Maybe you could wait in the parking lot until you see us arrive.  We’ll be in a white Honda Accord.  If you come in right after us, and happen to mention that you’re alone, I’m thinking dad will invite you to join us at our table.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the script all worked out,” I joked.

“Not really.  We’ll have to ad lib a lot of it.  But I’m sure it will turn out all right.  Gotta go now.  See ya tomorrow.  Love ya.  Bye.”

As Jason had predicted, the brunch was a success.  Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks were exceptionally friendly and insisted that I join them.  They were as profuse in their appreciation for what I had done for Jason as I was in praising his intelligence, motivation, and attitude.  I managed to slip in a few comments that would possibly support his completing a degree at the college.  For example: “I look forward to sitting with the faculty and seeing Jason graduate with high honors.”  I couldn’t be sure, however, that those statements made any impact.

No mention was made of the family’s impending move and I certainly didn’t want to bring up the subject because I thought I wasn’t supposed to know about it.  Jason slipped it into the conversation with impeccable timing.  “Dad just got a terrific job in Seattle.  Somebody finally recognized his talent.”

“That’s wonderful,” I enthused.  “Congratulations.”

“Yes,” his father said.  “I’m going up to Seattle this week to find an apartment.  Linda will come with me and stay a few days to get the lay of the land.    I start work the following week.  I’m hoping to sell my house here right away so Linda and Jason can join me.”

“Oh!” I said, trying not to show too much concern.  “How soon will that be?”

“The sooner the better,” Mr. Hendricks replied.

“Would that be before the end of the school year?” I asked.

Mr. Hendricks frowned.  “We have to work that out ... if it happens that soon.”

I paused, pretending to think deeply when, in fact, I knew exactly what I was going to say.  I hadn’t even been able to tell Jason.  “Forgive my boldness for offering advice when it’s not asked for but I think it would be a mistake to pull Jason out of school in the middle of the term.  He would lose a full semester’s credits.  Not to mention the tuition he’s worked so hard to earn.  Moreover, another college may not honor the credits from all the courses he has completed here.  That could delay his graduation by as much as a full year.”

Mrs. Hendricks joined in, “But where would he stay until the end of the school year?  Who would look out for him?”

“Well,” I replied.  “Let me think a minute.”  I didn’t have to think but had to appear as though I did.  “Here’s an idea.  He could stay with me.  He would have to bunk on the sofa-bed in the living room.  It won’t be as convenient and comfortable as what he has now but it will allow him to finish the school year.  And I’ll look after him, make sure he does his homework, doesn’t stay out late at night or get into trouble ... although knowing Jason as well as I do, he won’t need any supervision.  As I said before, he’s bright and responsible -- a rare combination for his generation, which, by the way, is a credit to you both for raising such an admirable son.”

Jason’s parents seemed pleased and grateful for the offer.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Jason was fighting to contain his elation.  I hoped his parents didn’t notice that.

After a moment’s reflection, Mr. Hendricks said, “That is extraordinarily generous of you, Dr. Collins.  And, if I may say, highly unusual.  I must ask you a question that’s been on my mind since you began helping my son.  Why are you doing this?”

“That’s a fair question, Mr. Hendricks.  And there’s a simple answer.  Number one, I see the extraordinary potential in a young scholar who, given the opportunity, is bound to become a success in his career and in his life.  Number two is more personal.  I benefitted from the help of many people to get where I am today and I promised myself to pay that debt by helping others.  I’m not a very religious man but I firmly believe in the Golden Rule: Do unto others.”

Both of Jason’s parents looked stunned, which confused me until his father said, “How odd you should say that.  That was the theme of the pastor’s sermon in church this morning.”

Mrs. Hendricks turned to her husband and said, “I think we’ve resolved one of the concerns in our move, dear.”  Turning to me, she added, “I can’t thank you enough.  God bless you.”

“We’ve forgotten something,” I said with mock alarm.  I had everyone’s full attention.  “We haven’t heard from Jason.  I think he has every right to accept or not accept the invitation.”

Jason’s beaming smile and enthusiastic response (“Thanks, Dr. Collins”) was exactly the response I expected.  I wanted, with my inclusion of him, to send a message to one I loved: ‘we’re partners and you are important.’  I also wanted to send a message to his parents: ‘their son is a young adult who deserves the freedom to make his own decisions.’

Jason exceeded my already high regard for his intelligence by sending two messages with one statement, “I promise to behave myself and not be any trouble to you.”  His parents heard that he would be responsible.  I heard that he would not pressure me for premature sex.

As I left the restaurant, I couldn’t believe that everything had turned out so well.  I’m sure Jason felt the same way.  He and I had manipulated the situation and the conversation.  I had told the truth -- not the whole truth but I felt no guilt.  The day would surely come when Jason and I would have to tell his parents the whole truth but we had plenty of time to plan how to do that with minimal pain.

******************

The following week, I made an appointment to speak to the Department Chairman.

I began the discussion by saying, “Bob, I have a potentially delicate situation that may or may not happen and I felt I should give you a heads up.”  He listened as I explained why Jason might be moving into my house for at least the remainder of the semester.  I concluded with, “I know it’s unusual but it’s the only way to ensure that Jason completes the semester.  Do you have a problem with that?”

His hesitation in answering concerned me as much as the worried expression on his face.  Finally, he said, “Obviously, Jerry, I must evaluate the situation in light of the allegations that were previously made about your relationship with the young man.  Therefore, I am compelled to ask a very personal question and I would appreciate a completely honest answer.  Exactly what is the nature of your relationship to Jason Hendricks?”

He stared at me.  I suddenly realized that I had squirmed, which could have been proof enough that the relationship was more than I had admitted.  I faced an agonizing dilemma: to lie (with little chance of successfully exonerating myself) or come out to him (something I had, over many years, resisted to the point of it being second nature).

My hesitation must have gone on longer than I realized because he said impatiently, “Well?”

“You’ve asked for the truth.  I’ll tell you the truth although it is painful to do so.  I love Jason.  Not as a student, not like a son or brother, but as someone I want to spend my life with.  He has repeatedly expressed the same kind of love for me.  Yes, both he and I are gay.  However, let me add, with complete honesty, that there has been no sexual contact between us.  None at all.  Nor will there be as long as he’s a student in this college and I’m on the faculty.  In return for my honesty, I’d like to ask a favor, one that I hope you are able to grant.  Aside from Jason, you’re the only person who knows that I’m gay or the nature of my relationship to him ... a very chaste relationship, I must emphasize.  I hope you will do me the favor of keeping the secret.”

I couldn’t interpret his expression, which boosted my anxiety level.  His next question boosted it further: “Chaste?  You mean that?”

“Absolutely.  We kiss.  Rarely and always in private.  He wants more.  I want more.  But I’ve been firm in my insistence that there be no sex.  He has come to accept that.   And it hasn’t diminished our love for each other.”

“And if he moves into your house?”

“The rules will not change.  There will be no sex.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said, “but I believe you.  And I respect you even more.  For your abstinence and for your honesty.  I expect you to let me know if the situation changes.”

“Count on it,” I replied, still not sure of what he would or would not do with the information.

“Now,” he said.  “The official conversation is over.  But I want to say more to you as a valued member of the department and, I hope, as a friend.”  A broad smile erupted on his face for the first time in our meeting.  “You’re going to make a splendid couple and I wish you nothing but happiness.”

The heavy burden of anxiety lifted off me.  I was so relieved and happy I almost cried.  All I could manage to say was “Thank you.”

I stood to leave.  He also stood and walked with me to the door.  “Just one more thing,” he said.  “You said you had additional information about Charlie Thompson’s sudden resignation.  I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share that with me?”

“Well, he’s gone now so I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you.  He attempted a sexual assault on Jason.  I must point out that it was unexpected and  totally unwelcome.  He was the aggressor and Jason was -- or could have been -- the victim.  I also had documentation of his threats against both me and Jason.  He chose to leave rather than face the consequences of his inexcusable behavior.”

“I see,” he mused.  “I rather expected it involved Jason.  But I don’t think I want to know your role in how it turned out.  But let me just say before you leave ... as long as we’re talking unofficially as friends ... Jason will be a Junior next year, taking upper level courses taught by senior faculty.  That means he won’t be your student and ... well ... perhaps I’ve said enough.”

“Thank you again, Bob.  I’ll just say that I plan to continue mentoring a promising young man.”

******************

Three weeks later, the Hendrick’s house was sold, Mrs. Hendricks moved to Seattle to join her husband, and Jason moved in with me.  I was prepared.  I had moved my computer and desk, my files, and my books into the living room, which became very crowded.  I bought a bed, night stand, and small desk with a chair to put in the second bedroom that had been my office and was to be his bedroom.  He protested that he was causing me trouble and expense but I explained that he needed a private room not only for personal space but to ward against the possibility, however remote, that someone would visit and become suspicious -- or worse, trigger an investigation into our living arrangement.  Jason’s parents insisted on sending money to me roughly equivalent to room and board at the college but I declined.  Eventually, however, I had to compromise on a nominal amount to pay for the extra groceries.

It worked out quite well.  We were both delighted to spend time together even though he was busy with homework and I busied myself with research or grading student work.  The only disappointment was bedtime.  Each of us wanted to share one bed, to express our love for each other, and experience -- for the first time -- the joy of sexual union.  Jason was very good about respecting my prohibition of sex.  He never asked for it, never implied a suggestion, nor even hinted that he wanted to do more than occasional kissing.  Frequently, however, I read longing and disappointment in his face as we parted, each to our own bedroom.  I had similar feelings.  Being with him for prolonged periods on a daily basis was a joy but being without him at night was torture.  On multiple occasions, I barely succeeded in controlling my urges.

Another trying time for me was when Jason went to Todd’s house in the evening.  I knew they were good friends.  I accepted the explanation that they would be studying or ‘hanging out’ but the memory of what appeared to be a more serious attachment -- for which there was no conclusive proof -- bothered me.  If I refused him sex, would he secretly get it elsewhere?  I was not completely successful in convincing myself that he had a right to have a friend and had to remind myself to trust him.

One evening when he came home from Todd’s house, I casually asked, “Have a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said exuberantly.  “We got the chemistry assignment done and had time left to play a video game -- Alien Invasion.  It was fun but I’m not sure I want a game system.  It could become addictive.  Okay if I get some milk and cookies?  Do you want anything?”

“Sure,” I said.  “Bring me some.  You can tell me about your day as we snack.”

He finished his milk and cookies in record time and immediately snuggled up against me.  Putting aside my own snack, I wrapped an arm over his shoulders.

We sat quietly for a time before I had the courage to say, “You like Todd a lot, don’t you.”

“Yeah.  He’s cool.”

A few moments later, he sat bolt upright, looked at me seriously, and said, “Are you upset that I spend time with him?”

“No, Jason.  You have a right to have friends.”

“Come on, Jerry.  Be honest with me.  I remember the first time you talked to me about Todd.  Do you?  You said it was okay if I got a little sex on the side while waiting for you.  Are you worried that I would cheat on you?  I thought I made it clear before that I would never do that.”  He sounded decidedly indignant.

“I remember,” I said.  “And I trust you.  I guess it’s just that I miss you when you’re not here.  I miss you even more since you came to stay with me.  And I worry.  I worry about refusing to have sex with you.  I worry that I’m being unfair to you.  I’m being silly.  Please forgive me.”

“I know you want to as much as I do but I understand your reasons.  You have to believe me.  I will still be a virgin when we finally do have sex.”

“Come here, my love,” I said as I pulled him into a passionate kiss that he returned with equal vigor.

We snuggled for a time.  I was ashamed of worrying about his friendship with Todd and letting myself get jealous for no justifiable reason.

“It’s late,” I said.  “But I want to tell you something before we go to our separate bedrooms.  When I told the Department Chair that you might be moving in, he asked me point blank about my relationship with you.  I had to be honest and tell him that we’re gay and in love.”

‘YOU DIDN’T!” he exclaimed in panic.

“Hold on.  He promised to keep the secret and I’m confident he will.  I also told him, quite emphatically, that there had been no sex and there wouldn’t be as long as you were a student and I was on the faculty.  He said we would be a great couple and he wished us happiness.  Now here’s the interesting part.  As I was leaving, he said that next year, as a junior, you would be in upper level classes and I would not be your teacher.  He couldn’t say it outright but the meaning was clear.  After this semester, when you’re no longer in any of my classes, we’re free to do what we want.”

“REALLY?” he almost screamed.  “You really mean it?  We can finally be a real couple?”

“It’s true, my love.  We’ll still have to be very careful but not when we’re alone in the house ... or in bed.  Can you wait a few more weeks?”

Jason attacked me with a breath-robbing hug and buried his head into my shoulder.  “I love you more every day, Jerry.  I can’t wait.  I mean yes, I can wait.  I mean ... oh shit!  You know what I mean.  I love you!”

******************

The remainder of the semester passed slowly for both of us because we both were eager to complete our partnership.  Strangely, Jason was spending less time with Todd even though I encouraged him to do so.  His response: “Todd’s a friend.  I like him.  But I won’t be his friend when he finds out I’m gay.  He hates fags almost as much as my parents do.  So what’s the point of even trying to keep him as my friend?”  I suggested that he enjoy the friendship for as long as possible and he eventually saw the logic in that and he stopped making excuses to Todd for not visiting.

Through a series of telephone conversations with his parents, Jason was able to convince them that it would be unwise to transfer schools and he should complete his degree here.  The compromise they reached was that he would spend holidays and at least part of the summer with them in Seattle.  In a separate conversation with his parents, I asked if it would be all right to take him with me on vacation, including fishing in the Gulf of Mexico, as soon as school let out in June.  After some persuasion and a promise that Jason would call them every few days (as he was already conscientiously doing), they agreed.  They asked how much money to send for his expenses and I assured them the incremental expense would be minimal and that I wanted to do it as a reward for his helping me with the housework.

Having won their approval, I said, “Oh.  One other favor.  I’d like it to be a surprise.  I’d like to tell him after final exam week so he can concentrate on his course work.”  They thought that was a good idea and promised not to say anything to Jason.

Anticipating the possible problems that living with Jason might cause at school, I started making plans.  With Jason’s help the previous summer, my house and yard were in far better condition than when I moved in.  That, I reasoned, could turn a tidy profit by selling the house.  I was right.  My realtor listed the house for a third more than I had paid for it.  I then found a somewhat larger house in a small town about 20 miles from campus -- far enough away, I thought, that my sharing an address with Jason would not sound any alarms within the college.  Jason understood my reasoning but was not sure about living in a small town.

“You won’t miss Todd?” I asked one evening over supper.

He glared at me but said, “Sure I will.  I’ll have to find another jerk-buddy.”

I glared back at him but then saw him smile so I laughed, “You’ll have me.  What more could you want?”

“I don’t know,” he said pensively.  “You know you’ll be on probation until you prove you’re up to the task.”

I put on a hurt look and replied, “I guess that’s okay ... as long as the probationary period lasts for ... oh ... let’s say fifty years.”

“Deal!” he exclaimed and we both laughed.

******************

I was lucky.  My house sold in less than a month and we were able to move into the new house over Spring Break.  I turned in my change of address form to the college and to the department chair, who read it and said, “Another change in your life, I see.  Will you still be hosting Jason?”

“Yes.  I don’t know how well he’ll adapt to a small town but I’m quite sure he’ll get used to it.”

Bob looked at me for a moment and said, “Yes, I think you’ll find that town rather isolated and not the sort of place that appeals to everyone.  But I can see that it’s appropriate for you and Jason, which leads to a question.  Forgive me, but I must ask.  How are you two getting along?  Mind you, I only ask in case there are any questions from ... well ... from some puritan on campus and you need me to defend you.”

“Except for the change of address, there has been no change since we last talked about it.  And there won’t be.  For a while.”

“Right.  Jason will be a junior next year,” he said with a knowing grin.

“And no longer a student of mine,” I replied.  There was no loss of meaning in either of our veiled comments.  We both were referring to the tacit understanding that sex might be overlooked as soon as Jason was not in any of my classes.

“That brings up another question.  Since Jason is a resident in my home, however temporarily, I’d like to avoid any unwarranted questions about the grade he receives in my class.  Would you be willing to grade his final exam, review his earlier scores, and confirm that his course grade is not biased?”

“Of course!” he said.  “And congratulations for thinking of it.  It’s another example of the caution that you have exercised ... and will continue to exercise.”

“I understand your meaning,” I replied.  “You have my thanks for the help and my promise that you won’t be disappointed.”

“Good!  Very good!” he said.  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.  But thanks again,” I said and returned to my office.

******************

When the second semester’s grades were posted on the college’s computer system, I was not surprised to see that Jason had pulled down a straight A and won a spot (again) on the Dean’s List.  That evening, however, he was anything but happy.

“Why the sad face?” I asked over supper.  “You should be proud and happy over your GPA and that you won’t have to spend every waking moment studying.”

“Sure,” he said in a voice tinged with sarcasm.  “Now I get to spend the whole summer in Seattle.  And you’ll be here.  That’ll be fucking great, won’t it?”

Ignoring his profanity, I said thoughtfully, “Maybe not.”

He gave me a confused look.  Still in a funk, he said, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I thought you might like to go on vacation with me to Mississippi.  We can do some fishing in the Gulf, take some side trips to New Orleans for a few days and ...”

“My parents wouldn’t stand for that,” he said defiantly.

“They’ve already agreed to it,” I said.

“They did?  You’ve talked to them?  They said it was all right?”

“Yes, and they agreed to let me surprise you.”

He leapt from his chair and flew into my arms to give me another breath-stopping hug that lasted a long time.  I felt his tears drip onto my neck as I hugged him back.  I didn’t think either of us had been happier.  But even greater happiness lay ahead.

I broke the hug, looked at his tear-stained face, and said, “It will be more than a vacation, my love.  It will be our honeymoon.”

He looked startled.  Then confused.  Then he said, “Does that mean...”

“Yes,” I grinned at him.  “It means exactly what you think.  It means that you ... I should say we ... don’t have to wait any longer.  Starting tonight, we will be true partners.  That is, if you’re still willing to love, honor, and cherish ‘till death do us part.”

“Here’s my answer,” he exclaimed and kissed me almost ferociously.

Finally able to break the kiss, I said, “Let’s leave the supper dishes until morning.  I led him down the hall, picked him up, and carried him over the threshold of my bedroom.

End Part 3...

 Part 4

I was thrilled that Jason and I could, at last, fully join together.  Our emotional and spiritual bond had formed long ago but it had not been complete.  We had opened our minds and souls to each other but now we would be giving our bodies to each other as well.  We were about to become not two lovers but a single, inseparable pair ... a couple ... two halves of a whole ... devoted partners in every meaningful way.  Months of denial and impatient waiting only intensified the anticipation of our ultimate union.  It would be a night of total commitment, an experience we had both yearned for, and one that would be permanently etched in our memory to remind us of the absolute joy of giving and receiving the ultimate expression of love.

Having symbolically carried him across the threshold of my bedroom, I laid him on my bed.  I sat next to him, delighting in his broad smile.  “Jason my love,” I said.  “We’re about to unite as one.  We’ll be explorers in an enchanted land.  Neither of us has taken the path that lies before us.  I’m sure -- at least for tonight -- we’ll be in a glorious territory, full of thrills and satisfaction.  But there may also be some difficulties and dangers ahead of us.  Are you sure you’re willing to face them together, to live you life with me in a gay partnership?”

“Absolutely,” he replied.  “It’s what I want more than anything.”

“I’m also sure.  Never more sure of anything.  And never more grateful.  But we’re novices at what we’re about to do .  We’ve heard about gay sex, maybe read about it, but everything will be new and wonderful as we experience it.  There are only two rules we must remember.  Whatever we want to do ... or say ... or feel ... is all right.  Rule two is important.  If either of us doesn’t want to do something, we must say so and the other must honor the request.  Can we agree on those rules?”

“Of course.”

“Now, there’s something I would like to do.  In appreciation of your understanding and patience waiting for this moment, I would like to relax, to enjoy the moment, and to let me fulfill your dreams.  I want to take you to the heights of ecstasy.  Later, if you want, you can do whatever you want to me.  May I do to you what I’ve been longing to do?”

“Yes.  Please.  Love me however you want to.”

I kissed him, not passionately but tenderly.  I removed his tee shirt.  I had seen his bare chest many times as he walked to the bathroom in the morning or from the bathroom at night.  And admired the firm muscles that formed the base of nipples that seemed to beg for stimulation.  I admired his flat stomach that disappeared into his trousers or pajama bottoms.  This was different.  I could not only see and admire; I could now touch ... feel ... and caress, which I began to do with overwhelming effect on me.  “You’re beautiful, my love,” I said.  “As beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside.”  And he was!  There was only a sprinkling of fine hair on his sculpted chest with most of it encircling his dark nipples.  There was more hair on his legs -- I had noticed that whenever he wore short pants.  It testified to his maturity and masculinity.

After a few minutes of massaging his torso and suckling on his responsive nipples, I removed his shoes and socks and started to unfasten his belt.  Jason interrupted me.  “Jerry, you said I should let you do what you wanted.  Can I ask something of you?”

“Yes.  What is it?”

“I’d like to see you naked, too.”

“Of course.  I apologize for not thinking of that.”

I stood and undressed while Jason watched intently.  When I lowered my boxers and revealed my rigid hard-on, he gasped.  “Better than I imagined it,” he muttered to himself as much as to me.  I stood for a moment to let him visually examine my equipment that would, before long, belong to him as much as to me.

I returned to lavish my attention on Jason -- being mindful, whenever possible, to keep my manhood within his view.  I removed his trousers, exposing a sizable bulge in his briefs.  The contours of his erect penis were obvious.  And inviting.  As I prepared to remove his briefs, I grew nervous.  I don’t to this day know why.  Perhaps it was a subconscious thought that I was the first to be doing this to an extremely desirable virgin and I feared that I was not worthy of the honor or might not be able to meet his expectations.  But my eagerness to give him pleasure kept me going.

I lowered and removed his briefs.  My heart began to pound as I saw what Jason was offering to share, to admire, to fondle, and -- I reminded myself -- to use as a means of giving my lover the ecstatic pleasure of sexual gratification.  He was uncut, a rarity in today’s western culture but the envy of many gay men because of the heightened stimulation the foreskin provided.  The tip of his cockhead peeked seductively from the clinging foreskin that surrounded it.  I ran my fingers through his thick bush of black pubic hair.  I cradled his pendulous ball sack and tenderly played with the orbs that were full of youthful seed soon to be released -- for his erotic pleasure and into my hungry mouth.  I was then I noticed a glistening string of precum extending from the tip of his cock down to a small puddle above his pubic hair.  Lust trumped my plan to prolong the foreplay and to heighten his arousal.  I bent down and licked it up from his lower abdomen and from the tip of his cock.  At the moment my tongue touched the tip of his throbbing rod, his body convulsed.  He bucked his hips, forcing his manhood into my mouth.  And he screamed, “OH, GOD!”

For an instant, I was concerned that his reaction signaled pain or fear but when he grabbed the back of my head and pulled it downward into his crotch, forcing much of his shaft into my mouth, I realized that his reaction was an uncontrollable reflex, triggered by a wonderful experience of consuming pleasure.  With one hand fondling his balls, the other stroking the base of his cock, and my mouth and tongue roaming all over the engorged cockhead, I did my best to bring him to a climax.  It was a surprisingly short time before he yelled, “I gonna shoot!  NOW!”

I tightened my lips around the geyser that would soon fill my mouth with his seed.  It took some effort because he was writhing vigorously, gripping the bed cover beneath him, and bucking his hips furiously.  Then, I was rewarded with several volleys of hot cream that blasted against the back of my throat.  I had to swallow frantically so as not to lose a single drop of the precious nectar.

I held him tightly after his orgasm with our naked bodies pressed together and merging into one.  I was extraordinarily pleased that Jason had so thoroughly enjoyed his first oral sex.  My enjoyment in tasting his manhood was, I thought, nearly equal to his.  I found myself regretting that I had insisted that we wait so long.  The joy of making love to Jason, the delight in his gratification, and the bliss in a simple act of cuddling together, was as close as any mortal can come to paradise.

When he seemed to have recovered, I asked, “Was it what you expected?”

He looked me in the eye and said sincerely, “No.  It was unbelievably better.  I loved you before, Jerry, but I love you infinitely more now.”

We kissed and hugged for a while.  Then he asked, “My turn?”

I rolled over on my back.  Jason eagerly took control, essentially repeating what I had done to -- or, rather, for -- him.  The most satisfying orgasm of my life propelled me into an orbit of ecstasy followed by a free-fall of overwhelming satisfaction.

We embraced.  We kissed.  We basked in the glow of fulfillment.  We had shared our bodies in a loving act with the sensual pleasure accenting both the significance and the joy of completing our union.  We had exchanged our precious seed so that a part of us would forever be a part of the other.  

Twice more before we fell asleep in each other’s arms after midnight we repeated the ritual bonding, each time with more foreplay and less ejaculate but each time with renewed satisfaction that, after a frustrating and often stressful wait, we were at last bonded emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  Multiple times before we fell asleep, we reaffirmed our love and our unassailable commitment to ‘love, honor, and cherish ‘till death do us part.’

Just before dawn, I awoke with a start from a dream and sat bolt upright, fully awake, in a cold sweat.  In the dream, as before, Jason and I were cuddling naked in bed.  As before, my father appeared in the doorway.  Unlike before, however, he was smiling.

My abrupt movement had awakened Jason who asked, “What’s the matter, Jerry.”  You look scared or something.”

 “Just a bad dream, my love.  Nothing to be concerned about.  I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m not,” he said with a devilish grin.  “As long as we’re both awake ... and it’s too soon to get up ... I thought ...”

“Great idea!” I exclaimed as I pounced on him and began making love again.

********************

Two weeks later, we landed at Hawkins Field airport in Jackson, Mississippi.  I picked up my rental car and we headed down I-55 toward McComb.  As I turned east on State Route 44 toward my parents’ farm, Jason was growing increasingly nervous over meeting my parents.  My best efforts at calming him down seemed to make no difference.  I pulled off the highway into the parking lot of a roadside diner and stopped the car.  I turned toward him and reminded him of our many conversations before leaving on vacation.  “They’re sure to like you, Jason.  They may not show it; they don’t often demonstrate their feelings.  Don’t let that bother you.  Just be yourself.  I predict that before supper is over, you’ll be more at ease.  Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?  I can’t imagine it happening but let’s say they don’t like you and you don’t like them.  We’ll only be there for two days.”

“That’s not the worst,” he said morosely.  “What if they suspect we’re gay lovers?  You’ve told me how they hate homosexuals.  I don’t mind them hating me but I don’t want them to hate you.  You’re their son.”

“They won’t!  I’ve already convinced them that you’re just one of my former students who is traveling with me because it’s no fun to vacation alone.  As long as we’re careful around them, you have nothing to worry about.”  His mood didn’t seem to improve so I tried another approach.  “Of course, we don’t have to be careful at night in the motel, do we?”

He grinned.  That was a good sign and perhaps the most I could hope for.

My parents were, as I knew they would be, hospitable; that’s one of the core values in the rural deep-south.  By the middle of the next day, Jason was more comfortable and even got my father communicating in more than single syllables by asking all kinds of questions about farming and showing a genuine interest in the answers.  My mother was a mother; she repeatedly asked why we couldn’t stay longer, if I was sure I was well, and when I would marry and have children.  Still a slave to the sense of responsibility to nurture here children, she prepared a sack of food for us when we left.  I suppose we were fortunate that none of my siblings were there.  Like me, they had all gotten away from the farm to take a job -- and a husband or a wife -- in one city or another.  I suspected that their exposure to a diverse population in urban areas might have made them curious if not suspicious of Jason’s accompanying me.

On the drive to New Orleans for three days of sight-seeing, Jason commented on the marked change in me.  “To your parents,” he observed, “You’re still a little boy.  That’s not surprising.  My parents are the same way; they treat me like I was still in high school.  But you even acted like a dependent child sometimes.  You weren’t as thoughtful and confident as I know you are.  Even your accent got more pronounced.  I don’t think I would have fallen in love with you as quickly that way.”

I laughed.  “You know what they say.  You can take the boy from the farm but you can’t take the farm from the boy.  I suppose I’ll always have a little farm boy in me.”

“Well,” he mused, “You sure hide it well ... just like you hid your sexual interests.  I’m just glad you let your gayness show enough to bring us together.”

After nearly two weeks of sight-seeing, deep sea fishing, parasailing, and intense love-making at night in the motel, we returned home.  A week after that, I put Jason on a plane for Seattle to visit his parents for two weeks.

I picked him up at the airport on his return from Seattle.  Upon seeing me in the baggage claim area, he broke into a run toward me, wrapped his arms around me, and held me tight.  I was delighted to have my Jason back but his public display of affection worried me.  I broke away from his embrace and said in a voice that could be heard by at least people near us, “Good to see you, too, little brother!”

He looked perplexed for a moment before he realized what he had done and why I called him little brother.  But he was able to recover quickly.  “It’s been a long time, bro.”

As soon as we loaded his luggage in the trunk and got in the car, he said, “I’m sorry, Jerry.  I was just so happy to see you that I forgot.  Are you mad at me?”

“No,” I said with a smile to underscore my reply.  “I understand.  In fact, you don’t know how close I came to kissing you right there in front of God and everybody.”

He chuckled, “You can do that and a lot more when we get home!”

“So, how was your stay with your parents?” I asked as I pulled out of the parking garage.

His cheerful attitude evaporated.  “Boring!  Lonely!  And that was the best part!”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, confused.

He looked at me and asked, “Can we talk about it later?  Maybe after we get home?  And go to bed for a while?  I missed you so much, Jerry.  All I want to do right now is show you how much I missed you.”

It was fairly clear that there was something about his stay in Seattle that bothered him, perhaps a lot.  But I honored his request to postpone discussing it.

We spent most of three hours in bed, first with an energetic, vigorous, and extremely erotic reunion and then a period of blissful relaxation.  It would be hard to say which of us was more grateful to be back together again.  We went out to eat supper and returned home about eight in the evening.  Yes, home!  Our house on the outskirts of a small town was OUR home.

We were sitting on the sofa in the living room when I dared to ask, “Want to tell me about your stay in Seattle?”

Jason thought for a moment and then related a disturbing story.  “The first week or so was okay.  I was glad to see my parents again because I do love them and missed them.  But it began to get on my nerves.  It was the little things, mostly.  They were fussing over me and treating me like a little boy, telling me, ‘It’s bedtime, dear’ or ‘Eat your vegetables; there’ll good for you’ or ‘No, you can’t borrow the car but I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’  They would ask me about school and I’d tell them about some of my classes but they would get this blank look like they didn’t understand what I was saying and then they would change the subject.  That part, I can understand; biology, chemistry, and physics can be confusing.  But it added to my impression that -- to them -- I was still a child and incapable of mature thought.  Or being responsible and independent.  I guess that primed me for one night at supper.  Dad launched into one of his tirades about queers.  One of his employees is gay and dad was hurling insults like the guy was subhuman.  I tolerated it as long as I could but when he said, ‘I thank God you’re not one of those goddamn degenerates, Jason.’  I lost it.  I shouldn’t have but I did.  I told him ‘Don’t be too sure, dad.’  While he glared at me, I regretted losing my cool.  I was going to try to cover my tracks by pointing out that there are lots of people you would never suspect of being gay and are fine human beings.  But I didn’t have the chance.  He laughed and resumed his vicious attack on gays.  Then I made the biggest mistake of my life.  But I was furious.  I said, ‘If you hate gays so much, dad, then you hate me because I’m gay.  Didn’t you ever wonder why I never dated girls in high school?  No, you didn’t.  You were too wrapped up in your job and too busy working on church projects.  I’m sorry to disappoint you, dad, but your son is gay ... or ... as you would say, one of those goddamn queers.’  I ran into the guest room where I was staying.  I was still mad at what my dad was saying ... not mad at him -- he’s still my dad ... but mad at what he said.  I must have cried for twenty minutes because I was sure that my dad not only hated gays but hated me as well.  I had blown it all because I couldn’t control my temper.”

Jason, in telling of his experience and reliving the episode, started to tear up.  I put my arm around him, held him tightly, and said, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Jason.  There’s only so much a person can stand before he breaks.  I’m not sure I would have tolerated his abuse as long as you did.”

“It gets worse,” he said.  “Later that evening, he knocked on the door and came in without my saying anything.  He said he was sorry if he offended me.  IF?  There was no ‘if’ about it!  He told me I would grow out of it.  That was the final straw -- treating me like a little kid again.  He wanted me to pray with him.  I told him, ‘No!  If you want to pray, go ahead.  It won’t do any good.  You might as well pray for me to be a girl or an Olympic athlete, or something I’m not because nothing can change what I am.’  ‘Okay,’ he said.  ‘If you don’t believe in repentance and God’s power to heal sinners, you can see a psychiatrist.’  It was going from bad to worse, Jerry.  I shouted, ‘No!  I’m not sick.  I don’t need to be cured!  I am what God made me!  I’m going to stay the way God made me!  If you can’t accept that, I’m sorry!’  I screwed up big time, Jerry.  My dad offended me, belittled me, made me lose my temper.  But I disappointed him and probably destroyed his love for me.  I wish I could go back and relive that night and make it come out differently.”

Jason broke down into sobs as I continued to hold him tightly.  There was nothing I could say at that point; he had to drain himself of grief and guilt.

“How did your mother handle it all?” I asked.

“She didn’t say anything malicious or insulting toward gays but in more polite words and by nodding in agreement with dad, she expressed the same disapproval of gays.  The next day, she asked me, ‘Are you sure, dear?’ and I calmly told her that I was absolutely sure.  She acted like I had punched her in the stomach and walked away.  For the next couple of days, my parents and I hardly spoke to each other.  That icy coexistence hurt me as much as dad’s bigotry.  I’m sure I hurt them even more.  And I suppose I’m going to have to live with that.”

“I’m sorry, Jason, for the way things turned out.  But I think I understand how you felt at the time and how you feel now.  I’ll say it again.  Don’t be too hard on yourself.  It’s not the way either of us would want them to find out but eventually they probably would have anyway so their disappointment couldn’t be prevented -- only delayed.”

“There’s just one thing I’m proud of, Jerry.  I didn’t tell them about us, about how we love each other, and about what we do together.  I wanted to.  I wanted to tell them how much we love each other and are committed to each other.  I wanted to convince them that it was love and not just sex.  There’s a huge difference.  But I kept you out of it.  They probably suspect but they can’t be sure.”

“Thank you,” I said.  “At some point, we’ll probably have to tell them but let’s worry about that later.  Right now, what I want and what I think you need is some quiet time in bed.  Just us.  Let’s enjoy being together.”

He grinned.  “You’re still horny after this afternoon?”

I grinned back.  “I’m always horny when you’re around.  For that matter, I get horny thinking about you when you’re not around.  But what I had in mind was just peaceful cuddling where we can hold each other.”

“But if something comes up?” he asked.

“Mmmm,” I replied.  “Something?  Whatever could you be talking about?”

He stood with his devilish grin broadening and led me into our bedroom.

********************

Jason periodically fell into a funk over the damage he felt he had done and the bleak outlook for a restoration of a relationship with his parents.  He tried a few times to phone them but they were polite at best and decidedly cool toward him.  After a few calls trying to repair the damage, he gave up.  It was then he started to worry about paying tuition.  I assured him that I would pay the tuition if his parents didn’t but that seemed to upset him more.  Even pointing out that we were a couple -- even though we were not legally married -- and that many married people gladly paid for their spouse’s education didn’t diminish his resistance to letting me help.

Late one afternoon, he got an email from his father.  In a rather formal way it said that his tuition for the coming year had been paid but that he would have to earn money for his dorm room and meals in the college cafeteria.  He called it up on the computer and asked me to read it.

“What do you think, Jerry?  Is that good news or bad news?  He’s paid my tuition but it seems he’s cutting me out of his life by not providing living expenses.”

“Here’s my guess, Jason.  Paying your tuition means that you’re still his son ... a son who he wants to be successful in life.  It may even mean that beneath his disappointment there’s something inside of him that still loves you.  As for not paying living expenses, one interpretation is that he’s finally recognized that you’ve grown up and are capable of supporting yourself as an adult.”

“Nice try,” Jason said dismissively.  “But congratulations for putting a positive spin on it.”

“Positive spin?” I asked.  “I think not!  I’m just suggesting one interpretation.  If you want to put a negative spin on it, that’s your choice.  You can decide whether to feel miserable or to pick up the pieces and get on with your life.  You can look back to what once was and may not ever be again or you can look forward to the future and prepare for it.   Let me know what you decide.” 

I walked out of the room.  I had been harsh, perhaps too harsh.  I couldn’t decide whether I had made a mistake or done Jason a favor.  One thing I did know, however.  Jason was still grieving over what he chose to believe was the loss of his parents’ love.  Somehow I would have to be patient and help him through the crisis.

Half an hour later, he walked into the living room where I was pretending to read.  (I was actually trying to think of some way to help Jason.)

“Are you mad at me, Jerry?”

“No, my love.  I’m concerned.  I understand how you feel and I’m at a total loss as to how to help you cope.”

“You sounded mad.  I don’t want to lose your love, too.”

“Come here and sit down,” I said patting the sofa beside me.  I put my arm around him and gave him a tender kiss.  “Remember the phrase in the traditional marriage vows?  In sickness and health?  What that means to me is that we have to stick together.  Through thick and thin.  Each of us must support the other whenever problems arise.  We both must shoulder the responsibility of solving problems whether it’s a problem for both of us or for just one of us.  That’s what I want to do.  I want to preserve the love we have for each other.  I’m not mad at you, Jason.  I’m just frustrated that I can’t help because you’re torturing yourself.  Sure, you may -- or may not -- have lost something that meant a lot to you -- your relationship with your family.  There’s an old prayer.  I don’t know the source but I think it fits our situation.  And I do mean OUR situation.  ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change those I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’  I give you credit for courage and wisdom.  Can you work on the serenity a little?”

“I’ll try,” he said as he snuggled more closely into me.

“That’s all I ask.  Well ... maybe one more thing.  Don’t bottle up your feelings.  Keep talking to me.  I want to know anything that bothers you.  Did you know that sadness and happiness are contagious?  It’s true!  There are little micro-organisms.  Science hasn’t seen them yet because they’re part of the dark matter that fills the universe.  They float from one person to another infecting them with sadness or happiness.  The real problem comes when they ...”

Jason sat upright and punched my shoulder.  “You’re making this all up!” he exclaimed through his laughter.

“Not so!” I shot back.  “We’ve just experienced what they can do.  You laughed.  The happy micro-organisms were stimulated by your laughter and they infused my body so now I’m happier.”

He snuggled back into me and said, “That’s one reason why I love you.  Not only do you think of me first but you have a knack for making me see myself.  And I forgive you for telling a lie about fictitious micro-organisms.”

“I NEVER lie!  They are not fictitious.  They’re real and ...”

Before I could finish, Jason straddled my legs and pounded my chest yelling, “Liar, liar!”

I grabbed his wrists and pushed him back.  “Let me demonstrate a part of that little prayer -- the part about changing the things we can -- things like your beating on me.”  I pulled him into me and gave him a very long, very deep throated kiss.  When we broke the kiss, I said, “I mentioned the sad bugs and the happy bugs.  Let me tell you about the love bugs.  Did you feel them infecting you when we kissed?”

He chuckled and said, “No.  What I felt was my cock swelling.”

********************

Jason was less moody after that or at least he did what he could to hide it from me.  The return to school in September kept him occupied and we fell into a routine that always included a discussion over supper of our day’s events.  Things were going smoothly ... until the week of Thanksgiving.  Jason was eager for the short break from school but the prospect of spending the holiday away from his family, for the first time in his life, weighed heavily on him.  I suggested a short get-away from Wednesday night through Sunday and that seemed to lift his spirits if only a little.

When we returned from the mini-vacation, there was a message on the answering machine among a few others.  It was from Jason’s father: “Hi, Jason.  I couldn’t let Thanksgiving pass without telling you how much we miss you at the table.  I hope you are enjoying the holiday and hope you can visit over Christmas.  I promise to behave myself.  We both miss you and love you and want to see you.  Oh, another thing, please tell Dr. Collins he’s welcome to come with you.  The more the merrier.  Call us when you can.”

Jason was beside himself and couldn’t talk fast enough when he rattled off his reaction.  “Did you hear that, Jerry?  He said he loves me!  Is that great or what?  Do you suppose he’s really accepted the fact that he has a gay son?  Or was he just trying to be a model father when he said he’d behave himself?  And what did he mean by ‘behave myself’?  Has he really changed his mind?”

“One question at a time, Jason.  Please.” I grinned.

“Okay.  Hold on a minute.”  He punched the replay button to listen again.  When it finished, he seized me in a bear hug, exclaiming, “I’m so happy!  I’ve got you ... I’ve got my family back.  They’ve even invited you.  This is wonderful.”

We had a long discussion about the phone call and its probable significance.  It was very clear that Jason wanted to visit his parents at Christmas and I agreed that he should.  However, I said, “I’m pleased that they invited me but -- let me throw this out only as a question for you to consider -- would it be better for you to go alone and make it a family affair?  Would my presence interfere with the reconciliation?”

He thought for a moment, just as I expected he would, and then said, “No.  One: I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here alone.  Two: it would be a chance for them to get to know you better and see what a wonderful person you are.  Three: whether they know it or not, you’re a member of the family ... kind of like a son-in-law.  Four: things are less likely to get ugly with you there.  And five: if things do get ugly, you can help me control my temper.  Now, tell me what you think.”

“I think your quick analysis and logic is admirable.  Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Then it’s settled!” he said gleefully.  “I’m gonna call dad right now and say we’ll be there.”

“One more question before you do, Jason.  How many bedrooms in their house?”

“Three,” he said and immediately frowned.  “I guess we’ll have to sleep separately for a few days.”

I pretended to pout for dramatic effect and then broke into a smile to say, “We’ll just have to make up for it when we get home.”

“Count on it!” he exclaimed and reached for the phone.

********************

The three days we spent in Seattle over Christmas went surprisingly well.  Jason became irritated on several occasions when he thought he was being treated as a child but I reminded him that was inevitable; we’re always children to our parents.  I also reminded him that he witnessed it when we visited my parents. 

We had some private time during the day -- to do some Christmas shopping, for example -- in which Jason enthused about his parents’ friendly attitude toward him.  Bedtime was the hardest part of the visit for me.  I didn’t realize until then how much it meant to me to fall asleep with our arms around each other.  He told me that he felt the same way.

Mrs. Hendricks fixed a spectacular brunch on the day we were to drive home.  At the end of the meal, Mr. Hendricks said to Jason, “I want you to know, son, that I’m very proud of you, especially for your accomplishments in college.  More importantly, I want you to know that I love you.  I haven’t shown it as much as I should and we’ve had our moments of ... ah ... disagreement.  The last time you were here...”  He hesitated and glanced over at me.  “Well, I want to apologize.  Believe me, I’m sorry.”

Sensing that Mr. Hendricks was uncomfortable saying what he wanted to say with me in the room, I said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some last-minute packing.”

Jason immediately said, “You don’t have to leave, Jerry.”  Then, looking at his father, he continued, “Jerry knows I’m gay, dad.  And he knows what happened here last summer.  In fact, he’s the one who helped me through my misery when I thought you no longer loved me.  Without him, I would have been a nut case.”

Mr. Hendricks seemed shocked that his tirade, his apparent rejection of Jason, and his months of aloofness that followed had been shared outside the family.  But he eventually turned to me and said, “Thank you, Jerry.  It seems you’ve been like a second father to Jason ... beginning with your help in assuring his continued schooling and guiding him through a troubled time.  I can never thank you enough.”

“Perhaps you should be thanking yourself ... and your wife,” I replied.  “Because you’ve raised a truly fine young man.  You have a fine son and the credit is largely yours.  It’s been nothing but a privilege and a pleasure to help and to see your son become an adult on the threshold of greatness.”

As we left the house for the drive home, I thanked my hosts for the invitation and for the exceptional hospitality.  They both said I would be welcome any time.  Jason then hugged his mother who, I could tell, was on the brink of tears.  For what appeared to be an awkward moment, he looked at his father.  Then, he grasped him in a bear hug.  The man looked embarrassed and uncomfortable at first but returned the hug.  Jason later told me it was the first time they had indulged in any physical show of affection since he was a toddler.

Jason chattered incessantly for the first half hour of the drive home.  He was still amazed at the contrast between this visit and the last.  He could hardly believe how well this visit had turned out.  At one point, he enthused, “Did you hear him Jerry?  He said he loves me!  He probably still hates gays but he loves me.  Isn’t that amazing?”

I just smiled at him and said, “Remember when I told you about the sad bugs and the happy bugs?  Well, the happy bugs are swarming all over me and that makes me almost as happy as you are.”

EPILOG

Jason received a prestigious internship with a biotech firm during the summer after his junior year and part-time throughout his senior year.  He graduated summa cum laude and went to work for the firm full-time while pursuing an MBA part-time.  I was promoted to full professor on tenure track.

Although some neighbors and some co-workers might suspect the true nature of our relationship, we haven’t felt the need to “go public” with the information.  Jason’s parents no doubt know the truth but neither they nor we have talked openly about it.  My parents, I’m sure, are blissfully unaware that their youngest son is ‘living in sin.’  To the outside world we are good friends who share a house.  In the privacy of our home, however, we share not just a house and an interest in biology but joyfully share a bed.  Our love has grown stronger.  Our times of intimacy have become less frequent but even more meaningful.

What began as no more than helping a promising student stay in school as a way of balancing the scales after I had been helped by so many people resulted in my receiving the gift of love. 

Posted: 08/21/09