Lonely Stephan
By: Morris Henderson
(Copyright 2007 by the author)
 

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

Part 1, 2

The Bensons moved into the neighborhood when I was 15 but it was three months before I learned there was a son, Stephan, about my age. My mother and father would occasionally wave or speak to Mrs. Benson when they saw her in the yard but she didn't seem to be too friendly so contact with the new resident of the former Walton house was minimal.

Just after Thanksgiving, my mother was surprised when Mrs. Benson rang our doorbell at 9:00 in the evening appearing very upset. My mother invited her in and offered coffee or tea, which was declined. They sat in the living room as I worked at the kitchen table on a project for school. I didn't pay much attention to their conversation until I heard Mrs. Benson say, "I hate to ask but I don't know anyone else in the neighborhood and I need a favor."

I remember thinking at that point that if she were not so aloof, she might have more friends.

"Of course," my mother replied. "How can we help?"

Growing more upset, Mrs. Benson explained her problem. "My daughter is expecting her third baby any day but has developed complications." She glanced at me, possibly thinking that I was too young to hear about such things but I pretended to be engrossed in my project. "She's been confined to bed," Mrs. Benson continued and there's no one to care for her two other pre-school children. She's asked me to help for a few days until the new baby comes."

"I'm sorry to hear that," my mother responded. "But what is it that you would like us to do?"

"My daughter lives in New Jersey. If I leave now, I can be there in about two hours. But I don't want to take Stephan with me."

"Stephan?" my mother asked.

"My son. He's 15 and can generally take care of himself but I would feel more comfortable if somebody could just look in on him from time to time."

"I didn't know you had a son at home," my mother said and added, "You know, however, that both John and I work during the day. It would only be in the evening that we could stop by."

"I know. I've seen you both leave for work and come home. But I'd be grateful if you could visit him if only in the evening."

"We can do more than that," my mother offered. "Jason," she called to me. "Come in here, please."

I went into the living room already expecting what my mother was going to ask. She summarized the conversation, unaware that I had heard all of it, and asked, "Would you please stop by the Benson house after school and check up on Stephan? Dad or I will do it after supper."

I felt that if Stephan was 15 like me, he should be capable of taking care of himself for a few days. After all, I was on my own from getting up in the morning until about 7:00 in the evening. However, I didn't feel like asserting that a 15-year-old can be trusted. I was also curious to meet someone who, until that moment, didn't even exist. I agreed. Mrs. Benson seemed both grateful and relieved, and I returned to my project in the kitchen.

Upon leaving, Mrs. Benson said, "I've stocked the refrigerator and pantry. Stephan has plenty of medication. But here's my daughter's phone number if there is any problem. I've got a long drive so I think I'd better be on my way."

"Drive safely," my mother urged. "I hope things work out for your daughter. And don't worry about Stephan."

My mother thanked me for agreeing to the request; I finished my project and got ready for bed. I wondered why I had not seen the boy during the three months that he lived in the neighborhood.

After school the next day, I stopped at the Benson house on my way home. I rang the doorbell and wondered what kind of boy Stephan would turn out to be.

I was not prepared for what opened the door. Stephan was short--probably eight inches shorter than I was and I was not as tall as most of my classmates. He wore a long-sleeved shirt that hung loosely on his torso. His trousers were equally baggy but cinched at the waist with a belt. The too-large clothes couldn't hide the fact that he was pitifully thin. His short, blonde hair contrasted with the fashionable long hair that most of the boys had at the time. His face was unremarkable, the kind that wouldn't draw anyone's attention if it were not so gaunt. I was reminded of the TV commercials that showed emaciated children in third-world countries and asked for a donation.

"You must be Josh," he said unenthusiastically. "Mom told me you would be stopping by. I'm okay so if you don't want to stay, don't feel like you have to." The words were spoken softly in a near monotone as though he was afraid to express himself.

There was something about his appearance and demeanor that told me he was not okay. I suppose it was the almost palpable impression of a sad, lonely boy. What bothered me most, however, was that he seemed to be brushing me off. If he was lonely as I suspected he was, why would he turn away a visitor of his own age? I took it as a challenge. He wouldn't win by getting rid of me and thereby lose by not gaining a friend.

"I'd like to stay for a little while," I replied. "I've got no homework and my parents won't be home until about seven."

"Okay," he replied with only a hint of enthusiasm that I hadn't detected before. "Come on in."

The house was comfortably furnished although not elegant. We sat in the living room that featured a wall of books on shelves, a bay window, and a stone fireplace. I tried to maintain a conversation but Stephan was not holding up his end. I managed to learn, however, that he was home-schooled by his mother. He refered to a health problem but he avoided explaining what it was. He had two married sisters that lived out of town. I had already noticed a large picture above the mantle of his mother, a man in uniform, and three small children--two girls and a baby. Pointing to the picture, I asked, "That's your family?"

"Yes," he answered in a typically brief way.

"Your dad's in the army?"

"He was. He was killed in Viet Nam six months ago."

Stephan's lack of emotion over losing his father was typical of his attitude throughout our brief conversation but surprising. Loosing a father so recently should, I thought, have evoked more feeling.

"I'm sorry," I said weakly.

"No big deal," he said. I concluded that he was either continuing to conceal his feelings or that he never had a close relationship with his father.

I changed the subject and again tried to engage him in conversation but soon tired of my fruitless effort. "See you tomorrow, Stephan. You have our phone number if you need anything?"

"Yes," he replied. "Thanks for stopping by."

That evening, I told my parents about my visit. My mother seemed disturbed by what she heard. She took a serving of tapioca pudding over to Stephan. (What is it about mothers? They think that food is the solution to most problems.) She returned within 15 minutes even more upset. He had been just as quiet and aloof as when I had visited him earlier. We had a long discussion in which we agreed that I should redouble my efforts at helping Stephan. Based on our first encounter, I didn't look forward to it.

The next day during school, I thought about Stephan frequently and tried to devise a strategy to relieve his solitary life. After school, I went home, grabbed my Monopoly game, and went over to Stephan's house. I hoped he would be interested in playing. It would mean that I could spend more than a few minutes with him without the burden of trivial conversation.

When he opened the door, it was not what I expected. He wore loose fitting gym shorts that exposed his spindly legs. His tee shirt had a WWJD symbol. Unlike his loose-fitting shirt he wore yesterday, this one was several sizes smaller. It hugged his frail torso and showed about four inches of bare skin between it and his shorts. The impression was that of a stick-figure. Unlike the day before, he greeted me warmly and invited me in.

"Whatcha got?" he asked.

"A Monopoly game," I replied. "I thought you might like to play."

"Sure," he said enthusiastically. "But you'll have to teach me how."

I was surprised that he didn't know how to play but even more surprised at the complete change in his personality. He was distant, shy, and apparently sad the day before, but was now more animated and friendly. I couldn't explain the change of character but I welcomed it. We set up the Monopoly board on the kitchen table and I explained the rules of the game. He caught on very quickly, remembering everything I said and asking some pertinent questions. I remember thinking that his body was undeveloped but his mind was just the opposite.

After about an hour and a half, he was well ahead of me in property and cash and he suggested that we take a break. He got two diet Cokes from the refrigerator and invited me into the living room where he sat cross-legged in the center of a small sofa and pointed to a facing armchair.

"I'm sorry for being so inhospitable yesterday," he said. "I was afraid you were just stopping by because your mother made you and you didn't want to do it."

"Yes," I replied. "My mother asked me but I really did want to meet you. I didn't even know you lived here. I've never seen you."

"I don't get out much," he said, sadly I thought. It's nice of you to come visit."

I had to ask. "So how come you don't get out? You've lived here for three months and I've never seen you."

He seemed to revert to his sullen self that I had witnessed the day before. "Just a health problem," he said solemnly. "I get weak and tired sometimes. And I'm sure you've noticed that I can't put on any weight. The doctors haven't figured it out yet so they try out different medications trying to find something that helps."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said honestly but he must have interpreted my expression differently.

"It's not contagious," he assured me. "That much we do know. So you don't have to worry about catching anything."

I began to ask what the doctors thought it might be but it was clear he did not want to discuss it any more. He abruptly changed the subject to how he spent his time--mostly reading and drawing. "You read these books?" I asked, pointing to the abundance of books on the shelves.

"Most of them. Even those religious books of my mother's."

I couldn't decide why he singled out those books to mention. Was he religious? That would explain the WWJD shirt. Or was the mention of them an inadvertant admission that he read them only to occupy time and not because he was interested in them. I chose not to ask why.

As we spoke, he would occasionally shift positions, which, of course, is not unusual. However, at one point, as he sat cross-legged, I could see right up the leg of his loose gym shorts. I caught a glance at his cock hanging down across his balls. Unconsciously, I uttered a small gasp. I desperately hoped that he didn't hear it but, realistically, he would have to have noticed my reaction. If he did, he gave no indication that he had.

I tried to ignore it but my eyes were repeatedly drawn to his crotch. I thought about casually mentioning that he was showing what he shouldn't but concluded that would only embarrass him. Besides, that would only make him cover up and deny me the sight of his cock. It was an average size for a 15-year-old but seemed large compared to this thin body. I was sure at the time that it was completely innocent and that he just didn't realize that he was exposing himself. The effect on me, however, was very unsettling because I had been fascinated with boys' equipment for three years and had only recently accepted the fact that I liked boys more than girls.

I stared a little too long and didn't hear him ask a question.

When I finally tore my eyes from Stephan's crotch, I saw he was giving me a slight smile as he said, "Josh! Hello! I asked what you did for fun."

Having just seen his cock and felt a tingle in my own, the only answer that came to mind was that I jerked off a lot. But obviously, I couldn't say that so I stuttered out something about playing baseball. He then began asking me questions about baseball They were innocent questions but in my state of mind, a few of them carried a double meaning. When I said that I played left field, he asked, "So you catch a lot of balls?" Of course I did but the thought of his balls came to mind. When I mentioned batting, he asked, "You have your own bat? Is it a big one?" I had a bat but the distraction of seeing his cock made me think of the 'bat' between my legs. Most of his questions were innocuous enough and he seemed to be genuinely interested in hearing all about my experiences on the baseball field. However, when I said that playing on a hot day made me sweaty and I looked forward to the shower after the game, he asked, "Do you shower with all the other players?" I said that I did but it then struck me that it was a rather odd question.

There's no doubt he noticed my frequent glances at his cock while we talked but he just smiled and said, "I think that would be fun but I'm limited to indoor sports." His comment was innocent but took on new meaning because he shifted positions again to give me an even clearer view of his cock and balls. Could it be? Could he be like me? Was he sending a signal? If so, my reaction was what he wanted. I stared again at what he seemed to be deliberately showing to me. Simultaneously, I felt my own cock begin to swell. I worried, however, that he was religious, would regard homosexuality as a sin, and would hate me for reacting so obviously to an accidental display of his penis.

Until that awkward moment, I had not linked Stephan and sex in the same thought. Certainly not the day before when I met a skinny, unfriendly kid and not while we played Monopoly when he was more friendly but we were both engrossed in the game. Now, however, he seemed to be testing my interests; he seemed to be inviting me to be more than a casual visitor. Seemed to be. I couldn't be sure. The WWJD logo on his shirt seemed to contradict my interpretation of his actions and comments. I decided to wait for more definitive evidence. Besides, I wasn't ready to admit my own interests that I had kept a secret from everybody. I changed the subject.

"You say you draw?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I'm just learning. I'm not good enough to show my drawings to anybody but my mother."

"You can show them to me. I'd really like to see them." I figured that would put us back into a neutral atmosphere. If he then dropped any more hints, I could be more sure of his intentions.

"Okay," he replied. "They're all in my room. Come on up."

He led me upstairs to his bedroom where I saw an easel set up in the corner and several drawing pads on an adjacent table. He showed me some charcoal sketches and some water colors of landscapes, still lifes, and portraits. All were remarkably good and I told him so.

He thanked me for the compliment and added, "Like I said, I don't get out much so I bring the outside world to me in my drawings." Once again, I felt a tinge of sympathy for Stephan. His isolated existance must be difficult. At the same time, however, I admired his ability to make the best of the situation.

We had gone through all of the sketchpads on the table and I asked, "Do you have any more?"

"Well...yes...but they're...ah...maybe not the kind you'd like."

"Let me be the judge of that. I'd really like to see them."

"Okay, but you have to promise me something. If you don't like them or don't want to see them all, you have to tell me."

"Deal," I replied while wondering why he should be so cautious about my reaction when all of his drawings were so good.

I was puzzled when Stephan went to his desk in another corner of the room, fished down to the bottom of a drawer, and withdrew a key. With the key, he went to his closet, retrieved a small chest, and unlocked the lid. "Remember," he said, "If you don't like what you see, you must tell me."

I confirmed my promise, he took out a pile of papers from the chest, and handed it to me. The drawing on top took my breath away. It was an ink drawing of a nude man about to throw a discus in a Roman stadium. The musculature was impressively detailed and you could almost sense the energy about to be unleashed. The next picture was a charcoal drawing of a younger man, also nude, standing in a pose similar to the famous statue of David. Again, the detail, proportions, and overall composition was extraordinary.

"These are marvelous," I gushed.

"You're not offended by them?" he asked.

"Not at all. They're as good or better than your others. Why do you keep them locked up?"

"My mother would not approve. She would think they were obscene. And she would probably think they were evil."

"Evil?" I blurted out. "What's wrong with admiring a man's body?" I immediately regretted what I said. I should have said something about the quality of the drawings or point out that a lot of great art shows nudity. Instead, I had inadvertently implied my own admiration for male bodies. I should have known better. I hoped he wouldn't notice my mistake.

My hopes were dashed when he asked, quite seriously, "Do you admire nude men?"

I tried to recover. "I admire talented artists." However, Stephan was perceptive enough to recognize my deflection of his question.

"That's not what I asked. Do you admire nude men?"

I gave a noncommittal answer, "Doesn't everybody?" and immediately returned to examine the rest of his drawings. I was relieved that he didn't pursue his line of questioning.

Apparently, he was forcing me to respond to a thinly disguised inquiry into my sexual preferences. There had been hints of what his preferences were--displaying his cock, showing me his secret stash of pictures. But I knew that the number of gay boys was very small so it was unlikely that Stephan would be among that minority. In addition, there was the WWJD logo on his shirt, which seemed to be evidence that he was a staunch Christian and would regard homosexuality as deviant.

There were about 15 drawings in the pile--all of nude males ranging in age from pre-pubescent to late twenties. All were exceptionally well done and, as I moved from one to the next in the pile, they became increasingly erotic, especially the last one that showed two boys of about 15 locked in an embrace and both with erections. I spent a little more time examining that one.

When I looked up, Stephan was sitting cross-legged on his bed and once again exposing his cock. Surely, I thought, he had to know what he was doing and was just waiting for some sort of response from me. I made a decision. I would give him a reason to escalate what appeared to be his advances. "You told me that you bring the outside world in by creating these drawings. I create a world, too, but I don't have the artistic skill that you have. What I create is just in my imagination. What's more, I think that we're both creating the same kind of world. A world that other people would disapprove of. Am I right?" My comments were, on the surface, quite noncommittal but if my theory was right, he would perceive my meaning.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose we have something in common--something that we can't share with just anybody."

There was a sincerity in his tone that seemed to confirm my theory and gave me the courage to ask, "Are you gay?"

The bluntness of my question temporarily unnerved him but there was little delay in his answer: "Yes. Are you?"

Stephan, through his behavior, hints, and final admission of being gay had taken quite a risk. His courage and trust in me compelled me to admit what I had revealed to no one else. "Yes, I am."

I set the drawings aside, walked over to the bed, and sat down next to him. I placed my arm around his shoulders and a hand on his thigh. He immediately wrapped his arms around my neck, buried his head into my shoulder, and began to cry.

"What's wrong," I asked.

Through his tears, he blubbered, "Nothing! I'm just so happy."

We embraced for a long time, each of us content in the knowledge that we had found, at last, a kindred soul. Strangely, no thoughts of sex with Stephan crossed my mind as we held each other. I had frequently fantasized about sex with another boy and had even harbored hopes of enjoying pleasures of the flesh but it seemed to be enough, at that moment, just to hug.

Stephan regained his composure, broke the embrace, and looked at me with a serious expression. "I appreciate your coming by to see me and I would like us to be good friends--I mean really good friends. But I don't want sympathy. I'm frail and sickly, I know. I don't have any friends. But please...please don't be nice to me just because you feel sorry for me."

I held his hands and said, "I'm sorry for the situation you're in but I like you and I admire the way you cope with it. I want to be your friend not because I'm sorry for you but because I think you're a very special person."

He searched my expression, possibly trying to ascertain my sincerity, and said, "Do you think that maybe...ah...maybe we could be boyfriends? Tell me the truth. I don't want either of us to build any false hopes. If you don't think so, I'd rather know now."

"You asked for the truth," I replied. "You deserve the truth. And the truth is, I don't know yet. I think we'll have to know each other better. We'll have to take it one step at a time. Is that okay with you."

He pondered my answer and said, "I suppose you're right."

Just then, the phone rang. Stephan answered it on the extension in his bedroom. "Hi, mom...Yes, I'm fine. How's Angela...Good...Yes, Josh is here with me now...I will...When will you be home?...Don't worry, I'll be just fine...I love you, too. Bye."

Stephan returned to sit on the bed and said, "Mom says to thank you for checking on me. She doesn't know when she can come home. It depends on when Angela's baby decides to come and then it will be a few more days before she can come home." He collected his secret drawings and locked them away. He returned to sit beside me on the bed, he said very seriously,, "Mom doesn't know about those drawings. She can't know. She's very religious."

"You must be religious, too," I said.

"What makes you think so?"

"This," I said as I pointed to the WWJD of his shirt.

"Oh, yeah. Well, I am Christian. And that caused a long period of torment for me as I went through puberty. I had to reconcile what my church teaches with the realization that I was gay. About six months ago, I decided that the church's condemnation of homosexuality was inconsistent with its admonition to love thy neighbor. I think a gay boy can be a good Christian. Does that make sense to you?"

"I understand," I replied. "My parents' church, I suppose, is quite liberal so I haven't had to cope with the 'sinner' label. Still, I'm glad to know that you have thought it through and resolved the conflict. That's good enough for me."

Stephan hugged me again and I returned the hug. Two "abnormal" boys had found each other, had begun to form a bond, and had found both comfort and strength in knowing they were not alone.

"I've got to go home now and start supper but I'll come back this evening." I rose from the bed and reluctantly turned to leave. As I left the house, I felt like crying because I was leaving Stephan alone when what I wanted most was to be with him.

During supper, I told my parents that I would like to go back to visit with Stephan that evening. My mother readily approved and praised me for being so charitable. If only she knew the real reason! She sent me on my way with two pieces of peach pie and instructions to be home by 10 o'clock.

I almost raced to Stephan's house and before I could ring the bell, he opened the door grinning broadly. "Come in," he gushed. He was still wearing the loose gym shorts but, significantly I thought, had changed his shirt. I put the pie on the kitchen counter and he laughed--the first time I had heard him laugh--and said, "Don't tell me. From your mother. Food can solve any problem. Right?" Then we both laughed heartily. It was a joy to see Stephan happy.

We sat in the living room, this time next to each other on the sofa. He looked at me seriously and said, "I've been thinking about this afternoon. And I have a question if you will tell me the truth."

"So help me God," I replied, which brought a smile to his face.

"What you said today--about taking things a step at a time. I agree with you and I'm wondering..."

"Wondering what?" I asked.

"Well, if you think it's too soon to take the next step."

Since leaving Stephan's house that afternoon, I came to the conclusion that I very much wanted to take the next step and would initiate it if Stephan didn't. "It's not too soon. I'm more than ready and I've been hoping that you were too."

Stephan grinned, hugged me, and whispered, "I'm ready, too." We went upstairs to his bedroom. Upon entering, he sat on the edge of his bed and patted the bed next to him as invitation to join him. I did without hesitation. I put an arm around his shoulder and placed a hand on his bare thigh. He turned slightly, put his head on my shoulder, and sighed, "This is a dream come true."

"For me too," I whispered back.

He placed his hand on top of mine and slid it upward on his thigh toward his crotch. I took the hint. My heart was beating wildly. My cock was so firm it ached. My hand was trembling as I slowly reached up and under the loosely hanging leg of his shorts. When my fingers contacted his cock, the intensity of the thrill was beyond my expectations. He inhaled sharply and jerked. Fearing that I was proceeding too quickly, I withdrew my hand.

"No," he said, "Don't stop. I've waited so long for this."

I returned my hand to his cock and began to fondle it. At that point, his cock began to engorge. In no time, it seemed, he was erect. He raised his head to look at me and I took the opportunity to kiss him gently and briefly on the lips. He responded by putting a hand at the back of my head and pulling me toward him. Our lips locked for a moment before we spontaneously and simultaneously danced inside each other's mouths with our tongues.

He broke the embrace and asked, in a surprisingly tentative way, "Would it be all right with you if we got naked? Would that be too much of a step to take?"

His plaintive, almost apologetic tone, was charming and evidence that he took seriously my suggestion of one step at a time. He didn't know, of course, that I was just as eager as he was.

I just smiled and lifted his tee shirt up and over his head before quickly removing my own. We laid next to each other as our hands roamed freely over the other's chest and stomach. Feeling only a layer of soft, white skin covering his prominent ribs made me proceed gently and carefully, afraid to cause harm to a fragile treasure. Stephan, by contrast, was much more aggressive and caressed me with vigor.

After a few minutes, I sat up on the bed next to him. "What's the matter?" he asked with a concerned look.

"Nothing. Everything is wonderful. I just want to admire you."

He blushed and said, "There's nothing to admire. Look at me. Skin and bones. I'm almost afraid to let you see me."

"Nonsense," I replied. "You're thin but right now I think you're the most beautiful thing I've seen. It isn't just a body that makes a person beautiful, you know."

He blushed some more and said, "You're just being nice." Then, with a crooked grin, he added, "But don't stop. I like it."

With that, I started to pull down his gym shorts. He cooperated by raising his hips. I gazed at what was revealed: a stiff cock jutting up from a patch of thick, curly hair and above a pendulant ball sack. The sight of his nude body and the realization that it was mine to do with as I pleased inflamed my lust. True, his body was certainly not the youthful, almost-manly physique that had occupied my fantasies but it housed a personality that I knew craved love and likely had the ability to love in return.

I let my hands explore his pubes, his balls, his thighs, his cock and relished every moment. I was finally doing what I could previously only imagine. Stephan was obviously enjoying it as well because his moans and the rocking of his hips told me that he more than welcomed my explorations. I avoided stroking his cock because I wanted him to enjoy himself for a while before jerking him. As I fondled his cock. I began circling the helmeted head as Stephan continued to moan and writhe with pleasure. Suddenly, he cried out, "Josh! I can't hold it! I'm going to.....AAAAAHHH!" Several volleys of thick semen erupted and landed from his chin to his navel followed by trickles that fell into his thick pubic hair. His hands were clenching the bedspread as his body trembled. I watched him as he came down from what must have been an awesome orgasm and derived pleasure from knowing that I had brought him that joy. When he seemed to have recovered, I bent down and kissed him passionately.

"Oh Josh," he murmured, "If I die tomorrow, I'll die happy."

It may have been a casual comment but knowing that he had an undiagnosed illness sent chills through me. "Stop it," I commanded. You're not going to die. And I'm going to keep making you happy."

He gave me a look that I couldn't interpret. Did he really anticipate dying? Or was he merely surprised at the intensity of my reaction? "Figure of speech," he said. "Besides, I haven't made you happy yet. Roll over on your back while I get cleaned up."

He left the bedroom but returned very quickly, all cleaned up and carrying a hand towel. His cock was now flaccid and swung evocatively as he walked. Wordlessly, he kneeled on the bed beside me and began to take off my trousers. My briefs came off next and allowed my still-hard cock to taste the fresh air. Stephan then began exploring my cock and balls as I had done his. I was determined to enjoy it as long as possible but the stimulation soon became irresistible. In a fraction of the time it took when I masturbated, I felt the cum force its way up my shaft and intense satisfaction radiate from my crotch throughout my body. Having shot I don't know how many spurts--I was unaware of anything but the mind numbing sensations that engulfed me--I collapsed, my heart pounding and my breaths coming in short gasps. I then became aware that Stephan was gingerly cleaning me.

He laid alongside me and we embraced, our naked and spent bodies pressed tightly against each other. My dream had come true and with the most unlikely of people. My frequent fantasies had included boys with more robust bodies--sometimes classmates but sometimes a completely fictional boy who matched the stereotype of masculinity. But there I was with a frail, delicate, but extremely likable boy.

I don't know how long we cuddled together with only occasionally speaking and frequently kissing. Our legs were entwined; our bodies were melded together from chest to groin; and I, for one, was in a state of bliss.

Our reverie was jarringly interrupted by the phone ringing. Stephan untangled himself and picked up the phone. "Hello...We're fine, thanks...No, thank you. We haven't eaten the pie you sent yet....Okay, I'll tell him.... Bye."

"My mother," I said dryly as Stephan returned to the bed.

"Yes. They're going out to get some ice cream and wanted to know if she could bring us some."

"Mothers!" I snarled and then we both laughed.

"She also said to have you watch the time because it's a school night."

"What time is it?"

Stephan checked his clock radio and replied, "Just past nine. When do you have to be home?"

"By ten. Although I wish I could stay here with you."

"That would be wonderful," he said before planting another kiss on my lips.

"Tomorrow is Friday. Suppose I ask if I can spend the night."

Stephan's face lit up and he fairly bounced with glee. "Would you?" he asked in a tone that reminded me of a little child.

"I'll ask. I'm sure my mother will say okay. How about your mother? Will you have to ask her?"

"I suppose. She calls every afternoon and I'll ask her."

We hugged and kissed for a while longer before I had to get dressed and go home. When I got home, I went straight into the shower and then into bed. I laid awake for a long time thinking about Stephan and the road we seemed to be going down together. A troubling thought arose in my mind. Stephan was an isolated, lonely, and gay boy when I came along. It was true that he flagrantly exposed himself to me and showed me his erotic drawings as further enticement. But had I taken advantage of the situation? Did I go along just to satisfy my own frustrated yearnings? Perhaps. Did he seduce and take advantage of me? Had he manipulated the situation merely to quench his own lust? Perhaps. As I pondered these thoughts, however, I realized that there was more than sex in our relationship. It had started off poorly; I was merely fulfilling a charitable obligation and he brushed me off. During the Monopoly game, however, there seemed to be an indefinable chemistry develop. Looking beyond his isolated existence and frail body, I saw a genuinely bright, personable, and talented individual. No, I decided, it was not just sex. I liked him. I wanted to be with him even if there had been no sex. I hoped that he felt the same way about me.

The next day at school, it was difficult to pay attention to the teachers. My mind seemed to return to Stephan, what we had shared the night before, and the sleepover to come. My parents readily agreed to my spending the night and seemed to be pleased that I had made a new friend because, as they undiplomatically said, "You have so few friends." If only they knew!

My parents were going to a dinner-dance that night, which meant that I didn't have to start supper and could go straight to Stephan's house after school to stay the night. I rushed home from school and immediately called Stephan who said that his mother had agreed to the sleepover. I whooped with joy and heard Stephan laughing. I told him not to worry about supper, that I would bring it. "You're being a mother now, are you?" he asked and we both laughed.
 

Part 2

Hurriedly, I cut two thick slices of roast beef and put them on plates. I added scoops of mashed potatoes, also left from the night before, and slathered them with gravy. I added some buttered corn to each plate and decided not to bother with desert. We could microwave the two plates when we got hungry. I rushed to my bedroom and debated over what to wear. I packed pajamas not because I would need them but because somebody might notice if they were missing. I stuffed some clothes and a few toiletries in my gym bag and ran downstairs. I covered the two plates with plastic wrap and put them in a box to carry.

Again, Stephan was waiting and opened the door before I could ring the bell. I hurried in, set the box on the kitchen counter, dropped my gym bag on the floor, turned around, and grabbed Stephan in a hug that he returned, matching my vigor. We kissed, long and passionately.

"This has been about the longest day of my life," Stephan said.

"Tell me about it," I replied. "Every class at school seemed like it was two or three hours long."

"Shall we?" he asked, motioning in the direction of the stairs.

"It's better than Monopoly," I joked.

"You're just afraid I'll bankrupt you," he joked in return.

"I'd much rather you corrupt me."

"Enough!" he exclaimed. "Let's go."

We were soon on Stephan's bed and I was repeating what I had done for him before. However, expecting that he might again have a hair trigger, I avoided touching his rigid cock in favor of massaging his chest, stomach, inner thighs, and balls. I proceeded gingerly because the lilly-white skin stretched over his bones with very little muscle made him seem so fragile. His eyes were tightly shut and he would occasionally moan in pleasure, which let me know where his most sensitive areas were. After several minutes, I began to execute a plan that I had devised while sitting in class.

I licked his shaft from its base to the tip. That caused Stephan to jerk. He raised his head, opened his eyes, and discovered what I was doing. He said nothing but just smiled and laid back to enjoy. I teased his cock and balls with my tongue until I noticed he was instinctively bucking his hips. It was time to move in for the finish. I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock and began to take more of it into my mouth. Stephan cried out in ecstasy. I bobbed my head only a few times when Stephan called out, "I can't hold it." I responded by tightening my lips around his burning rod and bobbing my head a little faster. My efforts were rewarded with several blasts of hot cream against the back of my throat. When he finally stopped trembling, I suckled the remaining drops of his seed.

I laid down beside him and was gently massaging his chest when he asked, "What made you do that? I warned you."

"I wanted to. I wanted to give you pleasure. And I wanted some of you inside me. You see, your seed will be a part of me forever."

"That's sweet," he replied.

"No," I countered with a straight face. "It's more salty than sweet."

It took a moment for him to catch my meaning but then he laughed. Oh, how I enjoyed hearing him laugh.

"Can I have part of you?" he asked.

"You don't have to, you know. I can warn you and you can finish me by hand."

"I want to...really want to...I've wanted to for a long time and especially since I met you."

Because of what Stephan said, I didn't warn him. In fact, I'm not sure that I could have. By the time I was ready to shoot, I had lost all control of my body and my mind was in orbit. It was the most intense orgasm I could imagine.

We cuddled together for a long time, simply enjoying the fulfillment of our shared dream. Eventually, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

It was almost eight when I woke to find Stephan sitting cross-legged beside me and watching me. Noticing that I was awake, he said, "You're beautiful." I sat up, grabbed him, and gave him a kiss.

"Been awake long?" I asked.

"Not long enough. I could admire your body forever."

"That's sweet," I replied, mimicking his earlier comment.

"It's true," he protested. "The only thing better than looking at you is...well...I think you know."

"Enough of the flattery. Let's have dinner and then figure out what to have for desert."

Stephan laughed and said, "Maybe we should vote on it but I think there will be only one candidate."

"Something hot and creamy?"

"Exactly!"

I reached for my clothes but Stephan said, "Wait. There's no window in the kitchen. If we turn out the hall light, we can go past the living room without being seen. That means that...well..." His voice became tentative. "That is...if you're willing...we could have supper in the nude."

"No," I said trying to keep a stern look on my face. Stephan's expression of disappointment was obvious. "If we do that," I continued, "I'm sure to get a hard on and attack you before we even get the plates on the table."

"That won't be all bad," he shot back.

I was half right. I got a hard on before the plates were on the table. Stephan saw it and playfully grabbed a steak knife to protect himself from attack. Both of us laughed and I couldn't remember having more fun with anybody. Rather than sit across from each other, we sat side-by-side and were completely unashamed about staring at each other. It wasn't long before Stephan, too, was hard.

At the end of the meal, I had left a bit of mashed potatoes on my plate to cool down. Stephan's plate had more potatoes and lots of gravy. I picked up my bit of potatoes with a fork, brought it close to my mouth, and dropped it into my crotch. "Oh dear me," I said as dramatically as I could. "I seem to have had an accident. However will I be able to clean up the mess I've made of myself?" As I said that, I turned slightly toward Stephan and spread my legs slightly.

Stephan lost no time in joining the fun. "Not to worry, kind Sir. Allow me to help you out." He got on his knees and ate the potatoes. I noticed that he deliberately smeared the potatoes into my pubic hair and took his time licking it clean. He finished his task by licking my cock up and down although there was no reason except to stimulate me almost to the point of orgasm. "I hope that's satisfactory, Sir. I'm a vegetarian so I only cleaned the your meat and didn't eat it." Both of us then roared with laughter.

Stephan returned to his chair and said, "Enough frivolity. It's time to clear the table. To my surprise, he took his plate, tipped it, and let the remaining potatoes and gravy spill onto his stomach. It slid slowly down from his navel to his pubes. He then looked at me and said, "I think, Sir, you owe me a favor."

"Pleased to oblige," I responded and quickly went to my knees to lick off the gravy from his stomach and pubes. When I had completed the task, I looked up and said, "I'm not a vegetarian. Would you like me to remove the meat from you lap?" I growled and bared my teeth as though I were an animal ready to bite off his cock.

Stephan quickly covered his crotch with both hands and yelled, "No! No! I'm saving that for later." Neither of us could contain our laughter and almost collapsed in hysterics.

After clearing the table, I followed Stephan upstairs. I found the motion of his diminutive ass cheeks as he climbed the stairs quite erotic. At the top of the stairs, I grabbed him, turned him around, and placed a hand on each of his ass cheeks. "You have the cutest ass," I said before squeezing them and bending down slightly to plant a kiss on his lips.

He grabbed my ass with both hands and said, "Not as nice as yours."

"Ah," I responded. "I never realized the truth to the saying that good things come in small packages."

He gave me an ambiguous look, buried his head into my chest, and whimpered, "Oh, Josh. If only I weren't so scrawny. If only I had a firm, strong body like yours."

I was taken aback by his comment. He had taken offense at my reference to his small body. It was the first time that he had shown real remorse over his physical condition. He had mentioned it before but never with such sadness. I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him backwards slightly. He looked up at me with a surprised look. "Listen," I began. "There's another saying: beauty is as beauty does. And you're beautiful. You're bright. You're talented. You're witty. Most of all, I think you're courageous. I don't know anybody else who could be sick, lose a father, and live alone that could possibly be as nice as you. I sure couldn't."

Stephan, as he had done before, searched my face for evidence of my sincerity. "Thanks for saying that, Josh. You may be exaggerating things but it makes me feel better to hear it...and, of course, to be with you."

"And one more thing," I said sternly. "You want a firm body?"

He got a puzzled look. "Ah...yes."

I stepped back a little, spread my arms outwards, and thrust my hips slightly forward. "This body is all yours...and yours alone! Now what are you going to do with it?"

Stephan shook off his funk and laughed, "I'm going to ravage it. I'm going to tickle it. I'm going to admire...no, worship it. I'm going to order it into my bedroom." He stepped aside, pointed to his bedroom and commanded, "Go! Now!"

"As you wish, Sir." I replied and marched down the hall and into his bedroom. He followed and, upon entering the bedroom, he said, "You've got a cute ass yourself, Mister." Pausing, he added, "but I like your cock better."

"As I said, it's yours and yours alone. That is, if I can play with your cock, too."

"Wait your turn! I'm going to ravage you first. Get on the bed."

Quite willingly, I laid down to allow him full access to anything he wanted. He wasted no time. He massaged, tickled, licked, and caressed every inch of my body saving his final attention for my balls and cock. By that time, I was leaking precum profusely and getting impatient for another blowjob. I held my impatience in check, however, to allow Stephan to do whatever he wanted. Finally, I felt his warm, moist mouth engulf my throbbing cock and, although I tried to hold back, I was soon filling his throat with my cream.

He laid next to me while I recovered and then moved in for a kiss. As his tongue invaded my mouth, I got a powerful taste of cum and the unmistakable feeling of some cum sliding down my throat. He had saved some to transfer to me. When we broke our kiss, I said, "Nice of you to share...but I like the taste of yours more."

He giggled like a little boy who had played a trick on someone but then said, "Help yourself. All you have to do is turn on the faucet."

"I'll turn you on, all right," I replied. "But I'm going to take all you can give me and I'm too selfish to share." I immediately did for Stephan what he had so masterfully done for me and, in time, was rewarded with several swallows of his cum.

We then pressed out naked bodies together in a prolonged embrace. Unlike our previous post-orgasm embrace, we talked. I told him about my likes and dislikes, my family, my recognition of being gay, and how glad I was to have met him. Stephan was a little more reticent but eventually opened up. I learned that his father was a strict disciplinarian, was disappointed that his son was not and could not be a macho athlete, and their relationship was therefore one of mere toleration. This seemed to explain his lack of emotion over his father's death. His father was openly homophobic. His mother was equally homophobic but based her attitude on strict adherence to her minister's very literal interpretation of the bible. This, he finally confessed, was more of a burden than his illness: having to conceal his increasingly undeniable attraction to boys.

His illness was a mystery. Several specialists had conducted test after test with no definitive results. They tried a whole series of medications but each produced either no improvement or had unpleasant side effects. It was not only his mysterious illness that kept him out of school and virtually confined to the house. It was his mother's irrational fear of her son being contaminated by "un-Christian" influences.

The last revelation infuriated me and I said so. Stephan, however, defended his mother. "She's doing what she really believes is best for me. I've learned, mostly from books, that some of what she believes is irrational or unjustified but her intentions are honorable. Don't criticize my mother; try to understand her."

My impulse was to debate the point with him but I realized that his attitude and his love for his mother was unassailable. It suddenly struck me. He, more than his mother, was conforming to the message on his shirt: WWJD.

The more I learned about Stephan's life, beliefs, and attitude, the more I admired him...and the more I wanted to bring a measure of joy into his life. Yes, I was happy to have found a partner with whom to satisfy my unique sexual needs. More importantly, however, I was learning to love an extraordinary human being.

We finally fell asleep still locked in an embrace. It was still dark when I woke. I looked at the clock radio and found that it was not quite seven in the morning. During the night, we had separated and I suddenly felt...it's corny to say it but I felt incomplete. I snuggled up to Stephan and the warmth of his body, the closeness, felt wonderful. That was the moment that I realized he and I would be together for a long time. About half an hour later, Stephan stirred, smiled, and gave me a kiss. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, my love," I replied.

"What did you say?" he blurted out, now fully awake.

"I said, good morning, my love."

"Does that mean..."

"Yes, my love, it does," I replied and kissed him gently on the lips.

He rolled over, buried his head into my shoulder, and began to cry. I hugged him for a moment before saying, "I hope those tears are happy tears."

"You have no idea," he sputtered through his tears. "You've made me the happiest person in the world."

We hugged and cuddled for quite some time, each of us delighted that we had found each other. When his tears stopped, I asked, "What do you suppose we should do to celebrate our union?"

He chuckled, reached down for my cock, fondled it, and said, "Does this give you any ideas?"

We sucked each other to a climax that was, for me, not only intense and pleasurable but extraordinarily meaningful.

At 10, the phone rang. "Can I bring you boys some lunch?" my mother asked Stephan. He told her that was very kind and we would appreciate it. Just before noon, she arrived with her famous meat ball subs, a bag of chips, and a six-pack of diet cola. Stephan and I were at the kitchen table where I was helping him with a math assignment out of the home-schooling curriculum. Math was one subject I was good in but Stephan found difficult. My mother didn't stay long, just long enough to check on us and fulfill her duty as a mother by feeding us. I asked if I could stay another night and my mother readily agreed.

As we ate lunch, Stephan said, "Your mother is awfully nice. What will she think when she finds out? About us, I mean."

"I've thought about that a lot. Even more since I met you. I think she'll be upset but she's a mother. She'll get over it. It may take a while but she'll get over it."

"How about your father?"

"That's another situation. He's really quite liberal but I've heard him criticize things like civil unions between gays. He's particularly harsh when he complains about gay marriage. He even uses words like queer, fag, and fudge-packer. Once, he said to me, 'Thank God you're not one of those degenerates.' I don't think he would accept having a gay son."

"Sounds like my father," Stephan said. "So I guess that means we'll have to keep things between us a secret."

"Unfortunately. At least for a while. Remember when I said we should take things a step at a time and see what develops? Well, we did and things developed quite quickly. We've known each other for just a few days and look at us now. Maybe our parents will accept us faster than we think." I knew I was suggesting something that was very unlikely but it was worth hoping for.

"You don't know my mother," Stephan said despondently.

"She's a mother, isn't she? Maybe she'll surprise you. It will take some time but I know she loves you. Besides, doesn't it say somewhere in the Bible to love a sinner?"

"Yes. But my mother...she's..." He stopped in mid-sentence, thought a while, and said, "Okay, a step at a time."

We finished Stephan's math assignment and took a break...almost two hours in bed showing each other our love. In late afternoon, Stephan's mother called. "Hello ... Everything's fine...How's Angela? ...A boy? That's wonderful...Yes, Josh even helped me with my math ... I'm sure that will be fine. Don't worry about it. I'm getting along very well ... I miss you too ...See you then."

Stephan explained the other half of the conversation. He had a new nephew but there were some complications and his mother would have to stay for at least another week to help. "That means," he concluded with a sly grin,, "We have a whole week--and another weekend--together.

That night and the next morning, Stephan and I spent some quality time together--in bed, in the shower, and even on the sofa. At 10 on Sunday, I had to go home to attend church with my family. I knew that it was non-negotiable so I reluctantly gathered my things and kissed Stephan goodbye, promising to stop by for a visit later that afternoon.

During the following week, I spent every afternoon and evening with Stephan. My parents' only condition what that I do my homework and be home by 10 p.m. On Thursday, Stephan said he wanted to show me a new drawing that he had made. I was stunned when I saw an exquisite portrait of me done in ink. I gushed my praise for the quality of the drawing and told him how flattered I was adding, "But I didn't even pose for it."

"I did it from memory," he replied. "Of all the drawings I've done, this is my favorite. I'm going to hang it right over there, above my desk. I can see it from anywhere in the room to remind me of how much I love you."

"I'm flabbergasted," I said.

"Want to see the other one?" he asked.

"Of course."

He retrieved another drawing from the table next to his easel and hesitantly handed it to me. I gasped. My heart skipped a beat. My eyes began to tear up. It was his finest work. He had used colored pencils and it must have taken days to create. The two of us were sitting on a fallen log in a meadow. We were nude and we each had an arm around the other. Stephan's head rested on my shoulder as he gazed at my face and I returned the gaze. In the background was a forest with a deer grazing and three birds in separate trees. A snow-capped mountain pierced the sky in the distance.

"Like it?" he asked.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," I said honestly. "Especially because you and I are together in it." I carefully put the drawing aside and drew my love into a long, passionate kiss. I couldn't help it. It was now my turn to cry.

"I hope those are happy tears," he said.

"Happy doesn't begin to describe how I feel, my love."

"Would you like to have it?" he asked.

"Yes," I sobbed as I held him even more tightly.

Stephan let me get the tears out of my system and then, to lighten the mood, he said, "Better not hang it in your bedroom."

I laughed, thought about it for a moment, and said, "One day I will, my love. It will be hung in a prominent place with soft lighting so I can see it all night long."

I spent another glorious weekend with Stephan until, that is, Sunday evening when I had to go home knowing that Stephan's mother would return the next day and we would not be able to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of expressing our love sexually. It would be painful not to be able to show my affection with with nothing more than a discrete kiss behind a closed door. We searched frantically for a way to resolve the dilemma but every idea either of us had carried too much risk.

I spent every afternoon and nearly every evening after supper with Stephan. Wednesday evenings were the best because Stephan's mother went to church service, leaving Stephan and I alone in his house for almost three hours, which gave us our only opportunity to be intimate.

My parents tolerated and sometimes endorsed my spending so much time at Stephan's house. Mrs. Benson seemed pleased as well. I'm sure they never suspected that we loved each other and that it was torment not be able to share that love fully.

Three weeks after Stephan's mother's return, I stopped by his house, as usual, after school. There was no answer to the doorbell. I peeked in the window of the garage and saw that the car was gone. I assumed that Stephan had yet another doctor's appointment so I proceeded home. Having put supper in the oven at six, I phoned Stephan. There was no answer. I became concerned that something serious had happened. At six-thirty I phoned again and got no answer. Surely something as simple as a doctor's appointment would not keep them out of the house so late. When my parents came home, I told them of my concern but, to my disappointment, they were not as concerned as I was.

Just before seven-thirty, the time I normally went over to Stephan's house, our phone rang. My father answered the phone. "Hello...
Oh, no...When?...Is there anything we can do?...I will...Please let us know if there's anything, anything we can do...Bye."

My father came into the kitchen where my mother was clearing the table and I was packing three pieces of cake to take over to Stephan's house. "Stephan took sick this morning and was rushed to the hospital."

"NO!" I screamed. "Is he all right?"

"No," my father said. "He passed out this morning. Mrs Benson thinks it was a reaction to some new mediation. An ambulance took him to the hospital, he never regained consciousness."

"But he will," I screamed. "He has to!"

"No, son. He passed away late this afternoon.

"NO!" I screamed hysterically and I pounded the table with my fist. "This can't be happening!" I crumbled into a kitchen chair, dropped my head into my arms on the table, and began to sob uncontrollably.

My mother immediately sat in a chair next to me, put her arm around me, and said, "It's all right, Josh. I know he was your friend but we'll get over it."

I was, by then, furious that fate had taken away such a beautiful and talented young man. I was also furious that my mother seemed to have demoted him to just a friend. My abject sorrow and my anger clouded my reason and I shouted, "He's not just a friend. He's my boyfriend. I love him." Somehow I just couldn't talk about him in the past tense.

"I understand," my mother said. "He was a good friend and it hurts to lose a good friend."

My fury rose, causing me to raise my head and shout, "No, you don't understand. We're boyfriends. We're lovers."

"What are you saying, son?"

"Don't you get it," I continued to shout. "We're boyfriends. We're lovers. Do I have to spell it out? We're both gay and we love each other. We've sealed that love by having sex. It wasn't dirty. It wasn't evil. It was beautiful."

My mother and father looked at each other wordlessly as I bolted from the room, ran to my bedroom, slammed the door, and fell into bed sobbing. My mother, as any mother would do, followed me and came into my bedroom. "Just leave me alone," I shouted at her.

"I'd like to talk, Josh."

"Well I don't! Just leave me alone."

"If that's what you want, I'll leave but at some point we need to talk. Let me know when you're ready. I'll be there for you."

I continued to sob as my mother left the room. Eventually, I fell asleep. It was dark when I awoke still thinking about Stephan. I checked the time: 5:30 a.m. My parents would be getting up in about half an hour. Breakfast would be just past six and by seven we would all be out the door. I laid there for half an hour thinking about Stephan, about my outburst to my parents, and what the future may hold. I heard my parents' alarm followed by their shower. I decided that I just couldn't face school that day. I hoped my parents would understand my not going.

My mother knocked on the door, opened it, and came in. "Breakfast in ten minutes," she said.

"I'll fix my own later," I replied. "I'm not going to school today." I said it as an announcement, not a request for permission to stay home.

"I understand," she replied. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes."

"I hope we can talk about it tonight," she said.

"Okay," I replied but added defiantly, "But I want you to know that I'm not ashamed of what Stephan and I did. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I would have liked to tell you differently but nothing changes the fact that I'm gay and I love Stephan with all my heart."

"I know now how upset you are. We can talk about it tonight."

She turned to leave but I called her back. "Mother! Stephan's mother must never know."

"Of course. There's no reason to tell her. See you tonight."

I laid in bed for another hour or so still contemplating what the future would be without Stephan, what my parents would do or say to me, and whether I could ever find someone as beautiful as the frail, bright, talented boy I loved deeply. By mid-morning, I reached a conclusion. Whatever my parents said to me, I would never deny that I was gay. I knew that I would remain gay. I didn't have to come out to my friends at school right away but at some point, I knew that I would have to be open about what I was.

I reached up to the top shelf of my closet. From under a pile of summer tee shirts, I pulled out the drawing of Stephan and I. I gently touched his face on the drawing and found myself saying out loud, "I'll always love you." I laid the drawing on my bed and walked over to my desk. From above the desk, I took down a framed photograph of my Little League Baseball team. I replaced the photograph with Stephan's drawing and hung it above my desk. I suspected what my parents' reaction would be but I didn't care.

In the afternoon, I walked over to Stephan's house and rang the bell. I knew it would be difficult but there was something I had to do. Stephan's mother answered the door and I said, "I just wanted to express my sympathy for your loss and tell you what a wonderful son you had."

She burst into tears and hugged me. "Thank you, Josh," she sputtered through her tears. "Thank you for being his friend. He was happier these past weeks than he's ever been."

I could easily have cried with her but I suppose I was too numb. Besides, what good would it do? "I really enjoyed his friendship, Mrs. Benson. I learned a lot from him that I'll never forget. He will be a part of us forever."

I felt the tears coming and decided to leave before they did. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do." Perhaps too abruptly, I turned and ran home. I was able to hold back my tears until I got in the house but I sobbed on my bed for a long time.

When my parents came home, I had supper ready and had decided that somehow I would have to get on with my life without Stephan. I had three places set and hoped the dinner conversation would not focus on Stephan or my revelation that I was gay. It was as I hoped There was no mention of Stephan or my being gay. After eating, my father went immediately into the Den having said nothing to me and very little to my mother since he got home. I helped my mother clear the table and she asked, "Are you ready to talk now, Josh?"

I didn't want to. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts but I said, "Okay."

We sat at the kitchen table and she said, "Josh, I don't approve of what you and Stephan did. I have to be honest with you and say that I don't like it. However, I also have to say that I love you. You're my son and I will always love you."

It was not what I expected. She seemed to accept having a gay son much sooner than I would have predicted. I could live with her disapproval of my actions and was relieved that there was no morality lecture because it would surely start an argument.

"Your father, however," she continued. "Is not as forgiving as I am willing to be. Please be patient. It will take much longer for him to come to terms with what you've told us. Can I give you some advice?"

"Sure, mom."

"Tread lightly. Let him absorb it. Don't confront him or throw it in his face. In the language of teenagers, be cool. Okay?"

"I will. But he'd better not confront me or throw it in my face. Because I won't stand for his attacking Stephan, me, or the relationship we had together."

"Don't worry," she replied. "I talked to him last night and he agreed not to punish or antagonize you."

"Thanks, mom. I love you both."

"And we love you, Josh."

For the next two days, my father and I hardly spoke to each other. That was just fine with me. It was better than arguing and certainly better than hearing that I was sick or evil. My parents took time off work to take me to Stephan's funeral. It was sparsely attended, mostly, I assumed, by members of Mrs. Benson's congregation. It was also gratefully brief. Half way through, I couldn't help myself and began to cry. Much to my surprise, it was my father who put his arm around my shoulder and gently hugged me. Perhaps, I thought, he had had enough time to accept a gay son if not forgive me. We didn't go to the cemetery because I couldn't bear to see the casket bearing a precious boy being put into the frozen ground.

Upon returning home, I went to my bedroom, mouthed "I love you, Stephan" to the drawing above my desk, and laid on the bed. Moments later, my father came in. He seemed nervous and he spoke with unusual awkwardness. "Son, I just want to say how sorry I am that Stephan passed away. I know he meant a lot to you."

"Yes, dad, he did." I replied while resisting the temptation to explain just how much he meant to me.

"That's one of the cruelties of life--to lose someone close to us."

Why could he not bring himself to say someone we love? Still, I was encouraged that he was expressing sympathy instead of condemnation. As he rose to leave, he saw the drawing on the wall above my desk, and gasped. His face reddened with rage. "That's too much!" he shouted. "I've tried to understand. I've left you alone. But that pornography has to go!"

My impulse was to lash out. Calling the drawing pornography was an attack on my love for Stephan and on Stephan's undeniable talent. However, hoping to avoid a shouting match, I drew a deep breath, got off the bed, and walked over to stand in front of my desk and the drawing. I stood there with my arms folded. I looked my father in the eye and said with all the conviction at my command, "That drawing is art, not pornography. It represents our love. And if it goes, so do I."

I hadn't thought through the ramifications of my threat. Where would I go? What would I do? However, if I had thought it through, I would have said the same thing. My calm determination must have disarmed my father because he just stared at me for a moment before walking out of the room. The drawing stayed and so did I but my father and I rarely spoke to each other for years. During that time, it often seemed that my mother played the difficult role of buffer between my father and me.

Mrs. Benson moved to New Jersey soon after Stephan's death to be near her daughter. Before she left, she gave me the portrait of me that hung above Stephan's desk but, she said almost apologetically, she was keeping the rest as a memory of her son. I understood that and have often wondered what she thought if and when she opened the chest with the nude male drawings.

I'm now in college. I've never sought nor met another guy who I felt worthy of replacing Stephan in my life. In fact, it was more than three weeks after Stephan's death before I could even masturbate. Even then, I felt guilty that Stephan couldn't join me.

Rest in peace, my love.

Posted:08/24/07