A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2015 by the Author)
 

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

Chapter 42
Getting Used to the USA

I contacted the school to see what would be required in getting Jason enrolled. The lady told me what documents I would need, and that he would need to take a placement test.

“Is there anything he should study before taking the test?” I asked.

“No. We want to know what he knows,” she said.

Jason was nervous the day I took him for early enrollment and to take the battery of tests. He was up early, on his own, and came into the bathroom to take a piss just as I was getting out of the shower.  He was really swollen, like a piss hardon just going down, and he had it in his hand.

“Oh.  Sorry,” he said, and backed out of the bathroom.

“Hey, it’s okay, Jase,” I said. “It’s just you and me living here, and I spent enough time in the Marines, I got over my modesty a long time go.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, holding his big cock tighter in his hand.  “Cause I really do have to piss bad.”

“Well, haul it in here and piss,” I said, laughing.

He stepped up to the bowl and let it flow. He pissed like a young stallion. I watched.  He glanced at me with a look of great relief.

“Feel better?” I asked, laughing.

“A lot better,” he said.

“And that thing won’t be quite so heavy to carry around, now,” I joked.

We arrived at the school between classes so we were unnoticed. At the suggestion of the administrator, I left and went for coffee while Jase was tested; the tests could take up to two hours.  Sitting in the café down the street from the school, it was a time for contemplation, about the turn my life had taken, and how I would perform in my new role as a father, for surely, that’s what my new role would be.

After two hours, I returned to the school.  Jason was waiting outside for me. He smiled and stood up when I walked toward him.

“How do you think it went?” I asked.

“I think I did okay,” he said. “I hope I get to be a senior.”

“I hope so too.  But being a junior wouldn’t be so bad,” I said.

My time of contemplation at the little café weighed heavy on my mind. I was deeply torn in how I had to face things.  In Jason, I had his father, and now I had Jason as a son, but it was more difficult than I thought to delineate between the two.  Looking at the boy, I saw and felt both, and I knew that could not be.  What I felt for his father and had with his father, I could not have and feel for the son. I had to draw a line, to put them in two separate places in my life; one a memory and the other a reality.

There was no denying the desire I had for the teenager. It was with me constantly, fueled every time I looked at him or heard his voice.  More than once I stood in the doorway of his bedroom gazing at his handsome physique in all its naked glory while he slept and I fought the demons that raged battle inside me.  Jase slept naked all the time now, and I was pleased that he felt comfortable enough to do that.  I tried to build up an immunity against his sexual aura but found it difficult to keep my eyes off of him any time he was in my presence.  And out of my presence, alone in my bed at night, I dreamed and fantasized of how I could bring us together in the way that I so desperately wanted.  It was made worse by him offering himself to me.  But I knew I had to deny myself the pleasure.

I finally went to talk to a priest about it. I didn’t feel comfortable talking face to face so I showed up at the church I’d been to a few times at the scheduled time for confessions. I waited till everyone else had gone to confession before I went into the confessional.  I muttered the rudimentary prayers then came right out with it.

“I’m not here for confession, Father, I need to talk to you about something,” I said.

“Perhaps you should make an appointment,” he said. Right away I didn’t like the man.

“No, it has to be here, now,” I said.  “Everyone is gone.”

“Very well, what is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got this….this boy living with me,” I said.

“Yes? Why do you have a boy living in your home? Are you married?” he asked.

“No. The boy belongs to a buddy of mine who was killed in Vietnam.  We were in the Marines together.”

“And how did the boy come to you?”

“The nuns at the orphanage where he lived in Saigon wrote to me, begging me to bring him to the United States.  He wrote to me, also, asking me to come and get him.” I could see the priest through the screen nodding thoughtfully.

“And what is the problem?” he asked.

I dropped my head, as if to avoid him, although he couldn’t see me.

“The problem is, I….I find myself attracted to him,” I said. “I fight it constantly, but I’m afraid of what might happen.”

“By attracted, you mean sexually?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must find another place for him to live,” he said.

I just stared at him through the screen. Was he nuts? I couldn’t send Jase away. Where would he go? A foster home? Didn’t the man hear what I’d said? He was Jason’s son.  I was responsible for him.  I would never abandon him.

“I could never do that,” I said.

“What is the alternative?” he asked, sounding rather indignant. “You have admitted your weakness. How do you propose to fight it?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I was hoping you could help me with that.  But I won’t abandon him,” I said.

“It has been my experience in counseling these matters that once it starts, you won’t stop,” he warned. “How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

  “Well, at the very least, for your own sake, you must control this attraction until he is eighteen and he can take full, legal responsibility for his decisions,” he said.

I was taken aback. Was he giving me permission to succumb to my desires if I waited till Jase was of legal age?

“I can’t send him away when he turns eighteen.  He will still be a boy. Still in school.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” the priest said, sounding rather impatient. “Is there anyone else living in the house?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you could invite someone else to live there. Not someone of your sexual persuasion, of course. That might help deter any feelings you have, or at least control them”

“Yes, I could consider that,” I said.

“It is something you must do,” he said.  “You’ve brought him here to be under your care and guidance. You absolutely cannot lead this young boy into that life.”

I thought for a moment then with a sigh, I stood up.

“Thank you, father, for your advice,” I said. I knew he had heard me stand up.

“Wait,” he said, and I knelt back down. “I assume you’re Catholic. Do you attend Mass?” he asked.

“Yes. Not as regular as I should.”

“And the boy? Is he Catholic?”

“He was raised in a Catholic orphanage but I’m not sure how strong he is in the faith.”

“Do you take him to Mass?”

“I haven’t since I brought him here,” I said.

“Do not miss Mass, either of you,” he said sternly. “If he has been brought up by nuns, he is familiar with the sacraments, which you are denying him.  Take him to Mass and get him to confession on a regular basis, and it wouldn’t hurt you to come as well.  By the grace of God, you will weather this storm and set this boy on the right path to manhood. You have that obligation to your friend.”

“Yes,” I said thoughtfully.  If he only knew the whole truth about Jason and me.  Suddenly, as I had hold of the door, he asked it.

"May I ask you something?"

I paused.  "Yes, of course."

"What was your relationship with the boy's father?"

"It was….yes, I was in love with him, Father," I said quietly, then quickly exited the confessional before he had a chance to say or ask anything else.

I took the priest’s advice, some of it, and started taking Jase to church.  He seemed surprised when I went in to wake him the very next Sunday morning and told him we were going to Mass.  He just looked at me.

  “What?” I asked, waiting for him to get out of bed.

“Nothing,” he said, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“The nuns never took you to Mass?”

“Of course, but the government shut down most of the churches. I didn’t think I would have to go when I got over here.”

“Have to go?  Going to church is not something you have to do.  It is more an honor and a duty, a privilege and a right. Our government can’t shut down churches. Freedom of religion is guaranteed in our Constitution, as well as freedom from religion. That means the government also cannot establish a church and say you have to go to it.” He had the look that he thought I was lecturing him. “I just want you to understand that.  If you absolutely don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

“Like in your constitution, in your democracy.” he said.

“Yes. But you should understand something," I went on. "You will learn that I don’t operate under a constitution and this household is not a democracy.  At times it may seem more like a dictatorship; what I say goes.”

“And you’re saying I have to go to church,” he said with resignation as he stood up from the bed.

“No.  But I’m going and I would like for you to go with me.” I wasn’t so keen on it but I had to lead by example.

He was pious enough in Mass, something, I was sure, that had been instilled in him by the sisters, but I couldn’t be sure how much of it was put on.  Neither of us went to Communion that first time.  I wasn’t sure he had even been baptized.  As we were leaving the church, we stopped and I introduced him to the priest.

“Father, this is the boy I was telling you about,” I said. I watched for his reaction, sure that he would remember me, and from Jase’s features, put two and two together. He did.  I saw the light go on and he smiled. 

“Ah, yes.  How do you like America?” he asked Jase.

“I like it just fine,” Jase replied with his handsome smile.

“It’s wonderful that you are able to be here,” the priest said.

There were others waiting to greet the priest so we didn’t linger.  Thou hypocrite, I thought as we went down the steps, with the image of the priest’s eyes burned into my brain.

“Have you been baptized?” I asked Jase as we were driving home.

“Yes.  And I've made my First Communion,” he replied.

“Ah, good, then you know your catechism. Do you go to Confession?”

“Had to, the sisters made us,” he said.

“Well it’s a good idea not to get out of the habit,” I said, and let it drop. I wondered why he had not gone to Communion. I decided that I would not take Jase back to that church and that priest.  We would find another one.

I wasn’t sure how much good it would do me to go to church since there was a great amount of hypocrisy in my decision, but I figured it couldn’t hurt Jase. As for myself, I was only hoping for the strength to postpone the inevitable for as long as I could.  And that was my hypocrisy. I wasn’t sure what Jase prayed for, if anything, but he seemed happy to go and that was enough reason for me to take him.

A few days later the lady who had administered Jase’s tests called.  I asked about his scores and his placement.

“I could tell you, but I would really like you to bring him so I can tell him in person,” she said.

“Good or bad?” I asked.

“Better than good,” she said.

I didn’t tell Jase; only that we had to go see about his test scores and find out what grade he would be in. He had to know from the smile on the woman’s face when we went in that it was good news. Her first question said it all.

“Would you like to be a junior or a senior?” she asked.

Jase looked at me as I was breaking out in a huge smile. He looked a little confused.

“You can start school as a junior or as a senior,” I explained.  “It sounds like you did okay on the tests.”

“More than okay,” the lady said. “I can’t reveal the scores. I can only say that I wish a tiny fraction of our students could score as well going into either their junior or senior year. You had excellent teachers where you lived.”

“Vietnam,” Jase said. “My teachers were nuns.”

“Yes, and I would guess that this school spends more on football uniforms than his entire school cost,” I said.

“Well, now it’s up to you to decide whether you want to be a junior or a senior,” she said. “You could come in as a junior and enjoy two years of going to an American school.  Or, as a senior, then you would be graduated after one year and off to college.”

“A senior,” he said, smiling. “I would like to be a senior.”

“Very well, you will be a senior at Coldwater High,” she said.

When we were leaving, coming down the steps, Jason said, rather cockily, “I guess I’m pretty smart, huh?”

“It’s fine to be smart, just don’t be a smart ass,” I said, punching him in the shoulder.

I had thought I would let Jase ride the bus to school if he’d started as a junior, but as a senior, he needed more independence. He needed a vehicle. I wouldn’t have to buy him one….he could drive my Jeep or my pickup.  But I would have to teach him how to drive. I told him they taught drivers ed in school but that he should know how to drive before he started so he could drive back and forth to school. He was so happily surprised he could hardly contain himself.

I taught him to drive both the truck and the Jeep so he would learn the stick shift. He liked the Jeep better, so I decided that would be “his” vehicle. That Sunday morning he surprised me by coming into my room to wake me.

“Aren’t you going to church?” he asked.

I honestly hadn’t planned on it, but I dragged myself out of bed to shower.  “We’re not going to the one we went to before,” I told him.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like the priest.” 

Jason wanted to drive. He was disappointed and surprised when I told him he couldn’t drive on public roads or streets till he got his license. We hadn’t talked about that and I didn’t think he realized he had to have one. I drove to the next town where there was an older Irish priest who I had heard on occasion. Jason liked him too. But neither of us took Communion. 

"Jase, it's none of my business but I've noticed you don't take Communion," I said as we were getting in the truck.

“Neither do you.”

“We’re talking about you,” I said.

He just looked at me across the top of the car.  "I have done too many things."

"I'm sure the nuns taught you that God forgives all things," I said. “And you said they made you go to confession.”

"Why don't you go to Communion?" he asked.

I was about to ask him why he didn’t go to Confession and clear up those many things but I only nodded, smiling, and we let it drop for the moment.

He took his driver’s test and passed with flying colors; perfect score on both the written and the driving part. He was surprised and disappointed when I didn’t let him drive away from the driver’s exam facility. I drove instead, and took us to get a pizza and something to drink.

When the waitress had taken our order, I asked to see his license. He smiled proudly when he handed it to me.

“I want to make a point here. A very clear point,” I began as I took out my wallet and put his license in it.  His smile disappeared. “You passed your drivers test, but you didn’t get the title to my car,” I said jokingly.  “The state gave you a drivers license….but I can and will take it away if you screw up.  You are driving my vehicle that I’m paying the insurance on.”

“I don’t understand about insurance,” he said.

Okay, I was ahead of myself, something that would happen often.

“I pay money every month to a big company who promises to fix my vehicle if you wreck it, and the other guy’s vehicle if you hit him, or his property if you cause damage.  If you never have an accident they still keep the money to pay for other people’s accidents.  Reckless driving causes my insurance to cost more.”

He nodded that he understood, but he was still confused over why I’d taken his license.

“So, no drinking and driving," I said as I patted my wallet. "If I ever hear of you drinking while driving I will cut up your license and you will never get behind the wheel of one of my vehicles again. Never.  Same with drugs.  Worse with drugs.  If I ever find out you are taking any kind of drugs, or dealing or associating in any way with drugs, I will first take you out in the woods and beat the living shit out of you, after which you will be grounded for an indefinite period of time.”

He frowned.  “What is grounded?” he asked.

“That means you go to school and you come home.  Nothing else happens in your life.  You go to no school functions. And you don’t drive. You ride the bus.  Your life is over.”

“Oh.”

“So you see, taking drugs will bring your life as you know it to a close. All privileges will be taken away….no television, you go to school, come home, eat and sleep.  If you treat yourself like an animal by taking drugs, I will treat you like an animal.  Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I do.” 

He was visibly relieved when I gave his license back to him. 

I was surprised when Jase said he would like to go visit my mother and dad  again; he didn’t call them his grandparents.

“I know your mother doesn’t like me, but I think I can make her like me,” he said.

I smiled, then broke out laughing.

“You don’t think I can?”

“No, no.  If anybody can, I believe you can,” I said. This is going to be interesting, I thought.

So we went to see my parents.  He drove.  My Dad was sitting out under the willow tree reading the paper.  He smiled and laid it down when he saw us drive up.  Jase went right up to him and put out his hand.

“How are you, sir?” he said.

“Why, I’m fine, Jason. How about yourself?”

“I’m fine too.”

“Your mother’s in the house, getting ready to fix supper. You better go get your name in the pot,” Dad said to me.

Jason looked at me with the usual confused scowl when he didn’t understand something.

“That means we need to tell her we’re here so she’ll fix enough for us to eat, too,” I said.

“I’ll go tell her,” he said.

Dad looked at me with a cocked brow and a big grin. I sat down with him.

“You let that boy walk right into the line of fire,” he said, laughing.

“He’s used to it,” I said.

When Jase didn’t come back right away I began to get worried. When he did come out the door he walked away in the direction of the garden.

“Where’re you going?” I asked.

“She wants me to pick some tomatoes and pull some carrots and onions,” he replied. “I’m helping her make supper.”

My Dad laughed. “Well, it looks like your boy has charmed your mother.” I could’ve kissed him for saying it, calling him my boy. My m other didn’t want to admit it but I could tell at supper that Jase had made her like him.

Knowing how much Jase loved baseball, I contacted the school to see if there was a team he might sign up for to play the rest of the summer before school started.  He was delighted when I told him I’d found a team for him to play on. He knew the game well, having played with other boys in Vietnam, and with the American GIs who visited the orphanage. We went to the practice field to meet the coach; I let him drive.  It was fun to see his confident, cocky attitude as he got out of the Jeep wearing his shorts with white T-shirt, sneakers and baseball cap, and sunglasses.  The coach was obviously impressed; I noted how his eyes raked up and down the boy’s muscular frame.

“What position do you play?” the coach asked him.

“Any position you want,” Jase replied with great confidence.  “Sometimes I was the batboy or the water boy when we played with the American GIs.”

“Well, we don’t have those positions here,” the coach said.  “We’ll try you out and see where you fit. When can you start?”

“I don’t have a glove or any equipment yet,” Jase said.

“We’ll get everything you need when we leave here,” I said.

The coach looked at his watch.  “We’re just starting.  If you can get your gear and get back here, you can still make part of the practice,” he said.

We went to a sports shop at the mall where he picked out a fielder’s glove and some cleats and batting gloves. The team would furnish everything else.  I let him drop me off at home so he could drive back to the field by himself. He was so proud when he came home with a uniform.

He was quickly recognized as a gifted athlete. He was a powerful hitter and an excellent first baseman, with his long stride and reach, all that besides looking like a stud in the uniform.  I was proud to be called his “dad” and get acquainted with some of the parents of the other players. When I explained how I wasn’t his real father, they shrugged it off and said I was close enough and from then on I was referred to as Jase’s dad.  Proud as I was of his athletic ability, he made me even prouder one day when he revealed his very human and compassionate side.

His team was ahead by one run, the score 8 to 7.  The opposing team had a boy who was somewhat physically handicapped; he could swing the bat just okay but someone told me that he could barely run when he did manage to hit the ball.  The first pitch sailed past the boy well before he swung the bat. To compensate, the boy swung the second time before the ball got to him. 

“Slow it down for him,” I heard Jase tell the pitcher from first base.

The pitcher turned and looked a Jase and walked toward him. Jase met him half way and there was a short conference before the pitcher returned to the mound.  He stepped forward several feet from the mound and threw a slow pitch, aimed almost directly at the boy’s bat. It connected solidly and the ball went sailing at an easy pace to first base.  Jase missed the ball, ran after it but fumbled it, and it became quickly obvious that he was doing it on purpose.  The other players saw what he was doing.  Jase finally “retrieved” the ball and threw it to second just as the runner was approaching. The second baseman let the ball go right through his glove, obviously on purpose.  The outfielder ran after it and retrieved it, but fumbled it for a moment just as Jase had done. He threw the ball just as the runner rounded third base. The third baseman threw it home but the catcher let the ball slip through his glove and spent an inordinate amount of time trying to retrieve it.  Meanwhile, the runner came in safe to score a run.

The crowd went wild. There was a standing ovation, meant as much for our team as for the boy’s home run.  Ironically, we lost the game by one run. I asked the coach afterwards if it had been planned.  He said no, it was just something the other boys picked up on when they saw Jase fumble the ball the way he did. “I guess some things are just more important than winning,” he said.

Jase was an immediate hit with the other players on his team, and their parents.  I was extremely proud of Jase and told him so, in the middle of a fatherly hug.  A lot of parents came up to him and told him what a great thing he’d done and how proud they were. I nearly burst with pride, tears in my eyes, when he said, “Don’t be proud of me, he’s the one who made the home run that won the game.”

As a result of his athletic prowess, and no doubt his looks and how he filled out his baseball uniform, Jason attracted girls and in turn found himself attracted to them.

He announced one day, "I want to have a date."

"All right," I said.  "Do you have a girl picked out?"

"Yes.  She comes to my games."

"Have you spoken to her?"

"Yes, but I haven't really talked to her," he said.

"Well, maybe you should have a conversation with her and get to know her before you ask her out."

He did, and he asked her out and she accepted.  I let him have my Jeep. He took her to Denny's.  Somehow that didn't surprise me.  I asked him where else they went. 

"Just Denny's, after my ball game," he said.

"Well, that's a good place to take a girl to eat but next time you might want to take her to a movie, too, some night when you don’t have a game," I told him.

I soon got my first real taste and challenge of raising a teenage boy, when Jase was late coming in from a “date.”  Very late.  He had not come home from baseball practice. I was sitting at the kitchen table with the last of a pot of coffee when he came in. He stopped cold when he saw me.

“Uh-Oh. I’m in trouble,” he said.

I looked at the kitchen clock.  “You could say that. It’s one fifteen in the morning,” I said dryly.

“Yes, sir,” he said, meekly.

“Sit down,” I said.

He sat across from me, looking scared.

“I didn’t give you a curfew, Jason, because I didn’t think you needed one.”  He knew when I called Jason that he was in trouble.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I shouldn’t have to be up at this hour worrying about where you’re at. And I’m not going to be. You now have a curfew. Ten o’clock on Sundays and week nights, midnight on Friday and Saturday,” I said flatly.

“There’s no discussion about this?” he asked.

“You didn’t discuss with me about staying out till 1:15 in the morning,” I said.

“But midnight on weekends……”

“We can make it eleven,” I said.

“No, sir, midnight will be fine,” he said.

“Now, where, who and what?” I asked.

“Where have I been?” he asked.

“Yes. And who have you been with and what’ve you been doing?”

“Well, it’s….it’s pretty personal,” he stammered.

“I’m getting personal,” I said with a deadpan look.

“Well, I was with this girl….not the one I've dated before…. Lindsay….she’s a senior, same as me…..”

I nodded, with a knowing, penetrating stare. “Okay, that’s who.  Where and what?” I said.

“Well, we were down by the river, at a spot some guys told me about.”

“You went fishing?” I asked.

He smiled.  “No, sir, I….well, I….I guess you could say I was….fishing….in a way.”

“Having sex,” I said, fearing the worse.

He blinked, surprised that I was so blunt.

“No,” he said with a frown. “Well….sort of….maybe.”

“How do you sort of have sex, maybe?”

“Well, we went swimming, and we didn’t have swim suits….being all naked…...”

“No cop outs, Jase,” I said in a weary tone, shaking my head. “Sex doesn’t just sort of happen.  You make it happen. But you said you weren’t having sex, but you were, sort of.  Maybe.  Don’t play games with me; I’m not in the mood.”

“We started kissing and making out but nothing happened.  Not the real thing, I mean.  I didn’t have a condom.  So even though it felt like we were, I don’t think we really had sex.  We just came close.  We got out and dried off and got dressed before anything happened.”

“What’s close?”

Well, I….I had my fingers in her pussy and she was stroking my cock,” he blurted. “I meant the real thing didn’t happen.”

“Well, first, swimming in the river at night was stupid as hell,” I said.

“I’m a good swimmer,” he said.

“Nobody’s that good,” I said.  “But I applaud your restraint, this time.”  I got up to leave.

“Are we done?” he asked with a surprised look.

“No,” I said. I left him sitting and wondering.  I came back and tossed a strip of three condom packets on the table. “I guess I didn’t tell you where I keep these,” I said.

“No, sir, you didn’t.”

“In my top dresser drawer, and in the night stand.”

“I would feel funny about getting into your dresser drawer.”

“Not near as funny as you’ll feel when you get the news that you’re a teenage daddy, or when your cock starts dripping funny stuff,” I said.  “Put those in your glove compartment.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, fingering the packets. “Does that mean you’re saying it’s okay if I have sex?”

“No, it does not,” I said sternly. “It means I’m saying don’t be stupid.”

“Yes, sir.”  He continued fingering the condoms.

“Now,” I said, waving toward the door.

“Yes, sir.”  He shoved his chair back and left to take the condoms out to the Jeep, parked in the barn.  I went upstairs to bed.

To be continued... 

Posted: 02/27/15 rp