Love Story (Joe’s Father’s Story)

The sky is blue with white ships sailing across the vast oceans between the two houses. On my back, looking up, everything seems different. I lay here and I dream. My parents think that I will one day meet some girl, marry, and have children but my dreams are not theirs: I dream of meeting a boy to spend my life with. I have never told anyone this dream. This dream began last year, when I experienced the closeness of another boy, and it was last year that I found myself in love with another boy.

Summer day’s drift, endless hours of leisure, and nowhere to go: I sit on my porch wondering if I will be alone all summer. School ended 3 days ago, but I feel the dread of solitude setting upon me. I have no friends and I don’t know why. Before we moved I had friends but now I am, like some leopard condemned, spending the rest of my youth alone.

A girl jumps rope, a man walks a dog, and a cat paces back and forth on the railing of the porch across the street from me as dreams take me away. Maybe I meant to be on my own, a wanderer searching for the meaning of life. I envision a future day when I will sit in a rocking chair, white hair flowing, with a line of people waiting to ask me a question about something. I can almost see those people looking to me for the answers to the riddles of life when I hear something. It is not part of my fantastic dream but it is of a dream nevertheless.  I look up to see him walking toward me. He is of a daydream I suppose, at first, but then he walks up to me. Not even the boys in my dreams ever walked up to me. Even in my dreams I was not good enough for them.

He sits beside me with a stack of baseball cards in one hand. I study his body, every inch, as he looks at me. He has no shirt, which reveals his tan that continues down his body. His shorts rest low upon his tan hips, the tan continues, and a slight bulge draws my attention to the front of his shorts. I look up into his eyes realizing that he has been looking at me the same way that I have him.

He smiles, my heart racing faster, and my mouth moves to speak. I want to say something but, even if I could speak, I wonder what I would say.

We stare at each other while time passes. He stands as if he is going to leave me. I fear that he may never return so I stand and offer a tour of my house. He nods in agreement and the tour begins. We walk slowly through the house, his hand grasps mine, and we know what the other wants. Maybe every boy wonder about what it would be like or maybe not, but we were two boys wanting to know what it’d be like to be with another boy. His name is Eric.

We walk through the house as I point out places of importance like some White House tour guide. He looks at me as if each word that comes from me is as vital the next. I show him the spot, at the bottom of the stairs, where I knocked out one of my teeth while running through the house one day. I point out several places throughout the house where things of significance occurred until we reach my bedroom. When we first enter my room I catch a slight smile, greater than the smiles before, on his face  I walk over to the window and look out between the curtains at the green grass and an elderly couple walking down the sidewalk.

The door closes and I turn to find Eric’s shorts on the floor at his feet. His tan goes from head to toe. I remove my clothes and we stand naked, looking at each other’s privates as if on some museum display. We stare like each other’s dick is some work of fine art: a painting meant to be examined inch by inch.

He is the first to make a move after moments of watching each other. He pulls me over to him so that we are standing face to face, our peckers only an inch from each other. Our fingers, in unison, reach out and touch the other’s nipples as if touching some alien technology for the first time. Our bodies react to this touch and we inch closer together. We are face-to-face, inches apart, our lips coming closer together. I look into his eyes, a deep blue sea, as our lips meet. His lips part and my tongue slips in between. My tongue moves around in his mouth: my tongue surrounded by him. Our hands probe each other: moving further down on each other’s body.

Our bodies come together and for hours we find joy in each other’s body. We find the bed and soon our bodies are joined by mere inches of flesh. He is inside me first and as soon as he empties himself inside of me it’s my turn to insert myself into him. When he placed it between my legs for the first time there was pain at first but then it became pleasure. When he rolls over for it to be my time I look at his flesh and my excitement grows. I slide it inside of him slowly at first and, after he urges me on, I push myself harder into him. His body tightens around mine and I push harder. My hips connect with his flesh when I am the entire way inside of him. Our bodies are one. I want to remain like this forever, but I find myself exploding inside of him. A sensation of great joy fills me and we collapse together on the bed intertwined.

We meet often that first week, but a week after our first encounter he comes over with bad news. We sit on the porch, listening to birds chirping, as he tells me what he knew before he met me. His dad is in the military and they would soon be moving the next day. He never meant us to fall in love but we did. 

After that I ignored my feelings for other boys: I married the only girl I dated. We had a son, Joe. I have never told anyone, but there was a boy that I loved all of those years. I wonder how things would have been different if I were brave enough to admit that I loved a boy. I mean I think highly of Joe’s mom but I don’t love her the way I loved that boy those years ago.