Join the best erotica focused adult social network now
Login

What is Yet to Come

"When does fondness become love? When does straight become gay?"

7
3 Comments 3
10.5k Views 10.5k
7.6k words 7.6k words

I’d just entered high school when my mother died. She’d had breast cancer and hadn’t caught it in time. It had metastasized to other parts of her body, and although they fought it, there was no way there would be a different outcome. But no matter how prepared you are for the end, it is devastating.

Both my dad and I were distraught, but each of us also tried to be brave for the other. I think that is what got us through those first weeks and even months. You think you’re getting stronger, and then you just break down.

But trite as it is, time does heal, well, most wounds. I graduated from high school and went off to college, leaving dad all alone. The first year was difficult. I felt guilty for leaving him, not knowing how he was filling his time.

I came home for the holidays and breaks, but those were brief visits. When summer finally arrived, I talked to him about the necessity of getting out and to resume living his life. With my encouragement he joined a couple of social groups, like a group of men his age who met to play cards each Thursday night.

I returned to school relieved that I had convinced him to rejoin the world, knowing he still had many more years left. He wasn’t old or disabled. His doctor had declared him healthy, and he began to improve his outlook on life.

In one of those groups he met a woman whose husband had also died from cancer. They commiserated with each other. They understood each other. My dad asked her out to dinner, and she responded by inviting him to her home for a home-cooked meal.

Things evidently progressed from there.

When I came home for the Christmas holidays he insisted I meet her. I have to admit I was a little reluctant. Not so much because of the idea of someone trying to take my mom’s place, or even replacing me, but because I’d heard of women taking advantage of grieving men.

But I agreed, and we all went out to dinner, including her son, whom I didn’t know about. He was sixteen, and I was a twenty-year-old college student. I felt superior. Why? I think now for the same reason I was wary about her. He was just part of the package.

But before the evening was over, Mrs. Mulligan had won me over. She seemed a perfect fit for my dad, and it was apparent she cared for him. They were completely relaxed in each other’s company and laughed together a lot. I decided that whatever my dad did, he knew what was best for him, and I’d support him all the way.

There wasn’t any talk yet about marriage, and I thought they’d join the modern crowd and just move in together.

When I came back home for spring break dad told me he was thinking about asking her to marry him. He told me all about their financial conditions and what they’d lose and what they’d gain by the union. It was clear he’d put a lot of thought into the situation. I said that whatever he decided, I was with him one hundred percent.

“But,” he said, making me wonder what was coming, “there’s Ewan. If we marry he comes too, you know.”

“Of course,” I scoffed. “What did you expect, she’d put him in a shelter for someone else to adopt?”

“No, of course not. I mean he’ll be living here, when you come home.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Dad, what the hell? I won’t care, unless he has some dire disease you haven’t told me about.”

“Not exactly,” he said.

Now I was perplexed. “We aren’t going to be sharing a room, are we? I mean there’s the guest room, and if he wants my room I can take that one. I’m only here for a few days or weeks at a time.”

“But you’ll be under the same roof.”

“For god’s sake, Dad. What is it?”

Dad cleared his throat. “He’s gay, Son.”

For a split second I didn’t know what to say. Then I started laughing. “God, Dad. I wasn’t born in the last century. I’ve known gay guys my whole life, although in grade school I didn’t know they were gay. But there were three in high school that everyone knew about, and probably a dozen more.”

“Do you have any gay friends at the university?”

“Actually, no. I know several, but there aren’t any in the group I hang with. To tell the truth, I don’t know why not. I’m sure they’d be welcomed, but we just haven’t connected with any. They mostly keep in their own little clique, anyway. You know, birds of a feather.”

“So, it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable having him around.”

“No. Why? What about you? Is it really you that’s afraid?”

Now he was the one who scoffed. “Me? Of course not. I’m an old man. He wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Don’t be too sure, old man.” I put the emphasis on ‘old man’. “First, you aren’t that old. Second you’re still a stud.”

He laughed. “You really think so?”

“And what do you think? That that kid is going to be stalking me around the house? Come on, he seemed like a nice kid.”

So now my opinion had changed and I was defending Ewan, whom I hardly knew?

“No, and you’re right. He’s a very nice kid. Esther raised him well. So, again, you’re right. See, old geezers like me can learn from you modern kids.”

The conversation was over and the matter seemed settled. And he hadn’t said how soon he was going to ask for Esther’s hand, or when the wedding would take place.

I went back to school and back to my other life. I did tell one of my buddies about the conversation, and he thought it was funny. He made no mention about living under the same roof with a gay guy. It was irrelevant.

My sophomore year was coming to an end when I got an email from my dad. The wedding date had been set. They were waiting for me to come home, as I was to be his best man. I was a little surprised it was to be that soon, but I had no objection.

I packed up my things, said goodbye to friends and drove home. I had two weeks to get settled into my summer life before the celebrations began. Dad insisted on having another talk about the change in our living arrangements, but I assured him that for me there would be very little change, and nothing I couldn’t handle.

One amusing detail was that Mrs. Mulligan had decided that instead of a matron of honor, that part of the wedding party would be taken by her son, Ewan.

The wedding took place without a hitch. It was a small affair, attended by only close friends of the bride and groom, and a few relatives. The reception was a sit-down dinner in the hotel where the wedding was held. There was no honeymoon.

A couple days before the wedding all of Mrs. Mulligan’s and Ewan’s possessions had been moved into our house and fitted into their designated spots, so that after all the festivities were over, we four went home to start our new way of living.

One of the first things that happened after we walked in the door was that my new step-mom said to me, “Finn, you know you can’t call me Mrs. Mulligan anymore. She doesn’t exist. I don’t expect you to call me Mom, so why don’t we right here decide what it will be.”

I hadn’t really thought about that aspect of our living together.

“Gee, I don’t know. You got me,” I lamely said.

“Well, why don’t you just call me Esther.”

So that was settled.

I had more trouble dealing with Ewan, or rather my relationship with him. I’d never had a brother, nor had I any friends who weren’t my age. It hadn’t been that long since I’d been sixteen, but it seemed like eons ago. I’d left all that behind me.

But my concern didn’t turn out to be warranted. As the days passed we became acquainted with each other – our likes and dislikes, our quirks, our interests. He was funny in ways I wasn’t. He was great at slapstick. It was silly, but it made me laugh.

Breakfast for the past few years had been quiet, almost somber affairs, with both Dad’s and my noses buried in the morning newspaper. Now they verged on the nutty.

Saturdays he insisted he and I do something together, whether it was what I considered a stupid waste of time, like the roller derby, or something I liked such as playing tennis, which I always crushed him at. We went to the local lake where we rented a boat and I taught him how to row properly. He showed me the correct way to build a beautiful kite that would fly.

We drove to the beach and spent the day building shitty sand castles and getting sunburned. I forced him to go to the art museum, which it turned out he loved. I persuaded him to eat sushi, which he hated. We found out that both of us had seen all the Lord of the Ring movies, and neither of us had liked them.

He found an abandoned kitten and I helped him sneak it in the house and then helped him convince our parents that we needed a cat. And he convinced me that Spot was as good a name for a cat as for a dog.

The summer went by, and in all that time there was no talk, no hint, no thought about him being gay. I can honestly say to you that I had virtually forgotten my dad had ever brought it up, and yet, despite my saying that, it was there, underneath the surface.

I felt that Ewan and I had connected. I didn’t think of him as my step-brother. He was now my brother. Whenever I said anything about my brother to my friends, they knew I was referring to my step-brother, and if people who didn’t know me well thought he was my brother, it didn’t matter.

Summer was coming to an end and it was time to return to school. I was glad to see my friends again and find out how their summer had gone. Before long I was back in student mode.

I was a junior and taking courses for my elective, which made school both more fun and more serious, but I didn’t let my social life wither and die. I hung with my buddies and did well in the romance department. I had no intention of getting involved with some girl in anything that would complicate my life before graduation, so I kept things varied and light.

After Mom had died, Dad and I had acknowledged Thanksgiving and Christmas by having dinner in a restaurant. Esther was determined to have a complete traditional Thanksgiving with a turkey and everything else, including corny decorations. She wrote me imploring me to come home. I was a long drive for such a short visit, but I relented.

Actually, it wasn’t a hard decision. I wanted to go. I wanted to have a get-together with my new family, and that included my new brother. Maybe it was more than just including him. I’m not sure.

The three days went by quickly and they were an enjoyable break from studying. Not only Thursday, but the two following days were full of activity and fun and good meals. But I was faintly aware that what I had described as being underneath the surface was stirring in some undefined way.

By Sunday I was feeling uneasy and I was anxious to return to the sanctuary of the campus. On the long drive I kept turning things over in my mind. Had there been more physical contact between Ewan and me when we were playing around, or was I just imagining things – making something out of nothing?

Those thoughts and feelings were soon forgotten with the opening of books and preparing for exams. There were only three weeks of classes before the Christmas break began, and I headed home again, and once again I found I was eager to get home.

I arrived on the twentieth and was immediately put to work by Esther. As with Thanksgiving she was determined to resurrect Christmas in our house. That meant rushing out to buy a tree, climbing up into our attic to dig out decorations which hadn’t been used in over six years and pulling out the boxes that had been stored in our garage which contained her decorations.

It seemed she planned to decorate every inch of the house, and Ewan and I were conscripted to do the going up and down the step-ladder, wrapping bannisters with garlands and making the tree stand up straight and secure.

It was madness and a lot of fun. Dad sat in his armchair and watched, shook his head and laughed. Christmas day arrived and it was almost like the ones I remembered with Mom. Before a big breakfast gifts were exchanged and unwrapped and thanks were offered all around.

Everyone helped in the kitchen in the manner we could, usually getting in Esther’s way. It was just us for dinner, and it was just perfect. I’d say it was one of the best days I’d had in years.

And the days after should have been just as great, but that feeling of uneasiness returned, and this time I was sure Ewan was touching me more, and in different ways than he had before.

Classes were scheduled to resume on the sixth, which meant I had to leave on Sunday. Ewan’s seventeenth birthday was the following Thursday, so on Saturday I said I wanted to take him out for a celebratory dinner – just he and I. That would be something different for us, so I thought it would be special.

And it was. There was something about just the two of us – two young men on an adult-free evening out. And something special about it being an adult-like evening of dinner in an upscale restaurant. Of course, we didn’t conduct ourselves as mature adults the whole evening.

We kidded around, and laughed too loudly, but we had a good time and stayed too long. When we got home it was well past Ewan’s curfew time. I knocked on Dad and Esther’s bedroom door to let them know we were home safe. We said goodnight and went to our individual bedrooms.

This may be more info than you want to know, but for years I’ve felt it was unhealthy to sleep in the same briefs I’d been wearing for hours. I felt my balls needed some breathing space, so to speak. So long ago I bought a package of boxers and use those for sleeping. They’re well past their normal lifespan, but I’ll probably keep using them until they fall apart.

I stripped down, put on my sleeping boxers, brushed my teeth and took a piss. I had just sat down on the edge of the bed and was reaching for the bedside lamp when there was a tap on the door. It opened and Ewan stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“What’s up?” I asked lamely. We’d just spent hours talking. What more could there be to talk about?

He walked over to the bed and sat down beside me.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, but been afraid to. But I don’t feel afraid tonight.”

I looked at him with a frown on my forehead.

“Ewan, why would you be afraid to ask me anything? Am I scary?”

“No, but it is personal. Are you sure?”

At that moment I wasn’t sure I was sure. What had I opened myself up to?

But I said, “Go ahead. Out with it.”

He looked down and then back up at me before asking, “How old were you when you first did it?”

“When I first did it?” I said, cruelly. I knew, of course, what he meant, but I was playing for time, or hoping he’d give up and go away. He didn’t

“You know, when did you lose your virginity?”

I wasn’t going to make this any easier for him, all because I felt uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure, but technically I think only girls can lose their virginity.”

I looked at him and could see a combination of frustration and anger starting to come in his eyes.

“Damn it, Finn, stop it. I was trying to be nice. So, when did you first have sex? How old where you? Is that clear enough for you?”

I’d never heard him curse before, and although it was as mild as you could get, it startled me. I guess it had its desired effect, because I answered him.

“I was nineteen. No, wait, twenty. It was in my second semester at university.”

“That old? Why?”

I shrugged. “It was the right time for me. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself before, and if it had I doubt I’d have known what to do.”

“Who was it?”

I looked at him again. “It wasn’t an “it”. It was a girl I was dating.”

“Did you do it more than once?”

“With her? No.”

“But you have done it more than once?”

My discomfort had taken a new form. This wasn’t going where I wanted to go, but for strictly personal reasons.

“Ewan, you said this was personal, and it is. There are some things I want to keep to myself.”

“Does that mean you never did it again?” he asked with what came too close to a smirk.

NO, it doesn’t.”

“One more question, okay? Will you answer one more?”

“Okay, one more, and then you need to get to bed.”

“In total, how many times? Wait, let me be clear, how many times have you had sex?”

The first word that sprung to my mind was ‘shit’. I’d dug a hole.

“Twice.” I could have lied, but for what purpose?

“With a girl?”

“What?” I spurted out. “Of course.”

I pushed him up off my bed. “Go to bed.”

He turned and stood in front of me.

“One more question.”

“No. You had your question. Two, in fact.”

He smiled....

To continue reading this story you must be a member.

Join Now
Published 
Written by spinneroftales
Loved the story?
Show your appreciation by tipping the author!

Get Free access to these great features

  • Create your own custom Profile
  • Share your erotic stories with the community
  • Curate your own reading list and follow authors
  • Enter exclusive competitions
  • Chat with like minded people
  • Tip your favourite authors

Comments