Remembering Tim - 3. Chapter 3 - I'm Not a Homosexual

A couple days later, I was out throwing the basketball at the backboard. I wasn't even trying to get it in the net. I figured I'd let Chance have a go at making me into the next great basketball star. I tried not noticing Kiel coming out his back door. I heard the gate on his fence open, but I didn't want him thinking I was expecting him to come over. I was still too mad at him.

"Your mom called me," Kiel said, sitting down on the grass beside the driveway. "She said we need to make up before going to California. I'm sorry for telling Neil you're queer. But, I thought after what Tim said, you were."

"Do you want to fuck me, too?"

"No! Why would I want to do that?"

"Because I'm queer. Isn’t that what Tim said? I like taking it up the ass so much, I'd even let you fuck me."

"Stop it!"

I threw the ball at the backboard and it circled the hoop before dropping in.

"Great shot!"

"Yeah, wasn't even trying."

"You're a natural. You should try out for basketball this year."

"Cut the crap, okay? I'm not any good at basketball. That was just a lucky shot. Do you know what it's like having other kids think you're different?"

I sat down close to Kiel, but not near him. I didn't want us to have to talk loudly. I lay back onto the grass and stared up into a cloudless sky. A jet flying west was leaving a contrail. It was a 707 or something big like that. I wanted to be up there.

"Everybody thinks I'm adopted," Kiel said, lying down so our heads were closer, but not so close, I might want to move away. "They think because my dad's paralyzed he can't have kids."

"That's not the same."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"I am sorry about telling Neil and asking him to talk to you."

I didn't know what I wanted from Kiel. In the beginning, I thought I’d hate him, but then I tried to like him hoping we might become friends. I wanted him to be like me, like Stevie, maybe just a little bit. Just enough to want to make out sometime, but now I didn't know if I wanted him on our trip to California. And, yet, I kind of did.

"Have you ever kissed another boy?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"You have?" I asked. Sitting up, I turned to him. "I mean did you kiss a guy like you were making out?"

"I know what you mean."

"What do you mean you know what I mean?"

"I had a boyfriend. Okay?"

"You mean ..."

"Look, Geoff, I've done it with a guy. Okay? I've already had a chat with Neil. You should, too. It might do you some good."

"I'm not a homosexual, like Neil."

"Why can't you admit it?"

"Because, I'm not. I maybe queer, but I'm not a homosexual. You can't make me believe they're the same thing."

Kiel sat up and looked at me shaking his head.

"My boyfriend's name was Eric. He's dead. He hung himself because he couldn't accept what he was. I loved him, but that wasn't enough to save him."

"I'm not a homosexual. I'm not."

"Okay, you don't have to be."

I did though. I knew I'd be one, eventually. I'd read the books. I liked guys. I didn't like girls, not even a little bit. Monica was my friend. She had nothing to worry about me trying to get it on with her.

Kiel admitting he was, well, that was something else entirely. I wondered if we could become friends or if we could just go to the sex part and avoid getting involved with each other. That would certainly simplify things. Not that I was particularly interested in having sex with another boy because doing that would mean I was a homosexual and I was quite happy, well sort of kind of happy, being queer and dreaming of having meaningful sex with other boys. It’s one thing to do it—I admit that I had gone all the way, once, with Stevie, but Stevie was so manipulative, that one time might not have been a fully mutual experience; plus, all those blow-jobs I gave Stevie were basically him raping my mouth—and quite another to dream of being in the arms of your boyfriend and achieving the heights of ecstasy, which made for some very meaningful solo orgasms.

"I was hoping we could get to know each other," I said, lying back down to stare at the sky. Clouds were starting to drift in from the west. Big, billowy clouds that an imagination could turn into things like castles, submarines, or if you had a very good imagination guys, with big dicks. "But, I suppose I’d have to admit ..."

"You don't have to admit anything," Kiel said leaning down and placing his lips against mine.

**********

There wasn't an orchestra playing, we weren't running toward each other across a flower-filled meadow, fireworks didn't go off. He followed me up to my bedroom and sat on my bed as I locked my door. Kiel pulled off his t-shirt revealing his skinny torso. There weren't a lot of muscles anywhere. How could he be so athletic without big, bulging muscles? He was so skinny; he didn’t have any abs, either.

I sat down beside him and placed the palm of my hand against his cheek. Our lips met once more. His tongue begged an opening. I met him across the narrow divide. He was pulling off my t-shirt. I caressed his chest feeling the small nipples under my hand. His hand was behind my neck. Placing forefinger and thumb around a nipple, I squeezed and turned my hand. Kiel moaned deep in his throat.

His hand was unzipping my cut-offs, unbuttoning them, slipping under the waistband of my briefs. He brushed his fingers against my growing erection. He pulled away from our embrace.

I looked at him as he knelt down on the floor between my legs. I raised my buttocks slightly as he pulled my cut-offs and briefs down to my ankles. He leaned in enveloping the head of my cock in his warm mouth. His hand began rubbing, caressing, kneading my balls. I lay back on the bed.

I wanted the moment to last, but I was too quick, surprising myself at the quickness of my orgasm. Kiel kept me in his mouth until the spasms subsided, my offering freely taken. There was nothing more for me to do.

He stood up, removed his clothes, and lay down on top of me. We kissed and I tasted myself on his tongue. His enormous erection was pressed between us, moving back and forth across my tender skin. I wanted him more than I was willing to admit.

He was everything Stevie wasn't as he began to thrust against my abdomen. He raised himself off my chest, leaning down to keep his lips against mine. I tried to spread my thighs to envelope his body, but my cut-offs and briefs were still around my ankles keeping me from opening myself to his thrusts. I felt him tense. His lips were clamped against mine. His hot cum spewed onto my chest, puddling just below my sternum.

We lay quietly listening to our breathing. I never imagined having a need to be fucked, but I wanted Kiel so much at that moment that I was willing to give myself to him. I wanted him inside me. I wanted us to become as we were intended.

He rose off me and rubbed his semen into my chest and abdomen, his fingertips brushing against my nipples.

"See, I told you, you don't have to admit anything," Kiel said before lowering his mouth down over my new erection.

**********

He was a child of the Great Depression, used to doing without and getting by with very little. He was the oldest of three boys, working through high school and after. He went with the Marines to fight across islands in the Pacific during WWII and returned to marry his high school sweetheart. He hated homosexuals and anything that reminded him of their existence, including his youngest, more successful brother, and his youngest son.

Up until a few months before Stevie died, he was probably the man I respected most. He was my hero. The only man who I could go to for anything. And, he was extraordinarily interested in everything I did.

Then one day he practically vanished from my life. He was there, around the house as he’d always been, but it was almost as if I ceased to exist. We stopped talking. He stopped answering my questions.

Then Stevie died and my dad came back into my life for a time. We weren’t as close as before. There seemed to be some gulf between us. It was as if we stood on opposite sides of a closed door. I knocked, but he answered grudgingly. Then he was gone, again.

Dad was good with people, a natural salesman. He sold cast iron pipe throughout the western states. He was on the road a lot, but that was the life he chose and the life we, his family, accepted.

My first clear memory of what would become my greatest fear of my father was a Saturday morning when I was five. Every Saturday morning Dad was in town, he’d take my older brother, Karl, and me to breakfast at Gussie’s. We didn’t get to go a lot, but often enough for it to become a family tradition.

It was raining that morning, a hard, uncommon rain that set the tone for the day. Dad was feeling good because he’d sold his biggest order the previous week and was in the mood for a celebration. Except, that was the first time we saw Neil working at Gussie’s. Dad and Gussie knew each other from the war and Neil was presented at our table as someone special to Gussie.

On the way home, Dad started talking, but didn’t seem to be talking to either Karl or me, “Gussie said that kid was kicked out of the Navy. I can’t believe he hired the kid. How can he have someone so disgusting serving his customers?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Karl must have asked.

“Both of you boys are too young to appreciate this,” Dad said. “But, when I was younger, just before starting high school, a group of boys in our neighborhood started doing things together. From that day, I swore I would never have anything to do with boys or men who did things like that.”

On subsequent visits, Karl and I were to find out about those horrible things, those things Dad hated so much. Other than shaking hands, men do not touch each other. Men do not kiss. Men do not ogle each other. Men do not, do not, do not, do not, on and on and on.

Why? Why was Dad so adamantly against anything that might be construed to be homosexual? Neither Karl nor I found out. I’ve always suspected Dad wasn’t included for some reason in the games of his childhood. Karl always thought Dad had been embarrassed when the other boys said something derogatory about Dad’s little dick. Whatever the reason, both Karl and I knew Dad hated homosexuals to where both of us became rather active on the other side of the fence, if only to rebel against his authority. Karl got out without Dad finding out about his switch-hitting. Myself, well, I thought I was being just as careful.

My time in Dad’s headlights came two days before we were to leave for California. Dad came home from a rather disappointing sales trip to Arizona and was bitching to everyone, including me even though we weren’t talking. I was up in my room sorting out what I was going to take when I hear Mother scream. Dad was on the kitchen floor and was definitely knocking on Death’s door.

He made it to the hospital and after a day of flirting with Death, Dad was sent up to a room. Mother took me to the hospital because she said Dad wanted to talk to me. I was like some dumb animal being led to the slaughterhouse. Mother sent me in alone, simply saying, “Don’t tire your father, he needs all the rest he can get.”

Frankly, Dad looked like he was in for a long, long rest somewhere under a big lawn full of stone monuments. He stared at me; and, then I felt the headlights burn into my eye sockets. I was trapped.

“Geoff? I think it’s time I let you know why I haven’t been speaking to you,” Dad said in a calm, dry voice that told me he wasn’t selling me any pipe. He was lying in the hospital bed propped up with pillows, an IV in one arm and a clear plastic tube snaking out from under the blanket down to a bag half-full of yellow liquid hanging from the bed rail.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

“You know how I feel about homosexuals,” Dad said. He wasn’t looking at me, and I was doing everything I could not to look at him, but the headlights kept me staring straight ahead at the approaching car. “A few months ago I saw you kissing Stevie Carlson. When he died, I figured the problem took care of itself. Then five days ago, I came through town on my way to Phoenix and thought I’d stop at home and maybe take you out for a chocolate soda. I know you like them. I stopped out front because I was in a hurry and then walked up the driveway. Kiel was leaning over you and you two were kissing. I stepped back because I didn’t want to be discovered. Maybe I should have said something, but when I looked again, you had gone inside. You left your bedroom window open and I heard everything.”

The hunter aimed at a spot between my eyes. I couldn’t move. I saw the bullet exit the barrel of the rifle.

“I told you when you were younger that if I ever discovered either you or Karl doing those disgusting things, you might as well find someplace else to live. So, when I get out of here, I’m calling your Uncle Walter and you can go live with him.”

The bullet felt so wonderful. All the hiding, then suddenly I’m free. All the mental defenses I’d put up trying to be something I wasn’t, gone. The screwy idea I could be queer without actually being a homosexual, vanished. I wanted to tell Kiel he was right, but thought why should I? If my days in North Park were numbered, why get him excited?

I should have felt better, but I didn’t.

**********

It only took a day for my desire to win over whatever disappointment Kiel was going to feel. Except, Kiel wasn’t at home when I went over to tell him he was right. I waited until his parents came home, but still no Kiel.

I was beginning to wonder if Kiel might have gone somewhere when our trip to California was called off, when I saw a practically mint condition ’59 Chevy station wagon pull into their driveway and Kiel get out. A wave of nausea flashed through me when I saw Tim sitting in the front seat. The realization Tim and Kiel were together raised all sorts of red flags. I wanted everything between Kiel and myself to be unencumbered by any feelings Tim and Kiel were sharing. It was simply jealousy and I didn’t care.

The Elkins always had dinner promptly at five-thirty so I wasn’t going to be able to see Kiel until at least seven. Except, I didn’t think I could wait that long. I wanted Kiel close to me like we’d been doing before Dad went into the hospital. It was all rather one sided with Kiel sucking me then rubbing his dick against my abdomen or between my thighs, but we were together and that’s all I thought I wanted. It certainly was easier than what I was doing with Stevie, who always insisted I suck him when he never did me.

Yet, it was practically the same with Kiel. He gave me an orgasm and then used me to achieve his orgasm. I was not allowed to give him one and it put a little bug inside me that irritated every time we were together.

A few minutes to six our phone rang and Sally answered it before I could. She was under strict orders from Dad and Mother not to answer the phone while they weren’t home, but when did a five-year-old girl ever listen to any adult even if they were her parents. By the time I got downstairs, she was crying. She had the phone at her ear, but she had tears streaming out of her eyes and she was blubbering horribly. I took the phone away from her.

“Geoff? Is that you,” Mother said into my ear.

“Yes?”

“Son, I’m sorry, buy your father is gone. I need you to call Trudy. Can you do that for me? And, Geoff? Can you help Sally, too? And, call your Uncle Lawrence. He’ll be able to call the rest of the family. Can you do these things for me, Geoff?”

“Yes, I can do what you want.”

I put the phone down and pulled Sally into a hug. We cried together for what seemed forever. Then I set about calling the family. I don’t know what Mother was doing that she had to call with that kind of news. A person can take a matter-of-fact attitude only so far, but Mother always was unemotional about all the really serious events in all our lives. Maybe she was just trying to lessen the blow. In any case, I had to show some responsibility, even if I wasn’t going to be moving to California after all.

**********

It drizzled the day of his funeral as it can only do in Seattle. Everyone came, including Karl, who got an emergency leave and flew all the way across the Pacific to be with us, and Uncle Walter, who came up from Southern California. I wanted to call him Uncle Wally because he actually looked like an adult version of Wally Cleaver. I was scared of him. I was certain he and Dad had cooked up some scheme to scare me straight, so I tried to stay away from him as much as possible.

Two days after the funeral, Uncle Wally came up to my bedroom and there wasn’t anything I could do, nowhere to hide. I felt almost like when I had to talk to Dad in the hospital. The hunter stood there with his rifle pointed at me, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t get away.

“How’re you doin’, Geoffy?” Uncle Wally asked as I opened my door. “Or, are you going by Geoff now?”

“I said goodbye to Geoffy when I was eleven,” I said. I didn’t know what to do with him, whether to offer him a chair or to ask him to leave.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk and I wanted to see you before I left for the airport.”

“I guess I won’t be coming down to live with you now that Dad is gone.”

“What do you mean?” Uncle Wally asked. He walked over to my bed and sat down. He looked at me, but I couldn’t tell what his expression meant.

“Before Dad died he told me he was sending me down to live with you.”

“That’s news to me. Why would he do that? Oh, god, Geoffrey. Damn it! Did John catch you doing something with another boy?”

“Yes,” I mumbled. I stared out my bedroom window toward Kiel’s window. I wondered if he was at home or over at Tim’s. He’d been to the funeral with his parents, but we still hadn’t spoken. He still didn’t know.

I felt a muscular hand on my shoulder pulling me around. Uncle Wally pulled me into a hug. He held me against him. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and cry like a little kid who’d lost his balloon, but I didn’t and I pulled myself out of his embrace.

“I couldn’t figure out why he wanted you to take care of me,” I said, getting up to walk over to my desk, but giving up and sitting back down on my bed. Uncle Wally’s arm went across my back, his hand on my shoulder. It felt as if he was holding me, preventing me from getting away.

“I’d guess because he knew I was never going to get married to a woman.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“Come on, Geoff, think. Do I have to spell it out?”

“Oh, you mean, but you’re, then you ...”

“I suppose your father, in his demented way of thinking, figured I’d welcome you into my home because we’re both gay. You know why he was like this, don’t you?”

“No, he never said what happened. Me and Karl figured his friends ridiculed him because his, well, his ...”

“No, it wasn’t John’s insignificance. There was a boy in the neighborhood John hung out with. One of the boy’s older brothers caught John and the other boy out in their garage. I don’t think they were doing much more than jerking each other, but all hell broke loose around our house for a couple years. Suddenly, everything got very religious to the point where John almost ended up in seminary.”

“Wow, Dad a priest. That must have been something to see, considering how he is today.”

“We weren’t Catholic; it was much worse than that. It didn’t do much good in the long run because John lost his religion in the South Pacific. I guess all that dying and killing turned him off with his god.”

“He never said much about what happened to him in the war other than it was bad.”

“You know, Geoff, I’m thinking you might like to come down to California and work for me next summer. What do you think?”

I kind of wished Dad had lived and sent me down to California. Uncle Walter, he definitely did not like being called Wally, and I talked for nearly three hours until he had to leave for the airport. He told me a lot about his own experiences growing up on the other side of the fence, knowing the slightest innuendo might lead to losing friends, a job, or something as silly as not passing a course, which actually happened to him in college.