Just Sex... - 1. Homecoming

CHAPTER I – HOMECOMING

Regret. Missed opportunities. The “keep you up at night, kick yourself in the head” kind of feelings. That’s what I was feeling while staring at the passing countryside as I sat in the not nearly comfortable enough for an 8-hour ride train seat.

I’d just finished college, with a worthless degree and I was heading back home. With my tail between my legs, some might say. And they’d probably be right. Going from a bustling metropolis which offered everything from plenty of job opportunities to a bustling night life back home, to a medium-sized city that’s far too cold in the winter and not quite as hot as hell in the summer, but too close for my taste…well, that’s what you might call a step back.

So, why was I going back? My mom. Yes, I’m a mamma’s boy, but it’s more than that. See, it’s always been my mom and me. Sad as it might sound – and it does sound pathetic – she’s always been my best friend. Someone I knew would be there for me no matter what. We were together when she divorced my alcoholic father around the same time I was finishing kindergarten and getting ready to start school. I remember playing with my lego bulldozers among the rubble in my house when I was 7. See, my mom decided to remodel once she was rid of my dad…And I remember her lying next to me in my bed one night, when things were tough for her, our hands intertwined. She sighed and wiped a tear off her cheek with her free hand. She turned her head towards me, smiled and said the words that I still consider my happiest memory. “You’re the only thing your father did right. I’m proud of you and I love you!”

As I grew up, I realized that, despite the love we shared, we weren’t really affectionate people. We didn’t express our feelings, either verbally or physically. Sure, there was the occasional pat on the back, a kiss on the forehead and a hug, but to the outside observer, ours would appear to be a cold relationship. It wasn’t. We loved each other and we knew it. But still, that moment in my bed…it meant – and it still does – a hell of a lot.

I remember the first time she started dating the man who would become my step-father. I hated him. Not for any objective reason – not that my 8-year-old self would really be an adept of objective observation anyway, but still…I hated him because he would be sitting on the couch in the living room, with my mom’s head on his shoulder, as they laughed at a stupid TV show. I was supposed to be in bed, of course. Once she started dating, she enforced a strict 9PM bedtime. But I would sit at the top of the stairs, watching them, grinding my teeth, seething with anger. Before he came, we would sit together like that, and damn the bedtime.

But I got over it. And what you could call a friendship based on mutual respect and understanding eventually developed between my step-father, Nick, and me. Though, I still harbored some resentment towards him, particularly because he wouldn’t marry my mom. He did that when I was 14, and I was the best man. His biological son, 4 years younger than me, wasn’t present. We’ve barely seen each other over the years. Bad divorce between Nick and his first wife. But from what little I’ve seen, Andy, the kid, is an asshole anyway, so fuck him!

During high-school, I realized I was gay. I didn’t go through a lot of inner turmoil while I figured it out. I just was and I accepted it. Well, when I say I accepted it, I mean to say that I knew perfectly well who and what I was, I was okay with it, but no way would I let ANYONE know. Not even my mom. That was perhaps the first thing that really stood out as a barrier in our relationship. My mom has always been conservative regarding certain issues, but especially “family values”. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t a typical Bible thumper, but for her, it was still “have a wild youth, find a woman, settle down, have a couple of kids, rot in middle-management, die”. She basically encouraged me to date as much as I could in high-school, which I didn’t, which only led to disappointment on her part. She confessed to me one day that she didn’t really experience love – yes, THAT kind of love(God, I SOOOOO did not want to talk about my mom’s sex life) – until she was 21, and she didn’t want me to miss out on the full teen experience.

Now, like I said, I wasn’t gonna come out or anything, because my mom really did hate homosexuals, despite her otherwise liberal views of sex, but I wasn’t gonna string along any girls either. I was always decent-looking, about 6-foot tall and fairly bulky – though not fat – and I’ve been told I have killer eyes, so finding someone to at least keep up appearances wouldn’t have been too hard. But it simply didn’t feel right to me.

I had plenty of friends who were girls, I had even more friends who were boys – my neighborhood was predominantly male when it came to kids – but my sex life consisted of my right hand, the left when I was feeling adventurous.

Then came college…Liberating, is what you might call it. At least, that’s what I felt it was at first. Huge city, huge campus, open-minded people. Surely, I could explore my sexuality, right? Wrong. By this time, though I was still alright with who I was, completely hiding that side of me for so many years made it incredibly difficult to bring it to life. In short, I was scared. I eventually got myself a boyfriend in my sophomore year, and it was…fine. But the adventure I was hoping for once I went to college hadn’t yet materialized. I felt I wasn’t living life to the fullest.

Of course, I felt I needed to come clean with my family if I were to truly begin living. So, in my junior year winter break, I headed home. I head terrible nightmares about the outcome of my coming out for a few days beforehand, as well as on the train ride home(no car for me). I think the most disturbing was the one where I was told to leave and I just walked and walked until I reached the woods and I simply fell and froze to death among the piles of snow.

Well, there was no freezing death, but I did wish for it for a while there. When you look into your mother’s eyes and see the love you’re used to seeing be replaced by sheer disgust and outright hatred, as irrational as it might sound in the grand scheme of things, well, simply ending it all doesn’t sound too bad. Getting a Bible dumped in your lap, getting hauled to church, where you’re told to change or face damnation, as your mother tells you “your kind is not welcome in my home”…it tends to mess with your head. I was a wreck for a few days. My step-dad was the only comfort I had. He held me as I cried and told me everything would me alright. It wasn’t.

Maybe I should have done it as soon as my mom reacted that way – but I guess I just hoped she’d change her mind – but I left. I packed the rest of my shit and got the hell out of there. Unfortunately, my depression followed me – for most of a year. My cousin lived in the city. He didn’t talk to me for a while(of course my mom told him), then, one day, he just invited me for dinner. I shrugged and went along.

“Your mom has cancer” is what he comes out with after I shake his hand, kiss his wife on the cheek and sit down to wait for our server. I’m pretty sure I went into shock at that point. When I came back to the land of the living, John explained the situation to me. It wasn’t pretty, but not a death sentence either. They caught it early. Chemo, operation, it should be fine. “But she doesn’t need any added stress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Lee, your…news didn’t exactly go down well with her.”

“So, what, it’s my fault she has cancer?” I was ready to tackle the fucker, even knowing full well that, being in the military, he’d end up kicking my ass. He just stared me down. And I lost all my energy and just slumped down in my seat. Maybe it was my fault.

He sighed and reached out a hand, covering my own on the table. “No, it’s not your fault. This isn’t something you chose, even I know that. But it still upset her. And, well, she needs you right now.”

“She made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want me around.”

John grimaced and it was Monica, his wife that went on. “Well, from what I gathered, she doesn’t want…err…GAY you around…” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the table cloth.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do?” I barked back. All the anger was resurfacing again. My cousin was his calm, collected self, of course.

“You finish college. Get your degree, for what that’s worth…”

“Now you listen…”

“Let me finish.” He said, holding up a hand. “We both know we all begged you to follow another career path, but you wanted journalism. It’s not my fault you came to hate it.”

“I was just…disillusioned.”

“Whatever. The point is this. You finish school, then you go back home. Be with your mom.”

“She has Nick.”

“And she needs YOU!”

“Well, she could have fooled me, the way she told me to bugger off.”

“People make mistakes. She loves you, okay? She needs time to adjust.”

“And how is she gonna adjust if she doesn’t give me a chance?”

“She will. I talked to her. She’ll need your help, both emotionally and physically. You’ll get a job, help out…”

“So, I sacrifice my life for someone who turned their back on me?”

“That’s family for you. And no matter what else, there’s one thing I know about you. One thing I never doubted – you love your family.” I looked away from him and was close to losing myself in thought. “Just don’t rub it in. Don’t…bring it up anymore.”

“Why? So she can pretend it’s not true?”

“If it helps her, would it be so terrible?”

“Yes. I’d be denying myself. I love my family. I love her more than you could know, but I’m through with that. I won’t have her mentioning some girl she knows from work or a friend’s daughter or a neighbor’s niece and shit like that. Fuck, I’ll even settle for Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. But I won’t outright lie, hiding who I am. If she asks, I’ll fucking tell, got it?” He just nodded.

So, I broke off my relationship, I let go of my dream of a grand sexual adventure, I left the big city behind, heading back home, where the only openly gay guy I knew growing up was constantly ridiculed, all because I’m a friggin mamma’s boy. And, yes, I started regretting it as soon as I loaded my luggage on the train. I realized that I was heading back into the closet, thus forgoing any chance at a real relationship. The train had pulled into the station by now and it was raining lightly, my spirits sinking even lower. I sighed as I realized no one was waiting for me at the station, then fought with my luggage, finally wrestling it to a taxi. I gave the driver my address and said a silent prayer. Hell, maybe I’d be able to at least get some no-strings-attached sex. I love my mom, but damn if I’m gonna become a monk just for her.