CULTURE CLASH
Jay arrived in mid-afternoon. We studied for almost an hour before getting to the last chemistry assignment, which required accessing the internet. Fortunately, dad had bought me a laptop computer and paid for internet access. I suggested to Jay that he find the web site and take notes on the information we needed. "While you do that," I said, "I'll finish fixing dinner."
He readily agreed and I busied myself in the kitchenette. About fifteen minutes later, dinner was ready but Jay was still on the computer. I walked over to see what he had found and was stunned to see what was on the screen.
CHAPTER TWO
Jay was clicking through a gallery of pictures on a gay website. He must have been riveted to what he was seeing because he didn't notice me standing behind him. I was mortified as realized that I had carelessly closed my browser in the middle of a session and had used the Firefox option to reopen the active tabs. When Jay opened the browser, there were the pornographic pictures I had been looking at.
My mind was racing, desperately trying to come up with some excuse for what he found. But, of course, there is no excuse. Then I noticed his left hand rubbing an obvious swelling in his crotch while his right hand on the mouse was clicking from one picture to the next.
Would a straight guy do that? Would he continue to look at picture after picture? Would he get aroused and fondle himself? The answer seemed obvious: NO! Jay must be gay like me!
The new insight into my friend's interests and watching the pictures over his shoulder combined to give me a raging hard-on. I assumed that I would no longer have to explain why those homoerotic pictures came up on my computer. Since he was most probably gay, he would understand and not condemn me for it. Now I had to make another decision: what to say to him about our shared interests.
It wasn't the best of comments but I asked, "Like what you see?"
He jumped as though he had heard an explosion. He snapped his head around and looked at me with an expression of sheer panic. He began to shake and rattle off something in Thai. I couldn't understand a word of what he was saying but it was clear that his stress level was off the chart. I felt terrible for causing him so much pain and put my hand on his shoulder, hoping to settle him down. It had the opposite effect. He recoiled as if my hand were a hot poker. He stood up on shaky legs and continued to speak in Thai.
I had to settle him down! I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. He tried to break free but I held him tightly while saying, "It's all right, Jay. Calm down. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
He stopped resisting my hug and fell silent although he was still shaking. He began to sob.
I led him to the sofa, sat him down, and sat next to him with my arm around his shoulders. "It's okay, Jay. There's no reason to be embarrassed or guilty."
After a while, he mumbled something in Thai and I said, "I don't understand your language, Jay. Can you say it in English?"
He struggled to gain control of himself and get out the English words. "I am sorry. I am gaaw. Don't hate me. Please."
"Gaaw?" I asked. "Does that mean gay? Are you homosexual?"
"Yes," he murmured as he dropped his head to his chest as tears fell onto his shirt. "Please don't hate me."
"I don't hate you, Jay. And I'll tell you why."
I took his hand and placed it on my crotch where my hard-on was creating a sizable bulge. He tried to pull his hand back but I held it there while saying, "Those pictures excite me. I'm also gay. I'm just like you."
He looked up at me. I smiled down on him. The pain I saw in his expression slowly drained away as the significance of what I said sank in. But then it returned when he said, "No one can know! It would shame my family!"
"Don't worry, Jay. No one will know ... just as no one knows about me. Only my father knows but he won't tell anyone."
"I must not shame my family!" he repeated emphatically.
"You won't," I said. "We both have a secret and your secret is safe with me."
We sat together in silence for a while. I had already grown to like him as a close friend. Knowing that he was gay gave me ideas. I wanted to live my fantasy, to see him naked, and to press our bodies together. But I restrained myself. This was not the time. He was too upset at having his secret revealed. Later, perhaps, there would be an opportunity.
When he had settled down enough to talk, we shared our secrets more fully. I told him when I was first attracted to men, how I fought the urges that were building up in me, how I dated a girl primarily to conceal my secret and avoid ridicule, and how I had finally told my father who was surprised but accepted it much better than I had hoped. Jay's journey through puberty was similar. He had the same feelings that grew stronger as he matured. But his anguish was far greater than my own because of his family's culture. He was aware of the tourists who came to Thailand for sex. He even knew two boys who earned a lot of money "entertaining" men. They tried to persuade him to do the same but he feared that his parents would learn of it and be shamed.
We also talked about whether homosexuality was normal or abnormal. He knew more than I did about the prevalence of homosexuality in the population and the theories about biological, genetic, and environmental triggers of homosexuality. In the end, we agreed that we shared the same opinion: homosexuality is uncommon but not abnormal any more than left-handedness or red hair. However, because of society's intolerance and prejudice, especially in his culture, we must both keep our yearnings secret. That was paramount in Jay's mind; he was virtually paranoid about his secret shaming his family.
After more than an hour of discussion, Jay realized that it was late and he had to return home. He stood and started to gather his things to leave. Suddenly, he said, "We did not finish the school assignment. I am sorry."
"Don't worry," I replied as I stood. "The assignment isn't due until Friday. Do you think you can come another night? We can finish the assignment and maybe talk some more."
He grinned. "I would like that." His shyness returned. It seemed he forced out his next words. "I like working with you. You are good friend."
"I like you, too, Jay." Then, impulsively, I hugged him. He didn't resist but, instead, returned the hug.
When he had gone, I found myself hoping that the parting hug was the first step in a journey toward a meaningful relationship. However, I sensed that I could not travel too fast on that journey. I would have to go at a pace that was comfortable to Jay.
Jay arrived at my apartment at three on Wednesday afternoon as we had agreed. I answered the door and ushered him inside. I resisted the urge to take him into my arms.
"How are you," I asked as we sat next to each other at my desk. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," he replied. "I am now."
His response was ambiguous and I had to ask, "Now?"
"Yes. I have thought about Monday night. Looking at the pictures on your computer was wrong. I shouldn't have done that. It was ... what's the English word? ... impolite. I apologize."
"I'm glad you did, Jay. I know you were upset when I saw you but it did allow us to find out about each other. I'm grateful for that."
"I am, too," he said. "Now. I worried about somebody knowing my secret. I must not shame my family. But you understand that. You will keep my secret. So I am grateful to you."
"Okay," I said. "Let's get the assignment done. Then, if you like, we can look at some more pictures. Together."
His spontaneous smile was a delight to see. Letting him visit my favorite web sites was a small repayment for all the help he had generously given to me in the chemistry class. More importantly, it was evidence that he might be willing, eventually, to do more than look at pictures.
We finished the assignment quickly. "The work is done," I said. "We can play now."
His infectious smile told me he was eager to visit the gay web sites. It wasn't long before we were both hard. I noticed that Jay was fondling himself through his trousers again. I debated with myself for as long as I could stand it but then decided to take a risk. I moved his hand away and cupped his crotch with my own. He let out a slight gasp but did not object. Gradually, I began to fondle the prominent bulge in his groin. Still no resistance. But he had made no move to feel my throbbing cock. I would have welcomed that.
A few minutes later, I began to unzip his fly but only about an inch. "May I?" I asked.
He answered with only a grin, which I took as permission. As he continued to click through the pictures, my hand found its way through his fly and inside his trousers. His boxers were wet with precum, which only intensified my lust. Without asking for further permission, I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his waistband to gain better access to his manhood.
Before proceeding further, I asked, "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," he said coarsely.
I slipped my hand under his boxers and made contact with the first penis other than my own that I had ever touched. My heart was racing. My body seemed to tingle with excitement. I had to restrain my urge to strip this handsome young man naked and feast on his entire body.
I fondled -- no, I caressed -- his rock-hard shaft inside his boxers. I wanted to slip his trousers and boxers down to get a better view of his cock but I thought that would be rushing things too much. I manipulated his foreskin up and down over the helmeted head of his cock while relishing every minute. Suddenly, his body stiffened, he bucked his hips up and groaned loudly. I felt the hot cream erupt out of his cock in several volleys. Then, he went limp, breathing heavily with his eyes closed and a satisfied grin on his angelic face.
When he had recovered, I asked, "Are you all right?"
"Wi set," he moaned.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Sorry. It means wonderful."
I withdrew my hand from his under his boxers. It was covered with his thick cream.
He looked at it and exclaimed, "I am sorry, Brian. I made a mess. I could not help it. It felt good. I could not help it."
"Don't worry," I smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Apparently, he suddenly realized that he had creamed in his pants. "Yee!" he yelped (which I later learned translates to "Damn!"). "My underpants are wet! My mother will be angry with me."
If he were not so upset about creaming his pants, I would have laughed. Instead, I felt sorry for him ... and sorry that I had not been able to swallow his sperm. "Don't worry, Jay. There's a washing machine and dryer in the basement. We can wash and dry them before it's time for you to go home."
Then, I had a brilliantly devious idea. If my plan worked, I would be able to admire him in the nude. "Come with me," I said.
I led him into the bathroom. "Take off your pants and your wet boxers," I said, hoping it sounded more like a suggestion than a command.
He looked at me suspiciously but, having no better option, he turned to face away from me and removed his trousers and cum-soaked boxers. He had the cutest little ass! He turned around to hand me his boxers with one hand while he shyly covered the most interesting part of his body with his free hand, denying me the chance to see his manhood. I had just jerked him off, for heaven's sake, and he was being modest about showing his private parts!
"There are a couple of spots on your pants, too. As long as I'm washing your boxers, I'll wash your pants. I picked them up off the floor and asked, "How about your shirt?"
Fortunately (for me), his shirt also had cum spots and I asked him to take it off. He turned to face away from me to remove his shirt. I could tell he was growing increasingly uncomfortable because he stood there, now totally naked, with both hands covering his groin. Although I wanted to feast my eyes on his lithe body, I said, "Here; wrap up in this towel while I go downstairs and start the washing machine. He took the towel with one hand but left the other covering his cock and balls. I would have welcomed the chance to wash the cum off his beautiful cock and pubic bush but he was obviously not ready for that kind of attention.
When I returned from the basement after starting the washing machine, Jay was sitting on the sofa with the towel wrapped around his waist and, it seemed to me, looking a little troubled.
"Ten minutes and your clothes will be clean," I said. Another ten minutes in the dryer and you'll be set."
"Brian," he said hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"What you did ... what WE did. It felt very good. Was it wrong what we did?"
"No!" I replied. "We're good friends. We like each other. We're both gay. It made me happy to give you pleasure. Do you think it was wrong?"
"I don't know. Everybody says it's wrong. But I know that men ... many men ... men like us ... do things together. And it feels good. Why do people say it is wrong, Brian?"
I knew my answer had to do two things. It had to relieve the guilt that he seemed to be experiencing and, given his intellect, it had to be factual. I made up my answer as I spoke. "I don't think it's wrong as long as both men agree to do things together. Nobody should be forced to do it. I wanted to give you pleasure and you allowed it without objection so I continued. How can it be wrong if we both enjoyed it? So why do other people say it's wrong? Well, that's not easy to answer but I have some theories. Many religions say it is a sin. Is there a rational basis for condemning men who have sex? I don't think so. A second reason might be that homosexuals are a minority. The majority want us to conform to their values. They use discrimination and prejudice as weapons to force us to conform to their beliefs, to be like them."
I paused, wondering if my spur-of-the-moment answer made him feel better. I couldn't tell from his expression. I needed to find out what he was thinking and how he really felt. "Are you sorry we did what we did, Jay?"
"I don't know," he said after thinking a few moments. "I enjoyed it. I have often wished for ... ah ... for a friend to do things with. But I have shamed my family."
So that was the problem! He felt guilty for doing something that violated his family's beliefs. As much as I wanted a relationship with Jay -- that would include sex -- there was little I could do about the conflict he faced. But I could try so I said, "I understand that honoring one's family and ancestors are very important in Chinese culture." (He was a second-generation Thai but I knew his family maintained their Chinese heritage.) "I wish I could help you balance your loyalty to family with the fact that you are gay. But I'm afraid that's something you'll have to work out on your own. All I can say is that I like you very much, Jay. I want to be your friend. If you decide to be what you are, a gay man, then I would like to give you pleasure. If, however, you chose to be loyal to your family's tradition and values, I will respect that and never do anything with you that would make you uncomfortable. Whatever you choose, I want to be your friend."
He looked at me seriously. His eyes were watering. "Thank you, Brian. For understanding. And for ... for what we did together. I like you more than I can say. I want to be your friend. You are my best friend in this country."
I wanted to hug him to show him my affection but that would violate my promise not to make him uncomfortable. All I could do was re-affirm my friendship and hope that his decision would allow us to share our affection in intimate ways.
I left to put his clothes in the dryer. Upon my return to the apartment I saw that Jay hadn't moved and was still deep in thought.
"Ten minutes and your clothes will be ready," I said cheerily, hoping to brighten his spirits.
"Then I must go," he replied.
"But you'll come back, won't you? I really enjoy our time together. I want to be your friend. And, don't worry. I promise I won't do anything that will make you uncomfortable."
"Of course I will return," he said with the barest hint of a smile. "I like being here with you. I like you."
Three weeks passed. Jay came to my apartment every Monday night to work on our chemistry assignments. He even asked me questions that might be on the upcoming test and then helped me understand the topics where I didn't answer correctly. In return, I agreed to help him with his English pronunciation and grammar. His appetite for mastering the language was insatiable and I was pleased to be able to partially return his favor of helping me in chemistry.
Although our time together was limited strictly to course work and casual conversation, I found that I looked forward to being with him. On a few occasions, I wanted to ask him what he may have decided to solve his dilemma -- whether he would permit sexual contact with me or remain loyal to his family's beliefs. However, I restrained myself. My jerk-off sessions, alone in bed or the bathroom, were inevitably enhanced by visions of a very attractive young Asian man.
Then came a momentous Monday night. We had finished our homework and were chatting before it was time for him to return home.
He looked up, without a hint of smiling, and said, "Brian, two men can do sex and enjoy it. Can two men love each other? Like a man loves a woman?"
I was not prepared for that question but I muddled through an answer. "I can't speak from experience, Jay because I've never been in love. Oh, I love my dad. I used to love my mom. But that's a different kind of love. All I can say is that I think it's very possible. Tell me what you think."
"I want to believe it's possible," he said. "But I don't know what love is ... especially between two men."
I had an idea. "Excuse me a minute, Jay. I want to get something that seems appropriate." He looked puzzled as I retrieved a paper from my desk.
"This is something I read in a story by Tom Borden on the internet. Maybe it will help you understand. In the story, a gay man who is in love with another gay man is giving advice to a young gay man. Here's what he says." I began to read the passage. `Love is nearly impossible to describe. It's like trying to describe a cool, fragrant breeze suddenly blowing over you on a hot, muggy day. But you'll know it; you'll know love when it hits you and sweeps over you. You'll know it when a certain exhilaration comes over you. You'll feel enlivened and your heart will quicken. A feeling of warmth and tenderness and endearment will take hold of you like a cramp in your middle. And with it will come passion, desire, and a yearning like nothing you have ever felt before.'"
"That's beautiful," Jay said. "Would you read it again and let me stop you when I don't understand something?"
I read it again. He stopped me for several words he didn't know and I tried to define them for him. When I finished, he was lost in thought. I gave him time to absorb the words and the meaning.
Finally, he spoke. "Would you read it once more, please?"
I didn't know why he wanted to hear it for a third time. His mind was so agile that he normally grasped the meaning of everything instantly. But I complied with his request. When I had finished, he sat silently. How I wanted to know what he was thinking!
He then looked at me. His eyes sparkled. Some of that sparkle was due to a tiny amount of tears but the sparkle seemed to be coming from his very soul.
"Brian," he began, "That has happened to me. I have this feeling when I am with you. I did not know what it was. Now I know. It is love, Brian. I think I love you."
To be continued.