Jay was quiet for some time as we waited for my dad, Jay said, "Yes. My father loves me. But he would not if he knew what you and I do. His honor would be destroyed. HE MUST NOT KNOW, BRIAN!"
"He won't!" I assured him. "I would never cause you or him that pain."
We saw dad approaching so we could talk no more. I resolved, however, to resume the conversation later.
CHAPTER FIVE
Both dad and I had assumed that the other had checked the weather forecast and we were surprised by a sudden rain storm. We laughingly taunted each other about the negligence while Jay listened to the banter and no doubt marveled at the camaraderie between father and son.
The middle of a lake is no place to be in a storm. By the time we made it back to shore, we were all soaked to the skin. We hauled the fishing gear back to the car and put it in the trunk, laughing at our sour luck.
"I'm sorry, boys," dad said. "I guess this kinda spoils our outing."
"Don't be sorry," I said. "The whole point of the trip was not to go fishing. It was to be together."
Dad gave me a loving look and seized me in a bear hug. "You're right, son," he said. "That's what's important, isn't it?"
Then something remarkable happened. Dad glanced over at Jay who was standing nearby, probably trying to absorb the physical display of affection between father and son. "Come on over here, Jay," dad said. "We didn't mean to leave you out."
Jay hesitated and then approached cautiously. Dad wrapped an arm around him, drew him into the group hug, and said, "You're a fine young man. It's no wonder Brian likes you."
I was flabbergasted. Dad had subtly let me know on the phone the previous night that he was not pleased with my relationship with a fur-i-nur.' Jay had said very little on the trip or in the boat to reveal his intelligence or character so why would dad call him a fine young man?' Was he just being cordial and polite? That would be like him. Or did he recognize Jay's admirable qualities from slight clues? If so, it was a skill I didn't know he had. Or perhaps he had merely resigned himself to having a Chinese son- in-law. Whatever the reason, I knew I would find out eventually.
The three of us stood clinging to each other for some time, oblivious to the rain pelting down on us. Gradually, I sensed Jay settle down a little. Initially, he had resisted the hug, his body was stiff, and his muscles were taut. But he had begun to relax enough to return our hugs. If anyone were to have seen us, it must have been a bizarre sight -- three people without enough sense to get out of the rain. But those few moments would become one of my fondest memories.
Dad finally broke the group hug and said, "Hey! Look at us. We're so wet our skin is about to get all pruney. And we'll catch our death of cold if we don't dry off."
"You're right," I said. "But how do we do that?"
"Come with me," dad said. "I have an idea."
Jay and I looked at each other quizzically but followed dad to the boat house. Inside, dad said to the young man at the counter, "You've got some cabins out back, right?" He nodded. "Do you also have a washer and dryer for guests?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I want to rent a cabin for about an hour and use your dryer to dry our clothes. All we need is three towels to cover up while our clothes dry. We won't mess up the room. What'll it cost?"
"The cabins rent for fifty dollars a night," the flustered young man said
"We're not staying all night! Just about an hour. Or do you want three naked men hanging around your laundry room while their clothes dry?"
"No, sir, that would not do!"
"Then I accept your offer. Fifty dollars a night means about ... let's see ... I figure about five dollars an hour. I'll pay you twenty."
"But sir," the young man stammered. "We don't have an hourly rate. The owner will..."
Dad interrupted. "I know Charlie, the owner. Let me talk to him. Where is he?"
"He's in town. He won't be back until this evening."
"Then he won't have to know about it will he?" dad said. "And if you don't record the twenty dollars as income ... well ... that's up to you, isn't it?"
The young man was obviously wrestling with his conscience. Dad let him stew for a few minutes before saying, "Come on boys, I guess we'll have to strip in the laundry room."
He turned to walk out. Jay and I didn't know whether to follow him or not. I knew Jay would be mortified to strip off his clothes in front of my dad and, worse, to be caught naked by some stranger who might happen by. For that matter, I would not be pleased.
In the nick of time, the young man relented and said, "Wait! You can use cabin number five."
Dad paid the price he so artfully negotiated, accepted three fresh towels and a key, and we set off to find cabin five. As we walked through the rain to the cabin, I worried about Jay. As shy and modest as he was, he must have been afraid of being nude in front of dad. So, as we entered the cabin, I announced as though there could be no argument, "Jay and I will change in the bathroom."
Dad gave a sly grin and handed me two towels. All three of us knew the reason for my plan but, of course, no one would make any further comment.
In the bathroom with the door safely closed behind us, Jay said, "Thank you. I was worried." I just smiled at him.
Soon, we stood there completely naked with our soggy clothes in a heap on the floor. Once more I was captivated by Jay's trim, sexy body. "You're beautiful, my love!" I said.
I wanted to make love to him on the spot. I felt a tingle in my groin that signaled the onset of a hard- on but I knew this was not an appropriate time or place.
We wrapped our towels around our waist. I knocked on the door and called out, "Are you decent, dad?"
"No," he called back. "But I'm covered up if that's what you meant."
Dad took all our clothes to the laundry room and was back in less than five minutes to say, "Twenty minutes and we'll have dry clothes."
We sat and chatted for a little while about inconsequential things ... at least dad and I did. Jay was even more quiet than before and probably very self-conscious about being half-naked. Then dad, in a flash of insight that I recognized, turned his attention to Jay. Masterfully, he asked questions about his school work, living in Thailand, his family, and other topics that, after a few minutes, drew Jay out of his shell. Finally, he said, "I told you before, Jay, and I meant it. You're a fine young man and it's no wonder Brian likes you. I'm pleased as punch that you two are friends."
Jay cast a quick glance in my direction. I thought I knew the question in his mind so I answered it obliquely. "Yes, dad. I'm lucky to have Jay as a very good friend." (I emphasized `very good.') "And lucky to have a dad who understands and likes him, too."
We were fortunate that the downpour had diminished to a drizzle when dad retrieved our clothes. As Jay and I dressed in the bathroom, he asked in a whisper, "He knows about us? What we do? He is not mad?"
"He knows," I replied. "And he is not mad."
"This is strange country!" Jay said.
"Maybe so," I said. "But there aren't many fathers who would be as good as my dad about having a gay son."
The rain would persist throughout the day so we drove in to the nearest large town, found a bowling alley, and had a marvelous time.
For the rest of the school year, Jay and I were able to spend time together only on Monday and Wednesday. He would come to my apartment immediately after class. We spent our time doing our homework (as little time as possible), having a meal and conversation, and lavishing affection on one another in bed (as much time as possible). I asked him once if he could spend the night, possibly a Friday or Saturday night. He said he wanted to but his father would never allow it. I never mentioned it again but continued to wish that I could wake up to find my lover next to me in bed.
If anything, I grew fonder of Jay as the weeks passed by. My hope that we would one day be able to live together consumed my thoughts. I consciously chose not to think of the possibility that Jay and I would part although in more rational and reflective moments I knew that his family would eventually return to their homeland. I wanted Jay to remain in America; I wanted it so fervently that I came to believe it would happen. When dad asked me about Jay, I confidently ventured to say that he might move in with me. We would be room mates for the balance of our college studies. In fact, Jay and I had discussed the possibility and he seemed eager to do so.
It was early June. The school year had just ended. With Jay's help, I was able to earn a B in chemistry. We were frantically scheming to invent excuses to see each other over the summer but had no plausible reason. When Jay phoned and asked if he could come see me on Saturday, I enthusiastically agreed.
When he arrived at nine Saturday morning, I let him in and he immediately hugged and kissed me with an unexpected intensity. I welcomed it, of course, and returned the display of affection. Our tongues were dueling. Our hands were roaming. Our crotches were grinding against each other.
After an extended period, with both of us sporting a raging hard-on, I managed to break the prolonged kiss and say, "What's up, Jay? Are you especially horny today?"
"I love you so much," he said. "I did not know real happiness. You give me great happiness. I LOVE you!"
"Then let's be happy in bed," I replied, expecting to lead him to my bedroom for an intensive period of passionate intimacy. However, he surprised me by uncharacteristically leading the way.
In the bedroom, we hugged and kissed some more. Jay seemed unable to contain his passion. Soon, we were both naked and lying on the bed -- two love-struck young men savoring what, for us, was one of the rare instances of unrestrained sexual arousal.
I kissed his neck and began to work my mouth down toward his enticing nipples. My fingers were probing into his profuse pubic bush when he moved my hand away and said, "No. Please. I want to give YOU pleasure. I want to make you happy as you make me. Allow me. Please."
It wasn't a simple request. It was a startlingly earnest plea. I was puzzled but could not refuse.
For at least twenty minutes, he gave me a tongue bath from ears to toes while his hands were busy stimulating every erotic zone on my body. We had never fucked each other. (He had a child-like anus and I was afraid of causing him pain.) So I was astonished when I felt his moist finger rub my pucker and then intrude into my ass hole. I squealed in delight as he continued to lick my balls. The sensations reaching my brain put me into an orbit of ecstasy. I no longer had the will or the capacity to wonder why my lover was so vigorous in his unwavering assault on my body.
I was in a state of sensory overload yet craved more stimulation. I got it. It hit me like a bombshell. His warm, moist lips wrapped around the head of my throbbing cock and within seconds I experienced the most electrifying, thrilling, and completely overwhelming orgasm of my life. It was so intense that it was almost painful but the kernel of pain was enveloped with extreme pleasure. I was physically and emotionally drained. Paralyzed with post-orgasmic bliss. Almost catatonic.
As the fog of contentment began to fade away, I became aware that my lover was cuddled up to me with an arm and a leg draped over me and his head on my chest.
When I found my voice, I murmured, "Wi set!"
After several minutes of blissful cuddling, he asked, "I make you happy?"
"Extremely happy," I smiled back.
"Brian," he began hesitantly. "Now I must make you sad. I am sad, too. I have sad things to say."
I felt tears drop onto my chest as he fought to get his words out. "The work of my father is finished. My family will return to Bangkok in two weeks. I must go with them. I am sad to lose you. I love you. I am sad to make you sad but I must go with my family."
I was stunned and speechless at what I had heard ... what in my heart I had known to be a possibility but had been denying since I first acknowledged my love for him. I hugged him tightly as though it might keep him in my life. Then the reality hit me and I cried bitter tears.
For the next hour, we alternately talked and cried. He struggled to tell me the agony he went through trying to choose between a life with me and a life with his family. In the end, he chose his family. Although I hated to lose his love, I recognized what a painful decision it must have been. I was dejected but I didn't feel rejected; I had to acknowledge the cultural imperative that forced the decision he made. If anything, I felt sympathy for his predicament.
"At least we have two more weeks together," I said, trying to make the best of a bad situation.
"No," he replied. "I came today to tell you I love you. To show you my love. To make you happy. To thank you for making me happy. My father allowed me to come to say goodbye. I must help my family prepare to go home. I can not come see you again. But I will take wonderful memories with me when I go."
We hugged, kissed, and cried until he had to leave.
For the rest of the day, I was engulfed in grief over losing my lover, a remarkable young man who had so generously given me help in school, who had professed his love for me and awakened my deep love for him, who had shared with me the epitome of joy as we united in exhilarating sex, and who became the dominant source of fulfillment in my life. That remarkable young man resides in my heart and mind to this day. I pray that he remembers me but, in spite of his heritage and culture, he has found another to take my place.
The End