I grinned when I retrieved my mail from the mail box. Right on top was a letter addressed to Dr. Jeremy Collins. My PhD in Biology was less than two months old and I was still coming to terms with the fact that a barefoot boy from rural Mississippi had managed not only to escape the poverty of a hardscrabble farm life but had won a scholarship to college and, with a combination of financial aid, student loans, and part-time work, had completed graduate school. "Dr. Jeremy Collins," I thought to myself. "Can that really be me?"
It was the return address, however, that then captured my attention. The letter was from one of the colleges to which I had applied for a teaching position. I braced myself for the bad news. Surely it would be a politely worded, "Sorry, but we have selected another applicant." Even its inevitable wishes for success in securing a position elsewhere would ring hollow. I had already received three similar letters. Confident that it would contain bad news, I returned to my apartment with the unopened letter.
I fixed myself a bologna sandwich for lunch and heated up the last of my morning coffee. Settling down at the kitchen table to eat, I prepared myself for disappointment and opened the letter. I whooped loudly when I read, "We are pleased to offer you a position of Assistant Professor..." I read that three more times to be sure of what it said. Then, I read the rest of the letter. The salary was slightly more than what I had guessed it would be and I was to start with the fall term. It was only a one-year contract but I couldn't believe my luck!
I promptly signed the contract and drove to the post office to mail it.
By that evening, the euphoria of a dream job offer gave way to the realities of relocating to another city -- packing (mostly books as my sparse furniture was not worth moving), finding a place to live, change of address notices, and a dozen other practical details -- all in less than six weeks.
As I lay in bed that night, sleep was impossible. I had too many plans to make. Ultimately, my thoughts turned to reflecting on how I had reached this point in my life. The youngest of five children, growing up hungry and wearing worn, hand-me-down clothes. Parents who were basically loving but had little or no time to show their children that love because of the demands of a large family and a small farm. And the chores. Endless chores. As a pre-teen, I was working virtually full-time on my parents' farm or for a meager wage on a neighbor's farm while trying to maintain my grades at school. I loved school not because it was a relief from back- breaking work but because I wanted to learn enough to avoid a future of struggling to survive the way my parents and all of our neighbors did.
Later, having gone through puberty, I was confronted with another challenge. After a long period of guilt, denial, and agony, I realized that I was gay. That provided another reason to get away from where I lived. The fundamentalist preachers--and the parishioners who followed them-- were virulent in them condemnation of homosexuality, convinced that eternal hellfire and damnation was the inevitable fate of those deviant sinners.
Throughout high school, college, and graduate school, I hid my secret. My fist and my fantasies were my only relief from the pain of not being the person I knew I was and the apparent futility of hoping that -- one day -- I could find someone to share my life.
With those thoughts in mind, I made a decision. Whatever cards I may be dealt in life, I would try to help other struggling young men. I would do what I could to encourage and support them in getting an education. Perhaps, if the occasion arose, I could help some tormented young man come to terms with his sexual orientation. My intentions were no more clear than that. I didn't know how or when I could do it but, by god, I would do something!
My first year of teaching was as demanding as any year I had experienced as a student but I gave it my all in order to win more than the one-year, "probationary" contract the school offered. Helping my students learn -- and helping them think analytically -- was a labor of love in spite of a few frustrations such as departmental politics and students who were lazy or argued unreasonably over their poor grades. My efforts were rewarded when, in March of that year, I was offered continuing employment. I was elated because I loved my job and could continue helping students learn.
Near the end of the spring semester, I was making plans for a vacation trip over the summer. There was, however, a minor obstacle. I didn't feel comfortable leaving my house unoccupied for that length of time. I had rented a small house in a deteriorating neighborhood, which was all I could afford and still buy furniture. Vandalism and occasional burglaries were a constant concern.
One of my students, a handsome young man, visited me during my office hours to ask for guidance on a term paper. I had long since recognized his keen mind and exceptional motivation in class. Having dispensed with the reason for his visit, I said, "Keep up the good work, Jason. You're bound to be successful. I hope to see you in one of my classes next year."
His expression immediately changed from intense interest in his term paper to a very sad frown. "Maybe," he said while looking at the floor. "Maybe not."
His sudden change in mood confused and alarmed me. "What?" I exclaimed. "You don't like biology? You don't like me? What does maybe mean?"
"It's not that," he promptly replied. "In fact, I'm thinking of changing my major to biology. Mostly because of your class. You made it more than interesting. You made it almost exciting."
"Then why the maybe? Why the sour expression?"
He paused, awkwardly, before saying, "I may have to drop out of school."
"You can't do that!" I exclaimed without thinking. "You have far too much promise to give up on your education!"
"I have no choice, Dr. Collins. My dad lost his job. My mom had to take a job as a waitress to pay the bills. There's no money left for tuition. I'll just get a job and ..." Jason suddenly paused, broke eye contact with me and said despondently, "Why am I telling you this? It's no concern of yours!"
I was nearly as despondent as young Jason because I knew he had the talent and ambition to achieve great things. The vow I had made to myself popped into my mind. Here was the perfect opportunity to help a young man facing a serious setback. But how? I didn't know yet but I was certain that I had to try. "With your permission, Jason, I'd like to help. Give me some time to explore a few possibilities. Can we talk again? Not during regular office hours; let's keep this separate from your course work."
"That's kind of you," he said with no perceptible improvement in his mood. "But you don't have to."
"Ah, but I do!" I replied. "Maybe I'll explain why one day but, believe me, I want to help. Can you stop by to see me ... let's say next Tuesday at five? I can't make any promises but you can count on my doing whatever I can to keep you in school."
"Okay," he said emotionlessly.
"Great! Now get busy on that term paper. And try not to worry about dropping out of school."
After he left, I sat for the better part of an hour trying to think of some way to help.
The following Tuesday, Jason tentatively knocked on my open office door five minutes before we had agreed to meet.
"Come in, Jason. Close the door and have a seat. I think I have a plan." He did as I had asked but I thought he looked a little apprehensive. "I've spoken to the Provost, the Financial Aid office, and a few faculty members." Jason frowned and I made a guess as to why. "I didn't mention your name; I only talked about a deserving student who showed great promise." The frown disappeared; my guess was right.
He listened attentively as I laid out my plan. He could work part-time during the school year in the Biology Lab -- not as a teaching assistant because only graduate students did that -- but there would be a lot of odd jobs that didn't involve working with other students. He could apply for a student loan. If his mother's dire financial situation was a problem, I would co-sign the loan. Maybe (a very big maybe) he could win a scholarship; even a small one would help. The keystone of my plan was saving as much as he could from a summer job. That, I conceded, could be a problem with so many local companies laying off workers or simply not hiring. However, I presented a contingency plan: I would hire him to help me do some much-needed work on my house and yard that I had been neglecting for too long. I concluded by saying, "What do you think? Are you willing to work and keep your grades up? Are you willing to take on a student loan?"
He just looked at me for an uncomfortable amount of time before saying, "Why are you doing this for me, Dr. Collins? I mean co-signing a loan, hiring me over the summer, even taking an interest beyond my course work."
"I thought I made that clear," I replied. "You're a very bright young man who has great promise but, through no fault of your own, your schooling -- and your future -- is jeopardized. I can't let that happen."
He continued looking at me. His expression was one that I had seen before when he was in my class and thinking deeply about what I had said or what he had read. I could almost see his mind analyzing the situation.
Finally he said, "It might be doable. I'm certainly willing to try. But I have a question if you don't mind my asking."
"I always welcome questions, Jason. You know that."
"Why? Why me? What's in it for you?"
"The simple answer: satisfaction. But I recognize that you want a better answer than that. As a student, I faced different problems than you now face but they were just as daunting. A lot of people helped me avoid certain poverty in rural Mississippi by giving me opportunities for an education. I promised myself that I would repay that debt by helping others. So you see, you're helping me by accepting my help. Does that make sense?"
The young student and, I hoped, future scholar left my office in a much better mood.
In the last class meeting of the semester, I returned the students' graded papers. On Jason's I had written a note: "Superb work. Please stop by my office when you have time."
Later that day, Jason appeared in my office doorway. I was prepared for him. I invited him in and said, "I don't know if you've found a summer job but I have a list of things for you to do for me over the summer." I handed him the one-page list on the bottom of which was what I hoped would be an enticing rate of pay that would strain my budget but would be affordable.
He began to read the itemized list. Before finishing, he said, "I don't know how to do some of these things."
"Neither do I," I confessed. "But we can learn together."
He grinned and continued reading. When he got to the bottom of the page, his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Geez, that's a helluva lot more than I'd earn flipping burgers."
"Do we have a deal?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," he enthused. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me."
"Yes you can!" I replied. He looked at me quizzically. "Stay in school. Keep your grades up. That'll be my thanks."
For the first week of summer break, the two of us kept busy outdoors: planting, weeding, trimming trees, and other tasks I had neglected. I had to admit that Jason was a hard worker and it was all I could do to match his energy and effort. While working, during frequent rest breaks, and over lunch, we engaged in conversation. It wasn't long before I began to regard him as a friend as well as a student and employee. On Thursday of that week, the weather turned unseasonably hot. We both were sweating profusely by the end of the day. The next morning, Jason arrived at eight in the morning, as usual. But, unlike before, he wore a pair of very short gym trunks that exposed almost all of his muscular legs. As we set to work pruning a hedge, I found myself paying more and more attention to the bulge in his crotch. It was soon clear that he wore nothing under his gym trunks; there seemed to be nothing restricting the free movement of that tantalizing bulge. It was also obvious that he was amply endowed. By ten, he had shed his tee shirt, revealing a superbly sculpted chest and abdomen. The sight of his nearly nude body proved to be a major distraction for me.
I had admired his handsome looks in my classroom but can honestly say that I never had more than a fleeting thought of what he might look like without clothes. He had been, until that time, one of many students -- a very bright student and one who needed help to stay in school but not someone who triggered sexual thoughts. Now, however, those thoughts were irresistible. While I chastised myself for what I was thinking -- he was, after all, my former and possibly future student -- the sight of his admirable body dominated my better judgment.
We took our mid-morning break, sitting on the front porch and finishing off a large pitcher of ice tea. During our break, out of the blue, he said, "I can go home and change clothes at lunch time if you like."
His remark confused me. "If you want to," I said, not knowing why he made the offer but wanting to be agreeable.
He took a long drink from his glass and stared out toward the street for several minutes while I puzzled over what he had said. Then, he turned his gaze toward me and said, "I get the impression that you disapprove of the way I'm dressed."
"What in the world made you think that?" I asked, still perplexed over his comments.
He hesitated as though wondering how or whether to explain his reasons. "Well," he finally said. "It's the way you've been looking at me today. It's the way my mom looks at me when she's upset with what I'm doing."
"Quite the contrary, Jason. It's hot today. And you've got a wonderful body."
I immediately regretted complimenting him on his body. It was the sort of comment that a man rigorously concealing his sexual interests should not make. A slight grin appeared on his face. Was he simply pleased with the flattery? Or did his perceptive mind recognize the possible clue to my carefully guarded secret? I couldn't risk any more lapses in my behavior. To avoid a verbal misstep, I changed the subject. To avoid any nonverbal mistakes, I was particularly careful not to look at him too often or too long for the rest of the day. I think I was successful in controlling my gaze but I continually fought to control my thoughts.
By late afternoon, the heat was oppressive and I sent him home with his first week's pay and wished him a pleasant weekend. I told him that if the hot weather did not abate, we would work indoors the following week. I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on and could use his help in organizing my chaotic files.
I showered, ate supper, and made my weekly trip to the grocery store. When the groceries were put away, it was almost nine in the evening. I settled into the living room to read. It took less than ten minutes to realize that I couldn't concentrate on the book. The image of Jason, his nearly naked body shimmering with perspiration, his simultaneously strong and graceful movements, and his infectious laugh intruded into my mind persistently. I gave up reading and, although it was early, I was exhausted and went to bed.
I woke up with a start after a most unusual dream. I checked the time: just after three in the morning. In my dream, I was lying in bed with Jason in my dimly lit bedroom. We were both naked. No sheets or blankets covered our bodies that were pressed together. His head was on my shoulder, his arm across my chest, and one leg draped over mine. We were awake but not speaking. I was consumed with a glorious feeling of blissful contentment. The euphoric feeling was shattered and my dream ended when I looked up to see my father standing in the doorway, scowling.
I couldn't get back to sleep for a very long time. I laid there recalling the dream, wondering about the symbolism of being with Jason in bed and of the disturbing appearance of my father in the doorway. Most troubling, however, was the difficulty of coping with being around Jason for the rest of the summer now that my psychological defenses against sexual attraction had been breached. Previously, through mental discipline, I had been successful in completely suppressing any conscious thought of sexual contact with another male. Now, however, those latent desires had broken through the barrier. Resolving to contain any further lustful thoughts toward Jason, I fell back to sleep.
Over the weekend, I tried to find activities to occupy my mind but I couldn't get the image of Jason out of my mind for very long. I saw young men at the Mall and compared them (unfavorably) to Jason. I took in a movie but lost track of the plot when I tried to think of ways to circumvent any situation when Jason was around that would trigger inappropriate desire. Crossword puzzles that I normally relished were no help (clue for five- letter word: want' -- the right answer: crave' -- my answer: `Jason'). My customary masturbation in the shower was the most disturbing as I fantasized that Jason was with me. It brought me to orgasm much more quickly but, afterward, I felt nothing but guilt.
Monday came and with it, a continuation of the blisteringly hot weather. Jason rang my doorbell just before eight. Upon opening the door, I saw he was wearing long chino slacks and a tee shirt emblazoned with some rock group or another. "I'm ready for office work," he said cheerily.
Together, we laid out a scheme for organizing the massive stack of papers, articles, and correspondence that I had been accumulating haphazardly and had not had time to file away properly. He then suggested a database to cross-reference everything that we filed away. It was a splendid idea and I booted up my computer. He was a whiz with a computer and in a short time had the structure of the database ready for use. Time passed quickly as I checked each item in the stack, suggested keywords for later searching of the data base, and he entered it all into the computer. It was only when we took our mid-morning break that my attention was drawn to the strikingly handsome young man that was helping me. Those forbidden thoughts returned and I had to struggle to control them.
By lunch time, I had yet another reason to admire Jason's keen mind. He had begun to suggest how to index the items, aided by his remarkable grasp of biology. Just before two in the afternoon, I said, "I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon. Just a routine check-up. I'm sure you're able but are you willing to continue working while I'm gone?
"Of course," he replied. "If I have any questions, I'll put the item aside to ask you when you get back."
Two hours later, I returned to find that Jason had made a sizable dent in the second stack of papers and journal articles and had only a few set aside to ask me about. "My goodness!" I exclaimed. "You've done a lot of work while I was gone."
"It wasn't work," he replied, beaming with pride. "Not like working in the yard. In fact, it was really quite interesting. I've been at it since you left. Would you mind if I read some of the articles on reproductive abnormalities some time?"
"Not at all," I replied but declined to comment on his special interest in reproductive biology. "You didn't take a break at all?" I added.
"No, I guess I just got caught up in the work."
"Well, come into the kitchen," I said. "I picked up a couple of milkshakes on my way home. I don't think they'll spoil your appetite for dinner."
While sitting at the kitchen table, he peppered me with questions about some of the papers and articles that he found. I was pleased with his interest and gave him an eclectic tutorial on topics that -- if he pursued biology -- he would cover later in his college studies.
"You don't mind all of my questions, Dr. Collins?"
"Hey!" I responded. "I thought we agreed that off campus you would call me Jerry. And no, I don't mind your questions at all. Keep it up. I'm delighted that you're interested."
"You really don't mind being asked questions?" he asked with a surprising hesitancy.
"I welcome them." I said with conviction. "Even if I don't know the answer," I joked.
"Even if the questions are ... well ... kinda weird?"
I could tell he was leading up to something but I had no clue what it might be. But I could never discourage his search for knowledge so I said, "Even weird ones. What's on your mind?"
I waited several awkward moments for him to reply. Eventually he did but not with the eager enthusiasm he had shown in his earlier interrogation. "Well ... it's kinda personal."
"You're welcome to ask personal questions, too, Jason. If I don't know the answer, I'll say so."
He fidgeted for a while before saying, "I was wondering ..." He abruptly stopped.
"Wondering what, Jason?"
"Maybe I should explain something first. It's something I can't talk to my parents about. You've always been helpful to me. You seem to take an interest in my school work. You treat me like an adult. Not the way my parents do. To them, I'm just a mouth to feed ... a kid who's wasting time in school when I could get a job. Don't get me wrong. They're not mean to me. It's just that they aren't interested in my school work. You're different. You understand what's important to me. I feel like I can talk to you and get a straight answer. And I can't talk to my parents about ... about my problem. If that's more than you wanted to know, I apologize."
"No apology necessary, Jason. And as far as helping you is concerned, I've already told you why I want to do that. Now, what's the question you wanted to ask?"
"I need to explain one more thing before I ask. I came across a fat manila envelope in the stack of papers. It was marked 'X Mags' on the flap."
My heart sank because I instantly knew what he had found and I had long ago forgotten about. It was three copies of a gay magazine filled with explicit photos and stories. Jason continued, "It wasn't sealed so I looked inside."
"OH SHIT!" I blurted out.
Inventing some excuse or explanation for what he found was impossible. My emphatic reaction was surely evidence of guilt or shame or both. He knew my secret! I had been outted!
Jason resumed, "At first, I was going to put the envelope at the bottom of the pile and pretend that I hadn't seen what was in it. But then I got to thinking. If you had those magazines, then you're probably like me. And if you're like me, then maybe you can help me. I sure don't know anybody else who can." He looked at me with what I interpreted to be a pleading expression.
There was little ambiguity in his words. `Like me' in the context of finding gay magazines could only mean that he was gay. There was no ambiguity in his facial expression. His distress was obvious. I guessed that he was struggling to accept his homosexuality and all of its complicated implications. But I thought it best to clarify my assumptions.
"Can I conclude from what you say, Jason, that you're gay?"
"Yes," he said meekly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"First of all, cut the `sir' shit. Off campus, I'm Jerry. Secondly, am I right in guessing that being gay bothers you -- that you're worried about it?"
"You don't know how much it bothers me," he said with obvious emotion. "My family would hate me if they knew. And I'd lose most of my friends if they found out. What should I do, Jerry? I was hoping that you could ... well ... seeing those magazines made me think that you would understand my problem and could give me some advice."
I knew the torment he was going through. I experienced the same thing only a few years earlier. But I was still reluctant to tell him that. Even though he was sure of my sexual interests, I was simply not ready to explicitly confirm his suspicions. But then I remembered the promise to myself that I would help a young man who was troubled by the conflict between his needs and society's expectations. It took courage for him to seek my help. Could I do less than equal his courage?
"Do I understand your problem? Yes, Jason. I understand. I've lived what you're living now. I'm still living with it. Can I give you advice? I'm not sure. All I can do is tell you what worked for me. It may not be the best option for you. I chose to keep my secret and to suppress my desires. That's not the only answer. And it's surely not the best answer for everybody. You will have to arrive at you own answer. What I can do, however, is listen whenever you want to talk to me. I can give you information -- if you don't already know -- on risks of living gay. But some information I cannot give you -- how to find a partner, for example, because I've never done that.
I read relief in his face, no doubt because I did not condemn him. "So it's true," he said after absorbing my comments. "You're gay as well."
He forced my hand. I had to be honest. "Yes, I am."
"But you've never had a partner?"
"No. I guess you could say that I'm a virgin."
"So you can't tell me what it's like to be with a man. In bed, I mean."
"No, I'm afraid not. But then again, I'm not sure even an experienced gay man could adequately describe in words what it's like."
We spent the next hour talking about prejudice, bigotry, and persecution; about STD's; about the difficulty of living straight; and extensively about the difference between sex and love. When he went home that evening he thanked me profusely for helping him. I couldn't be sure how much help I had been but I think he was perhaps a little more at peace over his homosexuality.
I thought it best to let him initiate any further discussion and was confident that he would whenever he wanted my help. The subject didn't come up again until Thursday. The organization of my files was completed; the hot weather had abated, so we were working outside trying to repair my overhead garage door. It was difficult because we had to figure out how the thing worked. Even though it was somewhat cooler, we both worked up a sweat by lunch time.
Over lunch, we joked and laughed over our incompetence when Jason said, "Remember when you showed me the list of jobs you needed done and I said I didn't know how to do some of them?"
"Yes."
"Remember what you told me then?"
"No, I'm sorry. I don't.'
"You said, `Neither do I. We can learn how to do them together'. Did you mean it?"
"Of course."
Seriously but with noticeable hesitation he said, "We could learn other things together. We could ... that is ... maybe ... if you're willing..."
I waited for him to finish but he didn't so I said, "What other things, Jason?"
"Well ... I was thinking. You're gay and never had a partner. I'm gay and never had a partner. I thought that we might ..."
I cut him off. "If you're talking about sex, the answer is NO!"
He acted as though I had hurt him deeply so I continued, "I admire your keen mind. And your ambition. You've got a body that, quite honestly, arouses me. Sex with you would be fantastic. But it can't happen. We're not that far apart in age and you're legal but you should find someone closer to your age. More significantly, the fact remains that you're my student. Having sex would pollute the relationship that must exist between teacher and student, not to mention that it would destroy my career if word got out. As much as I would like it --and believe me, I WOULD like it, Jason -- it can't happen. Yes, I want to help you. But that help centers on completing your education. And by that I mean your college studies, not pleasures of the flesh."
"I'm sorry, Jerry. It was wrong of me to even ask. Please forgive me."
"No forgiveness necessary," I said. "And it was not wrong to ask. In fact, I'm flattered that you felt comfortable enough to ask. And, I must emphasize, that if the situation were different, there's no one I'd rather give my virginity to. You're smart. You're very good looking. And may I say, sexy as hell. There's somebody out there for you, Jason. It may take a while but you're going to find the right man. That is, if you decide you want a committed gay relationship."
"But I've screwed up our friendship," he complained bitterly.
"Nonsense! If anything, we can be better friends." (I didn't believe that but I hoped it would alleviate Jason's regret.) "You've been honest with me about your feelings. That's what good friends do with each other. I sincerely hope that you will continue to be honest. As I've told you, I'm willing to talk to you at any time you want to talk. I can't promise to give you the best advice but I'm a very good listener."
It was getting late. Jason had to get home for supper. As he was about to leave, I said, "I know I said we can't have sex. But a good hug is not sex." I pulled him into a warm embrace. He seemed to collapse into my arms and laid his head on my shoulder. Moments later, he broke the hug and turned to leave but not quickly enough to prevent my seeing tears in his eyes.
I worried about him most of that evening, which was disturbing but at least it prevented me from thinking about how wonderful it would be to share our bodies.
When he arrived Friday morning, his first words were, "Do you still want me to work for you?"
"Of course!" I exclaimed. "You're a tremendous help and I enjoy your company."
He beamed. "Okay," he said, "What's the schedule for today?"
"How are you with a paint brush? Every room in the house needs a fresh coat of paint."
"Never done it," he said, still smiling. "But it can't be all that hard."
"Never done it?" I asked, pretending to look worried. "Well ... that could be a problem because neither have I. Come with me."
I lead him into my bedroom. I was being a little mischievous and he reacted as I expected -- with a confused and worried look. After our parting discussion about sex on Friday, his anxiety was understandable. "We're likely to get paint on our clothes. Can't have that. Change into these old clothes of mine. I think they'll fit you. Come out to the living room when you're ready." I promptly left the room, closing the door behind me. I went into the bathroom and changed into another set of clothes that were well beyond their useful life.
When he came into the living room, I looked at him with fake surprise and said, "Hey! What happened to that handsome young man? You look like a homeless urchin!"
He laughed. Oh, how I loved to hear him laugh. I didn't expect him to join in the joking so quickly but he shot back, "How about you? What happened to the distinguished professor I'm supposed to be helping?"
As I brought out the paint cans, brushes, and rollers, he said, "Jerry?"
"What?"
"You planned it, didn't you?"
"Planned what? The painting? Of course!"
"No! You know what I mean! You took me into your bedroom so I would think that you had changed your mind about having sex. That was not nice."
"Yes and no and yes," I replied. "Yes, I planned it, to play a little trick. No, I haven't changed my mind. And yes, it was not nice. I apologize if it upset you."
"I'm not upset," he said. "Frustrated but not upset." He paused a moment before adding, "I haven't given up hope." I shot him a disapproving look. I didn't think he should be hoping for me to relax my prohibition. But he just grinned and said, "You asked me to be honest!"
"Let's get to work," I said.
By the end of the following week, with both of us working, every room in my house sported a fresh coat of paint. I was extraordinarily pleased with the result. And the work was not that unpleasant. Jason and I maintained a thoroughly enjoyable repartee with a lot of conversation and plenty of laughs. The worst part of each day for me was when he went home. That left me with fond memories of our time together and a feeling approaching dread at the thought of spending the evening hours and overnight alone. I had never felt lonely before and, in fact, had cherished the solitude of an evening with a four-mile run, a hot shower, dinner, and a good book. Then Jason entered my life and changed everything: happy companionship on week days; a strange, empty feeling at night and on weekends; and a new, richer dimension to my fantasies as I masturbated. I had categorically ruled out sex but was having some regrets for doing so. In more rational moments, however, I knew that it could not -- must not -- happen.
On Friday, as he was leaving for home and I gave him his week's pay, I said, "Next week is my vacation. I'll be gone for a week. Are you still willing to stay here all week to `house-sit'?"
"Of course," he replied.
"You have cleared it with your parents, haven't you?"
"Yeah. They're fine with it."
"Okay. You're free to come and go as you please but I want somebody living here while I'm gone. Your only responsibility is to bring in the mail and newspaper every day. There shouldn't be any problems as long as you're living here -- it's a fairly safe neighborhood -- but there have been a few vacant houses broken into. Don't hesitate to call 911 for any problems."
"I know," he said, acting as though I was stating the obvious. Indeed, I was; we had discussed it at length previously.
He drove me to the airport on Sunday afternoon. I had been looking forward to my vacation but my eager anticipation was now diminished by the thought of not seeing Jason for a full week. Before clearing through security to go to the concourse and my boarding gate, I said, "You have my cell phone number?"
"Yes," he said somewhat indignantly. "You're acting like a doting parent, Jerry. Everything will be all right. Enjoy your trip."
"I apologize. I guess I'm worried about you more than my house."
The week visiting my family and fishing in the Gulf was enjoyable but would have been more so were it not for recurrently thinking of Jason, my attraction to him, and his request to have sex with me. I was not able to resolve the conflict in my mind. Yes, I would welcome the chance to share our bodies. But the risks -- to us both -- were substantial.
He met me at the airport when I returned on Friday evening. When I saw him in baggage claim, I had a strong urge to hug him, to hold him close, and tell him how much I had missed him. But better judgment prevailed; we shook hands.
We arrived at my house just after nine. He helped me carry my bags into the house where we set them down in my bedroom. Standing next to my bed, he said, "I can stay overnight, if you like. I told my parents I may not be home until tomorrow morning."
I was tempted. Seeing him again made me horny. Not the horniness that I had often experienced. This time, it was more wanting to be with him than simply having sex. Again, I took what seemed at the time to be the better route. "Thanks, Jason. But I'm exhausted and just want to shower and get some sleep. You go on home. I'll see you Monday morning."
During the following week, we erected a new board fence around the back yard. I had expected it would take all week but was surprised that we finished it by mid-afternoon on Thursday. As we sat on the back patio, sipping ice tea and admiring the results of our labor, Jason asked, "So, Jerry, what are the plans for tomorrow?"
"There are lots of options," I replied. "There's lots of work to do yet. But I have a better idea. I think we've earned a day off. Have you ever been to Cedar Point?"
"No, but I promised you I would save as much money as I could for school. I can't afford it."
"I think you can," I said. "It will be a paid vacation day for you. And the expense of our spending a day at an amusement park will be a bonus for all you've helped me accomplish around the house. Explain that to your parents when you ask them if you can go."
"But..."
"But nothing! We've earned a day of fun. Now go home and get your parents' permission. I'll see you at eight tomorrow morning. Oh, and tell them you'll be coming home late tomorrow. We should spend all the time we can at the park."
"Yes sir, boss!" he said with a broad grin.
We had a glorious time at the amusement park. The excitement, the fun, the thrills, the laughter, and even the food surpassed my expectations. The greatest satisfaction, however, was seeing how much Jason enjoyed himself.
He fell asleep on the drive home. That gave me time to think. We had enjoyed ourselves. And each other. That part troubled me. I seemed to have formed a special bond with my young friend, a bond that would handicap my judgment if I were tempted to yield to my fantasies and allow intimacy between us.
It was almost eleven at night when I pulled the car into my garage. I woke Jason who looked at me with a spontaneous smile. He surprised me when, instead of walking to his car, he followed me into the house. He impulsively gave me a hug, saying, "Thanks, Jerry. I've never had so much fun in my life."
"I'm glad. I enjoyed every minute of it also," I replied as I returned his hug.
"It was extra special because I was with you," he said, still holding me tightly.
A faint alarm bell rang in my head. "It's late, Jason. You'd better be on your way. Your parents might be worried about you."
Without releasing me from his hug, he looked at me and said, "I told my parents not to wait up for me. If it was late, I would spend the night here. I hope that's all right." His facial expression and tone of voice was nothing short of a plea.
The alarm bell rang more loudly. I suspected his motivation was to seduce me. And I was genuinely afraid that I would not be able to resist. "No, Jason. It's not all right. It's better -- for both of us -- if you go home."
I was stunned by what happened next. He put one hand on the back of my head and drew me into a passionate kiss. I was so bewildered that I couldn't react. For too long I allowed the kiss to continue. But I regained control of my thoughts and broke the kiss. Grasping his shoulders but holding on to them, I pushed him away. "Stop, Jason. Please."
He suddenly looked terribly frightened. He broke away from my grasp and ran for the door. I ran after him. I couldn't let such a wonderful day end so badly. I caught up to him as he was at his car fumbling for his keys. "Come inside, Jason. Please. We need to talk." He ignored me. He wouldn't even look at me. "Jason! Please! I'm not angry. I'm not disappointed. I just want to talk to you. Please, Jason."
He turned to look at me. Tears filled his eyes. I took his car keys out of his hand and said, very softly, "You're in no shape to drive right now. Come inside. I need to tell you something."
He just stood, looking at me quizzically. I put my arm around his shoulder to guide him back into the house. He meekly walked with me. Inside, I sat him on the sofa and took my place next to him.
"Jason," I began. "You don't know how much that kiss meant to me. It was an expression of affection that touched me very deeply. I probably sounded ungrateful when I told you to stop but the last thing I want to do is to hurt your feelings ... or hurt you in any way. I'm sorry. Let me try to explain why I reacted the way I did. I don't know if it will make any sense to you but let me try. Less than a year ago, you were just a student in my class. I admired your intellect. Then I got to know you better and I recognized that you have a superior character. Now fast-forward to this summer. While you've been working here, I've developed a real affection for you as a very good friend. Now comes the tricky part, a part that I haven't yet sorted out in my mind. We're both gay. The first time you asked to have sex, I was adamant in refusing. That was partly to preserve the student-teacher relationship and avoid the risk of destroying my career. Another reason was that it would have been little more than gratification of a sensual need. Call me a romantic but I think sex should only be an expression of genuine love. But there's more that I didn't dare say at the time. As a gay man, I am strongly attracted to you. I dream of you. I let myself fantasize that we're together, doing things to, with, and for each other. I'm scared, Jason -- scared that if we had sex just once, I couldn't bear to have it end. And I'm scared of hurting you by having sex. I want you so badly that it's like a constant pain knowing that I can't have you. Now let me talk about tonight. On the drive home, I came to the conclusion that you're much more than a good friend. You're exactly the kind of person I would like to spend my life with. Your kiss was not only appreciated, it galvanized my thinking. The effect of your kiss was to make me realize that I love you. Unlike before, sex with you now would be an expression of my love for you. But my sense of ethics derailed my thoughts and I asked you to stop. I blurted it out and immediately regretted how thoughtless I was. So there's my dilemma, Jason. I love you. I want you. I want to show my love in the most intimate ways. But I'm not sure if you love me and I'm scared to hurt you ... or lose you ... or jeopardize my career by having sex with you."
We just looked at each other for a few minutes. I had exposed my feelings in a way that would have been unthinkable only a few weeks earlier. I could only hope that Jason understood and believed me.
"My turn?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied.
"I thought you were hot the first day in class. As the school year went on, I learned to respect you for your interest in the subject and, more importantly, in students' learning. I've fantasized about you, too. That's why I asked you for sex. Looking back, I realize that it was just my hormones talking. When you refused, I was disappointed but it wasn't long before I respected you even more for refusing. Since you've been helping me by letting me work here, I've gotten to know what a wonderful man you really are. You're everything that I want to become. But here's the heart of the matter. That kiss was not just appreciation for a wonderful day at Cedar Point. I didn't kiss you in the hopes of getting into your bed. You ruled that out and I understand why. But you said a hug is not sex. I was hoping that a kiss was not sex, either. I kissed you because I wanted to tell you something. That something is that I love you, Jerry. If there ever comes a time when we can share that love fully, it will be the realization of my fondest wish. It won't be hormone sex; it'll be an expression of my love for you. Geez! Do I sound corny or what!"
"Not corny at all, Jason. It sounds beautiful. Now, we have to decide what to do. And don't say go to bed! I want to go to bed with you but we need to think about it. Right now, I think the best thing is for you to go home. But go home knowing that I love you. And that over the weekend, I'll be thinking of you and missing you. We'll talk again on Monday. Maybe ... just maybe ... we can come up with a solution to your problem -- your family hates gays -- and my problem -- safeguarding my career. Will you do that for me?"
"On one condition," he replied with a grin. "A goodnight kiss?"
We stood, embraced, and gave each other a long, meaningful kiss.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Obviously, the story of Jeremy and Jason is not fully told. How do you think it should end? Let me know what you would like to happen. I'll then complete the story based on the best ideas I receive.