DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction, any reflection of real life and any description of an area or person is purely coincidental.
This story is about a young man who discovers himself and love as well as a few supernatural surprises along the way. There is death, love, hate, friendship, and bigotry.
There are potentially scenes of M/M sexual contact in each chapter, do not continue reading if reading text of this nature is illegal where you are located, likewise if you are under the legal age to read pornographic material.
Please enjoy and feel free to send comments. This is my first attempt at writing a fictional romance story.
Chapter 01:
I hate my life. Ya, I said it. I'm sitting here in my family's farmhouse staring at all the people milling around, talking quietly, stealing glances at me or my mother. You see, today is the so so inaptly named 'celebration' of my deceased father's life. As you may be able to gather, my father and I did not get along very well. My father didn't get along with anyone very well to be perfectly honest. I always wondered how my mother put up with him, but that was none of my business. I had moved out and went to college when I turned 18, moved to New York City for two and a half years and achieved next to nothing except becoming one of the millions of no-body's who inhabited the city. That was three and a half years ago now. It seemed like a lifetime ago...
It was late March, I'd just turned 21 and had celebrated my birthday alone, as usual, no friends, no long-term relationships, I was never any good at them, I didn't get people and people didn't get me. I'd known since I was 12 that I was gay, but had had to hide it until I moved out. My father is staunchly homophobic, having been arrested twice in his youth for assault of a man who was gay. I knew the consequences if I were to come out to him, I wasn't ready for complete emancipation from my parents, plus I still loved my mother dearly. I woke up late that Saturday morning, to a downpour, another dreary day in the city, thankful that I had enough books and food to not have to venture out into the rain. I had just gotten out of the shower and settled into the one chair which accompanied my bed to be the only things to furnish my closet of an apartment in Manhattan, New York City, when I got the call.
"Jake." Oh boy, nothing like my fathers voice at 8am on a Saturday morning to start the day off in hell. I had no idea.
"Father." I replied in the same stoic indifferent voice I'd learned early on he demanded of me.
"Your mother is very sick, she wants you home, today. Dinner's at 5, don't be late" - click. Bastard. Just like him. Call and demand my presence, a full 8 hour drive from my apartment if traffic was mild, 9 hours from when I was expected to be there by. If I didn't know my father never lied when it came to my mother, I would have thought he was manipulating me for some reason, but he would never. He thought the sun rose and set because of her, no one else mattered, not his birth family and not his own son, he never lied when it came to my mother. He also never, and I repeat, never, mentioned or even acknowledged when he, or she were sick, it had never came up for me since I had never gotten sick, but it would have been the same. It didn't need mentioning, it was known people get sick and they get better. His calling to tell me she was sick and that I was required home for dinner was tantamount to telling me she was dying, so I was naturally worried. Why didn't my mother call me herself? Why was he suddenly telling me when she was sick? Reluctantly, I gathered clothes for the next day and walked the two blocks to the garage where I sheltered my car and got on my way immediately.
The entire drive I didn't turn on the radio once. I couldn't stop my mind from rolling over everything. I was going to be back in my home town for the first time since the day after I graduated highschool. I had adamently refused to go back. My mother understood that my father and I didn't get along and she didn't force it. If she wanted to see me we each drove and met half-way for dinner or shopping or a movie. We did this at least once a month. I hadn't kept in touch with any of my old highschool friends. Mostly because I had none. I'm not even joking lightly here. I had zero people I could truthfully call 'friend', there were several people who I would say 'hello' to on most days or who would bother to ask if I was ok if I happened to miss more than one day of school (which happened only once and someone did ask if I was ok, it was to take care of my sick mother, not because I was sick), but there was no one I talked to daily and no one I had ever confided even so much as my middle name to. Not that it was some great secret, just that no one seemed to want to get to know me and I had no interest in them. Most of them loved the small town of 4000 people, I didn't. I'm sure there were more reasons on their side, but for me that was about it, I wanted nothing tying my down to this town, I had been saving and planning for several years, the day after graduation, I was leaving and never looking back if I could help it. This drive was something I couldn't help. Oh well, it was only for a night, at least, that's what I kept telling myself.
I wasn't too worried about bumping into anyone and them recognizing me and hazing me, no one did that much in high school, why now? Nor was I worried that someone might recognize me and try to drag me into a conversation, again, they didn't do that in high school, why now? Mostly, I wasn't worried about anyone recognizing me at all. I had changed so very much from high school. In high school, even though my father was a farmer, I had never done it. I did chores around my house for allowance since I was 12 and had saved every penny, that was my work. In high school I was overweight, acne plagued and wore thick glasses with unkempt hair. I just didn't really care. As soon as I left though, I began to care. I quickly realized that to make anything of myself I had to care about myself. So, I began running every morning and exercising when I got home from work. I bought acne clearing washes from drug stores and started managing my hair. I saw an eye doctor and got contacts as well. Within a year I was in pretty good shape, acne free, and looking like a brand new person. The first time my mother saw me after I left was a full year after I left, she didn't even recognize me at first.
I was sitting in the cafe we agreed to meet at. I got there first, got a coffee and waited for her, I saw her come into the cafe and waited for her to see me to see her reaction, she saw me and our eyes met for a second and then her eyes continued on, but quickly came back to me. She continued looking and then tilted her head a bit before hew jaw dropped and her eyebrows jumped nearly off her skull. She spent the entire evening effusing about the new me. It felt great. I felt great. The new me was admittedly decent looking. I had more than a few men tell me my body was good looking and my ass was great, I rarely believed them, they were one night stands, the whole point of the night was for a hot fuck and then likely never see each other again. The club I had frequented had no one who was 'ugly' and no one overweight. In fact you could only get in if you had had sex with a member and they brought you in for your first time there, then you were able to get a membership card to get in. It was for the protection of the reputations of some of the guys who frequented the bar. There were some politicians, entertainers, police, people who where married or living a straight life in the public eye and wanted to remain that way. It was a great place to get picked up, and I went once a weekend, hoping I'd find a guy there worth taking home or going home with and turning it into more than just a night or weekend fuck-a-thon. Needless to say, that hadn't happened.
I arrived to my parents home shortly after 4:30, my mother was sitting on the porch swing in the back of the house. My father built our house when he first married my mother, the back of the house faces a large dense forest and the setting sun is gorgeous through the tree tops, so that was where the main entrance and porch was, my mother had insisted upon it. The front of the house had no entrance door, only a few windows, no side doors either. It really was, a beautiful home. My mother had designed it and my father poured himself into building it during their first year married, using wood cut down from the forest itself and his employers' tools so that the expenses were very minimal, he was the 'foreman' for a large dairy farm a few miles away, made an acceptable lower middle-class living, but definitely not enough to have bought and paid for everything needed to build the house from a store. My mother loved the house, almost as much as she loved me or my father. I parked on the side of the house and walked the stone path that led to the back porch and saw my mother sitting on the porch swing, staring off into the sunset, her eyes shimmering as if on the brink of tears. As soon as she saw me she jumped up and ran to me hugging me and crying profusely. Judging from her reaction, she didnt know I was going to be there. This just got curiouser and curiouser.
Several minutes later, my father came out and said we should get inside as dinner was nearly done and had some things we needed to discuss. This started getting me scared more than anything. My father did not discuss things. He made decisions and we followed them. Combined with what I now knew to be a clandestine invitation of me to dinner; something was wrong. I followed my mother and father into the dining room and sat next to my mother, my father serving the food. Dinner itself was always quiet, my father preferring not to speak while eating and asking (demanding) we don't either. Tonights dinner was no different, the only exception was my mothers continued tears and my fathers typically stoicly indifferent face, softer and less stoicly indifferent than usual, in fact it was nearly sad, an emotion I'd never seen on him before. This continued until all the dishes were taken away and we were sitting in the living room before I couldn't take it anymore.
"All right, not that I'm not happy to have dinner and see you again mom, but what's going on? Dad called me up and asked me to dinner tonight and you clearly didn't know about it and you've been crying the whole time. What's wrong?" I was sounding more brave and ballsy than I felt.
My mother broke down crying even harder, so, my father responded, "son. I asked you here because your mother is sick. She's been to a couple doctors and we found out this morning for certain. She has cancer son. Cancer that can't be removed. Treatment is too expensive for us and would only be very painful for her and not give her enough extra time to make the pain worth it. The doctors have one treatment they'll be giving her once a week that may give her a little longer, it's painless and could give her a few more months, but as of right now, they say she has no more than three months to live."
To say I was stunned and speechless would be an understatement. My parents were only 40 and 42. My mother was going to die before she turned 45? My mother, the one person in the world who spoke to me regularly that wasn't forced to because of work? Several minutes passed with my mother crying and my father holding her and me sitting there like someone had frozen time, the complete shock and terror of what he said written all over my face and it had me unable to move. Soon my father continued, "son, I haven't been a great father to you, I know that, I don't know that I ever can be, but your mother loves you to death, and she needs your help. I know you don't want to live here, but your mothers medication will make her weak and she will get tired more quickly and she will also not be allowed to drive on the medication, her appointments will vary from week to week and I cannot take the time off from work to take her to every appointment or else I'll lose my job and be unable to continue paying the bills or for her appointments and medicine. We'd like you to move back in here, until... until...well, you know. Then I understand you will want to get back out, we can deal with that when the time comes, but until then, we need you, your mother needs you. Please?"
Needless to say, I accepted, I drove back to New York City, put in my resignation at work, gave my one months notice for vacating my apartment and left before noon on Monday morning. It wasn't a tough decision. My mother was dying and needed me. My father and I talked more that night and we decided we could put aside our differences for a while and co-exist for my mothers sake. There wouldn't be any father-son bonding going on, but we could exist under the same roof in order to help my mothers last months be happy and loving like she deserved.
And so we continued for 4 months, it seemed the appointments were giving her a little bit longer. Until the fateful final weekend in July, last weekend. The rain was torrential and the wind felt near-hurricane. The thunder and lightning were raging and some part or the combined efforts of the storm had knocked out our power. My father had been at work that morning and due to the weather would probably be home early, once they got the animals in the barns safely. Dinner time arrived and he still hadn't shown up. Mom was worried, and I have to admit I was a little worried myself. My father was never late home from work the past 4 months. He was early if he could arrange it, but never late, he wanted every possible minute with my mother he could have, his employer knew this and didn't hold it against him. So, at 4:30, I found myself calling my fathers boss.
"Mr. Davies here, how can I help you?"
"Mr. Davies, this is Jake, Rick's son. I was just wondering if you knew when my father would be heading home, my mother and I are getting a little worried."
"He's not home, Jake? He left here at 1:30 today, we got the animals in from the storm and he decided to head home. I offered him to stay until the storm let up a bit, I didn't think it was safe to drive let alone walk. But he should have been home hours ago. You guys stay put, I'll get in my truck and head over and see if I can't find him, maybe he had to hold up in one of my buildings along the road. I'll stop into your place in a while."
"Thank you, sir. Much appreciated" I replied with a breaking voice. No storm would keep my father from continuing home to see my mother. Even if he had to crawl, he'd done it before when he was attacked by an escaped pit bull from our crazy neighbors before they were arrested and their property bought up by Mr. Davies.
10 minutes later the phone was ringing. "Hello?"
"Jake, it's Mr. Davies. I have to tell you something but I don't think now is a good time for you to relay this message to your mother, just let me know when you're not in the same room as her."
"Now's ok, she's taking a nap until my father gets home. What's wrong?"
"Jake, I'm sorry to say, your father was hit by a car while walking home. Someone out on the road when they shouldn't have been in this storm. They hit him and ended up pinning him between one of the trees that line the road. The police and ambulance are on the way, but son he didn't make it. I'm so so sorry. I'm here in my truck, I'll take care of everything here, you take care of your mother and find a way to tell her. I'll tell the police the circumstances and ask them to wait until morning to go and see you guys. I also want to say that I know the next few months are not going to be easy without him, please call me if you need anything. Your father was a devoted employee for me for almost 30 years. I'll do whatever I can to help your mother and you."
"Oh my god. My mother is going to be devastated. Thank you sir, thank you so very much for everything. I'll find a way to tell my mother tonight. I... I need to go wake my mother up and have dinner. She needs to eat for her medication and if I tell her before she eats she won't eat. Thank you again sir." I hung up and sat there staring at the wall, stunned. I didn't love the man, I wasn't particularly sad that he was dead, but I could already imagine my mothers grief.
Which brings us to the present. My mother insisted on hosting a celebration of his life, not a funeral or wake. The accident had disfigured his body and face pretty badly, so there was no viewing, we interred him that morning with just my mother and I, and were now having anyone who wanted, to come and visit and celebrate his life. There weren't a lot, but there were enough. It was a small enough town that word gets around. Everyone in town knew my mother was dying. Knew my mother and father were as much in love as any two people possibly could be, though most like me couldn't determine how since they were so different. In the four months that I'd been back I had been seeing classmates and others in town in my day-to-day business of taking care of the things my mother used to do, groceries, bills, banking, etc. I had managed to avoid recognition from most of my classmates since I didn't have to deal with any of them in a way where they found out my name and because I looked so different and hadn't known anyone well during high school, no one recognized me. My attention was snapped back to the present by my mother saying my name to someone.
"Yes, you must remember my son Jake, he graduated with you I think John."
"Jake?! That's you?! Holy shit! - Sorry Silva, but holy hell, Jake you look ... amazing, I definitely didn't recognize you from the Jake I graduated with. Wow."
Well, here goes, I can do this. I stood up, and proffered my hand for a hand-shake, "John. Good to see you again, thank you, I worked hard to fix all those high school woes with regards to my appearance. How have you been? Looking just like high school I see." Oh boy was he ever. He was always the hottest boy in our school, more than a few fantasies had ran through my head that included him.
"Heh, ya, the men in my family don't really change our looks much from 16 on. Just lucky I guess..." He seemed to fidget a little bit at this, I couldn't fathom why, he looked amazing and if he looked just as good 10 years from now even, damn him. He was the consummate jock in high school, was the quarterback, and captain of football, and baseball teams. Prom king and overall class stud. He never treated me poorly in high school, in fact he never spoke to me except the occasional 'hi' or head nod acknowledging my presence. I noticed we were still shaking hands, his hand was very warm, granted it was the first weekend of August and rather warm outside, but the house was well air conditioned and was in fact almost cold with how much it was running trying to keep all the guests cool in the summer heat. I broke my hand away and coulda swore I saw a little flash of disappointment in his eyes but it was immediately gone.
"Well, Jake, it was great seeing you again, maybe sometime you'd be willing to come out and have a few drinks and catch up?" I was all set to say no but my mother chose this point to interrupt, "he'd love to, weekends are best. I can take care of myself for an evening." I stole a surprised and curious glare at my mother who feigned ignorance and thanked John for coming before he left saying, "Good Jake, I'll call around and arrange a time" not giving me a chance to respond.