The following fictional story deals with sex among males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or reside in a location where it is not allowed, please depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. EvanBradley33@Yahoo.com
Chapter 1 Substitute Homes
Hal and Max
Hal Winston eased his 6-foot, 3-inch frame out of his dark green Dodge Ram pickup as he grabbed his gym bag from behind the seat and tossed it into the pickup bed. Max Weingart, his foreman and nearly his equal in stature, rolled out the other side with his gym bag. Hal's long muscles told him he'd put in a hard day shingling a roof. He leaned back against his pickup, waiting for their buddies on the crew to join them for a late afternoon workout at Murphy's Gym. Max leaned up against the truck beside Hal. They observed a companionable silence, glad to be free of the labors of the workday.
Hal had been surprised minutes earlier when, just as he was ready to pull away from the curb at the construction site, the truck's door had opened and Max had plopped into the passenger seat, shutting the door. "Let's go," Max had directed his boss. Hal had wondered where Kenji was, but decided he and Max were capable of sorting their logistics out for themselves. Their relationship was also something he didn't want to think about. So he shoved his mind in a different direction.
Tired as Hal was, he was also quietly proud of the huge distance he'd come in his life - not from ground zero like other men he knew. He'd started way below ground zero. He had never known his parents or the circumstances of his birth. He'd been one of those headline babies placed in a Rubbermaid laundry basket and left on the front porch of a convent. There wasn't a letter, a birth certificate or any clue for police to follow. Even his name was made up; he had no idea why someone had decided he was a "Hal" or a "Winston." He sometimes laughed ruefully, imagining somebody - certainly not a nun - in desperation spying the name on a pack of Winston cigarettes just as fledgling stars' names are chosen in Hollywood.
"Penny for your thoughts," Max said, sensitive to his buddy's moods, aware that Hal had slipped into a reverie. He often was like this after a hard day's work or some unexpected challenge. He was certain the reverie had to do with Hal's personal history and recent experience with Kenji, neither possibility a good topic. He loved this Hal Winston, more like a brother than a lover. But they'd been lovers in their early days.
"Just thinkin' about who the hell Hal Winston is, who gave him that moniker and why. Why those two names?" He paused as though trying to think of an answer. "I'll never know," he spoke softly, his brow wrinkling. "It makes me feel that I don't know who to be. Funny how a name is like that. I remember during a psychology class in college reading a research study about children growing to fit their names. But most children have parents - as well as their larger family - and its history to help shape that name and image. I had nothing."
"Lots of people think you fit your name just fine," Max replied, knowing that Hal had set off down a line of thinking and he wouldn't be jolted out of it. "They'd be proud to bear the name." Max knew his role: just follow Hal, making certain he didn't become too depressed, knowing he would never be able to convince Hal that his lack of a family made no difference to anybody else.
"That's just it: I don't know if I do or don't fit it," Hal answered. "How would I know? Hal, the mystery man," he said softly, "X man."
Max chuckled. "Well, if X-Man refers to your dick and the way you use it against other guys, I'd agree." Hal grinned, punching Max lightly in his hard gut. They fell into another quiet stretch. Max knew Hal would resurface when he felt the need.
Looking at Hal out of the corner of his eye, Max took in the shiny black hair on the sides of Hal's head. His head was full of the stuff. His ears were perched high on his head but flat against it. He had a long face with a square jaw, two features that complemented each other perfectly. Widely spaced brown eyes with black brows almost in a straight line over them. Gentle creases running down to the corners of his perfectly proportioned mouth always lightly shadowed by whiskers. Strong chin and throat. Broad shoulders that sloped down to nicely built arms with veins snaking down from his pits and through the tops of his hands. He was still a hell of a looker, Max decided. A century earlier, people would have thought him some kind of European nobleman just because of his looks. Hal turned a lot of heads, men and women alike.
Hal had spent the early years of his life in foster homes. A host of factors led to his being shifted from one foster home to another. So that deep attachments could be avoided, state and Catholic Church policies stipulated that a child be moved from one foster home to another at least every three years. As an adult, Hal figured out that, when the Church couldn't work through the family structure on which it was so focused, its decisions could be downright stupid. And for all its noble mouthings about family values, the state, which licensed all orphanages, had never actually worked within family structures at all, so it didn't produce any better social policy. Hal suddenly spat out an exasperated sound, not words, just angry emotion, a burst of expelled breath, looking away from Max, a little embarrassed that someone had witnessed his frustration still boiling over after so many years. Max ever so slightly shook his head as though to say, "I told you so!" Hal decided that both Church and state merely reacted to family structures - when they were present. It was surprising how blind they were to their warehousing policies when it came to homeless children.
When young foster parents moved from the state for better jobs elsewhere, foster children, as wards of the state, had to stay behind. As Hal approached puberty, he was taken on by many families merely to be a laborer on a farm or in a family business. He'd also had his share of sex with some of his foster fathers or foster brothers. It occurred at their prompting, not his, for he was too afraid of getting his ass booted out. However, it revealed to him even then that it was men he really liked, men with whom he wanted to form a close relationship. So he didn't feel exploited during those early sexual encounters. It allowed him to fantasize that he was loved, that someone valued him for himself. Less happily, some of his foster homes introduced him to physical abuse. When one was the flotsam and jetsam of society, he became a target at some point or other for at least one of the ill-tempered, evil intentions in the universe. One time he'd run away from a foster home when it was really bad, ending up back in the orphanage. That coupled with his increasing height and weight as he was about to enter senior high school pretty much ended his being bounced around. No one wanted him. His rapid growth and size intimidated potential foster parents, so he spent his senior high school years at the orphanage.
He didn't entirely regret those final years in the orphanage. He'd become a big brother to many of the boys there. He'd taught them sports, corralled and reformed the bullies, listened to the guys' longings for a real home and family, helped steer them away from cynicism, encouraged them to dream big about their future even though he had to push himself to do the same. It seemed like such a waste of energy to dream about something that was never within his reach. He did his best to build up the other guys. Their worst times were holidays, the approach of which they dreaded, for those family events enforced their deficient status upon them.
Suddenly Richie Collins's handsome face leapt from his memory into his mind's eye with that constant "eat shit" grin on Richie's face. Instantly, Hal felt pain knife into his gut, followed by a shocked "oh" quietly bursting from his mouth. Max knew exactly what thought had surfaced from Hal's memory. "Thinkin' of Richie, aren't you?" Max asked.
Hal shook his head in the affirmative but offered no explanation, again looking away from Max. Richie, a year younger, was the closest thing to a brother Hal had ever experienced in his youth. When Richie arrived at the orphanage, he was a good-looking, brash, outspoken runt, a little troublemaker actually. He harbored a wild streak from, Hal finally decided, never having belonged to a family. In no time at all Hal and Richie had gotten into a knockdown, drag-out over some silly issue. Richie had challenged Hal's place as leader - Richie was going to run the show. Instead, Hal had clocked Richie. The amazing result was that he immediately looked up to Hal as his hero.
Besides being inseparable, Hal and Richie were also sex buddies and finally lovers. Hal felt so fulfilled making love to the short fella - which wasn't easy in an orphanage full of other boys. Hal loved holding him in his arms, persuading Richie that he was protected and loved. It made Hal feel invincible. It also made him feel like he had a family at last, anchored on his brother-lover and their "brothers" in the orphanage. Hal couldn't remember being happier. He never gave any thought to how they would keep it alive. Hal didn't know how many times after the orphanage he had relived their bouts of lovemaking, trying desperately to hang onto the details, the tactile sensations, the deep feelings of fulfillment and love. However, he discovered that time took its toll on memories, and memory processing itself had a way of distorting those details. He'd hang onto those details forever if he could, recalling the adage "it's all in the details." He agreed. Hal was initially desperate when he realized that the details were fading, like old photographs, growing dim around the edges, then fading into the center. He was left with broad strokes, but not the little details that allowed him to feel that he owned the memory.
Hal had slowly maneuvered Richie into looking out for the other boys as Hal did. Richie was good at it. Since Hal had to play the role of tougher lead male, Richie could assume a softer stance with the boys. It had been good, really good. Even Elizabeth Waller, the director of the orphanage, had commented on how proud she was of the two older guys' looking after the other boys.
When Richie had entered senior high a year after Hal, he'd gotten into a gang that introduced Richie to drugs. Hal had watched him drift away toward the group. He had tried to talk to Richie, tried to figure out what allure the group held. Richie had shut him out. In short order, Richie had run off to stay with the gang. Later they had heard that he'd died from an overdose. "Damn," Hal swore softly when he remembered Miss Waller calling him into her office to break the bad news to him. He'd cried. He'd loved Richie, and he'd failed him. He felt as though he'd lost everything worthwhile.
About the first sane thought he had after the initial news was the question 'Why wasn't anyone in that gang looking out for Richie?' Then he realized, the members of the gang were all caught up in their own thing with drugs. Their confederation was merely protective coloration. They were probably all stoned. Several weeks more and a few quiet talks with Miss Waller were required before Hal realized that Richie had put himself in harm's way by leaving those who cared for him. It made Hal all the hungrier for a family. He wondered if he could ever again create a family of his own.
"Does it do any good to mull it over again and again?" Max asked softly, throwing his arm briefly over Hal's shoulders.
Hal smiled wanly. "Maybe I'll come up with an answer this time."
"Do you think there are answers to every question in the universe?" Max asked kindly.
Hal thought a bit, recognizing the gentle challenge and the direction in which Max intended to push him. "Yeah, most of the time I believe that. I'm just lousy at coming up with them." Max squeezed his neck and then removed his arm. Hal wasn't really ready to talk yet.
When Hal had reached 18, the age at which he graduated from high school and at which the state would no longer support or care for him, Miss Waller had suggested that he enlist in the army. Not having any other prospects, he did. It was a good move. It taught him what it was to be a man since he'd never really had a father. It put him in the company of real men, which he liked, not that he was able to act on it very often. It provided the occasion in which he'd lost his virginity with a woman. He had liked it, but sex with men was always more satisfying. Oddly, for him, sex with women was a power trip; with men, it was a search for romance and acceptance. He would have to be very close to a man to admit that - as he had to the stud leaning next to him. It had been his undoing. He frowned as broken images and acrid exchanges crashed through his mind. He wanted them out of his head!
Max fidgeted next to Hal. Hal gently threw his body away from the truck as he walked aimlessly in circles a short distance away, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his faded jeans. Then he took off, walking across the parking lot. Max knew Hal was thinking about the two of them and their "facing the music." Max had hurt him, the first man after Richie to whom Hal had substantively reached out and declared his love, and the first man to decline what Hal was offering. To this day Max didn't know why Hal hadn't given him the boot. Hal was frosty for months, but he kept Max on as an employee of Winston Construction Company. A part of Max DID love Hal, but not finally as a lover, not a real lover to whom one handed over his heart. He'd felt the need to be completely honest with Hal because he respected him too much, telling him that, as important as Hal was to him, he didn't love him romantically. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw that Hal's agitation was on the wane as he returned to the pickup.
Hal's stint in the army also made it possible to fund his post-secondary education. His veteran's college assistance along with money from a state fund to finance a college education for orphans made it possible for him to study during the academic year without working a lot. And it provided a little pocket money. The biggest challenge in those years was figuring out where to spend the holidays when the dorms closed. His only recourse was to find a cheap hotel near several restaurants, hoping that one stayed open on the holiday. It was never a good time. A couple of weeks were required to build himself back up emotionally and mentally. One holiday, he'd gone home with a roommate. The family was very nice to him, but he was horrified that it felt just as it had when he was in foster homes. He didn't repeat that again. In the summers he worked construction for spending money, but he also managed to save money. He wasn't a big spender. When he'd graduated with a double major in business and a self-generated major in civil engineering, he'd decided to return to construction. The prospect of moving into the corporate workplace left him cold.
Max couldn't stand the silence anymore. "You've come a long way, Buddy, built a life when no one handed you one, stood strong. Some guys would have come out of that selfish. Not you. You take care of all of us." Max leaned over and planted a chaste kiss on Hal's cheek. Hal glanced about to see of anyone was near. Then he brushed his lips over Max's, sliding the tip of his tongue between Max's dry lips. When Hal pulled back, he was grinning big time.
"You bastard!" Max complained in mock fashion. "You know you bone me up when you do that."
Hal laughed. "Yeah, I know, Big Guy. I knew you needed to sweeten up before the others got here." Max harrumphed in response, stifling a grin.
Returning to construction after graduation from college was a good move for Hal. He'd worked for Henderson Construction, owned by Walter Henderson, a man on in years. Walter's wish for a son had never been fulfilled. He'd had three daughters instead. So he'd taken a liking to Hal, especially after worming his life story out of him, coming to view him as the son he'd wished for, moving him up to foreman on a building project before his first year was over. Because of his size, the older workers didn't challenge Hal, and the men soon learned to follow him because he was smarter than all of them put together. All those years shepherding young boys in the orphanage were paying off, making him a natural leader. The men in construction were often nothing more than overgrown boys anyway. Most just fell into the construction trade because they really had little else to offer the world. After three years, Mr. Henderson had made Hal general manager. Then Walt died suddenly. Hal felt that he'd lost something special. It wasn't as bad as when Richie died, but it felt something like that. Walt had never behaved as though he were Hal's dad, but he certainly had treated Hal like a son. Hal thought he knew what it must be like when other guys lost their dads.
Walt's wife and three daughters were eager to sell the business for the proceeds. Hal nearly died inside, for he wanted the company so badly. As frugally as Hal had lived (a result of early realization that there was no one to take care of him but himself), he didn't have anything near the capital necessary to purchase the company and no real credit history or backers to secure a huge bank loan. He stayed on with the new owners, but he knew his time with them was limited. They were interested only in volume building, going for big housing tracts of boxy homes, taking no pride in their work. He was surprised after six months when the Henderson family's lawyer stopped by a construction site to inform him that Walter Henderson had left him $50,000, which the lawyer proffered on the spot in the form of a cashier's check. Hal had immediately quit the company and established his own construction company.
Hal had cleverly identified a stable niche in the market for construction workers - being hired to help complete troubled projects before penalty clauses kicked in. Since he had no allegiances or life to speak of, he could put in the long hours necessary to complete a project. And the overtime built his cash reserves nicely. Then in his second year, he'd built his first modest family dwelling, the point at which he'd hired his first employee, Max. A warm smile creased his face as he thought of Max - without his clothes on! Hal's journey from leaving the orphanage to starting Winston Construction Company had happened over ten years. In some ways it seemed only yesterday.
Rich Adams
Rich Adams, an accountant, was, in effect, Winston Construction Company's second employee. Within only a matter of months, Hal realized he needed an accountant. He needed to deal with tax issues associated with Walter Henderson's bequest, but he also realized that he couldn't keep books, work construction, serve as a contractor and owner, and be on the lookout for the next project all by himself. Max was a gift, but Hal knew he needed more help. So, like most Americans cast adrift in the Sea of Need, he consulted the Yellow Pages in the local phone book. As he thumbed down the names of accountants, his thumb hit Rich Adams's name. Not "Richard," he noted - "Rich." Sounded like an uncomplicated man. Immediately, the image of Richie Collins sprang to Hal's mind - Richie Collins, his failure for a lifetime. His thumb stopped, and his memory dragged him through the glories of holding that hot, short body, that energetic, needful spirit in his arms, loving desperately in the hopes that he would be loved back by Richie in equal measure. He wasn't. Richie Collins loved the gang and drugs more. Hal's head drooped as he grieved again. He really didn't know how long he sat there with his thumb jammed on that spot on that page in the phone book. It must have been a long time because all feeling had left his thumb.
Surely he couldn't be so stupid as to think that connecting with another guy just because his name was Rich would give him a chance to redeem himself for his failure with Richie Collins. Yeah, he was so needy about Richie that he was JUST that stupid. He didn't pause another second before dialing the number and setting up an appointment with Rich Adams.
When Hal arrived for his appointment and the receptionist showed him into Rich's office, as soon as his eyes fell on Rich Adams, he felt he had a chance to wash some degree of failure from his soul. Rich Adams was a dish! Lean all over. Dark honey-blond hair; jock-square, not butch-square face; broad, dark eyebrows; intelligent, animated brown eyes; nice average nose; average mouth; sort of a square-chin with jawbones curving back to the cutest ears. Long, sturdy neck, broad shoulders for a 5' 10" guy. Hal later found out that Rich was a baseball star who couldn't quite make it in the majors and knew how defeating too many seasons in the minors might be. So he'd gone to college, earned a BS in Accounting, passed his CPA exam, and hoped for better than any of that promised!
When Rich's eyes lighted on Hal, they flamed! Connection on both sides! They had talked business, but they were thinking seduction. Since it was late in the afternoon, Hal had insisted on continuing their discussion over dinner. He'd hauled Rich to The Purple Onion, a gay restaurant, wondering if he'd overstepped his bounds. When one of the waiters greeted Rich by name, Hal had laughed aloud, mostly in relief. Before they left the restaurant, Hal had an accountant, and Rich had a horny entrepreneur on his hands.
They went immediately to Hal's home, where he peeled Rich out of his clothes. He stood looking at the young stud's awesomely squared pecs, lightly haired, accented by nipples that were larger than normal, telling Hal that they were linked directly to sweet Rich's cock, balls, and maybe ass. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been worked so much. No six-pack but a slim, tapered lower torso with just the slightest hint of a treasure trail. Rich's cock rode at high mast, six inches snug up against his lower belly, surrounded by a small bush of black hair. The head of his cock, while not a big mushroom cap, had a deep cleft that ran from the piss slit to the bottom of the glans. That feature alone stoked a fire in Hal's groin. A modest sack of balls rested below with a line threading down the middle of the sac but with a smaller line threading across the sac. Rich's slim but muscled thighs, lightly haired, added to Hal's ardor. Whenever Hal was with Rich, no matter what the season, it seemed like summer. He thought Rich even smelled like summer.
Hal pulled Rich into a powerful hug, kissing him like he was starved for love. Instantly, Hal realized that he wasn't just reacting to Rich Adams, hunky though he might be. He was reacting, after Miss Waller's announcement about Richie Collins's death, to his need to show Richie Collins again how much he loved him.
Rich Adams was bowled over by Hal's ardor. It was only two months later that he tipped to the fact there was more in Hal's love of him than related to Rich himself. It freaked him out a little, made him feel phony. It was the beginning of the end for them.
The evening came when Rich Adams asked Hal to tell him to whom else he was making love when they were together. His question caused Hal to break down into tears, slowly sinking on the carpet of his bedroom, naked in more ways than one, wracked with deep sobs of grief. Every time Rich and he had made love, he'd felt it had drawn him nearer and nearer to Richie. When Rich challenged him, all the old grief poured forth. Even butch Hal was frightened by the power of his emotional collapse. Rich Adams understood immediately. He moved to Hal, shifting him into his arms, holding him, caressing him, gently kissing him as the story spilled out, ugly, painful, gut-wrenching. Rich Adams couldn't be angry at this wonderful man even though he knew they could never really be lovers. They would always be haunted by Richie Collins's specter. It was one thing to invite a guy into a three-way. It was quite another for him to take up a ghostly presence there. It had taken an hour of soft talk and caresses on Rich's part to gentle Hal into some kind of stasis. Rich had finally coaxed Hal into bed. The next day, Rich told Hal how he felt. A long time passed before they had sex again. At that point, they had made it clear that they were just having sex. Rich knew Hal loved him, which left him feeling guilty, so their bouts of sex were infrequent.
The memories brought tears to Hal's eyes. Max sensed a different dynamic in Hal's reverie, but he knew better than to probe.
(To be continued.)