The Wake

The Wake Part One The Blackest Friday Morning

It all came down on January 6th, two days after my 27th birthday. That day turned out to be the worst day of my life, and because I am relatively young, I hope I can say the same thing sixty years from now. I never want to have another day like it again. Let me tell you about it from the beginning.

First of all, it was a Friday. I woke up feeling pretty good. I was looking forward to a great weekend. I was planning on keeping warm by spending a good part of it in bed with my boyfriend Colin. Colin and I only saw each other on weekends. We didn't see each other during the week because we didn't want to bring stress to our respective work places by getting in late, or day dreaming about the evening to come. We both felt that our jobs were not secure enough. I, for instance, had flunked the bar exam once and was awaiting the results of my second try. My firm only allowed three attempts, and then you were out of there if you failed to pass after the third try.

I stepped out of bed and expected to find Peaches running up to me with expectations that I would take her for her walk before I attended to myself. Peaches was a present to me from my folks on my ninth birthday. She was a cuddly puppy then, but quickly grew into the massive Labrador Retriever that she was. She had now reached the ripe old age of 18. In human years she was well over 100, and I knew I wouldn't have her for much longer. I attributed her longevity to my love for her and to the good care I gave her. When she didn't come to my side, I called for her, but there was no response. I even failed to hear her heavy breathing. With trepidation I went into my living room and found my precious companion dead on the floor.

I cried and tried to revive her, but my efforts were futile. I was holding her in my arms, rocking her gently back and forth, when my phone rang. It was so early in the morning that I feared more bad news. I was right.

I picked up the phone wanting to share my grief with whoever was on the other end, but I didn't get past hello when I heard Colin's voice. "Hey Franklin," he said quickly, "we're off for this weekend. I'm going skiing with Ron. Seeya." He hung up before I could say a word. I got the distinct feeling that Colin had just dumped me.

I dressed quickly and wrapped Peaches in a big plastic garbage bag. I put her body in my car and drove to my vet. I arranged for her cremation and forked up $250 which I could barely afford.

Then I called my office, and told them that my dog had died, and I needed to take a personal day. We all had three personal days a year, and by January 6th I hadn't taken any yet, so that was no trouble. When I got home from the vet, the mailman had just finished sorting the mail in my apartment building's mail boxes. I ran to my box and opened it. There was a telephone bill, an electric bill, and notification from the state that I had flunked the bar exam again.

I picked up the morning paper which was lying at my front door. I went into my apartment, threw myself on my bed, and cried like a baby. Finally, I thought about my parents. They had always been my number one support group. They lived 500 miles away, but they would want to know about Peaches. After all she had spent her early years in their home and they loved her also. I crept out of bed and punched in my parents' phone number.

My mother answered and she sounded like she had been crying herself. She could barely talk. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Your father and I have not been getting along. He left me last night and I haven't heard from him since. I don't know where he is. This has been coming on for a long time and I don't know if I am glad or sad. I can't talk now, darling," she said. "I'll call when I hear from him."

I never did tell her about Peaches. The day was getting progressively worse and I had deluded myself into believing that I had reached rock bottom. I vowed not to allow myself that deceit again. Good thing I did. My phone rang again and this time I trembled as I answered it. It was my father.

"I don't want you to hear this from your mother," he said before I could even say hello. "We've split up. I couldn't take another day with her. Over the past few years she's become a perfect bitch. All she does is criticize me and find fault with everything I do. As soon as I get my head together, I'll call you." He hung up before I could say one word.

I was really depressed now, but my tears were for the loss of Peaches more than for any of the other tragedies that had beset me that day. I needed to mourn for her, and find some closure, but I didn't know what I could do all by myself. I couldn't even rely on my parents for comfort as I had always done. They had been a constant source of support, even when I came out to them.

Finally I thought of what I might do to alleviate my pain and depression. It was a crazy thought then, and it became crazier and crazier as I made plans to act on it. I decided to go to a wake and pretend the wake was for Peaches. Could I get any crazier? Can you see how badly my mind was functioning, or rather, not functioning?

I grabbed the morning paper, and checked the obituaries. The closest funeral service scheduled for that day was at 10 AM, in a funeral parlor about a half mile from my apartment. It was for a Jonathan Hayes, 87, who died peacefully in his sleep. I imagined that Peaches had died peacefully in her sleep also, so that was a good omen. I forced myself to shower and shave and dress appropriately. I even drank a little juice before I left home. On my walk to Jonathan's funeral, I stopped at a coffee shop where I fortified myself with a bagel and a cup of much needed steaming hot coffee.

Part Two A Ray of Light

I entered the establishment of Briggs and Sons and signed the guest book. I intended to avoid greeting any members of the family and realized that I didn't see any. Then I remembered that Jonathan's obit did not mention any family survivors. I walked directly into the chapel. I took a seat in the back row, whipped out a handkerchief and started crying profusely for my beloved Peaches. There were a handful of men of various ages seated up front. I didn't see any women, which surprised me. It also surprised me that I was the only one crying.

The service began, but I heard very little of it. I did gather that there would be no graveside service because Mr. Hayes was being cremated. The minister relinquished his microphone to two or three of the mourners who said a few words about their deceased friend. The last gentlemen to speak really got my attention.

The minister introduced him as Smitty, so I gather his name was Smith. He was a tall, handsome man, probably six feet, three or four inches, which is about four inches taller than I am. I'd say he was about thirty five years old. He was slightly overweight, which I find appealing. I hate skin and bones. His hair was very black, ebony you might say, and very straight, parted on his left side. His eyes were blue and soft, and very friendly looking. His nose had a very slight hook at the bridge and his chin was manly and square. I could definitely go for this guy. Smitty's eulogy was short and sweet. You could tell how difficult it was for him to speak, and I finally began to pay attention the moment he outed himself.

"Fifteen years ago," he started, "I arrived in this town fresh from the farm, literally. As a gay youth I was abused and despised by my family. The first thing I did was to try to get a job. I checked the papers and found myself applying for a job in Jonny's machine shop. I was really good with my hands and with machines, from working on the farm. The first thing Jonny did was hit on me. I was flattered, but I said no. He gave me the job anyway, and he was more than my boss. He became my mentor and my support system. He taught me city ways, and cried with me through my many romances and many breakups (the listeners smiled) so now that Jonny is gone, I am feeling alone again, and very vulnerable, I shall miss him dearly." Smitty emitted a little sob and sat down.

When the service ended, I was still crying for Peaches in the back row. I wasn't even aware that the service was over. Suddenly I felt an arm on my shoulder. I looked up and had trouble focusing through my tears. It was Smitty. He smiled down at me and said, "Hi. My name is David Smith. I'm afraid I don't know you, but a few of us are going back to Jonny's place. I've arranged for a luncheon and we are going to celebrate his life. Since his partner died five year's ago, I'm afraid that we are the only family left to mourn for him. Would you please join us?"

I told you I was crazy that day. I could have sworn that Smitty had invited himself and some of his friends to join me in mourning Peaches and celebrating her life.

"I'd really like to," I said, "but I don't have transportation."

"Not a problem," Smitty said. "You can ride with me and I'll get you home after lunch." I accepted immediately and followed Smitty out of the funeral parlor. It didn't even occur to me to concoct some crazy story about how I knew Jonny and why I was crying so loud.

Jonathan Hayes had lived in an upscale neighborhood, in a spacious two bedroom condominium apartment. A terrace, situated off the living room, afforded a glorious view of the city. My entire little three bedroom apartment would have fit neatly in the dining room. When we arrived, the dining room table was laden with luncheon meats, salads and rolls. On the server there was a bucket of ice, and assorted bottles of booze and soda. The caterer Smitty had hired was standing by to serve us. `Us' turned out to be Smitty and me, and two other elderly gentlemen. I assumed the older men were Jonny's friends since they were his contemporaries.

Smitty introduced me to Gary and Dick, who turned out to be partners. We filled our plates and headed for the living room. I sat on the sofa with Smitty, and Gary and Dick sat on the two chairs facing the sofa. That way we could all use the coffee table which was between us. I thought that Smitty was sitting closer to me than was necessary, and I didn't mind at all. However, I did mind, and I had a moment of panic, when Dick asked me, "How did you know Jonny, Frank? I can't recall that he ever mentioned you." Now check out my answer for sheer brilliance.

"My widowed grandmother used to live in this building. She died a couple of years ago and she and Jonny were somewhat friendly. When I came out, she introduced me to him. She told me that I was too full of angst, and she was sure that Jonny could advise me. Well, he sure did. He gave me a sense of self esteem that I had never had in my life before. It hurts me a lot that after my grandmother passed, I lost touch with him. It's a good thing I have a nasty habit of reading obits or I wouldn't have known he had died." I finished and lowered my head. The guys apparently bought my story. I should be a screen writer.

After that, the three others reminisced a little about Jonny and after an hour or so Dick and Gary got up to leave. They told me how nice it was to meet me, and left Smitty and me alone. We resumed our places on the sofa as the caterer cleaned up. He packaged all the food that was left over and at Smitty's instructions he placed everything in two shopping bags.

"Take a bag home," Smitty insisted. "I live alone and will probably have to dump most of this anyway."

"I'm alone too," I said, "and I'll probably have to get rid of some of this also."

When the caterer left, Smitty asked me out of the blue, "What do you do for a living?" and that's how we passed the next two hours, telling each other all about ourselves.

Jonny gave the machine shop to Smitty when he retired and Smitty still ran it. It was doing very well, and Smitty had an apartment on the floor above this one. I could only wonder if he knew I was a fraud, since I had created a resident who never lived here and never even existed. He was just like me, in and out of romances, unable to connect. He was eight years older than I, so of course his heart had been broken more often than mine. I really liked Smitty, and I was sort of over the crazy state I had been in before the funeral. I decided to tell him the truth and then take a cab home, certain that he would toss me out.

"Smitty," I began, "I have a confession to make. I never knew Jonny."

"I know," he replied softly. "Jonny and I shared everything, and I know he would have shared his acquaintance with you. He was also a hopeless romantic and he would have wanted to hook us up."

"When did you know?" I asked.

"When I first saw you at the funeral, and you sat down in the back, I was suspicious. I could tell you were hurting, and needed a friend. That's why I asked you to come home with me. When you told me about your grandmother I was certain you didn't know Jonathan. I've lived in this building for eight years and I never knew such a grandmother as you describe. Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

I broke out in one big loud sigh and told him about my morning and my mourning, how great the day started out and how it deteriorated bit by bit. I tried to explain how I needed to go to a wake to complete my mourning of Peaches. That was the hardest part to explain because it was so crazy. I ended up with my head buried in my hands crying like a baby. I didn't realize that Smitty had taken me in his arms, and was gently rocking me. I put my arms down and rested my head on his chest. He began to rub a hand up and down my back. When I realized that he was comforting me and how good it felt, I was filled with guilt. Smitty was hurting too, and I wasn't doing a damn thing for him.

I pulled my head off his chest and looked up into his sad eyes. We stared at each other for a moment and then Smitty leaned down and kissed me gently. It felt so good. I responded by parting my lips a little and his kiss became more passionate.

Part Three Full Sunshine

In just a few moments we were naked and locked together on the sofa. We began to make love, not because we were in love, but because we both needed the comfort which making love would give us.

We were both crying and kissing the tears off our faces as we fondled our cocks. I couldn't even describe Smitty's cock. All I could tell was that it was a fistful, at least seven hard inches. It was uncut and his foreskin seemed always to be in the way. We stroked each other and we both came in each other's palms. Afterwards, we held ourselves as close together as possible. We rubbed our bodies together and cried like two little infants. I don't know how long we clung to each other, but neither of us wanted to let go.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Smitty said, "Frank, I think I have fallen in love with you."

My heart began to beat faster. I was beginning to feel the same way. Never before had I held a man so long, just held him, without wanting to let go. Something was happening here, but I answered him by saying, "I'm sure that what you feel is simply pity."

"No," he answered. "If it isn't love, I know for sure it isn't pity either."

I was so confused. I stood up and my flaccid five inch cut cock was now dangling in front of his nose. He grabbed my ass and pulled me to him. Before I knew it he engulfed my cock in his mouth, and it began to engorge. His hot, wet mouth, his tongue and his lips were doing their jobs. In just moments, I had another awesome climax and I collapsed back on the couch. Smitty resumed kissing me and I tasted my own cum.

"Not pity," he said again. "I swear it is love."

As bad as this day had been, every day after that got better and better. Smitty and I began to see each other more and more. I slept over in his condo apartment several times a week, until finally I moved in with him, and gave up my rental.

He had inherited Jonny's apartment, and before he could put it on the market, my father leased it with an option to buy. When Dad left my mother he decided to retire and move as far away as he could and make a new start. So now my father lived in my building, which had its good points and bad. I felt weird when I saw him with a woman. Dad was still virile and good looking and women often stayed over in his apartment. Like me, he seemed to be getting younger and happier every day. That made me sad for my mother and glad for him.

Before meeting Smitty I had been a party animal, but Smitty was older and more level headed than I. He would take none of my nonsense and he made sure that I studied a little bit every night for the bar exam. I was antsy to party at first, but I soon fell into a disciplined study routine. My performance at work began to improve and I found myself being handed more and more responsibility. I almost looked forward to the next bar exam. I aced it! I could not believe how my life had gone from utter despair to a glorious present and an even more promising future in less than nine months.

The night I passed the bar exam Smitty took me and Dad out to dinner to celebrate. He wanted to go to his favorite gay bar and restaurant and my father said that it was all right with him. Before dinner we had a drink at the bar. Smitty introduced Dad to some of our friends, and more than one, thinking he was gay, came on to him. I couldn't believe it, but Dad showed an interest and flirted back. I wondered if he didn't swing both ways, or if he would switch teams, if the right guy came along. If so, we lived so close, I would surely find out. Thinking about my own happiness with Smitty, it would be OK with me if he did switch, or at least try it out for the fun of it.

Part Four I Get Company in the Sunshine

Shortly before my 28th birthday, my father paid me a visit at work. "I know it wouldn't be ethical," he began, "for you to represent me in my divorce from your mother, but maybe one of your associates could."

I knew that my father had provided my mother with much more than any law required, and so I turned him over to one of the firm's partners with instruction not to take a hard line with my mother. In fact, my dad was willing to give her a little more if it was not unreasonable. His visit gave me the opportunity to take him to lunch and spend a little quality time with him. He had taken my place as the chief party goer in our city, and he had precious little time to give to his now serious minded and very reformed son. He requested we go to a quiet restaurant because he wanted to talk to me about a very confidential matter. I had never seen him quite so serious and it frightened me. I was afraid that he might be very ill.

"Frank, I have to tell you that I have never been happier in my life," he began.

"I can tell," I answered, but I'm afraid I said it kind of facetiously. "Every day, I see a new broad going in or out of your apartment. For God's sake Dad, some of them are younger than Smitty. In fact some are even younger than I am."

Dad raised his eyebrows and looked at me quizzically, which prompted me to add, "Come to think of it, I haven't seen a lot of that lately."

Dad smiled and the light went off in my head. "Of course," I said, "You are seeing someone seriously. Good for you Dad. When do Smitty and I get to meet her?"

"You don't get to meet her," Dad said. I must have looked like he just slapped me in the face, but he started to laugh. "Hear me out," he pleaded. "You know son that I have always been your biggest fan. I have always supported you and had your back. I didn't give a shit when you told your mother and me that you were gay. All I cared about was that you were happy, and I supported your living a lifestyle which would assure your continued happiness. I love you unconditionally." He then laid one of his hands on top of one of mine. "Can I ask you to return the favor and love me unconditionally also?"

"My God, Dad," I said. "That goes without question. Why would you even ask?"

"Because the person I am seeing seriously, as you put it, is not a she. He's a he." He paused to let it sink in, but it didn't sink in right away. Then I remembered the night at the gay bar when he flirted back at the guys who were coming on to him.

"It happened the night we celebrated my passing the bar, didn't it?" I asked. "Smitty and I should never have taken you to that place. I should have known that your good looks would get a lot of reaction."

"No! No!" he said emphatically. "Don't blame yourself. It happened a long time ago. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Yes, please," I said in a whisper.

"You were about ten years old the first time," Dad said, and he looked at me knowingly when he said, `the first time.' "A fellow salesman passed away suddenly. His funeral was in a city about 200 miles away. I had to go, but your mother didn't know him and she chose to stay home. Besides you were too young to leave alone. I drove there with another salesman from my office. He's married and you know him, so I won't mention names." I nodded knowingly.

"Anyway, we shared a hotel room the night of the funeral. As soon as we settled in we went to the bar and tied one on. I honestly don't remember everything that happened that night, but my friend seduced me. The thing of it is when I think back on it all, I am always amazed that I was so easily seduced. I guess I have a couple of gay genes in me. I don't have to tell you what a revelation it was for me. I tasted cock and semen for the first time (I winced) and it was wonderful. Every time my friend entered me in the mouth or the ass (I winced some more) and when I entered him, I never felt so connected to another human being." He paused here and studied my face. He was trying to gauge my reaction. I tried to show no emotion so he continued. "My friend and I continued to have sex until I left your mother last year and moved away. He wanted to visit me for a weekend, but I wouldn't let him."

"Why not?" I asked stupidly.

"Because I'm available and he isn't. Besides that, I'm seriously involved." Again he paused, waiting for me to say something.

"Can you tell me who he is and something about him? Is he at least old enough to be my step daddy?" I asked with a sneer. Immediately I was sorry I asked that. My father looked so sad, and I had promised to support him no matter what. If he wasn't sitting across the table from me, I would have put my arms around him and embraced him.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean that. If Mr. Wonderful makes you happy, I'll accept him. The only reason I'm worried about an age issue is that I don't want some youngster to bilk you out of your hard earned retirement money. Smitty and I do well on our own, so I say this out of concern for you and not out of greed."

"Do you remember how many guys hit on me that night we first went to the bar? Honestly Frank, did you think I could be interested in any of those twinkies? If I settle down with someone I want him to be my companion. I want him to like and want to do all the things that I like and want to do, even if it's staying home and watching the tube. I started to go to gay bars without you and without your knowledge. I finally found one place where the clientele tend to be, shall we say, more mature men. That's where I met Richard. He likes to be called Rick. Frank, son, he's two years older than I."

I was over my initial shock and I finally stood up and threw my arms around my father. "Does he make you as happy as Smitty makes me?" I asked. My dad nodded vigorously. "Great, so when do we meet him?"

"I'll bring him around tonight," Dad said, "and I am going to exercise my option to buy Smitty's apartment. You see, Rick just left his wife nine months ago and has been living in a rented room. We'd like to make my rental into a real home where we can grow old together.""Stop," I yelled. "You'll make me cry." I hugged my father harder and said, "I love you, Dad. I love you unconditionally. Of course, I support you, and I am very happy for you."

That night, after Rick and my Dad retired to `their' own apartment, Smitty and I lay in bed wrapped up in each other's arms. We began to play the "what if" game.

"What if Jonny and Peaches hadn't died at the same time?" I started.

"What if you hadn't exercised a crazy urge to mourn for Peaches at a human funeral?

"We would never have met," we said simultaneously.

"That's way too scary," I mumbled.

"What if we hadn't taken your father to a gay bar?" Smitty asked.

"His gay genes might not have kicked into gear and he might not have met Rick," I concluded.

"That's scary too," Smitty said. "Did you see how happy they are together?"

"I guess we can conclude," I said sagely, "that Peaches and Jonny played Cupid for us and we played Cupid for my dad and Richard."

"Or as Shakespeare so wisely concluded," Smitty said, "All's Well That Ends Well." That having been said, he rolled over on top of me and added, "but I mush prefer beginnings. Let's get started. He grabbed my cock and started stroking, and that was the beginning that night, of something big and wonderful.