This is a fictional story dealing with love and consensual sexual activities between males. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, leave this site now.

The author retains all rights to this story. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the permission of the author.

Note: I owe a special thanks to Robb for doing the final proofreading and catching all those silly little errors that I missed.

LOVE ON THE COURT

CHAPTER 6

JOE’S PERSPECTIVE:

The week before Thanksgiving, with the encouragement of Father Mac, I decided to tell Grandpa I was gay. We’d played a game out of town on Friday so it was Saturday afternoon by the time I had a chance to talk to him. My discussions with Father Mac at the Campus Catholic Ministries had helped me deal with my sexuality. Since I’d finally been able to accept myself as gay, I figured that I owed it to Grandpa to tell him what was going on.

I had a speech all worked out in my mind, but instead as we were standing in the kitchen I just blurted out, “Grandpa, I’m gay.”

He set down the dish in his hand and looked at me. I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes.

“Thank you for telling me. I’ve thought for some time now that my Joseph was either getting ready to be a priest or he was gay.”

Some how this wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. “You’re...you’re okay with me being gay?”

“Okay, yes. Maybe a little sad. Not because you tell me that you’re gay, but because it means you will have an even harder time in life, and my Joseph has already had a hard life.”

There were tears in his eyes as he hugged me. “Joseph, let me tell you about the bravest man I ever knew. His name was Stanislaw Schokovski, he was your grandmother’s brother. Your grandmother, Stanislaw, and I were trying to get out of Poland at the end of the War. A Nazi patrol had found our tracks, and they were closing in on us. We only had a few kilometers to go to get across the border, but we knew we would never make it. Stanislaw told your grandmother and me to go ahead. He stayed behind to delay the Nazis even though he knew it meant his death. We named your father in his memory.”

“Grandpa, what does that have to do with my being gay?”

“Why, Stanislaw was gay. Ever since that day, I don’t care what people say, especially that shriveled up old Fr. Maggiotti. Who you love is between you and God. Stanislaw was the bravest man I ever knew.”

I hugged him. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

He pulled away and turned back to the dishes. “Now when are you going to tell Witt?”

“I...I’m not.”

“Why not. You love him don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I do, Grandpa, but he’s straight. What if he never wants to see me again?”

“He is a good friend. I like him a lot. Do you really think he would turn away from you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not ready to take that chance.”

“Think about it, Joseph.”

“I have, Grandpa. Believe me, I have.”

**********

After Thanksgiving, it was a mad scramble to finish final exams and get in all the basketball games on our schedule. The last game was actually set for the week before Christmas, well after most of the students had left campus. Most of the guys on the team were going to be heading to their respective homes the day after the game.

I went out in the morning to do some Christmas shopping. Witt and his family were going to the Bahamas over Christmas. I’d already gotten him a good pair of lined leather gloves for the winter, but I wanted to get him a gag gift for his trip. I strolled through the mall looking for inspiration.

I passed by a sporting goods store that had a display of brightly colored Speedos and a sign that read, “Brighten Up your Winter Vacation.” I came out of the store with a skimpy pair of bright yellow and electric blue Speedos. That should really embarrass him. I’d never seen him in anything but baggy swim trunks at the pool.

I was in a good mood when I walked in the door, but that mood darkened in a flash. Something was wrong! The teakettle was whistling loudly on the stove. Grandpa never let the kettle whistle like that.

I walked into the kitchen. Grandpa was in a chair slumped over the kitchen table. I knew he was gone. As if on autopilot, I shut off the flame under the teakettle and sat down across the table from him. He had been rereading the paper. He had the habit of going over the morning paper again at midday and using a thick felt tip pen to circle the store bargain coupons. The pen was uncapped beside his hand. Something was drawn or written on the page. I went over and stood beside him to see what was on the page. He must have felt Death coming. He’d written, “I love you, Joseph. Play good tonight.”

I sat down and cried.

########################################

WITT’S PERSPECTIVE:

Joe was late getting into the locker room before the game. That wasn’t like him. When he did come in, I knew something was wrong just from the look on his face. I asked him what it was, but he shut me down. He hadn’t closed me out like that for a long time. It hurt.

Once we got into the game he came out of it and played like a man on a mission. He was making the plays and sparking the team, but there was still something amiss. Even after a big play, he never smiled. We won the game by twenty points.

We were all celebrating in the showers. Laughing, slapping shoulders and bare butts. Suddenly it came to me that Joe wasn’t there.

About that time Coach Melton stuck his head in the shower room. He’d never done that before.

“Finish the showers quickly guys. Team meeting in ten minutes. Move it.”

Something was definitely wrong.

Some of the guys still had wet hair when we assembled in the team room. Coach Melton and all of the assistant coaches were already there. They looked serious. There was another man there also. He looked familiar, and I was trying to place him. Suddenly, it came to me. He was the priest from the Catholic Campus Ministries. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Coach Melton cleared his throat. He was fighting back tears. “Men, you all played a good game tonight. You played as a team. You won as a team, but you need to know that one of your teammates was playing with a heavy burden.

“This is Father MacDonald from the Catholic Campus Ministries. He just told me that Joe Ronkowski’s grandfather died this morning of an apparent heart attack. Joe never said any thing to me or any of the other coaches or to any of you as far as I know. He just came here tonight and played his heart out for his team.” Coach turned to the priest. “Father, do you have anything to add?”

“I talked with Joe’s parish priest tonight. Mr. Ronkowski’s body will be at Pulaski and Sons Funeral Home tomorrow night for visitation. The Funeral Mass will be at ten o’clock the next day at St. Elizabeth’s. Joe’s a pretty private person. Most of you probably don’t even know that his parents are dead. Mr. Ronkowski was Joe’s only family. Please keep Joe in your prayers, and give him support as he goes through this difficult time.”

Coach stepped in again, “I know many of you have travel plans that can’t be changed, but if you’re going to be here in town, please be at the funeral home tomorrow night and the church the next day for Joe.”

All the guys spoke in hushed tones as the meeting broke up. Our victory on the court seemed pretty insignificant at that point.

I walked up to the priest. “Father, I’m Witt Sadler.”

He took my hand. “Ah, yes, Joe’s mentioned your name during our talks. I’m really pleased to meet you.”

“I’m going over to Joe’s house to stay with him. Could you follow me over there. I think Joe would really like to see you.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to. I was planning on trying to get over there, but I wasn’t sure where his house was.”

“We’re coming also.”

I turned around to find Antwon and Jean-Marc standing behind me.

**********

Anton and Jean-Marc rode with me in the Jeep. Father MacDonald followed in his little Honda Civic. I called my parents on the cell phone along the way to tell them what had happened and that I wouldn’t be home that night as planned.

I pulled into Joe’s driveway. The back door was unlocked. Joe was sitting in the kitchen starring at a newspaper on the kitchen table. He looked up as we came into the room.

He pointed to some thing written in red felt tip pen on the newspaper. “Look, Witt. He knew what was happening.”

I saw the words: “I love you, Joseph. Play good tonight.” I put my arm around his shoulder and pulled his face against my stomach. He put his arms around my waist and began to cry. I rocked him back and forth like a little baby and stroked his hair as his tears soaked through my shirt.

Father Mac (that’s what he told us to call him) ordered pizza. We got Joe fed and then Father Mac took him out into the living room to talk while Antwon, Jean-Marc, and I cleaned up the kitchen.

“Thanks, guys for coming over here tonight. I know Joe appreciates it.”

Antwon drew himself up to his full height which was impressive and looked down on me. “Jean-Marc and I will do anything we can for Joe. We owe him a lot.”

“I know you two guys have really clicked with Joe this year.”

Jean-Marc stood next to Antwon and looked at him briefly before speaking. “Witt, someday we may tell you what Joe did for us. I know you and he are best friends, but I want to tell you that Antwon and I idolize him. He’s a true friend, a hero, and one of the most honorable human beings on this planet. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help when he’s hurting.”

I had the feeling that Antwon and Jean-Marc had given me some kind of message, but my brain just wasn’t processing it. A thought came into my mind, but I dismissed it almost immediately as being unlikely. On the other hand, they were standing awfully close to one another...

**********

Antwon and Jean-Marc rode back to campus with Father Mac. It was sort of comical watching the priest and the two tall basketball players folding into the little Honda.

I spent the night on the living room couch.

The next day Joe and I cleaned up the house. He talked a lot that day about his family. I figured he was trying to work through his grief so I listened as he told me the story behind all of the photographs in the living room. I’d heard some of the stories from Mr. Ronkowski, but I listened to Joe as if hearing for the first time.

At my mother’s insistence, I took Joe to our house for an early dinner before going to the funeral home. My parents were cool. They didn’t make a big fuss over Joe. They just let him know that they cared about him.

After dinner, we all went to the funeral home. Some of the older folks from their church showed up as did most of the neighbors and a few of Mr. Ronkowski’s old buddies from when he drove a city bus. About halfway through the evening the entire team and coaching staff walked in the door. I mean the ENTIRE team. Every single guy. They’d all rearranged their travel plans to be there. I almost lost it when they came in. Joe did. Tears ran down his face as every coach and every player filed past and gave him a hug.

**********

There were fewer people at the funeral mass the next morning. Most of our teammates had left town, having rearranged their holiday travel plans to be at the funeral home the previous night. Joe insisted that my parents, sister, and I sit up in the front with him during the Mass. Antwon and Jean-Marc were there also sitting a row behind us.

Fr. Maggiotti, the parish priest at St. Elizabeth’s, said the Mass. Father Mac assisted him. I’d never been to a Catholic service before. We went to a Methodist church, but not regularly. I was a little confused at when to stand, when to kneel, and when to just sit there. Being French Canadian, Jean-Marc was a Catholic so he knew exactly what to do during the Mass, but poor Antwon looked even more lost during the service than I was.

**********

Joe stayed at our house for the next two nights. He slept with me. My bed was king sized so there wasn’t much danger of inadvertent contact during the night plus we both kept our boxers on, but I still didn’t get a lot of sleep. Just the thought that the man of my dreams was in the same bed with me had me wired. I was painfully hard both nights. I was also so damn scared that we would make some accidental contact and he would feel my raging hard on that I stayed as still as possible in the bed.

(To be continued)