SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL

by J.W. Smith

I don't often do this sort of thing, but I wish to dedicate this story to three special people. One, a fine writer, Terry Audette. His writing has always been an inspiration that helps spur me on to write some more. And two fellows who read my work and always have some good words to push me to do more and better, Ben (benbear) and Jim (rockhunter). I'd like also to thank these two for editing and proofreading this story. If there's any mistakes it's probably because I can't keep my fingers out of the pudding. Thank guys. JWS

You Don't Know Me

You give your hand to me and then you say "Hello."

I can hardly speak my heart is beating so.

And any one can tell you think you know me well

But you don't know me.

You don't know the one who dreams of you at night,

Who longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight.

To you I'm just a friend. That's all I've ever been.

Well, you don't know me.

I've never known the art of making love

Though my heart aches with love for you.

Afraid and shy I let my chance go by,

The chance you might love me, too.

You give your hand to me and then you say good bye.

I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy.

And you will never know the one who loves you so.

No, you don't know me.

(Eddy Arnold and Cindy Walker)



I had just stepped out of the bank that Wednesday evening and was walking toward my car when I heard my name called out. I turned thinking it was one of my clients having a crisis, but seeing the man rushing toward me made my heart beat faster. I wanted to turn and run from him, and at the same time I wanted to run into his arms. He'd once been my best friend and I'd been in love with this god it seemed like my whole life. He was my nemesis.

We'd lived across the street from each other. Growing up we'd been inseparable friends and then when we hit puberty and started to high school he became my enemy. It was the only way I could deal with him. I was in love with him, and I damn well couldn't let him see how I felt. When I was near him the temptation to touch him, to tell him how I felt about him was too strong. My pitiable life would be ruined if he discovered how I felt about him. I had to push him away.

To make matters worse for me, it seemed that Clay, the athletic son my dad always wanted, could do no wrong in my dad's eyes, and I, the bookworm nerd, that he seemed to despise, could do nothing right. I couldn't blame my dad for wanting Clay for a son. Hey, the fellow was perfect son material. Me? I was this scrawny little wimp that was afraid of his own shadow. Why would anyone want me for a son?

It wasn't until I went away to college and got away from home that I began to come out of my cocoon and spread my wings. Against my mother's wishes I sought my degree in Economics. She'd wanted me to be a lawyer like my grandfather. My dad, what did he want me to do? He could play at being a real dad with my ex best friend and could worry whether he won the football scholarship, and he couldn't have given a shit what I did.

Four years ago when I was promoted to my present position, my dad told me, for the first time in my life, how proud he was of my accomplishments. I should have accepted it, just said thanks and let it go, but the memory burned strongly still of Thanksgiving the year I graduated from college and started with the Bank. Clay was at the apex of his career as a football star with the Dallas Cowboys. He'd been drafted his sophomore year. They were playing against who cares who and Dad was glued to the tube, yelling and carrying on about how wonderful Clay was. He, according to my dad of course, won the game single-handedly. My new position as a teller in the city's most prestigious bank meant nothing to him.

What I found rather curious was the interest the president of the bank took in me. He was delighted when I accepted the position as a teller. I had never had anyone show any interest in me, except for Clay. At first I wondered if the man might be some kind of pervert attempting to get into my pants, but he never showed any interest in me that way, it was always about how I was doing with my work, and was I happy working for him. Within a year I quickly advanced from a simple teller to teller manager.

And then Thanksgiving four years later we three misfits, my dad the slug, my mother the perennial socialite and me once a wuss, sat down to another sumptuous dinner which my mother hadn't lifted a finger to help prepare. Our cook did the whole meal just as she'd done every meal all my life. As dinner progressed I told my parents of my promotion to vice president in charge of loans. I pointed out that I was the youngest VP the bank had ever had and that my advancement had been stupendous. My mother smiled with her lips, and said, "That's wonderful, dear, but you know that if you'd studied law you could now be a full partner in my father's old firm." I wondered if her face would crack if the smile extended to her eyes.

My grandfather had been the head of the law firm Robles, Franklin and Benning. He had still been alive when I started college. He was worse than my dad. One visit he would be acting like he cared about me the next he'd be cold and aloof. I never celt I could relie on him. He was the one that had once asked me when I was only ten years old if I'd ever amount to a hill of beans. Now, that was one stupid question, but I was intimidated by the gruff old man and replied that I doubted it. God! Did that ever set him off on a tirade? "God dammit, Karl, even a bum sleeping on the street is worth more than that. Why in Hell don't you grow a spine? Stand up and be a man." It was that day when I was still ten years that I decided that I would definitely not follow in his footsteps.

My mother's comment angered me but I held it in. But when my dad said he was proud of my accomplishments, I lost a bit of my reserve and said, "Thanks, Dad, but you and I both know that no matter what I accomplish, I'll still never be Clay."

I guess that put the world into perspective for him. He looked like I had punched him in the gut. He attempted to apologize for all the years of pain I went through growing up being constantly compared to Clay. His acknowledgment of how I had felt through all those years only made his apology more grotesque, a travesty. One thing he did point out during his stumbling apology was that Clay, that damned faggot, had quickly become a "has been" after that one great game four years before. That didn't assuaged my feelings any; I knew in my heart that Clay would always be what my dad had wanted in a son. So in Clay's fall from stardom, my dad had turned against him calling him "That damned faggot." If he could call a big masculine guy like Clay a faggot, I wondered what his reaction would be if he found out I was gay. I was determined that neither he nor anyone else would ever know. That was the last Thanksgiving I spent with them.

So it was on last Wednesday evening that Clay came running toward me. "Karl, damn man, it really is you," he said as he approached. "I haven't seen you in how many years?"

'Too many?' and ' Not enough,' both passed through my mind as I stared at him. Damn, he was more beautiful than ever. He looked like he was still in great shape as he extended his hand to me. I couldn't help but admire his bulging bicep; his shirt sleeve looked like it might split if he flexed. Maturity sat well on him.

"It's so good to see you again,” he said, as I watched another hunk walk up beside him. As his hunky friend looked me over, making me feel like an insect pinned to a board, I wondered why Clay was being so enthusiastic.

I smiled at him, knowing that I looked the part of a bank vice president in my svelte Armani suit that hung perfectly on my perfectly honed body. Since my high school days I'd put on a little height (I was now 5' 11" compared to 5'8") and weight (145 lbs. Compared to 107lbs.), all of it muscle. I would never look like a jock, but I knew I looked damn good.

"Does this bank stay open this late?" the hunky friend asked, glancing at the stately building from which I'd emerged. Clay looked aggravated at his intrusion.

"No, we closed a couple of hours ago. I was just finishing up my day."

"Oh, are you a teller here?"

I wondered whether he was being snide or was he really that dumb. "I started out as one." I replied as nicely as I could. "I'm now the vice president in charge of business loans." Clay's face lit up with delight and his friend frowned as though he were displeased with my answer. I realized I still hadn't greeted Clay. "So how are you doing, Clay? Last I heard you were a major league football star." As soon as I said it I knew I had mixed up my games. We all know that Major League is Baseball.

I noticed that Ralph rolled his eyes, but Clay laughed with a bit of a chagrin and ignored my mix-up. "I was. But I busted my knee and had to retire."

"So at thirty-four you're a multimillionaire and retired, huh?"

He looked embarrassed and he kicked at the concrete like a little kid. "No, my ex-wife got most of it. What I didn't blow. No, I'm back in college getting my degree in biology."

I hadn't even known he'd been married. "Biology?" I stupidly asked as I fought down a surge of jealousy I hadn't felt since I graduated from high school.

"Actually, marine biology. I've got another year to go to get my Master's." He beamed proudly.

"I always suspected that you weren't just a dumb jock." I said with a grin as his friend glowered at me. "Aren't you going to introduce your friend?" I smiled at the man.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Karl this is my ol' football buddy, Ralph Mobley. Ralph this is Karl Johnson. We went to high school together."

I laughed. "I think it would be more exact to say we went to the same high school. I was a nerd and Clay was a big football jock."

Ralph glowered at me some more. I wondered if I should be intimidated, he was rather a hulk. Neither of us offered to shake the other's hand. "So you are the Karl that Clay never stops talking about," he growled.

"Shut up, Ralph."

"No, Clay, it's interesting to see that the real Karl stands up to the image that you've built in my mind. I now know what I have to compete with."

I glanced at Clay. He was beet red, and staring at the ground. I wondered what Ralph meant by his last comment. Clay glanced up at me. "It was good seeing you, Karl." He stuck his hand out. I placed my hand in his. He held it, as he said, "I've got to rush to pick up my boy." I was wondering if he was going to just stand there holding onto my hand, but he suddenly let go, turned on a heel and said as he briskly walked away. "Come on, Ralph."

Ralph glared at me again before turning to catch up with Clay who was a quarter of a block down the street by the time he caught up with him. Enthralled at seeing him, I stood and watched as he put an arm around his shoulders and they ambled on down the street. I wished it could be me instead of Ralph, but I knew that would never happen. I wondered what the big brute had against me. At one point Clay turned and glanced back at me. I waved a feeble goodbye, figuring it would probably be another ten or twelve years before I'd run into him again so I might as well forget that I'd run into him this time.

I suppose that one has to be somewhat insane to do what I do to stay in control of my emotions. I clamped down on them and told myself, "He's just another man. So get over it. Nothing is ever going to happen." I went back to my monastic life. Once home in my high rise condominium over looking our fair city, I stripped and put on some comfortable, baggy sweats, lit a candle on the simple little table that sat in the big plate glass window, turned out the lights and knelt on the mat in front of it. For a moment I gazed out at the twinkling city lights and then concentrated on the dark horizon. Breathing deeply I cleared my mind, forced myself to relax and then I did my own version of "Oh my, Patty hums."

Once I'd found my inner peace, I rose, made myself a roasted eggplant and Mozzarella sandwich with sliced tomatoes and a bit of Mayo. I drank a glass of ice cold whole milk with it. I'd automatically turned on my computer when I entered the condo, so I sat down and went thru my e-mail. There was nothing of interest. It was then time to work out before going to bed. I entered the third bed room which was set up as a gym with free weights, a tread mill, a Bow Flex, a chinning bar, and a padded bench for crunches. One wall is mirrored. I stopped in the middle of the room and stripped. For a few moments I studied my body. It was near perfect. Not an ounce of fat, every muscle defined, but not bulked. It was the body of a Greek korus and it had taken years to perfect it. No one except my private doctor had ever seen it.

Starting with aerobics I got my blood to flowing, my heart rate up and breathing deeply. I then did my daily routine, working each muscle group until it slightly burned. An hour and a half later I hit the shower. The water, as hot as I could stand it, pelted me until I was as relaxed as my limp dick. I turned off the hot water and gasped as the cold water cooled me down. A brisk rubbing with a coarse towel and I was ready to sleep.

I crawled between cool crisp sheets, turned out the lights and closed my eyes. Ten minutes later I was staring at the ceiling with a roaring hard on. The image of Clay smiling at me burned brightly in my brain. With a sigh, I brought up my favorite images of him, grasped my throbbing cock and let my imagination run free as I masturbated.

After ejaculating and cleaning myself off I thought I'd be able to go to sleep. It didn't happen. I lay there in the dark and thought about Clay. My mind ranged back to the afternoon that I'd told him I couldn't be friends with him anymore. The memory raged through my mind, erasing any thought of sleep. We were fifteen that year. One would think that after nineteen years the image would fade. But it hadn't. I replayed the memory of explaining to him that he couldn't afford to be my friend and be a football jock

Clay had grasped my skinny upper arms with a look of hurt desperation "But we're buddies, Karl. You've always been my best friend."

"Well, get over it," I'd snapped at him, prying his fingers loose. "Go find a jock to be your best friend. That's what you need. You certainly don't need a wimp like me clinging to your coattails."

"You're not a wimp. Despite what your dad says, you and I both know you aren't a wimp. And you'll always be my best friend. "

"Fuck off, Clay." I turned and walked away.

"Karl," he called in a cracked voice.

I shook my head and kept walking. My heart was breaking. I had to make this a clean cut. I wanted to turn and look back at him one last time, but I kept my face forward until I rounded the corner. And then I crumpled against the wall and cried. I knew I was gay and I knew I would always love him, but if he was going to be a professional football player like he dreamed of being then I had to be out of his life. As I lay there re-experiencing the pain of pushing Clay away I remembered that evening. I'd come out of my bedroom where I'd been studying and headed for the kitchen for some water. As I passed my dad's study I heard his muffled voice talking on the phone. I'd heard him say Clay's name and to this day I wish I hadn't, because then I could have gone on believing that my dad might love me. "Clay, my son, forget about that little shit." I'd heard him say. "You don't need him to mess up your life. Remember, your going to be a big football star. And don't forget I love you, Son."

He'd never called me his son and he'd never said that he loved me. Numb with pain, I'd stumbled into the kitchen and gotten my water. I'd stared out into the black night through the window over the sink and resolved that from that day forward I would make my own way through life. I'd get along with out any fatherly love. No, I didn't runaway. I wasn't stupid. I knew I needed the financial support my unloving parents supplied. I would take what they could give, but never again would I try to win his love. I knew that would be a useless pursuit.

With a mother who would rather I disappeared, and a dad that had no use for me, I had three and a half years to get through living across the street and going to the same school with the one person who had unconditionally loved me; the one person who I couldn't let know just how I loved him, the one person who I had banned from my life. I managed to ignore Clay's hurt puppy dog looks until he eventually quit trying to get me to relent. It was difficult, but I did it.

Once in college and away from him, my life became easier. I discovered body building and begin to hone my body to what it is today. I also learned to focus my thoughts, and to meditate. I became an ascetic. I gathered many close acquaintances, but no real friends. I learned how to charm people, but I let no one get close to me. And after graduating I charmed my way into a prime job as a teller in the venerable old Bank of Robles Hills.

By Saturday, after having run into Clay, I had regained my equilibrium. I succeeded in once again relegating him to the back of my mind where he couldn't disturb me. As I looked back, I felt like everyone must have been conspiring together to tear down my defenses. The first event was running into Clay after so many years. The next was a call from one of the partners, a Mr. Franklin, in my grandfather's old law firm. How he knew I would be working on a Saturday I never wondered about, until much later. He made an appointment to meet with me that afternoon giving no reason for the meeting. I went on with my work not thinking more about it until Mr. Franklin opened his briefcase and handed me a thick manilla envelope, saying, "Mr. Johnson, the firm apologizes for these papers not being delivered to you on your thirtieth birthday as your grandfather stipulated in his will. Your mother held up the process with legal objections until the court finally ruled that she offered insufficient evidence to prevent you from having them."

"Do you know what the envelope contains?" I asked.

"No, sir, only your grand father did. I suspect that I know what some of it is, as your mother might, but the court refused to open it to allow your mother to review it, so anything I might believe would only be conjecture."

After he left I sat for several minutes turning the overstuffed packet in my hands while I wondered and worried about what my grandfather could have cared enough about to make sure I got it. My phone rang. It was my unloving mother. I hadn't heard from her in months. She immediately, without any greeting, began to rant, "Karl by all that is holy I beg you do not open that envelope. I swear if you do I'll never speak to you again."

I interrupted her. "And this would be a bad thing, Mother?"

She ignored my snide remark. "If you have any love or respect for me you will burn it."

"And who are you to speak of love or respect?" I asked.

Again she ignored the barb. "Karl don't do it. Don't open that envelope. If you do you'll always regret it. I know I haven't ever been a good mother to you, but as a mother listen to me just this once."

"All you've really accomplished here, Mother, is peak my interest. Can you give me one reason why I shouldn't open it, other than you not wanting me to?"

There was silence on her end for several seconds, almost a minute. I could hear her breathing. I said nothing; just waited for her. I heard her take a deep ragged breath. "Fine, go ahead. Open it." There was a bit more silence from her and then a click as she cut the connection.

I laid the phone back in its cradle and stared at the packet; a Pandora's Box. I finally picked up the letter knife and slit open one end. I slid the contents out onto the desk top and spread it all out. There were documents such as my birth certificate, my paren’ts marriage certificate, photographs; nothing terribly awful at first glance. My phone rang again. I picked it up. Expecting it to be my mother again I said, "I opened it."

There was a moment's silence and then I heard Mr. Dorsett's voice. "Good. As soon as you have thoroughly examined the contents would you, please, come talk to me in my office?"

"Certainly, Mr. Dorsett." I wondered how he knew about the envelope.

"Thank you, Karl."

I dropped the phone onto its base, and turned back to the contents of the envelope. I'm a rather anal person when it comes to neatness. I stacked all the photos in one pile, the documents in another, and the hand written letter signed by my late grandfather by itself. The documents I went over first. Not only were there the afore mentioned ones, there was also a marriage certificate stating that one Harold C. Johnson, my dad, had married one Priscilla Langham. 'Oh my God, that is Clay's mom. Is my dad a bigamist?' I dug further and found an annulment of the same marriage dated eleven months later.

I looked at the next document; another birth certificate; Clay's. It stated that his father was unknown. I thought, 'Bullshit. Harold Johnson is his father. 'Jeez,' I thought. 'That makes Clay and me half brothers.' I compared the dates of my parent’s marriage certificate and the divorce. The divorce was exactly one week before. Clay was born three weeks later and I was born six months after that. I pondered what all this meant. Had my mother been having an affair with Harold, the newlywed? Had he fallen in love with her so much that he was willing to divorce his pregnant wife to marry my hateful mother? It didn't sound right. For as long as I could remember there had been little more that civility between them.

I examined the last document; a marriage license between John K. Dorsett and Jennifer Alwade. The date was five years previous to the earliest of any of the others. I thought it strange that my employer's marriage certificate was included in all of this.

I lay back in my big comfortable leather chair and thought about it all. I wondered if things I'd always accepted as facts really were. We'd always been told that Clay's father's name was Langham and that he'd died in an auto accident just before Clay was born. That his grandparents were all dead and his mother had been left a small fortune, which is how she could afford the huge house across from my parents.

As I've gotten older I've often thought it strange that my dad spent a lot of time across the street, even after Clay was grown and gone. No one seemed to object. Now I could venture that maybe he and Priscilla were really still in love. I know for a fact, there has never been any love between my parents. Hell, they hardly ever had said more that a few words at a time to each other. I wondered for a moment if my dad had possibly raped my mother. I couldn't see any other way they could have possibly mated to have me. Maybe he did and that was why neither one of them liked me. Nah, they wouldn't have gotten married and stayed that way.

I turned to the photos. I noticed that they were dated on the back with the name(s) of the subject(s). I stacked them in order of date from the earliest to the most recent. The earliest was a photo of my mother as a young twenty-something in the arms of a young man who looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place who he was. I needed to relieve my bladder so I went into my private toilet. As I stood at the bowl I glanced into the mirror. I hurriedly finish up and rushed back to the desk picked up the photo and rushed back into the toilet. I looked at the man in the photo and then at my own mirror reflection. I couldn't believe the similarity. I turned the photo over and saw that the young man in the photo was no less than John Dorsett. I felt suddenly dizzy.

Sitting back at my desk I regained my equilibrium. I glanced at the date on the back of the photo and noted it was taken about two and a half years after Mr. Dorsett had married. I did some calculations and my birth was around nine months after the photo was taken.

A bit of it began to add up. I left the rest of the photos and with a good bit of trepidation I turned to my grandfather's note.

My grandson, Karl,

I suppose you feel I never loved you. That's not quite true. I did, but the only way I could get to see you was to put up with your mother's whining and bitching. Sorry, Son, I just couldn't put up with it, so I stayed away.

But I did keep tabs on you and the people around you. I believe that if you are as astute as I think you are you've already figured out that Harold is not your real father. After your mother's indiscretion with John Dorsett she wanted to get an abortion. I refused to let her do it. (I suppose you're thankful I didn't). To cover it up I paid a very handsome sum to Harold and Priscilla to do what they have done. My only regret there is that young Clay ended up legally being a bastard. Maybe you will set him straight and with the DNA testing that is being used these days, you can legally establish that Harold is his father, and though he was born after the divorce, he did have a legal father.

John Dorsett and I talked at length about what to do about you. Acknowledging you as his son would have ruined his marriage and several other lives so we decided that the thing to do was for him to take you under his wing, so to speak, when you set out on your own in the world. I assume that he will do that. I have to trust him for I'm sure I won't be around by then.

On your thirty-fifth birthday you will inherit all my wealth. Franklin will fill you in on it all at that time. I'm doing it this way so you don't have to have your dear sweet mother down your throat because she only gets enough to live comfortably for the rest of her miserable life. You will be old enough and hopefully strong enough to fend her off.

At the same time Harold and Priscilla will be done with their contract. I'm sure you will be seeing a divorce and a marriage at that time.

And as to their son, Clay, whom I am certain you will still be in love with and hiding the fact from him, I have included in the batch of photos some covert shots of him that will hopefully awaken you and let you live the rest of your life in happiness.

I will say no more, except that I hope someday you find your happiness. So open up and admit to yourself and the world who you really are.

Good luck, Grandson.
George P. Robles

To say the least, I was numb. With the letter in my hand I sat and stared into nothingness for a long time, not thinking, not feeling, just being. When my mind started to range, I thought, 'The ole' bastard almost says he loves me. I'm inheriting everything from him, and he figured out somehow that I'm gay and he was okay with it. He even wishes me well in finding love with Clay. I wonder how he could know that I'm gay and not know that Clay is straight.' My phone rang. I struggled to reach for it and pulled it off its cradle and held it to my ear. I didn't think to speak. "Are you alright, Son?" I heard Mr. Dorsett ask. I nodded. "Karl? Answer me."

I cleared my throat. "Yes, I think I am."

"You sit still. I'm coming right over."

Not half a minute later Mr. Dorsett came through the door into my office and walked around the desk. I watched him without moving. He lifted me to my feet and wrapped his arms around me. "I have wanted to do this for so many years. I'm holding my son in my arms at last." That broke the floodgates. I laid my head on his shoulder, on my real dad's shoulder and cried. Out came all the frustration I'd endured growing up in an environment that the ole' bastard had created just to save face. I didn't stop to think that if he hadn't had the need to save face I wouldn't be here.

When I started pulling my emotions back under control, I was amazed that the esteemed and revered owner of the venerable Bank of Robles Hills was holding me while I literally cried on his shoulder. I pulled back and started apologizing. He smiled tenderly at me and told me to hush. "I've been wanting to do that again for thirty-two years, my Son. Thank you for letting me." At first I was confused. But then I remembered the conclusions I'd come to while perusing the documents and photos. I turned and picked up the photo of him holding me, as a two year old boy, in his arms. "I recall that there is a copy of this sitting on your desk. I never knew it was me."

He smiled at me as he took the photo and looked at it. "Yes, this was taken on your second birthday. I'm eternally grateful to your grandfather for arranging for me to be there."

Mr. Dorsett or rather John as he insisted I call him, and I sat and talked the rest of that afternoon. I discovered that his wife had died a few years ago and that his two daughters were married and lived back east. He had five grandchildren that he got to see once or twice a year. He lived alone in a big old mansion up on Robles Place.

When the guard stuck his head in and informed John that it was closing time he invited me to stop and pick up some clothes and spend a laid back week end with him. I eagerly agreed. I left everything laying on my desk, untouched, until Monday morning. I'd been so involved in getting to know John that I'd forgotten about it all. Or more likely I'd blocked out the memory of the photos and my grandfather's comments, not wanting to deal with it.

Monday morning found me sitting at John's kitchen table as his cook and housekeeper, Wanda, served us a hearty breakfast of ham steaks, eggs and grits. I'd heard of grits, but had never desired to taste them. Yuck, coarse ground corn meal mush, why would anyone want to eat it?

"I can make you some toast, Mr. Karl, but you at least have to taste my grits. I have a special way of making them that no one can resist. You just go ahead and taste them and see."

I looked at her like I doubted her sanity.

"Go on, they won't kill you," she taunted, "Your Daddy loves 'em. He eats lots of 'em and he's still alive." I couldn't believe that he'd told her I was his son. But then he'd told me Wanda had been with the Dorsett family since he was teenager. I took a forkful and stuck out my tongue to taste it with out putting the stuff in my mouth. "Oh my, Mr. John. You got a grown up baby sitting at your table. He won't even put a little bite in his mouth."

I knew I wasn't going to get any support from John, but I looked pleadingly at him.

"Son, there is no good reason to be insulting Wanda. Just eat one bite and we'll both shut up." I saw him wink at Wanda.

Feeling like a five year old, I put the forkful in my mouth and prepared to quickly wash it down with coffee. But then the flavor filled my mouth. It was like, "Oh my God. This is the supreme comfort food. Way beyond Macaroni and Cheese."

I grinned at her. She arched her eyebrows and looked sideways at me. "I didn't lie, now did I?"

"No Ma'am, you didn't lie. I think that I want your grits for breakfast everyday for the rest of my life."

She grinned. "In that case I better teach you how to cook 'em yourself, 'cause I'm not going to be around that long."

John had a hardy laugh.

When we finished breakfast, John sat forward with his elbows on the table and his coffee mug cradled in his hands. "You didn't look at all of the photos, did you?"

"No sir. I had forgotten all about them until now."

"Well, I think you'd better plan on taking the rest of the day off. When we go in, let me gather them up and you take them home with you and take as much time as you need to deal with them."

"They're that bad, huh?"

"I refuse to make any call on them. That's for you to do."

Jeez, what a way to ruin the start of a great day. I followed him to the bank. He went directly into my office, greeting my secretary, Marie, as he passed her. I stopped at her desk, smiled at her and then stared at my office door waiting for him to come back out. Marie looked at me, "He's not firing you is he?" I shook my head. "No, my dad wouldn't do that."

She grinned and laughed. "So you finally figured it out."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Johnson, it's that obvious?"

"Heaven's no. Just speculating. Wondering."

"It's that obvious?"

"Yeah," she studied my face. "Yeah, it is."

I didn't know whether to be embarrassed, angry or what. I chose to just ignore it. But at that moment John swept out of my office and thrust the envelope into my hands. "There. Go deal with it. If you need help you know my number, Son. Twenty-four seven." I couldn't believe that he was acknowledging me in front of a bank employee, even if she was my personal secretary.

"I'm serious Karl. Don't come back until you are comfortable with it all," he said, and then added, "and yourself." So he was saying he knew that I'm gay, too? I thought I had pushed it so far back in my psyche that not even I could see it. I am not in the least way effeminate.

I left the bank with the envelope and continually glanced down at it on my passenger seat as I drove home, wondering what the pictures revealed that would have John telling me to deal with it. I went directly to the desk in my home office and again slipped the contents of the envelope out onto the desk top. I separated the documents and put them aside. I took the stack of pictures and neatly stacked them in front of me. With a big sigh and shaking hands I again looked at the photo of my mother and John. I laid it aside. The next several pictures were of me as a two year old with each member of my family including the one of John holding me. I studied each photo and laid them all side by side. One thing stood out and it punched me in the gut, the look of loving adoration and pride in the faces of my grandfather and John and the look of bored necessity on the faces of my mother and Harold. (I could no longer call him my dad now that I knew the truth)

I placed the two photos of John and my grandfather to the side and stacked the rest with the documents.

The next batches of photos were of me and Clay through our childhood and into our teens. These were all covert shots. I don't recall ever seeing anyone with a camera taking photos of us. As I studied each one I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks; the look of happiness on our faces. God, why did I have to be gay? Clay and I could have still been best buddies.

Funny, as I looked at the photos I began to really see myself in them. I realized that I was as good looking as Clay. I'd always carried the self image of an ugly little unloved nerdy twerp that was perverted and twisted inside. I could never see what Clay saw in me. Now as I studied these pictures I could see it. I wondered why Harold and my mother had no love for me. I'd been a beautiful little boy. Well, I could understand some of why Harold didn't, but my mother? Geez she was my mother she was supposed to have loved me.

The next set of pictures were again of Clay and me, but we were never together in any of them. In not one, was either of us looking happy. Even as Clay rode on the shoulders of his jock mates after winning some big game he smiled but only with his lips; his eyes were continually sad. I wondered why. He had everything going for him in those days. Through that same period the pictures of me showed a young fellow that never smiled either, his shoulders slumped in defeat. I recalled vividly how I felt at that time.

As the photos progressed they showed Clay in his Dallas Cowboy uniform, one with his ex-wife. Again the eyes never looked happy until one where he was holding a newborn baby in his arms. In that one his eyes lit up, but still with a slightly haunted look. The pictures taken of me showed the metamorphosis I was going through as well. I'd grown and put on weight and muscle. I walked with pride. I studied my eyes in each photo. They had taken on a hard glint. When there was a smile on my face it never extended to my eyes either. It was a reminder of my dear mother, and I shuddered. For the first time I wondered what had made her so cold and unloving.

I wondered again who had taken these pictures and why. I stood and stretched. I glimpsed my reflection in a mirror and walked over and impartially and analytically studied my face. My eyes looked old and sad. There were no laugh lines like I saw in the faces of others my age. I smiled and tried to crinkle my eyes in a Santa Claus expression. They still looked unhappy. I didn't need to analyze why. I knew why. And I knew there was no solution for it.

With a big sigh I flopped back into my desk chair to look at the rest of the photos. The first two were of Clay in his Dallas Cowboy uniform with one of his fellow football professionals. They had their arms around each others shoulders. I recognized the guy as the one with Clay the other evening when he'd stopped me in front of the bank; Ralph that was the guy's name. Out of curiosity I turned on my computer and did a search on him. What I found shocked me. I wondered how I could lead such a sheltered life. How could I have not heard about the scandal that had rocked the world of sports when Ralph had outed himself soon after Clay had injured his knee and retired from football? It began to dawn on me that even though Ralph was queer, Clay was still his friend. I wondered if he could have accepted me knowing that I was queer. Had I lost all of those years of friendship because of an unfounded fear that Clay would hate me if he found out I was gay?

I recalled the look on Ralph's face when Clay introduced him to me and it dawned on me that it was jealousy, not just dislike. And then there was the comment he made. "So you are the Karl that Clay has never stopped talking about." Clay had told him to shut up and Ralph had responded, "No, Clay, it's interesting to see that the real Karl stands up to the image that you've built in my mind. I now know what I have to compete with." All of these years we could have possibly still been best friends and I could've possibly moved on to find myself a lover. But no, I had fixated on supposing Clay would never accept my sexuality. I thought about the pictures I'd viewed on the net of Ralph. It had been on a porn site that had been listed during the Google search. Most were of Ralph clothed or in a football uniform, but one had shown Ralph fucking some hunky dude whose face had been purposely blurred. I thought about Ralph fucking me. I wondered what it would be like and as I fantasized, Ralph became Clay and Clay had the body of the guy in the net pic that Ralph was fucking.

I crashed back into my desk chair and wept. Eventually the tears ceased and I slept. The mind does weird things in the unconscious. I dreamed erotic dreams. Not of loving Clay, but all out fucking with Ralph. And as Ralph fucked me I could hear Clay in the background calling out, "Yeah, that's it, Ralphy, fuck my little buddy. Make him scream for more. Fuck the faggot. Make him cum without touching himself." And I did, I filled my briefs with hot sticky semen. I woke up feeling embarrassed. I figured that it was because Clay had been there pushing queer Ralph to fuck queer me.

I forced myself out of the fantasy and went in to shower and clean myself up. It was an effort to keep my mind clear until I was again dressed. My stomach growled when I straightened up from tying my shoes. Suddenly I was ravenous and went seeking food. I made myself a Tuna sandwich and splurged on the Mayo. A glass of icy cold milk washed it down. After cleaning up my kitchen mess, I found myself standing in the doorway of my office staring at the stack of unviewed photos, wondering what they would reveal. I didn't feel like I could take finding out just then and decided to go for a stroll.

My condo building is directly across from a large park. I'd often admired the beauty of the trees and broad manicured lawns, but never had I set foot into it before. With my hands stuck deep in my pockets, I meandered through the trails and discovered a pond filled with ducks. I sought an empty bench and sat down. As I watched the antics of the ducks and thought about all I'd learned in the last three days, I was amazed that the admiration I had for John, my employer/ father, Mr. Dorsett. Mr. John K. Dorsett had turned to the love of a son for his father. Sunday had been a day full of revelations about his life and how he'd always kept a watchful eye on me. I wondered if he had taken the photos I'd been looking at, and decided that was not his modus operandi. No, it had been my grandfather's doing. I wondered if the ole' bastard had any awareness of what he was setting into motion.

I blocked out the dream and its consequences and thought about the other people in this sordid mess. I'd dismissed my mother from my emotions many years ago. She was simply an aggravation I had to put up with. She was unbearable to be around for long and I fully understood my grandfather's attitude toward her. And I began to see why Harold wasn't around much when she was at home, and why he never spoke to her when she was. Of course, much of it was because she treated him worse than she treated the servants, which was awful, but then again, from my new perspective he was just a hired hand, wasn't he?

I found myself being angry at him for not completely filling the position of playing my father. Then it dawned on me he was really only hired to play the part of a husband. I wondered what kind of man accepts money to divorce the woman he supposedly loves to marry another, even if he gets to have his beloved ex living across the street with his real son. I wondered if I should tell Clay that my supposed Dad was really his father. Would Harold have the balls to admit to his own son what he'd done? The next few months would certainly be interesting, because the truth was going to come out. I would see to that.

I thought about Clay's little son growing up not knowing he really had a granddaddy. I pushed down my anger at Harold again. I suddenly realized that if it hadn't been Harold in the role of husband to my mother it would have been some other man. I wished that my grandfather was still alive so I could tell him what a shitty deal he laid on his only grandchild whom he professed to have loved. He'd been a manipulative bastard playing with other people's lives and in his death he continued. Well, I wasn't going to let him manipulate me. I was going to destroy everything in that envelope and continue on with my life. My mother, Harold, even Clay were part of the past and I refused to let the past continue to affect me. My emotions were warring and at odds with each other. The more I thought the more turmoil I experienced.

I marched back to my condo and entered my office. I swept all the documents and photos into a pile with the intent of brushing them off into the waste can, but in moving the photos I exposed some that I hadn't yet viewed. I dropped everything and picked one up. The photo was apparently one of a series, with the net pic of Ralph fucking the blur-faced man being one of them. But in this one that I held the man was fucking Ralph and his face was in plain view. It was clearly Clay. My head spun, my stomach churned and I thought I'd toss my lunch or simply pass out as I studied it.

I stirred through the pile of papers and pulled out the rest of the photos. The next one I found was again Ralph on top and the face wasn't blurred as in the net pic. I really thought my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest. It was Clay getting Ralph's cock up his ass. Devastated, I crumpled to the floor wishing I could die and be done with it all. The way I felt at that moment I thought I'd have been better off as an abortion.

There is one good thing about anger. It can give one a strong incentive to want to live. As I sat there on the floor of my home office, I started getting angry. First I was angry at Clay for betraying my love for him, and then realized how ridiculous that was. He had no idea that I loved him. I turned my anger to Ralph and saw that it was more jealousy that he'd gotten Clay and I hadn't. The anger finally got directed at my grandfather. I have no idea what his motive was in including those photos of Clay and Ralph. He had known how I felt about Clay. He'd even wished me happiness. Was he just being facetiously cruel? Why did he include those awful pictures? Was this was his way of slamming me one last time?

The phone rang. I ignored it and it went into message. It was John. "Karl, I was sure I'd hear from you by now. Are you okay? Please give me a call. Talk to me, Son." My heart swelled in my chest at that word. Son. At Thirty-four I was finally really someone's son. And then I wondered if John was aware of the contents of that damned manilla envelope. After all, he'd sent me home to "deal with it." I stood up and picked up the phone. I called him back. When he answered I interrupted his greeting. "I have one question, John. Did you know the contents of the envelope?"

He sputtered a moment. "I was aware of the documents. I saw some photos of you as a child and teenager. What exactly are you referring to, Karl?"

"Were you aware of the photos of Clay Langham and Ralph Mobley?"

"I know who Clay is, but who is Ralph Mobley? The name is familiar, but I can't place from where I would know him."

"He was the Dallas Cowboy that outed himself a couple of years ago."

"Oh, yes. And you say there are photos of him and Clay included in the envelope?"

"I assume that you didn't know about them then." I prayed that he hadn't been dissembling.

"I'll be honest with you, Karl." My heart dropped to the bottom of my shoe soles expecting him to say that he'd been in cahoots with my grandfather. "Saturday afternoon, while you were out in the bank waiting for us to leave, I slipped into your office and quickly looked through the pictures. I'd seen the photos before, but I didn't know who the two men are. I didn't know that your grandfather had included them until then. I can't fathom why he would have."

I let out a ragged sigh. I supposed that this was the time to start facing up to the world. "John, could you come over? I have some things I need to tell you."

"Give me fifteen minutes."

It was more like forty-five minutes before he showed up. We greeted each other with a hug. He kissed my cheek. "I've just made a fresh pot of coffee," I said to him. "But I suspect that you'll prefer a stiff drink before I'm through,"

"Coffee sounds good. It's been a busy day at the bank with one of my key employees out."

I grinned ruefully at him. "It's a good thing that I am. With what my dear departed Grandfather dumped on me you would not have wanted me in the office."

"Good God, Karl. What was so terrible?"

"Let me get our coffee and then I'll tell you everything."

John waited patiently until I handed him his mug and sat down with my own. "So tell me," he said.

I studied the steam coming off my coffee for a moment and then looked him in the eyes. "With no preamble, John, I am gay."

He looked at me as he expected me to say something more. When I didn't, he said, "So?"

"That's your total response? I've never told another person and all you can say is "so"?"

He grinned and asked, "Am I suppose to say congratulations or something?"

I shook my head. "For something so important in my life I just expected something more."

"It's no big deal, Karl. Get over yourself. It doesn't matter to me what your sexual orientation is. It's not going to affect your job or how we relate to each other." he took a sip of his coffee and looked at me over the top of his mug. "So I figure these photos have something to do with this confession?"

I nodded.

"You want me to guess?"

I shook my head. "No, I'll tell you." I took a sip of my coffee and stared into its dark depths. "Damn this is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do."

"Take your time, Son. We've got all night."

I nodded again. "Okay, here goes. You're aware that Clay and I grew up together?" John nodded. "He was my best friend." A lump in my throat made further words impossible. I shook my head and wiped my eyes.

"And you fell in love with him. And at that tender age it scared you to death."

I nodded.

"So how did you deal with it?"

"I... I pushed him away, kicked him out of my life; I told him I couldn't be his friend anymore."

"And he accepted it?"

"No, not immediately. He went to his dad, and was told to forget about me.

"His dad? I thought he....Oh, you mean Harold."

"Yes, Harold. Even though Clay doesn't know it, Clay was always more his son than I was. Of course, I now know he really was his son and I wasn't."

"I'm so sorry about that, Karl. I wish there was some way that I could make it up to you."

I glanced at him and looked away. "Just keep calling me your son."

"That I can happily do."

I took a big breath and continued. " I over heard him, Harold, on the phone telling Clay that what was important was that he was going to be a football star and that he didn't need me messing up his image."

We both sipped our coffee lost in our own thoughts.

"It's a weird coincidence," I said. "I ran into Clay last Wednesday evening outside the bank."

John looked at me waiting for more.

"Ralph was with him. I had no idea who he was until I looked him up on the internet." I sipped my hot coffee again.

"So Clay has stood by his old friend, huh?"

I glanced up at John. "You're not going to assume that he is gay, too?"

John shrugged. "I know he was married and is now raising his son by himself."

"True." I said.

After more than a minute of silence John looked ready to burst. "Karl, I am well aware that doesn't mean that he's not gay." He sighed. "I guess it's time for me to make a confession to you. As you know I was married for over twenty-five years and have two grown daughters. If my wife hadn't died I'd still be married. All during that time including my involvement with your mother I've had a clandestine relationship with another man. He's dead now."

"That's sad, Dad." That was the only judgment I was going to make.

"We were happy to get what we could." He paused and a smile spread over his face. "Do you realize what you just called me?"

"Dad?"

He nodded. "Do you know how that thrills me?"

"Yeah, I do, probably as much as you calling me son." We smiled into our mugs.

I couldn't believe that we were sitting there ignoring the fact that we had both seen the photos and were talking about Clay as if we hadn't.

"Tell me what had you so upset that you confessed that you are gay and still in love with Clay."

"I didn't say that I was still in love with him."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

I shook my head, and said, "That's a juvenile expression."

He ignored my jibe and asked, "Have you ever had one?"

I looked at him a moment and then shook my head again.

"And that's because you're still in love with Clay. Right?"

I shrugged and nodded.

"You didn't answer my question."

"It wasn't a question. It was a directive."

"So tell me."

I set my mug down and stared at it. "I can't."

"What is so bad that you can't tell me?"

I stared at him and then gave up with a sigh. "You already know if you saw the photos. But I'll show you again." I went into my office and picked up the pictures.

I glanced through them and shuddered. I couldn't help but get hard every time I looked at them. They were so erotic. You could see that the two of them really cared for each other. I took a couple of deep breaths adjusted myself and walked back into the living room. John looked at me expectantly and glanced at my hand holding the photos. I abruptly thrust them at him and fled to the kitchen. I couldn't watch him as he looked at them. Standing at the sink staring out the window, I couldn't get the images of what he was looking at out of my head.

I was brought back to the moment when John, standing in the doorway, asked? "You say these are on the internet?"

I nodded. "I saw only the one with Clay's face blurred."

"I wonder if Mr. Mobley is aware that of this?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. But if he ever Googled his own name, he'd be led right to the site just like I was."

"I wonder if it was because of these photos that he admitted to being gay and thus ended his football career."

"Do you think my grandfather would have done this or had it done?"

"You mean posted the pic on the internet? I have no idea, Karl. But even with your grandfather dead, I would think that Ralph could sue his estate if it could be proven."

"Are you aware that his whole estate will be turned over to me in a year?"

"I assumed that you would be his main heir."

"Dad, I'm his only heir. My mother only gets enough to continue living her lifestyle. I've got to find out if my grandfather was responsible for this. It's abominable to ruin someone's career like that."

"That's admirable of you, Son."

My grandfather's house (read that as an old money mansion) had been locked up by the probate court waiting for me to reach my thirty-fifth birthday. I called Mr. Franklin and asked him if it would be possible to gain access to the old man's computer. "I don't think the court would object. After all, it will be yours in a matter of a few months," he replied.

While he sought the courts permission, I called Clay's mother and got his phone number. She enthused, "Oh Karl you don't know how much it would mean to Clay to hear from you. Even after all these years, he still talks about you as if you are still his best friend."

I sat and stared at the phone for several minutes getting up the courage to make the call. When I did, it was Ralph who answered. "Why do you want to disrupt his life anymore than you already have? He's done nothing but mope since he saw you the other night."

"I don't want to disrupt his life, Ralph. But it is imperative that I talk to him."

There was a dead silence on the other end, finally he said, "He'll be back from his class around three o'clock. Call him soon after that." He disconnected.

I felt like saying to hell with the whole thing. It was Ralph I was trying to help and he was about the rudest man I've ever met. I realized that he was trying to protect Clay, but still......

As it turned out I didn't have to call back. At three ten my phone rang. It was Clay. "Karl, it's so good of you to call. What can I do for you?"

"Can you meet me sometime soon? I have something very important to discuss with you."

"Sure, how about dinner tonight?"

"Wouldn't Ralph object?"

"Ralph's not my keeper. Actually, I'll get him to baby-sit my son."

"So how does the Barefoot sound? They've got an upstairs dining room that's fairly private. Seven okay?"

"Sounds great. I can't wait to see you, Karl."

Fifteen minutes later I got another call, this time from Ralph. "I just want to say one thing, Karl. You hurt Clay again and I'll hurt you."

"I have no intention of hurting him."

"I can understand homophobia when your fifteen and in high school, but if you're still that way, keep it to yourself. Just don't hurt him again." He ended the conversation by cutting the connection. I sat staring at the phone in my hand. What had he just said? Homophobic? Me? What the hell? Clay was gay back then? He thought that I was pushing him away because I was homophobic? How crazy is that?

At a quarter of seven I was sitting at the bar in the Barefoot staring out the big plate glass window at the low tide surf. I nursed my Martini and daydreamed of wading in it, holding Clay's hand. A big hand falling firmly on my shoulder brought me back to reality. I turned and gazed into Clay's grin. "Hey Buddy, it's good to see ya," he said. I smiled at him. Despite the photos I couldn't accept that he was gay. He must have done it for money.

We were led upstairs to a private booth with an ocean view. After ordering another Martini for myself and a beer for Clay, we sat and stared at each other. "So what do you have to discuss with me, Karl?" I could see the anxiety in his eyes. I hated that he was so vulnerable to me still after all these years.

I pulled out a plain white envelope and held it as I explained. "My grandfather left me a bomb when he died. I just received it last Saturday. My beloved mother fought to get possession of a large manilla envelope full of documents and photos, but failed. If you wish to see them I'll show them to you at another time. They all have a strong bearing on you as well as me."

"What kind of documents?" He asked, staring at the stark white envelope in my hand.

"Birth certificates, yours and mine; Marriage licenses and divorce papers."

"Divorce? No one in your family or mine has been divorced."

"What do you know of your father, Clay?"

"You know as well as I that he was killed in an auto accident before I was born."

"What would you say if I told you he'd been right there all your life helping to raise you and guide you?"

Clay's laugh was more a bark of ridicule. "I'd say bullshit."

I sighed. "Well, he was, Clay, he didn't live in your house and he was no longer married to your mother, but he was there for you everyday." Clay looked at me like I'd utterly lost my mind. "Think about it. The man that adored you and had no use for me."

I watched him for several minutes as he reviewed his life. He drew circles on the table in the condensation from his drink as he thought. Eventually, he picked up his glass and downed the whole drink. He sat it down with a clunk and looked at me. "I guess in the end you ended up being the lucky one. He ended up despising me and admiring you."

"No, his eventual admiration of my accomplishments meant absolutely nothing to me. You, in turn, had a childhood and youth with a man that loved you. I am sorry the bastard turned on you. I never understood why, until I opened the envelope from my grandfather. At least, Clay, you were an adult by then."

Clay drew some more circles in the moisture on the table top. He glanced up at me without raising his head. "So you finally know. I never had the balls to come right out and tell you, but I assumed that you'd figured it out back in high school when you ended our friendship."

Even though I knew what he was talking about I couldn't see how he'd made the deduction, so I asked, "What are you talking about?"

He raised his head and stared at me rather incredulously. "I'm gay, Karl. I'm a faggot. Queer."

I smiled at him. "I never knew that until earlier today, Clay." I looked up at the ceiling. "God, how different things could have been if I had known."

"It's my turn now. What are you talking about?"

I reached across the table and grasp his hand. "Clay, the reason I pushed you away when we were young was because I was in love with you. I was sure that if you found out you'd despise me."

He pulled his hand away and simply stared at me. I sighed, picked up the envelope which we'd both forgotten and said, "Before I give you this I've got a question. Have you ever been on a website called Muscular Men?"

Clay turned a dark red. It wasn't from embarrassment. "Why are you asking?" he growled.

"Last Wednesday after meeting Ralph, I went home and Googled him. His name was familiar, but I couldn't place from where. The Google site listed the Muscular Men site which I went to. Again, have you seen that site?"

"Yes."

I handed him the envelope. "These photos were included in the stuff I received from my grandfather."

I watched him open the envelope and examine them. This time I think his red complexion was from embarrassment. "These aren't supposed to exist," he whispered.

"I want you to know, I'm investigating how one of them got onto that site," I told him. "My lawyers are contacting the Webmaster to see what he knows. I suspect that the old man had something to do with it. Most likely indirectly."

"Why would he do this, if he did?"

It was my turn to be embarrassed, but I looked Clay in his eyes and said, "I don't know. Included in the documents were candid photos of both you and me all through our high school years. Neither of us looked very happy in any of the photos."

"I don't remember ever being joyously happy since you ended our friendship so many years ago. Do you still love me, Karl?"

Tears suddenly blinded me. Why would he ask? He had Ralph. "What does it matter now?"

"Do you?"

All the years of frustrated longing; all the years of thinking Clay was hetero; all the years of wanting his love, it all came crashing in on me at that moment and I reacted in anger. I slid out of the booth and stood up. "I'll do what I think is right by you and Ralph. What would be a just restitution for the damage my grandfather did? One million? Ten? You tell me and I'll pay it. But leave my emotions out of the equation."

"You're making a scene, Karl. Sit down and answer my question."

"Fuck you." I said in a loud stage whisper. I turned to leave.

Clay grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Damn, he can still move fast. "I let you walk away from me once. You are not going to do it again. Sit down." He turned to all the people staring at us. "My apologies for disturbing your dinner, folks. Please, mind your own business and we'll try to keep it quiet." At that point I had my forehead on the table with both arms covering my head. In a quiet calm voice he said to me, "Karl, sit up and answer my question."

I sat back and wiped my eyes and cheeks with my napkin. "Before I answer, you tell me why you would want to know. Ralph obviously loves you. Why can't you leave it at that?"

Clay smiled at me and I was thankful I was sitting down. I'd seen him look at me like that before but never figured out what it meant. "I want to know because I've been in love with you all my life. I thought you'd figured that out and that was why you pushed me away back in high school. Ralph knows that he and I can only be buddies. He knows I can't give him what belongs to you and you alone."

Incredulous was an inadequate word for what I was feeling. "Do you really mean that?"

"With all my heart, Karl."

I looked around the room. Everyone's eyes were on us. "Let's get out of here and go someplace more private." I started to scoot out of the booth.

Clay grabbed my hand. "You're not going anywhere until you answer my question. And stop looking at me like I'm crazy."

I shook my head and slid back to the center of the bench. He was leaning forward and I simply couldn't resist the temptation, to hell with our audience. With both hands I grabbed hold of each side of his head and pulled his lips to mine. The room became very quiet with a few audible gasps. I didn't care. Apparently, Clay didn't either as he grasped my head to keep me attached to his lips as he forced them apart and licked at my teeth seeking entrance to my mouth. I welcomed him in, exploring his tongue with my own. After an eon we pulled a part and sat back staring at each other. My head was whirling. I'd never thought of kissing anyone but Clay, and I'd often dreamed about kissing him, but a real live kiss from the man was way beyond anything I'd dreamed.

There was a spatter of applause and some man exclaimed, "Would you please answer his question now, so we can have our dinner." I glanced his way and saw the waiter standing next to his table with a large tray full of food balanced on his shoulder and one hand. The enthralled look of yearning on his face was almost comical.

"I've always loved you, Clay and I always will." I said to another spatter of applause. The man cleared his throat loudly and tugged on the waiter's sleeve. The waiter suddenly became animated as he fought to balance the tray. With a red face he managed to set the tray on a stand next to the table.

"Now, please, may we get out of here?" I asked.

One hundred and eighty degrees. An about face. A complete turn around. In the course of less than a week my life had completely changed. For the first time in my thirty-four years of life I knew happiness. I woke up in the mornings with a song on my lips; none of the dread of getting through another day. I no longer had to make an effort to charm people. My joyous demeanor attracted them. I could look in the mirror and see the laughter in my eyes. I could look into Clay's and see the same, but even more, I could finally see the unfailing love that had always been there.

That Monday evening when we left the restaurant I dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table and smiled at the waiter who was gazing at Clay and still looked like he might swoon. I knew what he was feeling; just the thought of kissing Clay made me feel that way. I followed him out of the restaurant, with out stumbling. I couldn't keep my eyes off his butt. The way his slacks were cut only accented their beauty.

Outside, we stood next to my little gem, a vintage 1958 Aston-Healey convertible, and simply stared at each other. "Would you like to come home with me?" I shyly asked.

Grinning lasciviously, he murmured, "What I want Karl is to never let you out of my sight again." He was staring at my lips as if they were fine Swiss chocolate and he was considering devouring them."

I fled around to the driver's side and slid into the seat. "So get in and I'll whisk you up to my place. We can pick up your car later."

He folded himself into the little car. "Stop staring at me and let's go."

I snapped out of my thrall. I don't think I ran any red lights, but Clay was looking a little pasty when I pulled into the garage.

"Do you always drive like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" It seemed that it had taken forever to get there.

Clay just looked askance and shuddered. I grinned, grabbed his hand and led him to the elevator. It took forever to reach the thirtieth floor. I fumbled the keys and dropped them. Clay scooped them up. I pointed out the right one and he opened the door. I immediately went into a panic when the door closed behind us. 'What do I do now?' I asked myself and mentally shrugged. I had no idea. I'd never even kissed another person before tonight, and my mind still couldn't accept my brazen behavior. I'd not only kissed another person tonight, I had kissed in front a room full of people, and it had been a man that I had kissed, and not just once. Here was a situation that if I hadn't been the strong person that I am, I think I would have simply fainted, passed out from too much to fast.

I needn't have worried about my next move. The moment the lock clicked Clay's arms enfolded me with a big hand on the back of my head guiding my lips to his. I forgot to breathe. I got light headed from a lack of oxygen. A silly thought passed though my mind and I started chuckling. Clay pulled back so he could look at me. "Hey, this is serious. What are you laughing about?"

I felt so happy that I could be silly and not worry about the consequences. I batted my eyelashes and said in a falsetto trying to sound like a Southern Belle, "I swear, sir, I could just swoon kissing you."

Ever sensitive to my moods, he picked up on my silliness and ran with it. With his arms still around me he laid me backwards and in an overdone drawl he said, "My darlin', I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me and stay with me forever?"

"Oh Clay," I said coquettishly. "You're proposing to me. It just makes my little ole' heart go pitter-patter. I'll have to think about it."

"Maybe this will convince you of my sincerity, my love." He leaned into me to give me a kiss. His bum knee gave way and he dropped me as he collapsed on top of me. He rolled off me and grabbed his leg, straightened it out and then grasped his knee, all the time apologizing for dropping me. "Oh damn, that hurts. I'm sorry, Karl, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I said, rubbing the back of my head. I could already feel a knot forming. "Are you going to be okay?"

"My damned knee is starting to swell."

"You need an ice pack on it." I rushed to the kitchen, took a large freezer storage bag and filled it with crushed ice from the ice dispenser on the fridge door. I filled a glass with water, grabbed the Tylenol bottle and a dish towel and rushed back to find Clay trying to get up. I set everything down and helped him hobble over to the sofa where he collapsed. After raising his leg, resting it on a cushion and tying the bag of ice around his knee with the towel, I doled out a couple of pills which he gratefully swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Karl. I had grand plans for finally getting to seduce you and then my damned knee had to flake out on me."

I sat down beside him and placed my hand flat on his chest. "Don't worry about it, Clay. You convinced me of your sincerity. We were moving a bit too fast anyway. Besides we've got the rest of our lives, don't we?"

"Does that mean you are saying yes to my proposal?"

I grinned. "I thought you were just joking."

Clay's countenance clouded. "It was said in a joking manner, but I've never been more serious in my life."

"I guess that answers both our questions. Yes, I'll marry you and yes, we have the rest of our lives together."

"I love you, Karl."

I stared into his eyes. "I know you do. I love you, too."

His big hand on the back of my head pulled me down to his lips. I knew how a football felt with that big hand grasping the back of my head. Wow, can he kiss. I know I'm not an expert, not having any previous experience, and maybe I am totally prejudiced, but when he let go of me I was ready to fill in my briefs. We stared into each other eyes. "You know, I've not seen you naked since you were twelve," he said.

"Oh God, I remember that day." I know I blushed.

"Yeah, you were so proud you'd just discovered you'd started growing pubic hair. You had to show me. You stripped off all your clothes and proudly insisted that I look. And then you wanted to see me. I took off all my clothes and stood brazenly in front of you. I wanted so badly to touch you, to have you touch me. I don't know what happened, why you suddenly grabbed your clothes and fled into the bathroom. When you came out you were fully dressed and acting like nothing had happened. Confused, I dressed, too, and following your lead, acted like nothing had happened. To this day I still don't know what happened."

I rubbed his hairy chest and stared into my memories of that day.

"So can you tell me, Karl? Why did you grab your clothes and flee?"

I nodded. It took me a bit to get started. "There was a full length mirror on the closet door behind you. I could see myself as well as you. You struck a muscleman pose showing off all your developing muscles. I could see that not only were you sprouting pubic hair, you had some hair on your chest and under your arms. I looked at my reflection and compared my puny little skinny runt body to yours and I felt humiliated and ashamed."

"I'm so sorry, Karl. If I'd known I'm sure I could have made you feel better about yourself. All these years I thought you were repulsed because you could tell I wanted to touch you and squeeze your cute little body to mine."

I shook my head, overwhelmed that we had missed so many queues, had misinterpreted so many signals from each other.

"You don't feel that way about your body now, do you? I have felt the muscle under your clothing. The way your clothes fit says you have a fine body."

"Yeah, I've honed it to near perfection. But nobody has ever seen it. Well, my doctor has, but he's the only one.

"So you want to show it to me?" he softly asked.

I nodded. "I made this body what it is as much for you as for myself. Do you want me to show it to you?" I felt suddenly shy. I know I blushed.

"I'd love nothing more than to be allowed to gaze upon your beauty." he whispered.

I stood and stared into his eyes. The adoration I saw rid me of all shyness. I unbuttoned my shirt, slipped it off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His eyes roved my torso as I stood with my hands at my sides. With a smile and an ever so slight nod, he bid me continue. I slipped my loafers off and with perfect balance I removed each of my socks. Barefooted, I glanced at him, again, the almost indiscernible nod. I unbuckled my belt, undid the clasp and lowered the zipper. I noticed that Clay was holding his breath. My trousers dropped around my ankles leaving me clothed only in my Andrew Christian low-rise briefs. Attacked with a bout of shyness, I stepped out of my piled pants and turned my back to him, took a deep breath and lowered my briefs as I let it out.

"You have a most spectacular ass." His voice had turned husky with lust.

I did a full body blush, but didn't stop. I lifted each leg and slipped it out of the scanty garment. Before I could drop it, Clay grabbed it. I turned to see him hold my briefs to his nose as he inhaled. He groaned and closed his eyes. "Your scent has changed little, aybe a bit more mature, masculine. God, I love the smell of you," he whispered.

I hadn't known he knew my scent. I recalled a moment, just a few days before I'd pushed him out of my life. He'd just gotten home from football practice and was in the shower when I entered his bedroom