By the Roaring River

"Amelia, I'm," I took a deep breath, "gay."

Three words. Just three little words that ended my life.

She'd kicked me out, took everything, kept the kids, and spread the good word all over town. It was a small town, maybe 4,000 people. In one fell swoop I lost my wife, my kids, my family, my friends, and the respect I'd always had. My job was still there, thank God. They couldn't fire me or they sure as hell would have a discrimination suit on their hands.

After work Fridays there was nothing to do. I couldn't go down to the Dairy Queen because none of the girls would wait on me and the assistant manager was a jackass. Bowling was out, no one to do it with. The movies were already watched. Shopping required money and my wife, sorry,

ex

-wife, got most of it in child support and alimony.

The walls of the small, dumpy apartment squeezed in on me. The peeling wallpaper and patched plasterboard were just two more symbols of my ruined life.

Three words.

How I prayed, wished, begged, and cried, promising everything if I could just take them back. Laughed it off as a joke. Amelia wasn't stupid. She had always known I wasn't quite right and I'd confirmed her suspicions.

My eyes landed on my fishing pole. Small rivers, creeks and lakes cover this part of Missouri. A solitary camping weekend, just me, the skeeters, and the fish was an attractive idea. It wouldn't be like the family trips we used to make, nothing ever would be. My wife kept my sons well away from me, lest I rub my vile ways off on them. Of everything that came from those three words; losing my boys hurt the worst.

Sighing heavily, I forced myself to get up and gather the supplies I'd need to go camping. I moved lethargically, not really paying attention to the things I stuffed in my backpack. I just didn't care anymore. It didn't take long to pack the truck, not like the laughing chaos that had always hallmarked family outings. The only thing left was some beer and the bait. A quick stop at the Quick Trip and I was as ready for the fish as I'd ever be. Somehow, I'd hoped for a little more excitement, or at least a little less depression.

Roaring River State Park was one of the most serene places I'd ever visited. The highway was long and winding, full of hills and turns. Sometimes it made you feel as if you were the only person alive. I left the truck in a designated parking area near the scenic river and hiked the rest of the way. Even as utterly lonely as I was, I had no interest in human contact. I didn't feel like being the butt of every joke, ostracized, or whispered about. I just wanted peace. Maybe I should move.

The hike along the river went a long way toward making me feel better. The fresh air, coupled with the warmth of exercise, raised my spirits; perhaps this little trip was a good idea I should repeat. I reached my old and familiar campsite a few hours before sunset. The hike was shorter than I remembered; either that or my legs had grown longer since high school.

The river was clean, running shallowly over pebbles in places. A few deep holes lined the banks where trees dipped into the water. If you didn't mind the hike, it was a good place to fish. I spent a few minutes setting up my camp; it wasn't as much work as it had been with the boys around. Then I gathered wood for a fire. This was one task I'd always enjoyed with my boys; just walking around the woods picking up sticks and logs, discussing the merits of this piece of wood versus that one. The memories brought a ghost of a smile to my lips.

I returned with the last armload of wood for the night. I had enough to see me through the evening. I dropped it into a pile with the others, then built the fire. There is something satisfying about setting the logs just so, adding a bit of kindling, then nurturing a tiny spark of flame to life, babying it until it grew to a happy blaze. For the first time since I'd said those three damned words I felt a full measure of peace. I felt like just maybe all was right with the world. I stood, my back to the flames, staring at the Roaring River. It was twilight; I could barely see the water reflecting the last of the sun's rays. Shutting my eyes, I drank in the sounds of the fire, the river, and night.

"Mr. Moreland?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of my name spoken so quietly. I whirled, prepared for anything. A figure crept from the bushes, moving closer to my camp.

"You don't know me. I'm Wes Franklin's son, Richard."

Wes Franklin had been a friend back in high school. We'd drifted apart after graduation; he'd chosen blue-collar work and I'd gone to college for my degree. We were still friendly, but not as close. I'd seen Richard a time or two. He'd always been a quiet boy, not boisterous like his father.

"Richard," I replied guardedly. I looked for others; perhaps this was an ambush. It wouldn't be the first time I'd been physically threatened.

"Can I come closer? I'm cold."

"Are you alone?" I was suspicious. It was hard to see anything beyond the ring of firelight.

"Yes." He edged closer.

"Well, come on, get warmed up. Are you hungry?" I couldn't remember if I'd packed any food or not.

"No." He settled down by the fire, staring at it.

I pulled the beer out of the backpack and sat down where I could see him. I took a long pull from the bottle and wondered what in the hell he was doing here. "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you." He shifted his weight, glancing at me for a sliver of a moment, then stared at the fire. "I saw you coming out of the Quick Trip and I just followed you here. I didn't know where you were going."

"Why?"

He didn't say anything. He just looked more and more uncomfortable by the moment. Tactfully, I changed the subject, for now. "I heard you joined the Army."

"I'm on terminal leave. I'm getting out next month and I came back home."

"Oh. Bet that makes your Dad happy."

"Yeah, I'm going to college in September."

"Which one?"

"I don't know."

There didn't seem to be much to say after that, so I just took a sip of the warm beer and listened to the cicadas. My eyes drooped a little as I began to relax, feeling a little of the peace I'd missed since my little announcement. It was nice to have some human companionship, even if it was just Richard.

"I followed you here because, ah..." he trailed off for a moment, staring off in the direction of the river.

I looked at him, appreciating the simple, masculine beauty of his profile.

"...I'm gay."

Beer sprayed out through my nose. "What?"

"I said, I'm-"

I cut him off. "I heard that. Is this some kind of joke?" I was getting pretty hot under the collar.

"No, sir. I'm serious. I'm gay and I followed you because I thought you'd at least understand." He looked miserably down at his lap. "My father never would."

I chugged down the rest of the beer in one solid gulp. I stared at him, really stared at him. He was good looking in the soldier way. Tight buzz cut, firm muscles, and squared jaw. He reminded me of several pictures I used to steal time with on the Internet. He could have any girl in the world. Wes was going to have a shit fit.

"It sucks to be gay in this town."

"I kinda noticed. I've been watching you since I hit town. People really hate you here, why do you stay?"

"My kids are here."

"Do you ever get to see them?"

"Every other Thursday we meet at McDonald's for supervised visits." I opened another beer and took a non-committal swig. "I'm a pervert, you know."

"Have you ever, ah, you know."

"Have I ever what?"

"Had, you know, sex."

I paused in the act of lifting the bottle to my mouth and stared at him. "Of course. I have kids."

"I meant with a man."

I didn't know how to reply to that. I was, indeed, a homosexual virgin. "No."

He deflated a little; it seemed he was disappointed. I charged forward boldly, "Have you?"

"No."

There was silence for a while, as we both digested that bit of information, if you could call millions of howling cicadas silent. I finished my beer and reached for another one. Wordlessly, I offered him one and he took it. I added another log to the fire while he tossed it back.

"Do you want to?" His voice was almost inaudible. The beer was messing with me, I thought I heard him offer me sex.

"What?"

He cleared his throat. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

"Richard..."

"Hear me out. I'm scared, more scared than I've ever been in my life. I've never touched another man and I want to, but my Dad, if he ever found out, it would kill him. I don't want to try it with some stranger, just go out and pick some guy up. I don't want to get hurt either. I trust you, Mr. Moreland."

"I've never done it either, I might hurt you anyway. Your dad could still find out and he'd kill us both."

"No, you won't hurt me. I'll be leaving for college, probably in California, in a couple of months. He'd never know." He turned his head and caught my eyes firmly. "I want to."

I tossed back the beer to hide my nervousness. My cock twitched,

it

wanted him beyond a shadow of a doubt. "Let me think about it."

"How long?"

"I don't know, until I'm done thinking about it." I couldn't hold his gaze anymore. I watched the fire instead. I didn't know what to do.

His offer was the culmination of all the fantasies I've ever had, but it scared the hell out of me, too. I was homosexual in name only, still untouched by the sordid lifestyle. I tossed a quick glance at his clean profile. There wasn't anything sordid in him, just a decent young man sitting by a fire with a dirty old pervert. I held the bottle to my lips. Well, he was just as perverted as I was. And I wasn't really that old, just old enough to be his father. I took a sip and let my eyes wander over his body. Might as well give into the perversion.

I hadn't let myself go like most middle management did, but I was no young hard-body like he was. But then, Wes had started young. He'd been 17 when Richard was born. That made me a mere 17 years older. It was hard to believe we were both virgins.

The self-confidence he'd displayed moments ago was gone, replaced by insecurity it seemed. He fidgeted under my regard, staring at his feet.

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life, Mr. Moreland," he said with all the conviction of a young man who doesn't know any better.

"Call me Ben." I put the beer down and frowned at him. "Let's turn in. If something happens, it happens. If it doesn't, well no hard feelings."

He nodded curtly, but didn't move.

I gathered my courage before my good sense could return, climbed into my tent, and flipped on the small, battery operated lantern. I usually slept in most of my clothes when I camped out, a habit from having children. This time, after a moment's hesitation, I shucked down to my underwear. I couldn't quite bear to get completely naked. The what-ifs crowded my mind, but I brushed them aside and opened the sleeping bag completely. I had a couple of thin blankets inside, I hoped they were enough to keep us both warm.

Unbidden, the thought of cuddling with him to share body heat surged through me, making me shiver.

I heard the hiss of the fire and assumed he put it out. A few minutes later he crawled into the tent and sat next to me. I leaned on an elbow and watched him disrobe completely. He was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't help it, I had to touch him. My fingers brushed his biceps, then curved around his arm, feeling the taut muscles flexing.

My hand slipped away, still burning from the heat of his skin. I never thought that the act of touching another male would be so exciting, more exciting than the blase orgasms I'd had while conjuring images of this very situation. My erection, obvious as the river out there, embarrassed the hell out of me. I couldn't look at him. Instead, I fiddled with the blankets.

"It's okay, Ben."

"Is it?" It was too weird. I wished my cock wasn't ready to explode, it was stealing my good sense.

"Yes, it is." We were silent for a while after that, both of us laying there, staring at the pale green tent sides.

"I'm going to shut off the light," I said, more to break what was becoming unbearably heavy tension than anything.

"Okay."

I paused, then leaned over and shut it off. The darkness was more soothing. I could hear his breathing and my own, but I didn't have to look at him and he couldn't see me. I started to relax, feeling less embarrassed to be in a small tent with a naked man.

"When did you figure it out?"

He didn't have to delineate what "it" was. I closed my eyes and sighed. I remembered the utter fascination I'd had in high school with the showers, and the terrible fear that I'd be caught ogling the other guys' equipment. I'd stolen a Playboy mag from my Dad, but the females in it did nothing for me. What always made the cream spurt were the remembered images of smooth bodies, gleaming wet cocks, and heavy balls in the showers. Despite all the high school shower stories and fantasies I'd ever heard about, I never got to see one hard.

I'd just never admitted it to myself, not until I got the computer. "I've always known, I just never accepted it. Then I got the Internet and discovered pornography. I never went looking for women, just men. First it was innocent stuff, exercise sites where the guys were flexing in trunks, then soft-core stuff. Finally, the hardcore. I had the best orgasm of my life staring at those pictures. It ruined me for women. I could only get it up for my wife when I thought about those pictures and those men."

"What'd your wife do?"

"When I told her she believed me. Didn't need any convincing. She kicked me out, took everything."

"I've always known and being in the Army only convinced me more. I joined up to be a man, like there was something wrong with me. Dad was so proud of me for it. He thought it'd make me a real man. I had a friend there who was gay, but we never did anything. It's like as long as I'm a virgin, I'm not really gay. There's nothing wrong with being gay, but my Dad makes it the worst thing a man could be." Richard took a deep breath and rolled onto his side, facing me. "He hates you so much for betraying him."

I didn't know what to say to that. I picked up on the agony in him. If his father hated me, a mere acquaintance who used to a friend a long time ago, how would he feel toward his son? It's hell to deny an intrinsic part of yourself to make another person happy, or respect you. I didn't know what to say, but I knew what this young man needed. I grabbed him in a bear hug like I'd give one of my sons, completely non-sexual. He stiffened at the sudden contact, then quivered. It took me a while to realize that he was crying. My wife always wept noisily and copiously, as if she were trying to hammer the guilt into me. Richard made no noise and held himself as if he'd break if he relaxed and let the tears go.

Suddenly, I had the tremendous urge to kill Wes and kick the asses of everyone else in town. It just wasn't fair that Richard was suffering so much. There was something terribly wrong when he had to pretend to be something he wasn't just to keep his Dad's love. I didn't say anything, just let him compose himself.

"I'm sorry, don't know what came over me," he muttered eventually, trying to pull away. I held him tight.

"You're human, it happens to the best of us. I understand." I loosened my hold when he quit trying to move. We lay still, on our sides, facing each other, casually touching. We weren't quite ready for more. "I've shed a tear or two over it myself."

Now that was an understatement. I bawled like a baby a few times. It just hurt so much to lose everything. Particularly my boys.

"I just wish I could tell my Dad."

"That'd be a bad idea."

"I'll say," he snorted. "He'd shit a ring around himself."

I laughed at the unexpected turn of phrase. The image of Wes dropping his pants and literally making a ring of shit was funny as hell. After a few moments, Richard laughed along with me. Still grinning, I said, "I could see him doing that."

He chuckled. "Mom would kill him, think of the mess."

I smiled, knowing instinctively that my eyes were staring deep into his. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. I couldn't see anything in the dark belly of that tent. I lifted my hand and traced the back of my knuckles down his cheek. The stubble of his five o'clock shadow scraped my skin. My cock perked up, pressing hard against my boxers at the knowledge that I was stroking a naked man like a lover.

The silence changed, from tense to something else. A few heartbeats later I felt his lips brush mine, a quick touch that was gone before it even registered. I wanted more. With an awkward bumping of noses, I found his mouth in the dark and tasted it. First it was just lips moving against lips, and then the tongues joined in the action. I was kissing Richard with everything I had, my mouth, my body, my soul. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever done.

Deliberately, I put my hands the flat, well-defined plane of his chest. It was fascinating and infinitely more exciting than my wife's perfect breasts. I brushed his nipples-- so like my own-- with my fingers and teased them to hardness. He groaned, slithering his tongue deeper into my mouth. He wrapped his upper leg around mine, pulling our bodies tightly together. I could feel his erection nestling against mine, a burning hot slab of flesh that I desperately wanted.

"Richard, are you sure?" I had to ask, to be sure.

"I want to fuck you, Ben."

I groaned and latched onto his mouth again. He sucked on me, his hands everywhere on my body. I shuddered when he slipped them under my boxers. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to yank them off, to feel my naked cock-flesh rubbing against his naked cock-flesh. The boxers were pulled far enough down my thighs for my cock to hang out, pressing to him. His hips humped against mine, sliding his erection back and forth against my body. It was too much for me, the feelings, the very idea of this gorgeous, young man's penis hot for me. I shuddered, my oily sperm exploding between our bellies.

The smell of cum was heavy in the confines of the tent, over-riding the smells of the beer I'd drunk and the smoke from the fire that clung to us. I was embarrassed, horribly so. I'd never shot off so quick in my life for something so insignificant as a couple of humps. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"It's okay, Ben," he murmured, his fingers finding my hair. He pulled me closer, until his lips were against mine. "It's great to know that I turn you on that much. I jacked off before I came here, or I'd be cumming with you."

"I usually have more control." While what he said was gratifying, I was still embarrassed as hell. I have never been so fast off the mark.

"You're not done are you?"

I opened my eyes, realizing that I wasn't anywhere near finished having sex with him. With the wife, it had always been a one shot deal. Pop goes the penis and off to sleep I went. With Richard, I wanted more, much more. "I haven't even gotten started."

I could feel him smiling through the darkness. "Good."

He slithered down my body, turning himself into a pretzel to fit in the tight space of the tent, and nuzzled at my belly. I felt his tongue stab into my navel and shuddered. My dick, still a little pooped from its explosion, twitched and started to stiffen. I shut my eyes and tried to picture us as we might look: the young man with the perfect bubble buns licking cum from the belly of the old man. I blurred reality a bit and gave myself some washboard abs.

Richard lapped at the cum, roughly tonguing me until there was none left, then nosed down farther. I held my breath, wondering if he would do it, wondering if I would let him, wondering if I'd cum all over him again. I felt the warm heat of his breath washing over my privates. My cock felt too small for its skin. I wanted nothing more than to have him lick it. I wanted nothing less than to lick his as well.