Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional incest or fictional incest content.
*****
My son, Andrew (Andy), had turned 18 about six months before. My name is Lucas, but of course Andy still called me "Dad." I was alone when he walked into the living room (my wife and his mother had passed away five years from then). "Dad, can I tell you something?"
"Of course," I responded. "Everything OK? You look awful serious." I could tell by his demeanor that this might be something he had to work up his courage to tell me.
"Yeah, I'm good. But I am little worried how you might react," was his answer.
"Son, you know that I love you no matter what, right?"
"Always, Dad." he replied. "But this is not about me."
"Oh, OK. Who are we talking about then?" I asked with great curiosity.
"Well. You."
My face twisted. "Gee, I hope it's good."
"Well, it could be. Depends on you." Andy said, with a hopeful look in his eye.
"OK. Shoot. Don't hold back." I prepared myself for whatever he was going to say, so as not to react.
Andy looked down, gathered his courage, then blurted, "I know about your stash of gay magazines in the attic!"
It felt like I'd been punched in the stomach and was trying not to wince in pain. My instinct was to deny it. But those magazines were up in that attic that very moment and Andy could have climbed up there and brought them down right then and there. I had had a fantastic relationship with their mother, and Andy even told us that he hoped to have a relationship like that someday. And I had been dating a beautiful girl named Angela for about two years. I did not want him to think that either was a front, because they were not. I had tried to keep my homosexuality a secret, but it was hard to do because it was such a powerful drive that I knew since I was a boy. I struggled to think of a response.
"How... What.... What made you look in the attic?" I stammered.
"I was looking for some old basketball cards, and I saw one of the magazines sticking out from the blanket you hid them under."
"Oh," was all I could think of to say, while I searched his face for what he might be feeling. Was he disgusted? Was he about to tell me I was a hypocrite for being one way to the world, and another way privately. But, rather, he seemed like he wanted to say more, and know more.
Andy inquired, "How long have you been a homosexual?
"I never said I was," I answered. And lied.
"Dad, you have always been honest with me about other things, even candid. And I always appreciated you because you always admit when you make a mistake. I am not saying you are wrong about anything, but I need you to be honest about this. I really, really do. Most dads have collections of Penthouses or Playboys, magazines with naked girls in them. But there are dozens of magazines up there with pictures of hot, naked gay men, many of them having sex with other men. And there is not even ONE image of a naked girl except in the Playgirl mags, and then she is not even the focus of the picture. You have hundreds of photos of naked hot men up there."
