Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
*****
My uncle Jim was a great bear of a man, dangerously overweight and under pressure, and just another Christian extremist. I loved him dearly. As an antivaxxer he didn't stand much of a chance when he contracted Delta. He died just a week after hitting the ICU. Although I hated the Fox dogma he spewed over beers at the ballgame, he was my idol. His death ripped a hole in my manhood.
My son Jack and I decided to attend Jim's funeral in Galveston together. My wife was out of the question, because she generally found herself in a fuzzy daze of antidepressants and Diet Coke spiked with a whole lot of rum. We were lost to each other. A marriage of lazy habit and financial dependency. Our daughter Kate was all West Coast yoga. Detached and too good to be true on Instagram. A narcissist and wannabe cult leader.
Jack divorced about a year ago, so I thought he may be available for the trip. I had no idea about his life and commitments, though. Knew he worked in Boston in an IT company. He and I had been friends once. That was long before I disappeared during the day in my corporate cube of grey and meaninglessness. My career had gone to shit. By the time he went to college I was invisible at home, too. Most of the time I was vegging out to stupid cable TV. Getting stoned a lot in my makeshift office in the wife's sewing room. And then there were my nightly activities no one would ever learn about. That was a different part of me, separate. Or so I thought.
Jim's death scared me. He and I looked alike. I could've well been his son. Who knows such things in my family anyway? Everybody was fucking everybody in my hometown. My uncle was of the same cloth, but acted like he wasn't. And now he didn't even 70. That felt close to home. I celebrated my fiftieth a couple of years ago. Sure, I hadn't put on the weight he had, but I more than fit the bill of my username "floppybear" on the apps. Sturdy and stout by nature, I walked our dog Fritz at least 2.5 miles a day. My blood pressure was a little high. Meds covered that, though. Even though I secretly pursued blowjobs on Scruff, my heart was barely in it. Rarely did I get a boner when I was on my knees.
My picture on the apps was always the same one: a reflection of me naked in a puddle on our patio. I took it one time when I was high at the house alone. My body was furry, my beard visible, but my face unrecognizable. A lot of younger guys looking for a daddy hit me up when I was online. I wasn't active all the time, but would use them when I was curious. Especially when I visited new places.
The call from my Aunt Carol, Jim's wife, felt like an alarm far in the distance. Just close enough to hear. It seemed like I hadn't stopped sweating since the news reached me. Not to mention the long nights on the couch without sleep. I was relieved when my son Jack agreed to join me. He was pretty much the only person I could talk to.
I chose to drive down to Galveston from Little Rock. I still had PTO carried over from last year. The beginning of March seemed like a good time for road trip. It was easy to be gone from work for a week. I offered to pick up Jack at the airport in Houston.
My son looked good when he walked out of arrivals. Tired around his mouth, furrowed at the brow, but good. At thirty he seemed like a ginger version of me. However, he got the tall gene from his mother's side of the family. And her steel blue eyes. His gait was strong. All the basketball he played through college served him well. Still my introverted boy after all these years. He never partook in unnecessary dialog. Unlike me when I was his age. He appeared to be casual professional. The clothes he chose were athletic and sleek. For strangers he probably seemed friendly and perhaps a little dangerous. That came from my people. Folks don't usually fuck with us.
