Writing a "How To" Manual

Writing a "How To" Manual

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I was fourteen years old...almost fifteen...when my world was turned upside down. Until then I was a typical teenager. My dad worked for a large investment company in mid-town Manhattan. He commuted daily to our house in the suburbs. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, who took me and my younger brother to our myriad of after-school activities.

It was mid-May and we were enjoying perfect weather; clear skies, temperature in the high sixties, and a light spring breeze blowing through the newly budded leaves of the trees. There was nothing in the air to impair a driver's visibility, so how did it happen? We'll never know, but something distracted my mother, because she ran a red light. Did she turn to yell at my brother for being unruly? Was she fighting off a buzzing bee? Like I said, we'll never know.

All we know is that she ran that red light, plowed into a gasoline delivery truck, and blew herself up, along with my brother and the truck. Miraculously the truck driver was able to escape from the cab with minor burns, and he made a full recovery.

My dad was like a mad man after that. He couldn't work, and eventually had to quit his job. He stayed home, and refused to allow me to leave the house for fear that he would lose me also. He arranged to home-school me, and I complained bitterly. It was bad enough that I lost my mother and kid brother, but I was missing all my friends, baseball and basketball practice etc. He was unsympathetic to my pleas.

While I was busy with my studies, my father was constantly on his computer. He also went out two or three evenings a week. When he came home very late, I could smell liquor on his breath. I figured he was burying his sorrow with booze, and I became concerned. If I said anything, he just told me that I should be in bed by now. I couldn't imagine what was going on with him, but I found out soon enough. One Friday evening, a year after the crash, we had a visitor.

Carl McElroy showed up at our door. Carl was the bus driver, who was so nearly the third fatality of the terrible accident. My father seemed to be expecting him, because he let him in with a hearty handshake and a warm welcome. I myself had no idea who he was.

"Tim," Dad said. "I'd like you to meet Carl. He was the truck driver that your mother ran into. He wanted to come by, express his condolences, and make sure we were all right. I've asked him to stay for dinner."

I was really surprised, but I thought it was very nice of the man to be concerned about us, especially since my mother had nearly killed him. My dad asked me and Carl to keep him company on the patio while he barbecued some steaks for dinner. Before we went outside, he threw three potatoes in the oven for baking.

I found the whole situation to be bizarre, especially since Carl and my father seemed to be enjoying each other's company as if they were old friends, instead of new acquaintances. I was shocked at my father's more than jovial behavior, but I wasn't shocked about Carl. I became convinced early on that Carl was gay; not only gay, but very attracted to my father. You see, I was harboring my own little secret. Since I was eleven years old, I suspected that I might be gay.

When I began to suspect the truth about myself, I would study the actions and reactions of known gay men, and I became an expert at outing closeted gays, but only in my own little head. Others would call it a form of gaydar. I wondered if my father would pick up the same vibes as I did, and come to realize that he was entertaining a gay man. If he did, I wondered how he would feel about it. I was concerned because I knew that one day I would have to out myself to him. When the day came, it would be my turn.

Carl was about the same age as my father, late thirties. They were about the same height, five/eleven or five/ten. I'm not sure. They were well-built, because both worked out a lot, or at least my father did before the accident. I never saw him work out anymore. My dad had blue eyes like me, but Carl's were a deep brown, which I found seductive. Maybe I was having feelings for him myself. I forced the thought out of my head.

It was a beautiful night, and we ate out on the patio. After dinner, the three of us cleaned up, and retired to the living room. At about ten PM, Dad asked me to get ready for bed. I objected of course, but he insisted.

"Carl and I have some business to discuss," he announced rather firmly.

Well wasn't that an intriguing statement? For one brief moment I thought about the two of them having sex, but I rapidly dismissed that possibility. My dad was straight. My gaydar, or whatever it was I had, told me so. I decided not to argue. I knew my dad, and I knew that if it was important, eventually he would tell me what was going on. The only conclusion I could come to was that Carl and my father had been in touch with each other for some time now. The question was why.

I said good night to both of them. Before I left the room, I hugged my dad, and I had the strangest urge to hug Carl as well, but I merely shook his hand, and muttered something about it was nice to meet him. I usually tossed and turned before I fell asleep for the night, but this evening I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. If I didn't know better, I would think I had been drugged by one or both of them for some sinister reason.

I woke up early. My dad's bedroom door was ajar, and he was still asleep. I peeked into his room, and he was alone in bed. Of course, he was. Did I expect to see Carl in bed with him? Carl's car was not in the driveway, so obviously he had not stayed the night. Why was I having all these carnal thoughts? I guess I did fancy a romp in the hay with the handsome trucker, after all.

I went downstairs to the kitchen, and I put up the coffee, got some bagels out of the freezer, and set them on the kitchen table with butter. I took out some bacon and eggs from the fridge, and placed a frying pan on the stove. Everything was ready, but I didn't actually start to make breakfast, because I had no idea when my dad would wake up. I decided to shower and dress while he was still sleeping.

On the way to my bedroom, I peeked in on him again. He had thrown off his covers and I was not surprised to see that he was totally naked. I knew he slept nude; I did too, but I was shocked to see his morning woodie. I had seen him in the buff before, but never with his whopper at full mast. My dad was cut, and in its present state he stretched out to a good eight inches.

I was appalled to note that the sight of him naked, totally aroused me, and I was sporting an almost fully mature seven incher myself. I was not cut, but I never had the nerve to ask my father why he was, and I wasn't.

I tip-toed quietly and nervously past his door and into my own room. I stripped and went to the guest bathroom, which was all mine now, since my brother's untimely death. My dad had a bathroom in his bedroom, which he had shared with my mother. Downstairs, off the kitchen, we also had a powder room with a commode. "We have two and a half baths," I used to boast to my friends, when I was little.

I finished my shower, and stepped out to dry myself. I hadn't bothered to shut the bathroom door. Suddenly I heard my dad say, "I see you have everything ready. I'm going to start breakfast now. Come downstairs when you dry off."

I turned to look at him. He was still naked. I started to get hard again and had to turn away from him, but fortunately Dad was already heading down the stairs. I was in a real dilemma. Dad was naked. Should I go downstairs naked also, or should I put on a pair of shorts? I didn't know much, but I did know that something was in the air. A writer would say that something was afoot, so I decided to go for broke. I dried off and went downstairs in my birthday suit. Halfway down, I could already smell the aroma of the bacon sizzling in the pan.

I guess I expected some comment from my father regarding my nudity. After all, neither of us had ever gone down to breakfast in this state before. He said nothing and acted like everything was normal. It was fucking abnormal, and my dad seemed to be oblivious to it all. Whatever had transpired between him and Carl the evening before was having a profound effect on me, if not on my father. Nothing was status quo in my world, but it seemed to be in Dad's. I had a million questions, but I didn't know what to ask him or where to start. I decided to be patient and wait for him to explain things.

We ate our breakfast in near silence, and I was exploding with the need to know what was happening. Finally I could stand it no longer and I blurted out, "Dad what the hell is going on? You are a totally different person since Carl's visit. I know it has something to do with him."

For some reason I expected him to be angry at me. I surely didn't expect the big grin that covered his face. That smile didn't help me much. The man was so handsome and I started to erect again. I didn't even have a skimpy pair of shorts to cover my condition. I just had to ignore it.

Dad took my hand. "You're right, Tim. There's so much going on, but I didn't want to tell you anything until all the pieces were in place. Let's finish breakfast, clean up, and go into the living room. I'll tell you everything then. I promise." I guess I would have to be patient a little longer.

We sat down on the sofa, side by side. Our naked thighs would touch from time to time, and my skin was on fire. I had a whopping huge hard on. At fifteen going on sixteen, I was nearly full grown, and my prick was man-sized. I glanced down at my father's cock. He was as hard I was, but I didn't know how I felt about that. Was I scared or elated?

Once again, he took my hand. "Here's the short version," he informed me. "I'll fill in the details later on.

"I went to see Carl at the hospital about a week after the accident. I needed to make sure he was okay, and to find out if he needed anything. After all, Mom caused the accident, and I felt responsible for the man. Carl said that he was grateful to be alive. He had minimal damage and his burns were healing nicely. His face was clear, and he might only end up with a few burn scars on his back. You have to admit, Tim, it's a good looking face." I nodded and grinned to assure my dad that I agreed. Somehow I instinctively knew that Dad needed for me to approve of Carl, but I still didn't know why.

"I continued to visit Carl whenever I could," Dad went on. "We have become good friends. When he got out of the hospital, we continued to socialize. Our main topic of conversation was about how dangerous the city was. We began to formulate a plan to get all three of us to a safer place. We searched the internet for weeks and finally we found a general store for sale in Fremont, Montana, a mining town, population 10,576.

"To make a long story short, Carl and I have bought the place and we're moving soon. There's a small house goes with it, and we'll all be living there together. We're offering you a stress free, happy life, Timmy. If you hate it, you're free to leave after you turn eighteen, but both of us hope you won't."

I was more than flabbergasted. I wanted to blurt out that Carl was gay, and Dad would be uncomfortable living with him, but I sensed he had more to tell me so I remained silent. He did have more to tell me. He went on. "You'll be able to go back to school. It'll be safe there. You'll make friends, and you can play baseball and basketball again. You'll be happy, son, I promise you."

I remained silent. The only thought I had was that I would never meet any other gay men there. I knew that I would have to leave at the earliest opportunity, but I decided not to tell that to my father. He was so happy, and I didn't want to spoil his euphoria. Besides in two years I'd be in college, and I could go to one back east. I surmised that my father would be able to let me go by then. He would have no choice.

I was so silent that Dad asked, "Don't you have anything to say?"

I looked him straight in the face. "Carl is gay, Dad. Are you sure you want to live with him?"

My father smiled at me. "It's only because you're gay, I can tell you this," he said. "Carl and I are lovers. I don't know how it happened, but it did."

If my father thought that I could talk after that, he was very much mistaken. "Because you're gay," he said, just like he might have said, "Because your eyes are blue." I had been so scared to come out to him, and he knew all the time. I almost lost the significance of his confession that he was in a gay relationship. My own situation kept me from thinking rationally.

"How did you know?" I asked stupidly.

"I've suspected for years, and Carl picked up on it, just like you picked up on him. He told me last night after you went to bed."

"Then I can speak candidly," I said. "How will I meet other gay men in such a small town? I'll have to leave as soon as I can."

"Oh, don't worry, son. Carl and I have every intention of sharing our love nest with you. We'll keep you so happy, you'll never want to leave."

My father was bound and determined to keep me speechless that morning. In fact my head was spinning.

"Carl has taught me all about making love to a man. In fact, he's writing a "how to" manual, which I'll gladly share with you, Tim. Carl's love making has made me so happy, that I want to make you just as happy. I need to share it with you. I was going to wait for Carl to come over later this afternoon, but let's go upstairs to my bedroom, and I'll demonstrate Chapter One of his manual."

To be continued......