23 April 1971
Tim strolled out of Bauer Wurster Hall where he was in the Architecture program nearing the end of his sophomore year. Every time he came out of the building to see another student protest or hear some student hold forth on some political issue or more likely, the war in Vietnam, it reminded him he was not in North Carolina. The weather was also different, mild so much of the time, never as hot or as cold as North Carolina. No wonder Uncle Frank talked so fondly of Berkeley, with plans to come back.
Tim couldn’t believe his uncle was still in Geneva at CERN.
It was after six and he was headed to his dorm for some much-needed sleep. The studio had a deadline that week and for the last two classes, there were presentations by everyone to their professor and two others from third year, who seemed to take pleasure in grilling them on their concepts or on their designs.
Strolling along the wide sidewalk heading south, his eyes fell upon a guy coming from the School of Law, the building to his east. The first thing that caught his eye was the cliché of a student walking while reading a book. Who does that, he wondered, then how. What kept the guy from walking into someone or something. Then he took notice of the physical aspects. Taller than anyone around him with what looked like an average build within the blue shirt, neatly buttoned and tucked into blue jeans. The hair was long enough to cover the ears, and it was thick and wavy and absorbed all the light, looking coal black.
Their paths were converging where the sidewalks came together at a crosswalk and he adjusted his pace to fall in behind the guy, realizing the guy was tall, three or four inches taller than his five foot ten. Then he noticed something else. Nice ass, he thought as he looked at its roundness in the tight jeans.
A couple of cars passed, then everyone waiting to cross proceeded, Tim right behind his mystery guy. In the nearly two years on campus, he had never seen him before, but with the size of the campus and being in Architecture, it wasn’t something that was unusual. When most were finishing their last classes of the day and heading back to dorms, he was just getting started in studio, not heading back to the dorm until late afternoon at best, but usually in the middle of the night.
Across the street, the guy turned right and Tim followed, curious about where he was going. The guy seemed to part the people walking toward him, appearing to never look up, but Tim knew he had to be for at each street crossing, he stopped when he needed to, and continued when the street traffic was stopped.
They came to one of the students’ favorite restaurants, one that was busy every day at lunch, but at six on a Friday afternoon, it was calm, only a fraction of the usual number. Tim followed the guy in, telling himself he could eat dinner then go back to his dorm.
The guy nodded to the hostess and proceeded to the counter seating to the left. Tim stepped up, looking around the dining room and over at the counter.
“Just one for dinner?” said the hostess.
“Yes, just me. Is it okay if I sit at the counter?”
“Sure, sit where you like.”
Tim crossed the small dining area in front of the counter, taking note the guy had taken a stool on the left end, the seat next to the window. As he drew near, a waitress set a cup in front of the guy then they talked a bit, and she wrote down his order and headed back to the kitchen. The guy came to the restaurant often at this time.
Two stools over, Tim slipped onto it and slipped the novel he was currently reading out of the canvas bag he used to carry his things. He laid the book down as the waitress came to stand in front of him.
“What can I get you to drink?” said the waitress as she laid a menu on the counter.
“Black coffee.”
“I’ll be right back.”
As she walked over to the coffee station, Tim saw the guy looking over at his book. The top of the cover is white with the title and author in green font, below it a stylized pattern concealing two faces within it. And Chaos Died by Joanna Russ.
“Have you read Larry Niven’s new book?” said the guy.
“Ringwood? I have it on my nightstand,” said Tim.
Tim realized the guy was into Science Fiction, something his Uncle Frank got him into with stories about the research happening in physics and the constant book recommendations, making him wonder when Uncle Frank slept. The guy looked as if he was going to return to reading his book.
“Have you read Stand on Zanzibar and The Left Hand of Darkness?” Tim blurted out.
“I loved those books,” the guy replied, then he turned to really engage with him, setting the book he was reading down. “But Dune is my favorite.”
“I enjoyed it too. Have you read Dune Messiah?”
“Of course.”
Tim smiled at how the guy looked shocked he would ask such a thing. Then the expression softened, then the guy smiled.
“Sorry, I’m afraid I’m I can be socially awkward, as my roommate likes to point out all the time.”
“Hey, don’t apologize to me. My roommate thinks I’m just weird and is a bit scared of me.”
“Why is that? You seem like a perfectly normal person.”
“He found out my mother was raised by two dads.”
Tim knew there was no better way to cut to the chase and find out what kind of person he was dealing with. Was the guy tolerant, or better yet was he reading him right as someone that might be gay. A quirky nerdy gay boy: just the type he really adored.
“Two dads?” the guy asked with sincere curiosity. “You don’t mean as in a gay couple, do you?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean.”
“So, she was adopted by them? How was that even legal?”
“A bit a lie about their relationship and actually they were more like legal guardians to my mother and her two brothers.”
“They took guardianship of three kids?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I can’t imagine it. Where are you from?”
“North Carolina.”
“Seriously?”
Tim knew what he meant. Of all the places in the country, the south was not the place one would expect to find a family arrangement completely defiant of norm.
“I’m Tim Sanders.”
“Patrick Moore. What are you majoring in? One of the sciences?”
“No; architecture. What’s your major?”
“Law.”
“Really; that’s interesting.”
“We need attorneys more than ever as we push for equal rights.”
“So, you’re preparing to put up the good fight. I’m impressed.”
“What made you come to Berkeley. I know there are a lot of good schools back east for architecture.”
“My Uncle Frank; he majored in physics and English Lit here, then worked in physics research for several years afterward with the university.”
“Where is he now?”
“Geneva.”
“Holy cow, your family sounds amazing.”
“What about your family?”
Patrick grimaced, then smiled. “Dad is an attorney, the kind we have to fight against, I’m afraid, and mom is his dutiful wife.”
“I take it you’re not in his good graces.”
Patrick scoffed, shaking his head. “He hopes my time in the school of law straightens me out and makes me like my brother.”
“I can tell that plan is a failure,” Tim joked as the waitress came with Patrick’s order, a small sandwich and a salad. “I’ll let you eat.” He looked at the book Patrick was reading now that it was face up. A cover of two colors, purple down the left side and white on the right. Black squiggly lines in rows across it and at the bottom of the purple band, The Naked Lunch in yellow font. He smiled, because he knew the book well, one he stole from his uncle so he could read it, because all the stores back home refused to carry it.
The waitress returned with his sandwich and fries, and just the smell of the hot fries made him realize how hungry he had gotten.
As they ate, Tim noticed Patrick looking over as if he wanted to say something but never did. Patrick was not only a nerd but also shy. It made him infatuated with him even more. When Patrick was nearly finished with his meal, he pointed at the book.
“That is a wild read; have far are you in it?”
“About halfway. Have you read it?”
“Of course,” Tim joked and for a minute he thought Patrick took his response the wrong way, then he saw him smile.
“What did you think of it?”
“I think Mr. Burroughs indulged a bit too much,” Tim replied smiling at his sarcasm.
“In the drugs…or the sex.”
Patrick tried to make it sound like a joke, but Tim knew he was testing him, wanting to know how he would respond to some of the sexual discourse in the book, some heterosexual and some homosexual, and all perversely portrayed in some manner.
“The drugs. As to the sex, he really made it perverse in some ways, but in doing both gay and straight sex as such, I think there was a normalizing of gay sex. What do you think about gay sex? Does it bother you, disgust you in some way, or are you tolerant of guys who are gay?” said Tim, and he leaned over close to Patrick, lowering his voice. “Or are you gay too? I’d really like to know.”
Patrick looked at him with shock. For what seemed like an eternity, Tim waited for him to respond, staring into blue eyes having just noticed their color. He saw him swallow hard, then cut the eyes over to the dining room to see if anyone was watching them. When he looked back at Tim, there was a resolve not evident before. “Are you?”
Tim smiled, because Patrick threw down the gauntlet. “Yes.”
Patrick smiled, shaking his head. “You are a bold one.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I wish I were so bold.”
“Would you go out with someone who is so bold?”
Patrick blushed, then nodded his head, confirming Tim’s suspicion as he agreed to go out with him.
“Patrick, I just wrapped up a review, and I’ve had very little sleep, so tonight is bad for me for I need to go crash. But…will you go out with me tomorrow? I could pick you up and we can ride over to the city for dinner, then maybe go out for a drink.”
“That would be good.”
“Give me your address and let’s say five o’clock?”
“Okay.”
“Oh, one more little thing.”
“Yes, Tim.”
“Are you okay riding a motorcycle,” said Tim as he slid a notebook and pen over to him.
Patrick smiled. “I’ve never been on one, but yeah, I’m good with it.”
Tim saw Patrick standing on the sidewalk waiting for him to arrive. He motored up, the Triumph rumbling beneath him. It thrilled him every time he rode it. To feel the wind and have such a connection to the road, feeling every surface imperfection, or to just push it, make it thunder down some stretch of road made his heart beat faster. It made him understand his uncle in a new light. When his uncle had asked if he had named it, he had smiled telling him yes; she was Bonnie, a reference to the bike’s name: Triumph T120 Bonneville.
He cruised up to the curb and playfully tossed Patrick a helmet. “Put it on and climb on.”
Patrick fumbled with the helmet, and he pulled him closer and pulled it on the head and secured the strap.
“Climb on.”
As they rode over the bridge, Tim smiled as he felt the body against his back and arms around his waist. He increased the throttle making the bike speed up, and the arms tightened their hold. He smiled, then thought of Seth on back of Frank’s bike riding over the same bridge. A kind of repeat of history, one he hoped repeated in other ways. His first impressions of Patrick were positive. He wanted to get to know him better, to see if they could develop a relationship. He had had his fun and now he wanted to find his Seth. Others talked about waiting until in their late twenties, but Tim considered his own family, because Henry and Robby had been teenagers. Even Frank was only twenty-one, albeit a graduate student in college, when he met Seth. His mom had told him not to rush life but let it upfold for him as he pursued his dreams and goals, but grab the opportunities when they arrived, and that included finding the one you love.
Tim felt Patrick’s hold around his waist loosen slightly and he looked in the small mirror to see him looking out over the bay with an expression of awe. He looked out over the choppy water, the sun reflecting off it, and knew what Patrick was seeing.
Once in the city, Tim took them to Polk Street, eventually pulling up in front of a restaurant, parking the bike among three others in one of the parking spaces. Patrick climbed off first, and he followed, coming to stand in front of him. Patrick was grinning from ear to ear.
“You like riding on my bike?”
“Yes; it was fun.”
Helmets off and hanging on the bike, Tim led Patrick onto the sidewalk heading to the restaurant. He saw the stares, men out for a Saturday afternoon of socializing and fun. As they passed a small group, one guy turned to him.
“Nice bike; is the T120?”
“Yes, and thanks. I do love it,” Tim replied as he continued down the sidewalk, an arm around Patrick to show they were together.
It was still early for the guys out on a Saturday night, but for Tim and Patrick, they had tired of the bar. They had gone to a couple of bars after dinner, but after a while they were ready to head to the hotel Tim had reserved a room for the night.
Tim followed Patrick into the room, locking the door behind him. He watched him walk into the main part of the room and rub his arms as if cold.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Patrick replied, then he looked back. “It’s just…I’m a bit nervous.”
“Is this your first time?”
“No, no it isn’t but…”
“But?”
“It’s the first time that it feels serious, like it means something.”
“I hope so,” said Tim moving to him, slipping his arms around the waist and kissing him.
Tim lay on his back, legs held tight to Patrick’s chest, as he took Patrick’s fuck. He felt the long cock, longer than his own, sink into his ass as Patrick slow fucked him. He sensed every inch sliding through his tightness. It made his own cock drool on his abdomen.
“Fuck; fuck me,” said Tim as he clutched the bed while it rocked with Patrick’s movement. He could feel the undulation of the body through his legs and in his ass, the cock pumping into his depths.
He had sucked Patrick off, then lay back for Patrick to do him. Now he took his fuck, every goddamn inch of it as his cock drooled on his abdomen. He had never wanted to give another guy his ass as much as he wanted to give it to Patrick. That tall nerd turned him on, and lying there looking up at the staring blue eyes, the tousled hair and flush face, he wanted him. He wanted him more than any other guy he had met.
“Patrick; fuck me harder. Harder. Do me harder,” pleaded Tim.
Patrick held his legs behind the knees and pushed them over and down until his thighs were tight against his chest. Patrick pushed against them again as he hovered over him, cock just barely inside his ass, then the air escaped his lungs as Patrick buried cock all the way into his ass, with hips smacking against it. Patrick gave him his hard fuck. The bed rocked and squeaked as hips banged against his upturned ass. It was relentless, how Patrick hammered his ass until sweat rained down on him.
“Tim,” Patrick uttered breathlessly.
“Do it. Do it, Patrick. Pump it in me.”
Smack, smack, smack, hips bounced off his ass steadily until Patrick was gasping for air and trying to jam cock deeper into him. The hips ground against his ass as Patrick shuddered and cried out, and he knew the cock was erupting inside him.
Tim sat against the headboard holding Patrick by the waist, watching him move up and down on his cock. Patrick’s dripping cock rubbed his stomach as the ass worked his cock. He watched the movement of the long torso, how it leaned back as it rose, then drew near while descending. He raked a hand across the sweat slick chest, then up to the neck cupping the back of it pulling Patrick to lean toward him until their lips met.
“I’m going to cum,” whispered Tim, his lips grazing Patrick’s.
Patrick sat up and moved with urgency. Up and down on Tim’s cock until the surge of release became too much, and Tim hugged him, pulling him down on his spurting cock.
Tim braced against the tile wall, the spray of the shower cascading over him and Patrick, who was fucking him again. Driving cock into his depths until his own flexed and rose with his arousal. He rocked against the wall as Patrick thrust cock into his depths. When a hand took his cock and stroked it, he gasped for air and pushed his ass back trying to get the cock to sink deeper into it.
Patrick increased the pace of their fuck and Tim looked down to watch the hand on his cock, how it became a blur. He worked his hips, working his cock through the hand, then his ass back on the cock.
“Fuck,” Tim cried out.
Patrick kissed the back of his neck, then along the left shoulder. Teeth nipped the skin, then tongue dragged up his neck as hips kept pumping cock into his ass. An arm came around his neck and pulled him from the wall and back against Patrick’s chest, while not once slowing their fuck. His hips thrust forward with every push into his depths.
“Patrick! Don’t stop! I’m going to cum,” Tim exclaimed.
As cock piston in his ass, Tim shuddered with his release. He thrust his hips forward and erupted. Cum sprayed the wall then slickened the hand stroking him.
“Fuck,” Patrick exclaimed and pushed Tim against the wall, drilling his ass until he was buried in it shuddering with his own release.
Tim never had a guy hold him in bed. It had always been the other way around or not at all, just a fuck and a thanks and the guy was out the door. But Patrick held him in a soft embrace while spooned to his back. He felt the warmth of the body and exhales of breath on his neck. The comfort of it relaxed him, and he drifted off into a deep sleep, exhausted from their exertions.
21 May 1972
“Come on granddaddies, blow out the candles,” said Carol Jean.
Henry and Robby sat along the side of the dining table with a birthday cake before each of them. Six large candles circled the top for each decade, and Henry’s had one small candle in the middle for an extra year. Robby was sixty and Henry was sixty-one. They held hands and blew out the candles.
As the smoke dissipated in the air, Henry smiled and winked at Carol Jean, and Robby wiped his eyes and patted her on the arm.
“Thanks Carol Jean,” Robby whispered.
“You’re welcome, granddaddy.”
“Now open your gifts,” said Margaret coming to the table with several wrapped boxes. Elizabeth followed with packages that had been mailed. Frank and Seth, and all the grandchildren except for Carol Jean couldn’t come. Rob was only in his second year with a firm in Seattle, Meredith was at UCLA taking finals and preparing for graduation, and Lisa was taking finals for her last year in high school. Bill was in his last year of med school at John Hopkins, and Tim was at Berkeley in his finals.
James and Margaret sat next to each other across from their dads, as Richard and Elizabeth took pictures and took away the decorative wrap torn from the gifts.
“Dads, you’re getting old,” joked James.
“I see grey in your hair, so watch who you’re calling old,” said Henry.
Henry and Robby opened their gifts then they cut one of the cakes, saying they would take the other one to the garden center and share with the staff.
“Margaret said someone inquired about buying you out,” said James.
Robby scoffed and Henry laughed.
“He was all talk,” said Henry.
“When you’re ready to sell it, let me know. I’ve got a friend who’s a real estate attorney and his focus is commercial properties. We can get him to help you,” said Richard.
“What would we do if we sold out,” said Henry.
“You would read books, come to Durham for lunch with your daughter, and travel to visit the rest of the family. Maybe even go to Geneva. I know Frank and Seth have been trying to get you to fly over for a visit,” said Margaret.
“You’re both in good health and you could enjoy life for a change. You’ve worked so hard to…” James stammered, his voice broke, then he inhaled deeply and continued. “You’ve done so much for Margaret, Frank, and I, and we want you to come visit us, stay as long as you will do so. We want to spend more time with you. We’ve become so scattered, only Margaret close by.”
“Henry, Robby, think about it. You’ve got nothing holding you down except the garden center and we all know you have a staff that could run it without you there all the time,” said Richard.
“Actually, we’ve talked about it a little,” Robby confessed.
“I think you should talk about it a lot,” said Carol Jean. “We can go visit Uncle Frank together.”
“You won’t go without Tim if he finds out,” said Margaret.
“How’s he doing with his studies?” said Robby.
“Good, he finishes his sophomore year and will be a junior next fall,” said Richard.
“Go on, tell them what he told us last night,” said Carol Jean.
“What?” said Robby.
“He’s dating someone that could be The One,” said Margaret.
“Really; it’s not just some fling?” said Henry.
“He said Stewart Patrick Moore was going to be his husband if he had anything to do about it,” said Carol Jean, mimicking her brother.
“It seems the boy is in law school and in his graduate studies,” said Richard.
Robby shook his head, still not sure how he felt about it, first Frank, then Tim being gay.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said James, “and I might as well tell you now, nothing is going to hold a child of Margaret Greene Sanders back.”
Henry began to laugh as Robby looked at Margaret then over to James, who was nodding his head. Then he began to laugh too.
The house was quiet, everyone left to go home that afternoon, and Henry and Robby sat on the front porch watching the sun slip below the horizon.
“Another day in the books,” said Henry.
“You want to turn in for the night?”
“It’s only…” said Henry, then he looked at Robby and smiled. “You old fool, feeling frisky are we.”
“Just a bit,” Robby joked, coming to his feet. “Come on Henry James Greene, let’s go fool around.”
Henry followed Robby to their bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as they went. When they entered the room, Robby let his shirt slip off his shoulders and down the arms to the floor. Henry let his shirt drop next to it. By the bed, they kissed while undoing the other’s pants. They slid hands down inside them toying with each other, then Robby went to his knees, dragging Henry’s pants down as he went. He captured the cock in his mouth and pushed forward taking it in his mouth.
“Fuck,” Henry whispered, running his hands through Robby’s hair.
Robby sucked until Henry was close, then got on the bed on his stomach. Neither said anything as Henry moved over him. Henry raked his cock across the ass then pumped it along the crevice until he couldn’t hold back. Pushing his cock down, he aligned with Robby’s opening and eased through it, penetrating him slowly, gently, sinking half his cock into the ass. Then he slow fucked, moved with an unhurried pace of two lovers who know each other intimately.
Henry would fuck until sweat beaded up on his skin and his muscles burned with his exertion, then he fucked harder, pushing himself to the point of release.
Robby lay on his back, Henry between his legs, sucking his cock. He was so aroused it was wet with precum when Henry took it in the mouth. He watched the head move up and down on it. Closing his eyes, he focused on the feel of it, how the lips and tongued moved on his cock until he was shuddering with release.
15 October 1977
Robby and Henry strolled down Moreland Avenue, going into any of the shops that caught their fancy. They had been in Atlanta for a couple of days, going to a play then roaming the neighborhoods.
“What is this area called again?” said Robby.
“Little Five Points,” Henry replied.
“It’s a bit bohemian.”
“I know; I like it.”
“No doubt it is why Tim suggested we come here.”
“Hey, let’s go in this bookstore,” said Henry taking Robby by the hand and leading him to the door.
Robby looked up in time to see the painted sign over the window: Matthews Books and More. He followed Henry inside seeing current releases on a table at the front. Feminist books, latest releases in fiction, and a few on gay and lesbian issues. It seemed so strange at first sight, but then he remembered what it had been like in San Francisco and Paris and London, and he smiled at how the world was changing. He just hoped the sanctimonious Bible thumpers didn’t fuck it up, as he heard Meredith and Tim state it. It made him smile to think of the two of them talking about the changes happening in society. He couldn’t imagine ever being so bold, but it had been pointed out by Frank, they were bold in their own way.
“Robby,” said Henry.
Robby looked up to see him holding Frank’s book, one published a couple of months prior. He had read it twice, still shocked at the admission Frank had known his last name when James and Margaret found him, and had lied about it. It was the third book by Frank, one that surprised everyone by not being a science fiction novel, but an autobiography. He looked at the cover, one very familiar to him, a black and white photograph taken of their home back in 1936. They had gotten the camera the year before and albums were full of the photos taken by it over the years.
He walked up to Henry looking at the cover more closely, never tiring to see it. Taken where the drive came to the open yard, focused on the house, the barn just visible to the right. Henry and he are sitting on the porch, Margaret on the edge of it, legs dangling, and James is standing in the yard saying something to her. Frank isn’t in the photograph because he was the one who took it. Along the bottom edge of the cover, Frank H. R. Greene in bold lettering, and at the top of the cover, Family, the book’s title.
“That is a big seller for us,” said a young woman coming up to them.
“That’s nice to hear,” said Henry as he put it back on the shelf.
“Have you read it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Henry.
“Twice,” Robby added.
The young woman laughed. “What did you think of it?”
“It was really nice,” said Henry.
“Excuse me,” said an older woman, coming into their little circle. “Are you Henry and Robert Greene?”
“Yes, that would be us,” said Henry. The book had photographs of them through the years.
The young woman looked at them in shock, then over to the other woman. “Oh my God, it is them.”
“Would you sign a book for me,” said the older woman.
“What?” said Robby. “Don’t you want Frank’s signature?”
“I have his from when he came to do a book signing but to have his two dads sign a copy…would you sign a copy for me?”
“And me,” said the young woman.
Robby followed Henry into their hotel room, something that now seemed a part of their lives. Since selling the garden center and the acreage along the highway, they traveled, visited family or places they had only dreamed of seeing in the past. Next February they were going to Mexico, Costa Rico, and Brazil. This trip was just for a few days in Atlanta, seeing Come Back to the Five and Dime Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean at one of the theaters, dine at restaurants recommended by their family, and stroll different parts of the city.
The curtain was open revealing the city surrounding the seventy-three-story hotel, with lights of buildings and streetlights stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Henry came up behind Robby, slipping his arms around the waist. “What do you say old man? Care to fuck around before bedtime,” he joked, making Robby smile.
The years had slowed them, taken the frantic energy they had once possessed, but it didn’t take their love and desire for each other.
Henry kissed Robby’s neck, as he unbuttoned the shirt, undid the pants, and slipped his hand down into the boxers toying with the cock.
Robby felt the fingers expertly manipulate him, stir his arousal and make his cock fully erect. He stepped away from Henry and let his shirt drop to the floor, He pulled his pants and boxers off, watching Henry do the same.
They came together and Henry guided him onto the bed. They kissed and touched and moved around each other until Robby lay on his back and Henry was on top of him. With legs wrapped around the waist, Robby felt Henry working cock alongside his own, then down below his nuts, rubbing his ass.
“Henry.”
Henry positioned himself, then penetrated Robby. He pushed into the ass slowly, gently, then began to fuck. He fucked with an unhurried pace, one that increased their arousal, pushed them to the point of gasping for breath and clinging to the other.
Henry fucked for a long time, building up his need for release. “Robby,” he uttered as he finally increased his pace, pumping his cock in the ass until he could not hold back any longer.
Robby lay on his back as Henry moved on his cock. They held hands with fingers laced together while Henry moved up and down. Henry pushed him to the point he began to push upward, and Henry increased his pace, working his ass on the cock until he was sweating and breathing hard.
“Come in me,” Henry uttered.
Robby sat up and bearhugged Henry to his chest and pulled him down on his spurting cock.
“You forgot to close the curtains,” whispered Robby.
“Who is going to look in? We’re sixty-five floors up.”
“The sun will shine in when it comes up.”
“And us two old fools will be up wondering when we can go down for coffee.”
“True,” Robby replied. They lay still, snuggled together. After several minutes, Robby uttered, “I’m not an old fool.”
Henry laughed, making Robby do the same. “You’re my old fool,” said Henry, goosing Robby making him laugh harder.
4 March 1979
“Come on, Henry, we have to get to the hospital,” said Robby as he led him though Heathrow Airport. They moved hurriedly through the crowds, people rushing to gates or to baggage to get their luggage.
“Robby, slow down, there is no reason to rush so. Meredith had no complications with the birth and Brandon is a healthy little boy.”
“I know,” said Robby and he slowed and looked at Henry. “I’m just eager to get there.”
“I would have thought this being the seventh great-grandchild, you would be less excited.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Henry James Greene, they’re all special.”
“I know,” said Henry, grinning at Robby. “Let’s get our luggage and go see that baby.”
On the sidewalk for arrivals, Henry hailed a cab, and one of the black cabs pulled up that looked like something from the 1950s. Luggage stowed away, they climbed in back.
“St. Mary’s Hospital,” said Henry as they settled in the back seat.
“There’s seven,” uttered Robby.
“What did you say,” said Henry.
“There’s really seven great-grandchildren.”
“Only Carol Jean and Charles have not had children.”
“Well, I don’t see them having children anytime soon. As long as they’re with that non-profit—”
“Doctors without Borders,” said Henry.
“That one. I can’t believe they’re in Thailand.”
“They go where they are needed. Meredith said they almost went to the Sudan.”
“What was the baby’s middle name? I’ve forgotten.”
“His middle name is Todd. Brandon Todd Breckinridge.”
“That’s a good name. We have enough James, Henrys, and Roberts in the family,” Robby joked, patting Henry on the knee.
“I can’t believe that in three years there have been seven babies born.”
“James has five grandchildren and Margaret has two.”
“I bet you can’t name them all; you old fool,” said Henry.
“Let’s see, in James and Elizabeth’s family, Rob has Rebecca Anna, born in ’76, then the twins, Matthew Craig and Emily Irene born last year. Meredith as Bryan Hunter who was born in ’76 and now Brandon Todd. In Margaret and Richard’s family, Little Bill has—”
“Robby, stop calling him Little Bill; he’s 32 years old and taller than Richard.”
“Sorry, old habit. Bill has Sean Frank born in ’76 and Richard Logan born last year.”
“Very good; dementia hasn’t set in yet.”
The taxi drove through the busy London streets making its way from Heathrow to St. Mary’s, Henry and Robby looking out the windows at the familiar surroundings, for they had been coming at least once a year to see Meredith and her family.
As they neared the hospital, traffic slowed to a crawl.
“This place is has gotten worse,” uttered Robby.
“But not as bad as San Francisco,” Henry replied.
“No kidding…all those hills,” said Robby.
“Meredith says downtown is as bad as New York.”
“I don’t doubt it. But we’ll get to the hospital and not worry about traffic in downtown.”
“Speaking of New York, did Tim say they had moved into a new apartment, or were they looking for a new apartment.”
“I thought they found a place, something closer to their work.”
“Patrick is at the ACLU headquarters on Broadway and—”
“Broad Street, not Broadway,” said Robby.
“I stand corrected; Broad Street and Tim’s firm is on just to the north. Remember how narrow that street was.”
“I remember that great little pizza place on the corner. Tiny place didn’t have any seating, so we had to stand on the sidewalk to eat.”
“Patrick said it was above City Hall.”
“What was above City Hall.”
“The apartment they were looking at or were moving into.”
“Oh.”
17 May 1997
The doorbell rang and Meredith opened the door to find her Uncle Frank and Uncle Seth standing with a boutique of flowers and a gift.
“We’re not late, are we?” said Frank.
“No, Brandon is still upstairs getting ready, and his date hasn’t arrived yet,” said Meredith. “Come on in; Tim and Stewart are here.”
“Really? Good,” said Frank coming in.
Seth held out the flowers, “these are for you, the mother of the boy graduating from high school and going to his last prom.”
“Damn, Seth, don’t remind me,” Meredith replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek, then ushering him to follow Frank to the family room at the back of the house.
“How was your flight,” said Meredith following them down the entrance hall.
“It was good,” said Frank, “although the airport is getting to be a bitch to get through.”
Frank and Seth went into the room to find Tim and Stewart sitting at the island in the kitchen, while Callum poured the two of them a glass of wine.
Frank and Seth hugged everyone, then took a seat next to Tim.
“When did you get here?” said Frank.
“Last night,” said Tim.
“How long are you staying?”
“Until next week.”
Frank leaned close, whispering to Tim. “I assume you’re still letting Brandon use your apartment?”
“Yes,” said Meredith. “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
Tim and Frank looked at her and grinned.
“Maybe Brandon could have found a music festival to go to instead,” said Tim.
“There he is,” said Callum, and everyone turned to see Brandon come down the stairs dressed in a black jacket and pants, the jacket was slim fitting, accentuating his tall lean build. Beneath the jacket he wore a white banded collar shirt. He was eighteen years old, six foot two inches tall, with dark auburn hair and dark brown eyes, with hoop earrings in each ear and a bar through the upper part of the right ear.
“You look handsome,” said Frank.
“Thanks, Uncle Frank,” said Brandon.
The doorbell rang.
“Will someone get that for me?” said Brandon. “It’ll be Joseph.”
“I’ll get it,” said Tim, winking at Meredith.
“Be nice,” Meredith exclaimed.
“I’m always nice,” said Tim as he went through the door to the entrance hall.
They could hear Tim open the door and invite Joseph in, and as they approached Tim complimented Joseph on his suit.
Joseph came into the room wearing all white, jacket, shirt, pants, and shoes. The only color was a red flower in the jacket lapel.
“Wow,” uttered Frank, and he tapped Seth on the arm.
Joseph was five foot eight, and lean in build, with light blonde hair long on top but cut short along the sides and back.
“We want a few photos,” said Meredith. “Joseph, you and Brandon stand in front of the fireplace.”
Brandon led Joseph from the high school gym and auditorium where the prom was slowly winding down. They held hands as they strolled across the parking lot, grinning at each other for Brandon had gotten the use of his Uncle Tim’s apartment in the city. It gave them a place to live while Steward worked at the corporate office during the summers.
“I can’t believe your uncle is letting us use their apartment,” said Joseph as he climbed into Brandon’s Integra.
“He said I was eighteen and it was time to sow a few wild oats,” Brandon replied as he slid behind the wheel. “Besides, he knows we’re already doing it.”
“Your mom told him?”
“After catching us in my room, of course she told him. She tells him everything.”
“That explains the winks and sly smiles earlier.”
Brandon and Joseph had dated off and on since tenth grade. They tried to make it serious between them but knew in the end they were just friends, tonight friends with benefits. They did love each other in their own way but knew their futures would take them in different directions. Joseph was going to Auburn in the fall and Brandon was going to Berkeley, something encouraged by everyone in his family, none more so than Frank and Tim. But it didn’t stop them from exploring their sexuality and enjoying intimate moments that made their relationship more than mere friends.
Brandon drove into the city, navigating the familiar streets until he came to the entrance for the parking deck. He used the card Uncle Tim had given him for access, then he drove up to the fourth level and parked in the assigned parking space for Tim and Seth’s apartment.
“Come on,” said Brandon, slipping an arm around Joseph and pulling him toward the elevator lobby.
“What floor?” said Joseph as they entered the elevator.
“Fifty-two,” said Brandon. As soon as the doors closed, Brandon pushed Joseph to the wall and kissed him. He took each hand and held them to the wall over Joseph’s head, and he slipped his right leg between Joseph’s legs, pushing upward tight to the crotch. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
Joseph moaned and kissed him back and worked his hips, pushing his crotch against Brandon’s leg.
The elevator dinged for the fifty-second floor and the doors slid open.
Clothes disheveled and hair tousled, they emerged from the elevator and Brandon led Joseph to apartment 5212.
“How often do they use this apartment?” said Joseph.
“Patrick has to be here during the summer to work at the main offices, so they come back to live here during that time.”
What Brandon didn’t say for Joseph already knew was Tim and Seth lived in Portland, where the ACLU got Patrick to move. Tim told him to accept the move because he wanted a change of scenery, going so far as to start his own architecture firm.
“Tim works remote during the summer?” said Joseph.
“Yep,” said Brandon as he opened the door.
Joseph entered a small foyer looking into the living area with its full-height windows along the exterior wall overlooking the city. “Wow,” he exclaimed as he walked into the living-dining room.
“It’s an incredible apartment.”
“You want something to drink,” said Brandon, standing behind him.
“No; I’m good.”
Brandon moved to Joseph, took his hand and pulled him to follow. “Come on, let’s go to the bedroom.”
Back in the foyer, Brandon led Joseph down a hall to a small bedroom that had the same full height windows overlooking the city.
“Is this their bedroom?” said Joseph.
“No, the primary bedroom is on the other side of the living area. It’s larger with a freestanding tub at the windows. It’s great, but Tim said we better not use their room,” said Brandon as he walked to the window. “Curtains opened or closed?”
“Open. Now get naked,” said Joseph as he unbuttoned his shirt.
Brandon watched Joseph strip revealing the familiar body. It was beginning to show definition from Joseph having been on the swim team. A body he had been able to touch and caress and fuck. He pulled his clothes off as Joseph did the same. Once naked they looked at each other, grinning like fools.
“Brandon, come here and fuck me,” said Joseph.
Brandon walked up to Joseph, picked him up playfully, tossing him on the bed. He moved between the legs and took the flaccid cock into his mouth. He tugged on it, manipulated the head, and sucked until it was fully erect.
“Brandon,” Joseph uttered.
Brandon released the cock and moved over Joseph straddling the chest. He stroked his hardening cock in Joseph’s face until it was half erect, then he slapped it against the lips and raked it across the face.
“Suck my cock, bitch,” said Brandon, giggling instead of being serious.
Brandon pushed forward, sinking his cock into the open mouth. Joseph raised his head working his mouth on Brandon’s cock.
“Fuck, that feels good,” said Brandon. He took Joseph’s head between his hands and worked his hips, pumping his cock into the mouth. He fucked the open mouth until so aroused he had to stop or cum.
“In the mouth, or in the ass,” said Brandon sitting back on Joseph.
“Put it in my ass,” said Joseph. “Fuck my ass.”
When Brandon got to the foot of the bed, Joseph was quickly holding his legs at the knees, up and spread apart. “Come on Brandon. Fuck me.”
Brandon moved to him, raked his cock across the ass, the rubbed the wet leaking head against the tight opening. Joseph tilted his head back and moaned. Brandon pumped his cock over the loose nuts and alongside the hard cock until Joseph shivered. He put his cock back to the tight opening, slick with his manipulation, and penetrated it. “Fuck,” he uttered as the head of his cock squeezed through the tight opening.
“OH Fuck!” Joseph exclaimed, his body shuddering with the penetration.
Brandon sank halfway into the ass then held still. He relished the feel of the ass tight around his cock. He looked at the lean muscular body stretched out below him, hard cock hovering over the abdomen, and the nuts splayed wide apart in their loose sack. He pushed deeper hearing Joseph moan.
He began to move his hips, a tug outward, a push inward, slowly, shivering with the feel of the tightness as he worked his cock through it. He slowly increased his pace as Joseph moaned and grunted, gradually pushing deeper until fucking nearly every inch inside the tight ass.
“Brandon!” Joseph exclaimed, pulling his legs further back.
Brandon took the legs and pushed forward and down until thighs were tight to the chest and he began to fuck harder, building up a brutal pace. He pulled nearly every inch of his eight-inch cock from the ass, then slammed it back into the depths of it. He fucked and fucked, until hips smacked against the upturned ass.
“Jesus, fuck me, fuck me harder,” uttered Joseph breathlessly as he clutched at the bed.
“Fuck,” Brandon exclaimed as he kept up his brutal pace. Sweat trickled down his face then down his chest and back. He was burning up with his desire and lust, unable to slow. He needed to cum. Needed to pump a load into that ass, and he pushed down on the legs pushing the air out of Joseph’s lungs and hammered the upturned ass.
“I’m going to cum,” Brandon exclaimed. He shoved into the ass, sinking ever inch into it. His cock flexed then erupted, pumping wad after wad into Joseph.
Brandon dropped down next to Joseph who got on knees and moved around to his ass. He looked over his right shoulder at the lean muscular body, one shorter but just as hung, the cock angled out rock hard and dripping. “Put it in me; come on fucker, stick me.”
Joseph smiled, took Brandon by the hips and pushed into his ass, sinking half of his cock into him.
“Jesus, you fuck,” Brandon exclaimed.
“You have the nicest ass,” Joseph whispered to himself as he began to fuck.
Brandon felt the fullness of the penetration, how Joseph buried cock deeper as they fucked until smacking against his ass. His own cock swung heavily between his thighs, growing thicker and longer until erect again.
A hand slid up his sweaty back until slipping fingers through his hair. It grabbed a handful of it and pulled his head back as hips kept hammering his ass, fucking cock deep into him. He grunted and moaned, rocking with their fuck.
“Take me,” exclaimed Joseph, shoving into his ass all the way and kept jamming hips against it trying to sink deeper as he came. Once his cock was just dribbling out the last of his load, he lay over Brandon, their hot sweaty bodies sliding slicking over each other.
Brandon lay naked across the bed, head hanging over the side letting Joseph pump cock down his throat. He stroked his own cock as he took Joseph, building up his own arousal.
“You want it in the mouth or the ass,’ said Joseph breathlessly.
Brandon pushed on Joseph thighs until the cock slipped out of his mouth. “Fuck me in the ass.” He quickly shifted around and held his legs up, resting them on the shoulders as Joseph put the spit slick cock to his ass. He moaned as the cock sank into his ass then began to fuck.
The bed rocked and Brandon moaned and grunted as Joseph fucked until sweating profusely and his body looked flush.
The fuck lasted a long time, Joseph manhandling Brandon into different positions until laying on Brandon’s back while grinding hips against the ass as he filled it with his load.
Brandon held Joseph against the tile wall as the shower ran over them. He had the legs folded up pinned between their chests as he pumped his cock into the ass. He moved slowly, with fluid movements, working himself deeply into the ass. He pushed against the legs until they were able to kiss. Joseph was gasping for air, sucking it from his lungs as he kept fucking.
His arousal grew slowly, incrementally, until he was thrusting upward ready to cum.
“Do it, Brandon. Pump it in me,” said Joseph.
Brandon closed his eyes, tilted his head back as he shoved up into the ass, and shuddered with release.
They lay naked across the bed, the lights of the city shining into the room pushing away the darkness. They were touching each other, fingers swirling around nipples or down stomachs making them giggle and over flaccid cocks.
“I’m going to miss our times together,” said Brandon.
“Me too, but we’ll see each other during the holidays, at least until we graduate college.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yep; I’m all set to start in the fall.”
“I heard the architecture program at Auburn is tough, that you’ll spend a lot of hours in the studio.”
“And your environmental science studies will have you in the field or in the library.”
“True.”
“So, what made you choose Berkeley?”
“Uncle Tim went there and the infamous Frank H. R. Greene,” Brandon replied, chuckling with his joke of how some referred to Frank. Knowing the stories his grandfather told, infamous was just the start. His grandfather could be so stoic, something Margaret, his great aunt, told him came from being the oldest, but when talking about their brother, Frank, they would laugh until they were hyperventilating or asking, can you believe it?’ while telling such outlandish stories.
“You had an in.”
“An introduction. I still had to make the grades.”
“And you did that alright, Mr. Valedictorian.”
“Shut it,” Brandon replied, always a bit embarrassed by his place in their class. He had assumed Cherly Hines or Charles Harrison Frederick would be their valedictorian, the two always pursuing any avenue for extra points or going out of their way to do extracurricular activities. He had no idea his grade point average was higher than both, until he was selected as the class valedictorian.
“Where do you think we’ll be in ten years?” said Joseph.
“You’ll be designing museums in Paris, and I’ll be wading through a swamp counting alligators and snakes.”
“Very funny. But seriously—”
“Seriously? I hope we’re both in loving relationships and we’re happy.”
“I hope the same.”
“Let’s get some sleep.”
“Not yet. I want to see the sun come up.”
Brandon looked at his watch to see it was nearly five thirty. Joseph sat up looking toward the window, and he looked out seeing the horizon was growing lighter. Soon the darkness would be pushed away, the sun would rise over the skyline to start another day, and they would settle in bed for some much-needed sleep.
12 October 2002
Brandon came out of the small market near his apartment. He was carrying his shopping bag with the Eifel Tower on it because he needed salt and while browsing the aisles picked up a few other items. He strolled down the sidewalk enjoying the cool brisk afternoon. He looked around at the buildings, some older than his home country. He still couldn’t believe he had gotten the internship with IPCC in Geneva. A couple of faculty advisors and his Great Uncle Frank had helped make introductions and at the end of July he had moved to Geneva.
His parents were back in London making the move easier for him. His mother was once again a part of the symphony in London. It seemed everyone was finding their place in the world. Even Joseph had texted him about taking a job in Seattle with a firm he had been hoping to get a position since his first year in college, and he had met someone right after getting to the city.
At the next intersection, he swung around the corner and ran into a young man holding a camera up to take a picture of the street. The young man had the camera strap around his neck, so it bounced off his chest when he lost a hold of it, but Brandon dropped his shopping bag whereupon the salt began rolling down the sidewalk. As he grabbed up the cloth bag to prevent anything else from spilling out the young man was grabbing up the runaway salt.
“I caught it,” the young man said, holding it up.
“Thanks,” Brandon replied, “there for a minute I thought it’d get away and I’d have to go back and buy another one.”
“You’re American,” said the young man.
“Yeah, same as you,” Brandon replied, smiling back, as he found himself looking him up and down. A bit shorter, around five foot ten inches, but more muscular, the upper body filled out the polo shirt nicely. Dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes and a five o’clock shadow that framed a handsome face. The cheeks turned rosy as if embarrassed, and Brandon wondered if the guy was checking him out and was afraid it was obvious.
“What brings you to Geneva?” said the young man.
“I got an internship with IPCC and just started a couple of months ago. What about you?”
“I’m at CERN working in one of the research departments.”
“Really? How long have you been here?”
“Not quite a year.”
“I’m Brandon Breckinridge.”
“Scott Larson.”
“Where are you originally from?”’
“Boston. And you?”
“I’ve lived in New York and London; mom is a musician and had the good fortune to land a place on their symphonies.”
“That must have made for an interesting childhood.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Brandon joked.
“Well, good luck at IPCC. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Scott began to walk away, and Brandon felt like he was letting something get away from him. An opportunity Frank and Tim had talked about before. One he had to push down any doubts or nervousness and go forth boldly. Take the damn chance even when there were still doubts, or despite them.
“How about this evening? Dinner at my place.”
Scott turned and smiled. “You’re a bold one, Mr. Breckinridge.”
“It runs in the family. So, what do you say?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Would six o’clock work for you?”
“That would work.”
“Let’s trade numbers and I’ll text you, my address.”
A couple of minutes before six, a knock at the door. Brandon smiled, wiped his hands on a dishtowel, and rushed out of the small kitchen to it. He was so excited he didn’t bother to check who was knocking, just swung the door open to reveal Scott standing there. He looked at the man, dressed in a dark blue shirt and jeans, hair neatly combed, and he hoped it meant Scott was just as excited and interested as he was about their dinner. He considered it a date, as he stepped to the side to let Scott enter, he hoped he did too.
“Please, come in.”
As Scott came in, he saw a book in his hand. It was a third edition updated from the first two editions, and one he knew well. Scott came into the small apartment, looked out the window at the buildings across the street, then around the room. The simple Scandinavian furniture, the art and photographs on the wall, and the pottery and statuary on a side table, an old Japanese piece his grandmother had given him when they had redecorated their home in Portland.
“For an intern, you have some nice pieces,” said Scott, looking at a bowl on the side table. “I like this one.”
“My grandparents bought it Japan back in the sixties. It’s a firing process called Raku.”
“And the table it is on? It looks—”
“It’s Japanese too. Grandmother loved the way they did joinery.”
Brandon leaned against the counter, checking the low simmering vegetables, then he turned back to Scott. “Why did you bring that book?”
Scott chuckled, then held it up. “I think you know why.”
Brandon smiled. “So, you figured out I’m related to Frank Greene.”
“Your last name sounded familiar but for the life of me I couldn’t remember where I had seen it. As I was about to leave to come over, I saw the spine of this book, and it came to me. Your grandfather, Henry James Greene, Margaret Sanders, and Frank Greene are siblings who had two dads. It’s quite a story.”
“It is.”
“It explains the boldness. Funny thing is I had never heard of this book until a boyfriend in college gave me this copy and told me I had to read it.”
“I’m surprised you were able to tie me to it.”
“I’m glad I did. It gives me some idea what you are like.”
“That’s unfair,” Brandon replied, giving Scott a mischievous grin.
It was nearly eleven, and the two of them were sitting at the small dining table, their plates cleared away, talking about their lives to get to know each other. Scott told of his family, a father who was a police officer, a mother who taught science in middle school, and two older siblings. Brandon gave Scott a current view of his family, filling in since the book’s publication.
“How old are Henry and Robby?” said Scott.
“Robby celebrated his ninetieth this year, so Henry is ninety-one.”
“Wow.”
“Granddad will be eighty-three in six days. Margaret will be eighty-one in three days, which reminds me I need to call her.”
“And Frank?”
“He’s seventy-six, no, seventy-seven.” He’s only four years younger than Margaret.”
Scott stretched and sat back. “Brandon, this has been a pleasant evening. I hope you want to get—”
“Yes,” Brandon interrupted.
Scott laughed, then he sat up. “I’m sorry, I have to get home for the group is getting together in the morning to go over some current research for this big meeting Monday morning.”
“I understand, but when can we get together again?”
“The week ahead is going to be insane with some flying in from Oxford, Berkeley, and Harvard for some big round table. But if you can come over to CERN, we could do dinner one night, say, Wednesday.”
“I’d like that.”
“Everything will wrap up Friday, so next weekend we can do a proper date.”
“Where do you suggest we meet for dinner?”
“There’s an Italian restaurant nearby. I’ll text you the address. Let’s plan on meeting at seven thirty, and if I need to adjust the time, I’ll let you know.”
18 October 2002
Brandon climbed the stairs to the third floor then moved down the hall to apartment 312. He knocked and footsteps could be heard inside coming toward the door. It swung open to Scott shirtless, a belt in his hand.
“Hey, come in. I got held up at work and just got home a few minutes ago.”
“Scott, slow down, and it’s okay. Just get dressed, or I might try something.”
Scott looked at him and smiled. “That’s a temptation. But let me get dressed. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I had to skip lunch.”
“It’s Friday, so we have all night.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Brandon walked around the small living dining area, with a poster of Einstein and a massive image of the universe in the living area. “Geek,” Brandon uttered to himself. He went to the coffee table to see science journals, New Scientists magazines, and a couple of books, one he recognized as a best seller among the masses. Turning, he moved to a bookcase next to the television. The two main shelves were science fiction, then below shelves on science research or studies. The top shelf was miscellaneous books and among them was Frank’s book Family.
“Are you ready to go. Luckily, I made the reservations for eight, so we have plenty time to get there.”
“It’s just a couple blocks down the street?”
“Yes, so we’ll walk.”
Brandon wanted to take Scott by the hand, to stroll down the sidewalk like the other young couples out on a Friday night. He was more drawn to him than before their dinner. All week, he awaited this night, imagining how the date could unfold, ending with him in Scott’s bed. He had gotten to know him enough to know he wanted a physical connection with him too. He wanted the intimacy that two men could have.
But he was also glad it had taken a week to arrive to this night. They hadn’t climbed in bed upon first meeting. It seemed important to get to know Scott at a greater level than all his previous boyfriends or hook ups. The night Scott only had time for dinner, they spent it talking while enjoying a simple meal. Now they were coming back from a French restaurant where they indulged in a meal far outside their normal budget.
He felt like he knew Scott. Not in nuanced ways one only discovers after years in a relationship, but in the fundamental ways that made him feel Scott could be the one, someone he could build a life, much like Tim and Stewart, Frank and Seth, and more importantly, his great-granddads, Henry and Robby. He knew where Scott was from, what his family life had been like, and later his years in college. Favorite music, movies, books, finding genres they share a love and some genres they differ, something to add interest in their conversations.
Heading back to Scott’s apartment, he would soon find out how far Scott wanted to take their date. The sly glances, the cheeks getting rosy, and their conversation drifting into mundane topics, spoke to Scott maybe thinking the same thing. He hoped so.
“Can I get you something to drink,” said Scott as he laid his keys in a small bowl on a side table.
“No, I’m good.”
Brandon saw Scott smile and look away, then look at him, once again blushing until the cheeks were rosy. “Then should we—”
Brandon moved to him, cutting him off. He kissed him and felt the gentle push back as hands came to his waist. He was pulled forward until Scott had his back against the wall. He pushed a knee between the legs and moved against the body, undulating in a primitive manner, pushing his stirring cock against him.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” said Scott breathlessly after pushing Brandon back.
They stood by the bed stripping each other. Shirts, shoes, socks, then pants, until finally, underwear. Scott tugged Brandon’s boxers down until they fell around the ankles. When he stepped out of them, Brandon went to his knees, dragging Scott’s boxer briefs down with him. He captured the cock in his mouth and tugged on it, manipulated it with lips and tongue. It became fully erect, and he stroked the shaft while working the head with his lips.
“Fuck…Brandon…I’m going to cum.”
Brandon buried the cock into his mouth, then moved on it, dragging lips and tongue along its length. It was long, longer than his own cock, thicker too, and he relished the feel of it in his mouth.
Hands came to his shoulders, Scott bracing himself, and it stirred him to move with determination on the cock, pushing Scott to the point of release.
“AHHH FUCK,” Scott cried out.
Brandon locked his lips around the thick shaft as Scott thrust forward. The cock swelled thick then cum hit the back of his throat. He swallowed, and swallowed again as the cock filled his mouth with cum.
Scott pulled Brandon to his feet then pushed him backward until the bed hit his legs and he sat down, cock angled up hard between his thighs. Scott went to his knees and pushed his legs apart while moving between them. Tongue dragged up his thigh, over his loose nut sack, then along his cock, from base to head. He leaned back resting on elbows and watched Scott suck his cock. The way the tongue was used over the head, then how the lips slid down its length until Scott had every inch. He moaned and felt his cock flex in the mouth.
Scott moved his mouth up and down Brandon’s cock until it was glistening with spit, then he pushed Brandon to lay back as he moved over the lap.
“I want it in my ass,” said Scott.
Scott eased down on the wet cock until he had half of it. Then he moved up, down, slowly, until his ass fully loosened to the penetration.
“Jesus…ride it,” uttered Brandon.
Scott smiled as he moved on Brandon, slowly increasing his pace while sinking more and more of the cock inside him. Soon, he was taking all of it, every inch. He moved with greater urgency until the bed rocked and squeaked beneath them.
Brandon toyed with Scott’s cock as the ass worked his own. He could see most of it come into view then just as quickly disappear back into the ass. He struggled to hold still, fighting the urge to flip Scott to his back and fuck him harder. Then he gave up, sat up, bearhugged Scott to his chest and rolled him to his back.
“Yeah, do it. Do it. Fuck me,” said Scott as he hooked his legs into Brandon’s arms.
Brandon let the legs settle into the crook of his arms as he moved over Scott. He brought the legs over until the ass was upturned, angled perfectly for his fuck, and he buried his cock into it and fucked. He fucked with a physicality that made the bed squeak and rock, and Scott to utter obscenities. He fucked until sweating and unable to hold back, and he buried his spurting cock into the ass.
The room glowed with the filtered light bleeding through blinds, and Brandon looked down at Scott snuggled against him. The dirty blonde hair was all messed up and he could see the red marks along the shoulder knowing he was responsible for each and every one. Then he looked at the sleeping countenance, the closed eyes, the full lips, and how the nose was more Roman in profile than he had realized. He ran a finger along the jaw feeling the stubble of a beard coming in. Scott stirred.
“What time is it?”
“It’s…nine thirty-six,” Brandon replied.
“You don’t have to leave do you?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s sleep a bit longer, then I’ll prepare us a late breakfast, then we can…hangout.”
“I could run home for a change of clothes and—”
“You don’t need them,” Scott replied, and Brandon felt a hand slid down his stomach moving toward his cock.
Brandon stayed all weekend, the two of them naked most of the time. They fucked to the point of exhaustion Saturday and Sunday, then lay around talking of nothing important, letting what was unsaid speak volumes between them.
A month later they were calling each other boyfriend. A year later, Brandon moved in with Scott. When his internship at IPCC was nearing its end, they made plans for moving back to the states together.
14 October 2025
Raymond strolled down the street, squinting in the bright daylight of San Diego. It was so bright compared to New York City, he wasn’t sure he could ever get used to it. He saw the looks, the questioning stares, and knew he was overdressed for the warm climate, wishing he had left the black leather jacket in the rental.
He came to an intersection and had to wait for the light to change, but across the street on the corner he saw A Great Place coffee shop, the outdoor patio area busy with customers. The person he had flown across the country to meet was amongst them. He had spent months outlining his latest story, working out how to frame it, where to start, always coming back to the beginning.
He had contacted some of the family members, and although all were pleasant and helpful, the problem was getting one willing to go on the record and do a formal interview. Meredith Breckinridge had been promising but she and her husband lived in London. Cross country for his story was pushing his budget, a flight to the UK was out of the question. Then she suggested her youngest son, the one now at Scripps, after being with the IPCC in Geneva. Brandon Breckinridge was forty-six, a scientist in the field of climate studies and a professor at UC San Diego. And like one of the men every generation of the family, gay with a husband, Scott Gregory Larson, who teaches physics at the university.
It had been years since the book about the family was published by Frank H. R. Greene. In 1977 it had caused a bit of stir with its depictions of a family with two dads when adoption by a gay man wasn’t even legal in the country, much less two men acting as spouses. He had read it several times over the years ever since finding his uncle’s copy back in ’09. He had been sixteen and the book had seemed such a discovery, depicting a family from the depression that had two fathers raising three children not much younger than them. Fifteen years later, he used it to outline an article for the magazine, one that would bring the story up to the present day.
Raymond crossed the street and entered the coffee shop. He waited impatiently in line for a black coffee, then rushed out to the patio to look for Brandon Breckinridge. He had found a photo on the Scripps site, a man in his mid-forties with dark hair cut short and dark brown eyes that had a friendly expression to them. Looking around the patio, he saw Brandon sitting alone, a novel in hand unaware of his surroundings. Raymond made his way through the closely spaced tables until standing at the table.
“Brandon Breckinridge?”
“Yes, you must be Raymond Fitzgerald, with Metropolis.”
“That’s right. May I sit down?”
“Yes, by all means.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”
“Mom said you wanted to talk to her, but her and dad in London…well, I guess that is a bit of a slog isn’t it.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You said you would like to meet over the next two or three days, maybe two or three hours in the evening. Is that right?”
“Yes. It’ll let me get your input, then I can start putting it into my outline between our meetings and see if there is something we missed.”
“And you’re ready to start this evening, I presume.”
“Yes, if your schedule still allows it.”
“It’s not a problem; in fact, Scott is excited about having you over. He has planned dinner for every night your here.”
Raymond nodded, as he came to see why others said Brandon was one of the most personable individuals he would ever meet. Friendly and open to talking about his family.
“That would very nice.”
“You said over the phone you have read Frank’s book.”
“Yes, but it was published in 1977, and the third edition came out a few years later, therefore only covered your family up to 1980.”
“Those are the most interesting years. I’m afraid since then we’ve become quite normal and boring, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Raymond replied, smiling at Brandon’s self-deprecating sense of humor.
“I think Frank was the one with the best story. Can you imagine being in Berkeley and San Francisco in the early ‘40s?”
“Tim’s life is also interesting. To be at Woodstock at eighteen, just before entering college. It must have been wild.”
“Mom said he did have a lot of fun at the festival.”
“That’s right, your mother was there too.”
Brandon laughed. “She had gone with two of her friends from college. She said grandmother was furious with her when she found out. Mom said she naturally threw her cousin under the bus, telling Aunt Margaret he had been there too.”
“How were the two of them punished?”
“In the end, neither of them was punished. Margaret had called Frank and told him what they had done. Grandmother said they laughed about it for years afterward.”
“Your grandparents passed away in ’04?”
“That right. He was 84 and she was 83. Margaret passed away in ’07 and Frank was ’09; no, it was 2010, about two years after Seth passed away.”
“They were all in their eighties.”
“Long lives, all of them. But it was Henry and Robby that lived the longest. Henry was 92 and Robby 91. Mom says their deaths really broke granddad’s heart; he passed the next year.”
“When we meet, I’d like to go over what everyone does for a living. From what I’ve found, it seems all of you went to college.”
“Everyone except granddad. He went straight into the military and made a career out of it. From what mom has said, there was a push for everyone to go to college, especially in the sixties when the Vietnam war was going on.”
“Your granddad didn’t push anyone to go into the military?”
“He rarely talked about it, but my uncles Bill and Tim have said something happened in the early sixties that changed him. Having read the history of that time, I can easily see how any one event would have an impact but taken as a whole…Uncle Bill said granddad pulled him to the side more than once to tell him to go to college, it was important to get an education. He knew what wasn’t said was going into the military during Vietnam would have been a nightmare.”
Raymond sat back and looked up at the clear blue sky.
“How’s your research coming?” said Raymond, returning his gaze at Brandon.
“Good and frustrating at the same time. We’ve got idiots in power who think we should be pushing to burn more fossil fuels, not less, meanwhile the world burns and dies a bit more each year.”
“I know a lot of research has had its funding cut.”
“Oh, we have not been spared that indignity. By the time we get this administration out of the White House, and hopefully all those that enabled it out of Congress—”
“That would be nearly every Republican.”
“Yes. They should all be sent home. I just hope righting the ship won’t take the decades I fear it will. Assholes can tear something down in days or weeks, but it can take years to put it back, if not decades.”
It was the first time Brandon showed any anger, and Raymond sensed it was something that despite being slow in coming, wasn’t something he wanted to be on the receiving end.
“I need to get back, but you have our address?” said Brandon.
“Yes.”
“Well, come around about six. We’ll have dinner, then we can talk.”
Raymond strolled back to his rental car unhurried, lost in thought about his conversation with Brandon Breckinridge. He had a few hours to kill, time to think about his story and revisit his outline, always making small corrections. Brandon was right, Frank seemed to be a key figure. But what about Henry and Robby and how they set the tone of the family, one tolerant and accepting when most didn’t even understand the issues at play. He toyed with the angle of tolerance, and how society has yet to catch up with the two men who created a family in the 1930s. He stopped on the sidewalk. He smiled at his foolishness, how he kept trying to make the story some social consciousness lesson, when it was much simpler but more meaningful than that. In the end, it was about family. A family that provided love, encouragement, and support in a manner that defied the social norms of the time. A family that was created out of desperation and need and built on love.
Frank had written how his mother abandoned him and it was two young men, just teenagers who took James, Margaret and him in, and despite their struggles, they had food on the table, a roof over their head, and a warm bed to sleep in. And they were giving an education Henry and Robby could never have and were pushed to pursue their dreams no matter where they took them. And when they came together, they talked about the bad times and the good, they laughed and cried and supported each other. And no matter what any legal document or society said, Henry and Robby had been their two dads.
They had been a family.
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