Tripod

The following week at school went pretty much as expected, with each passing day slightly less eventful than the last. There were a couple of notable events.

On Tuesday, some kid who looked like a freshman came up to me out of nowhere and said, “I’m a hungry power bottom and could take every inch you’ve got and more.” How do you respond to that? Do you think he could have at least introduced himself first and said he thought I was cute and wondered if I’d like to get a coffee? As I said before, I’ve got nothing against sex. I don’t even have anything against anonymous sex, but I do have something against being nothing more than a dick for someone to use. At least tell a girl she’s pretty before trying to get into her panties, right?

A couple of days later, an older kid, who looked to be a junior or senior, and pretty hot, literally walked up to me in the middle of the hallway, cornered me against a locker, grabbed my crotch, and said, “Follow me into the bathroom. I’ll give you an amazing blowjob.”

I gently removed his hand from my jeans and replied, “I’m sure you’ve got amazing oral skills. You’ve probably been practicing on bananas and cucumbers for years. Thanks for the offer, but after your unwanted sexual assault, you kind of killed the buzz. Next time, try saying ‘hi’ and shaking my hand first.”

After the second incident, I texted Tyler and asked if I was being a prude. Should I have just taken these guys up on their offers and gotten my rocks off? Tyler’s response, I thought, was pretty insightful, “For your first time, you want it to be special. There will be plenty of time for party sex, but you’re going to remember the first time you do it, who you did it with, what you did and how you felt. You yourself said that you want to do it with someone you shared chemistry with. So, wait a little longer.” That kid is smart. I wish we’d gotten close sooner.

My seventeenth birthday was coming up on Saturday. In the state of Illinois, seventeen is the age of consent. I’d no longer be jailbait. Who the hell waits until they’re seventeen to lose their virginity these days? Who at fourteen doesn’t know if they want to have sex or not? I understand that “yes” is “yes” and “no” means “no!” I can certainly understand that a twenty-five-year-old shouldn’t be having sex with a fourteen-year-old, but an eighteen-year-old can go to jail the day after he turns eighteen because he has sex with his sixteen-year-old girlfriend, who he’s been fucking since she was fourteen and he was sixteen. Seems a bit arbitrary.

Anyhow, my family had a party planned at our house for the event. Both sets of grandparents, my great-Grandma Esther, my uncle Noah (my dad’s brother) and his husband Jermaine, my uncle Julio (my mom’s brother), his wife Ximena, and their twelve-year-old daughter Kimberly and eight-year-old son Ricky would all be attending. This was going to be a shit show for sure, but a fun one.

Grandpa David volunteered to be the head chef, with my dad and Abuela Zyanya helping out. They decided on Korean food, because it’s one of my favorite cuisines and because Grandpa David is the master of Asian cuisine in my family. The menu included pork mandu (steamed dumplings), scallion pancakes, bulgogi (marinated beef barbecue), japchae (stir-fried noodles) and beebimbop (fried rice with egg). I was given the task of helping to stuff the mandu and chop veggies.

Since great-Grandma Esther was living with Grandpa David and Grandma Bernice at the time, she arrived early with them. She wasn’t on kitchen duty this time, but just hung out to watch the festivities. She loved Asian food as much as I did and had me in hysterics with tales of Jewish Christmas—going out for Chinese food on December 25, then taking in a movie.

Then she abruptly changed subjects, “So, I hear you came out of the wardrobe.” Oh, God. Here it comes. Act 1 of a Shakespearean comedy.

“It’s ‘came out of the closet’, Grandma Esther, “Yes, I’m gay.”

She continued with her accented English, “I was born in Berlin in 1928, five years before the Nazis came to power. Berlin at that time was a big, safe place for artists, free-thinking people, radicals and homosexuals. My parents had friends who were all of those things and taught us that it was people’s character that mattered, not their religion, philosophy or who they slept with. Our family was well-off and not very religious, but the Nazis rounded us up just like all other Jews and homosexuals.

“When I survived, but the rest of my family didn’t, I swore to myself and your great-grandfather Morty that I would never judge anyone who had love in their heart. You are my only great-grandchild and I love you more than you can ever know. Since you were a baby, you always came and gave me hugs and kisses, not because you were told to do so, but because that was part of your character. I only hope that I live long enough to see you find the man who makes you happy for the rest of your life.”

Comedy just turned to drama. I started to cry and gave Grandma Esther a huge hug.

Then it was her daughter-in-law Mama Bernice’s turn. “Give me some sugar, Baby.”

I gave her a big hug and kiss. “Your dad filled me in on some of the goings-on of the past couple of weeks. Sounds pretty stressful. Are you doing OK?”

“I’m doing much better now, thanks. I had a lot of good advice from Mom, Dad, Abuela, and a friend of mine,” I said.

“I’m so happy to hear that. Now can I write you a prescription for PrEP? You can never be too careful, you know.” I thought I’d just heard my asshole slam shut. My own grandmother thinks I’m a slut.

“Oh, Mama Bernice, I’m not really that... I don’t think I really need it,” I blushed.

“Baby, once word gets out about that police baton you’re carrying around in your pants, you’re going to be a very busy boy. Trust me. I went through this with your uncle Noah. And that was at the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. I know he wasn’t a saint, but at least he took precautions because I talked to him about it over and over and over again. Remember that my door is always open, both as a doctor and as your grandma. You are our pride and joy,” she concluded, with a big smile and open arms, waiting for another hug. I fell right into her arms and enjoyed her positive radiance.

As I headed back into the kitchen to start filling dumplings, a text message chimed on my phone.

With the meal prep well underway and the dumplings already in the steamer, I stepped back out into our living room. I pulled Mom aside and mentioned the overnight at Tyler’s. She’s known him for years and knows he’s a good guy, so she had no issues with my spending the night. In fact, she looked pleased that I was socializing more.

By then, the rest of the extended family had arrived. Uncle Noah and Jermaine walked over and each one gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Like his mom, Noah had become a doctor, but he specializes in the LGBTQI+ community and volunteers some of his time at the community’s health clinic. Noah, like my dad, is just below average height, coffee-and-cream complexion and very good-looking. With the little free time he has, it's obvious that he spends it at the gym. Noah is in his early forties but looks much younger.

Jermaine his husband is about 6’ 2” (185cm). He is African-American, medium complexion with big, dark brown eyes that belie his warm personality. Jermaine is an attorney, but specializes in estate planning and real estate, mostly in the largely black, middle-class Bronzeville neighborhood. He said that he decided on family law because he feels that it’s important to help the African-American community in Chicago acquire and keep wealth. He’s also way too nice to be a corporate attorney or a divorce lawyer. He’s in his mid-thirties.

Even though they won’t admit it to the family, I know Noah and Jermaine met on one of those gay “dating” sites, that have less to do with dating and more to do with casual sex. They stick to the story that they met through mutual friends, but I suspect the mutual “friends” are their dicks.

“Hey, buddy, Happy Birthday,” he says in a loud voice. Then he leans in and whispers, “Welcome to the club.”

“Yeah, no longer jailbait,” I say.

“Not that club,” he laughs. “Friends of Dorothy?”

“Who’s Dorothy and what are you talking about?” I ask, clueless.

“Kids today,” Noah says, turning to Jermaine and rolling his eyes. “Congrats on stepping out of the closet and into the light. Now you can be your authentic self.”

I blushed again, but this time because I had been too slow to catch his drift. “Oh, yeah. I’m gay. 98%.”

Noah and Jermaine both laugh. “Which female celebrities are you holding out for?” referencing my social media post from nearly a week ago.

“I’ll tell you after I sleep with one,” I grin.

Then Jermaine, whispered in my other ear, “I also hear you’ve inherited the family curse.” I blushed a deep red, this time understanding fully what he meant. “Besides his winning personality, what else do you think has kept me happy with your uncle Noah all these years? He can literally reach places no other man ever could.” Too much information.

Noah jumped back into the conversation, “I bet my mom already gave you the PrEP talk, right?” I nodded. “Mom’s a smart lady. I assume you’re playing safe. If not, I can write you that PrEP prescription, too,” Noah adds.

“Uncle Noah, I’m…I haven’t…I’ll let you know if I need it, OK?”

He and Jermaine looked a bit puzzled, but let the subject slip.

Fortunately, my young cousins Kimberly and Ricky walked over at this point, forcing Jermaine and Noah to be on their best behavior. The three of us gave them a hug, then they asked me to play video games before we ate. I figured that I'd have about twenty minutes or so, so we headed down to the basement. I welcomed the escape. Too much talk about me in too short of a time.

After both kids beat the shit out of me at the game we were playing (not one of the ones that I’m good at), we headed back upstairs for dinner. With all of us seated around the dining room table, plus a folding table, the food got passed around on big platters. Only little Ricky turned up his nose at the Korean feast placed in front of him. I leaned over and said, “Try this one, pointing to the chop chae. It’s basically just cut-up steak with clear spaghetti.” He nodded, served himself a small helping, then took a bite. I was waiting for him to scream out, “That’s disgusting,” but, surprisingly, he smiled at me and kept eating.

As the platters were being passed around, Great-Grandma Esther said, “No kimchee for me. Cabbage gives me gas. You wouldn’t survive the blast.”

Mama Bernice and Grandpa David groaned, but everyone else laughed. Eight-year-old Ricky thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, then served himself some more chap chae.

Once everyone was done eating, Kimberly, Ricky, and I were tasked with collecting the dinner dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. No entitled kids in this family.

Then Abuelo Juan brought out a birthday cake from the kitchen and set it on the table, followed by Mom carrying plates, forks, and a cake server. Once Abuelo got all the candles lit, everyone sang Happy Birthday in English, then Mom’s side of the family sang “Las Mañanitas,” a birthday song common in Mexico and other parts of Latin America. I made a wish and blew out the candles. If they had only known that my wish was to lose my virginity sometime in the next year.

Then Mom said, “We have some gifts for you,” pulled out a medium-sized box, and handed it to me. “We know how much you love making your videos and thought that this would bring a touch of professionalism to them, especially when you’re trying to shoot gymnastics moves.”

I opened the box to reveal a handheld gyroscopic stabilizer mount for a cell phone. They’re not really very expensive, but let you move freely with the phone while keeping the image steady as you record video. It’s an amazing gift.

Now it was Uncle Noah’s turn. “We got you something that’s going to work with your other gift.” He handed me a longer, package. I ripped off the wrapping and froze as I read the label. The rest of the adults in the room were looking on anxiously. If looks could kill, Noah would have just been blasted to pieces at the dinner table.

I took a deep breath, reached inside, and pulled out a professional-grade tripod. I burst out laughing, much to the relief of the onlookers. The kids, of course, were completely clueless. Yes, if you want the camera to automatically track a subject in your shot, you really do need to mount the stabilizer onto a tripod. It was a very thoughtful gift.

At about 9:45, Great-Grandma Esther was dozing off and the rest of the family looked about ready to do the same. I ran upstairs, threw my toothbrush, clean pairs of underwear and socks, and a clean t-shirt into my backpack, and headed back down the stairs.

“Hey everyone, I’m headed over to a friend’s house, but I just wanted to say thank you for making this my best birthday ever. I’ve finally come to realize just how lucky I am to have you as my family.”

Everyone said goodnight, that they loved me, and rushed to hug me. I headed out the door into the night for the short walk over to Tyler’s house.

---

Author’s notes:

This is my first work of fiction. Please feel free to leave your comments below or at the email link you’ll find in my bio.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.