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I was floating on an euphoric high Sunday evening when we pulled into the driveway. It had been a phenomenal weekend that I wished could go on forever. It was a stupid wish and I kicked myself again for letting my emotions get involved. I turned off the engine and glanced at John who was looking a little down.

"What's going on in that handsome head of yours, Johnny?" I asked, trying to stay upbeat despite feeling lower than a lizard.

"Aw, I'm just sorry to see the end of this weekend."

"It has been fun," I replied, trying to ignore my conscience. His feelings and thoughts were so easy to read. I could see that he was hurting, not wanting to believe the things I'd told him.

I wanted to take in him my arms so badly. Instead I gripped the steering wheel and mentally cursed myself. This was supposed to have been just about sex and having a good time. Even though I'd tried to make it so, it had never been just about sex. John had always been special to me; there was no way I could keep my emotions out of it. Since that day he'd caught Walt and I in the cave, I've had strong feelings for him, feelings much stronger than the brotherly love I professed. I heaved a sigh and smiled weakly. "But it's over, John. Tomorrow it's back to reality."

"Yeah," John agreed. "I've got a chemistry test that I haven't studied for."

"Well, you'd better get home and hit the books."

We got out of the car. I opened the trunk and John grabbed his bag. He stood there staring at me. "I wish I could at least hug you one last time," he said.

I glanced at him and looked away. Even though John was a tall strapping young man, he was like a whimpering puppy wanting to cuddle and be loved. It would have been so easy to give in and love him, but there was no way I could. "Hey," I said, "we talked about that after we left the motel. Besides, you know my father is watching through those curtains." I could see my gruffness was hurting him. 'But damn it,' I thought, 'I have to keep my feelings in check.'

"I know," John sighed, "I'm just telling you what I'd like to do."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you what I'd like to do right now, so I'll talk to you later,"

Feeling more like a heel by the moment for blowing him off, I pulled my bag out of the trunk, then watched him cross the street. He turned when he got to his sidewalk and called out, "Thanks, George," then strode purposefully on up to his house. I stared at the door he'd disappeared through, then turned and stared at my front door, dreading going through it - knowing that my father would be sitting in his wheelchair on the other side just waiting to dress me down. I saw the curtain move slightly. 'Damn, he really had been watching. Good thing I kept John in line.' I sighed to myself and trudged up the steps and across the veranda. Steeling myself for the coming barrage, I turned the door handle and sure enough, there sat my father in his high backed old wheelchair with the plaid wool blanket covering his withered legs.

"Good evening, Dad, how are you feeling?" I said, putting up a cheerful front.

He ignored it. "What were you doing taking off for the weekend with that Dorsett boy? Are you trying to convert him to your evil ways?"

"I took him to a rock concert in Goleta for his birthday… with his father's full approval."

"Karl's a damn fool to let you befriend his son."

There was a time years ago, before my mother died and before my father had a crippling stroke, that he didn't disapprove of my preference for men, at least not openly like this. I couldn't help sounding snide when I said, "I love you, too, Daddy."

"Don't use that word around me. You told me you were getting married and quitting your… inclinations. How soon?" The old man demanded.

I wondered which word I wasn't to use around him - love or Daddy. I grabbed onto the second. "As I've said before, Daddy, before the end of the year."

"I'll believe you when I see it happen."

"What more can I say, Daddy?"

"Don't get snide with me, and stop calling me Daddy, you… you spawn of---"

I cut him off. "Of your loins, old man. I am your get. It's your genes that made me the way I am."

"Bullshit. Your mother slept with the devil the night you were conceived."

"And you, Daddy Dearest, were the devil she slept with," I sing-songed sweetly. We'd had this bit of verbal sparring several times before - almost verbatim.

"Get out of my sight. I'm tired of looking at you."

I maliciously grinned at him. "No more than I am tired of having to listen to your vitriol, Old Man." I gave him a swashbuckling bow, saying, "I'll joyously leave your presence," and headed towards the staircase.

"I'll… I'll disown you," he yelled at my back as I climbed the stairs. I'm sure he shook his fist; he'd done that in the past when he'd yelled the same threat.

I stopped on the stairs and turned around. In a quiet, calm voice, I said, "Go ahead and try, Daddy, and I'll put you in a nursing home."

He pounded his fist on the arm rest of his wheel chair making the whole chair rattle. "You ungrateful ingrate."

"Ah, come on, Daddy," I cajoled leaning toward him, resting my forearms on the banister. "You can do better than that. Your vocabulary is diminishing. What happened to pervert, queer and cocksucker? Oh… and how about fudge packer? That's always been one of your favorite epithets."

"Shut up and go to bed," he muttered.

I shook my head, feeling as defeated as he looked. "Good night, Dad."

As I climbed on up to the second floor I heard him mutter under his breath, "Good night, Son."

The game for the evening was finished. I felt that I had won that round, but there was no joy in the little victory. I glanced down at him. He'd slumped with his chin resting on his chest. No, there was no joy in having won that joisting bout.

I don't know why my father was so damned cantankerous. He'd always been gruff, but since his first stroke he'd been near impossible to live with at times and at all the other times miserable to even be around. I suppose that it was the constant pain he put up with. He refused to take any pain relief except for aspirin, and that was damned sure not strong enough. Sometimes, I felt he was punishing himself - at times, he actually seemed to relish it. Since my mother's death, he'd definitely gotten meaner.

There was a time when I was younger that he acted like he didn't care that I was gay. Walt and I had been best buddies as kids, and became lovers in our mid teens. Dad took it all in stride, but once we'd graduated from law school, that all changed. Dad let his partner in the law firm William Franklin, Walt's dad, know that it was time for both of us to settle down and get married.

We paid hardly any attention to them through our college years, but once we became part of the law firm and responsible members of the community, especially after my mother's death and my father had suffered a massive heart attack, we saw that our fathers were right. Once my father began to feel his mortality, the pressure he put on Walt and me got more intense. Walt gave in right away and actively started dating a woman.

I suppose that Walt had looked upon our relationship as just two buddies helping each other out, where I had tended to be more romantic and thought of us as lovers, although looking back on it, I was never in love with him. The time came, soon after his marriage, when his wife was definitely pregnant that he callously asked for one last fuck before he settled down. He wanted to set a good example for his son he said. So that's what I gave him.

That was the time that John caught us in the cave. When Walt wanted to get together a couple of months later, I flat out refused. It took him a long time to get over the fact that once he cut me off, there was no getting back together.

After Walt, I became nearly celibate. Once in a while, when the need became too great, I'd spend a weekend in Santa Barbara where there was always a college boy looking for a daddy, if only for an evening. It was always rather vacuous sex, but it filled that momentary need. My times with Karl were more fulfilling, because we were such close friends, but neither of us wanted to develop a lover's relationship.

The connection that Karl and I had was unique… father/son in my early years, then more like brothers as I matured, and even occasional fuck buddies when the circumstances were right. But there was one part that was always true: Karl was my confidant, the one person I could tell my darkest secrets and know that he'd never tell another soul. That was why I didn't hesitate to tell him about John catching Walt and me in the cave, and John's subsequent wish and my promise to him.

It was Karl that reminded me of that promise a few weeks before John's big twenty-first day.

"Surely, John has forgotten about it," I said.

"Don't bet your boots on it, George. My boy has saved himself for you. He told me back when he turned sixteen that he was gay and that it was you he wanted to break him in." I blinked at that and Karl laughed. "You'd think he'd been raised on a ranch with horses. Those were his words - 'break him in'."

I've been continually amazed over the years about how loving and accepting Karl is. It has been because of Karl that I've kept my bearings through the years while putting up with my father's eccentric changes.

I'd thought that giving John what he wanted for his twenty-first birthday would amount to a simple weekend dalliance. For the last six years I've ignored and refused to admit to myself how I really felt about him. Even after the wonderful weekend with him, I still tried to convince myself that it really meant nothing. But as I crawled into bed that Sunday night I missed having his hot hard body pressed against me. I missed hearing him talking to me as I drifted off to sleep. I tried imagining him carrying on a monologue like he had Saturday night, but the deafening silence in my lonely bedroom was too loud. I have no idea what time I finally dozed off, but my alarm clock went off soon after.

Monday morning after our return home, I was still experiencing the rush of emotion over all that George and I had done that weekend. I rose early to join Dad for breakfast.

I stopped in the doorway and studied the normalcy of the scene. He sat at the kitchen table reading the morning paper while he enjoyed his coffee - his daily ritual. Although he held his paper up before his face, I could tell that he was aware of my presence, there was the slightest quiver to his paper. Maybe it was a subtle shift in the room's atmosphere; I hadn't made a sound.

I wondered what he was feeling. George had told me that they were only occasional 'fuck buddies' but still - was he jealous… resentful for having to share George? I didn't know. I figured that if I just acted normal maybe everything would be okay between Dad and me.

I sauntered over to the counter and poured myself a mug of coffee. Dad had by then collected himself and lowered his paper to say, "Good morning, Son."

I smiled and quietly said, "Hi, Dad."

I knew that George had talked to Dad last night, and was sure he'd told him about having admitted to me that they got together occasionally. I figured he was hoping that I would just accept it and let it go.

He appeared pleased to see me, but I could tell that he was slightly uncomfortable and that he'd steeled himself for a confrontation. I'd had plenty of time to think it through and get past a knee jerk reaction. I'd decided it was fine that they'd enjoyed each other like that. However, I wasn't sure about how I'd feel if they got together in the future.

"How was your weekend?" he asked.

Although it was a perfectly innocuous question, I found myself sputtering, Dad laughed and said, "No, no, John, just tell me about the concert - I'll bet George took you out to a bar, too, didn't he?"

Relieved that Dad didn't want to know about how things had gone with George, I said, "Oh, yeah, the concert was great, Dad. The Beach Boys were really good, and the day at the beach was fun. George asked me if I wanted to go to a bar, but…" I again found myself embarrassed.

Dad grinned knowingly, which only embarrassed me more. He reached over and squeezed my neck. "Hey, I understand, there were other things you'd rather have been doing. You can go to a bar anytime."

I knew then that Dad was okay with what we'd done, still I had little nigglings of angst. But I felt secure in my dad's love, so I got over my embarrassment and smiled. "I love you, Dad."

I couldn't have said anything that would have had more impact. He grinned at me. "You're the best, Son. You know I love you."

After Dad left for the bank, I had nearly an hour before I had to be in class, so I called George at his office. His response was abrupt, "You shouldn't call me here. Someone might overhear our conversation."

"Gee, George," I replied. "I just called to thank you for the concert. It was really a cool birthday present."

George cleared his throat, his discomfort very evident. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm sorry, but I've got to go," he said, and cut the connection.

Disconcerted, I dropped the phone into its cradle and wondered what was going on with him. I'd called George many times over the years, and he had always been happy to talk to me if he wasn't busy. Why had he just cut me short?

He'd seemed eager for the weekend to happen. He'd been so loving and caring until Sunday at breakfast, then everything had been back to normal on the drive home. My thoughts skittered. Maybe I was just another conquest. Maybe being the loving big brother all these years was just an act to gain… no, that's stupid. It's something else. I couldn't see that his upcoming sham marriage would affect how he felt about me. I wondered if I'd said or done something wrong. Maybe he was in love with Dad and dallying with me made him feel guilty. Hell, I didn't know what was going on and all these conjectures were making me crazy, so I decided to leave it until I could talk to him face to face.

I should have been in a good mood after a wonderful relaxing weekend. But when I went to the office on Monday morning, I was just the opposite; grumpy and grouchy. It seemed I had no sooner settled at my desk with my second cup of coffee of the morning than my secretary told me I had a call. When I heard John say, "Good Morning, George," my heart surged, then I thought about the reality of things and put a damper on my response.

Hanging up on John made me feel nauseous. I told my secretary to cancel any appointments I had and I went home. My father immediately started in on me about being a slacker. I'd had enough. I got right in his face. My voice was soft, but filled with menace, as I said, "Enough, Old Man, I'm following your wishes even though it goes against everything in my nature. I am getting married. So shut up and leave me alone."

I may as well have struck him. He certainly looked like I had. I ignored his reaction and went up to my bedroom where I threw myself across my bed. I couldn't sleep during the night, but I was soon out like a light. It was late afternoon when I woke up.

After relieving myself and washing my face, I lay back down with my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling, letting the many disconnected thoughts drift through my mind. And when I thought about that day many years ago when Johnny had caught me in the cave below our house, something I'd heard my father say about the cave tickled at the back of my mind. I couldn't pull it forward. I eventually fell into a deep sleep.

I was busy with my end of term exams and didn't see George until Saturday morning. I happened to glance out my bedroom window and saw him and Dad talking at the edge of his driveway. I quickly finished dressing, dashed down the stairs and out the front door to join them. I called out and waved with a big smile plastered on my face, happy to see George again. As I started to cross the street, George nonchalantly waved back, got into his car, backed out of his driveway and drove off, leaving me standing in the middle of the street.

I watched him disappear down the hill, then I turned to Dad and yelled, "What in hell is his problem? After last weekend, he just waves and drives off as if I'm a stranger."

Dad strolled over to me, put a loving arm around my shoulders, and turned me towards our house. "Come on, Son, let's get a cup of coffee. John, I think the man is having a bit of remorse. Give him time. He'll get over it."

"Why should he be remorseful? George enjoyed the things we did every bit as much as I did." I flushed thinking of all the wonderful things we'd done last weekend and then asked, "Why is he treating me like this? It was something that I had fantasized about for years. It was something that George had promised me when I was fifteen. As eager as he was to fulfill that promise, I can't understand why he's now treating me like a stranger."

"I guess that's the only way he can deal with it, John. The man is in love with you, you know."

I glanced at Dad. "He told you that?"

"No. But it's plain to see how he feels about you." Dad squeezed my shoulder.

"He did say something once about not meaning to have fallen in love with a fifteen year old boy."

I mulled this over for a minute, then said, "He said the same thing to me on the way down, but he never really said straight out that he loved me."

Dad only nodded.

"He said a couple of things on the way home Sunday night."

"Was it something you can repeat to your ol' dad?"

"He said that he should have had more control over his inclinations. And that he hoped that I wouldn't come to regret what we'd shared."

Again Dad didn't answer. We climbed the steps up to the wide veranda. As Dad grasped the door knob, I asked, "Did George actually tell you about me catching them in the cave?"

Dad chuckled. "Yeah, he did."

"I've always known you two are close friends, Dad, but… jeez, he told you what they were doing?"

"Well, not in so many words."

I shot Dad a look of disdain. "All it takes is one word, Dad."

Dad turned bright red, cleared his throat as he opened the door and let me enter first before saying, "Okaay. You've embarrassed your ol' man, now let's get back to George."

He led me into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee while I got myself a glass of orange juice. We always seemed to gravitate to the kitchen table to have our discussions. He cleared his throat before continuing. "George was telling me that he has found himself a suitable lady to be his wife. As you know… Walt has already bowed to Roble's pressure, has gotten married and now has a young son."

"Yeah, I know, Dad. You realize that after I graduate and start working with you, I'm eventually going to have to get married, too. I can't see staying single and being a banker in this town. It just wouldn't work."

The sadness in Dad's face hit me in the pit of my stomach. Dad slowly shook his head and wistfully smiled. Letting out a big sigh, he said, "It's not fair that society puts you fellows in that position. It's not fair to you or the woman you take as your wife."

I ignored the fact that he didn't include himself. If he felt the need to continue hiding… well, he's my dad and I wasn't going to push him. "I don't see that fairness has much to do with it, Dad. I was born the way I am. Society's mores are forced on me. That's the way it is. I can either sit back and bemoan the unfairness, or I can conform - be what I want and tell them to butt out."

Dad looked askance.

"Oh, I'll be a good husband," I insisted. "I can function in that capacity. Uncle Dan has made it work. I'll give you grandchildren, and be the pillar of the community that is expected of me."

I noticed Dad looking - I don't know… kind of guilty. But I was too involved in what was going on with George to wonder what it was all about.

My Uncle Dan lived in L.A., was married with three kids. He often came to visit, sometimes with his family, but mostly by himself. Although I had a close relationship with my dad, I felt easier talking with Dan about things like sex. I'd told him about my feelings for George soon after the cave incident, even though I didn't say a word about what I'd seen.

When I told Dan that George had said he was going to have to marry someday. He was certain George could make a marriage work with some effort. So, I figured that if George and Dan could do it, I could, too.

"But can you be happy doing that?" Dad asked.

"I don't see that happiness has much to do with it, Dad."

"Damn, Son, you sound as fatalistic as George. John, just promise me that you won't let it all get to you to the point that you consider harming yourself. I don't think I could bear that."

"Gee, Dad, I can't imagine that ever happening."

"Well, it happened with Dan when he was in his twenties. I'm just thankful that I was there for him to help him through his crisis."

I was seventeen when I told Dan that I was certain I was gay. We had long discussions about what it meant to be gay in the small town society we live in. Dan admitted to me that he was bisexual, and that at one point he'd been despondent - ready to call it quits, but thankfully Dad had talked him through it. He asked me to please talk to him or Dad if I got to feeling the least bit down about being gay.

We sat quietly considering the situation for several moments before my thoughts veered back to my own problems.

"You've discussed this same thing with George?" I asked.

"As I told you a minute ago, Son, George and I have talked for years. I sometimes feel like he's also my son."

I laughed to myself thinking that it was kind of incestuous, but I didn't let Dad see my amusement. Going back to the original subject, I asked, "So, you think that he's shunning me to keep his head straight?"

"I suspect it's something like that, John. Let me talk to him."

I shrugged. If George was feeling guilty, or whatever; I didn't see him being any more communicative with Dad. But like Dad had said, they had a special father/son relationship that was formed when I was just a baby.

Looking at it from that perspective, it still depressed me that George wouldn't even give me the time of day after the wonderful weekend that we'd shared in Santa Barbara.

I managed to get through the week avoiding John. Then Saturday morning, Karl stopped over to visit as I was leaving the house. We were standing next to my car in my driveway when John came out and waved as he trotted down the steps. He was all smiles, happy to see me, and all I could do was panic. I knew that if I got near John, I would do something stupid like take him in my arms and kiss him until we were both out of breath. I steeled my emotions, waved back, said a quick goodbye to Karl, slid into my car, thanking God for deep front yards and a wide street and left as quickly as I could. As I drove away, I watched him in my mirror standing dejectedly in the middle of the street and I felt like a real turd. Damn it, he didn't deserve to be treated this way, but what else could I do in this situation.

Later that afternoon, I got a call from Karl inviting me to stop by the bank and have a drink with him. This wasn't unusual, but I instinctively knew that he wanted to talk to me about John. I sighed and agreed to go.