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Hey, Ralph here. Just want to tell you before I begin my story, I really am happy that Karl turned out to be such a swell, nice guy and gay on top of it all. He and Clay deserve to be together. So… on with my story. * * * While we, Clay and I, were making that stupid film, one of the cameramen had made advances on me. He was a real slime ball and I'd flat out refused to have anything to do with him. But he wouldn't take no for an answer, so I ended up telling him what I thought of him. He swore he'd make me pay for my words. I just blew him off as hot air and figured he was too stupid to realize how lucky he was that I didn't punch him in his ugly face. I forgot all about him until a couple months after Clay's knee was busted. A fan e-mailed the Cowboy's front office saying he really loved the picture of me on an internet site called Muscular Men. It was one of the photos taken of Clay fucking me. Clay's face had been turned away from the camera, but mine was very clear. That brought the proverbial house down around my head. My career as a professional football player ended... abruptly. I was allowed to quietly retire since the Cowboy's front office wanted no scandal about a queer playing for them. I was furious. Having nothing to lose; I brought a lawsuit against the pornographer and his cameramen for 10 million dollars. My lawyers somehow managed to keep the whole lawsuit thing quiet, which wasn't difficult since the football world is so frightened of anything homosexual… I'm still amazed that the press never got hold of the story. I ended up being awarded three million, and all of the film and stills were supposedly confiscated and destroyed. The pornographer swore to the judge that there were no more. It was useless to try to do anything about removing the pic from the internet site. By then it was in thousands of private collections. It was an amusing coincidence that soon after the settlement, the slimy cameraman ended up in a New York gutter with his throat slashed. I would have loved to have been the one to do it, but I wasn't. * * * Sandra, Clay's wife, just up and left after that damned 49er tackled him, busting his knee and ending his career as a Dallas Cowboy, leaving him to care for his little sixteen month old son. Clay was still on crutches and needed someone to do a lot of things that he couldn't manage… like lifting or carrying Kacy. Clay's mother had gone to Dallas and stayed with him while he was in the hospital. She surely saw how Sandra didn't give a rat's ass about Clay's predicament, but she's just not the kind to step in and take over. So as soon as Clay was out of the hospital, Clay's mother headed back to California. The first time Sandra had to take Clay to his weekly appointment with the doctors and therapist, she turned it into an international event. I've never met anyone - man or woman - that could whine, bitch and moan like she could. The doctor actually begged Clay to get someone else to drive him to his appointments. So I entered the picture. It was less than two weeks later that Sandra split. Clay never bothered to tell his mother. He just struggled to do everything himself. Fortunately, I was there to step in and take over. I had just won the nasty court battle, had plenty of money, and all the time in the world to do what I pleased. I'll never forget the day the bitch left. I'd taken Clay to his appointment, as I had the last two times after her bitch fit. There wasn't a hint that anything was going to be different this time. She apparently had timed Clay's previous appointments and left just before we got back; taking all of her stuff, including several pieces of antique furniture. When Clay saw the half emptied living room he panicked. Hell, I did, too. He hurriedly crutched into Kacy's room calling out for his son, with me right on his tail. But there Kacy was - in his crib, happily playing - completely unaware that his mother had abandoned him. He was bouncing as he clung to the top of the crib, yelling "Daddy, Raffy" in his gruff little boy voice. It always thrills me the way Kacy's always so delighted to see his daddy or me, and I loved the way he called me Raffy. Clay grabbed up his little son and hugged him to his chest. I wrapped my arms around both of them - my men. The note was terse and to the point. Not even one crocodile tear. Clay, When Clay discovered she'd emptied their bank account and taken all of their savings, he shrugged it off and said, "That's a cheap price for giving me my wonderful little son." He had a good financial advisor and much of what he'd made as a Dallas Cowboy had been well invested. He put his huge house in Dallas on the market and made plans to move back to his hometown of Robles Hills in California. When I first moved in to take care of Clay, he protested that I was putting my life on hold for him, but I replied that I had nothing else going on until I started back to school. He hugged me and told me for the millionth time that even though he'd come to accept that he was gay, he couldn't feel about me like I felt for him, but that I'd always hold the place in his heart marked, 'Beloved Best Friend.' I could live with that. I'd already checked out the university in Los Robles, California, applied for admittance for the next year and had been accepted. So when the time came for the move to Los Robles there was no discussion about me going; it was simply an accepted fact. * * * The town of Robles Hills is set in a beautiful little valley surrounded by rounded grass-covered hills a few miles inland from the Pacific. On first impression it was just another small hick town and I'd wondered why Clay wanted to return here to live. But it did have the university and the nearby beach. The quiet little college town grew on me. It was a perfect place to raise a boy. The move to Robles Hills was uneventful. We stayed with Clay's mother in her big house for three months until we found a suitable house across town near the university. I suggested that we buy it in partnership since we'd both be living in it while going to school. But Clay refused and bought the house by himself. When I offered to pay rent, he smirked at me and said, "Ralph, if you'll let me pay you for all the help you've been to Kacy and me, then I'll accept rent from you. Until then the subject is closed." So, both of us entered the university that fall. Mrs. Ramirez, our next door neighbor, babysat Kacy when we were both in class at the same time, which was only about four hours a week. * * * I knew that Karl Johnson still lived here. Clay had told me all about them being best friends when they were young, and how Karl had figured out that Clay was gay and turned his back on him. Clay's mom had told us all about how Karl had turned into a tall strikingly handsome man, worked in the old bank downtown, and lived alone in the penthouse at the top of the only high rise condo in town. I'd taken a strong dislike to the man before I ever met him. Right after we'd moved here, Clay had found a newspaper photo of Karl and saved it. I'd occasionally catch him brooding over it. It'd make my heart ache for him - and for me, too. I couldn't figure out why he would ever want to run into the man again. When I right our asked him why he didn't just walk into the bank and say 'hi', he smiled sadly and said, "No, he doesn't need an ex football fag messing up his life." I'd considered looking Karl up and telling him off. But I'm not a meddlesome man, so I let it be. Although I did wonder if Karl was even aware that Clay had moved back, and if he even gave a damn. I knew that sooner or later they'd have to run into each other, and I silently prayed that it wouldn't be too hard on Clay. * * * We'd lived here nearly a year before our paths finally crossed with Karl's. It was during the fall semester on a Friday evening. Clay insisted that we take a break from our studies and go out for a nice dinner. Mrs. Ramirez, our next door neighbor, was taking care of Kacy. I loved these times when it was just the two of us and I could feel like it was a romantic date, although I knew that I was only fooling myself. We decided to try Maisey's Dining Room, a classy restaurant downtown. We'd parked on Main Street down the block from the stately old 1800s bank building. I was driving and Clay got out of the car while I was fussing with keys and locks. Clay suddenly yelled, "Karl," and started running toward a man that had just exited the old bank building. I followed, intently studying this man Karl as I walked toward them. He was tall and slender; looked like he'd just stepped out of GQ - expensively dressed in a dark Italian suit. Damn, he was very handsome, too. I watched his expression go from startled to delighted to apprehensive. When Clay introduced me, I did my best to be civil. It was obvious that the man was so homophobic that he could hardly stand being near us. I was so busy trying to figure him out that I didn't pay any attention to what was said. I watched Clay shake his hand, holding it too long before he suddenly let go and turned away, calling for me to follow. I stared into Karl's eyes a moment before following. I could see the desire in his eyes - he wanted Clay. I decided then and there that the man was definitely a closet case queer, and homophobic to cover his own ass. When I caught up with Clay, he put an arm around my shoulder as he turned to look back at Karl. The angst in his expression stabbed me. I patted him on the back and urged him on. When we got to the corner, Karl was just turning to walk in the opposite direction. He'd obviously stood there watching Clay; probably perving on his fantastic butt. I wondered if there was any way I could protect Clay from getting hurt by this man. Dinner was a bust. Clay went from being euphoric and having a couple of drinks before dinner, to being depressed and hardly touching his food. It really pissed me off to see him moping, but I had no idea how to cheer him up. Two days after running into Karl I answered the phone, it was the call that I knew would eventually come. I tried to put him off, but Karl insisted that Clay call him back as soon as he returned from class. 'It was imperative that he speak to him' was the term he used. I thought about not telling Clay that Karl had called, but Clay's a big boy; I had no right to interfere. Clay eagerly picked up the phone and ended up making a dinner date with him. I wanted so badly to tell him he was a fool for running after that homophobic ass, but I kept my mouth shut. Well, almost - when Clay went next door to pick up Kacy, I couldn't resist calling Karl and telling him to keep his homophobia to himself, and that if he hurt Clay I would hurt him. He sputtered a protest and I hung up. I kind of hoped that the reason for this meeting was for Karl to inform Clay that he didn't want anything to do with him. When Clay wasn't home three hours later, I knew that hadn't happen. Kissing Kacy's forehead, I tucked him in and went to bed. I had a text book opened on my chest and just stared blankly at the blurred words as I let my imagination make me absolutely miserable. The seconds dragged into minutes and then slowly into hours. I was still wake when Clay finally came in. I could hear him talking, and I silently cursed him for bringing Karl home with him. Then when I heard Kacy's little voice, I couldn't resist; I got up and put on a pair of cutoffs and an old sweatshirt and stepped over to Kacy's bedroom door. Karl was holding our boy, who had his arms around his neck. A flare of jealousy burned me when Kacy kissed Karl's cheek and told him he loved him. I fought the urge to rush in, grab Kacy out of his arms and punch him in the face. I watched Clay take Kacy, put him back in his bed and lovingly tuck him in. As he straightened up, he wrapped his arms around Karl and kissed the side of his neck, and Karl in turn kissed the side of his face. I died a little. Karl's back was to me. He noticeably stiffened when Clay saw me and said, "Hey, Ralph, we didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted Karl to meet Kacy." "I was only reading," I replied, wondering why I hadn't fled back to my room and locked the door. Karl pulled away from Clay and turned around to face me; his expression unreadable. I studied him a moment - bitterness blackened my sight. I couldn't keep the rancor from my voice as I said, "So you're not as straight as you led us to think. And now you've stolen the hearts of both my men." Karl's expression crumbled into one of sympathy, which only served to anger me. "I haven't taken anything from you, Ralph," he said. "I'm sure they both still love you as much as ever." How dare he feel sorry for me. I clinched my fists and fought the urge to bust his jaw. Clay limped over to me and wrapped me in a bear hug. "You'll always be my best buddy, Ralph, you know that. I'd hoped you'd be happy that I've finally got Karl back in my life." I stared into his eyes and knew that even though he'd never love me like he loved Karl, I still loved him and his happiness was more important to me than my own. "I am happy for you, Clay," I said, doing my best to sound like I meant it. "It's just.... well, you know." There was no way I could express my sorrow, my loss of hope. Clay almost brought me to tears, saying, "I know, Buddy, but it's time you find someone of your own who can love you like you deserve." "Yeah, yeah," I agreed just to shut him up and changed the subject by asking, "Why are you limping?" I dropped into a squat and felt his knee. It was grossly swollen. "Shit, what in hell did you do to it this time?" Clay grinned and winked at Karl. "I was just playing Rhett Butler," he said, making light of it. I looked at Karl trying to imagine him playing Scarlett. It just didn't fit. The man looked embarrassed. I ignored it, went into nurse mode and insisted on helping Clay to his bed. Karl stuffed a pillow under his calf and I went to the kitchen to get an ice pack. Karl followed me. He told me about putting ice on it earlier and giving him some Tylenol. He asked about getting Clay's knee fixed properly. He even volunteered to pay for it, ignoring my jibe about doing it on a bank teller's salary. He was so sincerely concerned that I found myself beginning to like the man. We went back to Clay with the ice and found he'd taken a couple of his knockout pills. I knew he had to be in a lot of pain to do that. The pills had nearly put him to sleep already, so I asked Karl to help me undress him and get him between the sheets. I noticed Karl slip an envelope out of Clay's pants pocket as he folded them. I paused, raising my eyebrows in query as I watched him slip it into his pocket. "Let's get him settled and I'll tell you," he'd said. Karl took me to pick up Clay's car after we'd put him to bed and iced his knee. I spent most of the trip to the beach restaurant silently revising my feelings about the man. I couldn't resist asking him about the white envelope before we got to the beach. He let out a big sigh and said, "I'll follow you back to the house and show you, then we can discuss what to do about it." I couldn't imagine what Karl could have that concerned me. When we got back, I headed for the kitchen and put on a kettle of water for tea; neither Clay nor I drink coffee. Karl sat at the table and passed the envelope to me. I knew before I opened it what was in it. Karl was talking, but I wasn't really listening as I sifted through the pictures. I momentarily wondered if he was going to try to blackmail me. He was saying something about Googling me and finding the Muscular Man site. I was glad I was sitting at the table, because I started getting hard looking at Clay's beautiful body and remembering what it had been like to fuck him, and to be fucked by him - even if it had been in front of a half dozen people and cameras. Karl was still talking when I looked back up at him. He was saying that he was willing to make amends for his grandfather. It took a minute, but I figured out that he thought his grandfather had something to do with the internet pic and ending my football career. I quickly set him straight. When he offered to let me keep the photos, I refused them. "Don't you want them?" He asked. "No, Karl," I told him. "I don't need to be reminded of......" I couldn't get the rest of the sentence out. I stared into my mug and tried to swallow the bitterness I felt. "I'm sorry, Ralph," he said, as he reached across and grasped my forearm. I pulled away, fighting the acrimony boiling inside me. "Don't," I growled. "I knew what I was getting into. It's enough to just be near him and know that he considers me his friend." He nodded as if he understood. When he stood and spoke of leaving, I pictured Clay in pain, lying alone in his bed, refusing to let anyone share it with him except this man standing before me. I had a feeling that it was me at this point that was keeping Karl out of Clay's bed. I stuck the photos back into the envelope and shoved them across the table. "If you don't want them, put them back in Clay's pants and let him do with them as he will." I glanced at the wall clock. Although it felt like I was thrusting a knife into my own heart, I told him to stay the night with Clay. "The ice has been on his knee long enough. I'll let you take it off. I'm going to hit the sack." I couldn't take his feeling sorry for me. I fled the room to turn off the lights and lock the front door while Karl made his way into Clay's room. I lay awake for a long time, imaging Clay, in his sleep, being drawn to wrap himself around the man he'd been in love with forever. I envied Karl, but I was happy for Clay, and as I thought about it, I found the bile seeping away. I resigned myself to the situation that I'd subconsciously known would eventually occur, and wondered what I would do now. I was suddenly a fifth wheel. Big ol' football jock me was feeling like little boy lost. * * * The following weeks passed in a haze that blurred into months. Clay was happy. He spent a lot of time with Karl. I spent a lot of time with Kacy. The boy's insight is amazing. One night we were sitting in front of the TV. I was off in my own world when Kacy turned it off. When I looked at him he just stared at me. "What's going on in that little head of yours, Kacy?" I asked. "Raffy, (at nearly five years old he still insisted on calling me his baby name for me) I'm sorry you can't be my daddy's boyfriend. I really like Karl, but you'll will always be my other daddy." I lost it. Tears welled up and spilled down my face. Kacy was instantly off the couch. He grabbed some Kleenex and climbed into my lap. "I'm sorry, Raffy," he said, wiping my cheeks. "I didn't mean to make you cry. You know what, Raff? We need to find you a boyfriend... all your own." This - from a four year old. "I tell you what, Kacy, I want you to help me, okay?" I felt rather condescending saying that to him. I should have been ashamed of myself, but he just grinned delightedly and said, "I'll help you, Raffy. And... and he'll be the best boyfriend in all the world." He spread his arms in an arc over his head. I laughed at his exuberance, and wondered how he'd see me by the time he was twelve or fourteen. I soon forgot about the conversation. I turned twenty-nine that winter, and soon after, Clay turned twenty-eight, followed by Karl. Karl invited us to join him in inspecting the big Victorian mansion up on Robles Hill that he'd inherited from his grandfather. Mr. Dorsett, Karl's father who lived across the street in the other huge old Victorian that crowned the hill, joined us. I'd seen him several times, but this was the first time we were actually introduced to each other. He is an older version of Karl, maybe even a little more handsome and an inch shorter. I was surprised that a bank president would be so affable. As we stepped up on the porch, Clay started humming the theme to a scary old TV show called The Outer Limits. Karl and I nervously laughed, while Mr. Dorsett looked askance; his house across the street was nearly a mirror image of this one. Karl opened the door and we all stepped into the foyer. It had been closed up for several years and even though it had recently been opened and aired, it was still a bit musty. The house had been kept in good repair. It looked to have been painted a couple of years ago. Nothing had been said about any of us living in this house until we got upstairs. Kacy's eyes got big when the door was opened to the old nursery. He 'ohed' and 'ahhed' as he checked out all the old toys. Mr. Dorsett walked around examining things and commented, "George must have wanted a son. All these toys are for little boys, and they all look like they're brand new." I didn't realize that he was dissembling. But as I thought about it, I realized that the toys were like I had as a child. They weren't old enough to have been bought for a hoped for son who would have been nearly Mr. Dorsett's age. "Poor old man," I said, glancing at Mr. Dorsett, "I wonder why he didn't move his grandson in here." He glanced at Karl as he snorted, "You've never met Karl's mother, obviously." I had heard a little about the woman, but couldn't imagine her being as bad as Clay made her out to be. "The woman can't be that bad," I commented. Mr. Dorsett locked eyes with Karl, then cleared his throat before replying, "Well, the only thing I'll say is that even though Marcia was a strong willed young lady, she didn't turn into the harridan that we all know until George forced her to marry." I could see the questions in Karl's and Clay's eyes, both born and raised in that entanglement. I know I had many questions myself, even if I was just a bystander. But our attention was drawn back to the moment, when Kacy looked up at Karl and asked, "Can this be my room and can I have all these old toys? They don't make neat toys like these anymore." Karl looked like a proverbial deer caught in the headlights. He glanced at his father and then turned his eyes on Clay to see what his response was. I don't think the two of them had ever discussed living together. Karl knelt and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "I guess it's time I talk to your daddy about that. But whatever we decide, the toys are all yours." "Thank you, Karl. I really like them." A week later I came home from class and almost fell over a stack of boxes piled inside the kitchen door. Clay was packing. I was stunned. I could hear my mother who once said to my dad, "You damned men are all alike, you never talk, you just expect everybody to be mind readers." My way of dealing with it was to walk over to the fridge and grab a long neck. I plopped into the nearest chair and guzzled half the bottle's contents. The bottle made a loud 'thunk' as I set it a little too firmly on the table. The sound brought Clay looking to see what had caused the noise. "Oh, you're home. We're moving up on the hill." "I kinda figured that out. I'd guess I better start looking for a place to live, huh?" "What are you talking about?" Clay looked dumbfounded. "It's simple, Clay. One and one makes two. Not three. It's time for me to move on." "You can't abandon us. We need you. Kacy needs you." "No, you don't need me, Clay. You can hire people to look after you. If Kacy needs a sitter, hire someone." Clay stood there with his head down. When he looked up at me there were tears running down his cheeks. "I guess I said that wrong. We want you in our lives, Ralph. You're my brother, my best friend. Karl was the first to say it, even though I was thinking it. He wants you to live with us." I stared at him not believing that Karl would want me around now that Clay was moving into that huge house with him. "I can see how you could walk away from me," Clay said, "but how can you abandon Kacy? He's still just a baby. You're almost as much his daddy as I am. How could I explain why you abandoned him?" He searched my face, shook his head and whispered, "I couldn't." "I'll think about it," I said, went to my bedroom, closed the door and sprawled across the bed. I didn't want to leave my two men, but I couldn't see moving into Karl's house with them. My thoughts drifted and I finally dozed, only to be awakened by the door banging against the wall when Karl marched into my room. "What do you mean - you'll think about it? You are part of this family. There's nothing to think about. You're moving in with us. Just because I came into Clay's life is no reason for you to abandon him and Kacy. So get to packing." I want you to know that I am six foot three, weigh two hundred and twenty-eight pounds, and none of it fat. That's four inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than Karl, yet his mad bull temper scared me. No way did I want to push him. I started packing. I didn't quite know what to expect in the mansion. I kind of thought I'd be stuck down in the maids quarters by the kitchen. But Karl escorted me up the stairs and turned to the left into one of the two master suites. He opened the door and motioned for me to enter. I already knew that there were two master suites with the nursery in between. I hadn't dreamed that one of them would be mine. I walked through the sitting room into the bedroom with its huge imposing bed. The intricately carved posts supported a wooden canopy. I craned to look up inside and saw that it was mirrored. Grinning, I commented that the Victorians were a kinky bunch. Clay had followed us in and asked, "Where do you think the P.A. came from?" A little voice asked, "Daddy, what's a P.A.?" We all looked at each other wondering how to get out of this one without putting Kacy off like so many parents would do by saying, "We'll tell you when you're old enough to understand." We simply never talked down to the child like that. Karl scooped the kid up and said, "P.A. stands for Prince Albert who was married to Queen Victoria, and she's the one that this house style is named after." There's nothing like throwing a bunch of facts out there to muddle the question. Karl set Kacy back on his feet and said, "This was my grandfather's suite. All of his clothes were still in the closets. The other suite was my grandmother's. They are identical, but mirror imaged. Ralph, we want you to know that you're welcome here for as long as you wish to live with us. And when you find a lover, we'll welcome him to live here with you, if you wish." I was overwhelmed. I'd really expected to be cast aside. Now I was ensconced in this huge bedroom suite as one of the family.
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