John

Luke hadn't really told me much about his life on the street. I instinctively knew that he'd had to do things, but I'd really not dwelled on the specifics. What I didn't realize was that he'd been under a dark cloud of guilt and shame until he started getting counseling at school. It made me feel a bit inadequate as a parent, but his ebullient personality soon got me over that. Damn, I do love the kid.

It was about six months after we took him in that he accompanied me to the hardware store in the Castro one sunny Saturday afternoon. I'd parked down on Market and we strolled over to Castro. As we passed the cookie shop, Luke stopped and breathed in the smell of freshly baked cookies.

He had a faraway glazed look on his face. "I used to stop here and breathe in the delicious smells. There was one older lady that worked here that would sometimes give me a chocolate chip cookie. She died though. I watched the ambulance men come roll her out covered with a sheet."

I pulled him against my side and just held him for a moment, not knowing word to comfort him.

He looked up at me and smiled. "I really love chocolate chip cookies."

"Do you want one?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I'm buying, would you like one?" he asked, grinning at me.

Luke earns a weekly allowance by doing little chores around the house, like taking the garbage can out to the street on pickup days, raking leaves and such stuff. Farr also pays him to sweep and dust his shop on Saturday mornings. Luke's frugal with his money and we'd even opened a personal checking account for him. I got a kick out of how he was acting all grown up declaring that he was buying.

"Sure, but I'll have a pistachio caramel brownie," I told him.

Luke rolled his eyes at me. It was obvious that chocolate chip was the only kind of cookie worth eating as far as he was concerned.

With our cookies in hand, we strolled on down the street. I stopped to see what was showing at the grand ol' Castro Theater that week. Paying little attention to Luke, who wandered on down to look at A Different Light's window display of books, I wandered into the theater's vestibule to check out all the old movie posters.

A minute or so later, I heard Luke yell out my name. I darted out to the sidewalk and saw him butt an older man in his crotch. Luke was yelling that there was no way the man was going to fuck him again. I ran up as the man made a grab at Luke, and I pushed him up against the wall with a hand on his throat. I think I hit him, and I'm not sure what I said, but I was intent on crushing his windpipe when two cops pulled me off the man, yanked my arms around behind my back and got a hand cuff on one wrist. Realizing that I'd been intent on killing the man, I offered no resistance.

Luke was screaming at the cops that they were arresting the wrong man. And then a bystander stepped up and told the cops what he'd seen. The cops apologized, took the cuffs off me and put them on the man who had slid down the wall holding his nuts with one hand while rubbing his throat with the other.

A young guy was haranguing the man, saying, "It's ass holes like you that give us decent gays a bad name." I think that he'd have started kicking the man if one of the cops hadn't quieted him down.

My only concern was my son, who was clinging to me like he'd never let go. I really appreciated that the cop taking our statements knelt to talk to Luke. He was surprised to find out that Luke was nearly sixteen and seemed to be really impressed that I had adopted him. I could see that he was fascinated by Luke and liked my boy. Luke told him about his other dad being as small as himself and the cop replied, jokingly, that he'd believe it when he saw it with his own eyes. Amused, I stood back and watched as Luke gave him one of Farr's business cards and insisted that he drop in to meet Farr.

By the time Luke and I got back to the house we'd been gone over three hours. Farr was a bit pissed that it had taken us so long just to make a run to the hardware store until he heard what had happened.

Luke

In all the time I'd lived with John and Farr as my new dads, I'd not been back to the Castro area. When John asked me if I wanted to go with him to the hardware store I jumped at the chance. It wasn't until we parked a half block off Castro on Market that I took notice of where we were. For a moment, I felt a fear of being there again, but quickly pushed it away. I wasn't that abandoned lost little boy anymore. There was nothing to fear.

When John stopped in front of the theatre to check out some old movie that was playing, I had gone ahead of him to look at the books in the window of the bookstore. I was stopped by a hand grasping my shoulder and turning me around. I looked up into a face I'd prayed I would never see again.

"Well, if it isn't little Lukey, I see you've fallen on better times. What say you come home with me again? You aren't with anyone are you?"

He had a hard grip on my shoulder. I just stared open-mouth at him. I couldn't get my vocal cords to work.

"Well, no, I guess not," he said, looking around. "Come on then, let's go," he said, grabbing my arm.

I glanced up the street toward the theater; John must have stepped into the vestibule to check out the rest of the movie posters. I realized that I was on my own. I hadn't really learned enough karate to do anything, but I remembered Farr saying that a man's nuts are really vulnerable to us little guys. I screamed out, "John!" at the same time I used the butt of my palm to hit the man between his legs. "No way are you going to fuck me again," I screamed at him.

Shit, I missed. I dropped into a squat and came up with my head aimed at his crotch and literally knocked him backwards. He let go of me and grabbed himself just as John ran up, grabbed him by the throat and pushed him up against the wall, then did his best to bury his fist in the man's face. "You filthy pedophile," he yelled, "keep your hands off my son."

At that moment, a cop car pulled up and two cops jumped out. They pulled John off the man and without asking any questions, they started to handcuff him. The man crumpled to the ground. I started yelling at the cops, "You can't arrest my dad, he was only protecting me. That man was trying to kidnap me, so he could rape me again."

John wasn't giving the cops any resistance, but my yelling at them got their attention real quick, and then a man in a suit stepped up and told them what he'd seen. The cops apologized to John and cuffed the man that had grabbed me. They took statements, but told us we needed to go to the station and fill out formal complaints against the man.

When it was all over and the cops had taken the man away, I was really embarrassed and depressed. I'd never dreamed that my former life could come back to affect the life John and Farr had given me. For a long time after that, I refused to go near the Castro again - even with John.

Farr

Both John and Luke failed to mention that Luke had invited the policeman involved in the Castro Street incident to stop by my shop to meet me. When a big man in uniform asked if I was Farr Bailey, I nodded, not getting my mouth to work. I was quite shocked when he dropped down on one knee and introduced himself as Dean Angstrom, shook my hand and informed me that he really admired me and John for adopting Luke.

"Has Luke gotten in trouble?" was my first response.

The officer laughed. "Not only no, but he kept me from wrongfully arresting your partner."

Then it dawned on me, Dean was the officer involved in the pedophile's arrest. "I want to thank you for your timely intervention, Officer Angstrom. John might have seriously hurt that man if you hadn't shown up. He's very protective of our son."

Dean grinned. "As he should be. And call me Dean."

I realized he was still kneeling to talk to me. I offered him one of the club chairs I have in the showroom and a cup of coffee. He readily accepted the coffee and instead of sitting, he followed me into my workshop where the coffee pot is located. He was gazing at all the fixtures hanging on the ceiling that were waiting to be refurbished.

"Wow, this place is really something. I've never seen so many different kinds of light fixtures. My partner and I are in the process of buying an old 'Painted Lady' and plan to bring her back to her original glory."

"You're not a local boy," I grinned.

He looked confused at my non sequitur.

"Only non-locals call an old Victorian house a painted lady, Dean."

He laughed. "Oh, okay… anyway, we're going to need some good Victorian lighting, and I now know where to find it."

John

I never dreamed that incident would lead to a new set of friends. Farr invited Dean and his partner to join us for dinner. The first thing I noticed when they entered our home and Dean introduced his partner Art to us, was that Art stooped to shake hands with Farr and Luke. From my angle, it looked almost like Art was bowing to my little guys. It didn't seem to bother Luke, but I could see a bit of uneasiness in Farr's face. I guess that stooping to talk to little folks is a normal reflex with a lot of people. I noticed Art watching how Dean dropped down on one knee to give Luke a hug, then a little later in the evening, I noticed him looking a little awkward as he knelt to talk to Farr. This time Farr reacted by insisting that he get back to his feet and stand straight. "I'm not intimidated by your size, Art," he told him. "I appreciate it, but you don't have to diminish your size for me." I wondered what brought that on. He'd never said anything like that to the rest of the guys, or to me.

When I later asked him about it, his reply was, "You all, including Dean, just naturally move down to my level. Art was uncomfortable even stooping. I just felt that I should put him at ease. Besides, someone stooping makes me uncomfortable. It's like they're hovering."

Luke

I was back on the street, dirty and smelly, hunger gnawing on my insides. I saw John and Farr walking towards me. I jumped up to greet them, but they both looked disgusted at the sight of me and stepped around me like I was a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk. I stared at their backs as they walked on. A man, filthier than I, grabbed my arm and dragged me into an alley and pushed me behind a dumpster. Digging into his grimy pants, he pulled out a huge smelly uncut dick and waved it in my face. "Suck my cock, you little shit," he snarled. I refused and tried to back away. His fist hit me up side my head, then he grabbed me by my hair and tried to force his nasty prick in my mouth as I yelled.

Next thing I knew, I was wrapped in John's arms as he tried to calm me down. Farr was standing next to my bed, looking concerned. He brushed the hair off my forehead "It was only a dream, Lukey, just a dream."

I thought I was past my days on the streets, but the incident on Castro brought it all back. Farr had told me that the past couldn't hurt me, to just put it behind me and look to the future. Well, it may not be able to hurt me, but it sure could haunt me. I wondered if I'd ever be free of it.

I told Dr. Samuelson about the incident on Castro and then about my dream. We talked about my fears and I was reassured that they were unfounded - John and Farr wouldn't turn their backs on me.

When I told Matt about it all he was ready to go hunt down the bastard and beat the hell out of him. John assured him that the legal system would take care of the creep.

John hired a lawyer to protect me in the upcoming trial. Mr. Sawyer told me that the trial would be closed because I was under age - still he grilled me like I was the one on trial to prepare me for the actual thing. As it turned out, the detectives found enough damning evidence in the man's apartment to send him to prison for the rest of his life. I hadn't realized that he'd taken pictures of me and the things he'd done to me. Maybe I'd just blocked it out.

The questioning Mr. Sawyer put me through brought back a lot of memories - none of them good. More crap to have to hash over with Dr. Sam.

I started having more nightmares and many a night I ended up sleeping between John and Farr. I thank God for my dads and for Matt. Matt kept my spirits up through the whole ordeal.

John

I hired Mr. Sawyer on the advice of Rich and Pat. He's got a reputation for dealing with this kind of crap. The way things turned out - Luke didn't have to testify in court - I wished for Luke's sake that I hadn't. It took weeks of working with our boy to get him over the trauma of having to relive his horrible days on the streets. I thanked God once more that we found him and rescued him from the nightmare.

Luke

One afternoon at school I was talking to some of the guys in my gym class while we were waiting for the coach. I was telling them about how much I was getting into the karate/kung fu thing. I said something about the teacher being a little Oriental man just a few inches taller than me. One of the guys standing there listening was of Japanese ancestry. He suddenly got right in my face yelling, "We're Asians, not Orientals. Food and rugs are oriental. People are Asians."

I apologized and told him I'd meant no offense, but that I'd never heard them referred to as Asians before. He then started lecturing me about how it was mostly old people or Southerners that probably still called Blacks Colored People that used the word Orientals. I didn't know what more to say to the guy. I'd apologized and he seemed to still be pissed off. Fortunately, the coach came in and got us to doing calisthenics.

I was still thinking about it later and asked several other people in my different classes how they referred to Chinese, Japanese and Thais as a group. Only one girl used the word Asian. When I got home, I told Farr about the incident, and asked him the same. He said that he too had always heard them referred to as Orientals, but if they felt insulted by it, then maybe we should start referring to them as Asians.

As I continued thinking about it, it seemed logical to call them Asians. After all, there were Europeans and Africans, although here in the U.S. the Africans preferred to be called Blacks. After mulling it over more, I decided that it wasn't that big a deal - we're all Americans and that was what really mattered.

Then I recalled hearing someone once say they'd heard Whoopie Goldberg say that she wasn't an Afro-American. She was an American who just happened to have African ancestors. I liked that idea - I was an American that just happened to have European ancestors.

The next day, the guy who had gotten in my face seemed to be over his upset even though he didn't speak to me - but then he'd never spoken to me before yesterday's incident, so I guessed everything was okay.

Farr must have said something to John, because he commented at dinner that he'd never thought about it, but that he'd never use the term again. He then laughed and reminded Farr about the place where they'd met. Farr laughed, shook his head and said, "It had to have been kismet that I needed that little threaded nipple, and you were the one who ended up helping me find it."

Jeez, those two are too much when they get romantic.