Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  “I’m sorry, Michael. You’re still as gorgeous as you ever were. It was very hot watching you use Johnny. You helped push him to a new level in submission. I know this sounds strange to you, but he does own me. In a romantic sense, I guess. We’re more than just master and slave, more than Dom and sub. We’re lovers. Partners. I don’t know how long it will last. He’s young, he’s new—this is all new to him. But I don’t want to jeopardize it by fucking around. I hope you understand.”

  “Sure I understand.” Michael’s face was flushed, his tone snide to cover his humiliation at being rebuffed. “The BDSM scene has lost a very hot Dom. You’ve got a ball and chain around your neck now. I never thought it would happen to you of all people, but there you go. You won’t find me saddled with one guy, no matter how hot he is. Shit, Eric. You could have your choice—a different guy every night. Five different guys every night if you wanted. But you give it all up for a boy who can barely put two words together. A boy who sucks cock like a teenage girl, a boy who probably can’t take it up the ass without squealing like a stuck pig.”

  Eric stood up abruptly, heat licking his face. Forcing himself to speak calmly, he said, “I really don’t know what this is about, Michael, but it isn’t about me. If you want to fuck a different guy every night or ten guys for that matter, be my guest. I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve been playing the scene for ten years. Johnny is the best thing that ever happened to me. Last I heard, it was rude to insult a man in his own home. I think it’s time for you to go.”

  Michael stood up as well, sloshing the beer in his mug as he set it down hard on the coffee table. “Thanks for the dinner and the use of your boy toy, dude. I’ve got places to be. See you ’round.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Eric said to the closed door.

  ~*~

  Ann Wilson paid the taxi driver and climbed out. Moving along the avenue, she peered at the buildings, looking for an address. She didn’t stop to think about what she was doing because she knew if she did, she would lose her nerve.

  She hadn’t seen Johnny since they’d discovered that perverted photo album in his apartment. At first, she’d been so stunned and embarrassed by what she’d seen, she hadn’t wanted to see him. Though she felt she could have come to understand his homosexuality in time, those perverted, dirty pictures, with him tied up and lewdly displayed like some common whore! That was too much to accept of her youngest son.

  Frank had sworn if Johnny dared show his face either at the garage or their house, he’d wring his neck, after he kicked his ass to hell and back. Frank had a temper and it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d taken out his anger with his fists. Ann herself had been subject to his rages, resulting in a black eye or bruises where he gripped her too hard. Ironically, their biggest fights had been over Johnny—with Ann defending him against Frank’s accusations that he didn’t measure up to Wilson standards in one way or another.

  This time however, she’d agreed with Frank, at least at first. She didn’t think she would be able to see her son without the image of him naked kneeling on the floor, his arms bound over his head, a disgusting red ball tied with leather straps stuffed in his mouth. She was relieved he’d quit the job at the garage with a phone call and stopped coming by for Sunday dinner.

  But as the weeks stretched into months and they heard nothing from their boy, Ann’s heart began to soften. She focused less on the lewd photos and more on what a good, kind boy Johnny had always been. Always different from Hank and Billy, more sensitive, more introspective. Though she loved them all, even difficult, prickly Hank, Johnny had always been her favorite—there was no denying it.

  She thought about it a lot, wondering what would motivate Johnny to behave as he had, letting someone take those pictures. Did all gay men act like that? Surely not. One Sunday a sermon in church got her thinking. The theme was “judge not lest ye be judged”. As she sat in church, Ann guiltily recalled a few photos of her own, photos she would have been mortified over if anyone but Frank had seen them.

  They were newly married, no children had yet come bursting into their lives, forever changing their love life from carefree and fun to something to worry about, at least for Ann. Ann had given Frank a Polaroid camera for his birthday and he’d taken several nude photos of Ann, some in quite suggestive poses. Admittedly, she’d had half a bottle of champagne before agreeing to the photo shoot, but how would she have felt if her children or a friend had stumbled on those pictures? Pictures taken in the privacy of two lovers’ home, not meant to be shared by others.

  Admittedly, Johnny’s pictures were of a different sort—much more graphic and lewdly offensive than anything Ann and Frank had done but then this was a new generation, a whole new world really. Judge not lest ye be judged… It wasn’t as if Johnny had been posting those pictures on some internet porn site or showing them to anyone at all. They had been in an album in his apartment on his table. Private business.

  If someone was to blame, might it be Frank and her for entering his apartment without his being home? If only she hadn’t insisted on retrieving that stupid casserole dish! Now their lives had been altered forever—her baby boy a stranger to her.

  Here it was. The address on Waverly Avenue she’d looked up in the phone book. She glanced at her watch. It was one-thirty. Frank wouldn’t be home for another three and a half hours. She would never tell him about this excursion. Ever since Billy had called her on Sunday to tell her of Johnny’s visit the day before, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. It had sprung fully formed into her mind when Billy had mentioned Johnny’s “boyfriend” was named Eric Méndez. Is that what she should call him? Lover sounded so personal. Partner? He said the man had a counseling practice in Manhattan. Certainly a respectable job at any rate!

  What had leaped into her brain was a plan. A rather devious plan by Ann’s standards as she wasn’t a sneaky person by nature. What better way to see who Johnny was “with” without actually having to confront him head-on for perverting her child! Ann assumed this was the man who had taken the compromising pictures of her boy. She wanted a look at him without giving him the advantage of knowing who she was.

  Thus she had called first thing Monday, getting his number from Manhattan Directory Assistance. A pleasant-sounding young man had answered, “Dr. Méndez.” Ann hadn’t even lied when she said she wanted an appointment to talk about her son. She’d pretend she was troubled by her son’s homosexuality—she didn’t have to pretend!—and use the hour to scope out the man. She figured it would cost a small fortune but Ann had pin money Frank didn’t know about. This seemed as good a use as any.

  Thursday was the soonest he could fit her in, he told her. One forty-five for an initial consultation. The days had passed slowly, Ann jittery with anticipation, very nearly canceling the appointment twice, but curiosity as much as anything made her keep it. Ann realized she led a very dull life—going into Manhattan on the subway from Brooklyn and catching a cab to her final destination was as much adventure as she’d had in years. Doing it on a covert spy mission was almost more adventure than she could tolerate!

  She pressed the button outside the glass door of the brownstone, waiting nervously for a response. The door buzzed and the lock released. She pushed it open, thinking it rather unwise to just buzz someone in without coming out to see who it was.

  The doors along the hallway were all closed. One of them had Eric Méndez, Therapist painted in small gold letters against the wood. As Ann moved to knock, the door opened. “You must be Ann Peterson,” the handsome young Latino said, smiling as he pulled the door back for her to enter. “I saw you on the stoop in the remote camera. I’m Dr. Méndez.”

  “Oh,” Ann said, accepting his offered hand briefly. As he pointed her toward a large, comfortable-looking leather chair, she looked around the small office. It had a cozy, warm feel—a place where a person could relax and feel safe. She glanced at this Eric person as he sat in the matching leather chair at kitty-corner with hers. H
e didn’t look gay. He was dressed in nice dark gray pants and a white button-down shirt. His tie was neatly knotted and looked very expensive. His hair, a little long for Ann’s taste, was brushed neatly back and he was clean-shaven, and she had to admit, extremely good-looking.

  Ann herself was still quite attractive, though she would have denied it. She had been only twenty-two, working as a waitress in a local diner when thirty-year-old Frank Wilson had come in for pie and coffee. Tall and blonde with wide green eyes, she’d caught the eye of many a man before Frank but somehow the two of them just seemed to click. Part of it was timing, she later thought. She had decided it was time to find a husband and he was looking for a wife to settle down with. He’d just opened his own garage and was ready to start a family.

  That was thirty-one years ago—hard to believe. Ann’s hair was still blonde though tinged with gray, and she’d kept her figure. But Frank had long ago stopped telling her she was beautiful, and like most women, she needed a man to remind her.

  “So what can I do for you, Ms. Peterson?” Eric asked politely.

  Ann flushed as she sat across from the therapist, feeling suddenly as if she were the one here for therapy. A stab of guilt shot through her at the thought of deceiving this nice young man. At least he seemed nice. She mustn’t forget those photos though! She was doing this for Johnny!

  Taking a breath, she said, “Well, I have this son, you see. He’s, um. Well, he has some problems. And I was thinking maybe I could get advice on how to help him.”

  Dr. Méndez nodded. “Your son is how old?”

  “Twenty-five.” Damn, she should have said a different age! Well, it didn’t matter. She pressed on. “He’s, um, well, he’s trying to find himself, I guess you would say.”

  “And what did you hope to accomplish by coming to see me? Are you planning to refer him to me?”

  “Oh. Uh, no. No. I was more wanting to get your opinion. Your advice. How I should handle it.”

  His face was kind. She liked the way he waited respectfully for her to finish speaking and seemed to pause thoughtfully before asking his questions. He didn’t seem to be in such a hurry like so many young people today. Ann felt confused because she’d planned to hate him on sight, and yet now she almost wanted to confide in him for real.

  It was her hour after all, maybe she would confide, in a roundabout way! Dr. Méndez said, “Tell me what’s troubling you. What is your son doing that is upsetting you?”

  “He’s,” she blushed as she said it, knowing she was talking to her son’s lover! “He’s gay.”

  Instead of laughing at her or angrily demanding why that was a problem, he said, “And this troubles you? Or it troubles him.”

  “Well, me. I mean, he’s fine with it. I guess he is. I mean, he never told us a word about it but we found out. How can someone hide something like that from his parents all those years? He lived at home for nineteen years! How come we didn’t know a thing about it? Was he living this secret life under our roof and we had no idea? I feel, I don’t know, I feel violated by the whole thing.”

  Ann snapped her mouth shut. She never spoke this much at home! Frank didn’t listen anyway and she’d learned to keep her own counsel. What was it about this man that made it so easy to talk?

  “It must be hard to make such a significant discovery about your son, even if he is a grown man now. I can see where you might feel violated, as you say. Tricked somehow. I wonder, and we can explore this in time if you decide to proceed with your therapy, how safe would your son have been ‘coming out’ with his sexual orientation at home? Would he have received a supportive reaction from you and your husband? From the siblings, if there are any?”

  Ann forgot to make up an answer. “No,” she said softly. “My husband would have killed him. I mean literally. He would have beaten him to death, I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s quite a damning thing to say of your husband,” Dr. Méndez said softly.

  Ann stared at the handsome young man. He was leaning forward in his chair, his expression gentle but serious. Ann dropped her head into her hands and started to cry.

  ~*~

  “Oh look. I forgot to show you the pictures Billy gave me. Photos from my cousin’s wedding last month.” Johnny pulled out a white envelope of photos from a pile of papers on the night table on his side of the bed.

  Nearly a week had passed since his Saturday visit with his brother and family. The visit had gone surprisingly well, despite Johnny’s fears to the contrary. Johnny hadn’t planned on being as blunt as he had been, but when it was over, he’d felt a huge relief, as if he’d put down a huge weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. He had filled Eric in on the details of the visit later that evening, leaving out nothing. Eric had made him feel good about it, assuring him he’d handled himself very well.

  When he’d first arrived, Emma and Jack had squealed with delight, throwing themselves into Uncle Johnny’s arms as Billy and Sandy stood back smiling. That had broken the ice. Over grilled burgers and hot dogs in the backyard behind their Brooklyn row house, they had talked, at first keeping to safe topics like the wedding Johnny had missed, the latest accomplishments and mishaps of the kids and how the Mets were faring that season.

  Once the children ran off to play, talk did eventually turn to more difficult issues. Sandy was the one who broached it. “Johnny. We’ve really missed you. I’m so sorry about what happened at your place. Mom and Dad shouldn’t have gone through your private things. I hope you know Billy and I don’t judge you or think any less of you. I’m so glad you’ve come to see us at last. I hope you won’t be such a stranger. You see how much the kids have missed you.”

  “I missed them too and you guys. I appreciate your welcoming me back. But you should know, things can’t go back to how they were. I’m still the same Johnny but I’m not ready to deny a huge part of my life to fit into this family. I’m here alone today but in the future, if you want me around, you’re going to need to accept my partner as well.”

  Billy looked uncomfortable but Sandy put her hand over his, giving him a warning look. Johnny could tell this had already been a topic of discussion between them. It was Billy who finally spoke. “We’re fine with that, Johnny. Really. But you should know, Mom and Dad and Hank—they haven’t been able to come to grips with, uh, those photos. You know. I mean, they were really pretty graphic.”

  Johnny felt his face flush hot. In a controlled voice he said, “So what did Dad do, give you a detailed description of each picture? Did he take them and make copies, for crying out loud? Who’s the pervert here, me with a very private album sitting on the table in my own apartment or Dad, slamming through my house, breaking my things, rifling through my private things and then announcing to all of you the ‘dirty details’?”

  As Billy and Sandy looked uncomfortable, Johnny continued. “Look, I don’t want to embarrass you and of course I don’t expect an answer, but you’re married. I presume you have sex. Have you ever done anything in the privacy of your own bedroom you wouldn’t want shouted to the world? Anything just a little off the plain vanilla hetero path of missionary sex once a week with your eyes closed? And if you have, how would you feel if Dad came into your home uninvited, watched you through a crack in the door and then called all of us to tell us how fucking sick you were?”

  Sandy was now the one to blush beet red—Johnny had obviously struck a chord. He knew he should stop—he’d made his point, but he couldn’t seem to stem the tide of words he’d been holding in for months. “It’s not like I was out somewhere whoring myself, for God’s sake. It’s not like I sold those pictures to a magazine, though even if I had, I’m a grown man. I can do what I want. Still, it’s not like I was advertising my sex life to the world! That was my private stuff! If anyone should be ashamed, it’s Mom and Dad—for going through my things in the first place and most especially for putting me on trial and convicting me, with all of you as witnesses. And what’s the crime? Being myself! Trying to li
ve honestly for the first time in my life! Have you any idea the courage it’s taken to admit all this, not to you, but to myself? Yes, I’m gay, damn it! And if Eric and I have a creative sex life, whose business is it but ours?”

  Johnny realized he was shouting. Billy and Sandy both looked as if they wanted to sink into the ground. Sandy glanced toward the children and Johnny followed her gaze. They were playing off in a corner of the backyard and didn’t seem aware anything was going on, but still he made an effort to lower his voice. “Listen. I’m sorry. This isn’t about you. I know that. Billy, you made the effort to reconnect and I know that took courage too. I know what it’s like to live under Dad’s yoke. Even though we’re adults, we give him way too much power. I can’t tell you how freeing it is not to answer to him anymore, not in any way.”

  Sandy put her hand on Johnny’s arm. “I’m sorry, Johnny. You’ve been through hell over this, and all we could focus on was ourselves. I know Mom’s broken up about it. She wants to see you again but she doesn’t know how to connect. Maybe sometime, maybe sometime we could have just Mom over and you too.”

  “I appreciate that, Sandy,” Johnny said. “But this is the last time I leave Eric out of things. He’s a part of my life, as much as you’re a part of Billy’s. As long as you’re clear on that, I’d be happy to come back.”

  Now Johnny opened the envelope filled with photos. Sitting next to Eric on the bed, he said, “There’re some good shots of my family here. I can’t believe I forgot to show you.

  “Here’s one of all the kids—Billy and Sandy’s kids Jack and Emma, and Hank and Marla’s kids Janice, Melissa and Tracy.” He put the picture on the bottom of the pile and pointed to the next one. “That’s Billy and Sandy, and this one here is of Hank and his wife. And this is my mom and dad.”