“See, you’re doing well, but it’s still a bit out of sync. Here, let me try this. Stand up for me, will you?” With that, she pulled down Dan’s jeans, and his briefs below his knees, exposing his buttocks and dick.
“Sit down, play on.” She started to fiddle with Dan’s penis, stroking it and cupping his small ball sack in her hands. To Dan, this was all very strange. No one had ever done that to him, and he felt uneasy, scared even.
But he let her do it, thinking that she was the teacher, that she knew best how to instruct him, and after all, his mother paid a lot of money for those lessons. When their time was up, she told him to get dressed and to practice regularly with the metronome on. She instructed Dan on how to use it.
“See you Thursday,” she said, and off she went.
That night, Dan had nightmares. He didn’t understand why and certainly didn’t make the connection to his piano lesson. As the lessons progressed, and Mrs. Johnson repeated her treatment of him and his genitals, his love for the instrument vanished. He grew irritable, threw fits, and became obnoxious, both at school and at home. His mom didn’t know what was wrong, and Dan had no answer, either. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. But he realized it had to do with the piano and the metronome, and so he asked his mom to stop paying for lessons. He didn’t want to do it anymore. He hated it, he said, ran to his room, and slammed the door shut.
Confused, Dan’s mom called Mrs. Johnson and asked her if she knew what was going on, but she couldn’t help.
“Who knows? Maybe he’s approaching puberty. That is a difficult time for children. It’s okay, Joanne, let’s just take a break. I don’t need the money, and I’m sure you have other holes to stuff.”
Dan’s mom was confused, but what could she do? If the boy didn’t want to continue his piano lessons, she couldn’t force him.
Many years later, Dan thought about what he’d endured at the hand of Mrs. Johnson, and every time he saw or heard a metronome, to this day, the blood would drain from his face, and he’d start shaking uncontrollably. But he never shared his secret with anyone.
Luckily, as with a lot of children, after he had quit his piano lessons, Dan blocked the memories, and it would take many years before they’d surface again. Watching rumors of a sexual predator on the local news, Dan suddenly remembered. A local TV host was accused of being a pedophile and having abused boys in Thailand. It was a big scandal, and the town was in an uproar for weeks.
The story awoke odd sensations in him, memories of hands on his private parts, the gentle sensations of a woman’s hand on his stomach, his dick. When he realized that he, too, had been the victim of a sexual predator, he threw up and cried all night. For weeks, he went into a deep depression, lost weight, skipped college, and locked himself up in his dorm. His friends had been worried, but Dan wouldn’t talk to anyone.
Eventually, the worst of the feelings went away, and Dan rejoined the world. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could do such heinous things to a child. How could he have been so naïve and not told anybody? Then again, at the time, he had thought it was part of the tutoring, and Mrs. Johnson was always so nice.
Dan never spoke to anyone about his piano lessons, and he never touched a piano again. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk to Sascha about it, although he knew that Sascha would understand. Yet still, he couldn’t. The pain and the shame were too big to share.
* * * * *
Sascha
Sometimes Dan wondered why he didn’t trust his man with this story. When they had met in Sitges, when he was on his first trip to Europe, he immediately felt that connection with Sascha, that bond. He knew they could talk about anything, any time. Sascha instilled a sense of trust, a feeling of whenever Dan fell, Sascha would be there to catch him.
At the time, he didn’t remember the piano incident, and they spoke of so many other things, first kisses, first sex, first love, school, parents, travel destinations, favorite foods, favorite books, films. Dan had to smile at the thought. Heck, we were up all night, lying in bed, naked, talking, talking, talking.
When Sascha had walked by him at the bar in Sitges, he had noticed the look he’d received, and there was something in those eyes that made him call after the boy. As an American, he was used to almost instinctively saying hello or something when someone looked at him, not like most Europeans who could stare at you and just walk on. Sascha, the polite Swiss to his very core, couldn’t ignore Dan’s hello, and stopped, turned around, and returned the greeting.
Lucky me, Dan thought. Sascha was his first real boyfriend. Sure, he had come out early enough. Being gay in greater Los Angeles wasn’t that big a deal, and his mom had been okay, supporting him from the get go, even joining PFLAG and walking in the LA Pride parade with her son, much to his embarrassment.
So much for meeting a hottie, he had thought at the time, but deep down he appreciated that his mom was on his side.
Not all his friends were so lucky.
In his sophomore year, Dan started to date seriously, well, meeting guys and making out, anyway. He had his first real sex before he graduated, and by the time he started college, he had gathered enough experience to know what he wanted from a man and what made him enjoy sex, and what he didn’t want. Dan was a total top, no doubt about it. He enjoyed pleasuring his guys, going down on them, rimming them into submission before he’d give them the ride of their lives. He was content with college as it was—becoming a teacher, partying, and generally enjoying life to the fullest.
Sascha had been an accident. He had not been the reason Dan had traveled to Europe, but Dan was smart enough to understand that something precious had crossed his path, and he wasn’t going to let that Swiss boy get away.
* * * * *
Sitges
Dan had arrived in Sitges the night before and checked into a small gay-friendly hotel in the old part of town. Sitges had lured Dan as much as Mykonos or Ibiza—the partying, the promise of promiscuity, of hot men, sex, and Europe.
Coming to Europe for the first time, Dan was the way most Americans were: naïve. His world had always been that of California, Greater Los Angeles. Sure, there were plenty of hot guys in the valley, and he did have lots of fun in college, at least until a couple of weeks ago, but there was something about Europe that attracted Dan. It had to do with the exotic, slightly stuffy, old allure of a continent that had definitely seen better days. It was corrupt, decadent, but full of hot men, speaking English badly, with heavy accents as they writhed under Dan’s handiwork and the grinding of his cock in their asses.
Dan had always been aware of what the world looked like, but what good did that do if you never read anything about life in Europe in the paper, heard anything but how dependent they were for American support and how much better his great nation was with its military might?
Shit happens, Dan thought, as he’d mistakenly placed Lars, a Swede he’d met the night before, in the land of cuckoo clocks and chocolates.
“That’s Switzerland, you idiot!”
The boy had been so appalled that he’d left him in the middle of the dance floor. His loss, Dan had concluded, definitely his loss!
He’d gone home alone that night, slightly embarrassed at his mistake, although not technically true, as he discovered later on, doing an online search, as cuckoo clocks originally came from Germany and the Black Forest region, but he doubted that he’d ever see Lars again to tell him.
The next day, Dan spent a few hours at the beach, feeling homesick for the first time since he’d started his tour of Gay Europe. After lunch, having had enough sun for one day, he retreated into a shadowed bar on one of the gay streets in Sitges and ordered one of those funny drinks they topped with a cute umbrella.
He must’ve played with his drink absentmindedly, watching people pass him by, sitting there outside the small bar, wearing nothing but his favorite pink shorts. Too hot for a shirt, besides, how would he attract guys if he didn’t show them some of the goods?
Dan didn’t exactly remember how long he’d been sitting there, fondling his drink umbrella, when he noticed this kid walking up the street. He looked ordinary, but there was something about him that intrigued Dan. His eyes. Yes, he had really beautiful eyes. The boy wasn’t wearing the customary sunglasses everyone wore. In fact, his looked like prescription glasses.
The boy slowed down, obviously having noticed him, too, and stared at him intently.
Why do these Europeans always have to stare? Dan thought, making him self-conscious, about himself, his body, his naked torso, blushing.
Fuck, too late to put on my T-shirt now.
He sneaked a look back into those intense green eyes, and just as the boy had reached his table, about to pass him, he blurted out, “Hi, I’m Daniel, and you are?”
God, how corny!
Dan was embarrassed, feeling that he’d made a complete fool of himself, but the boy stopped, dead in his tracks, turned around, and with the sweetest smile, and the cutest accent, replied, “Hello, I’m Sascha. Nice to meet you. May I join you?”
Sascha had gestured at the empty chair next to Dan’s and sat down. Dan was still stunned. That line had never worked for him before.
Sascha ordered a beer from the server, and the two of them started talking, quickly falling into a comfortable pace, asking questions, waiting for the responses, then returning the favor, learning about each other.
Sascha had come to Sitges after a nasty break-up from his boyfriend, some jerk who studied law at the university of Zurich. That’s Switzerland, right? He had come to Barcelona to cool off.
Like me!
“I’m glad you decided to visit Sitges today, Sascha,” Dan said politely as they talked about Sascha’s day trip to this little gay resort thirty minutes south of Barcelona.
“Yes, it’s quite nice here, but I have to get back tonight. I have my room in the city.” Sascha’s eyes were on Dan, looking at him all the time, observing him, studying his every move, trying to make sense of this boy he’d just met.
It got chilly outside the bar, and Dan put on his shirt. They ordered some tapas and more drinks.
By the time the waiter came with their bill to tell them he was closing up, the last train to Barcelona had already left, stranding Sascha in Sitges for the night.
Sascha had been angry about having to spend the night on the streets of Sitges, but Dan simply invited him to come with him, to his hotel room. Even as he spoke, Dan was surprised at his own offer and Sascha’s eager acceptance.
During that night, Dan capitulated to love. He had never even felt remotely what he had started to feel for this Swiss boy. Was it the smell of him? Was it in his eyes? Dan had no clue, but he was falling head over heels for Sascha, and nothing could stop him.
At one point, he woke up as the morning was dawning outside his window, Sascha lying next to him, curled up against his body, deeply asleep, peacefully, lying there naked, no sheets, as his room had no air conditioning. He looked across Sascha’s back, his shoulders, his head, out into the morning sunlight, and felt as if he’d come home. He was at peace. Then sleep came and took him back to the land of dreams.
When they finally woke up, after staying up almost all night, making love and talking, Dan checked out of his hotel in Sitges and followed Sascha to Barcelona, making changes to his coming stops in Europe.
The separation in September, when he had to go back home for his next semester, had been hard. They both cried at the airport, but Dan promised to return soon, before Christmas. They would get married so he could move to Switzerland and be with Sascha.
In just a few months, Dan’s life had changed forever. He never once looked back. His mom, Joanne, had been surprised at the change in her son, the news, the move, but being who she was, she supported Dan, no matter what.
* * * * *
Joanne
At twenty-two, Joanne had been a typical hippie. She drifted through California with her friends, moving from town to town, concert to concert, working whenever they needed money to buy food or dope or wine.
Her recollections of the time were a bit hazy.
Heck, I was stoned most of the time.
The summer when she became pregnant with Dan, her gang of friends had traveled from Los Angeles toward San Francisco for a party, when they stopped in Big Sur for the night. She loved the forest, the way the fog drifted in from the ocean in the late afternoon. She loved Dan, the waiter at the bar where they spent the evening, or so she thought. Dan took what he could get, and when her period didn’t return, she cursed the gods.
Joanne wasn’t a quitter, and as she felt that tiny worm grow inside her, eventually changing the way she looked, she settled down in her hometown of Burbank, took a job as a waitress, and started night school.
She felt a special connection to this life growing inside her, and she promised herself to do whatever it took, to make sure that he, or she, would get a good start in life.
When she learned that the baby she had just given birth to was a boy, Joanne cried. She knew she had to call him Dan, Daniel, in memory of the man she had loved that night up in Big Sur, dope haze or not. Big Sur Dan may not be a father to Daniel, but the least he could do was give him his name.
Joanne was proud of her little boy, who grew into an amazing individual who was blond, beautiful, smart, and kind.
I guess every mother thinks that about her kids, she thought, but still she made sure that she instilled proper values into her son. She worked hard, having graduated from college after several years of night classes, when her parents would look after the little one so she could finish her education and get a decent job.
She was devastated when they died in a car crash, when Dan was just a toddler. He never really got to know them. No memories to pass on and no property except a few trinkets.
Eventually, she landed a great job at a local department store, was promoted to manager, and was able to support herself and Dan. They were a good team.
Dan was becoming a handsome jock, good at sports and quite the lady’s man, actually, that is, until she discovered him with the neighbor’s son.
She had taken that in a stride. Just as long as Dan was happy, she didn’t really care if he was with boys or girls, but she was worried about him and about his sex life, making his debut so early.
I guess he’s taking after his dad, she’d thought. So she bought him condoms and lube and admonished him to be careful, to take his time, not abuse anyone, be gentle, and all the desperate things she felt she needed to convey to a fifteen-year-old who really shouldn’t be having sex in the first place. But she was so afraid to push him away, to lose him.
After all, Dan was all she had in the world. It was through him she lived. Her life was merely a support front so that she could make the money to allow Dan to grow up, get a decent education, and avoid making his mother’s mistakes.
Well, at least he won’t get knocked up or do it to some poor girl, she thought. I must be thankful for small mercies.
Joanne had been heartbroken when Dan came home from college a few years later, his eyes red and swollen. “What’s wrong, honey?” she’d asked.
“Larry and I broke up today.” He had left his bag by the door and retreated to his room. He’d spent most of his nights at the dorm with Larry and hadn’t been home in months.
He’d never tell her what went wrong. After she had walked in on him and the Yeager boy, back when he was fifteen, he had been so angry and embarrassed that he never talked to her again about the touchy-feely stuff of his life. Sure, he’d mention names, dates, but never how he really felt. He’d shut her out from his emotional life.
When he asked her for help to pay for a trip to Europe a few days later, she had merely nodded.
“I need distance,” he’d said. “Got to get away from this town for a while.”
Joanne had been surprised when she got a collect call from Spain ten days later. It was Dan calling from a hotel in Barcelona. Was he even supposed to go there?
She couldn’t remember.
Dan sounded happy, exhilarated even, talking about a boy from Switzerland he’d met. She had been worried sick, not just because he was so far away, but because she was afraid that he’d get hurt again. Yet something was different about her boy. He talked about feelings, emotions, about how he loved Sascha, about butterflies and stomach churns and being dizzy with emotions.
Then he called me, out of the blue!
Joanne didn’t really relax and accept the situation until she’d finally met Sascha, later that year, at City Hall in Zurich. She didn’t even own a passport and had to get one, just to be able to attend her son’s big day. Of course she wouldn’t miss her baby’s wedding to that young man who had swept her Daniel so completely off his feet.
Over the next days, as they all celebrated Christmas at Sascha’s parents’ house, she had a chance to get to know her son-in-law and quickly came to love him as much as she loved her own son. Seeing the two young men together made her feel happy. Somehow, it seemed as if two completely different halves had just magically found each other halfway across the world and made each other whole and complete. She felt pride in having contributed to preparing her half the way she had. She was so proud of her son, her Daniel.
In a way, Joanne felt that her life had come full circle to a happy ending, not that she was old or anything, but it had become full of purpose the day Dan called her from Singapore to announce that he would become a father. She’d cried herself to sleep that night, tears of joy.
I’m a grandma!
* * * * *
Family Ties Page 5