Stuart's Journey

DISCLAIMER... =============

This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2001 - ardveche@ardveche.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:

• if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.

Now, if everyone who is still here is meant to be here, or is at least aware they shouldn't be, let's get on with it. All comments on this story and my others are welcome and gratefully received (email them to ardveche@ardveche.com or look me up through my website http://www.ardveche.com).

Stuart's Journey ================

Chapter 2 - The Father

I was ushered from the hallway into a large, spacious and well-furnished room. Suddenly my father seemed at a loss for what to say and simply stood looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. For my part, I used the pause to cast my gaze around the room and take in my surroundings. It was not to my taste, but clearly a lot of money had been spent on furnishing this room. Occupying a corner of the building, two full walls were glass, the rest of the rooms presumably behind the doors on the other two walls, or up the elegant spiral staircase which occupied the far right corner from us.

"Um, why don't you give me your coat and take a seat, son?" I was brought back to the present by my father's voice and shrugged my way out of my coat, handing it to him with an apologetic grin and abandoning my pack against the wall. I walked further into the room and took a seat on the couch as my father hung up my coat and followed me over, sitting on the opposite side of a coffee table from me.

"So, um, this is a nice place," I volunteered in an effort to make light conversation.

"Thank you, I have an excellent interior designer," he replied. "Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"Oh, don't go to any trouble," I said, although my stomach disagreed, aside from the rather pathetic sandwich a few hours earlier I hadn't eaten all day. That thought prompted a wistful silence as my mind flashed back to Zach and how nice he had been to me on the bus.

"No trouble at all, wait there," and so saying, my father got to his feet with a forced smile and an over hearty slapping of his palms on his legs. Exiting through a door to the left I was once more alone. For want of anything better to do, I got up and wandered around the room. I was astonished to find a framed photograph of me as a child sitting on an end table, surprised and a little impressed - there were a few others, none of my mother, and a couple of a strikingly handsome Hispanic man, one of which also featured my father. I was starting to put two and two together, and to find new significance in my mother's remark that I was 'worse than my father'. Surely not?

"I hope this is okay," my father announced, re-entering the room bearing a turkey salad sandwich on a plate and a glass of milk.

"Looks great."

"I gave Jane the night off." He offered, by way of an apology.

"No, that's fine. Thanks, I haven't eaten much today," I grimaced at him, "it's been kinda hectic."

"I got that impression."

"Oh?"

"Stuart, your mother phoned, told me what happened."

"She did?" I was astonished by that information.

"After a fashion. Mostly she shouted at me, nothing new there though," he smiled faintly. "But I was able to piece together some of the story from what she said between insults. Want to fill in the blanks for me?"

"That depends on what you know already," I replied tentatively, resuming my seat, all thought of the questions in my own mind leaving me for the time.

"I know you're gay," he answered simply.

"Oh." What other response was there to make?

"And I know your mother thinks you 'inherited' it from me, like it was a disease. Stuart, God knows I wasn't around much when you were growing up, but your mother and I thought it was better that way, for you. I am here for you, though, truly I am."

There was a long pause, my father appeared to be thinking about something. I had no response to make, so I made none, I simply bit into my sandwich and chewed slowly and thoughtfully while I waited for him to go on. So he was gay. Wow. Could I have inherited it? Hadn't I heard something somewhere about the search for the gay gene? Was I, in fact, living proof that such a gene existed and that I had inherited it from my father along with simple things like the color of my eyes? Was it a part of my basic genetic make up, the very essence of who I was? Nah, I wasn't buying that.

"Stuart, I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with you, or with who you are."

"What?" I was nonplussed.

"Being gay is not wrong, it's nothing for you to be ashamed of."

"Who's ashamed?" I asked, surprised by the turn this conversation was taking.

"I assumed..."

"You were wrong," I interrupted him. "I'm not ashamed at all, and I certainly don't think you had anything to do with it. If I'm gay for a reason, it's probably in spite of you, not because of you. You know? The absence of a 'strong male role model' and all that bullshit. Ha! As if." I could not restrain a bitter laugh. "You'd have to have tried pretty hard to be less of an influence on my life."

"I..." he tried once more to get his train of thought back on the rails and then simply hung his head, "I guess that's fair."

"What did she tell you about Graham?" I demanded.

"Graham?" He looked blank, "that's the boy she found you with?"

"Yes."

"Nothing much."

"I see," I nodded sagely, taking a drink of milk, I suppose it wasn't surprising that my mother had been sketchy on those particular details.

"What should she have told me?"

"That he was sleeping with her too. That's what made her so mad, not that I'm gay, she never even mentioned that," I shrugged, "I had no idea, of course, not until she let it slip, and she had no idea I was sleeping with him until she found us. Talk about dysfunctional families, huh?"

"That she did not tell me," my father said slowly, shaking his head for emphasis.

"Would you have?"

"No, I guess not. I see why you had to leave though," he gave me another brilliant smile, like the one at the door, and I felt myself warming to him anew. "If it wasn't happening to you, it would seem funny."

"It kinda does," I answered, beginning to grin a little myself, "like a bad soap opera." My grin spread as the absurdity of it all began to sink in and I couldn't prevent a laugh escaping my lips. The easy acceptance by my father and the expression of amusement on his face soon had me laughing uproariously, perhaps even a little insanely. I found my father sitting beside me, and then we were hugging.

"God, it's so good to see you again, Stuart," he said as our laughter subsided. I clung to him, tightly, as my peals of hysterical laughter became tears again and I gave in to the rush of emotion I had been suppressing all day. The fear of the unknown, the rejection and loss of my mother, the indifference of Graham, the kindness of Zach and now the reunion with my father, it had all been too much for me. My father remained silent, holding me and waiting for the tempest to subside.

"You too," I was finally able to snuffle, "sorry about what I said."

"Don't be, you were right. Never be afraid to speak your mind, Stuart. Never." He gave me a little shake and gazed intently into my eyes until I offered him a small smile and nod.

"Okay, Dad." Dad. I had a father again, after all these years, and somehow it didn't seem so very wrong to be calling this near stranger Dad. We talked for a little longer, me describing the bus station and the long journey, I mentioned how helpful Zach had been, but omitted my attraction to him and the animosity toward Mark. My father mostly stayed quiet during the story, only occasionally asking a question as I filled him in on some of the background to the day's more dramatic events. I realized I was making the story a little difficult to follow as I hopped back and forth, but it was so disordered in my own mind it seemed the only way to tell it. I was tired as well, drained, and I wasn't able to concentrate as clearly as I would have liked. Thankfully my father noticed this.

"Let's get you settled in, I think a good night's sleep is called for. Yes?"

"Yes," I sniffed again and rubbed at my eyes, the thought of a warm bed, the dark and the quiet suddenly seemed exactly what I needed, a way to forget my troubles for a while in the oblivion of my dreams.

"Come on then, I'll show you to the guest bedroom," he held out a hand and helped me to my feet. "Things will look better in the morning. And we have a lot of catching up to do."

"We certainly do," I agreed, stooping to collect my pack. I followed him down a corridor and into a bedroom.

"I'll leave you alone."

"Okay," I dropped the pack and looked around me, "thanks."

"See you in the morning, Stuart." He closed the door softly and left me there. I was suddenly bone weary, I had no energy to shower or to unpack or to do any of the things I knew I should do. Instead I simply stripped to my shorts and slid gratefully into the warmth of the bed. I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillows.

I have no idea what woke me, or of what time it was when I did awaken, but it was with a start, in a strange room in total blackness. Panic crept up on me, until I remembered where I was, and how I had come to be there. I needed to piss badly. Pawing blindly to my left I found the switch for the light I dimly remembered there being and swung my feet out of the bed. Outside, the light was off in the hall, so I used to touch to make my way along the wall until I found the door to the bathroom. I was groping for yet another light switch when I became dimly aware of voices coming from the living room. Creeping forward cautiously, I strained to hear what was being said, I had a feeling it was not intended for my ears.

"Don't be ridiculous," I heard my father saying, ridiculous about what I had no idea.

"I'm not being ridiculous, John," a deep, accented, male voice responded, there was no rancor in the tone, if anything it sounded more like exasperation. "It was a reasonable question."

"Stuart is my son, Jose." Jose? The man from the picture perhaps?

"I know that," there was a pause, and the same voice continued, "you always misunderstand me. Sometimes, I think, deliberately."

"You never say what you mean," my father retorted.

"That's not true." Jose's voice was almost too quiet to hear.

"Yes it is. You hint at things, you talk round things."

"Let's not do this, John." My father and his boyfriend (how weird does that sound?) were arguing, they were arguing about me. This was not what I had intended, not even close. I did not want to be where I wasn't wanted, I didn't want to cause trouble for anyone. I wished, and not for the first time that day, that I could just disappear. Maybe I had been wrong to come here, my father had a life of his own, totally separate from mine and I didn't want to upset that. I shivered a little in the hallway, realized that I was practically naked and that I was now absolutely desperate to go to the bathroom. I turned and was making my way back towards the bathroom, more certainly now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I had just reached the doorway when the door behind me opened and the light snapped on, blinding me afresh. I turned, blinking, and tried to focus on the figure in the doorway.

"Hello," a deep, warm voice said to me. Not my father, and therefore the mysterious Jose, if only because of how he pronounced the 'H'.

"Um, hi." I tried to cover my chest with my arms, embarrassed at being nearly naked in the hallway, and worried he would think I had been listening in to their conversation.

"I did not startle you, I hope." He took a few steps towards me, I was able now to see that it was indeed the man from the picture, and he was every bit as good looking as I had first thought. Standing before me, a small smile on his full lips was a man of around six foot two, very solidly built with jet black hair and dark, dark, twinkling eyes set in flawless, coppery skin. He had high cheekbones and rather fine eyebrows, at a guess I would have said he was in his mid to late twenties. It was obvious that he worked out, his tight whit t-shirt made no pretence of hiding that, and there was a confidence and swagger to his stride as he approached me and held out his hand. "My name is Jose." He pronounced it with a hard 'J' and not as the softer 'Hose' I had expected.

"Um, hi." I said again.

"You, I am guessing, are Stuart." He pronounced the vowels in my name oddly, more like 'you-a' than 'oo-a', I liked the way it sounded. It was not, however, a question. I guess there was no need for it to be, who else was I going to be?

"Um, yes." I could think of nothing more to say, as his hand firmly grasped mine and his eyes held me transfixed. "I was, um, just going to the bathroom." I finally managed to say, nodding my head vaguely at the open door beside me.

"Of course." He released my hand immediately. I was covered in gooseflesh, whether from the slight chill in the hallway, or from his grip I didn't know. "You are cold."

"Um, yeah, it is a little."

"I don't really feel it."

"No?" Why was I making small talk with this man, when I should have been relieving the pressure in my bladder?

"No. I will get you a robe."

"Oh, there's no need..." I began, but Jose simply held up a hand to silence my protests.

"Are you tired?"

"Huh?" I was confused by his non sequitur. "Um, no, not so much now. I slept for a while, what time is it?"

"A little after eleven," he supplied, "go to the bathroom, Stuart, I will get the robe, then make you some hot chocolate. Yes?"

"That's really nice of you. Thanks." I smiled shyly at him.

"It is my pleasure," he gave the tiniest bow, his expression suddenly grave and then walked past me and into a room on the other side of the hall. Finally, I went into the bathroom and took care of my most immediate problem. As I stood there, there came a small tap on the door, which startled me and caused me to miss my aim for a second.

"I am leaving the robe here for you, Stuart," a deep voice informed me.

"Um, yeah, okay, thanks again," I called back as I finished up. Folded neatly on the floor outside the door was a soft, fleecy, gray robe, which I picked up and put on swiftly. It was gloriously warm, and much too large for me, I had to roll the sleeves up a little so my hands protruded. More suitably attired, I returned to the living room where my father was sitting with a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Did we wake you?" He asked.

"Huh?" I asked. I thought it best not to let on that I had heard any of their conversation - not that I had heard that much anyway. "No, I got up to use the bathroom."

"Didn't pack a robe, huh?"

"Ha. No, my packing was kinda bad," I blushed, "guess I could have given it a little more thought, huh?" I held my arms out, showing how much larger than necessary the robe was on me.

"I think it looks very sexy," Jose's voice made me spin around, "in a waifish, street urchin way." He smiled broadly at me, displaying a set of perfect white teeth.

"Um..." What could I say?

"Hot chocolate." I accepted the mug he proffered in my direction, blushing furiously.

"Jose, don't tease him," my father chided laughingly, pronouncing his name the same odd way as Jose had earlier.

"He has his father's looks," Jose replied with a shrug and a fond smile at my father.

"Behave."

I took a seat again and Jose sat opposite me, beside my father but a couple feet away from him, whether they were just undemonstrative or they were being so for my benefit I had no way of knowing. I sipped tentatively at the hot chocolate, it was very hot (I guess I'd have complained if it was cold) but absolutely delicious.

"Brazilian family recipe," Jose offered at the expression of surprise on my face.

"You're from Brazil?" I had assumed him to be of Mexican extraction, but I guess this made more sense and it better explained his strange, wonderful, accent.

"Yes. But I have lived here for seven years now."

"What's in it?"

"It is a secret."

"He still hasn't told me, so you may as well give up now," my father informed me. I could only smile in response. They made an odd couple, my father with his silver hair and all-American businessman appearance sitting there with this breathtaking Brazilian guy, I was having a hard job imagining them as any kind of couple. It was just too weird.

"Stuart does not talk much," Jose observed, "this is one thing you and he do not have in common, John."

"He's just shy, he's had one of the weirdest days you can imagine."

"I can imagine very weird," Jose responded without so much as a hint of a smile.

"Not this weird," I chimed in, keen to show that I was awake and taking an active role in the conversation. "It was all pretty screwed up."

"John has told me the entire story. I have been brought 'up to speed', including the irresistible Graham." That name he pronounced oddly too, I liked his accent a great deal, and I could certainly see what my father saw in him. It was the obvious corollary of that I was having trouble with. "I should like to meet this boy."

"You would?" I asked at almost exactly the same time as my father did.

"Certainly. To make him apologize for all the pain he has caused to you." He seemed so very sincere I found it impossible to laugh at him, though it had been my initial thought. "And I should also like to meet Zach."

"What did he do?" I asked.

"He helped you, when there was no obligation on him to do so and with no promise of any reward." Jose's face had assumed that grave expression again. "Such selfless aid should be acknowledged."

"I agree," my father put in, "he sounds like a very decent young man. If there's something I can do for him, I'd like to, for the kindness he showed to my son."

"It sounds weird to hear you call me that," I said quietly.

"Think how I felt when you called me Dad!" My father laughed.

"It makes him seem older," Jose added with a laugh, "so does the phrase 'young man', no?"

"Yeah," I gave a little chuckle of my own.

"I have warned him about this, the slow spread of his old age," the sage nod with which Jose accompanied this remark served to make the whole conversation seem utterly absurd.

"You two had better stop that," my father mock warned us.

"Gee, Dad, I'm sorry," I said in a Richie Cunningham voice, causing the three of us to laugh again. I don't know why (I realize I've been saying that a lot) but I felt more relaxed with both of them there than I had with either one singly.

"Well, as you've both pointed out, I am old and I'm getting tired. Time for me to go to bed," he got to his feet, "Stuart, I have meetings all morning, but I'll be free by lunch. You can either stay in bed until then, catch up on your beauty sleep, or maybe Jose could show you some of the sights, assuming he has nothing else to do?"

"I do not have plans, and even if I had, I should cancel my plans for Stuart."

"Ever the gentleman," my father chuckled, "So why don't you two come by my office at around one, one-thirty and we'll have lunch someplace?"

"Perhaps I can help Stuart shop for a robe that fits," Jose smiled at my father.

"Absolutely," my dad laughed, "and anything else he needs. Can't have my son looking like a, what was it? A 'street urchin'?"

"A waifish, street urchin," I corrected him.

"My mistake."

"I have money," I added, suddenly keen to show that I was not going to be a charity case, however it looked.

"I have more," my father simply dismissed the argument, "Jose, don't let him spend his own money."

"That may be difficult, John, he is strong willed."

"Try. Now, goodnight, Stuart, and it really, truly is good to see you again and to have you here. I'm just so sorry that it had to be in these circumstances."

"Me too," I nodded, "but that's as much my fault as yours, I guess."

"I'm not so sure, but this is not the time for this conversation."

"No. Good night, Dad." I smiled at him, to show there were no hard feelings on my side.

"Good night, son. We'll talk more tomorrow, I'm absolutely beat."

"I will join you shortly." Jose informed my father, glancing over his shoulder at him. I wondered if they were being so non-tactile because I was there as my father simply nodded to show he had heard him. I watched my father walk from the room, leaving me alone with Jose. I shuffled a little in my seat and hunched down in the robe, feeling suddenly terribly self-conscious again, and utterly unable to think of anything to say to him. For what seemed like the longest time, Jose simply sat and looked at me in silence.

"Tell me more about Zach," he finally said.

"Zach?" I asked, confused by the request.

"Certainly," he flashed that fleeting smile at me again, "I have not known you for long, Stuart, but I can tell that you liked him more than you are willing to admit."

"Maybe," I conceded, "maybe it's just because he was so nice to me. He reminded me a lot of Graham. I don't think I was thinking too clearly anyway. Besides, he has a boyfriend."

"Yes. Mark."

I waited for Jose to continue speaking, but it seemed he had no intention of doing so and was instead waiting for me to continue. There was a quality to the silences with Jose that made me want to keep talking to fill them, it was an odd feeling o be talking so frankly to someone about my sexuality. A great deal had happened in the course of this summer, and I was still trying to process a lot of it - not least what had happened that same day.

"You do not like Mark?"

"Huh? No, no not really."

"Because you like Zach, and he is with him? Or because he is personally objectionable?" He raised a single, perfect, eyebrow at me and I had to laugh at the question.

"A little from column A, a little from column B," I answered.

"As I suspected."

"Am I that transparent, Jose?"

"Yes." I had expected him to prevaricate, but he simply answered the question. Refreshing in a way, if blunt. "On this matter."

"Only this one?"

"So far." He replied with another little smile.

"So, enough about me," I said, a little flustered, "tell me a little about yourself."

"What would you like to know, Stuart? Ask me anything, my life is an open book."

"I dunno," I said after a moment's thought, "just tell me about you, at least until I get sleepy again." I realized after I said it that that could be taken as a jibe, but he seemed not to mind.

"Very well. I am twenty-six, I was born in Brasilia an only child, my father is a senator and I am an embarrassment to him. My sexuality, and my lifestyle. This is why I now live here, in these United States. It has been useful for my work also."

"What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

"You're the one telling the story," I countered.

"True. I am a model, and when I am not modeling I am a student of law."

"Really?"

"You are surprised?"

"No. Not surprised exactly..." I trailed off.

"Do not worry, Stuart. I am used to it, people nod and smile at the model part, but they are always surprised by the lawyer part. I am making use of my looks while I have them, but they will not last forever, so I am making use of my mind also."

"Sensible," I nodded and smiled.

"Indeed," Jose nodded also, "so what else would you like to know?"

"Um, well, I guess, you and my dad?"

"I wondered when you would ask me that," he laughed.

"You don't have to answer."

"I know, but I shall. You want to know how we met?"

"Um, yeah, and when too."

"Of course. I have known John for around three years, but we have only been seeing each other for six months."

"How long have you lived together?"

"We don't. I have my own apartment, but I keep a robe," he indicated the one I was wearing, "a toothbrush and other vital things here for when I spend the night. Had I known in advance that you were arriving tonight, I would have let you and your father be alone together."

"Oh, no, it was really good to meet you." I was keen that my arrival should not make him uncomfortable. "I guess I came as a bit of a surprise to you, huh?"

"I knew John had a son, but the picture he has does not do you justice." Jose smiled at me and I glanced again at the photograph I had been examining earlier. I can only have been about six when it was taken, and I had certainly changed a lot since then. I was taller, for one thing. "Do not judge him too harshly, Stuart, he thought of you often, but he believed your life would be easier if he was not around and his relationship with your mother was far from cordial."

"I know." I answered quietly. Still, a phone call every once in a while would have been nice. Certainly he wrote, but the letters were infrequent and they lacked any real detail about his life - like him being gay for one! Maybe it would have been easier for me to accept my own sexuality if my father had been there.

"There is much benefit to hindsight, Stuart. For what it is worth, I think he was wrong and I am certain he now thinks so too."

"I guess."

"He deeply regrets all that has happened."

"I know." I realized that I was not adding much to this conversation, but the sincerity of Jose's calm, deep voice just made me feel bad about resenting my father's absence. Can you believe that? I was feeling guilty because he wasn't there when I was growing up. That said, between boarding school and vacationing with friends, my mother wasn't exactly a leading light in my formative years either. The woes of the poor little rich kid.

"He is a good man, Stuart. And I suspect you are too. Talk to him and everything will be well between you, yes?"

"Yeah, you're probably right. Thanks, Jose."

"My pleasure."

"And now, unless you have more to ask me, I think I too will get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow, you and I."

"We certainly do," I rose to my feet at the same time as he did and gave him what I hoped was a warm smile, which he returned. Jose gestured for me to precede him along the hall to where the bedrooms lay and when we reached the room from which he had retrieved the robe earlier, presumably my father's room, he stopped and placed a strong hand on my shoulder.

"I will awaken you in the morning. Good night, Stuart, sleep well."

"You too, Jose, and thanks again."

He slipped into the darkened room and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone once more in the hallway. I made my way to my room, the guest room, and flicked the hall light off as I pushed the door closed, flicking the room's light on simultaneously. I shucked the robe and slid back into the bed, this time when I lay down it took a little longer to fall asleep as I had a great deal to think about. So many thoughts were buzzing through my head that every time I closed my eyes they elbowed their way to the surface again. Eventually, though, oblivion managed to overcome me and I slid into a deep, untroubled slumber and knew nothing more until morning.

To Be Continued...