This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or the departed, to reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, please don't read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these entertaining stories for you. Remember that authors depend on feedback for improvement and encouragement. All rights reserved.
This One Might be Different: Different-Chapter 2
We were in the process of moving into my, now 'our' house in Washington County, Oregon. Portland, we decided, was going to be our local getaway if a vacation from our paradise ever got attractive. For my part, I couldn't think beyond the bed we played and slept in, but I knew we would eventually want to do the city thing.
Early Sunday morning Christopher had gone back to sleep for a few hours. His dad and I had decided to shower together after breakfast, so we stuffed the dishes into the dishwasher, added dishwashing liquid, and shut the door to start the machine only to hear a clicking noise.
These repetitive clicks weren't the machine's normal sound. Something didn't smell right so Greg opened the dishwasher door, we removed the dishes and washed them by hand. Neither of us had done that for months, if years. Getting our hands into soapy water, washing and rinsing and drying the dishes brought back memories of 'having' to do the dishes at home when we were kids.
We decided to call a repairman from the appliance store where the machine was purchased a year ago. He wouldn't be here until the next day but we figured the human race survived without dishwashers for some time and we could too. Greg and I, back to basics on some level, took our shower, dried each other with warm, soft towels, and got interested in touching each other. One thing led to another.
My mouth gravitated to his cock, my tongue to his tongue, his tongue to my perineal body, that patch of skin between my testicles and anus, then once lubricated, his cock inside me, pushing gently in and back almost out. In retrospect, it really was too good to last.
Sure enough, it didn't.
The doorbell chimed and we jumped apart, setting a new world record for throwing on threads. I answered the door to find a lady, a serious, no-nonsense person asking for Mr. Greg Blockwelder. Greg came to the door.
"I'm Greg."
"Hello. My name is Ms. Lin Chiu. I work at Washington County Social Services and am here to see you and your son and his new home. It is routine procedure for us to make certain each child is safe and well-cared for when parental changes occur. I will want to interview you as well, Dr. Brewster."
Greg and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Here was someone barging in on Sunday without an appointment from a governmental-type unit. A voice like grandma Carr sounded in the back of my head.
"If something seems weird, it might be weird. Check it out."
"May I see your identification," I asked.
I wasn't about to let this person into the house unless I was sure she worked for the Department of Social Services. Visits like these, I knew, were not routine on weekends.
"Uh, I didn't bring identification with me today."
"Then could I see a paper from Family Court or a judge authorizing your visit please?"
"Sorry, I don't have that with me, but the law allows us to make surprise inspections."
"Then you won't mind if I call the Sheriff's office to confirm this appointment?"
"There's no need for that," Ms. Chiu replied.
"Sure, there is," replied Greg. "Your first visit will be by appointment so we can properly meet with your official identification. Your second visit can be five minutes later or whenever you choose as the surprise moment."
"In the meanwhile, speaking as my son's legal father, I don't know you from Adam and you don't get to barge into our house. That's the rule here."
"I'll be back."
"Knock yourself out. Have a nice day." Greg refrained from slamming the door behind her. He and I both had a bad feeling about the visit.
We called the Sheriff's office anyway, told the deputy, this time a different deputy not related to Janie, and she promised to record our call. She said we had done the right thing and confirmed the Department of Social Services responsibility to visit and at the same time said they were required to carry ID and that the polite first introduction would certainly include an appointment. The deputy said that usually two social workers visited together, as well.
She said that it was our right to film the encounter if it was in our own home to document the questions asked and the answers given.
"Best if you ask the visitors if you can record them in that session if you wish. You should video their refusal. If they do refuse, you can tell them to leave and call an attorney and the DHS head office and our office. You have an absolute right to a video of the visit."
We spent the rest of the day a little concerned about getting off on a bad foot with DHS but knew a judge (if it came to that) couldn't fault us for ensuring Christopher's welfare and security.
Two hours later, the deputy called. "It's a good thing you were careful. No one named Lin Chiu works for DHS in Washington County. We're going to look in to this...a detective has been assigned and DHS has been notified in Salem of an imposter on the loose. Detective Peterson says we've had two similar complaints in the last year from other families. We will be talking to Janie as well to see how she ties into this."
A little shaken, but happy we had dodged that bullet, we spent the rest of the day entertaining Christopher and taking care of his needs. Greg reminded me of some unfinished business in bed.
"I've got blue balls, Simon," he said. "Any chance we could make good use of my high-school maligned cock? I've got the urge to breed and am thinking of teaching it how to park in my lover's ass but have to find some first. Any taker in this house?"
I told him his sweet-talking ways would get him in real trouble one day just so he couldn't just so he couldn't say I hadn't warned him.
He then threw me on the bed and fucked me three ways to Sunday, up, down, and sideways and in between...juicy hot cum flying everywhere. The bedroom smelled like what I imagined a whorehouse might when he finally wore his world-class equipment out and fetched up bone dry. At that point, we both just conked right out and were lucky to wake when Christopher cried in the night. His cries were amplified from his nursery room down the hall over the baby monitor network which broadcasted Christopher's every breath, fart, and hiccup (both audio and video).
We never heard back from DHS in the next two years until the time came when I asked Greg if I could adopt Christopher when mandated court evaluation and parenting training happened along with a DHS report.
That DHS report went well. Two social service workers, one a supervisor, came to the house after making an appointment. They agreed to a video of the meeting and were very pleasant about asking the questions they had to ask. The supervisor told us that their initial impression was that Christopher was in great hands, had loving, careful attention from his dads and their report would be positive and that the family court judge would review all the information and make the final decision.
Then, soon after, Christopher was ours. He had two dads then, just like he'd had since birth. He also had a birth mother. Crossing that river lay ahead a few years when Christopher would decide on his own how to proceed. Greg and I decided to tell Christopher the facts as soon as he asked. We couldn't imagine how omitting facts or telling lies about his mother would be in his best interest, so we didn't.
Greg's parents called one day to bring supper over. Greg had called them soon after the delivery and they had seen Christopher as a baby but not in the last year. They lived in Idaho and lived on a pretty tight budget on Social Security. We had sent pictures, Skyped, and done the Facetime thing. Having planned and saved for the trip, they were excited to see Greg and Christopher. My relationship with them other than smiles and electronic pleasantries didn't exist. They were not homophobic. They were older, raised in another culture almost, felt awkward discussing the subject of Greg and I as lovers, so they didn't.
I liked them a lot and saw Christopher as a focus we could all agree on and talk about. We invited them to stay with us in our guest bedroom. Greg agreed that would take some of the pressure off their budget for the trip.
Mary and Albert had raised Greg to be a careful, curious, hard-working human and passed their innate kindness to him as well. They were health conscious and had a no-drug, no alcohol, no tobacco policy at their house while Greg grew up.
Later in life, Greg saw he'd saved a ton of money over the years not smoking. He told me once that a 1 pack-per-day habit buying 5 dollars per pack times 365 days a year would pay for a round-trip ticket to Europe every year plus a few decent hotel rooms or a Eurail pass on the wonderful trains of Europe. It was a no brainer for him.
I like a glass of wine when eating out, but we decided for Christopher's sake to not have tobacco, alcohol or drugs in the house. Mary and Albert arrived on the first Monday night in July. We gave them the tour of the place.
Albert really liked the house and surroundings and said so. He said the security systems were top notch and being a retired policeman, that meant a lot to me. That might have been the beginning of a crack in his defenses when it came to the subject of Greg and I together. He might not have chosen us to be together...no parent gets to make that choice now anyway...since a fait accompli was in front of him, he wanted it to work and work safely.
We grilled the lamb chops they brought. Mary brought a cooler full of side dishes, including Asian crispy noodles and even potato salad that I had to say was better than my own Oregon potato salad. Both of them played with Christopher on the lawn on a large quilt in the sun surrounded by summer flowers.
Neither of Greg's parents mentioned Janie. Neither of them brought up our relationship with the exception of an awkward smile the first night when Greg told them that 'it's past our bedtime and we both have to work in the morning but will be off by noon'. He told them we had to get up early and make breakfast.
"So, sleep in and be pampered, you two," Greg continued. "Shall we have the nanny in while you explore around the area or shall we give her the day off?"
Mary didn't skip a beat. "I'd like to meet her then give her the day off. I want the time with my grandson."
From the smile on his face, I had to think Albert felt the same way. I had already noted that some of Greg's facial expressions mirrored his feelings and many resembled his dad's expressions.
Greg's older sister Sonia had endometriosis resulting in surgery somewhere which had apparently failed to resolve the infertility reducing her chances of presenting Mary and Albert with more grandchildren. At the same time, Greg and I would have to adopt or find a surrogate to have more children, so Mary and Albert may have decided to focus on Christopher while they could.
My own parents had said goodbye to me in high school when they found out that my sleepover at my friend Mike's house included carnal behavior between Mike and I, courtesy of a camera set up by Mike's brother as a prank. Turned out Mike's brother was a tattle-tale of the first order who took pleasure in reporting what his camera recorded. The news spread to his parents first and quickly via telephone to my father.
I had nowhere close to go. I was told to leave the house. I had my uncle's trust fund to look forward to but no access to it at age 15. I was vaguely aware it existed. I had no idea of its contents.
My mother's mom, grandma Carr, had taken me in a heartbeat. She lived in Chicago and welcomed me.
"Imagine those two (referring to my mom and dad) having to pay for the things I didn't approve in their lives," she sniffed. "There wouldn't be enough days left in their life to make up. I know some of their antics. The rest that I don't know about...I didn't kick them out of their own home. Shame on them!"
Chicago was a world away from my rural roots in Oregon. I wasn't prepared emotionally for the gangs or the classrooms that were run how I imagined jails were managed. Turned out that the difference was just a comparison. Oregon schools served a different culture's kids. The subjects weren't different. The cultural environment was.
Grandma Carr had survived the depression as a child and lived through a major World War. She had lots of stories to tell. I pegged my history classes to her stories and became good at remembering dates. My favorite class, oddly enough, was biology; chemistry, a close second. Learning the names of things and how life worked in a structure appealed to my kind of de-structured life.
I sucked at sports. I wasn't asked to be on any team except baseball and that was required. As was wrestling. The first time I wrestled a guy, normal body reactions occurred and my world ended. I had a hold on the other guy from behind and he began to rub his butt on my erection. He didn't seem to mind, had to have felt my hard cock, but didn't say anything.
There was a small wet spot on my singlet afterward. I finally talked to a friend who told me all wrestlers get hard sometimes and that all hard cocks get soft after a few minutes. I cringed a little and wondered what he would have said if I told him I liked rubbing that part of me against another guy. Which I did. I liked it. A lot.
And then the showers. Complete nightmare. There, one had to think about rotting dead mice and cooked cabbage for supper or something similar to avoid the dreaded 'gay' label which was applied as sure as the dawn broke every morning if any hard cock was spotted in the showers. I remember forcing myself not to look at stuff I really wanted to see.
I graduated second in my high school class with perfect science grades. I applied to Northwestern and was accepted. By this time my tuition was being paid by the trust fund. I had met with the lawyers and financial types that managed the fund the day after my high school graduation.
Turned out that my uncle had actually won a substantial lottery some years prior. He hated to spend money, didn't really need money, was proud to be my uncle, wasn't fond of his siblings, didn't have kids of his own, ergo the balance was trusted to me as of high school graduation. The team I met was part of the firm that had helped my uncle invest the proceeds with great results.
The head of the team was an attorney, Thomas M. Glenn, Esq. and he had a slim male secretary with a world-class ass named Alan Anderson who didn't look much older than I. He looked a little like my friend Mike and knew how to get things done.
Mike introduced me to friend sex. Alan introduced me to man sex.
After the meeting, Alan fixed his bright blue eyes on me, grinned and said he would escort me to lunch. We took a taxi to the Loop, ate Chicago style pizza and a beer and talked about everything. He knew my life story by the end of that lunch. I knew some of his. He said he wanted me to see his apartment. We jumped back into the taxi, arrived at the building with a doorman, entered the lobby and took the elevator to a high floor. There were about ten apartments on that floor. His was decorated in a modern style...all chrome and black and white. Floor to ceiling windows showed a stunning view of Chicago. We sat drinking another beer when he asked me what I liked to do.
I must have given him some vague answer. He looked at me and asked if I had ever had sex with a guy.
"Yeah, with a friend in 8th grade."
He asked me what I thought of that and I told him I liked it a lot.
"Enough to try it again?"
"In a heartbeat."
It wasn't long before we were naked and exploring. So began a relationship as lovers and more. He was my mentor. He taught me finance and investments, life, and sexual skills. He vastly preferred to bottom although he was versatile enough to teach me how to make any partner happy.
Six years later he was struck by a drunk driver on a Chicago street. He died a day later. I told myself I wasn't devastated. Turned out I was just numb. Really numb. By then I was in my third year of medical school at Northwestern. Taking time off wasn't an option so I grieved and worked even harder on the wards to forget Alan.
I graduated at the top of my class in medicine, so I got my pick of residencies. There was a slot reserved for me in the match at Northwestern courtesy of an interview with the ob-gyn department chairman. He told me that he would guarantee a slot if I chose his residency program as my number one choice. That was against the rules of the match, but more than one residency program played that game.
The 'match', as every medical student called it, was a national computerized system where residency programs ranked applicants from one (most desired applicant) down to the last (least desired applicant). The applicant rated the programs applied for from 1 on down as well.
A computer sorted it all out and informed the programs and applicants. One of the rules to preserve a fair match with equal access for each applicant was a ban on just that type of collusion.
My social life during residency was limited. When recovery from 24 hours of work does occur, there are bills to pay or studying to do or rounds to make in the hospital or surgery to perform or surgical assisting or eating or doing household tasks or trying to catch up on sleep.
There were two other gay guys taking a residency at Northwestern that I had identified. Easily identified. I tried to act like I felt, 98% masculine and 2% feminine. These guys were 2% masculine and 98% feminine, way out of the closet, way over the top, and relentless about shoving their sexuality in other's faces in behavior and dress. That wasn't me...so there wasn't much of a connection there.
It required a shameful amount of time for me to come the point where I was able to accept people for who they were. It never dawned on me that there were probably other men who preferred their own gender sexually and they were having the same trouble as I was...connecting to another guy. That's an ironic disadvantage of closet life.
I felt better about staying in the background, blending in my corner of the closet, waiting for my guy to show up so I could love him and put out for him, knowing that sex was better with a guy I cared deeply about. Chacun à son goût.
After moving to Oregon again to start my own practice, after those first few paychecks (something I actually worked for on my own), Greg and Christopher showed up as a package deal and suddenly they emerged as the real reason I had worked so hard for so long.
Greg and I suffered from a disease. It was called 'Craigslist addiction." We spent an hour every day almost 'reading' it together online on our dual computer monitors. We forced ourselves to read something from as many sections as possible. It was Greg who found an ad from some place in central Oregon for a doctor.
A group of people on a huge ranch called 'Shady Acres' were looking for a gay-friendly doc to do general medicine for a huge salary with great benefits including paid vacations and travel, free day care if needed, great food by prepared by chefs, a furnished clinic, access to a private jet, complete medical and dental coverage, prescription coverage...benefits extending to partner and dependents including complete tuition through college, 401-K 100% matching from day one, close to mountains, trails, rivers, fishing...
Greg looked at me and I looked at him. I wasn't sure if I wanted to uproot us. In retrospect, he wasn't sure either and said so.
I'll never know what possessed me. "Why don't we check it out?"
We called the number provided. "Hello, my name is Dr. Simon Brewster and I'm calling about your Craigslist advertisement."
"When can you come to visit?"
"Would tomorrow be too soon?"
The man gave us the address and I gave him my Oregon license number. "See you at the main ranch house when you get here tomorrow. Look forward to it."
Greg had listened in. We both looked at each other. "What in the hell had we just done!"