This story is a true event which occurred but it's not porn. I just wanted to share my understanding of myself as i helped my partner raise his grandson. I'm not sure how to classify it. Because this is emotional, I am able to recount these events a little at a time. I accepted my partner's grandson moving in with us, and this outlines how we changed each others lives throughout the course of a decade. Part 2 will follow
Part 1
I observed the heated exchange between my lover and his son. I am in my late 40s and my life partner, Jerry, is in his late 50s. I had always accepted the cravings and desires for other men, having lost my virginity to a kid my age as we watched gay porn. Jerry, on the other hand, had been married and only following the passing of his wife from cancer did he consider and finally accept who he was with great pride, as all should.
I could hear Jerry talking to his son the way a father should to a man who is physically abusing and neglecting his grandson. Rory was the reason we had made the flight from our luxury home in New York to this shit hole in Los Angeles. Rory, now eight, spoke with "Grandpa Jerry" every night, and patterns of neglect and abuse were becoming more and more obvious. Bruises, his father yelling in the background (no doubt drunk), and sometimes no sign of his father for days. The months following the attack of the twin towers created havoc for travel, but we packed an overnight bag, and boarded the red eye to California to "get Rory," whatever that meant. I wasn't sure what all Jerry had in mind, but I knew I didn't want a kid in the house. Eight year old boys are messy, dirty, eat too much, fart, and are outright obnoxious. I took pride in my home, but I also loved my partner and sacrifices should be made for those we love. "One day at a time," I told myself.
I watched as Jerry pushed his son out of the way in order to enter the broken down home. Less than a minute later, he was carrying a scrawny little kid out of the door and the boy's father was too high or drunk to stop him. I got out of the rental and opened the back door as Jerry said cheerily to whom I inferred was Rory, "There you go, big guy. Put on your seatbelt."
The boy did as he was told, and as I suspected, the car soon smelled of odors. I looked back at our new travel buddy, his face was covered in dirt and patches of discoloration, which I would soon learn were bruises healing at various stages.
I smiled, but the boy looked like a deer in headlights, unsure of what the hell had just transpired. We soon reached the suite where we would rest before the long flight back to New York. The boy got out of the car, his head hanging, and he just stood motionless. He swayed back and forth for a moment, and Jerry moved to catch him. As we entered the suite and Jerry laid Rory on the bed, I could see the entirety of this situation. This kid was a stark contrast to the environment in which he was now resting. His clothes were dirty, faded, and full of holes. His toes poked out through the cheap cotton shoes he wore. His hair was long, matted, ass, to my horror, lice infested. I panicked for a moment. I had seen these kinds of children on commercials as sad music played in the background with Sally Struthers pleading for money to help feed and clothe them.
"So Jerry, what size clothes does he wear?" I wanted those smelly things in the trash and this was my way of helping Jerry and myself. Neither one of us was sure so he said to buy various sizes of boys jeans, sweaters, underwear, socks, pajamas, and shoes.
He gave me his credit card, and said, "Get some pedialyte. He's dehydrated, and he's coming down from a contact high. Damn bastard and his friends were smoking joints and shooting up around him. Call me when you find a pharmacy. I'm calling in some prescriptions for him as well."
Jerry was a pediatrician, a sharp contrast to my profession as CEO of one of the largest trading firms in NYC. I was about to mention the lice to Jerry, but before I could mention it, he said, "I'm going to write down the name of something else I need. It's over the counter." I recognized the name at once - Rid-X.
-- End Part 1