Chapter 15

As the last of our new friends made their way out the door, I thought about places to live, homes and ownership.

Daddy bought our house a year after it was built, close to 11 years ago. He hadn't had his own practice long enough to really qualify for the loan and there was no wife to provide a second income, but somehow he was able to swing it. He sacrificed in the beginning, doing whatever it took to provide a place for me. Six years ago came the back yard, with the pool and the outdoor furniture, the barbecue and the changing rooms. He used the pool while teaching me to swim, but I can't remember the last time he swam. The barbecue was used to entertain me and my friends. The changing rooms were hardly ever used. Once or twice each summer, we'd have a slumber party and six or eight girls would sleep over and it would see some action.

Two or three years ago, the first floor got a complete remodel. We got a new entertainment room with the plasma TV and surround sound music system. The new stainless steel kitchen had a restaurant quality refrigerator and stove.

I watched the big TV and listened to the music by myself or with Wanda or Charlie. Many nights I ate the food prepared in the big kitchen by myself because Daddy was with a patient or at the office. About the only thing he did in the kitchen was get some ice water out of the refrigerator door or make himself a pot of coffee.

Daddy and I don't talk about his money. I know he makes a lot. He used his two year old Mercedes as a trade in for that toy he drives and wrote a check for the rest. One day I heard him complaining to another doctor about the government's policy of crucifying anyone who is successful and how he pays his accountant more each year than he paid for our house 11 years ago, just to keep them off his back so he can work.

I know he did it all for me, and I don't want to seem ungrateful, but that house has always seemed like Daddy's house, not ours. And it didn't seem at all like mine when Jack and I took the food over there yesterday.

I did notice that Wanda is making it hers. Just little things like the way the dishes were stacked in the drainer, which sink the rinsed out but not washed yet cups were, the frying pan on the stove with remnants of scrambled eggs. I'm not jealous about it; I've moved on. More power to her.

The first day I went over to Jack's house, I was nervous. Really nervous. I'd talked to June on the phone and said things I'd never before spoken of to this woman I'd never met. And that day, I was coming over to dinner with her son after just having gotten an examination and my first month's pills so we could share our virginities. No, I didn't lose my virginity and he didn't steal it. I freely gave it; shared it with him. If anybody lost anything, it was Jack. I took it.

I know if I'd told her I was nervous while we were on the phone, June would have done everything she could to convince me I had nothing to worry about. It wouldn't have done any good. Even Jack was a little antsy and he'd lived with the woman all his life. I know guys tell horror stories about the boyfriend meeting the father and the fear the father puts into him but that's nothing compared with the way a girl feels when she meets a boy's mother for the first time.

As if that wasn't enough to be nervous about, Jack told me about a conversation he'd had with his sister that morning and how she'd reacted. Of course, he couldn't put what he said and her reaction together. He did ask her if he said something wrong and she told him she was fine, and that was good enough for him. I'll tell you something. We of the female persuasion use the word "fine" to mean many things, but you won't find any of them listed in the dictionary. If a woman says "fine" to you, get some flowers and try to figure out what you did to piss her off. If she puts an exclamation point after it, you'd better cover your balls, too.

So, this was the home of both a woman whose son I was trying to steal and a young girl, soon to be woman, whose hero and masturbatory fantasy I was trying to steal. When Jack opened the door, the first thing I saw was a beautiful woman, looking directly at me, smiling. She opened her arms and it was as if I was sucked into her. There was no hesitation, no condemnation, no "what are you doing to my son?", nothing at all negative. When she wrapped her arms around me, it was the most natural thing to put mine around her and bury my face in her bosom.

If you're lucky, you'll run into a woman like Thelma. Thelma has enough bosom for three or four women, along with everything else. Thelma's a big woman, but it's not a turn off. More to wrap yourself up in. A hug from Thelma is total love, total acceptance, total "everything's going to be all right." Kind of grandma to the nth degree.

If you're really blessed, you'll encounter a June Hill. June had it all — the loving husband, the house with a mortgage and the picket fence, two lovely children, even the super dog. And then she lost the husband. I can't imagine what that was like and hope to God I never experience it. All of a sudden, she had all that responsibility piled on her. Many people would have given up, been bitter, consoled themselves with booze or drugs or sex; somehow her children would have suffered. Not June. Providing her children with the best life she possibly could was a duty, a trust, a privilege. And pure joy.

June is a unique woman. She is able to look at what's there and instinctively know the right thing to do. She'd had enough talks with her son since we met to know what was in his heart, and she dug into my soul on the phone and pronounced me worthy of her son. If she hadn't, I never would have been invited for dinner and all of a sudden Jack would have been gone. I can say that without a doubt, and it's not a bad thing. A robin does not invite an eagle to teach her young to fly.

June knew the thing I needed most was a mother and it was a mother's hug I got when I went through that door. And then I got an invitation to call this woman I'd known for all of thirty seconds "Mom". I suddenly had the mother I'd never had and it felt like home. In some ways, I felt more at home there than in the house I'd spent the last eleven years in.

Of course, Mom was only part of the equation. Neither her acceptance of me because of Jack or my desire to have a mother's love took Mary into account. I was able to talk with her and settle her down a bit. No, I didn't fix her, but I was able to assuage some of the hurt, the lust and the other emotions that were swirling around with her hormones. Then we sat down at the dinner table and she discovered I was not only trying to steal her brother / lover, but I wanted her mother, as well. At that point, if I had a fan, it would be covered in shit.

It wasn't until Jack made it clear to Mary that if she was going to continue having nothing to do with me, it would eventually mean her loss of him that she would even talk to me or even refer to me as something other than "her" or "that girl".

I felt terrible the moment I realized the effect my acceptance of June's total love had on Mary. I looked at how I would feel if some girl I didn't know started calling my father "Daddy" and I knew exactly how she felt. There was no way for me to talk my way out of this one. I had to back off and wait for her to come to me, then be as caring and accepting of her as I could. That new home I'd had in my hands and in my heart was gone as quickly as it came to be.

It took reaching the lowest point in my life for me to get that feeling of home again. Jack made the most stupid promise ever to me in an effort to be caring. When he helped out Sara and I took it the wrong way, he didn't try to win me back because of that promise. Knowing the way she feels about Jack, I know what it took for her to come over to my house and prove to me how stupid I was. I still don't know how she was able to get it through my thick head without me trying to prove how right I was to her and Jack and everyone else. And then I almost lost him again when I told him he could paddle me because of my behavior.

That night Jack made up the couch in his living room for me to sleep on while he slept on the hard floor. That couch was no king size bed, but it was much more comfortable than the floor. I felt like I was in a cage, isolated from the rest of the world.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning and trying without success to fall asleep, I pushed through my fears and managed to work my way off the couch and under the blanket on the floor without waking Jack. Yes, I had fears. Fears that June would come running into the living room, screaming about what I was doing to her son. Fears that Jack would send me back to the couch, calling me too aggressive. Fears because Jack had let me back in his life but had made it clear we would need to discuss my reaction to him and Sara before it became permanent. When I felt him move toward me, I had a lump in my throat the size of Pittsburgh until I felt his arm wrap around me. Then I got that feeling of home again. And when I moved a bit and his hand tightened around my tit, I got a little more of that feeling. That night I slept like I never slept before. When I awoke, I found that nothing says home like a hand around your tit and a hard cock snuggled in your ass. That strip of carpet in front of June's couch became ours. Not his, not Daddy's, not June's, not theirs. Ours. The next night we didn't even bother with the couch.