Chapter 21

Matt carefully emptied the contents of the duffel bag on the basement floor. Most everything was dirty, and the clothes that weren’t had turned dingy from the camp laundry. They all smelled of wood smoke and slightly of mildew. He discovered the coffee mug Brian had made for him. It was surprisingly well done for a twelve-year-old. He had glazed it blue, and carved ‘MATT’ on one side and ‘I LOVE YOU’ on the other. Matt grinned and held the heavy mug in both hands as if it were made of gold.

He shook the pine needles and sand out of Brian’s clothes. Tim probably had dirty clothes to add to the wash. Matt glanced over at his corner. In one corner of the utility area of the basement he had set up a changing area because Tim came home reeking of perspiration most days. When he arrived home from work, Tim went directly downstairs, showered and changed. Matt refused to even kiss him until he did so. It took Matt several different attempts with combinations of detergents and baking soda until he found the one that would get Tim’s work clothes really clean. Matt felt like such a housewife on laundry day. He decided the same treatment was needed for Brian’s clothes.

As he worked, images of the previous night’s sexual activities flashed through his mind. It started with Matt giving Tim a blowjob. Tim moaned in appreciation. Matt had a brainstorm to try a 69 position. Tim had never done it before and the experience of both giving and receiving head pushed him over the orgasmic edge rapidly. Surprisingly to Matt, however, Tim continued to suck him even after he ejaculated. Most men cared only about their own cock and lost interest, or worse yet, fell asleep once they climaxed.

As Matt loaded the washer with a load of dark shirts, he heard a set of footsteps on the basement stairs.

It was Brian, wearing only a pair of cotton St. Luke’s gym shorts. Matt turned around to face him. Wordlessly, the boy stepped over the piles of clothes on the floor, and hugged Matt.

"Good morning, son. I thought you would sleep later."

"I had a bad dream."

"You did? Tell me about it."

"I was alone in a boat in the middle of the lake at camp. You were standing on the dock calling to me. I tried rowing and rowing, but I couldn’t get anywhere. Then, the boat sprang a leak. Water started to come in fast. I tried bailing with my hands but it kept flooding in. I saw Tim on the shore with you. Then, a storm

blew up. The winds were so strong they blew the boathouse apart. A piece of wood hit Tim in the head. The last thing I remember before I woke up was that you were standing over Tim, and the boat was just about to sink."

As he told his story, Matt gently rubbed his back. "It’s OK, now Brian. You’re safe now." At that moment, Mat felt like such a parent. He wanted to take away all Brian’s fears and insecurities and pain. But he knew only Brian could do that. Maybe, he thought, that’s part of being a parent. Teaching your children to work things out for themselves instead of always providing solutions.

They heard another set of footsteps on the stairs. Tim appeared wearing his glasses. Tim hated his glasses, and wore his contacts whenever he could. Matt discovered that Tim hated attention called to his glasses, and learned never to mention them, even though he thought Tim was one of the few men who looked good in glasses.

He kissed Matt and then positioned himself behind Brian.

"Let’s make a Brian sandwich."

He pressed his chest against Brian’s back. Brian wriggled between the two men.

"Oooof!" All three were laughing.

"Uh-oh, Tim."

"What?"

"I think we woke up Mr. Happy." Matt was referring to Brian’s erection pressing against his thigh.

"Ooops!" Tim giggled and backed away.

"Stupid thing," Brian mumbled. "I’m so embarrassed."

"There’s nothing to be embarrassed about."

Brian tried to free himself from Matt’s embrace, but Matt held him tighter.

"Let me go."

"What are you embarrassed about, Brian?"

"This stupid thing. I always get a boner."

"We’re all guys here, Brian," Tim said. "We’ve all had boners before. Believe me."

"You don’t understand. It happens when I don’t want it to, and when I don’t expect it. Like when we were in Carson’s."

"You’re going through puberty. It happens. It happened to me when I was your age."

"Me too," Tim added.

"And I’ll bet it happens to lots of boys your age."

"But what if it happens in gym class?"

"Didn’t it ever happen at St. Luke’s?" Tim asked.

"No, not really. We could shower whenever we wanted. As long as we did take a shower, that’s all the McIlvains cared about. So we showered at different times. And we didn’t have to take a shower after gym class."

Matt was astounded, but pleasantly, by Brian’s frankness. Privately Matt thought he would have never discussed the topic with his own father. Maybe it was because they weren’t related by blood that Brian felt he could talk so openly to Matt. Perhaps Brian was a child of the 90’s and that meant it was more acceptable. Or maybe it was because he lived in an institution.

"I think," Matt said pensively, "that if you concentrate on changing your clothes, you’ll do fine. Of course, speed helps too. I always tried to do it as quickly as possible."

"You’re probably not the only one who’s worried about it," Tim added. "And I’ll bet there are some boys who actually do get a boner."

"I just hope it’s not me."

"You’ll be OK."

"You think?"

The two adults smiled reassuringly. "I’m sure," Matt answered.

Later on they were going to pick up the rest on Tim’s belongings from his parent’s house. Tim took Brian to Jewel to pick up some things, so Matt took the opportunity to lie down on the couch. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.

There was a cat strolling across the living room. It was more like a kitten. It was a gray and black tabby. He had longer than average fur and a very sweet face.

The cat jumped up on the recliner, and fixed his gaze on Matt.

"Hi, Matt. How are you?"

"What the hell...."

"I’m the cat from Camp Homewood. It’s OK, Matt." He licked his left front paw and rubbed it on his face five or six times.

"Who are you?"

"I’m Prints." Matt watched the cat as it spoke perfect English. Even his whiskers moved as he spoke. It was fascinating to watch.

Prints jumped down and strode to the kitchen. "Hey Matt," he called, "Where’s the food?"

"I haven’t bought any yet. I wasn’t expecting you so soon."

"I guess you weren’t." Prints grinned as he rounded the corner. "I came a little early to tell you a few things." Gracefully and effortlessly he jumped on to a chair.

"What were you going to tell me?" Matt was highly suspicious about talking to a cat.

"First, it’s about time you had a pet. What took you so long? You are such an animal lover."

"I don’t know. I guess I was more concerned about myself and my own survival."

"Like you are now."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You’re basically selfish, Matt. You are the one who has some growing up to do."

"I don’t need a lecture. Especially from a cat."

"The politically correct term is Feline American. Cat is species-ist. And you will listen. Someone needs to tell you these things."

Matt glared at the animal.

"You need a pet. Pets help you lead longer lives. They help you stay in contact with reality." Prints sat upright on his haunches and wrapped his tail around himself neatly so that the tip of his tail rested tidily on his forepaws. He licked his whiskers a few times before continuing. "What would you write about yourself if you were still a teacher?"

"I don’t know."

"Well, I’ll tell you."

"I had a feeling you would," Matt mumbled.

If he heard the comment, Prints ignored it. "You would write ‘doesn’t work up to potential.’"

"What do you mean?"

"Take work, for example. You don’t put in one hundred percent, you get called on the carpet for it and then you feel sorry for yourself. Am I right?"

"I guess so."

"Of course I am. Cats like to be correct. You’re capable of better work, and you know it."

"I probably am," Matt admitted. "But the question is, do I want to? I don’t seem like I’m getting ahead."

"You have to answer that for yourself. As you know, cats are notoriously lazy. So I really shouldn’t advise you about work. It would be a catastrophe." He snickered at his own pun.

Suddenly, a bird flitted by the window. Prints jumped off the chair, bounded across the room and onto the windowsill. By this time the bird had perched in a tree. "Shit," he mumbled to himself. "Got away."

Prints leapt to the floor again and began sharpening his claws on the carpet.

"Hey," Matt yelled. "Don’t do that!"

"Then remember to get me a scratching post."

"Better yet, I’ll have you declawed."

"Nnnoo! It’s cruel. It’s like cutting off my front knuckles."

"I was just kidding."

"Well, don’t kid about such things. Not funny. In fact, it’s catty." It seemed there was no end to his bad puns. The cat crouched down on his stomach and leveled a steady gaze at Matt. Matt thought he saw something in the cat’s green eyes. They held an ancient wisdom like an understanding of the universe. Or perhaps it was just an encyclopedia of bad cat jokes.

"You need to get over your fear of intimacy, Matt." He held up a paw to still the protests that he knew Matt would make. "You have a great man who loves you unconditionally. I’m surprised he’s held on this long. You need to let him know how much you love him and need him. He’s the one, Matt. You can trust him. And then there’s Brian. He’s the purr-fect kid." He snickered again at his own joke. Prints scratched behind his ear, then jumped up onto the chair again.

"I like this chair, Matt. Where did you get it?"

"Spiegel Catalog."

"I should have known. A catalog. Get it? Catalog." When he finished chuckling, he said to Matt, "Get serious about them both. Tell them how you feel. Brian is going to be thirteen soon. In five years, he’ll be gone. And Tim. You can’t let your fears and insecurities get in the way. Well, I gotta go."

He jumped off the chair, and into the kitchen. Matt followed.

"Brian’s not going to be the last, you know."

Matt knew. He wasn’t sure how.

Prints stood by the door. "Hey, would you let me out?"

Matt opened the back door a crack to let the feline out.

"Remember, Matt. Open up a little. Relax. Everything is working out the way it should. You can depend on Tim and Brian and they need to know they can depend on you."

As the cat exited, he looked up at Matt once more. "Could you do something about my name? I hate the name Prints. And later, when one of your employees offers you a Labrador puppy, remember, just say no!"

Then, Prints stepped outside and disappeared.

The next thing Matt was aware of was Tim hovering over him.

"Wake up. You were going to help me move, remember?" He kissed Matt.

"Sorry. I didn’t plan to fall asleep." He pulled Tim toward him. Tim lost his balance and landed on top of Matt. They kissed again. "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

"No, as a matter of fact, you haven’t. I love you, too."

Brian walked through the living room, comically covering his eyes with his hand. "I didn’t see a thing," he announced loudly.

A short time later, they drove in separate cars to the Dugan house to pick up the rest of Tim’s belongings. Tim and Patrick had arranged for Jeannie to be out of the house to lessen the possibility of any dramatic scenes. Brian rode with Matt for the short, fifteen-minute trip to Flossmoor.

"Hi, Dad," Tim said to Patrick who sat at the kitchen table wearing only his boxer shorts. Tim made a face at his father and leaned over and whispered something in his ear.

"Why should I put something on?" Patrick responded loudly. "We’re all guys here."

Patrick stood up and shook hands with Matt. "Hi, Matt, nice to see you again."

Brian stood slightly behind Matt, with a hand on Matt’s back, shyly peering at the handsome, older man.

"And who’s this handsome young man?" Patrick asked, ruffling his hair. Patrick knew who Brian was.

"This is Brian, my foster son." Brian timidly extended his hand. Matt had never seen Brian like this before. Matt knew he could be rather quiet around new adults, but he seemed unusually wary of Patrick.

"I have everything packed." Tim said as he headed toward the stairs. Brian followed him, and Matt followed him.

Patrick pulled Matt aside. "I need to talk to you."

"Now?"

"Before you leave."

Tim had been busy. The entire room was packed neatly into boxes. They started with the biggest boxes first. Even though the Saturn and the Probe had limited trunk capacity, they managed to get about three-quarters of the boxes from Tim’s room into the trunks and back seats.

"You can take the furniture, too." Patrick told Tim.

"I will later in the week when I can get a truck.

"Ok, it will still be here."

"Are we ready?" Matt asked, hoping Patrick had forgotten about his request to talk to him.

"I’m going to ride with Tim this time," Brian announced.

"Matt will follow you in a few minutes, Tim. I need to talk to him."

"OK, Dad." Tim creased his forehead and then grinned. "Don’t do anything...oh, never mind."

After Tim and Brian left, Patrick offered Matt a beer.

"Sure," Matt agreed. It was a little early to be drinking, but he didn’t was to appear ungrateful. Matt sat at the kitchen table. Patrick remained standing. He leaned against a counter.

"Jeannie and me, we’re getting a divorce."

"Oh, I’m sorry."

"It’s been coming for a long time." Matt took a drink of his beer. "I’m not gay."

Why did he make that comment?

"I know that’s what you’re thinking. You saw me in the woods."

"Yes, I did. Brian and I went there to eat lunch."

"That’s what I was doing."

"Oh, OK." Matt wasn’t sure how to respond. His body did some responding for him. Patrick was standing there nude except for his boxer shorts. He looked so much like an older version of Tim, even down to the dimples. His body wasn’t built like Tim’s but he was slim and muscular in a compact way. He made eye contact with Matt. His right hand moved to his ample bulge on the front of his boxer shorts.

Matt sighed in exasperation. He sighed. "Patrick....we’re just not going there."

"I can’t help it, Matt. You’re just so good looking."

"You’re just so damn horny, is more like it."

"You don’t think I’m attractive?".

"I didn’t day that."

"Perhaps you want this." He pulled out his semi-erect, but still huge cock out of his shorts.

"No," Matt said with quiet dignity. He turned to leave.

Patrick grabbed his arm. "Why not? I won’t tell Tim."

"Because, Patrick, I’m thinking with this head," he pointed to his temple, "and not with that one." Matt pointed to Patrick’s deflating cock.

When Matt reached the door, Patrick said, "Maybe some people should know that Brian is living with two queers. And maybe I should also tell them that you took him to a known homosexual hangout."

Matt spun around and stared at Patrick. He would have never thought that Patrick had blackmail in him.