Going Bi

I’ve learned my lessons and this time, I’m submitting a longer story in shorter sections. The second section will be longest. Because readers seem to want all b/g or all b/b in a section, I have put all the b/g (hetero) in this first section (but added the b/b (gay) label so that those interested will know that it will be coming. The seven sections which follow will be all b/b.) So, please, don’t read what you don’t want. I prefer for you to enjoy the story.





My mom died giving birth to my little brother. I don’t even remember her, but it affected me. It affected me, if for no other reason than it left my dad as my only parent. I didn’t like him.

It wasn’t a love-hate thing. At least I don’t think so. But he favored Jason, my little brother. Add to that the fact that my dad is a seriously type A personality, and I’m a seriously type Z, and it was easiest for me to just avoid him all I could.

Dad made some attempts to be fair. Like when we moved back to the States and into a big house while Jason and I were still in grade school. When Dad put in a twenty-five meter lap pool because Jason had developed an interest in swiming, he also added a little gym for me in two bays of the garage because I had an interest in gymnastics.

If you hadn’t guessed, we had money.

Unfortunately, I outgrew gymnastics — not because I lost interest, but because I literally outgrew it. I was six feet tall when I was fourteen.

I had always been shy, and being tall didn’t help. My aunt was sure that my shyness was because of losing Mom. But I was also shy because I was gay.

I don’t know if it had anything to do with it, but while we were overseas, Dad worked for almost two years on a mining project for my grandfather in the Ukraine. The site was remote and the young farm girl we had for a nanny did not worry much about keeping clothes on Jason and me. She would bathe us at night, and not bother with clothes afterward. Jason and I usually ate supper naked, slept naked, and were up and playing around the cabin naked for a while in the morning before she ever bothered to dress us, if she did even then. If it was summer, or we weren’t going to be outside, she didn’t bother and we didn’t care. Dad worked long hours and I don’t think he was more than vaguely aware of how we were cared for. Jason and I slept in the same bed, and the first time it got cold, we cuddled against one another under the covers. Even after we moved from the Ukraine down to the Baltic Sea, Jason and I slept naked in the same bed until after we returned to the States. We would have continued sharing a bed even then, but Dad put a stop to it about the time I turned eleven and Jason turned nine. Dad didn’t care about us sleeping naked, just not in the same bed, and once you are used to sleeping that way, clothes get in the way. So Jason and I continued to sleep naked, just each in our own bed.. So basically, I’m saying I slept naked with another boy, even if he was my brother, for several years, and maybe it inclined me to look at boys differently.

My being gay really kicked in when I was about twelve. I hit a clumsy stage because of how fast I was growing. I started admiring shorter guys with more compact bodies — guys who could be gymnasts. When we came back to the states, I was taken by how cute American boys were, and I hadn’t gotten over that. My interest in other boys went nuclear when my hormones kicked in. Girls may have interested me at some point, but not past puberty.

I kept up a false front, going out with girls when they asked me. I hid completely the fact that I was gay, even from my brother who was my best friend. Without a mom, with the dad we had, and all the moving we had done, Jason and I were super close. I didn’t dare tell him because if I lost my brother Jason, I’d have nobody.

There wasn’t anyone else I could tell, and becausue of my dad, I participated in almost every team sport there was. All my friends were jocks and I assumed that they hated gay guys. Several of them talked like they did.

So I reached the age of sixteen a total virgin, and pretty lonely except for Jason.

Enter, my grandpa. For some reason, he seemed to like me. Maybe it was because I was the oldest of his grandsons. Maybe it was an “heir-apparent” kind of thing.

Dad was probably the asshole he was because of Grandpa. Grandpa was even more Type A than my dad, and he is the one who started all the family money.

Grandpa phoned me on my sixteenth birthday. “I’ve got something special for you, Brock” he told me. “I know you’re busy celebrating today [I wasn’t, by the way] but tomorrow is Friday, and well, you don’t have anything going on, do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before saying, “Meet me at the lake cabin at six.”

I hung up the phone, wondering what he was going to give me. Lake cabin? A Wave runner? It was only March, and the lake was probably still full of ice. Fucked up if Grandpa had a wave runner for me.

What Grandpa called a lake cabin wasn’t really a cabin. It was a lake house.

Grandpa met me at the door, with a broad grin and a drink in his hand. After I took off my jacket, he laid an arm over the backs of my shoulders and turned me toward the stairs.

“How does it feel to be sixteen?”

“Okay, I guess.