Karate Master

Karate Master by Tom Cup

Copyright 2001 – 2004 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816

This is a fictional story involving youth/youth and adult/youth sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This story is part of the Tom Cup Short Story Galley

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*****

Karate Master
By Tom Cup

“Why do I have to go?” I asked mom for the fiftieth time. This time she didn’t answer. I knew of course the reasons she would give: I was always moping around the house; I needed a male role model since my father wasn’t around, and (the every so convincing) it would be good for me. I wanted mom to admit that the real reason she wanted me to take karate was that she, like myself, was beginning to suspect that I might be gay.

I wouldn’t have used those words exactly, I don’t think mom would have either, but it was clear that I was… different from the other boys my age. I wasn’t weak, sickly or effeminate but I didn’t like gym class or sporting venues. Mainly, I think looking back, because too many times you wound up getting undressed in front of the guys, wrestling or some over manly activity that I would respond to in an unmanly manner.

I knew that strange feelings ran through my body when I saw nude guys or when a guy I fancied touched me. At some point, I decided to avoid those kinds of situations. I turned my attention to things less arousing: reading, model car building, helping mom with chores around the house or grocery shopping as we were at the moment of the present conversation.

“I really don’t want to go mom,” I began as my eyes caught a couple of kids from school coming my way. The two boys greeted me as they passed. I hid partially behind mom, mumbling greetings back, shyly watching their asses as they walked away shaking their heads at my inability to function socially.

“That’s why,” mom answered flatly turning to face me, “You’re thirteen years old and so shy you find it hard to talk to people you already know. It’ll give you confidence.”

After my sorry display of the social graces, I knew the argument was over. We went silently through the checkout, loaded the car, and headed home. I was to meet with Master San for my first lesson in a half hour.

*****

Master San was our next-door neighbor. He’d moved in three months earlier. He was pleasant and kept pretty much to himself. He first peaked mom’s interest when he planted a Japanese style garden in his front yard. Everyone on the block started taking a new interest in his or her own yard. Next, he was digging a hole for a koi pond in his backyard. It was too much for mom to bear. She had to visit for a chat, with me in tow because I didn’t want to be left out.

Master San was about fifty, a bit stocky but not fat, graying hair, dancing blue eyes, and golden suntanned skin. He welcomed us eagerly, put on water for tea, and escorted us through the house to the back for a view of his progress on the pond. He introduced himself as Peter, explaining that when he was a boy, he lost both his parents in a car accident; a friend of the family, Dr. San, raised him.