Deon’s DadDeon’s Dad


Back in the nineteen sixties, when I was a kid, all the PC (politically correct) crap that infests the world today simply didn’t exist. In those days, if a kid was stupid, as many of us were, people simply accepted it. One didn’t need a troop of psychoanalysts to come up with an array of psychobabble to state the obvious. In those days it was also perfectly normal to get a clip on the ear without the entire welfare system ‘shitting’ down parents’ throats.I was fortunate to have grown up in a small mining town. It certainly was not a beautiful place, but for us kids, it was a splendid locale to live in. We all had bicycles and spent our afternoons, here, there, and everywhere. There was a river that was located close to the town, and many a happy afternoon was spent cavorting in the river. Other than that, we played; ‘cowboys and crooks,’ ‘cops and robbers,’ ‘secret agents and spies,’ and a host of other games.When I think about the insular youth of today, fixated and isolated with a computer devise in their paws, I am really pleased I was born in a different era.In any case, let me get off my soapbox and get on with my story.I spent the first twelve years of my life in this town and only moved away when my parents relocated to a large city. My best friend during all these years was a boy named Deon Fuller. Deon had a younger brother named Darius, and his dad and mom, Jonathan and Sadie, were the nicest people. I always referred to them as Mr. and Mrs. Fuller. They were a lot younger than my folks and were in their early thirties. My dad and mom always felt like two really old people to me. My dad was forty when I was born, and my mom, thirty-eight.Mr. Fuller had a penchant for model airplanes and woodwork, which were the passions in his life. Most of the furniture in their home had been made by him.I would often be invited along on Sunday mornings when he went to the small airfield to fly his planes. I recall vividly, how he built an early twentieth-century biplane that took him several months to complete. It was a huge plane that he had painted red and yellow. On the day of its test flight, it took off very elegantly, before something went terribly wrong. We all watched in horror as the plane unceremoniously plummeted to the ground. Poor Mr. Fuller looked devastated as he retrieved the remnants of his hard labours.When we moved away from this mining town I lost complete contact with my childhood best friend.After finishing high school, and believe it or not, college, I moved to a large city and commenced my working life. My first apartment was rather ordinary but I loved, at last, having my freedom.En route to home every afternoon, I passed by a really lovely park, and would often sit there imbibing the splendour of the flora.On one such occasion, a very familiar looking guy approached my direction and sat on a bench across from me. The man was obviously homeless and looked somewhat dishevelled. As I stared at him I could swear that he was an older version of Mr. Fuller. Naturally, I laughed it off initially, reflecting upon the fact that I was imagining things. The longer I observed him, however, the more I began to believe it was him.A while later as I was about to leave for my home, I couldn’t restrain myself any longer and impulsively approached him.“Hi, are you Mr. Fuller?” I asked.He observed me with a look of suspicion before uncomfortably asking, “Yeah, why do you ask?”“It’s me… Albie… Albie Toms, your son’s best friend from primary school,” I blurted.“Albie?” he exclaimed, before he buried his head in his hands and began crying.I stood there like a fool looking at him in bewilderment. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Overcome isvecbahis by his grief, I sat beside him and placed my hand on his shoulder. I remained silent, caught up in the drama of the moment.After a minute or so, Mr. Fuller raised his head before observing me with bloodshot eyes. With tears still flowing, he shook his before he started babbling.“They are dead… they’re all dead,” he stammered.Once more I decided to remain silent and allow him to compose himself. Once he had used his sleeves to wipe the tears away, he faced me and related a story that made my blood run cold.Three years before, once both boys had graduated from high school and were working with him in the mine, his wife and the two boys went shopping one Saturday morning. Upon their return, an out of control truck careened into them and they were all killed instantly.Thereafter, Mr. Fuller’s life spiralled out of control. He began drinking excessively and although his boss tried to cover for him initially, after a year he was sent packing. Because the house they lived in belonged to the mine, it was, therefore, taken from him. For the following year and a half family members helped out, but ultimately their patience also ran out. Effectively, over the previous six months, he had been homeless and living the life of a hobo.I was stunned that this wonderful human being that I remembered from childhood, had been reduced to this dishevelled man I saw before me. I had always loved visiting their home and had always been envious of Deon, whose dad was the epitome of the father I would love to have had. In comparison, my father was a real fuddy-duddy.There and then, I decided that there was no way I could simply leave him destitute and ignore his plight.“Come with me,” I said. “You’re coming home with me,” I decisively asserted.“What?” he asked dumbfounded.“Come with me,” Mr. Fuller,” I informed him.“You don’t need my shit,” he answered, before adding, “And please, call me Jonathan.”“Jonathan, I am not leaving you here, simple as that. Now come with me,” I repeated once more.With a look of total confusion, he arose and began to follow me. As we walked toward my apartment, I thought about the foyer of my building.‘Dear God,’ I deliberated, ‘Please don’t let anybody be in the foyer when we arrive.’Thankfully nobody was, and even more fortunately, no one saw us prior to entering my apartment.Once inside, I showed Jonathan through to the bathroom and told him to undress. He was in sore need of a shower. As I looked at him naked, he was definitely scrawnier than I remembered, hardly surprising given his recent past.Nevertheless, he was a really hot looking man. From the brief glimpse I had of his uncut cock, Jonathan had nothing to be shy about. I also gave him my dressing gown to wear once he was done.“Have a good shower and take your time. I will put your clothing in the washer and get our supper on the go,” I informed him.When he rejoined me in the kitchen I looked at his hair that needed a serious clipping. Because our dinner would take another twenty minutes or so, I suggested giving him a haircut.I have to say, that I did a rather good job. Added to that, I also gave the scraggy fuzz on his face a clean shave. The transformation was remarkable and afterward, Jonathan looked remarkably like I had remembered him.After returning to the shower for a quick rinse, we were soon enjoying the labours of my unremarkable culinary skills.“I am not a drinker,” I informed him as we ate, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any booze.”“Just as well,” he replied with a rueful smile. During dinner, I told him that he was welcome to stay with me for as long as he liked.I mentioned that isveçbahis giriş I was employed in the furniture business, at a company that made bespoke pieces for our clients. At this comment, his face lit up.“I have always had a passion for wood,” he informed me, which I recalled from my past.“Once you’ve settled in and are feeling better, I will have a word with my boss about possibly employing you,” I informed him, before continuing, “Jonathan, I want you to chill and be comfortable in my apartment. Simply relax for the next while until you’ve got your strength back,” I concluded.“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked bewildered.“I am doing this for Deon,” I replied. ‘Deon and I were really great friends and I loved visiting your family as a kid. You guys were always so kind to me.”I then went on to regale him with stories about my airfield visits with them, before reminding him about how disappointed we were when his yellow and red plane crashed.“It was a Sopwith Camel biplane,” he informed me with a sad smile.Then, after a reflective moment or two, Jonathan once more placed his head in his hands and began sobbing.“Jesus, Mr… Jonathan, I am really sorry,” I blurted out.He just shook his head in acknowledgment.After supper, we washed the dishes, and by that time his clothing was in the tumble dryer.“I want you to sleep in my bed tonight and I will use the sofa,” I then announced.”No fuckin’ way,” he answered.“Oh, yes, I insist,” I replied.The following morning when I awoke, he was up and making breakfast for us. I recalled from my youth how Deon had always bragged about what a great chef his dad was, and that Jonathan did most of the cooking in their home.When I left for work I placed some money on the counter for him, explaining that he could buy whatever he needed from the supermarket around the corner. In all honesty, I was rather wary as I made my way to work that day. I had not seen Jonathan in over a decade, and given his circumstances in recent times, it troubled me that he would make off with the money and possibly rip me off to pay for booze. Somehow, however, I did not believe he would do so.When I returned home that evening, all my fears were allayed when I saw a slip for the groceries he had purchased and the change lying next to it. I was relieved that my conviction in him had been correct. Needless to say, we had a wonderful supper that night.Two nights later, I felt that I needed to be upfront with him. I confessed that I was gay and that I would be bringing guys home from time to time. Altruistic as my intentions had been thus far; I just felt that I needed to set the record ‘straight’ with him.Jonathan didn’t seem too perplexed, but instantly reminded me that he was straight. I did my best to assure him that his heterosexuality was not a problem for me, and that I didn’t have any ‘ulterior’ motives.Over the next several days his health improved remarkably. In fact, he put on so much weight that my clothes, which he had been wearing, simply didn’t fit him any longer. Although we were of similar height, Jonathan had a stockier build than me. I bought him two trousers and fours shirts, as well as underpants and socks. Most of all, I was delighted to see him in the new trainers I purchased for him. The ones he had been wearing were totally disgusting.Every night we would have the same argument about sleeping arrangements, but I insisted that he use my bed until he had fully recovered.Two weeks later, I had a meeting with my boss about Jonathan. He listened intently but I could see apprehension on his face. Reluctantly, he agreed to meet with Jonathan as I requested.When my boss, Gary, met Jonathan, Gary isveçbahis yeni giriş agreed to give him a chance. Fortunately, we were rather short-staffed at the time. Gary, however, was not subtle in any way or form and gave Jonathan the full; ‘if you fuck-up once, you are out of here,’ speech.I really hoped that this would go well for Jonathan, and had butterflies in my stomach the entire day as he got to work. It took great restraint from me, not to pop into the workshop and check out how he was doing during the day. I knew that he already had enough pressure on him, without an anxious onlooker looking over his shoulder.At the day’s end, my boss gave me a simple wink of approval as we were leaving. That simple gesture was worth its weight in gold. I had never wished more for anything in my life, and I really hoped that Jonathan was going to pull this off.A week later, my faith in him kept flourishing. By now my boss was really impressed with Jonathan, and the man I remembered from childhood was clearly making a remarkable recovery. It was as if the years were melting away and the Jonathan I had so admired in my youth had become the rising phoenix.When we received our salary at the end of the month, Jonathan received his pay in cash. He had as yet not registered for a tax number, which was thankfully sorted out a week later, and was, therefore, paid as a casual labourer which would be remunerated.When we stopped for groceries en route home, Jonathan insisted on paying. He even bought a bottle of sparkling grape juice so that we could celebrate.As we ate dinner, he informed me that the time had come for him to sleep on the sofa.“The sofa is just too small for you,” I informed him. “I really don’t mind sleeping on the sofa, in fact, I’m actually enjoying it.”The minor inconvenience of doing so really didn’t worry me at all. Even though my social and sex life had ground to a halt, the joy of having Jonathan around completely negated that.With a serious look on his face, he then asked, “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”After a brief reflection, I answered, “The left,” somewhat bewildered by the question.“Great, I sleep on the right, so that settles it. The bed is really big enough for both of us,” he smilingly informed me. I was totally flabbergasted but in response to the bewildered look on my face, he resumed, “I promise, you’ll be safe.”After we both laughed, Jonathan observed me with mock solemnity, before concluding, “That’s my final offer.”I simply nodded. The thought of sharing a bed with him thrilled me beyond belief, even though I knew that it was simply a sleeping proposal and that with him being straight, this could end up being a very frustrating arrangement for me.We both wore boxer shorts when we got into bed, and shortly, facing away from one another we were both asleep.During the early hours of the following morning when I briefly awoke, I could feel one of his feet touching my foot. The thrill of excitement that I got from that was breath-taking.The following night in bed, after a brief chat with both of us on our backs I eventually turned to face away from. Jonathan did not move initially, but when he did and faced toward me, I felt his hand on my shoulder above the duvet cover. I had to concentrate with all my might not to start hyperventilating. After three light taps on my shoulder, however, he turned away before we fell asleep.Upon getting into bed the next evening, the same procedure was followed. This time, however, his hand was under the duvet cover. I again had to concentrate to stop myself from shaking.After stroking my upper arm for a few moments, he said, “The last person I had sex with was my late wife.” I did not respond.A minute later, with his hand still on my shoulder, he continued, “I have never had a sexual experience with another man.” When I once more said nothing, he resumed, “But then again, I suppose I’m much too old for you.”

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak.