It was a calculated risk Tim and I had to undertake if we were ever going to break free from Mr. Hansen's iron grip over our lives.
My parent's now knew the truth of my sexuality, and Tim had had a talk with his folks.
His mom and dad were far more understanding than mine. In fact, I still smile when I recall what his mother had said when he outed himself to them: "Honey, your father and I are confused-why are you telling us what we already know?"
Our concern now was the other guys Mr. Hansen had secretly taped having sex; Denny and Lane, for example, and others who lived their lives in constant fear of being exposed.
Of course, even though we were no longer ashamed to admit who we are, that didn't mean we wanted graphic images of our sex lives plastered all over the internet.
Jeffrey, Tim and I were determined to forever put a stop to that evil man's blackmail by fighting fire with fire.
Tim's voice faltered and cracked when he asked, "Did you see Denny today?"
I knew he was scared because I was scared too.
"Yes, it was a nice visit..." I said in a slightly higher octave than my normal voice.
I coughed and cleared my throat and took a deep gulp of air to try and calm my nerves. My hands were trembling on the steering wheel.
"Heh-heh...we found out for sure he's not paralyzed from the waist down..." I said with nervous laughter.
Tim gasped and replied, "NO—you didn't, did you? In his hospital bed?"
"Well," I said, "...with his leg suspended in mid-air he's not getting out of that bed any time soon!"
"What-I mean, how did you-oh, never mind..." he stammered.
I laughed then he laughed as well. For the first time that day our moods lightened.
We still had ten minutes until we'd get to Mr. Hansen's house and execute our plan so I decided to tell Tim what happened that afternoon with Denny to keep our minds occupied.
"His parents were in the room when I got there so we sat around a few minutes and chatted...I've told you before how nice they are—they're definitely struggling with this, but they're trying hard to understand...I mean, it had to be the most shocking moment in their lives to find out watching a football game that their All-American son is gay!"
"Yes, what a terrible way to find out-how do the people in that stadium live with themselves?" said Tim.
"So after a few minutes they excuse themselves and tell Denny and me they'll be back later...as soon as they left the room I went over to the bed and gave Denny the biggest, wettest, sloppiest kiss I could—that cheered him up and I sat on the bed next to him...we're talking then I notice the blanket covering him was slipping to one side...I was just going to pull the blanket back on him when I saw the hospital gown he's wearing had slid upwards...well, my intention was to pull it back down-"
"Oh, sure, of course..." said Tim, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.
"No, really," I protested. "But when I felt his thigh—how hot it was on my hand-I couldn't help myself—I began stroking his flesh...heh-heh-let me tell you, it didn't take long for us to find out his, uh, 'plumbing' still works."
"So you know," I continued after Tim laughed, "it was my duty to make sure everything still worked-heck, I considered it a 'mission of mercy'!"
"You're such a good person!" Tim said with a chuckle.
"The moment I wrapped my hand around him and heard him moan-well, I knew I was doing the right thing! As a matter-of-fact, it felt so good I sprang a boner of my own...I held and squeezed his hard-on the way he likes-I couldn't stop my hand from moving up-and-down-it was a reflex action—and well, I knew he would want me to play with myself too-he's very unselfish, that way-it was all totally innocent!"
"No-no-it's perfectly normal to masturbate and give your boyfriend a handjob at the same time while he's bed-ridden with serious injuries..." Tim chuckled.
"Well, when I looked at Denny's face his eyes were closed with that beautiful smile spread across his face-he looked so peaceful and angelic I couldn't stop, could I? That wouldn't have been right..."
"No, of course not...a Good Samaritan must follow thru and make sure his work is thorough and satisfactory!" Tim laughed.
I smiled and continued, "Well, he was squirming and his hips began thrusting in time with my hand-I knew he was getting close...it had been such a long time-well, for both of us..."
"Yes, you poor baby, I know..." he said.
"Well, one thing led to another...I mean, it would have been awfully embarrassing for him if the nurse found all his goo on the bedsheet wouldn't it? How would he explain it to her?"
Tim interrupted: "Oh my God, what did you do?"
"Well, only to save my boyfriend and the love of my life from total humiliation, I decided the best thing would be to make sure there was no evidence for the nurse to find..."
"You didn't?" Tim laughed.
"I did," I replied. "...and I was able to get it in my mouth just in time—my goodness, he had gallons of stuff stored-up in those monster-balls of his..."
"Heh-heh-heh...so you spared your lover the embarrassment of discovery by slurping down his cum-how noble of you!"
I laughed along with Tim and said, "Yeah, but as soon as I tasted the first mouthful-I blew a huge load of my own inside my pants-I was wearing light tan slacks and had to walk out of the hospital with my hands in front of me to hide the huge stain on my crotch!"
"Oh you poor baby...it's not fair a Good Samaritan like yourself should have to suffer such public humiliation!" he teased.
Our laughter died as soon as we saw Mr. Hansen's house.
It had already been decided that I would do the talking. I guess all the years of lying and denying I was gay would finally come in handy.
I parked the car, and we grabbed our laptops and briefcases then walked to the front door. The doorbell seemed unusually loud. I had seen a photo of Hansen's wife on his desk, but wasn't quite prepared for the sight of the woman who answered the door.
"Yeah, what is it?" she asked.
Mrs. Hansen's disheveled appearance startled me. Her eyes were watery, and there was a strong smell of alcohol. The photo I'd seen of her had obviously been taken many years earlier.
"Uh, I-we're from the university-your husband sent us here to repair his computer," I managed to finally say.
A dull light of recognition blinked in her eyes and she said, "Oh okay, c'mon in."
She led us thru the house without saying a word then near the back door she pointed at a stairwell leading to the basement.
"His precious room is down there to the right," she said. "Did he give you the key?"
"Yes, uh, we have a key," I replied.
"Hope you know how privileged you guys are-in twenty-years he's never let me inside that room even once!" she said bitterly. With a wave of her hand she left us alone.
Tim and I looked at one another and raised our eyebrows. We had the same thought: the poor woman had been trapped in a loveless marriage for a long, long time and she needed alcohol to cope with her unhappiness.
We found the light switch and walked down the stairs. On the left were a washer and dryer, and to the right was a wall with a single door. Tim fished the keys out of his pocket. He and I had worked together to get Hansen's keys and make duplicates. He tried three keys before we heard the lock open.
When he switched-on the light we both stopped and looked around. In one corner, the computer sat on a large desk; there were a small kitchen in another corner complete with a stove and frig; and there was a full-size bed in another corner.
Tim pointed at the wall opposite the bed. There was a wall-mounted, big screen television aimed at the bed. We both knew what the evil old bastard watched on that television.
I began feeling nauseous. There was an overpowering stench of stale alcohol and dried semen in the small room.
"Let's find what we want and get the hell out of here," I said to Tim. He vigorously nodded his agreement.
Tim fired-up the desktop while I searched the desk drawers for storage devices. I figured an old guy like Hansen would use discs, but was pleasantly surprised when I found a small box of flash drives. Each drive was numbered so I looked for documentation that would tell us what was on each one.
Tim and I both had the skill to hack system protocols and security, but he was faster than me. He quickly signed-on to the desktop and gained access to the files. He found what we wanted and began to make copies on our own flash drives.
In the bottom right drawer, beneath a half-empty whiskey bottle, I found a manila envelope with numbers and descriptions. The numbers ranged from 1 to 32.
A chill ran up my spine when I saw '#15 - Jeffrey'...then '#21 - Timmy' and finally, '#29 - Johnny'.
He hadn't bothered to disguise the subject of each drive. I'm sure the arrogant bastard thought no one but him would ever see the list.
I matched each drive with the corresponding numbers on the list-they were all accounted for-I then proceeded to make copies on the drives we had brought.
On his computer, I found the Word document of the list, erased our names then re-formatted and printed the new list. I put the copies in my brief case, along with the original list.
Next, I found his collection of DVD's. There must have been two-hundred of them. They were numbered too. There were several #15's labeled '15-a, 15-b, 15-c and so-on. I removed all the DVD's with our numbers and placed them in my briefcase.
Now all we had to do was make copies of the remaining storage devices. I glanced at my watch: Hansen was at a function at the university we estimated would keep him busy for at least three-hours. I guessed we would need most of that time to finish our 'Project.'
Waiting is the hardest part I don't want to sound paranoid, but before we left the room, we wiped-down everything we had touched including the doorknobs. I figured one can never be too careful.
Mrs. Hansen was nowhere to be seen as we walked thru the house to the front door. Then we heard the snoring from a bedroom. We let ourselves out, once again wiping the doorknobs and we were soon heading home.
"That was intense," said Tim in the darkness of the car.
My heart was racing and I was still on an adrenaline high. I knew he felt the same way.
"It sure was," I replied. "I feel like James Bond!"
He and I giggled nervously as I maintained the speed limit all the way to our house.
"What are we going to do next?" asked Tim in a hushed tone of voice, as though the walls of the van had ears.
