I put the last period on the final sentence and sighed deeply, sitting back so hard that the old chair creaked. Every single nerve ending in my hand went numb and the No. 2 pencil slapped the pock-marked desk top, breaking the silence like the shattering of a glass. It was done. My very last final. If I did as well as I thought I had, I would graduate summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in Electrical Engineering and the OrionCorp job would be mine. Then all my dreams would come true.
As always, my thoughts turned to my dad, mostly because some of the dreams I had concerned him. It had been almost twelve years since Mom had died; a horrible, lingering death caused by breast cancer that had been diagnosed just eight months earlier. Dad and I clung to each other like lichen to rocks as she deteriorated before our eyes, going from a hale, hearty farm girl to someone who looked like they had survived the Holocaust. Her medical bills broke our family and my father had to take out a second mortgage on the house as well as work a second job just to stay afloat.
I don’t remember when she died. I know it was in summer and that the date was in June but most of that year afterward was non-existent. I played soccer and worked at a local burger joint and threw myself into science and computer classes when school began again. I don’t know how I made the grades; I look back and think that Mom was helping me but I worked hard over the years and found myself with a full scholarship to MIT.
Dad was happy for me but I could see the sadness in his eyes. I would be leaving home and he would be alone for the first time since Mom died. He pretended that he wasn’t hurting and I did my level best to show him that I’d be all right. I never told him that when I settled into my room, I bawled like a baby. Now, I was returning home, triumphant but absolutely petrified.
Why? Because I’ve discovered that I’m gay and that I’m hopelessly, helplessly head-over-heels in love with my father.
Once the final was over, I ran to my dorm room and dialed home. He answered on the fifth ring, sounding out of breath. “Hello?”
“Hey, Dad. I’m all done!”
“Great!”
As I explained the final and the questions involved, my eyes drifted over to the bank of photos I kept at the side of my bed. He’d always been my hero but that had metamorphosized into a full-blown love affair. I hung on his every response and savored the words that issued from his husky throat.
“Aaron?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, Dad. My brain cells are starving.”
“Why don’t I drive down and pick you up?”
“Aw, Dad, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
When he sighed heavily, I wondered what was going on. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Oh, nothing. Just missing my buddy.”
My heart jumped in my chest at hearing the word, buddy. It was an old nickname he used to call me and I hadn’t heard it for a long time. “Well, your buddy’s right here, Dad.” The emotion I felt wracked my voice and I had to really fight hard not to cry. “I miss you, too.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat brusquely, letting me know that he was also on the verge of tears and my heart leaped again. “So I’ll pick you up tomorrow then. We can get everything packed up and spend a couple of days in a hotel somewhere. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
“Okay, Aaron. See you tomorrow.”
I spent the rest of the day packing my belongings and was thrilled when I was able to get it all done that evening. I didn’t want to waste any time doing mundane things with my dad here. I cleaned the entire place and went to sleep on the floor, the clean scent of Pine-Sol in my nostrils.
Bright and early, there was a knock on my door and I was surprised to find my father, the 47-year old man the world knew as Tim Millerson. His salt-and-peppered blonde hair was stylishly long and wispy-clean, framing tanned skin and icy blue eyes. He smiled, his eyes crinkling and I launched myself into his arms as if I was a child again. His toned body pressed against mine and it took all I had within me to keep my prick from hardening.
“There’s my buddy.” He said, giving me a hard squeeze. “Hey, you’ve already packed!”
“I didn’t want to spend any more time here than I had to.” I laughed. “Besides, I’m looking forward to our little vacation.”
It took a little over three hours for us to load our trucks and I spent much of the time watching him. He had always been an outdoorsman and his lean body showed it. The muscles in his arms and legs weren’t thick but softly defined and his stomach held only a slight paunch. I knew that he dated but he always told me that no one compared to Mom and that sex was awkward. When I tried to envision my Dad having sex, my dick hardened and I had to carry boxes a bit lower until it softened.
We hauled our loaded cars over to the Howard Johnson’s where Dad got us a room. After showering, we bought a couple six packs of Foster’s, ordered pizza and settled in for the night. Of course, there was nothing to watch. HBO was playing a re-run of Six Feet Under and the other channels were playing a mix of The Andy Griffith Show, Eyewitness News at 10 and paid programming for some exercise thing called the Gazelle.
Dad had pretty much talked non-stop the entire day, telling me about how things were going at home and what some of my old friends were doing. As we sat flipping through channels, he finally noticed my silence. I was shaking inside when he turned those gorgeous baby blues toward me, his expression inquisitive.
“What’s up?”
I chewed pepperoni and mushrooms, keeping my eyes on the television until I had finished and cracked open a fresh beer before replying to him. “Nothing, Dad. Why?”
“You’ve been quiet all day. You worried about your final?”
“Naw. I think I’m okay.”
“Then what is it?”
