Note: This story contains fm and mm sexual encounters.
I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
Hamlet, Act II, Scene ii.
Donald Clarke sat behind the wheel of his car and stared at his house. The car engine idled fitfully, coughed and died. The evening chorus was holding forth from the elms lining the street. He suspected his children wouldn't have bothered waiting for him before eating the dinner left by their housekeeper.
Don heaved a sigh and pulled the keys from the ignition. Life had changed since his wife had left, not least that family dinners were now limited to birthdays and Christmas. Hauling himself out of the car, he snagged his briefcase from the backseat and began trudging up the path. Stop acting like you're on death row, heading for the chair, he told himself, these are your kids, your flesh and blood, your only family now.
But no number of motivational pep talks could fool the habitually clear-sighted man. His children had become strangers to him. They barely spoke to each other and never did anything together.
It was time for Don to face the truth. His ex-wife had raised the children as Don had worked long hours, building his practice as a civil architect. And he had turned around one day and instead of seeing two pink cheeked kids, there were two young adults staring coolly back at him.
Sitting at the kitchen table, he ate the cold steak pie left out for him, not really tasting it and washing it down with a beer. Tossing his fork onto the empty plate, Don contemplated his empty bottle. Fuck it, he deserved another. Savouring the bitey pilsner and the warmth it was slowly lighting in his belly, he walked into the lounge.
"Hi Dad," his eldest child said, not looking up from the laptop balanced on her knees. On the muted TV a plastic-faced newsreader was nodding vigorously. A glass of red wine sat within reach on a side table. Emily was twenty and in her third year of college. Almost preternatally self-possessed as a child, she had grown into a graceful and confident young woman. Thomas had heard through parents of other students that she was heavily involved in college politics.
"Hello. Have a good day?"
"Fine, thanks."
Looking at her profile lit by the computer's glow, Don considered the absurd impression he was somehow intruding. Lately, he had begun to feel not like his children's father, but rather, their uncool housemate. He should be in his room, playing online war games, wearing hobbit feet and masturbating over a bootleg copy of Sperminator 3 - The Cumming, he thought. He forced himself to sit beside Emily on the couch, instead. She moved over, unfolding long, slim legs to cross them beneath herself.
"Is your brother in?"
"Uhuh, in his room, I think."
Picking up the remote control, he gestured at the TV. "Are you -?"
"No, go ahead."
Flicking through the channels, Don found some European soccer and took another pull of his beer. Emily continued to tap at the keyboard, taking occasional sips of wine.
"School ok?"
She didn't bother answering, merely quirking her lips. Soft and plush, they were slightly wine-stained and swollen from being bitten as Emily concentrated on her work.
Turning back to the TV slowly, he stared down at the remote in confusion for a second. Coming back to himself abruptly, he started to channel surf and paused when he caught a glimpse of a waggling moustache. It was a Marx brothers movie but which -
"Monkey Business!" Emily exclaimed, delight lighting her face. He had nearly forgotten her love of the cheeky comedians. For her eighth birthday they had taken her to a marathon of their movies at an old Cineplex in town - she had been so excited that she couldn't sleep the night before and could barely stay awake in the cinema.
"Want to watch it?"
Emily shrugged but couldn't stop herself giggling at a particularly hard pratfall. Don grinned and settled back to watch the movie.
The movie's credit's were starting to roll when his son walked in. Luke had just turned eighteen, and was enrolled at the same college as his sister. Judging from the amount of kit regularly left strewn about the house, he was continuing the active sporting career begun in high school.
Grunting in response to Don's hello, Luke addressed his sister.
"You going to Ethan's party tonight?"
She shook her head and resumed typing, leaving Luke to grimace and turn away. Surprising himself, Don spoke. "Why, do you need a lift?"
Is this what it's come to? he thought, so desperate for contact with your kids that you volunteer to be their chauffeur?
Luke shrugged and shook the hair out of his eyes.
"Yeah, I guess, if you want." He folded his arms across his chest. Thomas noted that although Luke was not yet as broad as himself, all that rowing and track had laid a lean layer of muscle on his youthful frame.
"I'm gonna get my license, you know," Luke muttered. Knowing that the best way to soothe a defensive teenager was simply to agree with whatever they said, Thomas nodded and went to fetch his keys.
Inside the car, sliding through the suburb's backstreets, father and son sat in silence. Don racked his brain for something to say.
"How are your classes?"
"Alright."
Pulling up at a stop sign, Don leaned forward to peer past Luke, checking for oncoming traffic.
"You're ok on this side," Luke told him.
"Playing this weekend?"
"Yeah." Out of the corner of his eye, Don saw Luke glance over before turning back to the window. "Why, do you wanna come? 'Cause you don't have to, none of the other dads will."
