“What did you think?” Larry asked as the credits rolled. We’d watched Ben Hur on their big-screen TV. It was a real old movie about the final days of Jesus’ life and his resurrection, but to me it seemed contrived. I’d read extensively about the Roman Empire in the days of the occupation of the Holy Land, and what was depicted in the movie was nothing like I’d imagined real life to be like in that era. It was a case of religion-based historical revisionism, but I couldn’t tell Larry that. He was being a very gracious host, and I was thankful for all he’d done.
“I think it’s a pretty crappy work of historical fiction,” Greg responded, putting in words what I was afraid to say. Greg had his arm around my shoulders, and although I think neither of us felt comfortable snuggling with each other in front of Larry, even so, we had full body contact from our shoulders to our toes – something that I’m sure wasn’t lost on his father, who was seated in the recliner.
“I know what you think about it, Greg, but I asked Adam,” Larry responded.
“Actually, I believe the same thing,” I replied, “which is not to say there isn’t some truth to what’s in the Bible. This movie, however, has taken a lot of liberties with the nature of life in the Roman Empire in general and with life in the occupied Holy Land in particular. I’ve read a lot of books dealing with that period and even some of the writing of Cicero, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. I tend to favor the unbiased viewpoint of the great philosophers over the biased accounts of the Apostles,” I concluded.
“Aren’t you in the seventh grade?” Larry asked.
“He’s a high-school senior, Dad,” Greg answered for me.
“I was until I ran,” I added. “Now, I’ll hafta get my GED.”
“You’re twelve?” Larry asked.
“Just turned thirteen,” I answered.
“It’s a pity you’re on the run,” Larry responded. “You should be going to Harvard or MIT or Stanford.” Then turning to Greg, he said, “Greg, why don’t you sleep out here so Adam can have your bed.”
“There’s no need for Greg to give up his bed on my behalf,” I countered. “His bed is plenty big enough for both of us.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Larry responded.
“Were you celibate when you were my age?” Greg asked his father.
“You already know I wasn’t,” Larry answered. “You also know how I feel about that. I made many mistakes in my youth, as you know, including trusting your mother.”
“Mom has nothing to do with it!” Greg shouted in anger.
“Maybe not, but you’re teenagers and you’re both gay,” Larry explained. “You’re too young to be making decisions about sex and way too young to know about love. I really believe that sex should wait for marriage, and now that gays can marry —”
“Would it make a difference if I gave you my word we won’t have sex?” I asked.
“Adam!” Greg exclaimed in surprise.
“If that’s what we have to agree to for your father to let us sleep in the same room, then that’s what we hafta do,” I explained. “Spending the time together, talking and just sharing our thoughts is what’s important. Sure, I’d love to do more, but just being together is far more valuable that getting each other off.”
“Gees, did you hafta be so graphic?” Larry exclaimed. “However, I understand where you’re coming from, Adam. “It wouldn’t be right of me to keep you separated, but it wouldn’t be right for you to make promises you can’t keep. I won’t keep you from sleeping together in the same bed, and I’ll leave it to your own judgement regarding sex.” Getting up from the recliner, he added, “Now, if you boys’ll excuse me, I’m going to get ready for bed. Adam, I’ll let you know if I hear anything about your wheels shipping in the morning. Then we can plan accordingly.”
As we watched Larry’s retreating form, Greg looked at me with a gleam in his eye and said, “Why don’t we do the same?” Getting up from the living-room sofa, he added, “Let me get you a toothbrush and we can get ready for sleep… and other things.”
Greg held out his hand, and I grabbed hold of it; he pulled me off the sofa. Greg led me to his bedroom, where he removed his shirt and shorts, and following his example, I did the same. The tent in both our boxers was pretty obvious, so Greg giggled and, so did I.
Greg led the way to the bathroom and got a fresh toothbrush in a box out from under the sink. He grabbed a tube of toothpaste from the medicine cabinet and applied some to his toothbrush, and then handed the tube to me, and I did likewise. We stood together in front of the sink and brushed our teeth simultaneously. Because I was left-handed and he was right-handed, we managed to do so without our arms getting in the way.
Greg finished first and used his hand to cup water and rinse his mouth. I followed his example. He then washed his face with soap and water and let it air dry. I did likewise, and then we attempted to piss together in front of the toilet, but we were both too hard to start our streams. Laughing, Greg suggested, “Why don’t you go first and I’ll wait in the bedroom, and then we can switch places.” That worked much better for both of us.
In his bedroom, Greg dropped his boxers and let them fall to the floor, stepping out of them, he pulled back the covers on his bed and got under them. I did likewise. Then he reached over and turned out the light. Reaching out with his hand, he stroked the side of my face and said, “I could fall for you so easily, Adam. I really wish you could stay here.”
“The feeling’s mutual, but you know why I can’t,” I responded.
Greg leaned forward and our lips met. It was my first kiss with a boy; hell, it was my first kiss on the lips with anyone. I never realized how soft a boy’s lips were yet how firm nor how sexual it felt when two pair of lips came together. The feel of Greg’s tongue entering my mouth and the feel of it gyrating against my own tongue was almost enough to send me over the edge by itself. I felt Greg’s hands caressing me all over, from my scalp to my butt, as our members rubbed against each other, dueling for their own attention.
The kiss went on and on, and it was amazing. After a while, Greg flipped himself around and took me into his mouth. I had to stretch a bit to reach him, but I went to it as well, and it didn’t take long for us to climax, but we didn’t stop there. I felt something cool against my crack and then I felt Greg pushing against my opening. At first, I thought he might be trying to fuck me, but his member was still in my face and I realized I was feeling his finger poking at me.
I’d read about how some gay boys were tops and some were bottoms, and most enjoyed both to some degree. I’d never given much thought to what I might like, but the instant I felt Greg’s finger inside of me, massaging me, I knew that I was a bottom. I actually moaned and had to work to stifle myself to keep Larry from hearing me.
“Are you okay with this?” Greg asked.
“I’m more than okay with it,” I responded. “I want to feel you inside of me,” I added.
With a giggle, Greg said, “Eager, are we? I need to loosen you up a bit first. You may have noticed that I’m not exactly small and your hole isn’t exactly large.” Greg withdrew his finger, which left me feeling empty inside, but moments later I felt him pushing back in with two fingers. It was a bit tight, but, oh, that was so much better than just one. I pushed into him and started rocking a bit, riding his two fingers for all they were worth. Greg spread his fingers and stretched my opening, and although there was perhaps a little pain, I really enjoyed what he was doing. I liked it a lot and kissed him so I could moan into his mouth.
Breaking his kiss, Greg asked, “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Never. I didn’t even realize how much I like bein’ a bottom,” I added. “I really want you inside of me. I want it now.”
With another giggle, Greg replied, “I need to open you up a bit more, I think; at least from what I’ve seen in online porn. And I have to get a condom.”
Greg added a third finger and although it hurt a bit at first, as with the addition of the second finger, the pain didn’t last, and the feeling of three fingers filling me was fantastic. Again, he spread his fingers, stretching me out, and I loved it. Then the fingers were gone and I whimpered for their return. I heard the sound of cellophane tearing, and a moment later there was something blunter, larger pushing against my back door. I knew I wanted that inside of me, and I pushed back against Greg forcefully. The head popped inside suddenly, causing a flash of pain, but I wanted more. I pushed down harder until I felt Greg’s pubes against my cheeks. I was on fire.
Pushing Greg’s shoulders back against the bed, I think I surprised him when I sat up on top of him, never losing contact. I didn’t think he was expecting such aggressiveness from me. I lifted myself up on my haunches until only the tip remained inside and then pushed myself back down on his shaft forcefully. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, I started a rocking motion, speeding up ever so slowly. It was a slow frenzy, maddeningly slow and yet exquisitely forceful. Slowly, I picked up my rhythm as I felt myself edging closer and closer to an earth-shattering climax, and then I was there as my sphincter clamped down on Greg and my balls unloaded, sending a white-hot jet of semen rocketing toward Greg’s face. I’d had dribbles before, but this was my first real ejaculation. Vaguely I was aware of Greg unloading into his condom at the same time.
As we both came down from the intensity of our orgasms, Greg said, “Whoa, what was that? You were like a madman, Adam. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“I think maybe I’ve discovered my true calling as a bottom,” I replied, and we both laughed quietly. Feeling Greg slip outta me and noticing the wetness behind me, I added, “I think maybe we should take a shower, or your dad’s gonna know we had sex.”
“I’m sure he already does,” Greg responded, “There’s no way he didn’t hear some of that. The walls aren’t exactly soundproof. He’ll probably want to talk to us about it in the morning. Still, there’s no point in fanning the flames. Why don’t you go take a shower while I change the bed sheets, and then I can take a shower after you take yours.”
“Okay,” I agreed as I got out of bed, located my boxers and slipped them on. I made my way across the hall to the bathroom, where I turned on the water and waited for it to warm up and then got in the shower. I was still coming off a sexual high and was rather sensitive to touch around my nipples, my genitals and behind. My asshole was actually rather sore and still gaping open. I squeezed my butt cheeks hard and although it was painful doing so, my pucker did contract and remain shut, even as it continued to be tender.
Shutting off the water, I got out and dried myself using the bath towel Greg had given me earlier in the day. After applying some of Greg’s deodorant, I slipped on my boxers and made my way back to his bedroom. As I was opening the door, I heard laughter inside and from more than one voice. When I opened the door the rest of the way, I saw that Larry was also inside, and like his son, he wasn’t wearing anything. Shit, some of my cum was still glistening on Greg’s chest. I hadn’t realized I’d ejaculated that much.
“Come on in, Adam,” Larry began. “I’m sorry to flash you, but I always sleep in the nude, so I wasn’t even thinking about it until I saw you staring at my stuff. I’ll go put on my boxers and then we can all talk,” he added.
“You don’t need to put on clothes just because of me,” I countered. “I was just a little surprised by it. For an older guy, you’re really built.” Shit, did I really say that aloud.
“For an older guy!” Larry exclaimed. “He thinks I’m an older guy.”
“Well, you are, Dad,” Greg chimed in, “but calling you built?” he added as he rocked his hand from side-to-side.
“Remind me again why I rescued you from Chicago,” Larry countered, and then they both laughed. “Why don’t you take your shower, and then we can all talk in the living room,” Larry suggested to his son, “and don’t forget to change the bedsheets.”
Not even bothering with his boxers, Greg walked naked past me, into the hall, and then into the bathroom, closing the bathroom door behind him.
“Adam, I know you’re both teenage boys with raging hormones, and resisting your urges is all but impossible,” Larry started. “I’m not so old that I don’t remember what it’s like. I know you and Greg are growing fond of each other, and I worry that Greg’s going to be hurt when you leave. I’m willing to explore having you stay here with us, but there are risks involved with that, and it would be largely up to a judge to decide whether or not you should be returned to your father. Undoubtedly, there are states that would be more favorable to the interests of the child than Illinois.”
“I killed my dad,” I blurted out. I wasn’t sure why I told Larry, but it was done. Looking down, I added, “I can’t stay here.”
Nodding his head, Larry said, “I know you wouldn’t have told me if you killed him for any reason other than self-defense. I figured it might be something like that. I think you should consider turning yourself in, son. No one should live the rest of their life always looking over their shoulder. It’s a hell of a burden to carry with you to the grave.”
“In Indiana, I’d never see the light of day,” I responded. “I might not see my twentieth birthday, for that matter. They’re especially fond of lethal injection,” I added.
“Not even Indiana would execute a minor,” Larry countered. “I understand why you’d worry about taking a chance on that, but it would be a violation of international law.”
“It’s more than a worry, Larry,” I countered. “In my town, there’s one public defender and he’s very young and overworked. I might as well not even have a lawyer. Not that they’d help much, but I wouldn’t get anywhere near Child Protective Services. At thirteen, I’d be tried as an adult. The DA’s a hard-ass politician who only cares about getting convictions, regardless of inconvenient things like the truth.
“I wouldn’t be taking a chance if I went back to Indiana. I’d be committing myself to a life behind bars, or life on death row, or lethal injection.”
“I won’t turn you in if you’re worried about it,” Larry interjected.
“That’s what Greg said,” I replied.
“You told Greg?” Larry asked in surprise.
“Like you said, I’ve grown fond of him,” I answered.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Greg emerged, still naked and cute as ever. Walking past me, he went straight to his dresser and got out a fresh pair of boxers and put them on. He then grabbed a second pair from his dresser drawer, obviously an old pair, and tossed it my way. Reaching down, he grabbed his dirty boxers off the floor and tossed them in the hamper in the corner of his room. Taking the hint, I dropped the pair I was wearing and stepped out of them, putting on the fresh pair and tossing the old pair in the hamper, still held open by Greg. I did so right in front of Larry, figuring that having bared my sole in front of him, getting naked in front of him was no big deal.
“I’ll go put something on,” Larry responded. “I’ll see you boys in the living room.”
“I’d better strip the bed,” Greg added after his dad had disappeared around the corner. Left unsaid was that his bedroom reeked of sex. Greg pulled the bed clothes off the bed and tossed them in the hamper.
“You might want to open the window a crack,” I suggested.
Giggling, he did just that, and then we headed out into the living room and sat down together on the sofa facing Larry. In what I’m sure was an act of defiance, Greg put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him, snuggling up with me.
“You know I feel that we can all benefit from turning to God in times of trouble,” Larry began, and I could almost feel Greg rolling his eyes. “I think you should both take your direction from the Lord, but it’s not up to me to force the issue. Children aren’t empty vessels to be filled with whatever we parents choose, much as we’d like to think they are.
“I don’t know if Greg told you about what happened with his mother… my wife… but she wasn’t the person we thought she was.”
“He told me,” I related.
“When she went to prison,” Larry continued, “I found solace in Jesus. His words brought me comfort. They spoke to me. I was certain Greg would take comfort in them, too, but they only drove a wedge between us and ultimately drove him to run away. It took that for me to realize that I couldn’t make him feel about religion the way I did. I can make him go to church, but I can’t make him believe.
“Adam, I’m curious what you think of religion.” I figured he’d bring it up, and I’d actually been thinking a lot about it lately after offing my dad.
“I wasn’t raised to believe anything at all. We never went to church or anything and although we celebrated Christmas, it was more as a national holiday than as Jesus’ birth. I think it was when I was eight… almost nine that I asked Dad if what the other kids said was true. He said he reckoned some of it was, but prayer never put food on the table or clothes on your back, nor did it stop my mom from passing when she gave birth to me. He said believing in god was fine, but if you wanted something, you had to go out and get it yourself.”
“Wise man,” Greg responded.
“My dad was many things,” I replied, “but he was never wise. Even the ignorant and the selfish occasionally say things that are profound.” It wasn’t until after I said it that I’d acknowledged Dad was dead, but neither Greg nor Larry mentioned it if they noticed.
“But what do you think, Adam?” Larry asked.
“I guess you could say I’m an agnostic,” I replied, “but not the way some atheists use the term to fudge what they tell their friends in the Bible Belt. The thing is, to be an atheist implies believing that the universe and life and humanity arose purely by chance, and I have a hard time believing that. The problem with believing in a creator is that it doesn’t explain who created the creator… where god came from, and why. There’s also the fact that there are literally thousands of religions and nearly all of them involve the belief in the existence of an afterlife and a soul. The simplest explanation is that there actually is a soul of some kind, and that the soul survives death.
“I just don’t believe in organized religion. Too much evil has been done in its name, and the idea that any one religion is the one true religion suggests that god plays favorites. Why would he save only some people and relegate everyone else to eternal damnation based strictly on an accident of birth?
“When it comes to the Bible, as far as I’m concerned, it’s just another form of mythology, no better than Greek or Norse mythology. The story of creation is a crock. The earth is but a tiny planet orbiting an ordinary star within a large galaxy that’s part of one of countless galactic clusters. Where in Genesis is the Big Bang or the early giant stars whose collapse was necessary before there could be the heavier elements needed to sustain life? Where is the story of evolution, and where are the dinosaurs? Wasn’t the asteroid that slammed into the Yucatán and wiped out the dinosaurs every bit as significant as Noah’s flood?”
“You really think we evolved from apes rather than being created in God’s image?” Larry asked.
“First of all, saying we’re created in god’s image is an insult to god. The human body’s a kludge assembled from bits and pieces from more primitive animals, and they sometimes don’t work well together, and the result is something like Parkinson’s Disease, which arises from the degeneration of one of the more primitive parts of the brain. Secondly, we didn’t evolve from apes. We are apes and differ from chimpanzees by only a handful of genes. What makes us truly different is the ability to pass knowledge from one generation to the next and maybe that’s what’s meant by, ‘created in god’s image’. Evolution may be a proven fact, but the real miracle is life itself. Where did life come from in the first place? How in the world did the first proteins to transcribe DNA come to exist, without the proteins to transcribe them? Let religion focus on things for which science lacks an answer.”
“The ultimate conundrum,” Greg chimed in. “I never heard this before, but it’s almost enough to make one a believer, even for a nonbeliever like me.”
Dad was coming right for me, his face contorted with rage. In less than a second, he’d be on me, and that would be the end. It was either him or me. Reaching behind me, I reached for his gun in the place where I knew he kept it, but it wasn’t there! Fuck, his hands were around my throat and I couldn’t breathe. I tried to kick him in the balls again, but he was on top of me, and I couldn’t breathe. I tried to scream, but my lungs were empty, and I couldn’t breathe. Slowly I felt life slippin’ out of me, and then he was gone. I sat bolt upright and gasped for air.
“Adam,” I heard a young adolescent voice next to me. “Adam? Are you okay?” Slowly I regained consciousness, and I remembered the events of the last few days. It was Greg.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I answered. “I was just rememberin’ is all.”
“Maybe you should get some counseling or something,” Greg suggested.
“It probably would help, but I’m not ready to tell a stranger what happened,” I replied.
“But you told my dad and me,” he pointed out. “We’re strangers.”
“No, you’re not.” I answered. “I know it sounds a bit strange, but in a way I feel I’ve known you guys all my life.” With a smile, Greg responded, “That’s sweet.” Then rubbing the stubble on my scalp, he said, “Let’s go back to sleep.”
“Good morning, boys,” Larry said as he popped his head in the door. Slowly I became conscious of my surroundings, and that Greg and I were literally entwined with each other in his bed. How’d that happen? What’s worse, we were naked, and the sheet and blanket had somehow fallen off the end of the bed, so we were completely exposed. How embarrassing! As luck would have it, I was the one facing the door, with Greg snuggled up behind me, and my morning wood was on full display.
Suddenly becoming aware of the situation, Greg sat bolt upright and shouted, “Dad!” Then he comically reached around, feeling for the bedsheets to cover us – bedsheets that were apparently on the floor.
Larry actually laughed at us, which only made our embarrassment worse, and he said, “It’s already 10:00 and I thought you boys might want to do something with the rest of the day before it’s over.”
“Is there any word on the wheels for my bike?” I asked as I got out of bed and stood up.
“It was my fault that I didn’t pay more attention.” Larry answered. “I only looked to see that they weren’t out of stock, assuming that otherwise they must be in stock. What it actually said was, ‘Arrives in 2-3 business days.’ That means it ships from a warehouse in the U.K. into Boston, which takes 2-3 business days, and from there it’s sent via FedEx overnight. I checked with my supplier in Boston, and even though it’s the weekend, it’s expected to clear Customs by the end of the day today. Because we’re paying for overnight shipping, I got them to agree to send someone to the airport to pick it up tomorrow and take it to FedEx directly and ship it overnight. I told them we’d pay extra for morning delivery, so it will get here by Monday morning.”
“How much more is it gonna cost me for morning delivery?” I asked.
“Nothing. Not a penny,” Larry answered. “It was my mistake, and so it’s my responsibility to make it right.”
“Thank you,” I responded, “I know that couldn’t have come cheap.”
“Some of us still believe that customer service is more important than making a profit,” Larry explained, and again, I thanked him profusely.
“I’m gonna wash up,” Greg announced as he slipped past me and headed to the bathroom.
“Actually, that’s a good idea,” I responded. “Besides, I really gotta pee.”
Chuckling, Larry responded, “I’ll have breakfast ready in ten minutes. Let Greg know, too.”
“Will do,” I replied as I slipped outta Greg’s bedroom and into the bathroom. Greg was just finishing up at the toilet and was about to flush when I interrupted him with, “Don’t bother, I gotta go, too.”
“Okay —” Greg answered. “By the way, didn’t anyone ever tell you to knock?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I replied, “Never had to share a bathroom before.” I then stepped up to the toilet and let loose my stream and then flushed when I finished. I turned around to see Greg… lathering up his face? “You shave?” I asked in surprise. He didn’t look to be old enough to need to shave yet.
“Hey, I’m nearly fifteen,” he replied. “I’m up to shaving once a week now.”
I’d gotten to be up close and personal with Greg’s face over the past several hours and I couldn’t say I felt any stubble, let alone saw any, so I replied, “Whether you need to or not. I’d have noticed if you had any stubble.”
“I’ll admit that I could probably go a few more days between shaves.” he responded.
“You mean a few more weeks,” I teasingly interrupted.
“Jerk,” he replied. “It’s just easier to shave on the weekend so I can sleep a little later on school days.”
“Better still, wait until your peach fuzz is actually visible before you start shaving,” I quipped.
“I bet you’ll start shaving the moment your voice changes,” Greg countered.
“More like after I get my driver’s license,” I responded. “Blonds don’t need to start shaving so soon, and I’m in no hurry to cut up my face.” Then after a pause, I added, “Oh, and your dad said breakfast would be ready in ten, but that was a few minutes ago.”
“Good, I’m starving,” Greg replied as he finished shaving and rinsed the shaving cream off his face, and then he used some sort of acne scrub to wash his face. As far as I could tell, his skin was completely clear, but maybe that was why. I wondered if I’d hafta worry about things like that once I entered puberty for real. Greg got out his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth. I washed my face with soap and water, and then proceeded to brush my teeth as well.
Returning to Greg’s bedroom, we both put on our boxers and headed to the kitchen, where Larry was in the process of setting plates on the table. On each plate was a very thick piece of bread that looked like it had been fried, and a couple of eggs with the yolks barely visible. On top of that were a couple of strips of bacon and a couple of sausage links. It all looked wonderful.
“I wasn’t sure how you liked your eggs, Adam,” Larry began, so I made them the way Greg and I like them, over easy. I always make our French toast with challah because we like the doughy texture and the way the Jewish bread absorbs the egg and milk and gives the toast much more substance. There’s real maple syrup on the table and real butter, too. Nothing about the breakfast is low calorie or low cholesterol.”
I’d never heard of challah before, and the way he pronounced it was with a guttural sound like clearing his throat. We didn’t have many Jews back in North Vernon – just the owners of the furniture shop, a couple of law partners and a dentist – and none of them had kids my age, so I really knew nothing about Jews at all except that they didn’t believe that Jesus was the messiah. Since I was an agnostic, that didn’t matter to me at all. They looked just the same as anyone else and nothing like the Jews in Fiddler on the Roof, so I never thought of them as bein’ different. I guess it made sense that they’d brought some of their traditional foods with them though, just like the Italians brought pizza and spaghetti and the like.
Greg added a pat of butter on top of his French toast and let it melt a little before smearing it around on top, so I did the same. He then poured a little of the maple syrup on top of that and let it spread over the top and drip down the sides, but the amount of syrup he used was minuscule compared to what I was used to. Seeing how small the pitcher was, however, I realized it must be very concentrated and maybe a bit expensive, so I only took the same amount that Greg had.
Larry set a glass of orange juice at each place, and then he asked me, “Would you like some coffee, Adam? It’s Starbucks House Blend. I also have tea if you’d prefer.”
“Coffee would be fantastic,” I replied with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, but I’d been dying to try Starbucks coffee and I didn’t realize you could make it at home. Larry poured the coffee into a large mug at each place setting, and then finally sat down. Greg immediately added a bit of milk and two teaspoons of sugar to the coffee. I knew it was milk and not cream, ’cause it was still in the carton. Larry apparently drank his black. I decided to try it with a little milk and only one teaspoon of sugar. After all, I could always add more.
I was about to dig in, but neither Greg nor Larry had started and so I waited. Then Larry stuck out his hands and Greg did likewise, taking his father’s hand on one side and taking my hand on the other. I gathered I was supposed to complete the circle by taking Larry’s hand.
Larry bowed his head, but Greg did not, so I followed Greg’s example. Oh yeah, Larry insisted on saying grace, I recalled. “Dear Lord, we thank you for the bounty of your harvest and the gift of the food you have given us for our table. Amen.” As expected, Greg rolled his eyes. God didn’t make the challah. Some Jewish baker made it using a recipe that probably went back more than a thousand years. The eggs were laid by chickens, some poor pigs gave their lives for our sausage and bacon and then a butcher prepared the cuts of pork for us, and the syrup I think came from a tree.
Greg wasted no time at all digging in, slicing off a bit of his French toast with the edge of his fork, then stabbing it and dragging it over the eggs, coating it with yellow slimy raw egg yolk. Well, this was probably my best chance to try eating raw eggs, so I mimicked what Greg did and popped the piece of toast into my mouth. Oh. My. God. The flavors that burst through were incredible. The egg yolk didn’t taste raw at all. It tasted like sunshine. I wasn’t sure how else to describe it. No wonder there was a style of egg called sunny side up. The challah was incredible, and the fried egg and milk batter gave it substance. The bacon was crisp, and the sausage was succulent. It was all excellent.
I took a sip of the coffee and had another ‘oh my God’ moment. To my taste, it didn’t need more milk and sugar. It was incredibly rich and flavorful. I knew Starbucks was expensive, but it was worth it for something this good. But then again, I needed to save my money, so it was probably still out of reach for me.
“In terms of what you might want to do today,” Larry began, “You mentioned seeing the Lincoln Tomb, but have you been to the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum?”
“The Lincoln Library?” I asked
“It’s really cool,” Greg chimed in. “It opened in 2005, so it’s not that old. They have a lot of stuff from his life – everything from his early years through the Civil War. There’s a lot of historical objects that were actually used by Lincoln and documents in his original writing. The exhibits are interactive, and there are live performances in a couple of theaters, but it’s not like Disney. The performances are realistic.”
“Disney?” I laughed. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what that’s like. Watching the Star Wars movies is the closest I’ve ever gotten to Disney.”
“Wow! Someday you’ve got to go to Disney World,” Greg exclaimed. “It’s motherfuckin’ huge!”
“Greg!” Larry shouted in a stern voice.
“Sorry, Dad,” he replied.
“I know you hear a lot of language like that at school,” Larry continued. “I certainly did. It doesn’t mean you have to talk like that. Those words have their place, but they lose their impact when they’re used in everyday conversation.”
Greg rolled his eyes, telling me he’d had this conversation many times before. “Anyway, if you’re interested in seeing the museum, we need to get going, ’cause it closes at 5:00.”
“On a Saturday?” I asked.
“Yeah, Springfield kinda closes down early compared to most places,” Greg answered.
“Gees, that sounds even worse than the little town where I grew up,” I related.
“You boys do need to get going,” Larry chimed in. “If you hurry up, you can still have five hours there, which is barely enough for an introduction to it.”
“You’re not going, Dad?” Greg asked.
“I’ve been there enough times,” he said with a laugh. “Besides which, I think the two of you would enjoy it more on your own. I’ll take you to Nick & Nino’s afterwards.”
“Are you serious, Dad?” Greg asked.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything special,” Larry responded. “I thought it’d be a nice way to spend our one and only Saturday night with Adam.”
“Wow! You didn’t even take me there for my birthday,” Greg exclaimed.
“I’ll make a reservation for 5:30, when they open,” Larry continued. “That’s early enough you won’t have to dress up. I’ll meet you boys in the lobby.”
Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional and any resemblance of characters to real individuals is unintentional. Although it takes place in actual locations, in no way are any official policies, opinions or events inferred. Some characters may be underage and at times engage in homosexual acts. Anyone uncomfortable with this should not be reading the story, and the reader assumes responsibility for the legality of reading this type of material where they live. The author retains full copyright and permission must be obtained prior to duplication in any form.