tagGay MaleMy Long Road Home

My Long Road Home

byBaccusDelectous©

My gratitude and a heartfelt "Thanks" to Bhart1, for his constant encouragement and editing my first voyage.

Chapter 1

"You have 10 minutes to pack your stuff. If you choose to be gay then you are no son of mine and will be forever banished from this house!"

Those words from my father replayed over and over in my head as I walked down the road with no sense of direction.

I remember my mother sobbing and begging my father to calm down, but he would hear none of it. He picked up the bag I had packed from the living room floor and threw it out onto the porch while my mom gave me one last hug.

When she released me, he grabbed me by my collar to throw me out as well. The last thing my mother did was pull whatever money she had from her pocket and stuff it into my coat as I was being dragged away.

Once my father got me out the door he slammed it shut behind me. That sound had a finality I will never forget.

I couldn't believe my father, a bishop in our local Mormon church, would throw his only son out on the street for being gay. Where was the unconditional love he always preached in this action?

My parents converted to Mormonism when I was four years old and decided that the "Promise Land", as the Mormons call Utah, was where they wanted to chase their American dream. Three years after they joined the Church, my father sold his grocery business in Hong Kong and moved the whole family to Salt Lake City.

They opened a small convenience store in a local strip mall and worked long hours to make it a success. Father also stayed so narrowly focused on tending his flock that, when he was not minding the store, he would be at the church or out visiting members.

Growing-up as a Chinese immigrant in Utah wasn't easy, let alone being gay and Mormon. I'd known since I was four years old that I found an overwhelming sense of comfort in the presence of older, masculine men. I might not have had the words in my vocabulary at the time to talk about that feeling but I was acutely aware of it.

My best friend growing up was a neighbor boy named Bryce. His father, Brother Christensen, was such a man. He was a well-established builder in the Wasatch Front and owned his own construction company.

Since my parents worked long hours, I spent a lot of time at the Christensen's. Brother Christensen and my parents got on very well and he often told them how glad he was as a single parent that Bryce and I were so close.

Sometimes it almost seemed like I lived there. Brother Christensen tried to make it a point to get home from work early enough to spend time with us. We would throw the pigskin around with him in the backyard and frequently did our homework at their kitchen table while he worked at his business alongside us.

The summer months often found Bryce and me in their swimming pool and Brother Christensen would usually join us when he got home. It was always an arousing sight for me when he took off his shirt.

Construction work was apparently very physically demanding and it showed in his build. His hairy chest was broad and muscular and his arms were huge. Although he sported something of a belly, it only added to the solid look of his body. To be fifty years of age he was an impressive specimen of a man; maybe the most impressive I'd seen.

While in the pool we would gleefully laugh when he tossed us around as though we were little more than inflatable pool toys. Then, when he got out of the water and sat in his deck chair, his wet swim trunks would cling to his muscular thighs and leave little to the imagination regarding his impressive package.

With a proud smile on his face, Bryce would look at me and give a nod - as if to say, "Yep...that's my dad!"

One evening I was sleeping over with Bryce and before we went to bed we were talking about the upcoming senior prom. He was gay too and, with prom just around the corner, we weren't sure what to do.

Bryce didn't want to go but his dad felt it was a rite of passage he should experience. He wanted to come out to his dad to help him understand why he had so little interest in the occasion, but fear kept him quiet on the subject.

"Don't you know how lucky you are, Bryce? Your dad is always around and supportive of you. I wish my father could be like him."

"That's probably just because Mom passed away when I was little so I'm all he's got, Ethan."

"Bryce, your dad works at least as hard as mine and yet he chooses to make time for you. Any man can father a child, but it takes love to be a dad. I have a father, but you...you've got a dad. I really don't think you have anything to worry about by telling him you like guys."

It turned out I was right. Two days later Bryce told me he'd come out to him. Brother Christensen's only concerns were if he was sure about being gay at such a young age and whether or not he was happy.

Bryce told me they had a long talk and his dad assured him he would continue to love him no matter what.

"Bryce, is Ethan gay too?"

"Yes Dad. Actually, he's the one who encouraged me to come out to you. But I don't think he's ready to come out to his parents as deeply religious as they are."

"Thanks for letting me know, son."

I only learned their talk had contained that exchange from Brother Christensen a week or so later when he and I were alone in the pool. Bryce had fallen asleep on the couch and his dad suggested we let him continue to nap while we swam.

Once we were outside he thanked me for being such a good friend to his son and for helping him make the difficult decision to come out. He admitted that the news had shocked him, but said he was proud Bryce had found the courage to talk to him about who he really was.

It was then he confessed to their conversation about me. For all the encouragement and 'common sense' I had given Bryce, suddenly I found myself gripped with fear.

My face must have turned ten shades of red as adrenaline coursed through my body, which was frozen in panic. I wanted to leap from the pool and run...anywhere!

Upon seeing my reaction Brother Christensen quickly took my shoulders in his big hands. He gave them a comforting squeeze and I began to calm down.

"Ethan, please don't be upset with Bryce for spilling the beans to me. I probably shouldn't have even asked him about you...but at that moment it seemed like I had to know. I hoped...since he had kept me in the dark...that he'd had someone to look to as an ally all this time. I guess maybe I even hoped that, if he did...it was you."

His deep voice soothed me as he calmly and carefully chose his words.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I was out to this adult man and he hadn't rejected me. He had instead gone out of his way to offer me comfort.

"Being a man is harder than it looks, Ethan. It means living an honest life for one thing. I have a lot of acceptance to work through now, but I thank you for nudging my son onto the path I've always tried to raise him to take. I might not be perfect, but I have every intention of proving my love for him."

"You're welcome," I meekly replied on the verge of tears.

"Only you will know when the right time comes along. I hope when it does that you'll find the courage Bryce did to seize it...to give your parents that same chance to prove their love for you."

I threw my arms around his huge chest and tightly squeezed myself to him, still fighting back my tears. He wisely stayed silent and simply responded by returning my appreciative hug.

My longing for a loving father suddenly consumed me and I could no longer hold back my tears.

"Let it out, Ethan, let it out. It's ok, I'm here."

Even though I had seen Brother Christensen shirtless hundreds of times, the feel of his bare chest against mine was overwhelming. His manly scent was intoxicating and I unexpectedly began to erect in his embrace. My inability to control my physical response to his masculine appeal embarrassed me and I tried to pull away.

Brother Christensen must have thought I felt unworthy of his acceptance and decided that my need for comfort was more important. Rather than let me go, he tightened his arms around me and pulled me in. My heart sank as my hard-on helplessly lodged between his thighs.

When he felt that he pulled his head back and tried to look me in the eyes. I finally lifted my gaze to him and saw how perplexed he was.

I shook from fear at his discovery of my condition. However, in one of the kindest acts I've ever been shown, he simply ignored it and continued to comfort me.

"It's okay...it's okay."

He calmly asked if I was attracted to him. I cautiously confided that my attraction had always been to men like him; large and masculine. It looked to me like, in spite of some effort to conceal it, he found that flattering.

"Ethan, I promise you this. Someone who's worthy of your love is out there waiting for you...and you'll know him when you find him."

At last my fear and shame stopped tormenting me and I began to calm down. I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent, his chest hair tickling my nose. I wished I could stay with him like that forever.

Brother Christensen and I grew even closer after that day. From time to time he would even call me 'son', as though he somehow knew how healing I found it.

In December that year I felt the moment of truth with my own parents had finally arrived. I sat down to dinner with them one night and swallowed hard before speaking up.

Almost as if merely an observer, I heard my voice take them into my confidence and share my darkest secret. They were speechless as they listened. Their expressions were horrified.

Once my father recovered his power of speech the scene rapidly began to spin out of my control. I could only hope with all my heart that he would surprise me by miraculously transforming into the kind of accepting dad Brother Christensen was.

Suffice it to say he didn't.

As I said, Mom tried to calm him down, but in the end the 'good Mormon' in her took over and she dutifully fell in line behind him. Even as she sneaked me that money she seemed to resign herself to the notion that my sexuality presented an unbridgeable gulf.

As the realization that I was without a home or family slowly sank in I picked up my bag and stepped off the front porch. I headed for the freeway where my only plan was to stick my thumb up in the hope someone would stop and offer me a ride. I didn't care where.

Time seemed to drag interminably as I patiently stood near the top of the on-ramp, my thumb high in the air each time a vehicle approached. No one stopped.

Where were all the good Samaritans? Here I was, twenty, alone, cold and desperate to leave town. It seemed I was invisible to them.

I was about to give up when a semi turned onto the ramp and slowed to a halt on its shoulder. The passenger door cracked open as I ran toward it. I jumped up on the running board and yanked it the rest of the way open.

"Where you headed?" the driver asked.

"Anywhere but here!"

He told me he was hauling a load to Wyoming.

"Fine by me," I assured him.

"Then hop on in!"

He looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties; scruffy and a bit overweight. I jumped in and settled into the seat. My backside quickly warmed.

"Name's Fred," he said sticking out his hand.

"Ethan," I said as I shook it.

He asked me why I was hitchhiking so I told him what had just happened.

"Sorry to hear about that, kid. Your father must be a real hard-ass throwing you out for any reason right here before Christmas!"

"Yes, sir, I suppose he is."

"So, you like fellas huh?"

A chill ran through me and I turned my stare straight ahead through the windshield, unsure what to expect from him next in the aftermath of what I'd just been through with my parents.

"Well, that don't bother me one bit."

His words were a little ambiguous, but his tone sounded reassuring enough. I turned my face toward him again and smiled.

"But you're going to have to be extra careful out here, kid. Not all truckers are like me, you know what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir, I think so."

"Some of them wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of a kid like you...use you up and dump you in the middle of God knows where."

"Yes, sir, and thanks for the advice."

"Me, I got a wife and kids waiting back in Iowa after I drop off this haul. I can take you as far as Des Moines if that's what you want."

I mulled over his offer. It didn't take me long.

"I've always wondered what Des Moines is like!"

He laughed and slapped his steering wheel.

Chapter 2

It had been almost three hours since we left Park City. Most of the time Fred was telling me about life on the road, things he had seen, and some dicey situations he had been in.

Once in a while I caught him looking me up and down, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Fred, would it be alright if we stop at the next rest area? I gotta go bad."

"Number one or number two? If it's number one, use this."

Fred reached behind his seat and pulled out a one-gallon plastic jug, about one-third full of urine.

"In this? You're not serious."

"Oh yes I am kid. Time is money when you're on the road. We don't stop unless you have to go number two or need food. Besides, the weather report is saying that a storm is coming in tomorrow. I need to drop off this haul before then."

"When do you want to eat then?"

"Well, I was on the road for about five hours before you hopped in here. There's a truck stop in Rawlins about an hour from here. That's where I would like to stop. If you can hold it, that's great. If you can't, then that jug is the only option you got."

Knowing I wouldn't be able to wait for another hour, I took the jug and twisted the cap open.

"Go on kid, we're all men here, no need to be embarrassed."

Grudgingly, I unzipped my jeans and took out my penis. As I tried to put it in the jug, I saw Fred looking at me.

"That's it kid, just put it in and let it flow." Fred said with a smirk on his face. "From one fella to another, with what you got there you have nothing to be embarrassed about."

I tried to finish as fast as I could and zip back up. I put the jug back where it belonged and we rode in silence until we got to Rawlins.

"Here we are kid, The Flying J, Rawlins' finest truck stop. I stop here from time to time to eat and shower. Believe it or not, the food is pretty darn good here at the Denny's. Come on, I'm buying."

Fred parked far away from the rest of the other trucks and close to a grove of trees. We got out of the rig and started to walk back toward the Flying J.

Maybe it was because he had a beer belly and his belt was pretty tight around the waist, but Fred's package seemed very noticeable to me. He saw me glancing at it and adjusted himself.

"Seeing you piss back there kind of gave me the urge. You did your business mighty quick. Did you get it all?"

"Not quite," I replied, starting to feel a little ill at ease.

I followed him into the restroom and it was empty.

Most men seem to act self-conscious when standing at a public urinal, but not Fred. He kept a surprising distance from his when he put himself on display.

My curiosity got the better of me. When I looked out the corner of my eye in his direction I saw it was surprisingly long and uncircumcised. He caught me stealing glances and began nonchalantly putting on something of a show with his foreskin.

"In my day skinning 'em wasn't such a common practice," he said, sounding boastful.

When we finished we walked through the attached convenience store to Denny's. He ordered a country-fried steak dinner and I had a hamburger with fries and a chocolate shake.

I didn't realize how hungry I was until the food came.

"Slow down, kid, that food ain't gonna run away."

I was too busy eating to respond.

"You know, you'd be surprised how us fellas out here on the road manage to take care of ourselves. Sometimes we don't get to see our wives for a month at a time."

I thought back to the surprisingly big, uncut cock he'd so proudly toyed with for my benefit a short time before, but continued scarfing down what was in front of me. My discomfort grew with each word he spoke.

"Did you see the shower sign not far from the restroom? That's where it happens sometimes. I've seen it myself."

I squirmed a bit in my seat.

"Seen what?"

"You know...boys like you...giving men like me hand jobs, blow jobs...even getting their asses fucked sometimes."

He seemed to be setting me up for something.

"You need to shower? I figure a guy who likes fellas might like to check that out for himself."

"Thanks but...no...I'm ok."

He gave me a confident smirk.

"Alright, then, but you might not get another chance to clean up until late tomorrow...maybe even later than that."

I chose not to say anything. I suspected Fred might not be the 'good guy' he'd portrayed himself as after all and immediately began scheming a way out of continuing my ride with him.

I offered to pay for my share of the meal but he insisted on picking up the tab. He said I should try to make my money last as long as I could.

We walked back to his rig in the dark of night. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the chill of the fear that gripped me. I decided to calmly begin making my escape from him.

"Thank you for the meal, Fred. And I can't thank you enough for stopping to give me a ride in the first place. That was very nice of you and I'll never forget the kindness you've shown me."

His expression became a little menacing. I pretended not to notice and continued.

"After a few hours to think things over I'm afraid I might've made a big mistake leaving Park City so quickly. I think I'll just grab my bag and try to catch a ride back with one of these guys -- see if I can patch things up with my parents."

He remained silent and his glare didn't soften at all. I tried appealing to his sense of self-preservation.

"If I know my mom she's worried sick about me - probably got my best friend and his dad out looking for me by now! Thanks again, though."

It was then my worst fear came true. When I stepped up onto the running board and opened the door to fetch my bag, Fred grabbed my ankles and gave them a hard pull. My head struck something so hard during the fall that I was nearly knocked unconscious.

He pulled me to my feet and dragged me by the wrist into the grove on the other side of his truck. I struggled hard and thought I'd managed to escape his grip at one point, but at the last second he got hold of me again. He gut punched me and then landed a blow to my face.

At that point I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Fred kicked me in the stomach a couple of times, causing me to lose my dinner. Blood from the blow to my head had run down into my eyes so that I could no longer see clearly enough to try defending myself.

My screams for help were drowned out by the nearby freeway traffic and the humming of all the other parked rigs in standby. Fred took out a rag from one of his pockets and stuffed it into my mouth to silence me. He then drew a knife and pressed the blade to my throat.

"If you make one more sound then you'd best believe I'll bleed you like pig at slaughter right here and now, you ungrateful little shit!"

I went silent and shook in terror.

"I saw to your safety...gave you a ride, bought your dinner. Never going to forget the kindness I showed you? I'm about to make damn sure of that!"

Still lying on the ground and trying to catch my breath I heard Fred yank his belt out through the loops. He then used it to secure my arms behind my back. Next he ripped my jeans open and pulled them down to my ankles, along with my underwear.

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