1001 Love Stories Darker

Gay (83)

This story is a few days late but it's a long one. Over twice as long as a normal story and it's dense so enjoy the read

My son is gay.

Seventeen years and nine months and I was so sure that I had done everything right.

It wasn't easy, but I put everything aside to give my son the most normal life I could.

I bought him expensive gifts every fifth birthday. Bought him a car at 16. I did everything right. And now he starts collage in the fall and I'm planning on gifting him his first apartment when he turns eighteen.

He just needed to make it to eighteen, when he was out of my house and hair. We could both go about our own lives.

Three months and I would have been fine.

However, instead I walked in on my son going down on who I previously thought was his best friend but now it's starting to make since.

I can't even pretend that maybe he was experimenting because by the look of sheer ecstasy that was on Ian's face proved that he was a pro.

He didn't see me,  but I'm sure he heard the door slam shut on my way out.

Now I'm sitting in my room. I heard them leave shorty after and now I'm waiting for him to come home.

I don't know when he will and I don't even know what to say if I were to pick up the phone and call him.

I've checked his location and I know he's at Ian's house.

I wonder if they told his parents. They spent most of their time hanging out there.

Maybe this is why? Because he's gay and they let him.

I thought I did everything right and my son's still gay. I hate it, but that's my kid.

The thought made me chuckle softly.

He's gay and yet I still see him as my son.

I heard the front door open and I keep listening. Only one set of footsteps on the stairs, up the stairs and then they stop.

At my room door.

He wants to talk, fuck, what do I say?

I have to say something? I have to do something?

I glance around the room but my eyes find the closet before it clicks that what I need is in that closet.

So I stand up and I walk over and I open it and there it is.

My father always said it's nice to have two leather belts. One you wear all the time and one you keep for special occasions. It wasn't until I stood there looking at the brown belt I had never really worn did it all click.

Like some sick puzzle.

I grab the belt and hold it like my father did.

Not my son, no son I raised will end up on his knees for a man.

I turn to the door and wonder if he's still there, I would have never, I would have been under my bed, I would have never come home.

Yeah, why the hell would he even come back.

I tighten my grip on the belt and I take a deep breath.

It's what he needed. I'd never hit my son for breaking things because it's what kids do. And lying and stealing. All things that I told him not to and he didn't.

But this was different.

I open the door and I know I can't back down but, standing there is my son, and he's crying.