Dirty Little Secret Ch. 04

Her watery eyes told me she'd been at the wine for some time. If tradition is any gauge, I guessed she started drinking as soon as my dad opened his first beer.

I smiled and asked the question that had been bothering me since I arrived.

"Where's Jimmy?"

She reacted like a hurt and scared puppy.

"Ask your father," she said. It was her routine reply to almost any question.

I glanced at the score as I gave my dad his beer. I'd missed a touchdown. Detroit was now leading.

"WHOAA," I exclaimed. "How'd they score?"

"Long bomb to Johnson—great throw and catch!" he answered.

The second beer went down faster than the first. I didn't mean to slam the empty bottle on the table, but it made a god-awful noise.

"Get us two more!" said my father without missing a beat.

"Do I look like your slave?" I said before I could catch myself.

My father smiled and said, "Well—DUH-why do you think your mother and I had kids?"

For some reason I thought that was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. My dad appreciated my laughter.

In the kitchen, my mother's wine glass was fuller than before. I became concerned.

Jesus H. Christ, John, I told myself. Who the hell are you to be so judgmental?

I heard my dad shouting from the living room.

"YOU GODDAMN ASSHOLE!"

I hurried back with the beers and saw that Green Bay had retaken the lead.

"How'd they score?" I had to ask one more time.

"STAFFORD THREW A PICK-SIX!" he said disgustedly. "WHAT A GODDAMN BUM!"

During the commercials at the two-minute warning, I asked my dad, "Where's Jimmy?"

He gave me one of his patented nasty looks and said, "Later..."

My mind screamed: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON AROUND HERE? WHERE'S MY GODDAMN BROTHER?

Detroit drove the ball to the Packers 20-yard line. They were down by four with thirty-seconds left in the game. It was fourth-and-ten.

"KICK THE FIELD GOAL, YOU MORON!" my dad shouted at the coach.

I smiled. My dad wanted the three points to cover his bet. With thirty-seconds to go and Detroit down by four, I knew they wouldn't try a field goal.

So naturally, the field goal team trotted onto the field.

"YES!" my dad pumped his fist in the air.

Detroit was in a hurry. I noticed that Stafford was the holder-he normally wasn't.

"IT'S A FAKE!" I shouted.

"YOU'RE CRAZY! WHY THE HELL—" he didn't have time to finish his sentence.

The ball was snapped and Stafford stood-up and lobbed a high pass into the end zone.

For a brief moment the fans went absolutely quiet. I was sure that millions of people watching tv held their breath, too.

'MegaTron' outleapt the defender and fell down clutching the football. TOUCHDOWN!

"I TOLD YOU—I TOLD YOU!" my father jumped up from his chair. "IF STAFFORD ISN'T THE BEST QUARTERBACK-I DON'T KNOW WHO IS!"

Uh-huh, I thought. Yeah, sure...

I cautioned my dad: "There's 22-seconds left and Green Bay's only down by three."

"Aw, you're crazy," he said.

Just as Detroit kicked-off my mother walked in front of me with a tray of deviled-eggs. I couldn't see the tv.

"I hope you boys are hungry," she merrily chirped. "You know, dear, I used a new spice this year—see if you can guess what it is?"

Something was going on in the game and I couldn't see the tv. I leaned left then right—I couldn't see around her; she kept blithering about the goddamned deviled-eggs. I wondered what planet she was living on.

My dad began screaming: "GET HIM—GET HIM—GET HIM!"

Then suddenly, "NO-NO-NO—I DON'T BELIEVE THIS!"

By the time I could see the television there was a mob scene in the end zone. Green Bay players were celebrating the touchdown.

"HOLY SHIT!" my father yelled.

"FRED—WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE!" my mother scolded him.

"They're calling it back," I said to my dad.

"WHADDYA MEAN THEY'RE CALLING IT BACK?" he shouted. "I DIDN'T SEE ANY FLAGS!"

Before I could point out to him the small yellow graphic on the corner of the screen that read 'FLAG,' he started shouting again:

"THEY'RE CALLING IT BACK—THEY'RE CALLING IT BACK!"

I shook my head and fought the urge to say "No shit, Sherlock!"

Green Bay was called for 'a block in the back' on the kick-no touchdown-and the Packers had the ball on their own twenty-six with sixteen seconds to go.

They lined-up with four receivers to the left; Rodgers dropped back and dumped the ball to the short receiver on a crossing pattern. With all the defenders playing deep, the receiver made it all the way to mid-field and the Packers called a timeout.

On the next play, three receivers lined-up on the right-side with one on the left; Rodgers threw it to James Jones on the left and he made a nice catch and ran out-of-bounds at the Lions thirty-five yard line stopping the clock with four-seconds left in the game.

"YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!" my dad shouted. "PREVENT DEFENSES ARE USELESS—THEY 'PREVENT' YOU FROM WINNING!"

Crosby had a chance at a fifty-two yard field goal to tie the game. It was well within his range.

The camera angle from behind the kicker made it appear the kick would be good—it was sailing high and straight towards the goal posts.

"JESUS H CHRIST," my dad cried out in anguish.

The ball took forever to come down—when it did—it bounced harmlessly on the turf five-yards in front of the goal posts. NO GOOD—TIME RUNS OUT—DETROIT WINS!

My dad jumped up from his chair and shouted, "SEE!! I TOLD YOU DETROIT WAS A LOCK TO WIN THIS GAME!!"

"You're the best, dad," I said as I turned my head so he couldn't see me rolling my eyes.

The game ran late and when my dad flipped the channel to the second game, Oakland at Dallas, it was a minute away from kick-off. My dad went to the kitchen to get us two more beers. By this time, I was sucking them down as fast as him.

I was trying to guess who he'd bet in this game. Both teams were hated enemies in our town.

Dallas beat us forty-years ago on a last second 'Hail Mary' to knock us out of a chance to go to the Super Bowl, and a couple years later we lost to Oakland in the Super Bowl.

Fans never forget bad football memories-they linger and fester and take on legendary status.

He came back, gave me another beer, and sat in his chair just as the teams lined-up to kick-off. The second before the ball was kicked the fans in the stadium went silent.

"Your brother's a homo..." I heard my dad say quietly.

My head whipped-around and I glared at him. He watched the Dallas kicker kick the ball into the end zone for a touchback.

"Huh?" I said. "What did you say?"

He took a big swallow of beer and said without looking at me, "You heard me...your brother's a faggot..."

Yes, of course I heard him, but those words didn't belong together in the same sentence. There is no-way in hell my brother is gay!

"W-W-What-What are you talking about?" I stuttered.

My dad remained silent. His eyes had moistened and I thought it was from the beer. But as I looked closer I saw something that scared me; something I'd never seen before. He looked truly and desperately sad, heartbroken.

"Who told you this?" I asked. "You can't believe this is true, do you?"

He turned to me with such heartbreak on his face I thought I'd cry.

"Your mother and I caught him...in his apartment...with a guy..."

"CAUGHT HIM? I DOUBT IT!" I said in disbelief

He looked towards the kitchen. We heard my mother's television set blaring, and intermittent giggles coming from her. He was safe, she couldn't hear him.

I don't think I'd ever seen a person change as quickly as my dad did. Instead of sadness, his eyes narrowed to mean slits and he spit out his words with a venom and hatred that scared me.

"Your mother and I went to his place to drop-off a construction contract...we heard loud music inside, and when I knocked on the door he couldn't hear us...I used the spare key we held for him and opened the door..."

He paused and drank another mouthful of beer.

"Your faggot brother was on his knees-NAKED...the first thing your mother and I saw was a huge, black dick in your brother's mouth...the dick was so big we didn't recognize him right away-his face was contorted from having his mouth stretched-open so wide!"

I shivered as a mental image of that scene flashed in my mind. My brother the homophobe was caught sucking a big black cock? This was effing unbelievable!

"What did you do?" I asked, mesmerized by his story.

He averted his eyes from mine back to the television. The hatred was gone from him. All that remained was supreme sadness.

"Our, uh, 'timing' couldn't have been worse..."

Uh-oh, I thought. I had a sick feeling I knew where this was going.

"The black guy yelled 'Eat my cum, white-boy—eat it all! I recognized the voice—it was the apartment complex maintenance man, Ernie."

"I don't think I need to hear anymore, dad," I said. I guess he thought otherwise.

"Your brother was holding his balls...I swear to God they were the size of melons...your brother pumped that black cock for all it was worth and kept the head in his mouth...he made loud, gulping noises...the little faggot was actually swallowing a man's jizz—it was revolting!"

"You stood there and watched this? You didn't leave? You didn't scream at Jimmy?" I asked incredulously.

"It all happened so fast...we were in shock—we couldn't move!"

"That's, uh...unbelievable...simply amazing..." were the only words I could think of to say.

After a long pause my dad said: "That's not the worst of it..."

How could there be something worse than my parents watching my brother suck a big black cock? I wondered.

"While Ernie was getting his rocks-off-your brother...well, he proved to me without a doubt what a faggot he is..."

"How'd he do that?" I asked.

My dad swallowed more beer then said: "He blew his nuts, too...you should have seen all the jizz shooting out of his dick...evidently, he gets so excited sucking cock he can get-off without his dick even being touched...now that is truly pathetic."

Of course, this wasn't the moment to tell my dad that happens to me all the time, too.

It occurred to me my question had yet to be answered.

"So where's Jimmy?" I pressed for an answer; hoping he hadn't killed him or something.

He coughed then said: "Well, your mother and I found a camp in Tennessee that solves problems like this...they take boys like your brother and teaches them to be normal, heterosexual young men."

Oh my God! He wasn't joking! They sent my brother to a religious camp that promises to 'Pray-the-Gay-Away'? Effing unbelievable!

He must have seen the look of shock on my face because he quickly added: "They have a ninety-percent rate of success!"

Uh-huh—sure. I was too stunned to say anything or argue with him.

When we finally sat down for Thanksgiving dinner my mother held a bottle of wine and asked: "Would you like some, dear?"

I handed her a glass and said, "Filler up!"

We were so hungry the burnt turkey and lumpy mashed potatoes tasted good. She must have re-filled my wine glass 3-4 times. All the food did not help the buzzing in my head.

After dinner, my dad and I watched the evening football game. We continued drinking wine. The last thing I remember about that night was stumbling up-the-stairs to my bedroom.

I awoke suddenly at four-o'clock in the morning. The lights were on and I was fully dressed, on top of the bed. I stripped to my bikini briefs and slid under the covers.

The next thing I knew it was 11am, Friday morning.

My head was throbbing so I tossed back two aspirin and stood underneath a cold shower for twenty-minutes.

I had a vague notion in my head of some wild and weird story my father had told me the day before. Due to my alcohol-induced haze, I wasn't sure if I'd dreamt it or the story was real. I pieced together his words and sentences until my mind grasped the enormity of my dad's admission.

HOLY CRAP! My All-American, athletic, smart and handsome and homophobic older brother is gay! HOW CAN THIS BE?

When my head finally cleared, I finished-up in the bathroom, threw-on fresh clothes, and went downstairs in search of food.

On the kitchen table was a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a bag of chips.

God Bless her, I said of my mother.

I guzzled orange juice and ate the sandwich, enjoying the morning solitude. My parents had an errand to run and they'd be back in a couple hours, I remembered that much anyway.

I'd promised to set-up the computer my father had finally bought after all these years.

When I went to his study and saw what he had purchased, my heart swelled with pride. He'd listened to my recommendation and bought everything I had suggested. It was the first time he'd followed my advice on anything.

It took less than an hour to get it up-and-running. I figured I had enough time to do some schoolwork but suddenly remembered the laptop he'd bought too. I went to their bedroom and saw it on a table in the corner of the room.

That too, didn't take much time. I made sure the wi-fi was working then I thought I'd charge the battery for him. I looked around and couldn't find an electrical outlet the cord would reach.

The closest outlet was behind a small, bedside table but the cord would be running along the floor. I came up with a plan.

I retrieved my father's staple gun and attached the cord on the baseboard behind the long, hanging drapes. No one would be able to see it.

The bedside table was so close to the wall I had to tip the table forward to reach the outlet. I did that without thinking; the top drawer slid open and hit me square on the knee. I yelped in pain and rubbed my knee then reached behind the table and plugged in the cord.

I returned the table to its original position, stood upright and was about to leave the room when something clicked inside my head.

What was that? I wondered, referring to an object I'd caught a brief glimpse of inside the drawer.

I hesitated, unsure if I should invade my parent's privacy, but curiosity got the best of me. I opened the drawer and stared at a rather large block of wood.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stood straight and cold chills ran up-and-down my spine.

"OH MY GOD!" I exclaimed out loud.

I picked up the object and held it in my hands. It wasn't a log, and it wasn't made of wood. It was a huge, black, hard-rubber dildo. It had to be eight-inches long and four-inches in girth. I studied the contraption attached to it; some sort of harness or belt.

JESUS H CHRIST! IT'S A STRAP-ON DILDO!

I became confused; totally disoriented. Why would my parents have this thing? How in the world did they use it? WHO used it on whom?

Aren't women the only ones who strap-on a dildo to please another woman? Good grief, my mother doesn't use this on my father, does she?

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? PUT THAT DOWN!"

His booming voice startled me. My hands trembled and the dildo dropped into the drawer with a loud bang. I shoved the drawer closed.

"I-I-I needed an outlet—this is the only one—I tipped the table forward and the drawer flew open—I wasn't snooping—it was an accident," I stammered.

When I got the nerve to look at him his eyes were staring at the floor; his face was beet-red.

He finally spoke after a long silence: "I think its best we don't mention this ever again—to anyone!"

"Agreed," I said.

I showed him my work and how to get started on his new computer. I guessed the one he has at work is used only for business purposes.

We went into his study and I showed him a few basics. When I had him online he sat at the desk and began exploring the internet.

"I've got some schoolwork to do," I said and excused myself.

I walked to my bedroom in shock and horror. I wished to God I hadn't seen that thing, but I did. My head was spinning—everything in my life had changed!

At four o'clock there was a knock on my bedroom door.

"The news is on—you might want to see this!" I heard my dad say.

When I joined him in the living room the tv screen was filled with images of angry, screaming people.

"The football teams' plane landed in Nebraska an hour ago-these people were there to greet them," my father said.

I watched in utter disbelief a mob of chanting religious nuts shouting at the team as they emerged from the airplane and one-by-one descended the stairs.

The crowd went absolutely bonkers when Denny appeared in the doorway. I was so afraid for him I broke-out in a cold sweat. My hands shook violently.

The camera zoomed-in on his face. He looked like a scared, lost puppy. I wanted to scream at the people to leave him alone—he's a human being dammit, but I sat in stone-cold silence suffering right along with my boyfriend.

"Things could get real ugly tomorrow," my dad said referring to the football game.

When the story ended, my dad stood and said, "I'd like you to join me and have a beer."

I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't drink today, but the way he said it forced my hand.

"Uh, yeah, okay..." I replied.

The first swallow made me gag, choke and cough. My dad laughed.

"Yeah," he said. "The first one is tough, but after that they'll go down like water."

He was right. By the time the news ended I was on my third beer, and feeling no pain.

'Wheel of Fortune' appeared on the screen. I knew my mom was watching it in the kitchen, too.

"I don't want you to have the wrong idea..." my dad said out of nowhere. "What you found today was—well...it's really saving your mothers and mine marriage."

OH NO! screamed my brain. PLEASE DON'T TALK ABOUT THIS!!

"You know, son, sometimes Mother Nature doesn't play fair..."

Uh-oh...I began to get an uncomfortable feeling.

"Take the men in our family, for example...we're all relatively smart and good-looking and generally succeed in life...but with the good you have to accept the bad..."

Here it comes, I said to myself.

"There's no delicate way of talking about this so I'll be blunt: the men in our family have been short-changed in one major area...I think you know what I'm referring to..."

Yes, I have a good idea, but I knew that wouldn't stop him from talking about it.

"We're all somewhat under-sized 'down there'...we don't 'measure up' to most men..."

Good grief! Could this get any more awkward and silly?

He took a long pull on his beer, and I think the alcohol kicked-in.

"We've got small dicks—so what? We were born this way, it's not our fault!" he said. "I know mine is, and after seeing your brother, so is his, and with your size—you're probably smallest of all!"

"Thanks, dad," I said sarcastically, but he wasn't listening. He appeared relieved once he'd blurted it out.

"Dad," I said, "it's none of my business what you and mom do."

A sad, wistful smile spread across his face.

"John, I'm going to share some very private and crude things with you."

"I wish you wouldn't," I said.

"Your mother and I never had much of a sex life," he said, ignoring my plea. "I mean, sure, I enjoyed myself but I knew she was just going thru the motions...I wasn't satisfying her and I knew it...my dick is what-it-is and there isn't anything I can do about it."

Then it hit me like a lightning bolt! The big black strap-on dildo in the drawer—they both had witnessed my brother sucking a huge black cock and it must have ignited their passions and imaginations. OH MY GOD!

He continued: "She became obsessed with that guy's big cock—she's too shy to say anything but I knew she wanted to feel something like that inside her so I went out and bought that toy you found."

I prayed to God he was finished with his story, but of course he wasn't.

"I use that on your mother—she goes absolutely crazy when I'm fucking her with it!"

I wanted to crawl under the couch and hide. Way too much information! He surely had to be done talking now.