I stood on Pop's porch for a moment, wondering what the fuck I should do. "OK. I'll just take off my blades."
"Leave them on. I saw a thing on TV about a restaurant where the waiters delivered food to the tables on roller blades. I kinda liked the idea," he smiled, "but the waiters were wearing shirts. You look much better. C'mon in."
It seemed totally weird blading down the hall to the kitchen, but it was fun. "White and one?"
Pop switched on the kitchen light, then sat at the table while he watched me make the coffee. "So, what seems to be the problem?"
By the time I finished telling him about what had happened at home, I'd made two coffees, which I placed on the table, then sat opposite the old dude. "And if my folks knew that I was here, I'd be grounded for fucking life."
"So why did you come here?"
"I had nobody else to talk to. Anyway, I shouldn't have. Maybe I should just run away."
"Most people who run away are more concerned about what they're running from, than where they're running to. Where would you run to?"
"Dunno," I shrugged.
"Then don't. Running away from problems doesn't solve them. You need to stand and face them."
"Yeah, right! My folks, as well as my bro, think that you're some kinda dirty old man."
"Maybe they're right, although I'm not too crazy about the word 'old'," he grinned, then took a sip of coffee. "Try to see it from their point of view. If you thought that somebody you loved dearly was courting trouble, what would you do?"
"But they don't understand, Pop! They're jumping to conclusions without knowing the fucking facts!"
"Most people do," he chuckled. "But, in this case, your parents, and Greg, are being motivated by their love for you, and their concern for your wellbeing."
"My mom's always telling me to be myself, and to be proud of who I am. Now she's telling me that I can't make my own judgements. Hey! Maybe they could come here and meet you!"
"And what would they find? Some eccentric, white-haired dude, wearing a towel, and writing gay erotica? I'm sure they'd be very impressed."
"But if they got the chance to know you…"
"One of the reasons I lead a solitary life," he interrupted, "is because I really don't belong to the mainstream. What's more, I don't want to. My life suits me just fine. It's my choice. And I don't expect other people to either understand it, or to endorse it."
"But I understand it."
"Do you? May I be honest with you, Daniel?"
"Haven't you been?"
"Yes… but I like to ask first."
"See? You are cool! I'm a good judge of character."
"Let me ask you a question. What is it that you like about me?"
"You're different. You kinda bend the rules," I laughed. "You're a teen rebel with wrinkles."
"Character lines, if you don't mind. Anyway, is that the only reason?"
"Not really." Pop remained silent while I figured out how to phrase the rest of my answer. "You make me feel good."
"Because I gawk at you?"
"Lots of people gawk at me… but you've got a different kinda gawk."
That cracked him up totally, and I thought he was gonna fall of his chair. "Tell me if I'm correct in assuming that you're aware of the difference between lust and admiration."
"Yeah, that's what I meant. You admire me… well, my bod."
"And there's no lust involved?"
"If there is, you don't show it. You're not the kinda dude who'd hit on me. I just know it."
"You've only known me for half a day."
"Are you telling me that you would hit on me?"
"No. I'm simply telling you that you're basing your opinion on a limited amount of knowledge. You hardly know me, yet you're pretty sure that you do. Aren't you guilty of the same thing of which you're accusing your folks and Greg? Jumping to conclusions?"
"You should've been a lawyer or something."
"I'm just an observer of human nature. Anyway, this is not solving your current problem. Would you like my advice?"
"First of all, be grateful that you have a family that cares about you. That's a very precious gift, and one that you may underestimate sometimes. Perhaps, on this occasion, their fears are unfounded, but the motive for their actions is to protect you from harm, or what they perceive as potential harm."
"But you wouldn't harm a fucking fly!"
"True. I'd wait until the damn thing had finished copulating."
"Never mind. Now, listen up young man… and must you keep puffing out your chest like that? I can't stop staring at those pecs of yours! They're just so damn perfect, and defined! And your nipples… brown and fleshy… and... and... the way they're perched… I'm losing control here. Where was I?"
"I just got the joke about the flies," I cracked. "Hey, that was totally wicked! Anyway, it's your turn to make the coffee."
"I can't stand up."
"Huh? Are your legs a bit…? Oh!... OK, I get it," I grinned. "Don't worry… I'll fix it." I boiled more water, and spooned coffee into the cups as I stood at the kitchen bench. "So, you're telling me that I should go home and agree with my folks? That means I'd never see you again."
"If you were to see me again, against the wishes of your parents, that would be wrong."
"So we just call it quits? Is that what you're saying? I have a pop for like half a day, and that's it? Finito?"
"I'm suggesting that you let your folks know that you appreciate their concern, and leave it at that for the time being."
I placed the two cups of steaming coffee on the table, and sat down. "OK. So I tell my folks that they were right about you… that you're a dirty old man, and a child molester. Correct?" I watched him stir his coffee, which was obviously an excuse to avoid my question. "Well?"
"What would you suggest?"
"Me? Hey, I'm a fucking teen…"
"Huh? Anyway, don't interrupt. I don’t have the experience that you have. How the fuck am I supposed to figure out all this shit?"
"Daniel, it's really quite simple. Who is more important? Me or your folks?"
"That's not a fair question."
"Perhaps not, but it's realistic. Anyway, you don't need to answer… we both know the answer already. So, your choice has been made for you. Go back to your folks, and forget all about me."
"I thought you really liked me."
'"I do, Daniel, I do! I think the sun shines out of your… well, that thing that you made so damn obvious when you were sitting on the bench, eating your sandwiches."
"You noticed, huh?" I cracked. "Anyway, I don't think it's fair that my folks should think stuff about you that isn't true. And I think they should respect my judgement. So, I'm gonna tell them about what happened here tonight."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Daniel."
"Why not? My mom's always telling me about being true to myself, and being proud of who I am. So what's she gonna say? That I shouldn't think for myself? That I can't make decisions about the friends I make?"
"Yeah, friends. Isn't that what you are?"
"I thought I was Pop."
"So? Can't a pop be a friend?"
"Could you pass me one of those tissues, please?"
"Still can't stand up, huh?" I laughed. "I don't think I'd better tell mom about that."
Pop took the tissue from me, and dried his eyes. "You said that I have a lot more experience than you do, and that's true in many ways. But I've never met anybody quite like you before, so I'm at a bit of a loss to know quite what to say."
"So, do you agree that I should tell my folks about tonight?"
"You said that you were a good judge of character… and you know your family better than I do… in fact, I don't know them at all. But I can tell by the way you've been raised that they must be fine people."
"So I tell them?"
"I'll leave it up to you, Daniel."
"You really think my pecs are cool?"
"You love to tease, Daniel," he chuckled. "Yes, I think your pecs are cool. Actually, I think everything about you is cool. You're OAD… that's an acronym for 'one awesome dude'."
"And I think you're AOD."
"What does that mean?"
"That's for you to figure it out."
I bladed down to the pedestrian crossing, dropped my shorts to my ankles, and jacked off under the overhanging yellow light. There wasn't a soul in sight, but I was kinda wishing there was. If Pop could've seen me fisting my rock-hard seven under the stars, he would've needed a whole fucking crate of scotch. The thought of him pouring the stuff down his throat while his eyes were on springs cracked me up something wicked, which must've made the sight of me jacking and laughing in the middle of the road a major puzzle for the aliens to figure.
When I felt the rush on its way, I used my free hand to press against my G-spot, then watched the ribbons of boy juice explode from my knob like so many tiny missiles, and splatter on the black asphalt a few feet away. What a waste, I thought, as I remembered Kyle having been there. He would've swallowed every damn drop.
And that was another thing that occurred to me as I bladed home. There were so many things that mom and Andy didn't know about me… the parties, the sex, the peep-hole in the change room at school, the pics I'd sent to Kyle, the video we'd shot at Jo's and Freddie's place, the pissing. And now they were freaking about some harmless old guy? Jeez, I was gonna have to bring my folks up to speed. But how? What exactly would I tell them, and what would I leave unsaid? How much of my life was my own business, and how much of it was theirs?
For a second, I was tempted to blade back to Pop's house. But then I realized that this was a prob that I was gonna have to figure out for myself. Maybe I'd reached that time of life when a guy had to take charge of his own destiny.
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Diary Part 138