Author: Fantasia Moan
Category: Other
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/fantasia-moan/547679-gay_dads-_all_his_sons_friends.html
Story One
Chapter One
I messed up my whole life. As I sat in the booth at McEddy’s, taking my second (unauthorized) ten minute break from cleaning up the tables and draining the oil in the deep fryer, I found myself staring blankly out onto the street. In a small university town, I seemed to be the only person my age who was not studying and getting advanced degrees so I could get a high paying and fulfilling job. Instead, I was wearing a bright, garish purple and pink apron, a dumb visor cap, and smelling of oil and fries. The smell made me lose my appetite and every evening when I went home I had to shower immediately before I could feel human again.
Tonight, I felt even worse than ever. I had just gotten an aggravating phone call from my father asking me if I could afford the flight out to my cousin Theresa’s wedding next weekend. Of course I couldn’t really afford it, but the presumption in his voice made me defiant. I told him of course I would be there.
I would have to book a flight to go home once I got home as I had moved myself all the way across the country for school only to get overwhelmed after the first year and flunk out in the middle of my second semester.
Who had told me to become a neuroscientist? The idea that I could hop from being a great high school student to a medical student without losing my mind was ludicrous now. I had never been prepared for the workload, the advanced nature of the work. My high school had been in a poor neighbourhood and I was a good student, in that context. But here, at one of the top universities that I had somehow gotten into? Here, I was a nobody, I was a dunce, I was completely ill-equipped for the work and everyone had known it.
And now, after all of that, I now found myself wondering if I had really found my true place in the world. Here at McEddy’s, serving up burgers and hot dogs and ice cream to the truly deserving university kids. With a heavy heart and a buzzing mind, I finished my shift up and looked forward to the paycheck that would be on my bank account by now.
Once I got home after the short walk through the park where young adults skateboarded, made out, studied, and had picnics, I ran to the shower and washed the grease and cleaning product off myself. When I came out of the shower I looked myself over. Thick, curly brown hair, light hazel eyes, small button nose, plump lips that looked as though they were always puckered, too narrow to be so thick.
My breasts were small but I made up for it by having thick thighs, pronounced hips and a great ass. Oftentimes I was heartened by my figure and the response I received from boys. All throughout high school I had worked so hard to leave my neighbourhood that I barely had time to date except for one or two short-lived boyfriends who I kissed and got groped by a couple times before getting bored.
I had thought that university would be the time for me to go crazy but, once I realized the workload I was too much of a mess to socialize properly and make friends. I ended up not really having a social life and instead locking myself in my dorm room and watching buttloads of television and playing video games while avoiding the piles of books in the corner of my room. It was a weird time. And these days… I was so depressed about having quit university that any time I didn’t spend at work was spent playing video games and watching television once more. This time, the thing I avoided thinking about was the gaping hole where my future should be.
In the middle of all that, I suddenly found myself at age 20, a virgin with no real dating history to look back on nor any idea of what love might feel like.
I looked away from my reflection, afraid I might start crying again. I did that every now and then these days.
I strode over to my laptop and, only bothering to lay a towel down on the seat since I couldn’t bother to put on clothes, I looked at my bank account balance. The rent had been taken out automatically already. What was left was a sad way to start off the month.
Next, I found a roundtrip plane ticket that would get me to the wedding and booked the cheapest I could find, gritting my teeth as I did so. The price had raised by $20 since yesterday. That was breakfast for a week, gone from my shoestring budget. I clicked back to the tab with my bank balance. It made me wince to see what I would have to live on for the rest of the month. It might have been fine if I liked Theresa more.
Chapter Two
The early morning sun still stung my sleep-deprived eyes as I knocked on the door of my childhood home.
“Martha,” said my father, opening the door to greet me with a gruff, almost formal hug. My mother gave me a weak smile and waved from behind her sewing machine as I entered the foyer and peeked into the living room. It seemed as though she was making some adjustments to the bridesmaids’ dresses. My little brother Theo - now a tall, gangly 17 years old - bounded down the stairs into the foyer to greet me with a wide, genuine smile and a big bear hug that lifted me off the ground. For the first time in a while, a huge, genuine smile crossed my face. Count on Theo to cheer me up just by appreciating my presence.
“You wanna see something hilarious?” he whispered in my ear before ending the hug. I nodded. He grabbed my duffel bag and hopped up the stairs, gesturing for me to follow. There was light, happy Pop music playing and Theo led me toward it.
We entered my childhood room and it looked completely transformed. My bedframe was on its side, flat side out, covered in white paper which was then plastered with post its and thumbtacked pictures and swatches of cloth, flower petals, even earrings and necklaces… The rest of the room had mannequins with lilac dresses on them and shoes by their feet. The dresser was covered with makeup and hair appliances and additional mirrors had been brought in to make the chaos even more impressive when reflected back and forth. In the middle of the room was the center of all the fuss, all around the chair where Theresa was receiving a pedicure, having her hair done, and generally being catered to by her bridesmaids. The wedding was at 2pm and with all the things going on in that room, I was sure they were going to cut it close. I remember one or two nights out with Theresa before I left for university that closely resembled this. We always left out way later than planned. Hopefully she wouldn’t be late today of all days.
“Cynth?” said Theresa, looking into the mirror and craning her neck to see through the darting bridesmaids. “Cynth, is that you?”
“Hey, Theresa,” I called over the hubbub of the Pop music and her friends’ chattering (and clattering, for heavens forbid anyone not wear stilettos for two minutes).
“Good to see you, babe! Could you get me some more mimosa?”
I saw that she lost no time in putting me to work. For a moment I stood there, not shocked by her request, but puzzled by something that seemed out of place as I glimpsed her face in the mirror for a couple seconds.
“Uh… Cynth?” she said, slightly impatiently with a stiff wave of her hand in typical Theresa fashion. “I’m dying here, babe. Your mum’s got a whole jug of mimsies downstairs.”
“Um… oh! Yeah, no pr-problem…” I said shakily trying to keep myself composed. I withdrew from the room and closed the door, only to turn around and see an expectant Theo, clutching a fist to his mouth to stop himself from laughing. My face was frozen in shock. It was only in the moment where Theresa did her typical impatient waggle of the hand that I had noticed it. Normally her gesture was accompanied by a crooked eyebrow but now…
“She’s got no eyebrows…” I whispered to Theo. “How did I not notice right away that she’s got NO eyebrows… why doesn’t she have eyebrows?”
“They bleached her eyebrows so they can pencil it back in for her makeup,” whispered Theo, pure joy bursting out of him. “Georgina convinced her. Told her that’s how celebrities do it.”
I giggled all the way down the stairs and realized this weekend had al
ready cost me a small fortune based on my ridiculous salary. The least I could do was join Theo in finding the funny, and getting some joy out of it. With that in mind, I put myself to work to make sure Theresa had the wedding of her dreams.
***
It had been surprisingly beautiful and Bellamy, Theresa’s new husband, seemed like a genuinely nice guy who truly loved her. I was happy for her. Watching her first dance with Bellamy was actually really touching and I started to think that if Theresa, who studied Cosmetology and met a doctor like Bellamy at a photoshoot for his practice’s advertising campaign, even after styling him horribly based on the slides that they showed during their speeches… if they had found each other and could make each other this happy... Surely I could do something average and non-neuroscientist-like and still find happiness and fulfilment in life. And judging by the look of admiration on my parents’ faces and the envy in their voices as they had congratulated uncle Julio and aunt Veronica, there were things other than academic achievements that my parents valued.
As I wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life and aspire toward the husband and kids thing, I reached idly for a glass of champagne from a waiter. I met resistance while pulling the glass and looked up, puzzled, half expecting to see the waiter wrestling the glass from my hands. Instead, I saw some blonde guy, looking playfully at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked idly. My grip remained on the glass, it was the last on the tray. The waiter looked puzzled and a little uncomfortable.
“You’re taking my champagne and I’m trying to take it back, that’s what up,” he said nonchalantly. He spoke with a faint accent.
I felt my eyebrows knit and a small pout form, involuntarily.
“Think again, friend,” I said coolly. “I’ve got a better grip. I am actually holding the glass. You are holding my hand. You can continue to hold my hand if you like. But you sure ain’t gonna hold this glass.”
“Uh…” the waiter began. He was probably 16 and a distant relative or something, getting some extra cash from Aunt Rosalinda’s catering company to work the event. “There’s plenty more champagne, I can go get you some more…” said the waiter.
“No,” said the guy. “This is between me and the lady here. This is bigger than champagne now. This is about honor.”
His serious tone made me smile involuntarily and he smiled back at me, his bright blue eyes twinkling warmly. I felt his grip tighten slightly. I pulled the glass gently toward myself.
Our waiter was looking between us like we were nuts. We probably were. He then gave up and dropped the tray from underneath the glass and scurried back to the kitchen, muttering something about bringing out more champagne.
“Who are you?” I asked, less hostile now even though his hand still held mine and the champagne.
“I’m York Gunderson.”
“York?” I said, a little amused. “Like Yorkie, York? Like New, York? Big Apple, York?”
“Yeah, a little bit, it’s actually a Scandinavian name. Kind of sounds more like Shi-eruk.” The pronunciation was different and pleasing. It certainly didn’t sound like a Yorkie when he said it like that.
“Aha. So what are you doing here, so far away from Scandinavia?”
“I wanted a little break from my research fellowship. Bellamy and I studied on the same foreign exchange programme few years back so when I saw he was getting married… all my stars aligned, I guess.”
“Oh!” I said, suddenly intrigued. “What are you researching?”
“Oh well, I joined a team that’s investigating the effects of gut bacteria on neurochemicals. The stomach is a very complex and interesting organ – of course it would have to be since it is the entire system by which the rest of the body, and mind therefore, can exist, it gives us building blocks for growth and creation. It’s absolutely essential, so why would we ignore the effects of what we take in and how it affects how the brain is built and maintained, you know. Especially since a human macroorganism is host to so many foreign bodies that just integrate into the system, whether beneficially or not…”
I felt myself get a little light-headed. He was into neurobiological research. It was both enthralling and a little bit frightening. Because I certainly wanted to talk to him about his research but even as I opened my mouth to respond, I knew the sad words I had to utter first.
“Wow!” I began. “I used to study medicine, I wanted to go into neuroscience as well. It’s so cool that you’re on a research fellowship to study that… that’s amazing!”
He looked taken aback and pleased.
“I think, since you think my research is cool, you’ve earned the champagne.” He released his hand from around mine and the stem of the glass. I had forgotten it was there, actually.
“Well, I think it was my strength and valor that won me this champagne but tell yourself that it was your kindness if you want to.”
“I like my story. Oh, and Miguel is back anyway.” He waved to the teenaged waiter and got a glass right away. He held up his glass while inclining his head. “To your strength and valor,” he said mockingly.
“To honor!” I replied, before clinking glasses with him and drinking through another uncontrollable smile.
“Hey…” I whined after a sip, “no fair, your champagne looks cooler than mine since no one put their hot hand on it for a whole five minutes.”
York smiled. “I know,” he said. “Checkmate!” He raised his glass toward mine again, in a playful toast.
“Ugh!” I said, playfully shoving his arm away.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Martha,” I responded.
“Are you one of the Herrera’s?”
“Yes,” I responded. “Theresa Herrera is my cousin. Now Mrs. Bellamy Frank. I thought Bellamy was a girl’s name though…” I said to myself idly. I took a seat at random. Now that the party was going and everyone was dancing, the seating order had been thrown out of the window. Revellers were just sitting close to the buffet or dancefloor, depending on their mood. York sat next to me at a different table.
“You seem to be very concerned with how people are called,” said York.
“When it’s weird, yes.”
“Well, what about Martha? I have only heard this on old women in American TV shows.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Yes,” I said diplomatically. “But that’s in the U.S. In other places, these names are very hip and only given to beauty queens.”
“Oh, ok. My mistake then.”
“Yes. You are from a far away land, I would not expect you to understand,” I said, smiling. He smiled back. I fanned myself as a sudden stroke of heat washed over me. “Give me your champagne, please,” I said, with a fake pout. “This one is too hot. I’m boiling out here.”
“Do you want to trade?” he asked.
I considered for a minute. “Ugh. No. It’s ok. You’re probably hot too. Especially in that suit.”
“I know, this suit really does make me look hot, doesn’t it?”
“No… I…” I stuttered, caught off guard. “You know that’s not…”
He laughed and I rolled my eyes.
“Seriously though,” he continued. “I know that this reception hall has a fountain near the entrance. We could cool our feet in there maybe. And you can tell me more about what interests you in neuroscience.”
I felt my stomach do a small flip. I liked him.
Chapter Three
I heard my phone ring. I suddenly realized my eyes were closed and so I opened them. My body felt sore. I looked around. I had no idea where on earth I was. As I sat up to try to figure out whose luxurious, king-sized bed I was in, I realized I was naked. Panic sprung in my chest. I looked around even more frantically for my phone as it continued to ring.
I finally found it on the bedside table and picked it up. My mother’s voice rattled off in rapid, panicked Spanish. She had not seen me at the end of the night and I wasn’t in my room this morning.
Not wanting to ask her where in my room I would have slept since my bed was currently a dream board, I instead assured her that I was ok and I would see her soon.
But now as I hung up I felt worried.
The night before was a blur. We had spent a crazy amount of time talking, splashing our bare feet in the lit up fountain’s water under the balmy night sky. Miguel kept the refills coming. We talked and drank until it turned into slurring and giggles and disorientation.
That was all I remembered.
Looking at my phone I saw the 1 minute warning that my alarm was about to go off. I opened the app and dismissed the alarm. Then I saw the name on the alarm which read: “Go home before Mom worries”.
So I must have been in a state to make some responsible decisions last night. But where was I?! And had I been here with someone? My heart leapt at the thought of being here with York but at the same time… could I have lost my virginity while I was blackout drunk? Was that even something I wanted to think about? Had I… had I even wanted to?!
I needed answers. I remember I had started up a running joke about taking selfies after Theresa’s bridesmaids had performed a ten minute photoshoot by the fountain the night before. After that, York and I had begun taking stupid selfies of mundane events. I looked in my phone gallery and gasped.
The first photo in the gallery and the most recent was of me with a dick in my mouth! But I was smiling and holding the camera with myself, looking as though I were having an ice cream cone. A big… beefy ice cream cone at that. Before that picture, York and I were dressed in robes, looking in the bathroom mirror, smiling as he held me from behind, one hand reaching into my robe to cup my breast. Again, I was smiling.
I remembered vaguely, actually, taking that photograph. We had been making out just moments before.
The image before that was actually a video. Shakily, I played it.
“—recording?” I was asking while standing near the door of this very room – a hotel room I realized. I was still in my dress from the wedding.