The Way It Used To Be - Blake & Ben (Part 11) - Sex Stories

The Way It Used To Be - Blake & Ben (Part 11)

... hard. "I'm sorry, son," he sputters out between sobs. "Uh..." is all I can muster. I've never seen him like this. Not even at Grandma's - his mother - funeral. I mean, I spotted him wiping a tear from his eye; but, nothing like this. "Sit down, there's something I need to say," he says as he releases his hold on me and sits down on the couch. He pats the couch cushion next to him as I slowly sit down. He looks down at the cast on my leg and the crutches on the floor next to my feet. He shakes his head back and forth. "It's all my fault..." he says. "Dad, what are you-..." is all I can get out before he cuts me off. "Blake, your my son and I love you. The way I've acted towards you over the past few months has been nothing short of abysmal. It was all a shock to me, son. Especially the way I found out..." The scene plays back in my head for a split second - Ben and I having sex. Dad walking in. Throwing Ben down to the ground. Kicking him. Kicking him. Kicking him. "Yeah. Trust me, dad. That's not how I wanted to come out to you..." I say. "I know. I just hope Ben will be able to forgive me for my actions. I don't know what happened. Something just snapped when I saw you two. You see, son, I always imagined you marrying a beautiful woman in the future... having children... giving your mother and me some grandbabies. It all festered in my head these past few months and the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. The angrier I got, the more I resented you..." My shoulders ...

... slouch, noticeably. It's one thing for a parent to tell you they're disappointed in you. It's another thing to hear they resent you. To be honest, that line hurt more than any of the gay hate he yelled at me. "Blake, bud, please... Don't get discouraged. I'm not done apologizing. After your mother jog-nogged some sense into me and having time to think while out of town for work, I realized something I should have known all along. Regardless of your sexual orientation, you're still my son. You're still the little boy I used to play catch with in the backyard. The same boy I coached in pee-wee football. The same boy I taught to parallel park a couple of years ago." He smiles, wipes a tear chalked full of memories from his right eye and continues. "I can't replace the past few months that we've lost in our father-son relationship; but, I can damn sure make up for the lost time. If you didn't have any plans this weekend, I'd like to take down to your uncle's cabin for a little getaway. You still like to fish, don't you?" Truth is, I've never been that fond of fishing. But, if it meant there was a chance for my father and I to rekindle our relationship, I was all for it. "You're still jealous that I caught that huge catfish three years ago, aren't you, old man?" I say, teasingly. My father smiles. "You little shit," he says and puts me in a headlock. "I give! I give! I'm crippled over here, ya' know?!" I yell, laughing. My mother peeks her head into the living room. She's smiling ...