Falling Apart

I was married once. My wife was beautiful, and I loved her deeply. We had three children – two girls and a boy – whom I loved more than anything. 

I’d worked close to 80 hours a week to become CEO of my company. I earned a ton of money, and becoming CEO earned me a substantial raise. I was now making multiple millions of dollars a year, plus I could finally cut back my hours and actually spend some time with my family.

That’s when things went wrong in my opinion. During my youngest child’s 10^th birthday party, I was dancing with her when I looked over to see my wife giving me a sour look. After the party, I asked her what was wrong.

“How can you ask me that? We’ve been married for 15 years, and never once have you made it to a single birthday party. Yet, here you are, treating her like a princess and making her forget what a lousy father you are!”

I couldn’t have heard that right. “What?”

“What do you mean what? You’ve never managed to have more than a five minute phone call with any of us on any given day! Did you honestly think that you were being a good father?” She asked.

“I was working as hard as I could to provide for our family! I finally succeeded, and now I plan to spend all my free time making it up to you all.” I defended.

“That’s just it! I’ve gotten so used to you being gone that having you here is making me sick! I can’t stand you, and I don’t want you around my children!”

I was in shock. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and my blood ran cold. It was true that I hadn’t felt passion for my wife in years, but the four of them were my whole world. How could I possibly survive without them? She took advantage of my speechless silence.

“I want you to leave. I plan to file for divorce.”

I was too numb to protest. I am sure I looked like I was about to cry. I was hurt and I needed to find a safe place to breakdown.

There was a comfortable sofa in my office that I had often used to nap, so I went there. I locked myself in, and cried for at least three days straight. Finally, my cell phone rang, and it was my wife calling.

“Hello?” I’m sure my voice was hoarse.

“There’s going to be a knock at your door any minute,” she informed me. “Please answer it.”

I stood, and wiped my eyes, but didn’t try to straighten my disheveled appearance. Sure enough, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to reveal someone in a business suit.

“Are you Randall A. Black?”

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly.

“This is for you, sign here please.”

I signed the official receipt, and took the thick envelope. It turned out to be divorce papers, and I suddenly remembered that my wife was still on the phone with me.

“You can’t do this!” I cried out.

“Why not? I just don’t love you anymore, and I don’t want to put our family through the suffering that is certain to happen with you actually in our lives.”

Ouch! My heart constricted painfully. I still had no idea what to say.

“If you look over the papers, you’ll see that I am not asking for much. I just want the house – you can have anything and everything inside it – and I want you to leave us alone. My lawyer insisted that I add in some money for support, but I don’t care about that.”

It was hard to read the paperwork with tears running down my cheeks, but I managed to read through it all. I asked her questions as needed, and made changes when necessary. After that was done, I faxed a copy to her lawyer. Once he sent me the official paperwork with the changes, I promised to sign it.

I was too hurt to question her; I was too afraid that she would tear me open and expose my beating heart for the world to see. It seemed safer to just give her whatever she wanted… as I had always done. She only wanted the house and a small amount of money each year, so I gave her what she wanted, just like I always had.

Our divorce was finalized a month later, and I moved into a new house. It was much smaller than I was used to, and frankly I could afford a huge mansion, but I just couldn’t bring myself to live in a place with so much empty space. It was a nice one floor, two bedroom house with an office.

I think it took me a year to finally accept what had happened. I was so glad that I wasn’t needed to do much at work, except make decisions. I was good at doing that, even if most of my brain was suffering from a major trauma.

Over the course of that year, I turned 40, my oldest child turned 15, and my youngest turned 11. They had long been used to calling me each day – for five minutes each, as my wife had pointed out – and that continued. Only now that I had more time to talk to them, our calls got longer and longer. We actually seemed to get along pretty well, but my wife – I mean ex wife – still wouldn’t let me visit them. I knew I could fight her over it, but I didn’t want to tear our family apart.

I was so lonely that I started seeing a psychologist just to have someone to talk to. She was sympathetic, and gave me some good advice. One of the things she suggested was to get a roommate. It made sense; if I was so lonely, why not share my house with someone?

I put an ad in the paper, and weeded through applicants. I’d hired – and fired – plenty of people for my company, and I treated this like a job position that I needed to fill. I immediately rejected all of the families or single moms that applied because I just couldn’t handle seeing other children when I couldn’t even see my own. Perhaps I should have specified I would prefer people without children…

Finally, I interviewed one applicant that was 23 years old, and male. He was currently in college, but had previously taken off a year to bike across America. This intrigued me, as did his hobbies, which included mountain climbing and sky diving.

Considering that I had worked hard in school so that I could get into a good college, and then worked hard in college so that I could get into a good company; he was almost the complete opposite of me. He wasn’t slacking off – that I could tell – but he was living his life in a way that I never had! I was almost jealous.

I rented him the spare room, and gave him a list of house rules. I wasn’t trying to be his father, so the rules were simple, no noise after 10PM, and leave me alone if I was working in my office. I wondered how having him in my house would really help me since I was actually avoiding him for the first few weeks.

I’m not sure why I was avoiding him, but every time I heard him come home, I tended to disappear into my office. He was often gone at school, and I think he worked part time to pay his rent, so he wasn’t home often, but when he was, I rarely heard him. He was a model house-mate.

Then, one weekend, I thought he had gone for the day, but was surprised when he joined me for breakfast. He didn’t say much to me, just grabbed a cup of coffee. I nodded to him pleasantly as he sat to drink his coffee.

“Ah!” He sighed with deep appreciation. “I have no idea what kind of coffee this is, but it tastes better than anything I recall drinking.”

“It’s imported…” I mumbled.

He laughed. “Isn’t all coffee imported?”

I nodded, a bit embarrassed that he’d pointed out such an obvious fact. I slathered a bit more butter on my croissant, and watched him inspect one of the croissants on the platter. He smelled it, and then took a bite.

“Mmm, last time I ate one of these, it was stale and slightly moldy, but this is delicious!”

I smiled. “I have a half-dozen fresh ones delivered each morning. I usually only eat two or three for breakfast, but I like having the rest to snack on throughout the day.”

“You do eat other things, right?” He asked me in concern.

“Yes…” I confirmed. I decided not to explain that I went to eat at a spendy five-star restaurant every night. He probably didn’t know that I was a multi-millionaire, and I didn’t want to tell him. It honestly wasn’t any of his business.

We each enjoyed the silence for a few minutes, and then I heard a car stop in my driveway. “Odd…”

“Probably a friend of mine,” he shrugged, grabbed another croissant, and headed for the door.

A minute later, he called out, “Hey, Mr. Black? There’s a woman here for you.”

A woman??? “Bring her here.” I almost blushed as I realized that I had forgotten his name.

“I am so sorry to barge in on you, especially as you’ve been good enough to keep your distance, but…”

I stared at my wife – um ex-wife – in amazement. I hadn’t seen her since she kicked me out, and she still looked gorgeous. Why was she here?

“Well, I was cleaning out our – my room, and I found this. I know your grandfather gave it to you, and I thought that you might want it back.” She held out the pocket-watch that my grandfather had given me on his death bed.

I took it from her, and stared at it. With all that had happened, I’d completely forgotten about it. It was an heirloom, handed to my grandfather by his father, and so on throughout the generations – skipping only my father, who had died before receiving it.

“Why didn’t you give it to RJ?” I asked, referring to our middle child and only son. He was 13 now, and could probably care for it well.

“Because it’s not my place to do so. And besides, I didn’t think the time was right.” She shrugged.

“Amy… Have you reconsidered letting me see the kids? Andrea invited me to a game next week, and Amelia really wants me to come to her dance recital.”

She sighed. “I know that I am being a bitch about this, okay? I’m sorry though, I just don’t think that it’s a good idea for you to get too involved with their lives. They’ve all just adjusted to the fact that we are divorced. I think that seeing you would just hurt them.”

“How long do you plan to make that decision for them?” I asked, growing angry.

She looked away. “I uh… I’m getting married again, and I’m going to be having a baby… After my wedding, then I’ll talk to them about visitation. If they want to see you… well, that’ll be up to them.”

I looked at my watch to hide my disappointment. “Thanks for bringing this over.”

She turned to leave, and wasn’t watching where she was going. As a result, she bumped into my roommate. He held up his hands in apology, and stepped back.

“Who are you?!” My ex demanded.

“My name’s Josh, and I’m just renting a room from Mr. Black.”

“Really? Here I thought you must be his assistant or something.” She turned to look at me again. “Why would you need a roommate?”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. “My therapist suggested I try to fill the empty space in my house – and by extension my life,” I informed her.

“Good luck with that!” She scoffed, and fled.

I just knew I was going to cry again, and wondered how I could excuse myself without making it obvious. Josh stepped closer to me, and placed a hand on my shoulder. I was confused; was he offering me sympathy?

“I’m sorry… if you ever want to talk, I’d be happy to lend an ear.”

I nodded, not intending to ever take him up on that. I felt a tear slide down my cheek, and he brushed it away. He pulled me into a hug, and I was astonished at how good it felt to have someone offer me real compassion. At that moment, it did not feel strange at all that a man was holding me as I cried over my ex-wife’s impending marriage.

After my tears dried, I wondered how to politely tell him to let go of me now. He must have sensed my discomfort, because he pulled back to look at me. The next thing I knew, he was kissing me.

I was too shocked to do anything, and as a result, his kiss continued, and got deeper. I was not interested in men at all, but it had been so long since I’d last had sex. I wondered if I could take advantage of him just long enough to get some real stress relief.

I found myself holding him to me, and kissing him in return. I actually felt passion! I hadn’t felt passion in close to ten years.

I’d thought that it was because I was too busy working, but what if had been because of my wife? What if I just hadn’t realized that she wasn’t attractive to me in that way? I was utterly in love with her, but whenever I thought about her, it wasn’t her body I pictured.

Could I have actually been gay all this time and just not realized it? I seriously doubted that this was the case. When I fantasized about having sex, it was always with women.

I realized that we were now in my bedroom. I’m not sure which of us led the way, but now we were pulling each other’s clothes off, and almost frantically holding on to one another. I hesitated when I saw my bed. Was I really going to do this?

The next moment, he was sucking on my shaft, and it felt so good! I had a strong urge to cum right then and there, but I didn’t want to appear like I had no stamina! I held back for as long as possible, but his mouth was almost an expert at this.

He kept on sucking for a few heart-pounding minutes, and then guided me onto my bed. He got on his hands and knees, and offered me access to his ass. I hesitated again. This wasn’t something I ever thought of doing, but I didn’t think it could be any different that doing anal with my wife – once upon a time ago.

It turns out that I was right. He didn’t feel any different, but at the same time he did. I rode him, and watched in fascination as he used his hand to pump his own shaft.

For not ever wanting to have sex with a man before, I sure took my time! I lasted almost an hour before I was ready to cum again. He had already squirted all over my bed once, and something about how his muscles were getting tighter made me think that he was close to doing it again.

I groaned loudly as I pumped him full, and heard him gasp as he found his own release. I rested my head on his back for a minute, and discovered that I was incredibly sleepy. I pulled out, and collapsed onto my side of the bed. Well, the side I was used to sleeping on when my wife still shared my bed.

I fell asleep before he even moved, and then woke up to find him sleeping next to me. Oh god! What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to think we are in a relationship? Is he going to assume that he can sleep in my bed from now on?

I needed time to process this, and figure out how I felt. I think it may have been stupid to let this happen. I was an asshole for taking advantage of him when I had no intention of continuing on like this. I might just need to evict him.

I decided to go to work, and occupy my mind with something else. I would think about things later on when I was alone. I put on my business face, and pushed my problems to the back of my mind.

Due to our individual schedules, we didn’t see each other for an entire week. He came to breakfast again, and we didn’t say a word to each other until I was finished eating. He looked at me, and I was just as confused as ever.

“So… do you want to do it again?” He asked.

I opened my mouth to refuse, and then kick him out. “Yes.” I think my face must have shown my surprise over that because he laughed.

“Are you sure?” He wondered, obviously able to somewhat read my mind.

“No, but…” I couldn’t accurately describe what I was feeling. I felt need, but more than that, I didn’t want to be alone. I couldn’t kick him out because I was afraid of being all by myself for the rest of my life.

He nodded in understanding, and held his hand out to me. I looked at it carefully, and then placed my hand in his. He led me to my bedroom, and I knew that we were really going to do this again.

Afterwards, he held me as we fell asleep, and I woke up utterly confused once more. I didn’t have any work to do today, so I decided to go play golf. I couldn’t sink a single putt though; I was too preoccupied thinking about him.

We continued on the same way – not seeing or talking to each other most of the time, and then having sex one morning a week – for close to two months before he decided that we really had to talk about our strange half relationship. I was more than a little afraid that he was tired of my using him, and planned to leave.

“Next week is my last week of school, and then I will be graduated,” he told me.

“With a degree?” I wondered? He couldn’t have possibly been in college long enough to finish a degree.

“Yes, well, a diploma. I’ll be a certified fitness trainer.”

“I see…” They didn’t have those sporty careers when I was his age. I couldn’t deny that it suited him though. “What do you plan to do then?”

“Well, I was hoping to tour more of the country on my bike.”

My heart sank a little. “So, you’re leaving then?”

He smiled a little. “I was hoping that you would come with me. I don’t know what your job is, but surely you can take a few weeks of vacation time.”

I thought this over. I wasn’t sure that I could handle being alone with him for so long. What if I got totally attached to him, and then he decided that it wasn’t working out between us after all?

On the other hand, what would I do if he just left without me? It might seem like the best course of action – to end it now before it got complicated – but it was a bit painful to think about. I suddenly realized that I didn’t know how to make a relationship work!

I’d always just done what I felt I had to so that my family had what they needed, but that hadn’t worked. Even with Josh, I hadn’t done anything to spend time with him. We’d basically just had sex one day a week. That wasn’t a real relationship.

I sighed. “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.

He nodded, and took my hand. We went to my room, and had sex again. I was grateful that he wasn’t pushing me to make a decision, but then I felt disgusted with myself. Isn’t making decisions what I do best?

His classes concluded, and he had a week of free time before his graduation ceremony. I worked from 10-2 each day, but other than that and commuting time, I spent all my time with him. We had sex every night, and he slept in my bed.

I watched him sleep, and realized that this was almost what a real relationship was supposed to be. The only thing missing was talking about anything and everything. Strangely, every time one of us would try to start a conversation, the other would suddenly want sex! This was good for our sex life, but bad for our communication skills.

The vast majority of our sex was almost exactly the same as the first time. I hadn’t touched his dick, or let him do me because I kept telling myself that if we left things the way they were, I could pretend that he was a woman – one that really liked anal, but definitely not a gay man having sex with me.

Today, after we’d had sex and a nap, I found him watching me with a strange expression. I closed my eyes again, and tried to pretend I was still asleep. Finally, his gaze burned into me, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“You want to do me, don’t you?” I stated more than asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

I didn’t respond, but neither did I stop him when he started stroking my shaft. If I let him do this, it would be official. I’m not sure I could ever call myself gay, but I would officially be in a gay relationship.

He helped me to my knees, and positioned me just right. If I had any objections, now was the time to voice them. I bit my lip, and nervously trusted him.

He was aware that I had never done anything like this before. It must have been obvious by the way I acted towards him those first few times. He was gentle, and used an oil for lubrication. He even managed to keep one of his hands on my shaft. His strokes kept me relatively relaxed, and I was able to concentrate on what he was doing without tensing up.

It hurt a bit at first, but then I noticed that as he rubbed one spot in particular, I felt… amazing! I moaned and cried into the mattress, and thoroughly enjoyed every thrust! Please don’t stop, don’t ever stop, I silently begged.

When I ejaculated all over my bed, I actually shuddered from the intensity. At the same time, I could feel him cumming inside me, and I had no regrets. It was official, we were lovers. I waited for him to pull out, and then held him as we lay in bed.

“I’m going to get the time off so that I can go with you,” I whispered in his ear.

“Really?” He asked – his voice reminiscent of a boy getting exactly what he wanted for Christmas. 

I nodded, and he hugged me joyfully. Our lips joined, and refused to be separated for at least a few minutes. Strange, but making him happy made me happy!

A year later, I was amazed at how wonderful my life was. My work was great, my ex finally let me see the kids on occasion, and I was in a relationship with a man who loved me completely. I even hummed whenever I was alone!

I looked at my cell as it rang, and smiled. My eldest daughter, Andrea. She was 16 now, and I was amazed at how grown up she was.

“Hi sweetheart, how are you?” I asked her.

“I’m… fine… Um dad? Is it true, are you really gay?”

This was still a sticky question, because I did not consider myself to be gay. I just happened to be in a relationship with a man. I considered my response carefully.

“Well, honey… I don’t think so, but…”

“Then Josh is not your lover?” Andrea asked.

“He is… how did you find out?”

Andrea hesitated before answering. “Mom was arguing with her husband, and he yelled, ‘no wonder your last husband turned gay!’ That made mom cry and RJ try to attack, but I realized that he might be right.”

“What?! Your mom did not turn me gay! I’m with Josh because I love him,” I blurted, and then realized that it was true. My eyes flew to my lover as I remembered that he was sitting three feet from me.

“’Bout time,” he muttered, referring to the fact that I had never once confessed this to him. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself because then I would be devastated if he came to his senses and left. We were almost 20 years apart, after all.

“You really love him?” Andrea asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“I’m glad, daddy,” Andrea said and I could tell that she was smiling. “I always felt like mom treated you horribly when she kicked you out, and you sounded so depressed on the phone for a long time. I’m glad you were able to move on and fall in love again.”

“And you don’t mind that I’m in love with a man?” I pushed for clarification.

“If he makes you happy, then I really don’t care if he is a man or even an alien!”

I was so proud of my daughter at that moment, I felt like crying again. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to hang up now, but I plan to tell mom that she has to finally grow up. You are my dad, and your lover is my family too. We have the right to see you no matter what she says, and if she makes a fuss, I’ll threaten to sue her!”

“Oh Andrea…” I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I should tell her not to, but I could bring myself to actually do so.

“I’m going to tell her that you invited us kids over for dinner next Friday, so be prepared for that. And don’t worry… I’ll make sure that RJ and Amelia have dealt with the news. I am sure they’ll be so happy to see you that they won’t care.”

I wasn’t so certain, but I was happy that she was making the effort.

“I love you,” I informed her.

“I love you too, daddy,” she said as she hung up.

I turned to face Josh. He grinned at me, and said, “I take it things are going well?”

I was too emotional to speak, and he knew it. He took my hand, and led me to our bedroom. I still didn’t feel like I was a gay man, but I did know for certain that I didn’t ever want anyone else in my bed or in my heart.

Go To Sequel!