Happy Father's Day, Dad

Happy Father’s Day, Dad

Jason and I have been together for nearly a dozen years. We married in 2016. Shortly after the Supreme Court ruling in Obergefell v. Hodges made it legal for same-sex couples to do so. It would be cliché to say we have enjoyed wedded bliss since then but, for all intents and purposes, we have. Our first six years were a bit rocky, but I thought we had worked out all the glitches by the time we exchanged vows. Jasons recent revelation about a time in his past has sent me into a tailspin. I’m not sure what to do, what can be done. It’s all so shocking and uncharacteristic of him.

I was born in a small mid-western town. He’s a big city boy. I have a two-year completion certificate from a community college. He has a PhD. In philosophy from Oxford. I am a successful fashion designer, and he works for IBM’s HR department. I design and create many of the clothes he wears and enjoy the process, especially the fittings. He swears he doesn’t mind standing in for a manikin. We live in Boston, MA. We own our home (mortgage free) and share it with Tootsie, a French poodle and Skar, my Siamese cat. We are supportive of our local gay community and active in local politics. Jason held an office on the city council for two years before we met. In fact, we met at a council meeting the night I spoke in favor of a petition to expand voting rights to out-of-state students by providing drop boxes on campus.

We have season tickets to the Opera and the Boston Symphony. We vacation in Barbados or on Fire Island, NY depending on our mood when we book the airfare. We dine out with another gay couple once a month and enjoy a circle of friends that numbers in the dozens. We often entertain with catered dinner parties. Our lives are full of fun and excitement and the freedom that comes from having no children. We are monogamous for the most part having engaged in a three-way exactly four times in the last five years, always as a lark while on vacation. (Our version of when in Rome do as the Romans do.) Jason is a tall, dark and handsome well-built stud (in my eyes) and I appreciate that he keeps himself fit and healthy without turning into a gym rat.

I trust I provide a similar eye-candy for him with my six-foot, two, lanky, swimmers build, blond hair, blue eyes and ample endowment. We have always been adventurous in the sex department, having toyed with various toys and role-playing. If you ask him, he’d say he’s a versatile top and I gladly admit to being a power bottom. I’ve initiated most of our sexual explorations. He seems most aroused when we play master and slave. He doesn’t know how to tie a knot, so he usually ends up in the slave role. Many thanks to the Boy Scouts of America.

We are both proud of our Fathers and though both of them have passed away, we were celebrating Father’s Day by enjoying my mother’s recipe for Shepherd’s Pie, Jason’s cell phone went off. We have an unwritten rule to not bring our phones to the table, so he politely ignored the ringing. Two minutes later, it rang again. Again, he ignored the interruption. It rang again just as we were finishing up dinner and he asked if I would mind if he answered it. As I cleared our plates I said, “Sure, go for it. Someone is anxious to reach you.”

As I carried the dishes into the kitchen, I heard him answer the phone and ask who was calling. There was no sound from him for the longest time. He stood by the credenza and listened intently to whoever was talking to him. His face went white, as if he were hearing bad news. He didn’t speak. He avoided looking at me. I stopped and waited for him to say something. Finally, he spoke into the phone. “Yes, do that. Now is fine yes.” And then he hung up. I waited. He stood motionless, staring at the phone in his hand.

“What is it? Jason? Bad news?”

“The call was from someone in my past. A woman. I met her fifteen years ago. Her name is Jenny.”

In the twelve years I had known Jason, we had often reminisced about our lives before we met, but he had never mentioned a woman named Jenny.

I asked, “you told her to do something, that now would be fine. What did you mean?” Before he could answer me, the doorbell rang.

“She said she was just outside and would have to see me. That would be her at the door.”

I went to the door giving him a look of bewilderment. What the hell? Jenny was a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman who could easily be mistaken for my twin sister. But she wore three-inch-high heels making her somewhat shorter than me. I didn’t say a word but motioned for her to enter. She stepped into the foyer. Jason reached out his arms to give her a hug. He was smiling. She hesitated and then went to him quickly, crossing the area. They embraced like long lost lovers. As it turns out, they were long lost lovers.

Jenny pulled back from Jason. She said, “I’m sorry to bother you after all these years but there’s no one else I can turn to. When you left me fifteen years ago, I knew it was because you had finally come to peace with being gay. I knew how you had struggled with that whole “coming out” thing. But I was so in love with you, Jason. I did an awfil thing.”

Jason said, “I’m so sorry, where are my manners? Jenny Phelps, this is my husband, Harry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Harry. Sorry I barged in like this. It must be quite a shock to you.”

“You can’t imagine how shocked we are, Ms. Phelps,” I quipped.

Jenny addressed Jason. “Remember that wild party a week before you left? I knew you would be leaving California and I would never see you again. At that party, I slipped you a mickey so I could get pregnant.”

“Excuse me?” I interrupted the blonde as she related her indiscretion. “You knocked him out so he could knock you up? Jason, what the hell is this all about?”

“Please, Harry. He doesn’t know anything about this. It was all me. Jason could never get an erection as many times as I tried to have sex with him. From the moment I met him I knew I wanted to have his baby. I thought this would be the only chance I had to make that happen.”

“What the hell are you saying,?” Jason asked.

She started to cry. “I’m so sorry Jason. I used you. I drugged you and while you were passed out, I played with your penis until you got an erection. I gave you a blow job and a hand job until you ejaculated. I collected your sperm and used my fingers to insert it in my vagina.”

“You did what?” I exploded in a rage of incredulity.

Jason grabbed Jenny and pulled her sobbing body to himself. He hugged her closely, consoling her, calming her.

“There, there,” he cooed. “It’s alright. That was so long ago. Nothing came of it. It’s alright, now.”

“Oh Jason. No. Something did come of it. It was awful of me to never tell you until now. You have, we have a son.”

Jason let go of the woman who had technically raped him, stealing his semen to impregnate herself. She got hold of her crying enough to apologize again.

“Save your apologies, Jenny. How dare you keep this secret for fifteen years? I became a father fifteen years ago and you never said a fucking word about it? What the fucking hell, Jenny?”

“I’m sorry”

“Stop apologizing for Christ’s sake, woman. You have a lot of nerve coming here and spilling the beans after fifteen years. How totally selfish and hateful you have been. Have you even said hello in all that time? Not even a Christmas card. And why should we believe you now?”

Jason stopped me with that “look”.

Jenny. I forgive you for everything. I am pleased that I was able to give you the child you wanted. I wish I had known sooner. I would have been a part of the boys’ life. I would have been a good dad. Does he know who his father is?”

“He does now. He insisted on knowing when I told him his father is gay.”

“I can just imagine that conversation,” I mused out loud. “By the way boy, I stole sperm from a guy passed out at a party who wouldn’t fuck me because he was gay.”

Jenny went on, “It may have never come out, but he’s has been a troublesome child his whole life. Now that he’s in his teens, he’s impossible to live with. The last two years he’s just gotten more rebellious and confronting. Then last week he thought he would shut me up. He yelled I’m gay, okay? Don’t you get it? I’m gay. Hell, I didn’t know. I should’ve figured it out. I’m such an awful mother.”

Jason comforted her again by saying, “No, no you aren’t an awful mother. An awful mother would have kicked him out of the house.”

“I sort of did. He’s outside - in the car. I told him to go live with his gay father.”

Just at that moment, the front door was flung open. A fifteen-year-old stood in the doorway. His hair was dyed the six colors of the rainbow flag. His nail polish was black. His skinny jeans did little to conceal bulging similarities to Jason’s body type. He smiled, looking first at his mother, then at me and finally locking eyes on my husband. He said, “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

Mark turned out to be a wonderful kid. He moved in with us that very night and within two years, had graduated from high school with honors. He is now a well-adjusted gay man living in New York taking acting lessons at the Julliard. I told you this story as a dare to reveal something truly awful about my partner. What happened to him was the awful part. His semen was taken while he was unconscious. That is awful. The woman who duped him didn’t bother to tell him he had a son for fifteen years. That was awful.

But the end of the story is just awfully good. I adopted my husband’s son.