Since Alek was 22 and I was 40, the roles were obvious. Not too long ago, while Alek was still working in Barcelona, we offered a very sexy four-hands massage we named “ Daddy & Son“. I am sure psychologists are able to explain it -maybe analysing one’s childhood. Obedience, authority, though also crossing the red lines of incest. No matter what age you are, you’d want to be the son or the father. I hope the same is true for you.Father and son is one of the most recurring erotic fantasies. His boyfriend came to visit with us last month, and he seems like a really nice person. This is also fine.ĭavid is 21 now, and a junior in college. They might have drawn their own conclusions from his posts, but none of them have said anything. Some of our family and friends are Facebook friends with my son. We haven’t told everyone in our lives, which is fine. I’m happy to report that his reaction was entirely positive, and filled with love and support for young David. I had been holding off telling him simply out of fear that he would react negatively, and reject my son in the process. I took this opportunity to finally let my father know. Both young men have huge smiles on their faces.
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They were equally supportive, and allowed us to feel and be ourselves.Įarly in 2016, David changed his relationship status on Facebook, and followed up the news with a black and white photograph of him and his new boyfriend. There were individuals there, too, who had come out to their own parents in the past.
There were other parents there who had been through the same thing with their own children. We attended monthly meetings at our local PFLAG. David didn’t come out to the entire world, and we didn’t feel comfortable coming out for him. While our son may have come out of the closet, his mom and I quickly entered one. They spoke of gay couples who had married, who had children, who lead happy and productive lives. During what was probably a 45-minute call, members of my local PFLAG patiently listened to my worries, while responding to them with positive stories of hope and love that made me feel much better. They were tremendously supportive, offering to speak with me by phone the very next day. I quickly found a link to the Greater Boston PFLAG. Thankfully, one of the best things I chose to do on day one was to research support groups for parents like me-parents of a child who is gay. It didn’t last long, but I remember thinking about some stupid things at the time, including the fact that my son probably wouldn’t be taking a girl to senior prom, if he went at all. You are filled with worries about your child’s long-term happiness, that they will be safe from harm, that they will not be rejected by family and friends. If I remember anything about those first days and weeks, it is that your mind thinks of nothing else except your child. Instead, my wife and I assure David that we love him more than he could know, and say we are here for him, no matter what. I’m 1,500 miles and a week away from being home. I wish I could be there to hug my son, but that will have to wait.
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She lets me know that our son is gay, that he left a note for her the previous evening. In the second it takes me to say I am sitting down and ask what’s wrong, my heart is already in my throat, fearing that she’s about to tell me someone has died. When I call my wife to say good morning, she asks if I’m sitting down, because she has something to tell me. I’m in the middle of a two-week business trip, and I’m waking up in New Orleans, LA. It’s early Sunday morning in December 2012.