I will never forget the day school let out at the end of May. As usual, Dad took off, Mom always knew he was cheating on her, but she couldn't afford a divorce but this year, something was different. About two weeks later, Mom sat me down and said that Dad filed for a divorce. She was crying and handed me the letter he sent her.
I know this will be hard to hear, but I found someone that I really love. I am filing for divorce, and if you do not contest this, you can keep the house, your car and the kids. I never wanted any of that anyway, especially the kids. I do still love you, and I hope you can move on without me.
I know it will be hard for you, so my lawyer suggested I give you a one-time lump sum of five hundred dollars. Don't ask for anything else, because you will not get it. Also, if you contest this, I will go after my share of the house.
Your soon to be ex-husband,
As soon as I read it, I was pissed. Why did Mom let me see this? I hated my dad for writing that letter; I hated Dad for cheating on Mom; I hated Dad for not wanting us; I hated Dad.
So, Mom started working three jobs to try paying bills. She was home long enough to sleep and eat breakfast. I rarely got to see her, except on the weekends. To help out, I watched after my three-year-old twin siblings. They were no fun to play with, all those two girls wanted to do was play with their dollies. At least watching after them was easy, but I was mad at my dad for me having to do his job of helping raise them.
The day before Independence Day, Gramma and Grampa Jenkins came to visit. It was the twins' birthday and when they saw how hard things were on Mom, they suggested that the twins stay with them. They only had one spare bedroom, so it made sense if they took any of us in, it would be them. I thought they meant through the week, then the twins would be home so Mom could spend time with them, but that first weekend, they didn't come home.
The following Monday morning, Mom didn't go in for work. This was the job where she made the most money, so I asked why she was still at home. She told me, "They closed down. Friday was everyone's last day."
"Mom, I know I am only fourteen, but I can do a paper route or something to help," I offered.
Before she could answer, there was a knock on the door. It was Children's Protective Services, and when I answered the door, they kind of forced their way in. "We received a complaint that your children were not being properly taken care of. We also received notification that you signed over custody of your girls to your parents."
Mom sat there crying, nodding her head. The lady looked at me, "Gather your things, you will be coming with us."
"I want to stay with Mom, she needs me," I cried.
"When your mother gets back on her feet, she can petition the court to regain custody. By you coming with me, you will be a big help to your mother."
A man walked me to my bedroom. I kept looking back, watching Mom crying as the lady tried comforting her. I worried about Mom but also thought, maybe if it WAS just Mom, she could take time to get financially stable, but I knew the next day, that was never going to happen.
The day after I was taken from her, I was told that Mom was gone. Mom had lit a cigarette and must have fallen asleep and dropped it. She never even smoked, but that is what they told me. She had a modest funeral as there was no insurance.
That was over two years ago, and a man was visiting the group home I was in today. He looked to be in his early twenties and told the headmaster that he was looking to foster a boy. "What age range are you interested in?"
"Well, I know some of the older teens are hard to find homes for, I would like to give one of them the opportunity to have a real life, maybe a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old?"
The man had already filed to be a foster parent; he said he applied last week. He had his home inspection and was already approved. He showed the headmaster his paper work. "Everything looks to be in order, do you have a bank account for the check to be directly deposited into, or would you prefer regular mail?"
"I don't have an account set up yet," the man said. "I have no need for the money, and I plan to establish an account strictly used for the boy, then he will have a different account where an allowance will be placed, and the balance of the will be given to him when he ages out of foster care. That is, if I don't adopt him."
"And do you have any specific boy in mind?"
"Well, I would like to see what boys are available to foster, then possibly adopt, but no, other than my age preference, I don't have any particular boy in mind."
I was busy vacuuming the hall when they came out of the office. The man stood five feet eleven inches and weighed probably one eighty-five. Being sixteen, I wasn't much smaller than him. I was five feet ten inches and a solid one fifty. I thought he was very attractive. Sure, he is probably around five to ten years older than me, but age is just a number, right? Oh, if you haven't figured it out, I am gay, but I am not out. I was having a hard enough time being placed due to my age, how many people want to foster or adopt a sixteen-year-old gay boy, or as I hear the other boys call us, "a fag."
When I saw him, I must have smiled because he smiled at me and asked the headmaster if I was available for fostering.
The headmaster began telling the man about me, "Zack is a bright boy who has had a bit of bad luck. He came to us two years ago. Since then, he has been very respectful, and does what he is told. Unfortunately, because of his age, he is hard to place. He would be the type of boy you are looking for. If you would like to use a conference room to chat with him, you may."
"Zack, my name is Jase Alexander. Would you be interested in staying with me, at least for a few days, and seeing if we are compatible? If so, I would be interested in fostering you, and possibly adopting you."
I couldn't speak, I was in shock, so instead, I hugged the man. I wanted to kiss him but thought that might scare him off. He smelled as good as he looked.
Jase Alexander and I were left alone in a conference room. Jase began the conversation by saying, "If you come live with me, the number one rule is, we respect each other. If you ever feel that I am disrespecting you, call me out on it. And I will do the same."
"But what if you feel I am disrespecting you? Honest, I have no intention of it, but what if I do, maybe by accident?"
"Hmmm, that is a good question," Jase stated. "If I disrespect you, all you can do is say something, you can't punish me. If you disrespect me, I have the ability to punish you. That doesn't seem fair, does it? What do you think sounds fair?"
"As I said, I don't plan to disrespect you, and I have a feeling you won't purposefully disrespectful me, but if either of us slip, we should talk about it, and whoever was in the wrong should apologize."
"That sounds fair." We chatted some more, and I really liked this guy. If he said he wanted to marry me, I would have probably said yes. Anyway, he decided that I was the boy he wanted to take home, he didn't even look at any other boys.
We got home and he showed me to my bedroom. We chatted while I put what little I had away. Once I was done, I asked, "Do you mind if I get comfortable?"
"This is your home for as long as you want it to be. I want you to be comfortable in it."
"For me, comfortable means nothing except my boxer briefs on. You don't mind?" I warned.
"Zack, as long as it is just us, you can run around naked for all I care, but when we have company, I expect shorts and a tee shirt minimum."
I questioned, "Before I undress, are you gay?"
"Do I like guys? Yes, I am gay. Will I try molesting you? No, most gay guys don't do that. There are some who might, but there are more straight guys who molest than gay guys."
"What if..." I was feeling nervous, "what if I wanted you to fuck me?"
"Not until you are eighteen. Once you hit eighteen, I may consider it."
"But the age of consent in Texas is seventeen and I will be seventeen on my next birthday."
Jase asked me, "I take it, you are gay?" I nodded my head. "Zack, you are a very handsome young man, and if you were eighteen and my boyfriend, I would love having sex with you. You are sixteen and in foster care, so if I did it now, you would be taken away and I could go to jail."
"Talking with you, I fell in love with you," I admitted.
"I think I may be in love with you, too. You'll be eighteen soon enough and if we still feel this way, maybe we can explore it. Make yourself comfortable, and I am going to strip to my boxer briefs."
I urged, "I wouldn't mind if you got naked."
"No, Zack, I think I need to leave something to your imagination. Besides, what we just revealed to each other, I think it is best."
"Can we at least kiss?" I was trying.
"Kissing, hugging and snuggling are acceptable, but nothing even remotely like sex, and definitely NO public displays of affection. I never want to lose you."
"Do you mind if I ask your age?"
Jase smiled, "I just became old enough to foster a week ago today."
"I have almost six months until I turn seventeen, so you are four years and six months older than me?"
Jase left and I started to strip. I decided to leave my boxer briefs on, I mean, if I couldn't see his cock, why should he be able to see mine. Once I was comfortable, I found Jase in the kitchen. He was making a tomato sauce using roma tomatoes, basil, oregano and a few other Italian spices. He added finely chopped onions, green peppers and mushrooms.
He left the sauce simmering while he boiled some water and added lasagna noodles. When he wasn't looking, I dipped my pinky into his sauce. I never tasted sauce so good. I think I made a noise because he chuckled, "You really like my sauce, do you?"
I teased, "Well, it isn't the sauce of yours I really want to taste, but it is good."
"When you are eighteen, Son, when you are eighteen." Him calling me "son" sounded good, but I would rather that he call me a sweet nickname like "sweetie," "babe" or something of that nature. I really did love him, or at the very least, lust for him.
"You'll be sorry when I get a boyfriend in school."
"Not as long as you are happy."
I pushed, "Well if you really want me happy..."
"On your eighteenth birthday, not a day before. Capisce?"
"Yeah, but you can't blame me for trying. Can I help with supper?"
"Sure, watch the noodles while I grind some venison, bison and beef. When the timer goes off, gently drain them." I'd like to watch his noodle, I thought, but he wouldn't give in. He claimed that he loved me too much to give in. I felt at home and am looking forward to my eighteenth birthday. Why does it have to be a year and a half away?