The Birds and The Bees by Morgan Starr
Categories: Contemporary Romance | LGBT
Word Count: 29,690 Heat Rating: 3 Price: $ .99 Available here:
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George is sinking deeper and deeper into despair. Struggling to hold it together since his wife Maggie passed away, relations with seventeen-year-old son Robby, his mates, and his close family are beginning to disintegrate ... not so his love affair with the whiskey bottle.
Revelations from two people close to him shake George out of his stupor and force him to come to terms with his responsibilities, and challenge his lifelong held views on what it means to be a man. I would be very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: MorganStarrAuthor@outlook.com. Please visit my website, www.MorganStarrAuthor.weebly.com, for updates on my next story. Thank you, Morgan Keywords: LGBT, transgender, coming out, gay, parenting, romance |
Chapter One - Fairground Unattraction
“Robert!”
It’s late; gone twelve. I didn’t plan to wait up because I know how much it makes him angry. He thinks I coddle too much. How can I expect him to understand that he is the most precious thing in my life ... and all that’s left of Maggie?
“Why did you wait up? I’m fine, and you know I hate it when you call me Robert. My name is Robby!”
“Your mother christened you Robert.”
“Why do you always dredge up things she said when you want your own way?”
“Rob-”
“I’m going to bed ...”
I should go to bed but I can’t face the emptiness. It’s pitiful and I hate myself for feeling this way, especially since it’s been more than five years since she died. I can’t lie on what was her side of the bed. I can’t replace anything. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without thinking of her - I can’t forget, and I feel guilty for wanting to try. In some ways, she’s more alive in death than I am in this nothingness as I stagger towards my point of singularity. I don’t know what to do for the best anymore ... and Robby is coming up eighteen, and planning to go to University hundreds of miles away.
What the fuck am I going to do without him?
oOo
“Dad ... Dad!”
“W-h-a-t?”
“You fell asleep on the sofa again ... I’ll see you later.”
“W-a-i-t ... Where are you going?”
“Dad! It’s Saturday and I have practice ... just like I do every Saturday. See you later ... and take a shower because you stink.”
The slam of the front door jolts me out of the fog - a whiskey-induced fog. For a minute, I contemplate the steaming cup of tea standing on the small lamp table beside my head.
“Thank you ...”
Taking a sip, eyeing the dog as he eyes me, I threaten, “If you’ve shit on the back door mat, I’m going to kill you.”
A wag of the tail - same reaction to everything. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking dog’s life!
“Robby!”
No fucking sugar in the tea.
A note on the kitchen table says, ‘Now that you’re up, remember that I need picking up at four o’clock. Rx’
“Very funny ... Brick! Brick!”
The dog wanders in, looking guilty for no apparent reason.
“Give me half an hour and we’ll go for a walk, yeah?”
He sidles up and rubs his head on my hand, demanding that I fuss him.
“Robby is leaving; what the fuck are we gonna do without him?”
Soulful eyes that suggest that we might be okay if we can get a grip.
Stumbling across the lounge, heading for the stairs and the bathroom, I catch the unmistakable whiff of dog piss; eyes flick to the corner of the bookcase - sure enough, a fresh pool.
“Brick!”
Sound of claws on the kitchen floor as he bolts for the garden - thwick-thwack goes the door of the dog flap.
“Cunt ...”
Slowly but surely, I piece together the day and perform my duties as diligently as I always did when Maggie was alive. She was life itself - petite, dynamic, pretty, fresh air, energy, witty, loving ... organised! Met her at a dance at the Legion where her dad was gigging with his band. She asked me to dance; I trampled all over her feet. She kissed me, standing on the bench in the park across from her mum and dad’s house; she said, “How tall are you, exactly?” “Six feet six.” “You’ll never make a dancer ... Pick me up tomorrow at eleven o’clock.” “Okay ...”
She kissed me goodnight and floated across the road to her front door, disappearing like Cinderella. I felt like a prince and not a mouse anymore.
She was a tug boat to my super tanker - guiding me through the choppy waters of newly-wedded bliss, a hefty mortgage, and a baby within the first year. Never flustered, always fresh, always sparkling, always happy, and always doing something for someone else - a pocket-sized, strawberry-blonde, cherry-lipped, and pert-breasted, vivacious songbird - my dove, my love, my heart, my soul, my life.
oOo
“Hey, Dad!”
“Hey! How did it go?”
“Picked for the county trials.”
“Well done!”
“Yeah; what are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing; why?”
“Go out.”
“Where?”
“The Legion.”
“Boring as fuck. What are you doing?”
“Nothing much ...”
After picking up Robby from the tennis club where, for a brief time, Maggie and I were also members, we head for the supermarket to stock up on ready-meals.
“Mum would go spare if she knew we were eating this crap.”
“Mum’s dead; and she wouldn’t because she never judged anyone.”
“You don’t need to remind me of that ... I could cook a proper lunch tomorrow and invite gran and grandad if you want ...”
“Can I invite Wilko?”
“Do I know him?”
“Sasha’s friend.”
“Sure; why not Sasha?”
“’Cos I don’t like Sasha and I’m playing doubles with Wilko for the club until I leave for Uni.”
“Why don’t you like Sasha anymore? She’s a nice girl.”
“Dad! ... Can I then?”
“Of course you can. I’ll get a nice bit of beef ... your mum loved a nice bit of roast beef ...”
I find myself alone in the aisle, ostracized again for trying to keep the pieces of the past held together; an ever-thinning veneer that hides an ugly truth - I’m lost without her and sinking fast.
oOo
“You should go out tonight; you never go out anymore.”
“There’s only the Legion, and that’s as boring as fuck.”
“If you don’t go out, you won’t meet anyone.”
“Everyone is down at the Legion; I know where they are.”
“I meant, you won’t meet anyone.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone.”
“Get on your with your life, Dad. Mum wouldn’t have wanted you to be on your own.”
“Since when did you know what your mother would have wanted? You’re always-”
“She wouldn’t have wanted you to be on your own - I know that much. You’re only forty-three.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Do you want anything to eat?”
“No; I’m going out. Can Wilko stay over tonight?”
“You don’t have to ask; is he coming for lunch?”
“Yeah.”
“Good; gran and grandad have said yes. Please don’t be too late tonight.”
“We won’t be; and please go to sleep in your bed for once.”
“Okay! I’ll leave the sofa made up for him ... Put the kettle on, can you?”
“I ain’t your slave; and Brick is chewing his paw again.”
“I’m having that fucking dog put down-”
“No you’re not! He’s mine - mum gave him to me.”
“If he’s yours, fucking walk him occasionally and stump up the cash for the fucking vet!”
SLAM
I want to get off the carousel now, please.
“Robert!”
It’s late; gone twelve. I didn’t plan to wait up because I know how much it makes him angry. He thinks I coddle too much. How can I expect him to understand that he is the most precious thing in my life ... and all that’s left of Maggie?
“Why did you wait up? I’m fine, and you know I hate it when you call me Robert. My name is Robby!”
“Your mother christened you Robert.”
“Why do you always dredge up things she said when you want your own way?”
“Rob-”
“I’m going to bed ...”
I should go to bed but I can’t face the emptiness. It’s pitiful and I hate myself for feeling this way, especially since it’s been more than five years since she died. I can’t lie on what was her side of the bed. I can’t replace anything. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without thinking of her - I can’t forget, and I feel guilty for wanting to try. In some ways, she’s more alive in death than I am in this nothingness as I stagger towards my point of singularity. I don’t know what to do for the best anymore ... and Robby is coming up eighteen, and planning to go to University hundreds of miles away.
What the fuck am I going to do without him?
oOo
“Dad ... Dad!”
“W-h-a-t?”
“You fell asleep on the sofa again ... I’ll see you later.”
“W-a-i-t ... Where are you going?”
“Dad! It’s Saturday and I have practice ... just like I do every Saturday. See you later ... and take a shower because you stink.”
The slam of the front door jolts me out of the fog - a whiskey-induced fog. For a minute, I contemplate the steaming cup of tea standing on the small lamp table beside my head.
“Thank you ...”
Taking a sip, eyeing the dog as he eyes me, I threaten, “If you’ve shit on the back door mat, I’m going to kill you.”
A wag of the tail - same reaction to everything. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking dog’s life!
“Robby!”
No fucking sugar in the tea.
A note on the kitchen table says, ‘Now that you’re up, remember that I need picking up at four o’clock. Rx’
“Very funny ... Brick! Brick!”
The dog wanders in, looking guilty for no apparent reason.
“Give me half an hour and we’ll go for a walk, yeah?”
He sidles up and rubs his head on my hand, demanding that I fuss him.
“Robby is leaving; what the fuck are we gonna do without him?”
Soulful eyes that suggest that we might be okay if we can get a grip.
Stumbling across the lounge, heading for the stairs and the bathroom, I catch the unmistakable whiff of dog piss; eyes flick to the corner of the bookcase - sure enough, a fresh pool.
“Brick!”
Sound of claws on the kitchen floor as he bolts for the garden - thwick-thwack goes the door of the dog flap.
“Cunt ...”
Slowly but surely, I piece together the day and perform my duties as diligently as I always did when Maggie was alive. She was life itself - petite, dynamic, pretty, fresh air, energy, witty, loving ... organised! Met her at a dance at the Legion where her dad was gigging with his band. She asked me to dance; I trampled all over her feet. She kissed me, standing on the bench in the park across from her mum and dad’s house; she said, “How tall are you, exactly?” “Six feet six.” “You’ll never make a dancer ... Pick me up tomorrow at eleven o’clock.” “Okay ...”
She kissed me goodnight and floated across the road to her front door, disappearing like Cinderella. I felt like a prince and not a mouse anymore.
She was a tug boat to my super tanker - guiding me through the choppy waters of newly-wedded bliss, a hefty mortgage, and a baby within the first year. Never flustered, always fresh, always sparkling, always happy, and always doing something for someone else - a pocket-sized, strawberry-blonde, cherry-lipped, and pert-breasted, vivacious songbird - my dove, my love, my heart, my soul, my life.
oOo
“Hey, Dad!”
“Hey! How did it go?”
“Picked for the county trials.”
“Well done!”
“Yeah; what are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing; why?”
“Go out.”
“Where?”
“The Legion.”
“Boring as fuck. What are you doing?”
“Nothing much ...”
After picking up Robby from the tennis club where, for a brief time, Maggie and I were also members, we head for the supermarket to stock up on ready-meals.
“Mum would go spare if she knew we were eating this crap.”
“Mum’s dead; and she wouldn’t because she never judged anyone.”
“You don’t need to remind me of that ... I could cook a proper lunch tomorrow and invite gran and grandad if you want ...”
“Can I invite Wilko?”
“Do I know him?”
“Sasha’s friend.”
“Sure; why not Sasha?”
“’Cos I don’t like Sasha and I’m playing doubles with Wilko for the club until I leave for Uni.”
“Why don’t you like Sasha anymore? She’s a nice girl.”
“Dad! ... Can I then?”
“Of course you can. I’ll get a nice bit of beef ... your mum loved a nice bit of roast beef ...”
I find myself alone in the aisle, ostracized again for trying to keep the pieces of the past held together; an ever-thinning veneer that hides an ugly truth - I’m lost without her and sinking fast.
oOo
“You should go out tonight; you never go out anymore.”
“There’s only the Legion, and that’s as boring as fuck.”
“If you don’t go out, you won’t meet anyone.”
“Everyone is down at the Legion; I know where they are.”
“I meant, you won’t meet anyone.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone.”
“Get on your with your life, Dad. Mum wouldn’t have wanted you to be on your own.”
“Since when did you know what your mother would have wanted? You’re always-”
“She wouldn’t have wanted you to be on your own - I know that much. You’re only forty-three.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Do you want anything to eat?”
“No; I’m going out. Can Wilko stay over tonight?”
“You don’t have to ask; is he coming for lunch?”
“Yeah.”
“Good; gran and grandad have said yes. Please don’t be too late tonight.”
“We won’t be; and please go to sleep in your bed for once.”
“Okay! I’ll leave the sofa made up for him ... Put the kettle on, can you?”
“I ain’t your slave; and Brick is chewing his paw again.”
“I’m having that fucking dog put down-”
“No you’re not! He’s mine - mum gave him to me.”
“If he’s yours, fucking walk him occasionally and stump up the cash for the fucking vet!”
SLAM
I want to get off the carousel now, please.
