Hooking Up with the Trophy Boy and his Dad

Plains, April 2016

I'm at the Orthopedic Clinic to see a doctor about my knee injury.  I still have Troy as my emergency contact.

"What is he?" the receptionist asks.  "Your son, your brother...."

I look around to see if anyone can hear before outing myself with "My ex-boyfriend."

The lady behind me is staring at a cell phone, oblivious.

Behind her is a family:
1. The husband in his 50s, bearded, a little chunky, Anglo.  Rather attractive, but with a nasty scowl.
2. The wife, in her 40s, short, black-haired, Hispanic.
3. The son, a teenager with his arm in a sling.  Slim, dark-skinned, curly black hair, stunningly handsome.

If he was gay, he would be a Trophy Boy, so hot that guys would compete over him, and his boyfriend would have to fight off predatory cruising.

Obviously hetero -- he's wearing a t-shirt with semi-naked ladies on it. But...he's smiling at me!

I smile back.

I take a seat in the waiting area, fill out my medical history, and glance up every now and then.  The lady with the cell phone is at the receptionist's desk.  The Trophy Boy is still waiting with his parents.  He glances back and smiles.

When I finish, Trophy Boy is at the receptionist's desk.  I bring it up, say "Excuse me," and reach out to touch his arm (not the one in the sling). Dad pulls him back protectively.

His form is on the desk: Adam M---I can't read the rest.

I go back to my seat.  Trophy Boy tries to sit across from me, but Dad steers him away .

 They are called in first.

Will this be one of those glimpses of great beauty that we remember forever, even though we never speak and never touch?

The nurse leads me to an examination room just as Trophy Boy and his Dad are heading toward the x-ray room.  His shirt is off.  Smooth brown skin, flawless, small nipples, an outtie belly button.

"They got you going through the works," I say brightly.

"Yeah.  They think I broke my radial head bone.  You have to wait three weeks after the accident to take the x-rays."

 A moment later he is whisked away, but I definitely saw him checking out my crotch.

Trophy Boy is gay after all, or at least interested, and stunningly beautiful.

All I have to do is find out who he is, make sure he's of legal age, and draw him away from his overprotective father.

1.  I scour all of the friends lists of my Facebook friends, figuring that if he's gay, he must know one of them.

Nope.

2. I look for him in Grindr, Scruff, and Adam4Adam.

Nope.

3. I check the University directory for an Adam M---.  Too many names pop up.

4. A sports injury three weeks ago.  What sport is played in March?  It's too early for baseball, too late for basketball.

Radial head bone -- an elbow injury.  Tennis!

5. It's too early for anyone to be playing on an outdoor court, but interscholastic tennis is a possibility.  I check the schedules of all of the high schools and colleges in the area.

Bingo!  He's Adam Martinez, a senior at East High, on the honor roll, the debate team, and the tennis team.

Senior, of legal age.

6. He's not going to be playing, certainly, but he will be watching the last game of the season.

So will I, after doing some research on the sport.

7. The game isn't well attended -- it's easy to spot Adam in the bleachers, and "accidentally" pass him.

"Hi!" he calls immediately.  "I didn't know you were a tennis fan."

"Oh, yeah, big time," I lie.

He scoots over so I can join him.  Our legs rub together.  He's definitely cruising me!

Tennis games are long and boring, giving us lots of opportunities to chat.  Adam is out to his parents.  They like his boyfriend, and treat him like family. They have an open relationship like the one Lane and I had in West Hollywood -- both partners have to be there for the bedroom activities.

After the game, Adam invites me to his boyfriend's apartment to "share."

What does the boyfriend of a Trophy Boy look like?  Two stunningly handsome twinks in my bed! I'm dying with anticipation.

We drive to one of the big apartment complexes near the campus.  Adam slides his key into the lock, pushes open the doorway, and yells "It's me.  I brought someone."

"Great, bring him in!" a voice calls.

We walk into the living room.  A gay porn movie is playing on tv.  And sitting in an easy chair, naked, fondling himself:

"Wait...you're Adam's Dad!"

Adam laughs.  "Are you crazy?  I mean, I like older guys, but....anyway, Dad's not hot."

"But...at the doctor's office."

"Dad had to work, and Mom and me don't have cars, so Stuart offered to drive us."

Overwhelmed, I sit on the floor.  Adam's Faux Dad holds out an aroused Mortadella that would be impressive if I wasn't so embarrassed.

"Don't worry, it happens all the time," he says.  "Good for keeping our relationship closeted.  But there's a big difference between me and Adam's Dad. Want to see what it is?"

"I think I have a pretty good idea already."  I kneel and go down on him while Adam deftly unzips me.

The night turns out fine: Stuart is a macho top, only interested in receiving oral and topping, but Adam is versatile at oral and a good kisser.

By the way, uncut Bratwurst beneath the belt, and versatile in spite of having an arm in a sling.

 Unfortunately, they have another rule: you can bring home any guy you want, but only once.  And we can't even become friends.  Next month, right after graduation,  they're moving to Bozeman, Montana together.

How come, after three years in Plains, I never met them?

Well, three years ago, Adam was fifteen.

At least I spent the night with a Trophy Boy.  And his Dad.

See also: The Boy with Daddy Issues; Alan Hooks up with a (Real) Father and Son; and The Weirdest Place to Pick Up a Twink.