The Good Son by Oscar Orland
Every gay publisher should have an AIDS story on their list. The Good Son by Oscar Orland is ours. Gay life in the 80’s almost crumbled under the threat of AIDS. Conspiracy theories abound of how this devastating, and, at the time, fatal disease launched it’s scathing attack on gay society. This is the story of two young men caught in the web. It’s a powerful essay, not just another AIDS story. It’s hard hitting and pulls a punch. It’s harrowing. It’s funny. It’s sad. But most of all, the story needs to be told lest we forget those who passed during this ugly plague. The Good Son is available from Smashwords and Amazon and from the CoolDudes Publishing website.
“Oh, what a tragic web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”
London in the 1980s. Billy, aged forty, is lonely and closeted. He lives with Agnes, to whom he is a dutiful son. She is unaware of his sexual orientation. Billy has no success with gay partners until he unexpectedly meets the younger, highly desirable Carl. The two fall in love and form a passionate, sexually fulfilling relationship, much to Agnes’s homophobic chagrin. She disowns her only son and orders him from her house.
Exciting new vistas open for Billy when he moves in with the sexually uninhibited Carl and is launched onto the buzzing London gay scene.
All is perfect until both men meet temptations in the shape of handsome, sexually charismatic actor, Tony, and lusty cockney lad, Ted, with whom they form sexual liaisons that they keep secret from each other. They both believe that they can have their cake and eat it as a web of deception weaves around them, from which escape seems impossible.
As the decade proceeds, AIDS rears its ugly head, adding complex and tragic strands to the web. Will the web be broken, to allow the victims to escape?
Available at the following Fine retailers and publishers:
They could hardly have been less alike.
David is striking, blond with an ice melting smile, and possesses an unmistakable gift as a fiction writer. Wyatt is as plain as paper, white as a ghost, graceless, and a celebrated oil painter. He is single and he is out.
Both men are sent to Puffin Island and, within days of their arrival a young woman is washed ashore, frozen and unresponsive after her kayak crashes against the rocks. David and Wyatt save her life. Days later, Wyatt is charged with rape, and, while authorities investigate, the woman’s nineteen-year old twin brothers paddle their way to Puffin to teach Wyatt a lesson. Their goal, to avenge their sister.
David’s heart struggles with his embedded childhood dogma and lethally homophobic parents, propelling him to establish a bond of love with Wyatt, and, when the unthinkable happens, Wyatt is devastated and left alone. He turns to the unlikeliest of characters to fill the void, a person who will teach him an important lesson; that to love again he must sacrifice a need that had been created by his past with David.
Buy from Amazon.
The helicopter’s rotors returned to life. The chopper lifted and disappeared toward the Maine coast.
“That fucking whore,” I said, having contained my fury as long as I could.
Both of us were too upset to think dinner, so we downed cheddar and crackers and one of the bottles of white wine I’d stuffed in my knapsack.
“How are you holding up?” David asked, sitting at the other end of the sofa.
“My stomach has been in knots since the uniforms dropped their life threatening bomb on me.”
“Mine too, and I’m not even the subject of their investigation.”
“I’m going to bed and read and see if that will take my mind off this shit.”
“I’ll write for a while. Maybe I can put something on paper that’s funny or full of wisdom.” He kissed my forehead, again. “We’ll get through this together, Wyatt. I know you are completely innocent. You saved that liar’s life.”
“Thanks, my friend. Your word is all I’ve got going for me.”
I closed the door to the room and stood there, staring at nothing. I have never been aroused by women, even the most beautiful or the cutest. I visualized my life in a cold, dark prison somewhere for a crime I didn’t and couldn’t have committed.
I must have cried louder than I thought.
A few minutes later David opened the door and sat on the edge of my bed and lightly massaged my shoulders.
“Here, let me give you a good rub down, Wyatt; a back buffing you won’t soon forget.” He went to the bathroom and returned with a bottle of baby oil sitting in a bowl of hot water while I kicked off the covers. He put his hands on my back, feeling the various muscles for tightness and knots, slathering the warm oil on my shoulders and rubbed gently.
His ministrations became stronger and firmer with time, although his actions were quite slow. He drizzled the oil on my mid back, the area between my shoulder blades and then repeated his technique on the lumbar region of my spinal column. The massage freed my mind, made me feel less threatened. He blotted the oil with paper towels and then used a warm wet washrag. He rolled me over. “Are you ticklish?” he asked.
“Not normally. What kinky shit do you have in mind?”
He dripped baby oil on my stomach and began massaging my abdomen by making fists with his two hands, capturing my flesh in his fingers, and then opening his palms only to do it again. It felt strange, but it helped dislodge the butterflies that had collected and multiplied throughout the afternoon.
“The fur on your tummy feels soft.” He ran his oil soaked hands up my hairy chest and massaged my pecs using as much pressure as he had on my shoulders.
“You’re making me hard, big guy.”
“Well, you know the cure for a hard-on, Wyatt. You don’t need me to tell you.”
He blotted the oil from my skin, and again applied a hot washcloth to wipe me down before drying me with a terry cloth towel.
“Did it help?”
“For sure, though it did create another problem.” I lowered the bed covers to show him my erection.
“That part you’ll need to massage yourself, but I can tell you from my vast experience that baby oil helps there, too.” He bitch slapped my erection with the back of his hand and grinned as he walked away while I folded myself in two in agony, or ecstasy.
I’m not sure which was which.