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I had not long turned 15 when I was sent to live with my uncle. My mother had been killed a few weeks ago – struck by a drunk driver. It was an event that really had not yet sunk in - indeed at the time it seemed very unreal, as if it had all occurred in a dream. Unfortunately it was a dream I could not wake up from at anytime. Up to then I was just a normal kid, from a rough background. Yeah, I screwed around with my mates, got in a little bit of trouble in school for smoking and skipping the odd class – but generally I was a ok student. My dad had left us when I was three, so I never really knew him, and after the tragedy, there was no one left to care for my and my two younger brothers. Eventually the local authority decided it would be best if we were in the care of our relatives. Mike, who was aged 12, and Paul aged 13 were sent to live with my aunt, but she didn’t have room for another alongside her own children, so care of me fell to my Uncle Ian.
Uncle Ian was the youngest of my uncles, and the only other relative who lived reasonably local. He was only 34 and was my mother’s youngest brother. This was the first time any of us had been sent to stay with him. We had never visited him for a holiday, nor had he been at our home in a long time. I was escorted to his house in the company of my social worker, a guy called Brian. When I arrived I was impressed with what I saw. Compared to my old home, this was a palace. I couldn’t believe Ian lived here alone. It was in a nice neighbourhood too, so even I knew it cost a lot of money. It had plenty of grounds surrounding it – leaving large amounts of space between our nearest neighbours and us. Ian was an architect by profession, and I assumed it was one of his own designs. It had been a long time since I’d seen him last – I think I was 7 – so I only remembered him vaguely. The doorway loomed ahead of us, and Brian asked me was I ready to do this. I could only nod, as I was still in awe of what was to be my new home. Brian rang the bell. Ian answered the door, smiled and asked us in. He immediately hugged me, tightly as far as I remember, and asked me how I was doing. I replied, monosyllabically, and looked around. Brian stayed only a short while, checking a few things with Ian, and making sure all was ok. Even I could see he was in a hurry to get back to his other duties – and before long he was gone, leaving me alone with Ian. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and Ian sat there looking me over. He lit up a cigarette, and offered me one. I was shocked, not expecting to this kind of behaviour from an adult – but obviously Ian was cool with it, and I accepted. Ian explained as he offered me a light, that I was almost a man now and made my own choices, and as much as possible he would respect them. He established some ground rules, and told me about the new school I would be attending in a few weeks. When all this was over, he brought me to what was to be my new bedroom. I never had a room to myself before, and the feeling of space was almost overwhelming. My stuff had been delivered over before, so at least I had some familiar object with which to find comfort in. Ian left and let me settle in to my new environment. The next few weeks were particularly uneventful. Ian had taken two weeks off work in order to help me become accustomed to my new life, but he had to return to work eventually. I still had two weeks before school started, so I spent my time hanging around shopping centres and arcades, or playing video games and surfing the net at home. School started back before I knew it, and I found myself exposed to yet another totally new environment. Unlike my old school, the school Ian had chosen for me required us to wear a uniform, a notion which I found completely alien. Even though it only consisted of a pair of trousers, shirt, tie and jumper it felt totally odd for someone who had never had to wear anything like it before. Upon arriving home after my first day, Ian whistled and told me I looked cute. I laughed, and told him to piss off – writing it off as an innocent comment that meant nothing. That weekend, I looked back at it in a new light. Ian went out every Saturday night, leaving me to my own devices. I hadn’t made any friends in school, as of yet, so I had nowhere to go. I watched some TV until late, and then went to bed. It was over breakfast on Sunday that Ian made his most revealing comment. I was having a drink of coffee when Ian started telling me about the club he was at last night. I was only half listening, as I was busy planning out the day ahead. “…And then I got this sexy kid to suck my cock in the bathroom – swallowed my load and everything. Pierced tongues really get me off. He was 21, and fuck was he hot!!” The statement caught me completely off-guard. I looked up at Ian, with a look of confusion and amazement on my face “Oh come on kid, surely you knew I was gay?” I nodded and said no. Ian laughed, and sat at the table in front of me. I looked away, embarrassed. I’d never really encountered anyone who was gay before. Sure, I’d picked on the kids that everyone called fags at my old school, but this was the very first time I had been faced with someone openly telling me they were queer. As if he read my mind he said: “Never met a real fag before huh? A queer? Well here I am kiddo” I blushed, not knowing where to rest my eyes. Ian laughed again, and proceeded to give me a graphic description of the blowjob in question. I couldn’t get away quickly enough. My mind was reeling with the graphic details of something so incomprehensible to me. OK, I’d never had sex, penetrative sex, with a girl – I’d been jacked off before by girls, and fingered a cunt, but never had full penetrative sex – despite all this knew that I liked girls. The idea of two guys together made me feel slightly ill. Nothing else changed, but Ian soon began making crude jokes, lewd comments and gestures, as well as every Sunday morning telling me of his sexual adventures the night before. I’d gotten accustomed to eventually, and had begun to just filter it out. Despite all that, Ian still was cool. He let me act like an adult, a valuable freedom for a 15-year-old boy. He never objected if I felt like a beer, or a smoke – something I would never have been allowed to do at home. He let me stay up and watch TV, though not past midnight on school days. All in all, my life was reasonably comfortable. Christmas came soon enough, a time that was difficult for me. Everything seemed to be falling into some sort of order, and life, for the first time since the death of my mother and the separation of my family, was looking better.
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