"Honey," Mom pleads, wringing her hands, "how can you possibly be sure? You're only eighteen."

I roll my eyes and open my mouth to set her straight - to tell her that I'm an adult and know my own mind. It's not like I just found out I'm gay; I've known since I started eyeing other boys in gym class in the seventh grade.

Mom doesn't give me a chance to get a word in edgewise. Ignoring my eye roll, she barrels on, "I think it's best if we see a therapist. We can even go together. You'd like that, right?"

Christ, does she think I'm in kindergarten, afraid to go inside the classroom without her? Not that it was her I wanted. I needed my Gus-bear, not that I ever hurt her feelings by telling her that. I didn't know what it was back then, but she was clearly the one experiencing separation anxiety.

"Maybe they can straighten out your thinking," Mom earnestly continues speaking, yanking me away from my childhood memories.

I barely suppress a snicker at ‘straighten'.

"Or maybe they can help you understand you're too young to know your sexual preference. Really, I think you're just experimenting."

At the emphasis on ‘experimenting', I go from amused to ticked off, but I know getting angry with Mom won't help. She means well; she just refuses to get a clue. Unclenching my teeth, I offer as calmly as possible, "Mom, we've had this conversation before. I'm gay. Going to a therapist won't change that. But if it will make you feel better, I'll look for a good therapist that specializes in my type of ‘problem' and set up an appointment."

My mom heaves a sigh of relief and discreetly wipes away the beads of perspiration dotting her forehead. "Thank you, Justin. I appreciate that you are so open-minded about this and willing to get the help you need."

*

A couple of days later, I inform my mom, "Mom, last night, Daphne and I researched all the therapists in the area and found a Dr. Alex Wilder, who has a doctorate in psychology. He specializes in issues surrounding sexuality and gender identity, and his patients have left lots of positive comments, so if you really want me to do this, I'll go, okay?"

Mom beams at me, her smile so wide and bright that it's obvious who I got my bright smile from.

"I promise I'll listen to what Dr. Wilder has to say. If he thinks I need to rethink this whole ‘gay thing', I will."

"I'm so proud of you, honey!" my mom exclaims, throwing her arms around me.

As my mom hugs me, I mentally cross my fingers, hoping that, after this, she'll still be proud - that she'll finally ‘get it' and accept that I'm gay. I finish up, "I stopped by his office today and made an appointment for us on Friday afternoon. Here's his card."

*

"Mom, thanks for picking me up from school," I grunt as I open the back door and toss my heavy backpack onto the seat. Slamming the car door shut, I slide into the front passenger seat, adding, "I really appreciate the ride. I wasn't thrilled about taking the bus."

"It's fine, sweetie," Mom replies as she waits for me to close the door and buckle up before flicking the signal and pulling away from the curb. "I'd rather pick you up. I was thinking after your session today, maybe we could stop at that museum we always used to visit. Spend some quality mother and son time together."

"Only if you let me drive," I agree. "You know, you should talk to Dad about getting me a car for graduation." Maybe she'll listen this time, I think hopefully. It's a total pain not having a car of my own; none of my other friends at St. James are stuck taking the fucking bus.

"How about we table that discussion for another time?" Mom responds, putting me off as usual.

I sigh in disappointment - I should have known better.

About fifteen minutes later, she maneuvers the car into a parking space in front of a building in downtown Pittsburgh. "Well, it looks like we're here. I really hope we don't have a long wait. I hate having to sit in the waiting room on those uncomfortable plastic chairs with canned music playing in the background."

I enter the doctor's office behind my mom, both of us looking around the deserted waiting room.

"It's so quiet in here," my mom complains, her voice querulous. "I wonder where the receptionist is. Oh, wait," she immediately announces, "here comes someone now. Ooh, isn't he handsome, Justin?"

I glance at my mom, both appalled and amused to see her holding a hand to her chest, her cheeks stained a delicate pink. "Mom," I chide, suppressing a laugh, "we're here so that I won't have the desire to look at guys, remember? Pointing out that Dr. Wilder is ‘handsome' is counterproductive, don't you think?"

The doctor clears his throat, his eyes dancing with merriment, before introducing himself. "Excuse me, are you Justin and Jennifer Taylor? I'm Dr. Wilder. My receptionist had a family emergency, so I'm on my own today. Since you're my last appointment, I didn't bother to call someone to fill in for her."

My mom is speechless, so I politely reply for both of us, "That's fine."

Dr. Wilder gestures toward his office. "Why don't we get started?"

After we sit down across the desk from him, the doctor asks, "So, what can I do for you today?"

Finding her voice, Mom blurts out, "Well, you see, Dr. Wilder. I found some things in Justin's room."

The doctor takes the odd start to the conversation in stride, inquiring mildly, "Things? What sort of things?"

"Um, drawings, sketches that he did... of men," Mom mumbles. Her cheeks color up as she clarifies, "Naked. He's also been lying to me. He tells me he's staying at his friend, Daphne's house; yet, when I call there, her mother tells me he hasn't been there."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Taylor," Dr. Wilder interjects, "are you saying you think Justin might be gay?"

"Well, that's what he says. But he's only eighteen!" my mom exclaims. "Surely he's too young to be having those feelings..." She turns to me, asking yet again, "Justin, how can you possibly know so soon who you are?"

I see the doctor's lips twitch, but his mien is completely serious when my mom returns her gaze to him. "Can I ask you what age you were when you knew you liked men, Mrs. Taylor?"

"Excuse me?"

Christ, it's hilarious how affronted Mom sounds. I have to cough to disguise a giggle.

"I have always liked men!" my mom insists.

"Well, apparently, so has Justin," the doctor calmly replies. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the desk, hands folded. "Did you know that children generally know their gender identity by the age of five? Maybe we should hear what Justin has to say."

This is the moment I've been waiting for. I lick my lips before announcing, "I like dick. I wanna get fucked by dick. I wanna suck dick. I like sucking dick, and I'm good at it, too."

Dr. Wilder presses his lips together for a moment before speaking directly to my mother. "Justin seems quite certain of his sexuality, Mrs. Taylor. Can you tell me why you feel there's something wrong with that?"

My mom sits there with her mouth hanging open, completely nonplussed. "Uh, I, I..."

"Maybe you should try to consider this from Justin's point of view," the psychologist recommends. "I assure you that it's completely natural for Justin to feel the way he does."

"You're sure it's natural?"

"Yes," Dr. Wilder states firmly. "I can provide you with some information about sexual identity. You might also like to try a support group for parents at the GLBT center."

"Okay," my mom concedes. "I'll think over what you've said. That's enough for today, though, I think. Let's go, Justin," she urges, placing a hand on my arm.

As we stand up to leave, Dr. Wilder halts us. "Um, Justin? Can you stay for a moment? I'd like to send some literature with you for you and your mother to look over."

"Uh, sure. Mom," I ask, "do you want to wait in the car? I'll be out in a minute."

"Sure, honey," she agrees as she shakes the doctor's hand. She's obviously eager to get out of the psychologist's office. "I'll give some thought to what you said, Dr. Wilder. I'll also read the material you send home with my son."

"That's a good start, Mrs. Taylor," the man assures my mom as he opens the door for her.

The doctor closes the door so quickly that he almost traps her skirt against the jamb. An instant later, he has me pressed up against the door.

"I can't believe the things I let you talk me into doing for you, Sunshine," he rasps out. "I think you'd better get started on the one hundred blowjobs you promised me."

"I like sucking dick. I'm good at sucking dick," I murmur as I slide to my knees. "Now I'll give you a demonstration, Dr. Kinney."

~ THE END ~