Why you?

POV Noah

I was thirty-seven years old when my wife died of a mental degeneration that caused her to lose even the most basic of autonomy. Everything was perfect before this tragedy took away from our family's happiness. I had a wife I'd been in love with since high school, a smart son who made me proud, and a career as a cop that was taking off. When the diagnosis came, I felt like my world was shattered.

Claudia withered away so quickly and I had to be everywhere. Between the hospital, school, work and the organisation of daily life, I found myself overwhelmed, devastated by the efforts this ordeal required of me. And that's without mentioning the moral stagnation that I tried to hide without really succeeding. I pretended that there was still hope, I lied to myself and to our son who was enduring all this without complaining. He didn't even try to voice his suffering as a little boy whose mother was slowly dying.

His mother no longer recognized him, she became irascible and said insanities that could only hurt a loving and caring child. And I was so overwhelmed by events that I didn't even bother to heal the love wound that was being dug into my child's heart. Hyperactive, he was already disturbed by his own syndrome, and now the disavowal of a mother who was sinking into dementia had been added to it.

When Claudia died, a huge emptiness settled in the depths of my soul, and if I cried, it was my undisguised relief. In the months that saw her consumed by illness, everything had become so heavy to bear, that when she passed away, I felt liberated. What a terrible feeling, what an abominable guilt it made me feel when it was the death of the woman I had loved so much. I had come to look forward to her passing and once she was gone, I felt like a monster.

I had a severe depression, but I was unable to recognize it. My son was twelve years old, old enough to take care of himself in many ways, but I forgot that he was suffering as much as I was, if not more. I could no longer look myself in the face. I had wished for my beloved wife to die, I had wished for her death, and I was destroying myself because I had been granted it. I wished for everything to be forgotten and spent all my time at work to clear my head of my personal problems. I didn't want to go home and face our idle kid anymore, to enter that house where Claudia's lively laughter would never resound again.

The only way I could cope with it all was to direct all my interest in the absence that whisky offered. I don't know how many litres I drank in those cursed days, but my descent was matched only by the extent of my affliction and I ingested unacceptable amounts of alcohol. I even drank at work, flavouring my coffees with a drunkenness that made everyday life seem bearable. It was a rather hazy period in my life. I didn't know what was happening to my son, not that I wasn't thinking about him, but I was keeping him away from me because he was showing me in spite of himself how miserable I had become.

He cleaned, did the laundry and prepared his meals. The only thing I still did was the shopping, I had to refill my whisky supply. I feel really ashamed when I think back to that time and everything that came with it. How many times did Stiles tuck me in because I was so trimmed up that I couldn't even go up to my room. How many times did he find himself having to deal with everything when I should have been there for him. Instead, I became another burden on his young shoulders and the worst part was that he didn't even complain about it. He even managed to do well at school despite everything else he had to deal with.

Why was I lucky enough to have such an understanding son when I didn't deserve the love he gave me? I had become vile to him whenever he tried to address me and I blamed him for my misfortunes. I was blinded by my pain and self-loathing, I wanted him to hate me because I was powerless to protect him. I didn't know how to raise him, I was a jerk who thought he was a good cop, but in reality, I was just a messed-up guy.

It lasted for over a year, a year of blurred experiences, foggy with unhealthy intoxication where only my job made me feel like I wasn't just a parasite. But everything changed one night and it was my thirteen-year-old self who brought me back to reality. I don't know how it all happened, only that it was a shock of catastrophic violence. Yet it was his affection for me that started it all.

It was an evening in May when my boss had forced me to take a day off work because he felt I was more nervous than usual. Instead of spending the evening with my kid, whom I had shamefully abandoned, I preferred to drink my fill and went upstairs to cry in my room, like the loser I had become since my wife died. I undressed, sniffing my desolation. I left my clothes where they fell and shut the light, banging on the door like a drunkard with a bad temper. I think I must have crawled to my bed in my drunken demise, and I don't know how I managed to get myself wrapped up in my sheets.

I whined like a baby who didn't understand anything about life. I was so pitiful that I didn't even know what I was whining about. I can't imagine how heartbreaking I must have been, but I couldn't stop complaining, crying about myself like the selfish person I had become because I couldn't bear the thought of having hoped my wife would die. Yet she didn't even look like herself at the end, she had become a kind of hollow shell that reminded me of our love, but she was already dead.

And as I made this realisation in the fog of my drunkenness, I felt the weight of a body entering my bed. I knew immediately that it was Stiles, and I froze in my shame. Why was he there, why being he coming into my room when I was a despicable wreck? Why was he interested in my woes when I had ignored him all this time? My son wanted to comfort me when I hadn't even done that for him when he needed it most.

When he snuggled up to me, I started sobbing again. I was so ashamed and at the same time I felt relieved as never before by his presence. How could I have forgotten that I was not alone? I hugged him tightly to me, I wanted so much to be forgiven for my failings and I felt that nothing would make up for it. I felt his feverishness and for the first time in a long time I wanted to comfort him. His tears spread through the hairs on my chest and the more I tried to calm my own lamentations, the more I cried to feel his comforting presence.

He caressed me was so gentle, so tender, so generous with his affection that I had suppressed all this time. My son did not judge me, he only tried to soothe my pain and we embraced in a way that had never happened before that night. I lost track of time, only Stiles' warmth against mine, his fingers caressing my skin, his palms reassuring my body and letting it know it was good to be alive. How long had it been since anyone had touched me? How long had I been cut off from all tranquillising contact?

When he shifted his position to stand over me, I let him. I needed him to continue to give me his tenderness and in the darkness of my room, I wanted nothing more than his caresses. His mouth came to rest on the hollow of my neck and pleasant shivers ran through me as I continued to cry. Then he kissed my forehead, as if I were the child who needed to be reassured, and I was content to live his attention. He kissed my cheeks, my temples, my jaw. He drank my tears and it was so sweet to be cuddled like that. His own mother had never been so cuddly with me and it was good, so good to be able to pour myself out with nothing else in mind but this soothing.

And that's when he kissed my mouth. A flash of prohibition froze my body in the second as a consuming desire arose in my lower belly. Stiles insisted and his wet lips moved against mine. My head was spinning, I was losing my mind completely. I opened my mouth in shock and felt his tongue penetrate it to caress me. The contact was so delicate, so shy, that I stopped thinking and began to participate in this forbidden exchange. My son's inexperience and awkwardness were magnificent and I wanted him to continue to bring out all that power in my body, to stimulate that mind-boggling pleasure.

I lost my footing completely, Stiles was bringing something to life in me that I had forgotten about and I longed for that surrender. I took over, dominated by a terrifying excitement, a desire I had never felt before he awakened it. I wanted him like I had never wanted anyone before and everything, everything about his reactions pleased me. He was so receptive to my madness, he moaned with well-being and his springtime scent enchanted me. He responded to my every move, and as I kissed his mouth like a desperate man, I spread his thighs so that he could embrace me with his legs. He did everything I expected, everything I wished without even daring to think it. But when my bandaged sex rubbed against his, the resulting pleasure was like a spark of consciousness that threw me back on solid ground.

It was Stiles underneath me, it was my thirteen-year-old son whom I was sexually dominating. My heart sank, and I found myself suffocating in the ban. What had I been about to do? I couldn't even accept the answer my mind forced upon me. All the relief I'd felt in drifting under the caresses of an unbelievably gentle being vanished instantly, to be replaced by crushing contempt. I stepped back, separated myself from him, oblivious to his groans of frustration, and sat down as my throat flooded with tears again. I really was a poor wretch.

'Go away, get out of my room.'

I muttered these words threateningly, as if it was all his fault when he didn't know what he was doing. He was so young.

'No, I want to sleep with you, Dad, I want you to come back to me.'

He hiccoughed, moved closer to me and put his hand on my thigh. I shuddered, I must not have found this contact pleasant, no, it was unacceptable.

'Don't touch me! Shit, what the hell am I turning into, a lunatic! I almost fucked my own kid … but what's wrong with me? Claudia, my love, help me!'

I screamed with my face raised to the ceiling and then curled up in the pain of my tears. I had to get Stiles away from my madness, I shouldn't want him, it was immoral, it was unbearable, it was catastrophic. Why was I still hard at the memory of his body under mine? Why had no one ever had this effect on me? Why hadn't even her own mother managed to arouse my libido so effectively? I felt humiliated by my own desires, beneath everything and the darkness that resided in the place was the only thing that still protected me from the urge to disappear.

'Dad, it's not your fault. Dad, please…'

My son's voice broke, he didn't accept my reaction, he didn't want me to push him away, he felt as if I was inflicting a wound.

'Get out of my bed, now! Leave me alone!'

'No. I want to stay with you, I want to sleep against your skin and keep kissing you.'

Stiles was so calm as he spoke these fragile words, which he knew were unnecessary. Then his cries became audible. For my part, I felt myself going off in a rage, the only thing stopping me from giving up everything to succumb to the charms of my teenager. I jumped to my feet and it was as if I had sobered up completely. I blindly walked to the light switch and imposed an incisive light of reality in our tortured moments.

My stomach knotted at the sight of my half-naked kid in my bed, his big watery eyes, his face assaulted with sadness. He was just beautiful. No! I should not, I should not let myself be touched. And my anger rose to the point where I was now ranting. I walked towards him angrily and when I saw that he was trying to bury himself in my sheets, I felt myself boiling with rage. I grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him off my bed. He tried to resist and shouted his refusal with all his rebellion, and I thought I was going to break his arm, so horrified was I from that moment on. I submitted him to my adult male power and made him fall on the floor to drag him furiously on the floor. I then threw him out of my room, blinded by my bitterness.

And I slumped against the door, destroyed by my own reaction. I cried, I screamed, I didn't know anymore. My body was a gaping wound, my soul bled with regret, and I felt as if I were suffocating, as if I could no longer breathe hope. I regretted doing what I did to Stiles, I regretted hurting him. I regretted that I had to do that in order to resist his touch. I regretted blaming him when I was the only one guilty. But I couldn't deny the pleasure that still haunted me at the thought of that mouth against mine, of those hands on my skin, of those shivers that carried me with such a fever. It was terrible, but I couldn't deny this purity, it had become stronger than anything, stronger than reason. The most beautiful glimmer of hope in my announced hell was forbidden to me.

I cried until the early hours of the morning. Wiped out, I was wiped out. When I got up, my body was a stagnant pain and I struggled to stretch to try to regain control of my numb limbs. I was so tired and yet I couldn't sleep. Stiles was haunting me and when his name came up in my thoughts, my crotch immediately reacted to the memory of all that new that now accompanied his meaning in my mind. The echo of an exhausted sob caught in my throat. My son had completely destroyed me with love and it hurt, it hurt so much to have to deny myself to him. For our own good.

Morosely, I opened the door and swallowed. My uneasiness grew when I saw that my youngster had slept in front of the entrance to my room. He had not moved, like a pet that even when abused remains faithful. My heart clenched with shame and anguish. How to heal this, how? I had been dumped, overwhelmed, discarded before I even began to look for a solution. Everything was slipping away and I was only afraid to breathe again. I leaned in, the urge to collapse beside him titillating all my weaknesses. But I had no right, I had no right to feel sorry for myself after caring so little for my kid's future. Fuck, I was a nobody. I had let this happen so I could cry over my distress.

I breathed in and crouched down to touch Stiles' arm, which was completely curled in on itself. He moaned in sadness even though he was still sleeping. I leaned down to whisper in his ear and stroke his cheek. He had a troubled expression but refused to open his eyes. I kissed his forehead tenderly and decided to take him in my arms. This time he woke up and looked at me as if the sun was rising in his hopes. It was overwhelming. My heart missed several beats as I stood up to lift him and his arms wrapped around my neck with overwhelming affection. Why did my sex swell as he touched me, breathed against my ear, let his mouth trail over my jaw?

I walked away from my feelings and took him to his room. I opened the poorly closed door with a casual kick and gently placed my son in his bed. He clung to me, forcing me to sit on the mattress, to bend over him. I looked at his sad eyes, his irritated nose, his fleshy lips and I had to look away, I had to. I didn't want to appear harsh, but I also didn't want to give him the feeling that he could try again to make me flinch. I had to turn off so many aches and pains to be strong that I felt like I was coming out of my shell. It was so hard to feel him insisting that I give in to him.

'Stiles…'

I breathed the word as if it were a torment I wished to embrace with all my soul.

'Don't go, please stay with me Dad, stay.'

His voice was so weak, so helpless. He was vibrating with unhappiness and I could feel him on the verge of sinking. I didn't know how to reassure him without satisfying the forbidden and my heart beat my dilemmas to torture my veins of existence.

'Yesterday…'

I tried to speak but Stiles immediately cut me off.

'It was me who wanted. Let me love you Dad, you need love so badly. I have nothing else to offer you, nothing else. I want you to be happy, like before. Let me love you, he cried.'

'Not like that Stiles, that's not the answer.'

'Why? I want you, Dad, I know I can heal you, I know I can give you back the pleasure of living.'

There was whimsy in his eyes and just as much conviction. The magnitude of his faith frightened me and paralysed me with empathy. Why was I refusing him? Maybe he was right, surely? No, I was his father, I was a man of law, I had to stay in my place.

'You're my son Stiles, not my wife. I've been a jerk lately, leaving you alone and it sucks. I'm an asshole widower cop who forgot to take care of his kid. And because of that, you've been putting nonsense in your head. We can't do what you want, you understand?'

'It's not nonsense, I want to give you love, that's all I want.'

He began to cry silently and I separated myself from him so I wouldn't have to watch him erode with sadness. I was lost, a poor lost guy in front of a teenager in love with him. Stiles was in love with his father, my son was in love with me, he… I had to think about something else. I took a few steps and came back to him while standing.

'You're not going to school today and I'm not going to work. We'll spend time together, like father and son. We can go anywhere you want, even an amusement park, if you want.'

'No, I don't want to go out. I want to stay in your arms all day, I want to make love, that's what I want Dad.'

He said this while sniffing and I felt myself blush with embarrassment, betrayed by a vain hope. Why was my heart beating faster? Why did I want Stiles' desires to become truths? When had we both gone mad? I sighed and tried to regain some semblance of ethics.

'Why do you insist on not understanding Stiles, why… You think I'd be better off if we did what you want, when I'd be even more guilty. You're thirteen, and I'm your father, and a cop at that.'

'Yesterday you wanted me, yesterday you had a hard-on for me, yesterday it was possible.'

'I lost my mind, I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing. Your tenderness, your smell, it felt like … then I felt your erection and…'

I lost myself in vain explanations. My son was unsettling me to the point where I could no longer speak. I was uncomfortable with his explicit desire to be my lover. I couldn't accept the idea as my body demanded its fulfilment. It was crazy, completely insane, like in those movies where weird families destroy each other in degenerate behaviour. I was turning into this guy I could have busted for my job.

Stiles stood up and seeing him move towards me had an effect I didn't admit to. He was wearing boxers and I was wearing pajama trousers. Why did I have to find his adolescent body attractive? Why, when he walked slowly towards me, did I feel this rush of adrenaline paralysing me in the hope that he would touch me like he had the day before? Why was it that when I saw his face, I no longer found him cute but hard? I took a step back so as not to be tempted further by the unhealthy desires he was instiling in me.

'Dad…'

He was hurt, and I could not but blame myself for making him unhappy. Yet there was this part of my conscience that stirred in my sick mind and asked me to be strong, not to succumb, to become a respectable man again.

'Stiles, no. I said no. I'm gonna make breakfast.'

I exhaled painfully and took another step back. I had to look away to avoid seeing the tears in my son's eyes. I had to leave, to run away, to get out of this room. Knowing my teenager was so eager to share sex with me was turning my brain inside out. I didn't understand anything anymore. I walked out without a backward glance, my heart in pieces, my mind numbs with the impossible.

From that day on, I didn't drink a drop of alcohol. What had happened between my son and I was a real shock. I took back the reins of my life, in my home, subject to the duty to be present to clean up our lives and give stability to my teenager whom I had let drift away. Sometimes it was so difficult that I was tempted to go to the shop to buy a bottle, but each time this happened, the fear of being uninhibited enough to go and get my teenager in his room cut off any desire to reoffend.

Although I pretended that nothing was happening, I knew that Stiles was still hoping that something would happen between us. My only reaction was to keep as far away as possible from the slightest ambiguous contact, to kill the slightest attempt at an untimely emotional exchange. Because deep inside me, what he had awakened had not been extinguished, far from it. As soon as I felt like sex, it was him that I saw appear in my thoughts. I could no longer think of anyone else. I was not interested in women, and when I was alone, I watched porn films take my mind off things, but nothing helped. It was my son that I wanted most of all and it was so unfair to feel such an inner slump.

I took advantage of the fact that the police had a psychological cell to do some therapy. But I couldn't talk about what had happened to my son. I couldn't explain what had happened to my son, the constant struggle I was forced to wage against my desires to remain a scrupulous man. I was venting about Claudia's death, about my wish to see her ordeal and mine end, but as for the rest, I was a grave.

The years went by and this did not change anything in the trouble my son caused me, on the contrary. How many times did I have to avoid his contacts? How many times did I run away from his advances when I was dying to say yes? How many times did I jerk off thinking about us, only to cry later? I felt like I was dying slowly, like I was in a vicious circle, a permanent fall that I hid behind the need to keep my head high, to prepare my kid's future rather than thinking about my own.

In fact, I had pulled myself together, I had become a respectable father again. In the eyes of everyone, I was doing what was necessary for my boy to grow up in good conditions. But in reality, I was a lunatic who hoped for the unbelievable. I was doing my utmost to ensure the material well-being of our family, but I was distancing myself from anything that could bend my will to remain dignified. In other words, I shut myself up at work so as not to think, and when I was at home, I chose any excuse to be a serious and distant educator. I naively hoped that if Claudia's spirit was watching over us, she would only see my efforts to become an acceptable parent again.

I was a hard worker and was elected sheriff when Stiles was fourteen. When my official appointment came, my boy was so proud of me that he cooked me a celebratory meal. I was engrossed, unable to relax even though he meant to be respectful and intentional. When he took me in his arms to congratulate me, I stiffened with discomfort. The mere touch of his warmth was a torture, I was so afraid of the excitement that was overwhelming my body. I became numb and did not respond to his simple hug, unable to play along. He hurt himself but said nothing.

It took another year before Stiles tried to touch me again, because I had done everything I could to prevent it. I knew he was suffering from this situation, but I couldn't admit it. The only thing he was offering was unthinkable, and even if I was dying on my side, I had no right to give in to him. In memory of the love I had for his mother, because it wasn't done, it was immoral. I had deserved the ordeal that resulted from that stupid year when I had become a ghost dumbed down by blind drunkenness. But what had my son done to suffer the torments I imposed on him?

And then, one morning, everything changed. The sober, regulated atmosphere I had established over the past two years was shattered by my inattention and fatigue. I don't know how long it had been since I had taken a day off, but my colleagues forced me to do so in order to avoid overwork. I fell asleep late the night before and was so exhausted that I didn't wake up on my own. No, it was Stiles who came to my room to wake me up in a way I had never considered. I was so far from imagining that in the face of my stubborn refusal, my kid's desperation would lead him to do such a thing.

He sucked me off while I slept. He crawled into my bed, got between my thighs and woke me up from sleep and made me cum in unconsciousness. The worst part was that all the sensations he was giving me had become an erotic dream in which I watched him pleasure me. When my orgasm struck my lethargy to bring me back to the rawness of reality, I saw his mouth gobble up all my seed and the disgrace paralysed me in horror. This was no dream, no, Stiles had just transgressed everything, taking advantage of my inability to push him away to take against my will, what I had been denying him all this time.

I was horrified, I could not think. Everything seemed to be falling apart around me and I could see his deer eyes staring at me without question. It was as if he had just stolen the last bit of honour I had left and when he swallowed my cum with unbridled pleasure, I felt as if I was collapsing into nothingness. My only reaction was to cover myself, to move away, to glare at him to express the revulsion I felt at his disloyal act.

'Go away.'

I don't know where I got the energy to speak so calmly when my son was giving me a panicked expression. I saw him shudder at my rejection reflex and was appalled at what he had dared to do. I felt dirty, I could no longer understand what was happening to me. I had this feeling that I had suddenly become an unspeakable scum and Stiles was reflecting back to me this so degrading images of my immorality, secretly maintained for so long.

'Get out of here, Stiles, this … what you've done is disgustingly treacherous … get out!'

I had to scream and the teenager who was looking at me seemed to revive instantly to run away. After his hasty departure, I lay prostrate in my bed for a while, unable to move, unable to think. I was a sort of empty shell of substance, a disembodied body, a waste product that had thought it could recycle itself. I couldn't believe that all this had really happened and I was replaying the moment of my orgasm as if it were the most debasing of my confessions.

I don't know how long it took me to find the strength to get up, get out of bed, take a shower, get dressed. I felt like I was being swallowed up by an invisible evil. Everything was replaying in my mind and nothing was able to alleviate my need for oblivion except the vicious call of the bottle. I stopped thinking and went out of my house to the local grocery shop to buy the only elixir that would make this whole situation bearable. I was a lousy human being, a loser who had only succeeded in perverting his kid by dint of abandonment, and the backlash was even more pathetic. I hated myself for having taken such pleasure in being woken up like that, it was intolerable to expect my son to do that.

When I got home, my first move was to open the bottle of whisky and anaesthetises my gullet with several greedy swigs. I had not yet closed the door and I had already drunk almost a third of the total volume. Pathetic, I was pathetic. After closing the door to my home, I finished the rest of the bottle on the couch, totally sorry it had come to this. My tears were flowing and I didn't know what to do, I was just fucked. I didn't want to fight anymore, I didn't have the strength. I turned every moment I spent with my son into ice cream when all he wanted was my smiles and my human warmth. And all this to suit a moral that I had so often flouted in my thoughts.

Whatever decisions I made were hurting my kid. He was my only reason for being, for getting up every morning, for facing the daily grind. Why was I hurting him by giving him a monstrous image of himself, when I was shamefully hoping for what he wanted to give me? It was all my fault, if I hadn't been so stupid when his mother died, we would never have come to this. Why was I resisting him by reflex when my whole body was telling me to give in? I couldn't stand being the guy who pretended to be straight as a die while at night he jerked off thinking about his teenage body. Fucking hell, what unbearable hypocrisy.

I was up against the wall, a decision had to be made, today. Stiles was going to destroy herself in my refusal and either I would take her away from me and turn everything into a drama, or I would succumb to her expectations. What I had put in place over the past two years to protect us would no longer be enough to heal what had just happened. The answer came to me in my stubbornness. I couldn't let go of my son, it was impossible, unimaginable. To abandon him was to let us die separately. He was the only selfishness I allowed myself to have the strength to tolerate what I had become without Claudia. So I had to disregard all my convictions and give free rein to this passion that my son wanted to make real.

Even in my drunken state, this fact caused me to refuse, even though I knew that I was dying to sweep away all these considerations. I didn't think anymore, I had enough, everything was getting on my nerves. I got up and went upstairs. I stopped in front of my son's bedroom door and breathed in my fears to dissolve them, to make them disappear behind my self-confidence of a man who was about to destroy his last beliefs about himself. I was not strong, I was not an admirable hero, I was not an honourable and incorruptible man, I was not the sheriff I played every day to reassure people. I was Stiles' envy, and that's the only thing I could still be without becoming a complete liar.

I entered the room and found that my boy had buried himself under his covers. I sighed with apprehension and sat on the edge of his bed. He jumped up and emerged from under his sheets, terrified. I gave him a look that I hoped would soothe him, but he didn't seem to understand. I felt him begin to tremble, and I was not far from trembling myself.

'Why did you do that? Why did you turn me into a culprit?'

These were the first words out of my mouth and I cursed myself for accusing him. I had come to submit to his wishes and I was still playing the father. What a poor picture I was painting. I saw him understand something else in my attitude and he said what was on his mind.

'You want me, I've heard you say my name when you masturbate at night. Me, that hasn't changed, for more than three years I've wanted you too, I want you so much daddy.'

He sobbed and I sighed in discomfort. My aim was to get him to stop destroying himself, and I couldn't inspire anything but shame in him. Yet all he was expressing was the authenticity of his heart. And I couldn't even say my decision. It was too hard to get the words out, so I had to show him. I got up and saw him sitting up in his bed looking at me with an apprehension that made my gut tighten. I looked at him and my being was inflamed.

'Get up.'

I said this without conviction as I held out my hand in his direction. My heart was beating at an alarming rate. I felt like I was going to collapse. Stiles looked bewildered by my words, he didn't know what to do and I didn't know how to reassure him when I was in the dark about my feelings. I swallowed and took it upon myself to be franker when I repeated my words. This time I saw the fear in my teenager's eyes and I hated myself for bringing it up when I wanted to please him. He shyly handed me his handcuff and I think I breathed out in relief when I felt his palm in mine. So, I led him to my room. Dressed only in boxer shorts, he allowed himself to be led where I wanted to go, and when we reached my room, I let go of his hand to close the door. He looked at me in disbelief at what I was doing and I didn't know how to reassure him.

'Take off your clothes.'

These were the only words I managed to say to him and my tone did not express the excitement I felt in telling them. I was as nervous as ever, I felt like a novice again. The only thing that kept me calm was to move to start undressing. I hoped fervently that he would understand that he had won. Yet he stood there and watched me take off my shirt in astonishment. I hurriedly stripped off my jeans and boxers, placing them on the chair next to the wardrobe. Stiles still didn't move, frozen in contemplation of my body.

'You don't want to?'

Anxiety gripped me as I expressed this doubt and I saw him nod positively. An indecent relief spread through my limbs. I was naked in front of him and without looking at his movements he hastened to adopt the same condition as me. My heartbeat went into a tailspin. My teenager had matured. Hairs covered his private parts and his muscles were outlined the man he was about to become. The delicacy of his figure captured my imagination and at the sight of his stiffened cock, I felt breathless with desire. I had never been attracted to masculinity, but Stiles was turning me on like no other.

'Why?' he asked.

He was intimidated, but I could see the joy in the sparkle of his eager eyes. I came back to earth, disturbed by passion. I didn't know anymore. I wanted to touch him, I wanted… I was lost in hopes I didn't yet understand. I had to live Stiles, it was the only reason my heart was still beating. He wanted to hear reasons, I had to tell them. I was his, the choice of my life was in his hands and my only wish was that he would seize it with all his mad youth. The words came out by themselves, I didn't need to think about how to turn them.

'I don't have any other choice. I'm guilty of thinking of you like this, but by stealing my dreams you did what I wanted. I might as well be guilty of finally doing what you want. I drank the whole bottle of whisky, I cried, but it doesn't erase what I feel. I want you too and I can't stop thinking about it, it's not working. You've completely turned my mind around. I don't understand what's happening to us, but I don't want to lose you. If I continue to watch you live from afar, without daring to touch you, you'll drift away, do anything and I can't accept that. I love you too much to see you go off the deep end or walk away from me. So here we are with this choice and I've decided to stop fighting you. You win, Stiles.'

I walked naked to my bed, and walked around my teenager, inhaling his scent. I sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at Stiles with all the admiration I could muster. He was so beautiful. I lay down in front of him and waited for him to join me. I was so excited and scared at the same time. I was about to cross the final frontier with my son and I was groggy with hope.

He came against me and I rediscovered his wonderful tenderness that I had missed so much. I felt as if I were living again. How was it possible that he was capable of such a miracle? Stiles knew how to give his warmth with such dedication, his whole body was a magical expression of his generosity and every touch, every gesture he had for me was simply transcendent. No one made love to me like him, no one. Armed only with his candour, he took me to the joyful paths of my heart without me even realising it. He made me discover that a kiss could contain heaven and so many other wonderful confessions. He made me alive, present, important, increasing tenfold all the feelings I had for him. How was such a miracle possible?

That day he entrusted me with the task of educating his body for sex and yet it was he who taught me that you could touch a soul to heal it with love. I was a novice with men, but I wanted everything to be good for him, everything. I took care of his being, and in return he offered me the incredible. When he spoke my name in his hazy whispers of pleasure, it was so beautiful. He was so delicate, caring, real. I made love with him and I understood that we could go beyond the imaginable, that we could reach unattainable dimensions, accepting the inevitable. It was obvious that we were destined for each other. What happened between us in my sheets was a revolution, a transfiguration.

That's how we became lovers and everything changed for us. My teenage son found all his ardour again and for my part, I didn't remember wanting to exist like this. I did everything he wanted, I belonged to him. To others, I was a single father who got by, a sheriff eager to enforce the law, but in truth, I was Stiles' lust for life, I was his sighs, his laughter. I was his anxieties when he didn't know what to do, his tears when he was lost, his doubts that forced him to mature. I was his pleasure when he wanted to escape, his sweetness when he was afraid to sleep.

I was in her grip and it was the only thing that allowed me to accept what I was doing. When I thought of Claudia, I ached for the thought of her seeing us from where she was, but I couldn't regret what I shared with Stiles. He was the gift of survival she had left me as she abandoned me to fade away early. More than an extension of her memories, our son was also everything she could not have become. He had this sweet madness that drove him to do everything to save us and his faith was unshakeable.

This went on for two years, and then one day I felt a change coming over me that I didn't even know what it was. He wanted to cook a meal and invited Lydia Martin to the house along with her mother. I didn't understand it at first, but as the evening wore on I realised that my son was trying to create something between our two families. At first, I felt bad, I couldn't accept that he was setting the stage for our future separation. And yet I had given him the keys to my choices. It was unthinkable that I would take them back from him without flouting the authenticity that had guided our carnal union. So once again I gave in to his expectations.

Stiles came to me less and less often at night, and that was something that hurt me. But I had no right to be jealous, I had already got so much more from him than was permissible. I sometimes secretly cried during this period when I had to come to terms with the fact that what he and I had was not meant to last. It was so hard to admit and when we got together to share our forbidden pleasures, I clung to him like a castaway to his buoy. He was remarkably gentle, he never rushed me.

Thus, I understood that my son was choosing a future companion for himself in order to allow himself the right to look for his companion. The reasons why he had chosen Nathalie were obvious to me, and without him asking me to try anything, I allowed myself to be charmed by this woman whom he had deemed worthy of me. In reality, she was superior to me in every way. Her intelligence was sharp and her sense of humour caustic. I don't think Claudia made me laugh the way Nathalie did. Her subtlety was mesmerising and I took my son's gift as the opening of a new chapter in my life.

In my heart I knew that no one could replace the void left by Stiles, but for him I was willing to take it all. Besides, it wasn't so bad after all. The pain wasn't as bad as I'd imagined when I'd grasped my boy's intentions. In fact, I was just frustrated at the idea that he and I would no longer share his wild moments. My body would no longer vibrate under his divine caresses and I knew that no one would manage to awaken even the echo of the sweetness he knew how to lavish. I had to make up my mind.

What was harder to swallow was when Stiles came to introduce me to Derek Hale, the man because of whom nothing was happening between us anymore. I tried to be welcoming, to understand the reasons why I had been replaced. At first, I thought that because of me, my son had fallen in love with the misfortune of men and made it his mission to enlighten them with his tenderness. However, as I watched him act with his companion, I came to understand that what he was experiencing with Derek was totally different from what we had experienced together, and strangely enough, this fact soothed me.

Today I am fifty years old. After an eight-year affair, I got married last year to Nathalie and I feel as happy as you can be when you start a new life with someone. As for my relationship with my son, no one will ever know what we exchanged, no one will understand the depth of our bond, no one will destroy the secret of our guilty pleasures, our forbidden love. Even if it is in the past, it belongs to us alone and sometimes, when we are alone, our kisses are not those of a father to his son, even if it never goes further.

To be continued...