The Soft Caress

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54)and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.

Saturday, May 28, 2005, 1:45 p.m. East Coast Time, Lowe Household.

I may be out of the closet with my parents, but I am certainly not out of the woods with them. Tracy had some sound advice, but the onus of getting out of this fucking mess rests squarely on my shoulders.

But at least I have a plan. A resolution that would please all parties involved. Because, at this point, my parents and I both want the same thing--Rob Lowe to be straight.

I walked to the living room and my dad was reading the paper. He looked up at me and flashed a reserved smile.

“Hey, Rob, have a seat,” he said, pointing to an armchair.

“Where’s mom?”

“Oh, she’s around,” he said, casually.

As aloof as my dad’s answer would seem to the common observer, the real message went unspoken. My dad wanted alone time.

“Rob, you’ve had a pretty easy childhood, wouldn’t you agree?” He asked.

“I guess.”

“Your mom and I did everything to make sure you had the best education, the best childhood experiences, a comfortable lifestyle. You were smart and many things came naturally to you. You never really had to work at school or sports, did you?”

“I suppose.”

“Me, I had none of that. I had to work for everything. Now, I am not bitter about it, but I am blessed. Blessed that I could provide a proper household for my wife and kids. I worked ever since I was eight, Rob, sweeping hair at my dad’s shop. I was never really good at sports or school. But I tried anyway. And I tried hard. Eventually I got good at school, because I busted my ass. I worked through an ivy league scholarship, I worked through law school and I worked to build a successful firm. It wasn’t easy for me, but I did it. And I am proud of my role in this my family.”

I had no idea where this was going.

"You know why I’m a good lawyer, Rob? You know why people put their trust in me? Because I understand them. Because when I would sit at my dad’s shop, I would listen. Listen to how all these blue collar guys spoke to each other. I would listen to their problems and figure out solutions, in terms they could understand. Of course, I never shared them. I was a kid for God's sake. But I gained a skill, one that has lasted me a lifetime. A skill that has put a roof over your head, and clothes on your back."

“Uh, huh,” I said, confused. Like a good lawyer, he read my face and moved beyond the banal.

“Rob, let me get back on point,” he said.

I finally realized, my dad had me on my stand.

“What I’m trying to say is that you never really had to work at life. You're a good looking, smart kid and life is easy for you. But, if you tried to work on this little sexual identity crisis you’re having, I’m sure you could pull through it. And it is just a crisis. You are not gay, you are not bi-sexual. You are a confused 29-year-old that is experiencing his first crisis. And he doesn't know hot to make himself snap out of it.”

I was a little surprised by my dad's aggressive tactic. He went beyond convincing me I was bi, and began to put a "sexual identity crisis" wrapper on it. Brilliant casework, dad.

“Dad, I don’t know.”

“Let me be frank. When was the last time you were with a woman, romantically?”

“I’m not sure if I really feel comfortable with this line of questioning, counselor,” I said, half-joking, but with a point nonetheless. My parents and I communicate best in unspoken terms.

“Maybe, you just need a good woman to jumpstart the system. Every now and then your mother and I have to take steps to keep things 'fresh' in the bedroom. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just who we are as creatures. We need variety."

“Dad-" I said, slightly unnerved.

"Rob, If you haven't been with a woman in a while, sometimes you forget the soft caress, the beautiful skin and breasts. You can't find that beauty in a man, sexually or otherwise-"

“Dad-" I said, more forcible. He dialed it back, and smiled empathetically.

"Rob, I know this is probably the last conversation you want to have with your family, but that’s why I asked your mother to step out for a moment. So we could discuss things man-to-man."

My father cleared his throat.

"Rob, I’ve got some things I'd like you to look at. They are adult films. They are in the TV armoire upstairs, but you can take them out and bring them to the study if you feel more comfortable. Regardless, I’d like you to privately view them."

I looked at my father, more confused than I had been in my entire life. Was my dad just telling me to watch porn? The same fucking porn he and my mom watch before they screw to "spice things up?" Does my father think porn will cure "gayness?" My God, this was wrong on so many fucking levels.

“Just hear me out. Have a look at them. And when you’re done, let’s talk while things are fresh. I got a 3:30 tee time for us," he said, smiling at my embarrassment.

I walked upstairs to my parent’s room. I was in a bit of a fog. Every time I think I have them figured out, they throw me for a loop. My childhood wasn’t fucking easy. It was full of crazy shit like this. Not sexual, but strange theoretical cause/effect relationships that have no real-world value. My dad was right about one thing, I definitely would have to work at this. That's for damn sure.