THE OLD NICK DEVLIN: When a gay adolescent is placed in a religious foster family

By James Wood

 Explore the rich and varied world of LGBT literature, where love, identity, and self-discovery take center stage. These captivating stories navigate the challenges of contemporary life with sincerity and heart, negotiating the subtleties of relationships. These stories showcase the complex tapestry of the LGBTQ+ experience, from hot romanc

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Wood
• Release date: Jan 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869103185

Book preview

THE OLD NICK DEVLIN

When a gay adolescent is placed in a religious foster family

By

James Wood

This is a fictional work. Names, characters, settings, and happenings are either made up by the author or utilized fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, businesses, events, or locations is completely coincidental.

@ COPYRIGHT

All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotation in a book review.

James, please pick your jacket up off the floor and put it in your bedroom, that's a good boy.

Randy Simmons, my foster father, spoke the low words as much to avoid an argument as to express a request as he took a few cautious steps over my prone body resting in front of the television watching cartoons. I'd gotten home from school two hours earlier with a half-finished term project on English poet John Keats due the next day for my senior literature class. My tasks also included all of the odd-numbered math problems from page 250 of my textbook, as well as a shading art project. But I wanted to de-stress from my increasingly stressful existence, so I skipped schoolwork and housework in favor of a few mindless hours watching Scooby Doo and Spongebob Squarepants. I'm not even a fan of Spongebob.

It's not my name, James. It's Devlin calling. James Devlin Royce. But the foster home I was in, which was definitely my last since I was about to turn eighteen and would be leaving the system after I graduated from high school, was run by a Christian, God-fearing couple who had four children of their own. They saw the devil in me, or rather my given name, and concluded they couldn't call me by it with good conscience. However, one of Jesus' brothers, an author of a New Testament book in the Bible, as well as two of his followers, were called James, so they believed they were OK with my middle name.

Devlin, I'm sorry... James... whatever! Most days, I didn't care as long as I had a roof over my head, a warm bed, three square meals a day, and clothes that fit and didn't look like it had been worn by four other guys before I got to wear it. I was in terrific condition if no one was pounding on me. Oh, and please don't impose your religious ideas on me. When my fosters discussed me with my instructors at school or with my social worker, Ms Hopkins, it made for some intriguing talks.

Mrs. Simmons, his name is Devlin, not James. It's important that you don't erode his already fragile sense of self-worth by refusing to acknowledge him correctly. You know the rules.

They most definitely did, yet in my opinion, my self-worth was far from fragile. There was certainly some gray mixed in with the black and white of Department of Children's Services standards about my personal liberties that should have been clarified previously, but I was OK. If you were to push religious analogies in my life...

If you don't understand where I'm coming from, this is going to be too incomprehensible. I mean literally, so maybe I should try to explain it right now. I know how it seems, but my life up to the age of thirteen was not all that horrible. Honest!

My parents fell in love when they were twelve years old. Jenny was Mom, and Charles was Dad. They had me while they were in their mid-teens, but things immediately went south. The reality of two high school dropouts attempting to raise a child on minimum pay ruined their love for each other, and they divorced before I was a year old. I assume Mom didn't learn anything from having me since she had two more children by the time she was twenty. Two half-sisters I haven't seen in over a decade are somewhere out there. I have no idea what they look like. I may have come across them on my travels and not even realized it.

Okay, so once Jenny abandoned Dad, she went from bad to worse, becoming a prostitute who spent her days whoring herself out for crack and heroin. She'd go, leaving us kids with a long line of neighbor women who lived next door to our run-down tenement flat. I've forgotten most of their names, but the vast majority of people felt sorry for us and treated me nicely.

Dad was a nice guy who got lucky in his late teens and learnt how to construct high-rise commercial constructions. He worked hard throughout the day at a construction job and tended bar in the evenings. All of this I found out later, not from her. Jenny didn't have anything pleasant to say about Dad, so I avoided discussing it with her because when his name came up, she started throwing things. I remember him becoming a bigger presence in my life as I grew older, but it wasn't because of anything she did, unless you want to call neglect her contribution. So I guess I was simply unlucky.

I got to spend time with Dad whenever Jenny didn't return from her dens of immorality after four days. His neighbors would call and demand that he come collect me. Because they weren't Dad's responsibility, who took in my half-sisters would remain a mystery, although there was mention of a paternal grandmother out there. But Charles would pick me up till mom arrived, and he was a kind father who wanted to do the right thing for me. When he was present, I felt relieved since it meant food in my stomach, functioning heat and power, and a warm coat to wear in the cold.

I'm not sure why he never sought permanent custody. No, that's not true. I know why because I overheard Dad and his sister discussing it one night when they thought I was sleeping. Dad was scared the law would come after him for child support payments he was obliged to make because of some messed up rule. But, you know, he declined. He quickly realized that Mom wasn't concerned about our well-being, and that whatever money he contributed toward my support would wind up in her veins.

And I'll be damned if I support that whore's drug habit, he'd snarled with his sole nasty sneer. Ever! He was normally calm and quiet, seldom spoke beyond a regular tone of voice, and didn't waste words. He had this way of gazing people in the eyes that made them realize his promise was gold, and he expected others to do the same. But I'd never call him a trusting idiot. He instilled in me the desire to win his trust. His one furious remark regarding my mother just highlighted how much he loved me and blamed her for not taking better care of me.

Jenny went away with a drug dealer when I was nine, but she wasn't much of a mother, so her departure was more of a relief than a problem. My sisters vanished from my life at the same time, and I moved in with Charles. It was difficult at initially since he had never been obliged to parent full-time before. He was just twenty-five when I moved in since he was so young when I was born. Money was tight, but we managed thanks to his sister, my Aunt Kayla.

I excelled in my father's company. Despite my mother, I was a decent child, and my family was happy. He told me that education was the key to getting out of the low-rent flats we were living in and making a better life for myself. If I wanted to advance in life, I would have to study hard and make sacrifices, not to mention keep my dick in my trousers. He was resentful of my mother, but he never passed