My Uncle Neil and I were strangers. We had only properly met a month ago. I knew he was five years younger than my mother, which made him forty-seven, but I had only been three years of age when he emigrated to Canada. In the ensuing twenty-two years, he'd only visited twice, once when I was seven and then again when I was twelve.
He had unexpectedly returned to England six months ago, but with me living away from home, our paths hadn't crossed.
A family wedding eventually brought us together. I recognised him, but his expression made it clear he didn't know me from Adam. My mother, however, eagerly made the introductions.
'Neil, meet Joshua. He's already flown the nest.'
I inwardly squirmed. My name had never sat comfortably with me. My mother knew I preferred Josh but always insisted on using the dreaded Joshua. Also, her comment about flying the nest had been expressed with undisguised approval. I left home gladly, but she had never displayed even a hint of regret.
'Hello, Uncle,' I uttered.
Against all expectations, Uncle Neil and I hit it off immediately, which strangely seemed to irk my mother. The conversation flowed and we ended up spending most of the night in each other's company. Uncle Neil intrigued me. He wasn't what I had imagined. He certainly hadn't inherited the same traits as his sisters. His appearance hadn't altered much except for thinning hair. But his features and build were undoubtedly striking. The warm-hearted nature he exuded added to the appeal. I couldn't help but wonder how he would respond if he knew we shared something in common: we were both gay.
I discovered Uncle Neil's sexuality at the age of sixteen. I overheard a long, animated telephone conversation between my mother and her older sister, my aunty June. Afterward, I heard my mother announcing to my father: "Neil's finally come out. He's shacked up with a bloke."
The news more than piqued my interest. At the time, I felt confused by my own sexuality. I had been immune to the appeal of girls, and even though I hadn't yet felt attracted to a boy, I felt a leaning in that direction. I found out more about Uncle Neil's life over the following days. He lived in a suburb of Winnipeg with his boyfriend Gabriel, who was ten years his junior, and worked as a realtor, which I discovered was similar to an estate agent, The existence of a gay uncle gave me food for thought, but I had issues of my own to focus on, so uncle Neil soon faded from my thoughts.
By the age of seventeen, I knew for certain I was gay. I remained a virgin, but I'd developed a strong sexual attraction for a number of men. However, the thought of my parents discovering my preference filled me with dread. My mother unveiled a quiet hostility to homosexuality. "They aren't normal", her familiar refrain. My father, who had always been a peripheral figure in my upbringing, deferred to his wife's opinion. My older sister Sarah, though, who was studying at university, wouldn't have been fussed. To be honest, she wasn't fussed about anything except smoking weed and protesting about climate change.
I even went through the pretence of dating a girl in a pitiful attempt to cover my tracks. I met Fiona online. We clicked emotionally, and I enjoyed her company.
"She's such a pretty little thing," my mother observed, demonstrating her approval.
I was ashamed of my subterfuge and felt Fiona deserved better. I managed to string things out for two months before she started questioning my avoidance of physical contact, then, I quickly ended the lie, much to my mother's chagrin.
I longed for the day when I could escape her interference and be able to explore my sexuality freely. It took five long years before the opportunity presented itself. The company I worked for announced a move to larger premises, located thirty miles to the north. I earned a good salary and therefore would easily be able to rent a nice flat. Neither of my parents offered any objection to my departure. In fact, they seemed to be glad.
My new life lived up to all my hopes; I explored my sexuality freely. Two months after the move, I had sex for the first time. It was everything I'd imagined sex with a man would be and more.
I wasn't promiscuous; my sexual conquests required an emotional spur, but I'd had a good number of lovers. I enjoyed sex and discovered I had a talent for it. Desire frequently took hold of me, but love had proved to be elusive.
Then I met Uncle Neil.
After hitting it off at the reception, we arranged to meet the following day. We met under a clear blue sky at a cafe in a park. The conversation, once more, flowed. An underlying empathy connected us. The plan had been to spend a couple of hours together before I journeyed home, but before we knew it, three hours had passed. Even then, I suggested we go for a stroll along the river, to which Neil readily agreed. When the time came to part, I did so with a heavy heart. On the drive home, my emotions caught up with me. A comforting presence wrapped around me, and a gentle flutter rippled my skin. I suddenly blinked repeatedly as my eyes moistened. 'Pull yourself together. He's your uncle,' I muttered.
I struggled to sleep. Thoughts swirled in my mind, and desire coursed through me. I'd never previously experienced such a profound feeling for someone. Images of his naked body possessed me. I watched porn and visualised his stiff cock penetrating me. I masturbated. But reality returned. We were blood relatives. I looked online. It stood out on the screen: incest. Sex between an uncle and a nephew is illegal, the only caveat being there had never been a prosecution of consenting adults in the UK. It wasn't deemed to be in the public interest. But no allowances would be made. The long absence between us would be immaterial. In the eyes of all, our love would be impure. The consequences didn't bare thinking about. Nothing could happen. With a heavy heart, I dismissed any notion of romance with my uncle.
My resolve buckled less than forty-eight hours later. I found it impossible to suppress my feelings, and, judging by the four voice messages on my phone from Neil, the feeling was mutual. In the first message, he suggested meeting up, his tone relaxed. In the second message, his tone was more urgent. The third pleaded with me to get in touch, but the fourth message broke my fragile resistance. He expressed his genuine concern. "Josh, please get in touch. I'm worried". My heart swelled, and a feeling of love enveloped me. I called his number. The words between us were few but heartfelt. We agreed to meet the following evening.
As I drove to Neil's flat, a calmness descended over me. The worries that had daunted me were now banished and replaced by joy and hope.
Neil smiled tenderly and welcomed me in. The warm ambiance and tasteful decor added to the sense of relaxation. I felt immediately at home.
I sat on a beautiful sofa where I exchanged pleasantries with Neil as he made coffee. Eventually, he placed the tempting beverages on a low table that separated our positions. He was casually dressed, and my eye fell on the unbuttoned placket of his navy blue polo shirt, which offered a tantalising glimpse of his smooth chest. I took a sip of the inviting latte.
'Delicious!'
Neil smiled. 'I'm still getting the hang of the machine.' He took a sip from his cup. 'But, I must admit, that's one of my best efforts.'
Our eyes flickered with merriment.
I took another sip and gently cleared my throat. 'Neil, I'm sorry for not replying to your message sooner. You deserve an explanation.'
