Warning: Swearing and nudity.
I remember that the first thing I saw when I woke up in the hospital was my husband’s worried face. He looked at me with so much love and anxiety written all over his face. And then I saw relief.
“You woke up. Finally,” he stated. “I’m sorry, Frankie, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have forced you into anything.” He stretched out his hand to reach my face. It was trembling all the way, and then it stopped a few inches away from my face. Hesitantly, he barely skimmed the bandages on my face, then grabbed my hand.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood…”
It was not of any use what Waylon said. I mean the apology, not the blood thing. Because however weird it may sound to you, I am glad I’ve got my scar. It made me see things so much differently. This scar is a reminder of the person I was and this person I’m letting go of. Well, not completely. What I was going to say is that I’m improving and, with Waylon’s help, I’m both gaining self-confidence and learning a lot. The amount of love I have for this man is something overwhelming to me and despite all the differences between us and the fact that I know I will never truly comprehend Waylon… Well, despite this all, I’m so, so happy. There were times when I thought happiness was just not for me, these dark times of my teenagehood, when I believed I was the odd one, and the only odd one there is at that. Now I know there is nothing wrong with me. I am myself. And boy, does it feel great to be myself with all that’s attached to being who I truly am.
Waylon has been efficiently introducing me to the gay culture and I’ve discovered so many things I had no idea about. We’ve been to gay clubs, he’s been teaching me some slang terms, which somehow sound super amusing to me (when he thinks I’m being silly, he tends to call me a twink), well, you know, all this kind of stuff. I think it’s a pleasure for Waylon, too, although it’s me who insisted on this in the first place. I don’t want to feel like I’m missing out on things just because I didn’t live in this open-minded society that Waylon grew up in and has become such an important part of. Honestly, does he have a queer radar or what? Because he does seem to know every LGBTQ+ individual there is in Starlight Shores. Have you any idea of what was his parents’ response when he eventually came out at 16? It was “yeah, we know”. My question is, where do such parents come from and why can’t everyone have them? Again, I do love Waylon, but you have no idea how frustrating it is to me, knowing I could well be born under different conditions and have all these options and possibilities which he had. It is simply unfair that he was discovering his sexuality while I was constantly fighting with my father for the chance to be who I am without anyone trying to shove heterosexuality down my throat. I can’t even imagine what would happen if I actually tried dating a guy at that time. That wasn’t even a possibility back then.
Well, it’s been seven years since that memorable parade I went to and I haven’t even been to another one. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that Waylon is too worried about me to let me go, even with himself. I don’t think there’s been a single week, in which he refrained from touching my face where the scar is and apologizing. I doubt that he will ever be able to understand that this event was a life-changer for me, something that made me realize how much hate there is still left in this world and that there is a need to spread the word that homosexuals are people, too. We live just like the others and breathe the same air as straights do. I wish I didn’t have to explain it to anyone, but reality is often so much different from what we want it to be, as sad as it sounds.
As for the improvements in my life, there have been some, for sure. Seven years is such a long time and so much can happen throughout that time. To list the more important ones: I, Waylon and Clinton moved houses, I got a couple jobs after graduating my studies and finally moved to a rather stable position – although it might be surprising that the shy boy I still am in some ways has been making a name for himself as an advocate for the rights of homosexual people (as well as other LGBTQ ones; there are so many kinds of them), but I have, and this job is rewarding in many ways, taking the environment I grew up in into consideration. Let me just tell this – I am so proud of how far I have come.
Meanwhile my son, and brother at once, Clinton, is now a 10-year-old and he just adds up to the pride I am already experiencing. He is a wonderful kid who also happens to have inherited his dad, Waylon’s (because – let’s face this, it’s him who really is his dad), self-confidence. My only wish is he didn’t inherit Hailey’s laziness! Speaking of Hailey, her kids are seven years old now, so we plan to have them meet up, although they are all definitely still too young to try to explain them how complicated the relations between the two families are. Introducing them to one another is going to be the first step towards it, for sure.
Okay, so have I gotten ahead of myself? I know I tend to, but I am just so happy I felt the need to share this all! We are in the present now, so please listen, diary, because I still left a lot unsaid…
It’s one of these lazy Saturdays and I’m reading a book, which belongs to the kind Waylon calls “eternal law-ish rambling”. He often jokes about me having a deep-rooted student PTSD and not being able to chill out and do something not law-connected years after finishing my studies. Maybe he is partially right, but I just find the law fascinating, especially the history of various rules and codes that people came up with throughout the years. I also like comparing what we have in our country to what the people are provided with in other countries. But Waylon doesn’t get it. I don’t think he would actually choose the path of law if not for the family tradition. He treats it very casually, just as a job he has to do to earn money and, after all, it’s his younger brother Kenneth who will take over the family business in the future. He doesn’t like delving into this too much. I have my 1suspicions as to how he got through the studies, but I am smart enough not to voice them. Ever. Some things are better off left unsaid. I might be an advocate by trade, but I am not really a confrontational person in daily life.
Suddenly my reading is shamelessly interrupted by Waylon who leaves the bathroom, pushing a towel to his crotch.
“Get dressed or you might creep Clinton out, especially if this falls to the ground,” I say, not getting my eyes off the book.
“But I’ve forgotten my clothes,” he protests.
“If I were you, I’d rather not go around a 10-year-old with a bare butt… or else.”
“But my butt is gorgeous!”
“I think it-” But I never get to finish this sentence as we both hear someone ring the doorbell.
“I’ll open,” I offer, rising from the chair.
“I’ll go get dressed,” says Waylon, getting to the dresser in haste.
“Keep an eye out on Clinton as I talk to our guest. He’s playing on his computer.”
Before going, though, I get to my husband, touching his bare butt with the towel now dumped somewhere on the floor.
“You know I love your butt, honey,” I say and kiss him lightly, drawing my mouth apart too early. “I’ll go open that door now.”
The person whom I open the door to is probably the last one I’ve expected to see. Sure, maybe his hair is not the same striking blond it used to be, but blue eyes and handsome face that my best friend loved remain unchanged.
“Oh, you’re home. Excellent, because I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” is the first thing that comes out of my father’s mouth. He doesn’t even address me by my name nor the fact that I have a scar now. No one would think I’m his son by the way he said that. As if I was just a distant acquaintance.
“I guess we do need to talk, Dad. It’s been what, 11 years?” It suddenly strikes me how long it had really been since the last time I had a chance to talk to my father. I desperately try to shut down the painful memories that come at me like a hurricane when I look at his face.
We sit on the sofa and I am not sure what to expect of him. Apology for how he treated me maybe? But I couldn’t be more wrong.
“Is that a hickey?” He asks, eyeing the red spot on my neck.
Don’t blush, Frank, just don’t. I remember the hot make-out session I had with Waylon… when was it, yesterday?… and desperately try to block the heat from rising to my face. I take a deep breath, then speak.
“Yes, it is. But what…”
“I saw you at the parade, when I was called there. With that guy. You were holding his hand, running. Who is he?” I swear I feel like it is some sort of an interrogation. Makes sense that my father is a policeman.
“You must be talking about my husband Waylon, Dad.” His eyes move to my ring finger now and he eyes my wedding ring. After that he snorts.
“If this isn’t ridiculous, then I don’t know what is. So, you live together, right?”
“Go on dates?”
“Like every other couple, Dad.”
“And fuck each other?” I’ve somehow managed to control myself throughout this stream of questions, but this is just too much. I abruptly rise from my sit and start shouting.
“Seriously, Dad? Who do you think I am? Because I so am not this terrified little boy I was when you traumatized me at 16 and made the best days of my life that I will never get back a living hell! You are so wrong if you think that you can visit your 29-year-old son after 11 years of not seeing him and ask him uncomfortable questions about his relationship. I have my right to live as I want and I will gladly use it! And guess what? I can do whatever the hell I please! It’s my life and not yours. If I want to fuck a guy as you so elegantly put it, you can’t stop me from doing it!” As I’m done, it’s not because of embarrassment that I’m red all over my face, it’s just pure rage. I can be a peaceful person, a really peaceful person, but it’s not court and I don’t have to be pleasant if someone is openly disrespectful. Even, or especially not in this case, if we’re talking about my father.
“I came as I heard raised voices. Are you okay, Frankie?” I turn around to see my husband’s worried expression.
“No, Frankie is not okay,” says my father through gritted teeth.
“Don’t listen to him. Just go and keep Clinton out of this.”
“I can take care of myself, trust me.” Waylon hesitates for a few seconds, then leaves. I turn around to face my father again.
“Now tell me why you really came here. Might as well get it over with.” Thankfully, he refrains from further comments and cuts straight to the chase.
“It’s about my son, Clinton as you call him. I want to meet him…”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” I say before he can finish. “I don’t want to confuse him at 10.”
“It must be already confusing, living with two guys. I don’t envy him.”
“I get you found out. You’re a policeman after all. But if you really think I will let Clinton anywhere near you…”
“I want him to know who his real dad is. Because he really only has one and that’s me. But maybe you’re finally making some sense. I guess he is young.”
“What about when he’s 18? Would that be the decent time to inform my son?”
“You’ve always said law should be stricter. Change it to 21.”
“You’re kidding me. I may not be alive, then.”
“Guess who’s the dad in the birth certificate?”
“Tests can always prove me right. And you might lose everything if your forgery is discovered.”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Dad? If you take this to court, the reports from ages ago of you having an affair with teenage Hailey will be proven. So what if you win? It wouldn’t bring none of us any good. You wouldn’t do that and we both know that.”
“21 it is,” he says and walks out of my life for the next 11 years.
Hearing the door cracking, Waylon immediately appears in front of me.
“Who was this guy? You need to tell me everything.”
“Just my father.”
“That homophobic asshole in our house? You should’ve told me and I would have shown him the way out!”
“Chill, Waylon. No need to dredge up all the dirt from the past.” He looks at me weirdly and says nothing. I know he’s dying to know, but this will have to wait. Some things are better off left unsaid… at least for a certain period of time.
Note: Okay, so I did say the bonus would be up on Wednesday and it is Wednesday, however I’m almost two hours late compared to the usual time I post. Sorry about that, but there was a lot to prepare about this one and I lost much time with the poses and such. I want to blabber now.
First pictures do not show Frank because I couldn’t find appropriate bandages on the internet. It wasn’t on purpose.
Of course, twink’s definition comes from the Urban Dictionary and can be found here. Fun fact: I had to edit the ad one so it’s in English and the search bar, because my browser is in Polish. I also changed Mercedes Benz to Nercedes Benc, which is how this car is called in TS3. My friend once told me about it and I decided to use it.
I didn’t include much of Frank’s activities with Waylon as I just couldn’t be bothered and I already packed a lot into this one.
Waylon and Frank’s (and Clinton’s!) house was made by Black.Rose and can be found here. I know it’s pretty obvious that it’s not mine, because I can’t build. This one is a masterpiece, though, and I was so glad to have found it. Not only it included a master bedroom, room for one child, all tastefully decorated, the creator also built it in Starlight Shores. I knew I had to use it. The only obvious flaw is the amount of windows which get in the way a lot while taking pictures.
Another one of my poses is the one next to dresser where Frank comes to kiss Waylon. And I am so proud of this one. My favorite thing about this pose isn’t shown here, though, as these are the hands. The boys hold hands on the pile of clothing, which is super adorable.
I edited Cedric a bit in CAS, including his cheekbones as I feel that really adults need a face job to look older. I also used these awesome wrinkles. Cedric is supposed to be 54 here, so I’m quite pleased.
And because I was on the roll, I also made the hickey and wedding ring poses. I just doubted that there would be a pose with an expression as disapproving as Cedric needed to have here. I just messed up the side, because in Poland we wear wedding rings on our right hands and this is the opposite in game. I didn’t exactly forget about it, but did it automatically anyway. I have problems with orientation and such, don’t judge me.
Oh, I almost forgot. I took pictures of Cedric at the parade in the last bonus, but I don’t think anyone noticed. It was dark, so I can’t blame you. They are below.
He stood there as Frank and Waylon where running off as you can see if you take another look at the last bonus.
Edit: I forgot to add that Frank was actually reading a book called “LLama Rights”, so I guess it was about law after all, lol.
I think that’s all the rambling I felt I needed to do. Hope you enjoyed this one. As you see, Frank’s improving and that makes me a proud Sim “mom”. There’s only one Frank bonus left, close to the end of the generation and this one will be mostly about Clint (who, by the way, really has the lazy trait, like Hailey).