“No, it isn’t!” My father said as he reached back and slapped with his open hand.“No son of mine is a faggot!’ He added.“This is who I am...” I pleaded again.“Not in my house, you aren’t.” He answered coldly. “Get the fuck out!’I looked back at him, shocked and sobbing. Just past him, in the hallway, was my mother. She just turned and walked away. I knew then, I was never going to be accepted by my parents.I packed up my things that night and spent the night in a motel. I cried the entire night.. He was sure that if they hadn't been roomies the first year of college he would never have hung around with Bob at all. They just weren't the same kind of folks.He first met Bob the first day of his freshman year. They were roommates in the dorm and did everything together. Of course, being freshmen, they had many of the same classes. Several times Simon caught Bob copying his work and it bothered him. He always took his papers away from Bob, always with a scathing comment from Bob about him. This time around Fred was the storyteller, or "loremaster" as he likedto call himself. He would not have a character himself. Instead hewould move the storyline forward using materials he had previouslyprepared and his own creativity."Ok, so first off we're going to have to decide on the basics forJack's character." How about a big titted assassin? She would wear tight leather pantsand a revealing leather top." Rajan offered, his heavy Indian accentmaking the sentence sound even more. I looked up and watched as she jogged away from me. I jumped off the bench and followed her. She looked amazing in a pair of tight shorts and a loose top. I could see her sport bra was holding up a nice pair as she ran in front of me. I was sweating and trying to kep up as she still ran in front of me. I stayed back about 10 feet as I could hear her breathing. Her fine body moved as she ran. I saw her look over her shoulder a couple of times.She finally stopped up ahead and I had drifted a.