I’m RJ. I’m 24 now, but this happened a few years back, when I was still in college—living with my dad in our old, creaky house that smells like coffee and dusty books, with Springsteen or Bowie always spinning on the record player like it was still 1978.
My dad’s honestly a legend. He teaches history at the local school, makes the kind of breakfast tacos that ruin all other food forever, and somehow never nagged me about my messy room or unfinished laundry. We’ve been tight since I was six, when Mom passed. Just me and him, holding it down together ever since.
Anyway, this all started when I was finishing a college presentation for one of my coding projects. My laptop was dead, and his was just sitting there—no big deal. I asked, he said “go for it.” Normal stuff. But here’s the thing: I’ve always had this bad habit. When I’m on someone’s device, I peek around. Not in a creepy way—it’s just this instinct to poke through folders like I’m hacking into a mystery.
So I finished my slides, saved the project, and just… clicked around. Most of it was boring: lesson plans, old photos, tax stuff. But then I found a weird folder buried deep—inside four other folders, all with generic names. The last one was called “exe.” Super sketchy.
I opened it.
There were three video files inside. Just random letters and numbers as names. No descriptions. No thumbnails. I don’t know why, but I clicked one. And my brain immediately short-circuited.
It was my dad. In bed. With another man. Having sex
And this wasn’t some fuzzy, accidental shot. It was clear, intentional. Passionate. They were kissing, touching, fucking, sucking my dad’s dick, laughing in between—all of it. My heart was racing, and for a second I told myself I must be seeing it wrong. But there was no mistaking it. It was him. That little scar on his arm, the posters on the wall, even the old blanket from the couch. It was our house. His room.
I don’t know what came over me, but I watched all three. Not because I was enjoying it—I was in a trance. It was like watching a life I didn’t know existed unfold in front of me.
That night, he made lasagna. It’s his signature move when he’s in a good mood or when he’s trying to talk about something big. I barely touched my food. He noticed right away.
“You’re quieter than a library,” he said with a soft laugh, sipping his wine.
And I just… snapped. Quietly. But firmly. “I saw the video. On your laptop. Are you… are you gay?”
He froze. Set the glass down. Rubbed the back of his neck, like he always does when he’s caught off guard. Then he looked me in the eyes, serious and soft.
“You shouldn’t be snooping through people’s stuff,” he said, voice low. “Would your mom have taught you that?”
Then he sighed. “Yeah. I’m gay. I’ve known since I was your age. I kept it hidden. I married your mom because I loved her—in a way that made sense at the time. But after she passed… I didn’t want to keep hiding.”
I couldn’t speak. I didn’t even know what to feel. But then he started talking—really talking. About how long he’d kept it in. How scared he was of what I’d think. How hard it was pretending, especially in a town like ours.He told me he’d been seeing someone. That it was serious. That the guy made him feel alive again. Showed me a picture on his phone—them together at a pride event, both wearing rainbow wristbands, smiling like goofballs. Him with his arm around the guy, completely at ease in a way I hadn’t seen before.
I teased him. Couldn’t help it. “Really, Dad? Rainbow wristbands? You’re that guy now?”
He grinned and tossed a napkin at me. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
We stayed up late that night. He told me about sneaking into bars in his twenties, about how he used to blush when a guy flirted with him. About how hard it was to admit any of it—to himself, to Mom, and now to me.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to meet the guy. I said yeah. I mean, if someone makes my dad that happy, I should at least see who he is.We met for brunch. I was nervous as hell, not gonna lie. But when he walked in—rolled sleeves, confident smile—I could see it. The way they looked at each other? That wasn’t just something casual. That was the real thing.
And yeah, it took time. Still does, sometimes. But seeing him happy, really happy, made me realize something big: parents aren’t just “parents.” They’re people. With lives, and heartbreaks, and secrets. And if they can trust you enough to show you who they really are—that’s love
My dad’s honestly a legend. He teaches history at the local school, makes the kind of breakfast tacos that ruin all other food forever, and somehow never nagged me about my messy room or unfinished laundry. We’ve been tight since I was six, when Mom passed. Just me and him, holding it down together ever since.
Anyway, this all started when I was finishing a college presentation for one of my coding projects. My laptop was dead, and his was just sitting there—no big deal. I asked, he said “go for it.” Normal stuff. But here’s the thing: I’ve always had this bad habit. When I’m on someone’s device, I peek around. Not in a creepy way—it’s just this instinct to poke through folders like I’m hacking into a mystery.
So I finished my slides, saved the project, and just… clicked around. Most of it was boring: lesson plans, old photos, tax stuff. But then I found a weird folder buried deep—inside four other folders, all with generic names. The last one was called “exe.” Super sketchy.
I opened it.
There were three video files inside. Just random letters and numbers as names. No descriptions. No thumbnails. I don’t know why, but I clicked one. And my brain immediately short-circuited.
It was my dad. In bed. With another man. Having sex
And this wasn’t some fuzzy, accidental shot. It was clear, intentional. Passionate. They were kissing, touching, fucking, sucking my dad’s dick, laughing in between—all of it. My heart was racing, and for a second I told myself I must be seeing it wrong. But there was no mistaking it. It was him. That little scar on his arm, the posters on the wall, even the old blanket from the couch. It was our house. His room.
I don’t know what came over me, but I watched all three. Not because I was enjoying it—I was in a trance. It was like watching a life I didn’t know existed unfold in front of me.
That night, he made lasagna. It’s his signature move when he’s in a good mood or when he’s trying to talk about something big. I barely touched my food. He noticed right away.
“You’re quieter than a library,” he said with a soft laugh, sipping his wine.
And I just… snapped. Quietly. But firmly. “I saw the video. On your laptop. Are you… are you gay?”
He froze. Set the glass down. Rubbed the back of his neck, like he always does when he’s caught off guard. Then he looked me in the eyes, serious and soft.
“You shouldn’t be snooping through people’s stuff,” he said, voice low. “Would your mom have taught you that?”
Then he sighed. “Yeah. I’m gay. I’ve known since I was your age. I kept it hidden. I married your mom because I loved her—in a way that made sense at the time. But after she passed… I didn’t want to keep hiding.”
I couldn’t speak. I didn’t even know what to feel. But then he started talking—really talking. About how long he’d kept it in. How scared he was of what I’d think. How hard it was pretending, especially in a town like ours.He told me he’d been seeing someone. That it was serious. That the guy made him feel alive again. Showed me a picture on his phone—them together at a pride event, both wearing rainbow wristbands, smiling like goofballs. Him with his arm around the guy, completely at ease in a way I hadn’t seen before.
I teased him. Couldn’t help it. “Really, Dad? Rainbow wristbands? You’re that guy now?”
He grinned and tossed a napkin at me. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
We stayed up late that night. He told me about sneaking into bars in his twenties, about how he used to blush when a guy flirted with him. About how hard it was to admit any of it—to himself, to Mom, and now to me.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to meet the guy. I said yeah. I mean, if someone makes my dad that happy, I should at least see who he is.We met for brunch. I was nervous as hell, not gonna lie. But when he walked in—rolled sleeves, confident smile—I could see it. The way they looked at each other? That wasn’t just something casual. That was the real thing.
And yeah, it took time. Still does, sometimes. But seeing him happy, really happy, made me realize something big: parents aren’t just “parents.” They’re people. With lives, and heartbreaks, and secrets. And if they can trust you enough to show you who they really are—that’s love
