____________________________
| |
/)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\
/ )| DIRECTORIES |( \
__( (|____________________________|) )__
((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / )))
(\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///)
\ / \ /
\ _/ \_ /
/ / \ \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o
o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety o
o of stories. They have been submitted by people from o
o all over the world. Also from alt.sex.stories (News o
o groups). There is no particular order other than o
o offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
o o
o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not o
o be used for profit without obtaining the author's o
o permission in advance. o
o o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult o
o entertainment and should not be read by minors. o
o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Small Packages
by Ganymede (2001)
***
A pedophile agonizes over his predilection toward
young boys, he tries to resist his urges but in the end
succumbs to his overpowering need to love children as
only a man can. (Mmb, preteen, ped, oral, anal, orgy)
***
Author's Note: This story contains a graphic description
of sexual acts between a man and a MINOR boy. I do not
condone child abuse, how-ever boy-love as described in
this story is an entirely different matter.
If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this
material is illegal in your place of residence, or if
you are under the legal age for such material, do not
read further! You have been warned! Read at your own
risk!
The story is fiction. Despite what you might think, any
resemblance to any individual, alive or dead, is not
intended and solely the result of the author's vivid
imagination.
Copyright 2001: The story is copyrighted under the
pseudonym, Ganymede. A single copy has been placed in
the Nifty archives. Feel free to post it to appropriate
newsgroups or send it to your friends. If distributing
my story for monetary gain, please contribute funds to a
charitable organization providing services for boys.
NOW, THE IMPORTANT STUFF: THE NIFTY ARCHIVE:
The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy
reading this story, please remember that it is available
only because of the Nifty Archive. Remember that if you
could buy this story at a bookstore, you would pay for
it. Why don't you send the price of that book to Nifty
instead. Instructions on how to do that are on the WWW
home page.
***
Chapter 1. Appalachian Spring.
"How long have you been fucking him, Dad?"
My mouth dropped open and I stared at Austin's mother.
Several seconds passed, a vacuum in time that existed
for no purpose other than because I was in shock. My
stunned reaction was not as much from what my daughter
had said, but from how it had been said. I could hear
the unconcealed loathing despite her matter-of-fact
manner. I could feel the blood draining from my face, as
if I had just witnessed a ghost. However, this was no
apparition. There was nothing I could say. My mind raced
through a thousand nightmares.
I had dreaded this moment from the very start, risking
everything to satisfy my longing. Depraved desires that
would not go away and only became stronger the more I
resisted. Any terror I had ever imagined paled in
comparison to the reality of her words. No matter how
often I had lay in bed at night, consumed by guilt and
thinking about the consequences of loving him, I was
still not ready. I would never be ready for a
confrontation with her. Tara was my youngest child and
she was correct.
"Uh..."
"Well? How long have you been doing IT to him, Dad?"
"I heard you the first time," I muttered.
I swallowed dryly. Her last words got my attention even
more than the accusation that I had been "fucking" her
almost nine-year-old son, my grandson. "Doing it" was
Austin's way of referring to sex, anal sex in
particular. At his age, an age that is supposed to be
one of childish innocence, it seemed very inappropriate
that he used the "f-word". While the incongruence
bordered on the irrational when one thought about, I
encouraged him to use a word that was superficially
innocuous and bland. He, we, quickly settled on "doing
it".
Childish innocence? It seemed so out of place. At his
instigation as much or more than mine, we had been
"doing it" for six months. It was hard to believe. A
fifty-five year old man doing it with a boy who was
still a week away from turning nine. Doing what adult
men did. I tried to take a deep breath. I wanted to
stand up and leave. I wanted to die.
My next thoughts converged on denial. Reason, convoluted
yet entirely logical in my mind told me that it was
impossible that Austin had told her. He knew the need
for secrecy, and it was a secret that he would not
reveal, at least not willingly. Not Austin. Not my
Austin. Austin would never tell anyone, certainly not of
his own volition. Yet, she knew. I could hear it in her
voice. She would never have asked the question
otherwise. She would never have used those words or made
the accusation. "Doing it"! We had "done it" so often
that it had become a habit, a very nice habit, but in
some ways a habit that was no different to taking drugs.
Indeed, I often teased him about it being "habit
forming" because it was exactly that. Of course there
was love, but I also needed him in that way. That was
how a man loved a boy, how men had always loved boys.
What made it possible is that I had no doubt that he
also needed me. He needed me to provide affection.
He needed to love and to be loved in return. Despite his
age, I truly believed that both us desired the symbiotic
warmth of physical closeness and the blending of psyches
that western society had rejected as ultimate depravity
for two thousand years. Yet, it was more than bonding.
More than a man and a boy experiencing love. At some
undefined moment, but not long after we started, it had
become simply fun to "do it", and so we did it. We did
it a lot.
I tried to meet her eyes. Instead, dumbfounded, I stared
at the cup on the table, at the vase holding a single
red rose, well intentioned but still plastic, at the
metal basket holding a half-a-dozen types of sweeteners,
none of them very good for you. It was an artificial
world. I knew that I should lie and act appalled. I was
her father. She had to trust me. She came back to me in
the first place because there was no one else that she
could trust.
Yet, while common sense dictated that course, I knew she
would never have asked that question without knowing the
answer first. Then, honesty? I should tell her the truth
and beg for her forgiveness and promise never, never to
do it again.
Could I even begin to fulfill such a promise? I had
known the answer the first time I lost my resolve. My
hand was clammy as I clenched a frustrated fist. It was
too much to ask of any man. Even the desire itself was
maddening. I would rather die than give him up.
Almost six months had passed since the first time my
penis had managed to squeeze through his tiny opening,
into the hot tight tube within his body. At the time, it
was nothing less than a miracle. For a long while I was
consumed by it, more overwhelmed by the sheer
possibility of being inside him, of being part of him,
than from any sensation I enjoyed.
That the physical joy we shared had no equal made the
act of loving him so special that I would lie awake at
night, torn between my overpowering memories and a self-
hatred so strong that it sickened me. Yet, when I
finally acknowledged the depth of his love for me, I was
not only able to love him, but to make love to him. It
changed then. Our relationship was no longer a delicate
balance of sharing affection and fulfilling lust. We
were lovers, indisputable, undeniable, incontrovertible
fact.
Six wonderful months. Had it been so long that I had
grown complacent? Every day for half a year, had been
memorable. Deeply etched, unforgettable memories. We had
joined, so closely that it seemed we had become a single
being. Even apart, knowing what we shared when we were
together was enough to keep us united in spirit. Except
for a few sad times, every wonderful weekend had been
spent together. We were intimate only two days out of
seven, but it was enough.
Sex was but a brief interlude, usually setting aside the
night as a time of passion, the only time when I
replaced my devoted love with brute lust. On the other
days, I was best friend, mentor and tutor, a surrogate
father who played basketball with him and his younger
brother, took him to soccer practice, and checked his
homework. We watched television, lying side by side
together on the carpet, barely aware of Tristan who was
often sitting on the couch behind us. Apart, we
communicated daily by telephone, and since Christmas,
increasingly by e-mail. Despite the technical charm, for
me it never really took the place of hearing his soft
soprano voice. Alone, I despaired, grim solace sought in
my fist.
Our love was invincible, or so it seemed to me. It had
stood the test of time just as it would stand every
test. Every test? I tried to stem my panic, the deep-
down knowledge that it was over, finished, gone. Now, it
was no longer a closely guarded secret. Now, I had to
deal with the consequences of being a boy lover, and of
loving my grandson.
In truth, it had started a year ago, just after Austin's
mother came to me for help. It began the very first
night he slept under my roof, a vulnerable little boy
curled up in my bed. For the last twenty five years,
every day and night until then, I had been able to
resist temptation if not deny its existence within me. I
tried very hard that night. I almost succeeded. I would
have succeeded but for Austin's extraordinary charm. A
single time should have been warning enough that I could
not resist. It was foolhardy to think otherwise. That I
volunteered to babysit Tara's two boys for the weekend
while she went to retrieve the rest of their possessions
presumed my moral integrity was strong enough to resist
him again. I failed miserably. Austin was barely eight
years old when he sucked me to orgasm!
I swallowed nervously.
"Well? How long has it been going on, Dad?" "Tara...
Uh... I don't know. I guess... for a while now..."
"He said... he said you've been... Fucking him since
Thanksgiving, but you've been playing around with him
since last summer," she added without emotion.
I swallowed again, vaguely wondering why my throat was
parched despite have just consumed two cups of coffee.
Austin had told her the truth. He never lied. It was one
of the many things I adored about him. If only he had
lied this time. Had he told her everything? Had he told
her about the diary we kept. It was the record of my
depravity. The first entry had been on the day following
Thanksgiving. It recorded the night he lost his
virginity in intricate detail, and it also recorded
everything that followed during the next twenty three
weeks. The last entry, Sunday afternoon's entry was
number 99. My penis had been inside Austin's butt
exactly one time short of one hundred times.
"How?" I murmured.
She shrugged ambiguously. "How did I find out?"
I looked at her awkwardly. "Did Tristan?" I wanted to
ask more. I was silent.
Not that Tristan had ever seen 'anything'. There some
things that a six-year-old boy should not see or know
about. Certainly, he had seen us hugging and wrestling,
and he usually wanted to join in. We had been very
careful about doing more than that in front of him, or
where there was a possibility of him discovering us.
He was far too young to understand. When he came to
visit me with his brother, I was usually very
circumspect. Whatever happened when Tristan was in the
house, happened only when he was fast asleep or when the
chance of him seeing anything was negligible. Only a few
times had we slipped up, and then they had been quickly
forgotten.
The latest time had been about a month ago when he had
seen us kissing, me standing knee-deep in a stream while
Austin clung to me, wet and naked but for his underpants
clinging to his rigid little sex, revealing as much as
it concealed. Tristan had watched with interest. His
brother had held me tightly, clamping his skinny legs
around my hips. His arms were locked around my neck as
we tongue-kissed for a minute or more. We joked about
it, called it "mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and hoped he
would forget. If he had noticed my very stiff penis
poking into Austin's rump, threatening to force a way
through the thin wet cotton of his underpants, Tristan
did not reveal it.
" Tristan?" she asked uncertainly.
I nodded awkwardly, shamefully looking away.
"No! God! Not him too?" she said angrily. "How could
you?"
"No! Never! I... I... wouldn't do that. I didn't mean
that. I mean... Did he... tell you?"
"No! Thank God! If you must know, Austin told me.
Because I asked him, Dad. He always tells the truth. You
should know that by now."
"Of course I know that. God! I... But, but how?"
"Last night I was going through his camping things to do
a load of wash while he was in the bath."
I regarded her anxiously, curious despite my fear. There
had been nothing in his backpack to arouse her
suspicion. What did she find? What could she have found
there? The only thing that could have implicated me was
the tube of KY, and that was safely back in my bedside
drawer.
"His underpants were starched on the bottom."
I could feel my hand trembling as I tried to pick up the
cup of coffee. My hope melted, unable to starve off
desperation. His underpants were starched on the bottom.
My fear grew. I knew exactly why those particular
underpants were 'starched on the bottom'. The sex had
been wonderful, as wonderful as any time we'd done 'it'.
Despite the limited space in the front seat of the car
and the short amount of time involved, we did 'it'. It
was brutal, with quick and hard jabs but it was not
unusual for us to engage in frantic coupling when we
were finally freed after five days of involuntary
separation. Like every one of the preceding times, it
had been very enjoyable if somewhat uncomfortable.
Although the diary entry had been made in Austin's
handwriting about ten minutes after we had gotten back
onto the freeway, it was not difficult to read. Unlike
his schoolwork, he always took great care when he wrote
in the diary. It was a point of pride, recording what we
did together. That it had been written on his lap while
I was driving at 70 miles per hour made it even more
remarkable.
***
#94 Friday May 12 4.30 p.m. Off I-40, in the front seat
of Papaw's Car. It was a really fast one. He must have
had lots of cum saved up. I can feel a big wet spot
under my butt where it's oozing out.
We stopped on the way to the Cherokee National Forest,
pulling off the I-40 about thirty miles away from the
Gatlinburg exit into a seldom used truck inspection area
beside the freeway. Unlike the rest stops a few miles
further in the mountains, there were no facilities.
Usually the gate at the freeway exit was locked when it
was not in use.
As a result, there were only a few trucks. They were
scattered haphazardly in the parking area and along the
access road. I stopped in the center, the nearest
vehicle a hundred yards away. Austin had been excited
since I picked him up from school, far more energized
than a rambunctious fourth-grader who was looking
forward to a weekend of camping. He was never one to
conceal his sex urge, certainly not around me, and never
when we were alone.
At times, it worried me that he was so intense about
sexual things. It helped that he was gifted, but sex was
accorded a precocious significance. He was especially
concerned with sex, which would have been normal for a
teenager, but he was still two weeks away from his ninth
birthday. Even before we were properly out of
Gatlinburg, he scooted over in his seat, kissed me wetly
on the cheek and promptly placed his small pale hand in
my lap.
He grinned as he met my eyes knowingly. His fingertips
scratched at the denim that was tightly stretched over
my bulging crotch. Both of us were aware of what was
semi-rigid underneath my jeans. It was always in that
state when he was within arm's reach. While I drove, he
unzipped my jeans, peeled back the cloth, relocated my
boxers to one side, extricated my penis on the other
side.
Then, beaming with delight he played with what he termed
"his best friend in the whole world". By the time we
reached I-40, he had my penis as hard as hickory and he
had managed to extract my testicles as well without
scraping them on the metal zipper. He breathed through
his nose, licking his lips with anticipation, yet not
going lower despite my unspoken encouragement. It was
his game and his rules.
In the car, it was an unspoken rule that I was his to
torment. I had to concentrate on driving and Austin,
well he had other things to concentrate on.
Occasionally, he grinned crudely, making obscene
movements of his head to simulate oral intercourse, his
lips stretched into an open circle while his pink tongue
circled as if applying saliva and kisses.
Only once or twice did he bend his head lower and then
it was to kiss my glans and lick away a droplet of pre-
seminal fluid that had gathered on the tip. It always
amused me that he made a wry face afterwards, yet he did
not complain about the taste. The rest of the time he
delighted in smearing it everywhere with his little
thumb. Around and around, a slippery massage that had
little probability of provoking orgasm, but which made
my penis achingly stiff.
The miles passed quickly, and not because I had the
cruise control set at seventy miles per hour. His soft
fingers stroked and caressed, then squeezed and teased,
scraping my bulging glans with his fingernails until I
had to ask him to stop. That only made him giggle and
try even harder. Not to make me achieve climax. Of
course not. He had better uses for my semen than to
watch it gush out over his hand. We were a long way past
mere masturbation, although it had its compensation at
times. Between giggles and taunts, and snide comments
about the size, age, and performance of my manhood, he
made no secret of his intention to inflict the most
excruciating sensations without allowing me the relief
of orgasm. That was his favorite game. It gave him power
over me.
I came close several times, but each time he lifted his
hand away at the last moment and blew over my raging
member until I subsided. Forty-two minutes into the trip
we took a much needed break. When he felt the car
slowing, he looked up quickly and stopped what he was
doing as he ascertained where we were. At last I had his
undivided attention. It lasted all of fifteen seconds
before he giggled and settled back down to take up where
he left off. Now he had a different goal.
By the time we had stopped moving, Austin's hand was
again wrapped around my rigid penis and moving with a
practiced rhythm. In his small hand, my engorged penis
looked very large and threatening. Yet his hand fit
naturally, as if God had created both parts to be
together. The only thing I was ever certain of was that
his hand belonged there more than mine did.
I gazed at him, recognizing in his pale blue eyes the
same overpowering lust that I felt. My desire for him
was matched by the hard thickness that burgeoned between
my legs. That he was so young no longer bothered me.
Time has a way of reducing one's inhibitions. I had
stopped thinking of him as eight-going-on-nine years old
a long time ago. All that mattered was that he was a boy
who was willing to explore his emerging sexuality, and
eagerly at that. While I still loved as my grandson, he
had become much more than that. I loved him in a far
greater way.
I turned off the engine, and glanced at the nearest
vehicle, a truck without a driver sitting behind the
steering wheel. I had no doubt that the driver was
sleeping in the cabin. Then I looked back at Austin. He
grinned, shamelessly squeezing the head of my penis to
expel more of its slippery fluid. Our eyes met. All it
ever took was a single shared glance. When you got right
down to it, we didn't need words to communicate.
Even his mother had observed the closeness we shared,
although I imagined that she never suspected that it was
the result of prolonged intimacy. Over time, we had
joined both in body and mind, and I liked to think in
soul as well. That was what love was for me. Another
crystalline droplet appeared at the crimson opening at
the end of my penis. Immediately, his thumb lifted up,
then with added slipperiness, circled my glans slowly.
"You want to do it, A-J?" I asked at last, just to make
sure.
"By now I reckon you of all people oughta know, Papaw. I
always wanna do it," he replied teasingly.
"Silly me!"
"You got something we can use for my butt, ain't you
Papaw?"
Austin did not have to ask, yet he always did. It was a
matter of habit, simply to let me know that he was
willing. We both knew that I kept a tube of KY in the
glove box. We had certainly used it often enough. We had
also done it 'dry', but it took much longer and left him
tender.
"Sure do."
"I got an itch that needs scratchin'."
"Yeah, I just bet you do, boy. Going to take more than
my finger too, isn't it?"
"I reckon so, Papaw."
Not even nine years old, and he grinned wantonly,
revealing perfectly white teeth. Some teeth were still
very small, others larger. One of his front teeth was
missing, creating a somewhat lopsided look that was very
endearing. He had lost it just before Christmas,
provoking inane sing-song wisecracks from his uncle
about wanting his two front teeth for Christmas.
Like this, aroused and anxious, his voice crackled with
excitement. His Louisianan accent, a voice still high-
pitched and unbroken, had suddenly turned squeaky. He
was always the same way, unable to conceal his
anticipation, boldly teasing ever since he realized that
his boyish voice and youthful taunts were part of what
turned me on. After a year, he knew exactly what he
needed to do. Still grinning almost from ear to ear, his
hands quickly unfastened his belt and button. He pulled
his zipper down very slowly, and then wriggled his hips
as he started to take down his jeans. It was a strip
show that was always worth watching.
After a few Seconds the top of his jeans passed his
thighs. Then his thumbs looped over his belt and he
hurriedly pushed his jeans and briefs the rest of the
way down together. I saw the brilliant white of his
underpants tangled up in his jeans before they
disappeared onto the floor of the car. Austin had an
erection that pointed to the sky. With the sunroof open,
the sight was awe inspiring. Not large by any stretch of
the imagination, but neither was it something to be
ashamed off for a pre-pubescent boy, particularly given
his slender body.
His scrotum was loose and I could easily discern the
barely visible lumps of his young testicles. They were
like jellybeans, there was no other word to describe
them. His belly and thighs were paler, verging on a
delicate shade of pink at his loins. Only the purple-
tinted glans of his circumcised penis differed in color,
and then it was forever memorable as it peeked upward
from between his legs.
Austin had been closely circumcised by a doctor who had
very little experience with the Gomco clamp. The
incompetent dolt had pulled the boy's prepuce over the
clamp too tightly, with the end result off removing more
of the foreskin that was normal, and certainly more than
was desirable. When Austin was erect, the skin was
pulled tight, so tight that it appeared polished. He had
an otherwise beautiful penis, and I never tired of
telling him so. The end result was that his small
perfectly shaped but miniature helmet-shaped glans was
even more exposed and 'cherry-like'. It was a crown for
a beautiful young prince.
Austin grinned at me lasciviously from the other side of
the car. He was like a little satyr, his spike of
masculine flesh standing up proud and powerful. With a
quick glance out his window to convince himself that no
one could see him, he scrambled across the console that
divided our two seats. Without a word, he took up his
position, kneeling over my legs, his bony little knees
squeezed against my thighs. When he was settled again,
he smirked and glanced down into the narrow gap that
separated us.
"You gotta get us both ready, cause I got no room,
Papaw," he said meekly, still husky.
In that, he was correct. The steering wheel was behind
his back and his silver-blond hair was close to the
headlining of the car. It was nearly impossible for him
to move except to the side and back to his seat. Still
he leaned forward and braced himself by leaning against
my shoulder and holding onto the car seat.
"At least it's better than the Jeep, AJ," I replied.
"There's a lot more room."
Austin nodded slightly. "I like this car more."
I was glad that I had traded the Jeep for the Ford.
Sure, the bigger vehicle used more gas and was far less
maneuverable on the back roads, but it was also a lot
larger in places where it counted. Now that the weather
was warmer, more than ever before, we were making out in
the car. This wasn't the first time we'd had sex in the
front seat, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time.
I felt his heated breath on my neck, his cheek against
my shoulder. A moment later I could feel his lips brush
my neck, relishing the hot wetness, the slick softness
of his inquisitive tongue. Left to his own devices, he
would give me a hickey before I ejaculated. It was a
small price to pay. It was his way of leaving his mark
on me as I left my mark on him. With luck, no one would
see us for the next two days and it would be gone before
I took him back home. There would be other marks by
then, none of them quite so visible as a love bite on
the neck.
My left hand lovingly stroked his slim body, touching
his smooth exposed buttocks with unconcealed interest.
He moved slightly to improve my access. His lips suckled
closer to my shoulder, then changed position, nibbling
slowly towards my ear. My fingers caressed his firm
small cheeks, dipping into the hidden groove between his
firm small buttocks. Nature's furrow.
Without difficulty, I found the dimpled indentation.
Slightly moist, like tiny lips pouting. I loved that
part of him as much as any other, even more at times
like this. With my one free hand I flipped the plastic
cap off the top of the tube and placed the end where my
other hand was. I spread his rubbery cheeks apart,
centered the tube where I thought his anus was, and
squeezed.
He winced as the cool gel spread into the heated crevice
of his buttocks. Unable to see what I was doing, I kept
squeezing until I thought there was sufficient. It was
much easier to clean up afterwards than to run the risk
of friction burns. A long time ago, we had discovered
that leather upholstery kept the stains to a minimum,
especially if we were diligent about promptly cleaning
up afterwards.
I snapped the cap back onto the KY, dropping it onto the
console where it would be easily found if we needed
more. I knew from prior experience that plenty of
lubrication would be necessary. He was awfully tight at
the start of the weekend. Yet tight as he was, it was
nothing like he had been the very first time.
With my right hand I slowly circled his rump, keeping my
distance from the source of our pleasure, building up to
the inevitable gradually so that he did not think I was
only interested in one thing. Both foreplay and after-
play were important, and even when we were rushed, I
always took a few minutes to relax him. Getting him
ready was my job and it was a task that was anything but
onerous. Always pleasure before and after, letting him
know that while his butt was important to me, so was the
rest of him. However, this time impatience got the
better of me. After all, Austin had spent the last forty
minutes playing with 'his best friend in the whole
world' and his 'best friend' was ready to have some fun.
Austin groaned when he felt my finger press between his
small soft cheeks, seeking to enter into him, into the
private place within his rectum, into the very core of
his being. Kneeling the way he was, with his legs
splayed wide and supported by the edges of the car seat,
it was easy to find the target. It was even easier to
lift my finger upward, press into the little hidden
mouth, beyond the greasy lip, feel his succulent heat,
the pleasant pressure of his firm cheeks clamping my
knuckles. He was hot, slightly spongy, resilient,
precious. He sighed softly, licked my neck generously,
tightened his grasp of my arm. He breathed deeply. He
had readied himself for what came next.
There was no puckered anus to greet my fingertip. There
had not been one for a long time. He had become very
used to my penetration of his anus. My finger dipped
into the sensitive opening, probing the little elastic
flesh ring that centered his crevice. At that moment,
the thought furthest from my mind was the other function
of his anus. His body heat seemed to flow into my
finger. He sighed again, took another deep breath, and
pressed down ever so slowly. It had the inevitable
result of pushing my fingertip firmly into his pliable
anus. Slicked with KY, it slid through to the second
joint without hesitation, the rim tensing momentarily
before he managed to relax again.
As far back as I could remember, Austin had never fought
it. Experience brought muscle control, and now his anus
nibbled hungrily on my finger. It was his way of saying
'ready for more'. The suction against my neck increased,
his teeth drawing into my flesh, his tongue swirling.
His buttocks began to move. Slowly at first. Always
slowly, steadily, lifting cautiously, pushing down just
a little bit further each time, working his pelvis back
and forth, trembling if it went too far too fast.
I supported him, aware that he wasn't very comfortable,
knowing it wouldn't take very long for either of us once
my penis was inside him. I wondered who would crest
first. Sometimes he had a 'hair' trigger, a few times
all my finger was all it took to make him shudder
uncontrollably, but more often than not I beat him to
the finish line on Fridays.
I was breathing deeply when I finally eased my finger
away. For a moment he tightened his anus, reflexively
holding, binding his quivering muscle to keep my finger
inside him. It was to no avail for he had loosened
considerably over the last few minutes. Not loose enough
that I could ram two fingers into him, but loose enough
that he could take my penis without too much difficulty
if I was patient.
He lifted higher, repositioning himself. His arms pulled
close to his chest, his hands held me tightly. I kissed
his forehead lovingly. Instinctively his head turned.
His lips pursed, closed with mine, locked. I sucked his
tongue forward, held it between my teeth. We kissed,
oblivious to the dribble of saliva between our chins.
We parted after a minute and sat quietly watching while
I reached down and smeared what was left of the KY over
my penis. What I was about do to Austin was the one
thing that brought me closer to him than I had ever
imagined possible with another person. We shared our
bodies without restraint, ever ready to join. It the
result of love, deep love that consumed my every
thought. That he could even be willing, wanting me as
much as I wanted him made it even more miraculous.
"You ready, AJ?" I asked.
"Uh huh! Let's do it, Papaw."
"Okay."
"Hey! That's my balls, you dummy. The hole's further
down."
"Lift your butt up a bit higher then," I laughed. "Or
I'll make a hole where there isn't supposed to be one."
I placed my hand behind him, positioning my penis where
it needed to be. With his buttocks wide apart, I could
feel the distance between us. There was still a few
inches and the angle was all wrong. I moved down into
the seat while I pushed him forward and upward. My penis
teased his crack and he sighed from the added warmth and
pressure. His pelvis rotated, rubbing energetically so
that my glans stabbed into the wrinkled mound of his
scrotum. He groaned anxiously.
"Too far up now, AJ," I said urgently.
I bent my penis down, massaging the swollen helmet head
back and forth along his perineum. Each time I passed
over his anus he tried to push onto it. I had forty
minutes of torment to make up for. After the fourth or
fifth time, he groaned and shoved back at me. I smiled,
still surprised that a boy who had not seen his ninth
birthday, was so sexually advanced that he knew what he
wanted and how to get it. I relented, and pressed home,
burrowing no further than a half inch into his tight
anus.
"Hmmmm..."
"That the right place?"
"Uh huh! You got it, Papaw."
"You feel so good, Austin," I purred in his closest ear.
"But not as good as you feel. He's so big and hard."
"That's from you playing with him so long."
"It's my job." It was impossible to miss the pride.
"God I love you so much, AJ."
"I missed you, Papaw."
"I know. Me too! Take your time, Austin. Don't push down
so hard."
"I want him inside'a me."
"Whoa boy. Take it easy."
"Yeahhhhh, there he goes. Let me do it now, Papaw."
Austin breathed out slowly as the bulging glans of my
penis gradually passed through his anus and reached up
into his rectum. It seemed like he was wasn't going to
stop until he had taken all of it—in a single inexorable
thrust.
"Slow down a tad, AJ."
"It don't hurt more than a bit."
"I'm not worried about you. I want it to last."
"Me too. Only I cain't help it."
"Yeah, that's so good."
"You feel nice."
"So do you, AJ."
Austin giggled softly and stopped with three inches of
my penis imbedded in his bowels. He took a deep breath
and rested there. Nearly a minute passed as we reflected
on what we now shared.
"Today in school... all I could think about... was you
and me fuckin'."
"Like this?"
"Yeah. N' we can do it all weekend too if we want.
'cause Tristan ain't here. Anyway I was thinkin' 'bout
it in Ms. Thompson's readin' class, and she went and
picked on me."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I was on the wrong page and everythin'."
"Did you have a stiffie?"
His teasing giggle answered the question. "Duh! What do
you think? I was playin' with it."
"Dumb question. Did you get into trouble, AJ?"
"Nah. When she picks on me I'm mostly ready, so she
didn't care that much."
"One day I'll have to meet her."
"I'm goin' to introduce you..." Austin giggled,
relishing the next words, "as my boy-lover." He lifted
up with infinite slowness, careful that my penis did not
pull all the way out of him.
"Very funny..."
"So funny you forgot to laugh," he interjected. He
pushed down again, letting it stab hard into him.
"God, you're so tight, AJ. It feels like you're going to
squeeze it off."
"No I'm not. This is tight, Papaw!"
The pressure exerted in that hot taut tube was immediate
and unrelenting. It felt like Austin really was
squeezing my penis off. It reminded me of when he was a
virgin and the night we had taken that irrevocable step.
He was painfully tight for the next few weeks after
Thanksgiving, except that then it was not deliberate. He
was just plain tight. Experience time and eventually
took care of that for him, and with practice he also
learned how to give me pleasure, lots of pleasure, more
pleasure than any man could reasonably expect to receive
in a single lifetime.
"Okay, okay, I give up." I laughed and playfully grabbed
his buttocks, one cheek in each hand. "You're going to
squeeze the cum right out of me if you don't stop that,"
I warned.
"Then stop wastin' time and just do me," he said softly.
His face was just inches from my ear, close enough that
I felt the moist heat of his breath.
"I thought you were going to do all the work this time.
You're the one on top."
"Nah! It's more fun for me if you do it, old man."
"Old man? Who's an old man?"
"You are, Papaw! You might have a big dick but you're
older 'n hell."
Austin gasped as I lifted him up from the seat, bracing
my feet in the foot well and my back against the seat.
Holding there, suspended. Gravity did the rest. Another
inch slid in. Almost too much. He groaned. My penis had
reached his prostate, immature though it was. The tiny
node was compressed. At the same time, his anus was
stretched wide as the thickest part of my penis breached
his opening.
Tiny tremors, spasms of nervous energy like bursting
sparks of life made him quiver. I could feel his chest
moving, a shudder from each uncertain breath. Like this,
he was unable to speak, unable to do anything except be
very still and wait, wait until the shock passed and his
sphincter completed the process of relaxing.
"You okay, lover boy?" I murmured in his ear.
He nodded slightly, just enough to let me know he was
able to deal with the feeling of displacement and the
unrelenting pressure that was slowly stretching his boy-
sized opening into something much larger. Sometimes
waiting was the best part.
"He's so big," he whispered after a while. He wriggled
his pelvis again to make it move inside him. "I needed
him in me so bad last night I couldn't stand it. I
almost called you after dinner, but Mom made me finish
my homework."
"I couldn't have helped much, not with her there."
"I just wanted to hear your voice. You could'a jerked
him off or somethin' while we talked."
Very gently, very slowly, I tried to ease us apart by
lifting his buttocks with my hands. It was time to be
patient but I needed him, needed to be all the way
inside him, needed desperately to love him. His slender
body held on, still locking around my organ and refusing
to give up even a fraction of an inch. Instead of
forcing the bond I held him like the precious gift he
was, my thumbs on his hips, my fingers stroking each
smooth curvaceous cheek, soothing him.
It was the calm before the storm, a momentary hiatus
until he was ready. The pressure faded. I smiled,
wondering at the miracle that made it possible.
An involuntary spasm tightened his sphincter again,
grasping firmly, hard enough to make him groan. I sighed
with him, aware of his pumping heart, the quick shallow
breaths, the intense heat that emanated from the living
flesh that encompassed me.
Then, as that contraction faded, I pressed in once more,
lifting higher as I pushed him down, sunk deeper, felt
his tension fade, return, slowly abating. He was sucking
on my neck, fighting the urge to cry until the pain
turned to ecstasy. My hips began to move, eliciting a
soft whisper, unintelligible. Encouragement? Beyond
stopping. Impossible. Lifting up into him again. Another
inch. No more, not the way we were positioned. Five
inches. Full, so wonderfully full. Groaning, gasping,
shaking, even begging. Words of love.
More, more, more. Getting faster. Harder. Smelling him,
the excretion forming, seeping down. Hearing suction,
wet, loose, becoming looser, wetter. One hand around his
shoulders, pushing him down hard. The other hand
grasping his buttocks, lifting him up high. Feeling the
slime of KY jelly spreading outward between us. Pumping
in and out like a mechanical piston, power measured by
bore and stroke.
Suctioning with each deep thrust. Whimpering whenever
his squat aching hardness was abraded against my
clothing. Then stiffening, clinging to me, his hips
bucking madly with the onset of orgasm. Pitifully dry,
always dry, jerking frantically, juvenile frenzy
contorting his face, yet always gasping. So alive it
took my breath away to see him climax.
It came and passed without relief, his body shuddering,
his bowels clamping tightly with every spasm. It lasted
only a few seconds before he was finished. For those few
seconds, his sphincter was like a vise, so tight that I
thought I could feel his blood pulsing. Perhaps it was
me. It was impossible to determine where Austin's body
ended and mine began. I felt my testicles bursting,
pouring forth their juices, ejaculating into the still
shuddering boy.
From start to finish, it had only taken a few minutes,
yet it seemed like an eternity. Every second treasured,
imprinted on my mind and never to be forgotten. I kept
heaving, hugging him tightly as the last of it emptied
into the boy I loved. This was my gift, given in return
for his gift of love. Panting, sweating, wishing it
could go on and on forever.
I kissed the top of his head, nuzzling silky blond hair,
inhaling his sweaty scent. His head inclined, eyes half
closed, peaceful, a hint of an enigmatic smile. Thankful
bliss. We kissed tenderly, almost chastely at first,
denying the intimacy that had just overwhelmed us. I
held his body tightly, gratefully. There was undeniable
satisfaction from what we had done, desire had been
quenched.
There was a lingering memory from a long time ago, a
time when we had first achieved the impossible. Despite
everything in his past, I was his first, his only lover.
It would always be special for us. A few more minutes
passed in mutual silence. My penis softened, slipped
back through the flesh I had churned to a sloppy
looseness, flopped benignly onto my groin. The angry
man-beast had become a child's plaything once again.
Awkwardly, stiffly, uncomfortably, Austin climbed off
me. He was still breathing deeply, unsteadily aware of
the void that had been opened and the seed that had
ejaculated into him. He smiled shyly at me as he
clambered slowly over the leather-trimmed console and
eased back into his seat. It would take an hour or more
before that part of him returned to any sense of
'normalcy'. He never complained. It was just the way it
was. He would be sore, but it would go away before the
next time.
I watched as he reached down and picked up his clothes,
tugged his briefs away from his jeans and began to
dress.
"Okay?" I asked.
"Very okay."
"Not bad for an old man, huh AJ?"
"You really filled me up, Papaw."
"I tried hard." We shared a smile.
"I could feel you shooting a whole lot up there."
"A week without sex will do that to a guy. Even an old
guy like me. I must have had a lot stored up for you."
"You didn't jack off, Papaw?"
"Of course not. It's not the same without you, AJ."
He pulled his briefs up, wriggling to get them beyond
his moistened buttocks, positioning his now-limp penis
under the cloth before pulling on his jeans. Finally,
although without his shoes on, he refastened his seat
belt. He smirked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to
say 'what are you looking at?'
"You okay?" I asked.
"One hundred and nineteen hours."
"Huh?"
"One hundred and nineteen hours," Austin repeated
gleefully.
"I don't get it."
He giggled, so boyishly, so unlike the lust-filled
animal of a few minutes earlier.
"That's how long it's been since we did it the last
time."
"Oh?"
"You sure made a lot of cum in a hundred and nineteen
hours," he guffawed.
"You were shootin' up me forever. I could feel it
squirtin' out in great big gobs."
A quick glance at my watch and a quick calculation
showed that Austin was correct. It had been one hundred
and nineteen hours nearly to the minute. The last time
had been on my couch on the previous Sunday. It was just
before we had to shower and leave to meet his mother for
dinner. It had been fun, a lot of fun. It had also taken
a lot longer than usual, nearly an hour all told from
start to finish. When we finally stopped, his anus had
been red and more than a little bit sore, but
considering what it had been put through that weekend,
it was in remarkably good condition. He was getting used
to it. Playfully, I reached over and ruffled his hair
affectionately.
"You're a great kid, AJ," I laughed. "But more than
anything I'm really glad you're a horny little guy."
He grinned at me and I started the engine. As I pulled
back onto the freeway, Austin wriggled uncomfortably. My
semen had started to drain down, wetting the rear of his
briefs where it covered his butt and beginning to soak
through his jeans. Little did I know it was the
beginning point for my present troubles.
"I had no idea what it was at the time."
I glanced back at Tara, immediately returning to the
present. I silently promised myself to be dispassionate.
My decision was made. I would admit to the real nature
of our relationship only when I needed to. She would
never be able to understand how much I loved Austin.
There was no point in making the situation worse than it
was.
"Huh?" I breathed out.
"At first I thought he might have sat in something while
he was camping with you, Dad. Milk, or something like
that. You know, I couldn't think of anything that would
leave a stain like that."
"How about ice cream?" I suggested weakly.
Tara gave me a wry look. "Then I worried he had some
kind of accident."
I breathed out slowly, confused by her calmness. "An
accident?" I repeated cautiously.
"I mean... I thought maybe he had diarrhea. He's been
having problems with his bowel movements on and off. I
guess I should have figured out why he was having
problems, shouldn't I?" she added sarcastically.
"Anyway, I checked the other underpants he'd taken with
him. There was nothing on them. In fact, they hadn't
even been worn."
Tara regarded me with an ambiguous expression. Was she
trying to make me realize that my having sex with Austin
had caused him health problems? I knew about the
diarrhea. It was only to be expected that there were
side effects when a young boy had sex with a man. Loose
bowel movements were part of it. Was she angry? It was
impossible to tell. She should have been furious.
"So? He spent most of the weekend in his swimming
costume."
"Don't you mean out of it?" she added snidely. "It's not
that I mind Austin going around nude with you. He is a
boy after all. I'm not blind. I knew he had a suntan all
over by the end of last summer. It did arouse my
suspicions a little then, but it didn't mean that much.
He has such a nice body. There's no reason why he should
be ashamed of it and there's no reason why he shouldn't
have a nice tan to go with it."
I smiled awkwardly. "A nice body" was a gross
understatement. Austin was a very beautiful boy. His
body was the closest thing to perfection that I had ever
seen.
"He is a bit uninhibited," I offered gratuitously.
"I know. Sometimes it can be easier to let him go around
naked than fight with him. At the time, I didn't worry
about it. I didn't have a problem with him being naked
around you. I guess now I should have."
She stopped and looked at me. Slowly she shook her head.
In despair? In denial? I could not determine.
"Anyway, then I checked the underpants he'd just taken
off before he got into the bath tub."
I felt another wave of panic.
"And guess what I found?" she said with a sweetness that
made me even more nervous.
I swallowed, now more afraid than I could ever remember
being before. I was going to spend the rest of my life
in jail. If she had any doubts up to then, they had
gone. It did not take a brain surgeon to realize what
she had discovered on Austin's underpants. I licked my
dry lips, trying to think. The only thought that came to
me was, 'you stupid fucking idiot'. The silence hung
between us. I aimlessly fiddled with the coffee cup.
There was nothing that I could say to mitigate the
situation. I could feel the condemnation in her
attentive gaze.
"Well?"
"I don't know," I answered bravely. Then, having nothing
to lose, for the hell of it, I added, "Why don't you
tell me?"
"It had the same sort of stain, in exactly the same
place. Only it was still damp, Dad."
I glanced down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.
There was no longer suspicion. But there never had been
suspicion. She was merely confronting me with what she
knew, playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse
before it delivers the final bite. I breathed out
slowly. She not only knew what I had done with Austin
the day before, she had the evidence to prove it. Legal
evidence of semen and DNA, the kind of evidence that a
defense lawyer tries to keep out of court because he has
no defense if the jury hears it.
I rubbed my chin pensively. If Austin had not told her
the truth, it would have been very easy to tell her she
was wrong, to make up a plausible excuse that had him
sitting in a puddle of milk, or wrestling and getting
his ice-cream on his butt, or... However, it was a long
way past that. It was time for the truth and the longer
she looked at me with her clear, questioning eyes, the
greater the pressure I was under to admit what had
really happened.
A part of me was ready to tell her that I loved Austin,
that I loved him not as a father loves a son, but as men
have always loved boys. I wanted to tell her that he
meant more to me than she could possibly imagine, or
even begin to understand. The rest of my consciousness
screamed 'deny', 'deny', 'deny'. She could prove
nothing. Even the semen on her son's underpants could be
explained somehow. Perhaps I could have told her that I
had a wet dream while Austin was sleeping? It was cold
and we had shared the same sleeping bag. It was an
accident and I couldn't clean it up because I would wake
him up. Instead, I slumped back into my chair and
sighed, slowly shaking my head.
"I could tell right away from the smell what it was."
She wrinkled her nose slightly so that I got the
picture. "I went into the bathroom and made him get out
and dry himself."
She half-closed her eyes and shook her head as she tried
to control her anger. Her nostrils flared as she took a
deep breath.
"I took him into his bedroom and then I looked at him
there! God! I shouldn't have to say this. How could you,
Dad?"
She paused. She breathed out slowly, taking her time in
deciding what to say and how to say it.
"How could you do that to him?" she said acidly.
I shrugged, lost for words. Over the last year I had
often asked myself the same question. There was a price
to be paid when a man had anal sex with a young boy no
matter how much both of them wanted to do it. The price
was more than the occasional bout of diarrhea or
constipation. I knew what she had seen. It was a
familiar if disturbing sight. There was no pink pucker
surrounding Austin's anus. There had not been one since
the end of the previous summer. And since Thanksgiving,
there was a dark brown-purple hued circle around his
anus.
It had been there for nearly half a year. It was a
circle whose diameter corresponded almost exactly with
the width of my penis. After the weekend, for the next
day or two, it was usual for the anus itself to be
puffed out and crimson-red around the rim. It was
swollen for good reason. It was not something that I was
proud of. There was just no way to avoid it.
For a second I felt bile rising, tasted the sourness of
my gut reacting to the hideous shame of it, the
knowledge that I had done that to him in the name of
love. Tara examined me icily, and with a gesture,
dismissed anything I might offer as explanation.
We were late leaving the Cherokee National Forest. We
were late because Austin and I had sex right before we
got dressed, broke camp and hiked back to where the car
was parked. We had sex? That was an understatement if
ever there was one. We had made love, intensely
passionate love, the kind of love that one might think
that a young boy was incapable of. Austin was very
capable. Not even two hours had passed before I dropped
him off at his home. He was tired and dirty, and
naturally sore. After prolonged intercourse, his butt
was worn out. After two hours the bottom of his
underpants was guaranteed to be still damp.
The last entry in our diary had been in my handwriting,
made after I dropped Austin off with his mother and went
back to my condominium and consumed a bourbon and coke
in the hot tub while I thought about what a wonderful
weekend it had been and made plans for the following
one. It just was a week ago, exactly seven days before
Austin's ninth birthday.
***
#99 Sunday May 14 about 3.00 p.m. Taylor Mill Creek, yet
again. We fucked for an hour before we took the tent
down. AJ orgasmed six times! Three of them without me
touching his dick. A record for him! Next time will be
100. I am going to have to make it something special.
Sunday was hot, far hotter than Saturday. We woke up
late with the sun already high enough in the sky to cast
shadows from the trees overhead onto the khaki and
orange walls of the tent. I lay there for a long while,
silently cradling Austin's tousled head in the crook of
my arm, waiting for him to wake up. I always let him
sleep in after a long night.
He stirred shortly before ten o'clock and snuggled
closer, squeezing his small pale rump against my groin.
I hugged him tighter, gradually lifting my hand along
his smooth flank, grazing his nipple, touching the
sinews of his neck, rounding the curve of his chin,
admiring the delicate softness of his cheek, stroking
his hair. He lay still, barely awake, absorbing my
caresses with unspoken joy. It was no secret that he
liked being touched.
The tent slowly became hotter, but it was not
uncomfortable for us because we pushed the sleeping bag
further down, a few inches at a time until we were
completely uncovered. The sun gradually climbed higher
into the sky and its rays beamed down onto the nylon
tent, creating a surreal golden glow that made our
sweat-flecked bodies both look and feel very erotic.
Although we were both very hard, sex was a long way from
our minds. I just wanted to be with him, to hold him
close, and whisper my love in his ear.
We shared kisses on and off, sometimes wet and wriggly,
exchanging tongues and spit like two teenagers in the
backseat; sometimes dry and tender, brushing lips
against lips, foreheads, cheeks, ears, eyes, and pert
little noses. It was about eleven o'clock when we
finally staggered forth and pissed in the long grass. We
were like two kids having a competition about who could
go the furthest and the longest. I won both contests.
"I bet that feels better?" I laughed, shaking off the
last few drops.
"Man, I was dying," Austin agreed with a hearty grin as
he bounced his little weapon back and forth and
splattered droplets in the grass. "What's for breakfast,
Papaw?"
"Sausage and eggs?" I replied hopefully with a downward
glance.
Like me, Austin's morning erection had eased, but with
the vigor of youth it had not gone away completely. His
penis was still lifting outwards, curving away from his
small shriveled scrotum. His tiny reddish glans looked
very exposed. The entire thing, even when fully
extended, was smaller than a "Bob Evans" breakfast
sausage, but to me it was far better tasting. Despite my
limited experience, I considered myself something of a
connoisseur of preteen boy wiener, although Austin had
recently begun to refer to that delectable part of his
anatomy as 'dick'. However, the fact was indisputable. I
had often feasted on his 'sausage and eggs' before
getting out of bed in the morning.
"No way! You're not getting my dick in your mouth,
Papaw. You're just a dirty old man," he grinned. He
jumped back a few feet so that he was safely out of
reach.
"But I'm hungry, AJ," I whined teasingly.
"There's no way you're getting your mouth on this, at
least not until you've shaved and I've had something to
eat," he laughed.
He placed a hand on either side of his crotch, lifting
his fat little scrotum with one finger from each side.
His penis adopted an outward view, lengthening even as I
looked at it. It was a very tempting morsel.
I growled menacingly and Austin bounded away and darted
down the slope to the creek. I laughed after him, ever
content to watch him. He was one-hundred-percent pure
boy. He was irresistible and it was all I could do not
to go charging after him. From behind, his butt looked
perfectly normal, if slightly browner than when we had
first arrived. He stopped where the rocks had been
gathered together and carefully dipped his foot into the
water.
"Ye ow ouch!" he shrieked. "'s cold."
"I can imagine," I laughed. "You're going to freeze your
toes off doing that, AJ."
"It ain't that cold, Papaw."
"Well I'm going to heat up some water so I can shave and
make some coffee. I can't stand shaving with cold
water."
I turned away and walked to the tent. My shaving kit was
in a side pocket of my Back pack along with a spare tube
of KY jelly. I fitted a new blade to the razor and
picked up the shaving cream before going outside. I
squatted down beside the fireplace. I poked a stick into
the silver-black coals and determined that it was cold.
At that moment, I needed coffee more than anything else.
Well almost anything else, I thought as I looked down to
the creek. Austin was squatting down and facing towards
me. He waved languidly and smirking crudely, dipped one
hand into the water and splashed it over his butt. I
waved back, amused by his sudden interest in personal
hygiene.
There were still a few sticks left and I hurriedly
shoved them together into a crude pile around a few
handful's of dried leaves and grass. I looked around for
the box of matches, remembering that they were somewhere
outside but having no idea where I had left them the
night before.
"It ain't never gonna start like that, Papaw," Austin
said from behind me.
"Want to bet, AJ?" I challenged.
A glance over my shoulder became a lingering stare at
the beautiful nude boy. He was pale and his body was
flecked with clear-crystal droplets of water. He had his
gooseflesh-covered arms wrapped around his chest. His
nipples were barely visible and his genitals had
shriveled to the point where they appeared smaller than
I had ever seen them. He looked cold, yet he grinned
warmly as he contemplated what I was doing.
"Sure. Five bucks says it goes out the first time,
Papaw."
I laughed. "Five bucks, my ass."
"Go on, light it," he chortled. "I'll win! You'll see.
You're lousy at making fires, Papaw."
Despite the fact that I was what might be called an
"experienced outdoorsman," in one of those trendy
catalogs, I barely managed to win the bet, and then it
was only by carefully blowing on the dying flame. After
a slow start, the struggling fire gradually consumed the
dried grass and struggled to reach branches that were
too thick to burn. Finally, I had a good blaze going and
I pushed the kettle closer to the flames and stood up.
"Where's the five bucks, AJ?" I demanded playfully, my
hand extended.
"I don't have it with me, Papaw" Austin said gleefully.
"I'll give it to you when we get home."
"That'll cost you more, AJ" I said.
"How much more?"
"Hm, well the interest rate is real high."
"How high?" He was grinning. He shifted his weight,
balancing on one leg. The toes of his other leg scraped
the back of his knee.
"Very high. Of course, if you paid for it now, the
interest wouldn't be a problem."
"Now, Papaw?" Austin smirked. He stepped back warily.
"But I told you already. I don't have any money with
me."
"I guess I could take a substitute for cash."
"You want my ass again?" he giggled teasingly.
"I've had it so many times, kid, it's not worth five
bucks even if we did if nonstop for the whole weekend,"
I chortled. Like his butt, the look on Austin's face was
priceless.
"What then, Papaw?" he giggled.
There were times when he looked and sounded like a girl.
This was one of those times. Except for the little
appendage that dangled sheepishly between his thin pale
thighs, he could easily be mistaken for a girl.
Fascinated, I stroked my chin, pretending to be deep in
thought. I knew what I was going to demand and I
expected that he would take up my offer despite his
hunger. He was never one to avoid an opportunity for
fun, especially when it involved sex. I felt my penis
stiffening with anticipation.
"Hm, I don't know? You got any ideas, AJ?" I suggested,
postponing the inevitable.
Austin shrugged and played the part of the innocent boy,
although he was careful to stand just out of reach.
"Nope. Don't think so!"
"How much does your mom pay you an hour for working in
the shop?"
"Five bucks." He giggled. "You wanna fuck me for an
hour, Papaw?" he suggested hopefully.
"You've got a hot little ass, but you're only worth five
bucks an hour if you're working in the shop. Like I keep
telling you, fucking you is free. Heck, maybe you ought
to pay me. I'm the one who has to do all the work.
Anyway, I'm too hungry to fuck." I grinned. "It takes
too much energy. I've got a better idea."
"What?" Austin asked uncertainly.
"You can give me a blow job, AJ."
"Hm, I suck your dick? That's it? Are you sure that's
all?" he asked suspiciously.
"Not quite. You've got to suck me for an entire hour."
He regarded me, still uncertain. "You're jokin' me,
Papaw." He grinned. "You're not, are you? A whole hour,
huh?"
I winked and stooped to place the last of the firewood
on the fire. Another sideways glance confirmed that
Austin was considering the idea. He smiled.
I picked up the shaving cream and squeezed out a long
bead onto my palm. I dipped out a little of the now-luke
warm water from the kettle and applied the foam to my
face. Austin continued to watch. Like most boys, the act
of shaving held a peculiar fascination for him despite
the fact that it would be many years before he would
need to do it himself. I went to work carefully,
removing two-day-old stubble.
My fully erect penis protruded crudely from between my
legs. For a few seconds, Austin studied it, appreciating
its size. Eight inches long. From two inches thick in
the center, it tapered slightly to my pubis and to a
glans that both of us agreed was just a little bit too
big for a young boy's bottom, at least at first. He
smirked.
"I gotta suck that big hairy thing for a whole hour,
huh?" he queried again, this time more callously, but
also unable to hide his growing excitement. I nodded,
still watching him from the corner of my eye.
"I hate getting hairs in my mouth." Suddenly his
expression changed. His eyes sparkled with merriment.
"Okay, I'll do it..." He paused deliberately, teasing me
my slowly licking his lips. "But I got a condition
first."
"What's that, AJ?" I muttered through soapy lips.
"You gotta shave all the hairs off'a him first, Papaw."
Austin burst into a fit of giggles.
"You want me to shave it? You want me to have a bald
dick? You want mine to look like yours?"
"Yep! Then I'll suck you whenever you want, and for as
long as you want."
"It's a deal, AJ!"
Perhaps he was playing a game, perhaps he never intended
for me to go through with it, but I did. He watched,
mesmerized as I settled back on my haunches and applied
a thick foamy covering of soap and warm water to my
genitals. Sometime in the last minute, his penis had
responded. It stuck like a little pink lever, waiting to
be pulled. I felt a thrill that made my penis throb.
Fifty-five years old, and I was acting like a kid. We
were both excited in a way that was quite different to
what we usually felt before we had sex. I expected we
would be having a very late breakfast.
I brought the razor to my groin and carefully began to
make long sweeps. Each deft stroke removed more of the
dark pubic hair that spiralled in the white foam.
Scraping the razor along the sides of my penis quickly
deflated my erection, and the soapy warmth relaxed my
scrotum until it hung in loose folds. Austin, on the
other hand, seemed to get even more aroused.
After a minute or two, my pubic hair had all but
vanished and I turned my attention to my scrotum. This
was more difficult and required considerable
concentration. Austin stepped closer and dropped to his
knees to obtain a closer view as I manipulated the razor
up and down and around my testicles.
As soon as I wiped the last of the soap away, I lay back
on the leaf-strewn ground. My genitals felt very strange
in their denuded state. I felt as if I was exposed to
the world. Austin started giggling as he knelt down. His
hands brushed across my chest, playing lightly with my
nipples, then he grabbed my penis and gave it a few
jerks. I quickly became erect again.
He knew what he had to do. He did not need to be asked
or cajoled when temptation was staring him in the face.
He had almost a year of practice at sucking my penis.
Playfully he pushed my legs apart so that he had
unobstructed access. He moved into position, squatting
down with his back to me, his knees wide apart, his feet
on either side of my chest. He held my now-hairless
penis momentarily before his lips. His eyes half-closed,
concentrating, entranced by the unexpected and
unfamiliar smoothness of my sex organs.
I lay silently, willing his body to join with mine,
wanting him to take me all the way into his hot wet
mouth. His tongue came forward, touched the tip of my
penis, hesitating slightly when my glans kissed his soft
lips. My hands caressed his bare buttocks, gently urging
him, guiding him down. His mouth opened instinctively,
swallowing even as the glans bulged into his mouth. He
pushed down on it, a relentless effort until the first
few inches had all but disappeared. Only then did he
breath through his nose. He struggled for a few moments,
readying himself. Then further. Sinking slowly.
Pushing into the back of his mouth. It was hotter there,
and tighter too, but it was a very different pleasure to
another place that was even hotter and tighter. He
backed away and licked slowly. Up and down, around and
behind, in front. His tongue swirled over the soft
clean-shaven skin at the junction of my penis and pubis.
It was unlike what he was used to.
"How does that feel now, AJ?" I teased.
His head lifted away and he swallowed, soothing his
mouth and trying to find more saliva. My penis had
reached deeply into him. His face changed, a grimace,
pretending he did not enjoy the taste of my excreting
juices.
"It don't taste no different, but it sure seems
different, Papaw. It's a bit like sucking a boy," Austin
chortled.
"As if you would know, lover boy. The only boy you've
ever going to suck off, at least while I'm still around,
is the one in your dreams. Besides, your brother that
is," I added as an afterthought. It was an idea whose
possibility I had recently begun to think of as being
very interesting.
And Austin laughed as I knew he would. Then, taking a
deep breath, he immediately went back down on me, all
the way until his nose nestled into my scrotum. It had
taken him several months to learn how to go all the way
down, but it was something that once learned, was never
forgotten. He eased back a little and settled his chest
and shoulders down on top me. His sweaty, now softened
sex pressed into my chest, his buttocks split apart to
reveal his special treasure. His scent, the sight of his
small slightly dilated opening, invited my tongue to
taste him. I rose to the challenge.
After a few minutes of licking around the rim and along
his crack, I gently probed into the hot crimson tube
that gave access to the depths of his body. It was like
sticking my tongue into a funnel, a sleek canal, wider
at first, then narrower. Austin's muffled sigh showed
his contentment. We started to suck and lick each other
with increasing urgency. Within a minute I had pushed my
tongue into him as far as it could reach. It was never
far enough.
We stayed like that an hour. He brought me to the peak
several times, and backed off at the last moment. Each
and every time he licked me until the immediacy of my
orgasm faded. He planted a thousand passionate kisses on
my now-smooth scrotum with his soft lips. He nibbled my
fat purple glans with his sharp little teeth. He
massaged my testicles mercilessly with his deft,
surprisingly strong fingers.
What I felt was the most incredible pleasure and a
modicum of pain that was truly unforgettable. Austin was
a master of torture and he delighted in exacting his
cruel torment of preventing my ejaculation. His own
climax was not so easily avoided and when I finally
reduced him to a mind-shattering orgasm, it probably
incited him to ever-greater efforts to please me.
An hour had long passed when he finally stopped. He sat
up, grinning crudely as he wiped the saliva from his
chin and cheeks. His eyes sparkled. He looked like a
little satyr, perched above me, still slowly stroking my
aching erection with one hand while he inquisitively
prodded a little fingertip into the slit at the end of
my penis. His finger nail scratched the bulbed tip, then
followed the hollow to the underside, then back around
the flare. He leaned forward and slurped across my glans
with his wet soft tongue before kissing it. He giggled
and clambered off my chest.
"I'm hungry, Papaw," he announced.
"You had plenty of chances to take care of that, AJ," I
replied greedily.
Having been so close for so long, I wanted to ejaculate
so badly that it physically ached.
Austin shook his head, grinning shamelessly. "I want
real food, Papaw."
"The nutritional value of cum might be about zero, but
it'll still fill you up," I laughed.
"No way!" Austin retorted. "I need to eat somethin'
before I pass out from hunger."
I chuckled. I had missed my chance. One of the greatest
sights in the world was watching Austin gulp as my semen
spurted into his mouth.
"Okay, I guess I can wait to get rid of my load until
later on, AJ. I'm hungry too. Let's get something to
eat."
We got up and dusted the dried leaves from our bodies. I
could taste Austin's special place in my mouth. At
first, it had been a sweet, slightly acrid taste,
although certainly not unpleasant. It just took some
getting used to. After a year, I was more than used to
it. In fact, I relished the taste. I licked my lips and
breathed out slowly. I knew most people would think that
what we had done was disgusting, but for me, for us, it
was the most wonderful thing it the world. It was a
special way for a man to show a boy how much he was
loved.
"Can I wear that thing you made for a while?" Austin
asked.
I had just finished putting wood on the fire. I stopped
and turned to him. This was not unexpected. At first he
had not been too keen on wearing it, but that had
changed over the last few weeks. The thing was a small
penis-shaped piece of wood that I had made carefully out
of a piece of walnut using the lathe in my shop above
"Smokey Mountain Tee Shirts and Sweats". When it was
perfectly shaped, I smoothed and oiled it until the
surface was burnished. It was only about four inches
long. It was as thick as two of my fingers, and it was
more than adequate for Austin's slim body. A piece of
nylon cord passed through the blunt knobbed end. It
could be tied around his waist so that the little dildo
was kept firmly in place when he moved about.
"Are you sure AJ?" I asked. "You don't have to."
"I kinda like how it feels when I'm walking around," he
explained. He smiled shyly.
"I thought you didn't like it wearing it. You weren't
too happy about it yesterday?"
Austin shrugged, dropping his eyes. "My butt was sore. I
think it was from having you in there for so long the
night before, Papaw."
"Well, I guess it won't hurt you if you wear it for a
little while, if you want to."
"Through breakfast?"
I nodded and told him to make sure it was well-coated
with KY before he inserted it. He grinned and headed off
into the tent to locate his favorite toy. When he came
out again, he strutted around the fire, moving his
slender hips with an oscillation that was not unlike a
teenage girl on the make. That, his uncertain smile, and
the thin nylon cord knotted around his waist were the
only indications that there something lodged between his
firm buttocks. The object itself was far enough inside
him that there was no sign of it.
Only his movements showed that it was sufficiently deep
to give him pleasure. He wore it during our much-delayed
breakfast, willingly impaled and constantly aware that
the thing was deep inside his rectum, working its magic
on his muscles and nerves.
It was his expressions that changed, from mild
discomfort when he first sat down to eat, to the
realization that the thing buried in his bowels was
rubbing harder against his already prostate when he
leaned forward. At times he pushed back at it, forcing
it out through his sphincter until it filled his already
well-stretched anus and threatened to escape from the
tight confines of his rectum.
His pleasure was readily apparent, although his arousal
was intense, it never peaked. It left him in a state of
continual pleasure, awaiting the greater joys of anal
intercourse. From his expression I could easily tell
when he used his internal muscles to move it around,
enjoying very familiar sensations that did not diminish
while the day wore on. He was happy, with or without
orgasm. If Austin had not tied the cord tightly, I was
sure that by the time our meal was finished, it would
have either slid right out by itself or disappeared up
inside him.
By the time I cleared away the breakfast dishes, he was
visibly enjoying it. Unlike the previous afternoon, he
made no effort to take it out. Instead, when he stood up
and it eased out far enough to reduce his enjoyment he
was quick to push it back inside him. I made a mental
note to check out the Internet to find a junior-size
butt plug. There had to something in a 'boy-size', even
if it meant buying one intended for a woman to use.
It was about time he graduated onto bigger toys. I got
an erection just thinking about him wearing a real one,
ideally brightly colored and with a rippled surface to
simulate the real thing. I watched him amble down to his
favorite place, his buttocks pinching as he squeezed on
it. He walked uncertainly, as if he still felt my penis
embedded inside him. I poured the past of the coffee
into the fireplace and went down to join him.
As hot as it was, we stayed close to the creek. We
played together in the water, intending to finish the
construction of a dam to catch fish but mostly serving
to hold water for us to lie back in and splash each
other. The next few hours passed quickly. Since we had
eaten breakfast so late in the day, we skipped lunch and
stayed in the creek where the overhanging trees kept the
sun away. For the rest of the day, like the previous
day, we were naked.
Just before three o'clock we stood up, knee-deep in the
water that had gathered in the dam. We were silent,
suddenly feeling the mutual need, reaching out, joining
hand in hand like well-acquainted lovers. We seldom
talked beforehand. I gazed down on his small tousled
head, very aware of how much I loved him. Austin's small
fingers entwined with mine, his thumb locking around my
thumb and pressing it into his palm.
It was his sign, the secret gesture that conveyed what
he wanted. He wanted to 'do it'. My thumb was held in
his firm grasp just as he wanted my penis to be held
within his body. His thumb stroked possessively against
mine. I sighed, trying to decide whether I had ever
experienced such intense happiness. I was content, well
almost content. Only one thing remained for me to
achieve complete and utter happiness.
With one hand I tilted his head back sufficiently that
when I leaned down, my lips could meet his. He was an
accomplished kisser, like me always preferring a very-
wet French mode to merely touching lips. I sucked his
tongue into my mouth, duelling with it in a playful game
that had a single outcome. My other arm clasped his
buttocks, gently rubbing across the small rounded wooden
knob that still plugged his bowels.
"God, I love you so much," I whispered. "I think I would
die if I couldn't do this ever again, AJ."
Austin slurped his tongue over my face, from chin to
forehead. His hand tightened urgently on my thumb,
demandingly, shamelessly leading me on. He breathed
heavily, barely exhaling before he filled his lungs
again. His hips moved slowly, a sensuous pumping against
my thigh, a motion that mimicked mine against his belly
and left no question as to what he wanted. That his
thrusting caused the plug to intensify the sensations in
his bowels was entirely deliberate.
When he smiled at me, I was his to command. It was
always like that, building up to the inevitable, to a
point where there was no other option but to satisfy our
mutual need. How often had it happened that I could not
remember any alternative. It had always been this way it
seemed.
Trembling with excitement, we returned to the tent and
did what we had done no less than 98 times before.
More than an hour of constant pummelling left Austin's
anus red and sore. In all, he peaked half-a-dozen times,
each dry orgasm racking his body. Again and again, until
he was physically exhausted, until he lay quiet and
subdued, until his eyes closed to mere slits, and then
still demanding more until he breathed through gritted
teeth. It seemed he had no more to give, yet he would
not stop, not until I was done as well, and I intended
to hold back as long as possible. It was not that often
that I had then stamina to do it, postponing climax for
the sheer pleasure of pistoning back and forth within
him and watching him contort in shameless euphoria.
Finally, in a furious burst, we shuddered
simultaneously, grunting and gasping as my penis pushed
all the way inside him and began to spurt. His bowels
clutched at me as I pounded away, pumping out my seed.
And then, I collapsed over him. I was just sane enough
to keep my weight from crushing him.
My orgasm left me drained. I had emptied my testicles
until they hurt. It had been very enjoyable and a
fitting way to end the weekend. Austin also hurt, but it
would last much longer. It had been the result of his
demand for more. He had begged me, imploring deeper,
harder thrusts until my penis was all the way inside him
and his anus was forced deeply between his cheeks. On
the out-stroke I dragged against him, pulling through
his tender flesh as my organ receded.
At times it felt like I was tearing his small opening
out of his body. Back and forth until the rubbery band
of his sphincter had lost its resiliency. When I
climaxed, it was overwhelming. A vicious frenzy that
lasted for nearly a minute, frantic powerful thrusts
that drained my energy and emptied my gonads.
Afterwards, it felt as if I had aged several years. It
was the 99th time and a wonderful way to end the
weekend.
"Are you going to answer my question, Dad?"
Her voice was raised, loud enough to get my attention if
not everyone else's. I glanced quickly around the
restaurant, hoping that we had not been noticed. At the
same time, I tried to think of something to say,
anything. Tara seemed oblivious to my discomfiture.
"Well?"
"Tara... It's not what you think," I said awkwardly.
I glanced guiltily around the restaurant one more time.
Other than the woman working at the counter, two men in
a corner booth, and a trio of elderly tourists at a
table near the front door, it was deserted.
Tara smiled superciliously. "Oh, for goodness sake, Dad.
Don't even try to tell me it's not what I think."
I sighed and shook my head in disbelief that my
relationship with Austin had come to this. One wonderful
year was reduced to a miserable defense, to finding
excuses for what had always been deep and passionate
love from the very start. Tara would never believe that
her little boy was capable of such intensity, of giving
freely and taking what he needed. It was not a simple
matter of him being sexually precocious, although his
sexual urge was certainly far in advance of his peers,
or of me taking advantage of his innocence.
It happened because it was needed at the time. It
fulfilled both of us, satisfying a deep need. It took
away the loneliness. For me, the long years of living
only for myself vanished overnight. Suddenly, I existed
only for a little boy's happiness. Our love emerged
swiftly and blossomed within the space of just of few
weeks. I managed to keep the most depraved aspects of my
lust under control, although it was hardly in abeyance.
Sometimes, in fact very often, it was all I could do to
control myself.
It was far worse when we were alone. I was tested every
time when we were together, alone. When intimacy
occurred it was nearly impossible to hold back the rush
of emotions that would lead to the inevitable conclusion
I so much wanted to avoid and attain. It did not matter
whether we were lying on the couch together, my front to
his back with my nose buried in his silky hair, or
sharing the joys of mutual masturbation in my bed, the
need to go further was always there.
I lasted until the physical need to be joined together
was simply overpowering. Then, when I finally gave in
and suggested doing something more, that final act that
would satisfy my yearning, I was not surprised to
discover he was also interested in that perverted
possibility as I was.
Austin had always been as eager as I was to explore the
unknown.
"Tara..." I tried again. I breathed out in growing
frustration. "It's not the way you think... God... I
don't know. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."
"Sorry? You're sorry? That's all you have to say, Dad?"
"Of course I'm sorry. I just don't what else there is
that I can do."
She shook her head slowly, her voice toneless, filled
with sadness. "I trusted you with him, Dad."
"I know I betrayed that trust and I'm sorry. I don't
know what else to say," I muttered.
She stared at me mercilessly with her cold blue-gray
eyes. Like her son, she had beautiful eyes, although
Austin's eyes were far more expressive of his feelings.
For a moment that hardness, the resolve I saw there,
seemed to soften.
"Look, I know I owe you a lot," she offered graciously.
"I didn't have a choice. You came through when I needed
you most, Dad. The kids and I wouldn't have made it
these last twelve months if it hadn't been for you. I
really didn't want to come back here, but I knew you
would help us. That's why I came to you in the first
place, instead of going to Mom. You've done so much for
us, much more than I ever expected."
I shrugged and tried to act as if it was unimportant. I
had done only what any decent person would have done in
the same circumstances. While it was my parental duty to
help, my motivation was much stronger. I was not wealthy
by any stretch of the imagination, yet I was happy to
share what I had with my daughter and her sons, with
Austin. To that day, I had never totaled up what I had
spent. Indeed, I had always thought of the entire thing
as an opportunity. In one way, buying the old three
story building on River Street was a fortunate purchase
for me as well as helping her. It provided an office for
my business on the second floor.
Beyond my desire to provide for Austin and Tristan,
Tara's welfare also had suddenly become my
responsibility in a way. "Smokey Mountain Tee Shirts and
Sweats" was on the first floor. The ramshackle apartment
where she lived with Austin and Tristan during the week
was on the third floor. She occupied both floors rent
free.
However, that was only the start. Her business had also
been funded by me to the tune to $52,000 for equipment
and operating funds during the first year. Had I needed
a tax shelter, it would have been a good one. For the
last month, she had broken even, and the tourist season
had yet to start in earnest. While it was the first
time, it implied continuing profitability was possible
as the season progressed.
"It doesn't matter, Tara," I said absently. "I only did
what any father would have done under the
circumstances."
The cold look returned. "I've always wondered if you
were doing it as much for Austin as helping me out,"
Tara added.
I shrugged. "That was part of it I suppose. I am his
grandfather after all. Someone needs to..." I fell
silent. I wanted to say 'love him', 'take care of him',
'be there for him'. The words seemed empty.
"I thought you were good for him, Dad. Like a father
would be. Should be, at least." She closed her eyes as
if unable to stomach the very thought. "And I was happy
to see it. He needed to get to know you. You are his
grandfather, after all. Now, you're the only man in his
world. That's why I didn't mind him spending his
weekends with you. He... he loves you."
I smiled slightly, happy to accept even slight praise.
"But this?" She sighed again, shook her head again,
still disbelieving.
"Tara... It's... I don't know how to say this. It's not
something I planned, or something I set out to do. It
just happened. Things got out of hand."
"You can say that again."
"He's a wonderful kid," I added emptily. "I couldn't
stop myself."
"Yes he is a wonderful kid, despite what you've been
doing to him."
I wanted to tell her that simply was not true. If
anything, it was as much because of what I had been
doing to him. I gave him love, more love than person
could reasonably expect in a lifetime. Instead I closed
my eyes and silently prayed that she would allow me the
time to kill myself before she informed the police.
Suicide was my only option. I could not drag Austin
through the terror of going to court and being forced to
give evidence against me. In contemplating death, there
was a singular joy in knowing that everything I owned
would go to Austin and Tristan. The boys would not be
rich by any stretch of the imagination, but they would
have more than enough to go to a good college when they
were older.
"I always knew you were different, Dad," Tara said
dryly. "I just didn't know how different."
"Different?" I asked self-consciously.
"Oh, I knew you were gay, a long, long time ago, Dad. I
mean, I had to didn't I?" She regarded me. "Knowing what
you used to do with Phillip, I guess I should have
expected something like this."
I winced uncomfortably. How much did she remember from
her childhood years? I did the math in my head. It was
more than twenty-five years ago. I was thirty when it
started. Phillip was just nine years old, so Tara had to
be getting close to five years old. It ended when
Phillip was fourteen, when Tara was ten years old. At
that age, she had to have forgotten most of it, yet she
was old enough to remember some things. Did she remember
how often I slept in her brother's bed? Why had she
never told her mother?
"I know what he was like, Dad. If it wasn't you, it
would have been someone else. It would have turned out
the same. He was into it just as you were. That's why I
never said anything to anyone. I've always believed that
it just some temporary thing you went through with him,
because you and Mom were always fighting. I know it
stopped when he started high school," she continued
dryly. "I watched you, Dad. For years. I was scared you
would... You did stop after we moved away, didn't you?"
"I tried, Tara," I said simply. "God only knows I tried.
I didn't touch any other boys, but I wanted to. I didn't
want to be found out."
"You made him the way he is, Dad," she stated bluntly.
"Tara... I don't... Maybe I did make him gay. I don't
know. Some males are... well they're born that way."
Tara shrugged. "He might have been able to convince Mom
that he was too busy for girlfriends, but he simply
wasn't interested, was he?"
"Not much," I agreed.
"Not much?" Tara repeated sarcastically. "Don't you mean
not at all?"
"I guess not at all."
"And I presume that you're gay too, Dad?"
"I'm not sure what I am."
"I would have said it was pretty clear. If you prefer to
fuck your own sex, then you're gay."
"I haven't, at least not with another man," I explained
weakly.
"Never?" Tara smiled slightly. "That's helpful. And I
presume the same goes for other women since the
divorce."
"Okay," I admitted with sigh of resignation. "I haven't.
So what? That's unimportant. It doesn't make me gay."
"You mean besides being a boy lover and having a... um,
I don't know. What would you call it, Dad? What you've
been doing with my son?"
"I don't know."
"An affair?"
"Probably."
"So other than having sex with little boys, you don't
get off?"
"It isn't like that. I haven't done anything like this
before."
"And you haven't had sex with anyone else?" she asked
testily. "Besides with Mom and Phil I mean?"
"Of course not."
"Never?" Tara asked in disbelief. I nodded slightly. "I
find that hard to believe. Well, I guess that's the only
good piece of news I've heard. At least he doesn't have
to worry about AIDS."
"For God's sake, Tara. What sort of person do you take
me for?
I would never put him at risk like that."
"At risk? You were always one for understatement weren't
you, Dad? I guess the big question is what happens now."
"Yes, I guess it is." I smiled weakly, not that I had
anything to be happy about. "All I can say is I'm really
sorry. I'd like to say it won't happen again."
"But you won't say that, will you Dad?"
I regarded her silently, filled with an inane dread that
prevented me from saying a single word. It was all I
could do to breath. I would not beg her to forgive me.
It was not because of pride. Perhaps that would have
been the best course. Throw myself at her feet and plead
for mercy, implore her not to inform the police.
Somehow, I knew it would be a waste of effort. Her mind
was already made up.
"You never were any good at lying, Dad, especially about
the things that were really important to you."
I shrugged awkwardly, unable to deny the obvious truth.
Finally. Barely more than a muted whisper. "What are you
going to do?"
Tara pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Really, I don't
know. You're my father. Austin's grandfather. I know I
should hate you. I was so angry at first. Last night,
when I saw the marks on his bottom, I was ready to kill
you. Then, as I talked with him, well, I... Now, I don't
know what to do."
"If it makes any difference, I think you know that I
care about AJ a great deal, Tara. If you don't want me
to ever see him again, I'll understand."
"That's very generous of you, Dad. But then what
happens? You see, I've thought about it all last night.
I'm quite certain that won't solve anything. It's no
secret that Austin is the most important thing in your
life."
"And?" I prompted with a vain hope that all was not
lost.
"I also know he's very fond of you as well, and he's
happier now than I've ever seen him. I was glad that the
two of you were so close, Dad. He thinks of you more as
his father than his grandfather."
"I think of him like that too," I said softly.
She appeared not to hear me. "He loves you a great deal.
When he talks about you, which he does non-stop, by the
way, his eyes light up. I'm surprised I hadn't figured
out what it meant sooner."
"Figured what out?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know." I wanted so badly to tell her what I was
thinking. I blurted the words out before I was able to
stop myself. I heard the pride in my voice, the deep-
down conviction of what I had known to be true for
nearly a year."It's because he loves me, Tara."
It was a different kind of love to the love that men and
boys were supposed to share. It was the kind of love
that transcended an emotional relationship, the kind of
love that became intense, physical, sexual. It was not
puppy love. It was the kind of love that was against the
law. Sometimes it happened anyway.
"That wasn't so hard now, was it Dad?" Tara smiled
curiously. She seemed to understand. "In his own way,
I'm sure Austin does love you. Of course, that's what
makes this whole thing just more difficult."
I smiled slightly. It was far more difficult than she
could imagine. If only she knew how much her son loved
me, and how much that love was returned in full measure.
If I was forced not to see Austin again, my only
recourse was suicide.
"I guess so." I met her eyes. "I am sorry about what
happened, Tara. I didn't want you to find out like
this."
"I'm sure you didn't." She shrugged ambiguously. "I'm
being a bitch, aren't I?"
I shook my head. "You have a perfect right to be angry.
I really am sorry. I didn't plan it this way. I couldn't
help it," I said after a few moments of silence. "I am
what I am. I can't change it, Tara."
"Meaning if you get the chance, you're going to keep on
doing it with him, I take it?"
I sighed. "Probably."
I slumped back into my seat. Even if I tried to resist
as hard as I could, I would not be able to stop myself.
"Probably?"
"No," I smiled weakly. "I think you'd better make that
definitely."
"It doesn't bother you that having sex with you may not
be in Austin's best interests?" Tara asked suddenly,
sarcastically. "He's a nine-year-old boy, damn it! He's
still so young. If you really loved him, wouldn't you
worry about that? About the possibility of hurting him?"
"Of course I worry about it. I worry about it all the
time. Only it's not like that. What happens... well, I'm
very careful- I don't expect you'll understand, but it's
only because he loves me and I love him that we do
anything at all."
"And that makes it all right? It's okay for him to have
sex with you because you love each other?" she asked
with cruel sarcasm.
"No! I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I don't know. I'll do whatever you want me to do,
Tara," I pleaded. Tara raised an eyebrow. "Anything you
say. If you want me to move away, I will. I'll do
whatever you think is in his best interest."
"That's big of you."
Her sarcasm struck me and I shuddered inside. "God,
Tara, I love him. I love him like he's my own son. It's
like..."
"Don't! Don't say it! He's my son. He's your grandson. I
can't help that no matter how much I wish it wasn't the
case."
"I'm sorry."
"God! He's nine! He's so young. He's a little boy! He's
supposed to be innocent."
I breathed out slowly. Would she ever be able to
understand that his age was unimportant? He proved that
every time he melted into my arms, so warm and soft and
lovable, when he pressed his hard little penis into my
thigh and grinned impishly, when he kissed with more
passion than seemed believable and opened his lips and
sucked and slurped on my tongue, when he lay on his back
and pulled his ankles up to his ears.
When he groaned and gasped as my penis eased through his
opening and filled him until he was barely able to
breathe. When he whispered his words of love into my
ear, when he writhed uncontrollably, when he timed his
frenzied gasps to every thrust, when he screamed in
shameless ecstasy. That was love. Real love. Would she
ever understand how a man could love a boy?
"Yes, he is," I mused. It was hard to think of Austin as
being innocent. Perhaps he had never been innocent.
"Tara," I began nervously. "There's one thing I have to
say. I never forced him to do anything he didn't want to
do," I added.
"You're saying he's gay?" she demanded after my words
had sunk in.
"No! I'm not saying that." I took a deep breath. She had
a right to know. "All I'm saying is that he was willing.
I didn't force him to do anything. Phillip was the same
way," I added.
"But he is gay, isn't he?" Tara asked nervously.
I could not lie to her, not about that. What Austin did,
he did only because he loved me. He did it because he
was loved. Already he knew he was different to other
boys. He knew what he was. He had never been ashamed of
it, not like some boys. He simply accepted that he could
not change what he was.
"What do you think?" I asked. "You're his mother. You've
seen him every day of his life."
She closed her eyes. She tried to shake her head. She
tried to deny the obvious conclusion. "I... I don't
know," she managed finally.
"Yes you do. Are you that ashamed of him?"
Tara breathed out. "God! No! No Dad! I'm not ashamed of
him. I don't... Why, Dad?"
"Why? Why is he gay?"
"Yes."
"I don't know. I think that more than likely, he was
born that way. I'm sure Phillip was as well."
"Or because he didn't have a father around," Tara said
guiltily.
"Lots of boys don't have fathers and they don't end up
gay.
No, Tara, it's not your fault. If it's anyone's fault,
it's mine.
If I hadn't... well given in to temptation."
"That's one way of putting it, Dad."
"He's a beautiful boy, Tara. You've said that yourself
often enough. Don't kid yourself that he doesn't tempt
men like me. I've even seen other men looking at him."
"God no! You don't mean... Not again..."
I started forward, the question forming before I
realized the meaning of her words. I bit my tongue. Her
eyes wavered, looked away, down into her cup of coffee
as if the answer could be found there. The silence hung
between us.
"No. At least not yet! They've certainly looked at him,
however. He's told me.
"He's told you?" she asked in exasperation.
"Yes. I've seen them too. It really doesn't bother him.
Actually, I think he rather enjoys the attention. But
eventually, I expect there will be other men in his
life. Hopefully not while I'm around. I couldn't stand
by and watch that."
Tara sniffed and looked up to meet my eyes. Something
had changed. "You really do love him don't you?"
"Of course I love him, Tara. I've loved him since I
first saw him. That night when you appeared my the
doorstep with a black-eye and that old busted-up
suitcase, and two sleepy little boys."
Tara winced. "I haven't forgotten. God, I hate men!"
"Gee, thanks."
"Not you, Dad!"
I remembered that night above everything else. They had
driven almost halfway across the country (going north)
in two days. Austin was sick. He had vomited several
times during the afternoon. Perhaps it was something he
had eaten at one of the gas stations where she stopped
for gas. He was very pale and constantly sniffling. I
lifted him up and carried him into my house, barely
cognizant of the strange feeling that swept over me. For
some strange reason, I thought of carrying a bride
across a threshold, although his slender body was more
like a bird than anything else.
That night, eight-year-old Austin slept in my bed for
the first time. His mother and younger brother,
suffering from symptoms of the flu, slept on the couch
in the living room. It turned out to be a good thing,
despite the fact that it started with an unfortunate
incident that Austin had never quite forgotten. He wet
the bed a few seconds before he woke up from a
nightmare. He soaked his 'super-hero' pajamas from his
knees to his navel, and he cried. I instinctively
presumed that his sobbing was caused by the ignominious
accident rather than the nightmare so there seemed
little point in comforting him until he was cleaned up.
Taking off his wet pants seemed like the best thing to
do at the time.
Austin lay on his back, whimpering as I unfastened the
button and methodically pulled his pants down. Even
though I could see nothing in the darkness, I felt a
sudden strange surge of excitement. It came just from
knowing the beautiful little boy next to me was exposed.
My hands trembled slightly. I sniffed at his shirt,
immediately recognizing the tell tale odor of urine even
though the cloth was dry. From the smell I suspected
that bed-wetting was a familiar problem.
I stripped the sleepy boy hurriedly, wanting only for
him to go back to sleep. I wiped him dry with the top
and tossed it on the bathroom floor with his wet pants.
It was hard not to smile as I settled back into the
already cold damp bed. I shifted away from the wetness,
looped one hand around Austin's skinny waist and pulled
him against me. Instinctively my knees lifted up behind
his slender smooth legs, creating a full embrace and
offering my warmth to console him.
"It's okay," I whispered. "It was just an accident."
Austin was immobile. I imagined I could feel his heart
fluttering. I could sense his shame. It was a perfectly
normal response.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled after nearly a minute had
passed.
"Honey, it's not a problem. Try to go back to sleep,
okay?"
"I'm sorry," he sniffed.
Suddenly, something within me changed. Until then, I had
slept alone. Just the physical contact with his soft
skin charged my emotions in a way that I had never felt
before. I wanted desperately for him to be happy.
Unbelievable though it is, the undeniable fact that
slowly ventured into my mind was that I wanted him...
"If you don't stop that, I'm going to tickle you until
you really cry," I chided gently.
"I can't help it!"
"It's okay, beautiful. Don't worry about it."
My hand closed on his bony hip and drew him closer until
his buttocks were hard against my groin. My penis
lurched and immediately sprang to life. Within a few
seconds it was fully erect. Perhaps the added heat
behind him was what caused Austin's reaction. Certainly,
I preferred to think that it was not the recognition of
my hardness. He wriggled, pressing back naturally as if
settling into a more comfortable position. I felt my
penis being wedged between his soft cheeks, parting the
roundness to fill his hot moist crevice.
It was all I could do not to groan aloud. We lay so
tightly together that it seemed impossible that we could
ever be apart again. It was the first time we shared our
body heat, yet being so close together felt natural. I
was overwhelmed by his soft warmth, basking in the
contact of bare skin, appreciating the unfamiliar
intimacy, content yet not complete. Intuitively, I
realized what it would take to make everything perfect
and I did not recoil. Instead, I breathed deeply and
tried to control a desire that raced ahead.
A minute passed. Then another. It became warm between
us, a moist, human heat that sealed our flesh into one.
It was impossible to tell what was in Austin's mind, yet
I knew he was as happy as I was. His crying stopped. I
felt his chest rising and falling, slight stirring. He
eased away until my groin was a few inches from his
buttocks. I was very surprised by what happened next.
His small hot hand inched between us. His fingertips
grazed my thigh, slid slowly downwards, caressed my
pubic hair with a feather-like touch. I heard myself
sighing, a million thoughts in my mind clamoring for
attention. I froze, yet my body was incredibly heated.
My penis jerked, suddenly very stiff. How long had I
been erect? It seemed impossible, but I was. His fingers
stroked it, danced along the swollen hard length. The
tip was poking into his crack.
It had been there all along, buried between two silky
smooth mounds, but now it was pointing directly at his
anus, burrowing into his enclosing heat. I felt it
pulsing, swelling even more as blood surged into it. I
shuddered as his little fingers pressed harder, his
thumb encircling, holding me in his grasp. I wanted him
to move his hand, not to remove it. I silently begged
him to do it.
Instinctively, I flexed the shaft, jumping eagerly,
hungrily, almost unable to restrain the urge to move
back and forth within his tender hand. I knew he was
thinking about it. His fingers tightened, his thumb
stroking the bulging veins. I wanted to push against
him, push my penis into the soft absorbing indentation,
push through the firm cheeks between which it was
buried.
It was only when the final moment arrived, the slow
pulling against my skin as his hand began to creep down
towards the base, that I stopped him. My hand, shaking
slightly from the sheer effort of restraint, prevented
his hand from moving further. I felt his small body
tense, uncertain of whether he was being denied or
encouraged.
"No," I whispered firmly. "Not now. Go to sleep, Honey."
His hand pulled back quickly, guiltily. I regretted the
words almost as soon as they were out of my mouth. How
could he know what I wanted him to do? He was eight
years old. I breathed out, feeling a strange sense of
deja vu, wondering what would have happened if I had not
stopped him. My brain churned as I wondered whether I
should say something, anything to break the prolonged
silence.
It was only a few minutes later that I realized from his
slow breathing that Austin had dozed off. By then, I
knew what I should do. I needed to be by myself to think
about what had almost happened. What I was feeling, what
I wanted to do, was incest. Was I prepared to do to
Austin what I had done to Phillip? The thought chilled
me almost as much as it made my blood run hotter. I had
to get away from temptation.
Not willing to risk him waking up again, I was unable to
move. Gently I stroked his bare flank, intensely aware
of how much I needed to touch him despite the
implications. It was with great trepidation that I
finally succumbed and allowed my fingers to gradually
creep over his hip and across the flat mound of his
belly. His navel surprised me when my fingertips first
grazed it.
It was an 'outie', a tiny whorl of tender lipped flesh
that made me shiver with anticipation of the other
treasure, just a little lower down his slender body. I
swallowed, took a deep breath, tried momentarily to
convince myself that I was not going to do it, then
immediately submitted to an urge that was stronger than
any I had known. The five inches between his navel and
the start of his boy-sized penis seemed to take forever
as my fingers slipped downward.
His skin was completely hairless and unbelievably soft.
I detected a slight swelling when my curious fingers
neared his penis, the roundness of a childish pubis, a
tiny fold of delicate skin that marked the junction of
his male member. There I stopped, my heart pounding
frantically. Did I dare touch that special part of him,
appreciating that no one would know if I did. I listened
carefully, not wanting to detect any sound that might
suggest he was not asleep, hoping that he was awake,
that I could deflect that overpowering desire that had
sprung up within me.
"God," I breathed.
I licked my lips, closed my eyes, felt myself being
swept along. It was impossible to believe I was doing
it. My fingers caressed his little penis. Soft, softer
than anything I had ever touched, except perhaps his
scrotum. Even softer. Softer than warm silk, soft like a
baby is soft. Tender. Delicate. Impossible. My hand
trembled as I groped his tiny parts. His testicles were
tiny, barely large enough to distinguish under the
sensitive folds of skin.
Back to his penis.
Exploring with the tips of my fingers. So short. Maybe
an inch. Half of it was glans. Circumcised like Phillip
had been, circumcised like all boys I had ever seen.
Child-sized. Immature. Perfect. Unresponsive in sleep. I
removed my hand. I was breathing hard. My penis was as
hard as forged iron. I pressed up against his delicious
buttocks, wriggling slightly to position it between his
little cheeks. Guilt and shame welled up inside me.
Finally, unable to stand being so close, I shifted away
and rolled onto my back. I needed to masturbate but I
was afraid I would wake him up. It was a long while
before I could go back to sleep.
***
"Dad?"
"Huh?" I looked up again, expecting that she would see
the guilt in my face.
"Well?"
"Well what?" I shrugged. "Look Tara, I don't know what
else I can say."
Tara sniffed. "You haven't been listening to a word I've
been saying, have you?"
"Sorry. I was thinking..."
She stirred her coffee despite the fact that the cup was
nearly empty. She filled it up again from the carafe,
added some milk and smiled.
"Did you fuck my brother too, Dad?"
"Did I what? You mean Phillip?" I asked awkwardly.
"Who else," she confirmed. I nodded. "Did you? Did he
like it?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you. I knew you
slept in his room when I was younger. Even though you
said you slept in his room because there wasn't any
where else for you to sleep when you and mom were
fighting, it wasn't that. I could hear sounds through
the wall. I knew you did something with him at night,
but that's all. I used to think you were wrestling with
him. I didn't know the details of what you did with him,
but I knew it made him happy."
She smiled ruefully. "Both of you were always in a good
mood. It was like the two of you shared something
special. I knew it had to be a secret from everyone,
especially Mom. By the time I was old enough to
understand, you stopped going into his room."
"He got too old for me," I said bitterly. "It wasn't
that I didn't want to be with him."
"You were so close to him, Dad, right up to when he left
for college. It was because you had sex with him, wasn't
it?"
"Probably," I reflected. "I loved him, Tara. If it
hadn't been for him, I don't know what would have
happened to me. I want you to understand something. It
wasn't just about sex. I really did love him. I know he
loved me back. He proved it often enough. He wouldn't
have gone to college for one thing. He went because I
wanted him to."
"I always knew that you loved him more than me, Dad. It
took me a while to understand why."
I regarded her patiently and wondered where this
discussion was going. Tara smiled slightly and looked
askew. Absently she fiddled with a strand of hair at her
brow.
"Do you know where I was this morning, Dad?" she asked.
She examined her watch as if making sure of the time,
calculating how long she had been somewhere.
I shook my head. This was unlike her. Usually she came
right to the point. Austin was the same way. He didn't
beat around the bushes when he wanted something.
"I was at the library for more than an hour."
She regarded me with an unsettling stare. It was as if I
was expected to know why she had been at the library for
nearly the entire morning.
"I think I read just about everything they had on
homosexuality," she explained pointedly. Her hands
tightened into fists. "Most of it was... well it wasn't
what I needed. But there was one thing I did see."
She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head in silent
denial, or perhaps in acceptance of some important
truth.
"I didn't understand a lot of the article. It was about
biology and that other stuff, about chromosomes."
"Genetics?" I suggested vacantly.
"Yes. There was something about a theory that the gene
was carried by the mother, at least when it's
inherited." She breathed out slowly. "It makes sense, of
course, when you think about."
"How?"
"Well think about it, Dad. It's the only way to explain
Phillip, and then Austin being that way too."
"I don't understand," I said simply.
"If the father carried it, then his son might very well
be gay wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so."
"And then he wouldn't get married and have babies, so it
would gradually die out. Instead, it goes on and on. I
read stuff about homosexuals going back to before
Christ, Dad. So you see, it has to be carried by the
woman, if it's inherited."
"Maybe."
I suddenly understood what she was saying. Her mother
carried the gene and passed it on to her son. She also
passed it on to her daughter. My role was unimportant,
at least in passing the gene to the next generation.
"That could explain Austin, couldn't it?"
"I guess. I really don't know, Tara."
"Dad? What about Tristan?"
"I don't... Hell, I don't know."
"He's a lot like Austin," Tara remarked nervously. "You
know he is. I'm not blind. He's acting exactly like
Austin did at the same age."
"Acting how?" I asked awkwardly.
Tara reduced me to silence with a cold stare. I was
supposed to understand. I swallowed dryly. I had noticed
a few things that I had tried to disregard. He was seven
years old, after all.
"If he is, he can't help it," I said gently. "You
probably don't remember what Phillip was like when he
was young. You were a toddler when he..."
"When he what?"
I shook my head slowly. "Tara... I don't want you to
hate me any more than you do."
"Tell me!"
"No!"
"Dad? I need to know. Austin... and Tristan too? God...
I don't know what I did to deserve this."
"You didn't do anything. It isn't a bad thing, being
gay. It isn't a matter of doing something to deserve it.
It isn't a punishment. It happens. There's nothing you
can do to change it. It happened to your mom and me with
Phillip. In a way, perhaps he was lucky that I was
there. I understood. I could see the special side of
him, Tara, especially when your mother couldn't. He's
always been artistic. He's sensitive and loving, and
gentle. Do you think it really matters that he's gay?
That somehow it makes him inferior to other men?"
"So is Austin."
"Only more so, if you asked me, Tara. He's very
talented. He can already draw better than either you or
his uncle could when you were the same age. He's done a
few things that looked like he was in high school."
Tara licked her lips, dry, nervous, yet savoring an
unpleasant taste. "He's very good at drawing people,
Dad. I've seen some sketches he did of you."
"Oh!"
Tara smiled knowingly. "Yes, Dad, those sketches. I
don't mind. Art seems to run in the family. I guess if
he's going to be an artist, he might as well start
getting used to drawing nudes. It looked as if he did a
better job in certain places by the way."
"Sorry," I said meekly.
She shrugged. "Dad?-." She took a deep breath. "It is my
fault, isn't it?"
"Your fault? Because of the genes and all? No, Tara.
It's not your fault. You're blessed with having a
wonderful boy as your son. Two wonderful boys in fact."
I wanted to stop there. I knew I should have stopped
there. It seemed that her anger had finally dissipated
enough that we were beginning to communicate again. The
question was, what should I say?
"Dad," Tara began hesitantly. I looked up. "Before when
I asked you about Tristan? About whether you had done
anything with him? It was the truth, wasn't it?"
I nodded immediately. I hadn't touched Tristan, not like
that. Not that I hadn't wanted to. He was very much like
his older brother. In some ways, he was even more
exquisite, his features softer, his eyes larger, his
straight hair so blond that it was like spun silver.
"He knows, though, doesn't he?"
***
#37 Saturday February 15 9.00 p.m. Papaw's place. He put
him in me when we were lying on the couch and watching
TV. Better make that I put him in me, because that's
what really happened. Tris was lying down on the floor
so he couldn't see us, but I think he knew. We were
watching Toy Story. Papaw lasted thru the whole movie.
It was a bitterly cold day, with an occasional ice
shower that belonged much farther north. The roads were
treacherous, and tourists still ventured out to shop. On
days like that it was better to stay indoors, build a
fire, and play games. It would have been different if
Tristan was not with us. Very different. Austin and I
would still have played board games, but we would have
been naked the entire time. That was one of the joys of
being alone with him.
He liked being naked. Although he had always been
uninhibited, even something of an exhibitionist, since
Thanksgiving, my grandson had become demanding. He had
also become sexually more aware, flaunting his arousal
whenever it occurred. It occurred a lot and it usually
provoked a similar reaction in me. He was becoming an
extrovert, and so long as it was in private, I had no
problems with it.
However, with Tristan spending all Saturday and a large
part of Sunday with us, we needed to cool it. With that
as a guiding rule, I reassured Austin that if an
opportunity arose, we would take advantage of it. I
explained that Tristan would probably expect to sleep in
the same bed as we did, and if he did, we would have to
behave ourselves until he was asleep.
And so we played games, not too different to our
ancestors who had lived in the nearby densely forested
mountains of Tennessee, in log cabins hewed from the
wilderness. Yet unlike them, we had the advantage of
central heating and the fireplace was as much for
decoration as a means of providing heat. Unlike the boys
of a hundred years earlier, my grandsons were warm and
comfortable, dressed in fleecy sweat pants and tops and
wrapped up in toasty blankets. We alternated between
Playstation, my Christmas present to Austin, and kid's
monopoly, checkers, and a number of other board games.
How often did Austin and I share looks, knowing looks
that conveyed our needs? It was very frequent, frequent
enough that I realized Austin resented his brother's
presence despite the fact that they were usually close.
A few times I caught them whispering, the spiteful tone
of Austin's voice unmistakable. His brother demurred,
reluctant to take on his sibling when there was no
chance of winning an argument. My response?
I probably made Austin's petty jealousy worse when I
pampered Tristan. I helped him win at Monopoly,
encouraged him to play Spiro-2 against his brother, and
comforted him when he was trounced. We stopped for pizza
shortly after 6.00 p.m. and settled down for the rest of
the night to watch the two movies I had rented.
It was only to be expected that they fight over which
one to see first, and naturally it fell to me to resolve
the situation. We resorted to the tried and true method
of sibling dispute negotiation-the simple version of
drawing straws.
"It's TJ's turn to pick, isn't it?" I suggested
hopefully.
Austin looked at his brother with contempt. "Papaw," he
whined. "It's not fair."
"Why not?"
"Cause he always gets his way."
"Do not," Tristan disputed hotly.
"Do so!"
"That's enough guys." I laughed. "Okay, both of you pick
a number between one and ten. The winner gets to
decide," I intervened.
Again, Austin looked testily at Tristan. He had the
advantage in almost everything that they did. He
expected that he would have the advantage this time as
well.
"Five!" he proclaimed swiftly.
Typical, I thought. He was always one to take the
initiative, and by taking the initiative, he had an
advantage again. Tristan looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Hm..." he said in his soft little-boy voice.
He pursed his lips. Smiled slightly. Looked at me,
melting my heart as he met my eyes. It was a questioning
look, searching for a hint. My gaze wavered, to Austin,
back to him, trying to decide. He was irresistible. I
smiled, glanced at Austin again, a little longer this
time. It was the only hint that I dared to give,
otherwise I would awaken Austin's ire and he would go
out of his to 'punish' me.
He thought a little bit longer, his head tilted slightly
to one side. His expression was quizzical, amused, fully
engaged.
"It could be six," he said softly. "'cause that's my
age. Or it could be nine too," he smiled. "Or it could
be two 'cause of both of us, and you don't wanna play
favorites."
I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could under the
circumstances.
I had looked at Austin two times. Had he picked up on
that as well? If he said 'six' or 'seven' or 'eight' he
would still be closer than his brother.
"It's him! I know it is. Nine!" Tristan giggled.
"TJ got it. What movie do you want to see first?"
"The dog movie."
That settled that. Austin was irked. He sat on the far
side of the couch, leaving me by myself, or rather
sitting next to Tristan who had taken up a position
close to the fire. Austin gave me the 'treatment' for
the best part of an hour before he relented. Finally, he
crawled across the couch, curled up, and placed his head
in my lap.
"You know something? You're spoiled rotten," I whispered
in his ear.
"Whose fault is that, Papaw?"
"Mine, I reckon AJ."
I grinned at him and he smiled back. It was his special
smile. The all-too-familiar knowing smile, the smile
that he gave when he expected something or wanted
something, but wasn't about to ask for it. I reached
down and gently stroked the back of his neck. My fingers
played in the silky hair between his ears. He purred,
murmuring under his breath. I felt his warmth exhaled
every time he breathed. On the other side, Tristan
wasn't about to be left out. He snuggled closer as well,
demanding the same attention as his brother.
So there I was, in Nirvana. A beautiful young boy on
either side of me, each wanting to be held close,
caressed, given the affection that every human needs.
And I was content to provide it, expecting nothing in
return, nothing except the opportunity to bask in their
physical presence and ensure their happiness. I reveled
in their boyish softness, appreciating their inner
qualities as much as outer beauty. I was proud of the
way they were growing up. It seemed a very long time ago
when they had first arrived on my doorstep. The movie
ended before I wanted it to.
I eased Austin's head away and stood up to change the
movie in the video player. Behind me I heard lowered
voices. Austin suggesting, inviting, finally commanding
him to take up a different position for the next movie.
It was a position that would relegate him to lying on
the floor and leave Austin and me together on the couch.
Not that I was averse to having Austin to myself, but
momentarily, I wondered whether I should even the
balance. It wasn't fair to the younger boy.
He slid off the couch, tossed his older brother one of
the blankets I kept on the side, and dropped down onto
the floor a half-a-dozen feet away from the fireplace. I
came back to the couch to find Austin grinning. His eyes
flashed a warning. I knew better than to enforce
fairness. Being older had some advantages, and the
ability to order his brother around sometimes was one of
them.
He stood up to make room for me. "Lie down, Papaw," he
instructed seriously.
I did. Austin sat down again in front of me. He
stretched out, lying full length before me. He pushed
back slightly, wriggled, shifted down a few inches,
pushed back again. He glanced over his shoulder,
smirking crudely as he wriggled his buttocks and
squeezed back against my crotch deliberately.
"You had better put a blanket over us," I suggested
quietly.
He nodded, half sat up, began an extended exercise of
unfolding the blanket, arranging, rearranging, covering
us. All the while, his bottom massaged my groin. I was
hard, of course. He settled back down again, exerting
pressure where he touched me. I could feel a slight
movement. He was playing with himself, giving himself
pleasure as only a boy can.
I smiled, nuzzled the top of his head, resisted my
instinct to take over. There were some things that a boy
was quite capable of doing for himself. The movie
started. His hand moved from in front him. It paused on
his side, slowly drifted along his thigh, reached down
between us.
If you have never had a boy initiate sexual contact with
you, you will not understand the rush of adrenaline I
felt. The incredible joyful surge of knowing, of being
the source of his pleasure, that I was the one person
who he truly loved. His hand brushed, lingered, slipped
away guiltily or teasingly it was impossible to tell.
Then, without warning it returned. This time more
aggressive. Insistent. Grabbing my penis through my
sweat pants. Holding it tightly. Squeezing gently. I
kissed the top of his head, willing him not to stop
there, silently encouraging. His hand pulled away. He
teased me. He always did. A little at first, always just
enough to get my attention, to let me know he was
interested. Then coy. Testing my patience. Playing his
game. I sighed, feeling my excitement increase
exponentially.
His hand crept back. This time higher, slipping
underneath the elastic waistband, tugging away, pulling
downward, exposing. He was callous in a way. Most young
boys fail to understand that a man's much larger penis
and testicles are just as sensitive as their smaller
parts. Perhaps they do, and it is just another way that
they try to exert their maleness. My penis, so hard that
it was painful, caught in my sweatpants. Austin did not
care.
His hand yanked eagerly, forcing penis and cloth to go
where neither wanted to go. My penis finally escaped its
mistreatment and slapped back against my lower belly. It
seemed so loud to me that I even worried that Tristan
might have heard. He ignored us, intent on watching
Woody and the toys undertake military-style manoeuvres
in preparation for the arrival of Buzz.
His hand felt foreign when it first met my bare flesh.
Warm, strong, his small fist embracing, fingers stroking
languidly. He had masturbated me so often that he
practically knew what to do in his sleep. It was going
to be messy, ejaculating over our clothes, over the
couch, but I didn't care. The clothes could go in the
washer, and the couch. Well, there was upholstery
cleaner for that. I took a deep breath as his hand
glided up and down slowly. He tugged against my glans,
rubbed his finger over my oozing slit, scratched a
fingernail under the flared rim until I trembled.
He was very good at it. His fingers stroked along the
extended length, circled over the glans again and again,
pulled against the loose skin to extract more of my
slick juice. I groaned softly. Like this, if he kept it
up, I would not last more than a minute. I flexed that
inner muscle that caused my penis to lurch. It was the
same muscle that Austin used to do his 'dick dance',
jerking it up and down until we were both laughing. It
had a different effect on my. By squeezing down I was
able to increase the sensations as much as the flow of
slime that seemed to be dribbling out of my penis.
He moved his hand away again. Cheated. I sighed. It had
been fun while it lasted. He eased away so that my was
not pressed against his buttocks. A moment later h moved
again. This time I had no doubt. He was pulling down the
back of his sweat pants. I did not need to touch him to
know that his bottom was bare. I found myself wondering
'what next'? Was he really going to? Did he dare, while
his younger brother was only feet away? His upper leg
lifted up, dropped behind my legs. His lower leg pulled
up close to his chest. It was all I could do to stay
calm. His hand reached behind him again, took hold of my
penis, pushed it downward.
Levered down, realizing what he was going to do, my
hardness increased. My heart pounded. Was he really
going to go through with it? I decided to leave it up to
him. He wriggled, rubbing my penis into his hot crevice,
smearing my excretion over his opening. Every few
seconds he pushed back. Not hard, but not too gently
either. He was testing himself, trying to achieve
penetration without hurting himself. We had never done
it dry. Once or twice we had used saliva. It had not
been very effective. He needed more lubrication that
spit could provide. But like this? The very possibility
was so farfetched that I believed it was a waste of time
even trying. There was no disputing that he had become a
lot looser in the weeks that followed Christmas, but he
was still a boy.
Austin pushed back harder and grunted softly. There was
no question that my penis was burrowing into his tight
hot hole, but getting the head into his anus was a long
way away from penetration. I squeezed down, clenching my
muscles as I strained to get more of the slipperiness to
ooze out where it was needed. What I needed was
excretion on demand. What I had was an aching penis and
an over-eager boy intent on doing the impossible.
"Take it easy, AJ, or you'll hurt yourself," I warned as
I whispered in his ear. "We can do it tonight when he's
asleep."
Austin shook his head slightly. I could not tell if he
was disputing the fact that he might hurt himself or
whether he did not want to wait until later. He pushed
again, suddenly, forcing backwards, making it dig into
him far enough that it occurred to me that it might
actually be able to go inside. He jerked away, breathing
quickly.
"You okay?" I whispered again. Austin's response was to
nod curtly. "I don't want you to hurt yourself, AJ," I
added gently, just loud enough to be heard.
"Don't you want to?"
"I didn't say that."
"Okay, you put him in, Papaw," he breathed.
"I think we need something... to lubricate you."
"You've already got me real slippery," Austin chided
with a soft giggle. "Your slimy stuff is leakin' all
over me."
"Are you sure?"
"Just go slow, Papaw. I'll tell you if it hurts."
Doing it 'dry' is something that should carry one of
those 'don't do this without adult supervision'
warnings. At the very least, the adult needs to be
careful, patient, and very attentive to the boy's
reactions. You can tell a lot from a whimper or a moan.
I was all of this and more. And it worked, not that it
was 'dry' by any normal sense, because it was far from
it. Moving slowly, gently, never pushing too hard,
taking more care than I could remember taking in the
past, letting him adjust at his own rate.
The first inch was easy, a bit like inserting Part A
into Slot B, because the tip of my penis slipped right
into Austin's anus. It had been that way ever since he
had become used to it, months earlier. However, getting
past his outer sphincter was a lot harder. It was also
different to when we used KY. Then, the special
lubricant reduced the friction to manageable levels.
This time, we relied on nature's lubricant.
We depended on my secretions more than ever before.
While there was a copious discharge, it was a long way
short of what we usually needed. The solution? Lots of
gentle prodding, back and forth, massaging his opening
with my glans while I tried to force out more of the
slippery fluid. It came, as nature intended it to be
expelled, leaking a droplet at a time. My slow cautious
thrusting served to spread the slime around Austin's
anus, loosening him enough to allow a little more of my
penis to enter him. He was very quiet, concentrating,
focusing on his enjoyment, oblivious to the sight and
sounds of the television.
Occasionally, he rotated his pelvis, working against my
erection, trying his best to get the head of my penis
through the constricting band within him. Tight? Yes, he
was tight, but the sensation was also unbelievably good.
A few times, when he winced or barely stifled a groan, I
almost stopped. It was all I could do to keep the
pressure on, pushing firmly, not giving way when his
sphincter tightened and squeezed resolutely. He could
not stop his body's impulsive rejection, but each time
when the spasm faded, he had weakened, and he relaxed as
much as he could to enable me to recover any ground we
had lost.
Fortunately there was no rush. Embedded partially, I
stopped pushing and held his hips so that my penis
stayed in place. Austin assisted by levering his upper
leg behind my thighs, keeping us together like a 'G-
clamp'. We stayed like that, waiting until nature
achieved what brute force could not. Minutes passed.
Long minutes. I watched the movie with vague interest,
grateful that my penis remained erect. We tried again
while we watched Buzz and Woody get into trouble at the
Pizza restaurant. It came with a rush, oozing copiously
when it was most needed.
I held him tightly, contentedly, very aware that my
penis had finally penetrated. I had taken a long while
to get that far. Another push beyond his barrier and
Austin gasped despite his best efforts to be quiet. He
always gasped when I breached his rectum, pushed through
his inner muscle into the lush heat inside him. I felt
his sphincter clamp down behind my glans, but it was too
late. I was inside him. A few more minutes and he would
be unable to stop me, even if he wanted to. We were much
more relieved than excited by that point.
"What was that?" Tristan demanded as he twisted onto his
back. He studied us with a questioning look.
"Nuthin'," Austin managed to get out.
"What are you guys doin'?"
"Just watch the movie, Tris... like I told you," Austin
replied haughtily.
I squeezed his thigh even as I prepared to withdraw
should Tristan begin to get up from the floor. He
tightened instinctively, closing his anus to keep me
there. Luckily, his brother shrugged and rolled back
onto his side to watch the television again.
"Okay AJ?" I asked quietly.
Austin nodded, pushed back again, breathed deeply as he
felt my penis slowly, forcefully expanding inside him.
There was even more slipperiness than there had been
before we disturbed Tristan. As much as an inch had slid
through his still tight orifice. He stopped, trembling.
He tried to control his body's response, eyes closing to
mere slits, teeth clenched, willing the pain to go away.
I flexed my penis and he shuddered as it jerked inside
him. For some reason, a memory from many months earlier
drifted back. He had been a virgin then.
Still, as in all our sexual experiments, he was eager to
find out how it felt. He knew what to do. He had always
knew what to do even if he did not know how to do it. It
was as if he came preprogrammed from the womb. Taking my
penis into his body was the ultimate goal. He would try
again and again, placing my penis at his opening,
inserting but not too far, just far enough that he felt
himself being stretched open. He would hold his breath,
trying to stop himself from pushing it out again. He
wanted to have it inside so badly that he couldn't stand
it. He used to cry when he finally gave in, conquered by
pain.
It was different now. He had attained his goal. He knew
what to expect. Every few seconds, his body shuddered.
It was sudden, spontaneous, random spasms igniting. A
little deeper, then out again. Exquisite pain, nearly
but not quite becoming pleasurable, always tortured by
his desire to keep on. Getting looser.
A little bit at a time. Barely noticeable. Trying not to
push too hard or go too deeply. I could feel his stress,
waves bursting, washing over him, settling closer until
our bodies were tightly pressed together. Stopping then,
waiting, breathing as one, sharing our heat. I could
feel his pulse, his heart beating. So alive. Incredible
heat. Soft, yet hard. Pulling on me. Pushing back ever
so slightly.
"I love you."
The words were whispered because neither of us wanted
Tristan to hear, to raise his interest enough that he
might decide to get up of the floor. Watching him watch
television. Our secret was safe for the moment. We were
joined. My penis was inside his hot squeezing canal. It
was part of him. My lips brushed over his head,
delivering a thousand kisses to his hair, his ears, the
nape of his neck, the soft skin of his bare shoulder.
The movie droned on, endless despite the animation.
Barely moving, an occasional gentle pressure that served
as an inward thrust. No sudden pushes. A broken sporadic
rhythm that was measured in fractions of an inch. He
quivered, then quaked when my penis reached all the way,
deep and unyielding inside him. I levered it against his
innards, stretching the taut tube of his rectum,
pressuring his bladder and the tiny gland beside it. It
was immature, but not without its unique sensitivity. If
I did it more than once or twice in quick succession it
produced a muted whimper, a sudden shiver, a hasty gasp.
He was close to the edge. We both were.
Inside his rectum, it felt very slippery for being
'dry'. Sometimes, when we postponed relief, took our
time and used my penis to loosen his bowels, he became
soft and mushy, but that was when we used KY. This was
different. Softness was replaced by slick firmness.
'Canal' and 'anal', strange how close those two words
are in meaning as in spelling, so essential to the
conduit to the very core of his being. My penis reached
up into him, into that special place, the pleasure zone
reserved for men and boys. We did not need to move back
and forth. Just being there was enough. Yet, I seldom
stopped completely.
Time stretched. By that, I mean time did not drag on and
it certainly did not stop. Instead, sensations became
extended, drawn out along my elongated organ, moving at
a snail's pace on a film of snail mucus. However, like
anything stretched, time also recoiled like a spring. It
returned in a rush every time I found myself pulling
back from an orgasmic chasm. Never a problem for Austin.
Little boys are like that.
Endless arousal, going well beyond the point of being
painful before they call a halt to their torment. When
he became agitated I would slow, retreat, tend to his
discomfort with gentleness. He recovered quickly even
when he peaked and achieved that temporary relief that
is associated with immature orgasms. That night was no
different. He came one time when I was not paying
attention, and then came again when I was too concerned
with postponing my ejaculation to worry about him.
It made him cry. That was usual for Austin. A whimper,
like air escaping as his buttocks clamped, twitched and
quivered with the sudden onset of orgasmic spasms.
Sometimes he held his breath until it was over. At other
times he gasped for air, lifting his body from his
ankles to his shoulders off the bed as he arched in
silent surrender to the rushing current.
He would be quiet afterwards, sometimes only for a
minute or two, at other times lying exhausted from the
stress until he fell asleep. That night, like most
nights, he dozed sleepily and I dutifully stayed inside
him. Even limp, my penis was long enough to maintain the
connection if we stayed close together.
The movie ended. Tristan clambered groggily to his feet
and stood uncertainly surveying us. I wondered what was
going through his head as he looked at us. Could he even
begin to understand what we had done, and in a way, were
still doing.
"You'd better get to bed," I said gently. "It's way past
your bed time."
"Why can't I stay up?" Tristan whined. "He is!"
"He's nearly asleep. It's late as it is," I returned.
"I'll carry him in to bed in a while, TJ."
"Doesn't he have to do his teeth?" Tristan demanded
petulantly. He was always afraid of being left out of
what he perceived to be either fun or an adventure.
"Yes. He'll do them before he goes to sleep, TJ."
"What's that smell?"
"Huh? What smell?"
"Can't you smell it? 's weird."
"No. Maybe it's me. I cut one a minute ago."
I felt Austin strangle his mirth. There was no sound,
merely the tense quiver of his body as he held back from
laughing. We both knew what that smell was. It was much
stronger under the blanket.
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight too, Papaw?" Tristan
asked distantly.
"Papaw?-" Austin complained tiredly. "Make him sleep on
the couch, please."
I smiled. It sounded as if the night was far from over
despite Austin's otherwise sleepy voice. He was
increasingly like that. I was beginning to realize that
once was not enough for Austin.
"Why should I?" Tristan demanded.
"'cause you move 'round too much."
"No more 'n you do. Papaw?" Tristan retorted instantly.
His voice challenged me not to play favorites. It was
hard not to give in to that softly spoken request, so
superficially innocent. He had slept in my bed before
when both of the boys stayed for the night. When he was
like this, saying 'no' would get his attention as much
as anything we might do during the night.
I gave in with a shrug. "It's okay, AJ," I said quietly.
He looked at me, a little angry, eyes pleading, nostrils
flaring with each breath as he tried to control himself
from blurting out the real reason why he did not want
his younger brother in the same bed. I smiled at him,
reassuringly, tried to communicate that he should stay
calm.
After a moment he shrugged, wriggled slightly, pulling
his anus against the only part of my penis that remained
inside him. I felt him tighten, squeezing with those
wonderfully strong muscles, ejecting my maleness from
the hot tube of his rectum. Ousting my penis was the
only way that he could show his annoyance. It was
followed by a little wet-sounding fart, gurgling through
the fluids I had so recently deposited inside him.
"Gross," Tristan said as he wrinkled his little snub-
nose.
Austin was ready to scream at him. I could sense the
tension in his body, the nervous energy about to break
loose. I placed my hand on his hip, caressing him
lovingly under the blanket, slowly slipping down to cup
his small soft buttock, trailing my fingers into his hot
crevice, seeking, finding the spongy looseness that
identified his opening. It was slimy, oozing out of him.
My hand moved to his other cheek. It was pressed against
my thigh, not dry and warm but hot and wet, slippery
like an eel. There was a good chance that there would be
wet marks on the couch beneath him. I liked him like
that. So full of my semen that it dribbled out of him,
so loose that I could thrust my penis in nearly all the
way and have no fear of hurting him.
"TJ, you go do your teeth," I said firmly. "And put you
jams on."
"Do I have to wear jams?" he asked cheerfully. "Why
can't I sleep in the nude like you and AJ?"
"Because he's older," I answered.
"I can sleep in your bed?" he implored.
"Yes, I already said you could."
"Papaw?" Austin whined. "He's a pain in the goddamn..."
"AJ!" I exclaimed curtly. "Behave yourself."
I squeezed his buttocks deliberately. Despite what he
might think, I wasn't finished with him, not by a long
shot. However, if anything happened while Tristan was in
the bed, we would have to be very careful.
His younger brother wandered off, meandering with that
dreamy unfocused look that both boys had when they were
sleepy. Austin sulked, lying very still, not speaking.
Without seeing his face I knew his bottom lip was pushed
out. It was how I knew he was pouting. Luckily, his bad
moods seldom lasted more than a few minutes. "You sure
squirted a lot that time, Papaw," Austin said gleefully.
"Yeah, I guess I did," I admitted.
It was impossible not to be proud of what we had done.
At first glance, it was easy to think that it was
physically impossible. A grown man's penis fitting
inside an eight-year-old boy's rectum defied nature, or
at least it seemed that way. Physically impossible at
first glance. That after only a few brief minutes it
could move back and forth so freely, give so much
pleasure to both of us and produce such incredible
sensations that there seemed to be nothing else living
for, made it nothing less than a miracle.
It was more than just having sex. It was confirmation of
our love. My semen was inside him, or at least some of
it still was inside him. Part of me had become part of
him. Perhaps it had gone deep enough into his intestines
that it been absorbed into his blood-stream. Genetically
related, bodily connected, spiritually bonded.
I smiled happily, contentedly. There was no
satisfaction, at least none that I knew of, that
compared with being inside the boy I loved. We shared
far more than words could ever describe. It made life
worth living, gave purpose where none had existed for
many years, made me complete.
Lovingly, I patted his firm rump.
"You have a hot little ass, AJ," I said.
He giggled the way he always giggled. I felt the
familiar surge in my heart, the deep engaging love that
came knowing that he was mine, and that he loved me.
Lovingly, I eased my thumb between his firm rubbery
cheeks, seeking the slick moistness and the heat of his
crevice. My thumb slid along the depth of his semen-
streaked fissure, locating the spongy entry. It was
still wide open. In just a few minutes it had begun to
resume a more normal appearance, no longer gaping but
still a larger concavity than it was supposed to be. I
pressed into the hollow, testing the weakened verge. It
was tender.
It was always tender afterwards. No matter how I wished
it was not the case, there was always a ring of blue-
green-brown bruises that matched the girth of my penis.
My thumb gently circled his anus, rubbing in the
lubricious flesh. It would have been very easy to
penetrate him again. Austin groaned softly, wriggling
back slightly, pushing deliberately, encouragingly. He
often did that just to greet me, to let me know that he
was willing and eager. Sometime during the last few
weeks be had become insatiable.
"We'll do it again when Tristan's asleep," I added
placatingly. "If you want to, that is."
"Sure. I reckon you oughta know what I want. Wake me up,
if you gotta, Papaw," Austin said with a soft sluggish
sigh.
I rubbed around his little weakened orifice, not too
hard, not trying to get my thumb deeper than it already
was. I was satisfied, if only until we got into bed,
until Tristan was asleep. The urge would come back again
soon enough. For the time being, my sole reason for
being was to pleasure Austin, to reward him for giving
me the greatest gift of all. As my finger rotated,
massaged the tender rim of his anus, he sighed deeply. I
felt the wetness oozing from his body every time that I
pressed into the breach. I pushed again, curiously,
fascinated by the wet suction that had formed against my
fingertip.
It felt as if his anus was French-kissing my finger.
More wetness seeped out, drawn from the depths of his
rectum by my pumping motion. There appeared to be more
semen inside him than ever before. I had expected some,
but not as much as this. My thumb squelched in the soft,
juicy tissue and Austin groaned, forced down with his
inner muscles, exerted the pressure necessary for
defecation. A wet gurgle of air escaped. I smiled,
thinking of later on when we would be joined together
again. Would he want to repeat the events of the
previous weekend, leaving it inside him all night? Yes
indeed, he was definitely insatiable.
"Maybe you ought to wake me up this time instead," I
suggested.
"Why?"
"'cause it's getting harder to keep up with you. I'm too
old.
I think I'm worn out."
"You're not old, Papaw." Austin smirked as he delivered
the coup de grace. "You're ancient."
"Very funny." I smiled back at him. Playfully I squeezed
his bare rump. "Come on, let's go brush our teeth and
get ready for bed."
"He knows, doesn't he?"
"Huh? Who knows? Tristan? You mean he knows about us?" I
asked cheerlessly.
"Does he, Dad? Does he know what you've been doing to
his brother?"
I shrugged, knowing that I had to answer her sooner or
later. With the truth? Was it better that she heard a
lie? Had Austin told her? It was so long ago, perhaps he
had forgotten. Had it really happened? I breathed out
slowly, trying to think, realizing the impossibility of
applying reason to what was so obviously unreasonable.
Shake my head. Deny the fact. All she had was
conjecture, assumptions.
"Well Dad? Does Tristan know?" She paused a moment,
perhaps she was as reluctant as I was to accept the
truth that my silence conveyed.
"Tell me what happened?" she persisted.
"Uh... there's not a lot to tell," I began awkwardly.
"Did he see you?"
I wanted to shake my head again. Slowly, I nodded. For a
moment, she half-closed her eyes. Nodding, almost
accepting the inevitability of it. Common sense told her
that after almost a year, Tristan had to have seen
something.
"What did he see, Dad?"
What did he see? I was not absolutely sure. Enough, that
was certain. Enough to know that his older brother and I
were doing something unexpected. I did not know how long
he had been awake. All I knew was that he had not lying
asleep the entire time.
"He saw us, okay."
"And?" she prompted.
"And yes, we were having sex," I added awkwardly.
"How could you, Dad?" Her voice was pained and I looked
away guiltily.
"I didn't plan it that way," I tried to explain. Even to
me, my voice sounded weak.
"I hope not." She smiled a little, barely moving the
corners of her mouth. "It was during February wasn't it?
That weekend that I went away to Asheville?"
I nodded once, then again, remembering. I had offered to
take both of the boys to help her out, to give her some
time by herself. I was well-intentioned. However, even
the best intentions often went awry. I should have known
better. I should have known that something would happen.
I should have known that things would get out of hand.
***
#38 Saturday February 15 2.00 a.m. or thereabouts. My
place. God! What a night? I actually got my cock all the
way into AJ while Tristan was still awake. We couldn't
do much, so AJ fell asleep with my dick still inside
him. I fucked him on and off but I didn't cum. I'm sure
I slept part of the time. Nothing rough.
We finished up four or five hours later. Tristan was
awake at the end. It frightened the hell out of me,
seeing him sitting up watching over my shoulder. He
probably woke up while we were doing it hard. He wanted
to know what we were doing. He thought we were 'making
babies'. He seemed to accept fucking was something AJ
and I did to have fun when we couldn't sleep.
At night, when I was in bed with Austin, I was always
consumed by desire. Unless a person has felt the intense
need that comes from loving a boy, the word 'desire' has
no meaning. For me, boy-love was overpowering, all
conquering. It was so strong that there nothing I could
do to resist the urge. There were times when I tried to
stop.
Being naked in bed with AJ was a bit like standing
before a tidal wave, thinking you could hold back the
flood. As always, I ended up losing. I always yielded
when he took the lead. It was more than a old man's
yearning for the warm soft flesh of youth. It was
irresistible lust that night.
I watched Austin shed his clothes, grinning as he
discarded them haphazardly on the bathroom floor, until
he was stark naked, I was Priapuslike with an erection
that any man my age would have been proud of. He
cavorted before me, fully aware of the effect he had on
me. He flirted shamelessly, draping his underpants over
his little love-spike. I tried to concentrate on
brushing my teeth, yet when Austin came up beside me and
began to brush his teeth, all I could think of was the
sweet freshness of his boy's breath and the delicate
softness of his lips when he kissed me.
He gargled loudly, smirking gleefully as he dribbled
foamy water into the basin, showing me the pure white of
his teeth. Perfect in every way. He wiped his face dry
with a towel, still with that irresistible smile of his
that left me powerless. He darted over to the cabinet,
searching through my medicines and other things until he
found what he was looking for. For the life of me, I
could not remember putting the tube of KY there. He
found it even as I was about to tell him it probably was
not there.
He almost always took a controlling role when it came to
applying the lubricant. Getting himself ready was, as he
put it, his 'job' because he 'might be dirty'. He used
lots, probably twice what he needed to, but I did not
have the heart to stop him, or suggest that he use less.
I could easily clean up the excess. I was not surprised,
therefore, when he removed the cap, lifted his right leg
up onto the side of the bath tub and placed the end of
the tube between his cheeks. It was cold, so cold, that
he winced as he squeezed the bottom half of the tube
with his small fist.
Then, almost as instinctively, he straightened up again,
smiling gleefully at me as he replaced the cap on the
tube.
"Cold?" I teased.
Austin wrinkled his nose. "An ice cube would feel
better."
"Do you think you got enough inside?"
"I reckon I did. You want me to put some on him, Papaw?"
"If we need more, I've got some next to the bed."
With a quick flick of his very-stiff penis, he dropped
his underpants on the tiled floor next to his shirt. He
stepped clumsily into my embrace, my arms outstretched,
enclosing him, pulling our bodies together, his legs
astride my right thigh. He wriggled against me, rubbing
his hardness into me. Playfully, I squeezed the two
halves of his buttocks together. It was a one-handed
task, although my fingers were stretched apart as far as
they could go. Then, my middle finger traced the line of
his crevice, lingering at the base of his spine.
"Carry me, Papaw," Austin instructed sleepily.
I scooped him up, one arm beneath his back, the other
supporting his knees. So light. Sixty pounds? Maybe a
little heavier? His arms locked around my neck and he
clung to me as I started into the bedroom. The only
light on in the room was the bed lamp on my side of the
bed. As we came around to that side, Tristan rolled onto
his back and sat up.
"Why's he bein' carried?" Tristan demanded groggily.
"'cause he's sleepy," I explained.
It was not unusual for the boys to exhibit some petty
jealousy when they thought they were competing. Not that
there was a lot for them to compete over. As a result, I
went out of my way to try to maintain a balance and
avoid indulging them. It would have been very easy to
spoil both of them, even easier with Austin given our
relationship. I wanted to pamper him, to give him things
that showed how much I loved him. Instead, I held back.
Alone, I coddled him, treated him with a special
familiarity, let him know that he was cherished.
I switched off the lamp and sat as close to the center
of the bed as I could manage, then eased Austin down
onto his side before I lay down. A boy on either side of
me. One boy was cool to touch. He was naked as the day
he was born. The other boy was already warm under the
comforter. The slightest caress of Tristan's nearest
flank confirmed that he was dressed only in his
underpants. Paradise, by any other name.
They squirmed closer at the same time, each taking an
arm to lie his head on. I drew them even closer, until
their legs were against me, wrapped my arms around their
shoulders, stroked bare satin-smooth skin, fondled the
silk-like hair on the nape of their necks. For a while I
would have to remain on my back, but it would be even
longer before I managed to fall asleep that night. A
minute passed. Two. Three. Many more. I lost track of
the time. In the darkness, time became endless.
"Do spoons, Papaw," Austin purred in my ear.
'Spoons'? He wanted more than spoons. I knew what he
wanted. He did not have to say it. A boy does not
lubricate his anus with KY jelly without wanting that. I
felt his warmth, melting my resolve. Reason said 'wait',
at least wait until Tristan was fast asleep. Carefully,
just in case Tristan was ready to drop off, I turned
onto my side. Simultaneously, Austin also rolled onto
his side so that my front was against his back. He
wriggled down slightly, pulling his knees higher, nearly
to his chest, assuming the position we used at night.
'Wait'! 'WAIT'! WAIT!! The voice inside my head was
unable to stop me. He squirmed again, shifting back,
bringing his buttocks into the concave curve of my body.
Not touching. Not yet.
I smelled the scent of his hair, lingering from the last
time he had shampooed. I smelled the sweet sweaty smell
of a young boy. Fresh. Alive. Hot. I could feel the
steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply.
I felt his small hot hand slip between us, exploring
cautiously, seeking my penis with his outstretched
fingers. I was soft, useless, nervous with his brother
so close behind me. He squeezed, stroked, coaxed the
blood to flow and fill it. His thumb rubbed, teasingly
playing in the groove around my glans, fingernails
lightly scratching. Tempting it to come forward.
There were some nights when I took Viagra. Not often.
Austin did not know, and more than likely would not have
understood. Erections for him were nearly instant, if
not yet spontaneous. It only took a few seconds before
he was hard. A minute at most before the inner shaft was
inflexible. Then it felt like a half-inch steel bolt
sheathed in baby soft skin. That wonderful part of him,
that part defining his gender, that part was the part
that I loved the most. It functioned to be loved, if not
to make love in the future.
"Papaw?" Tristan whined from behind me.
"Shut up," Austin growled.
At eight years old, his voice was anything but menacing.
However, in produced the desired reaction in his younger
brother. Silence. Austin's hand grasped my penis. His
little fingers glided up and down, tugging on the
rounded end as he completed every stroke. He knew that
the glans was the most sensitive part of a penis. He
knew what to do. He was persistent.
Slowly, surely, my penis shrugged off its sleepy stupor
and began to grow firmer. It lengthened, stretching out
into Austin's hand, expanding, hardening. He squeezed
deliberately, triumphantly. His first objective was
attained. I listened carefully, hoping to hear the sound
of a boy slumbering, slow deep breathing from behind me.
No sound. Awake? Asleep? Might be either. Should I stop
Austin?
His right hand had placed the tip of my penis where it
needed to be. His left hand was between his thighs,
positioning my penis from underneath. His pelvis pushed
back. His fingers spread his cheeks, opening the way. I
felt his moist heat. My penis was a heat-seeking
missile. I smiled to myself. It was something that
Austin might have said. I felt his encompassing
softness.
The meeting of flesh, engaging, joining, marrying our
bodies. I felt the slipperiness before my penis,
realized that he had been using his sphincter muscle to
push the lubricant out, already sliding further and I
had yet to push. I stayed still, letting him do all the
work until the tip was past the tight area. It wasn't
anything like his first time. Austin rotated his hips,
working himself down onto it, pushing the head of my
penis into his rectum, wanting it deeper, driving the
now-thickened stake all the way into him.
He stopped when he was past the halfway point. There was
no stopping now. I felt him breathing deeply, trying to
control his spasms, resist his muscles efforts to reject
what he had worked so hard to accomplish. My heart was
pounding. All I had done was to lie there. I was
drained, as much by the wonderful sensation of impaling
him as by the knowledge that Tristan was lying right
behind me. His slender arm was draped over my hip.
Barely inches away from his fingers, my penis was held
tightly within his brother's body.
Now it was my turn. It was hard, wonderfully hard. It
was difficult to penetrate further without moving my
hips. Even the slightest movement on my part might have
aroused Tristan's attention. So I lay as still as I
could, placed my right hand on Austin's hip, my other
arm under his shoulders, and pulled him down and onto
me. Another inch inside him. A little muffled gasp
escaped his lips.
"W'as that?" Tristan demanded groggily.
"Nothing, TJ. Just go to sleep. I'm just getting
comfortable," I answered over my shoulders.
So tight, so wonderfully tight. His body has a vise-grip
on mine. It squeezed. Seemingly relentless, yet easing
as he relaxed. Each time he did so, I pulled against
him, keeping my penis ramrod stiff and pointed in the
right direction. By then it was far enough. I felt him
shudder, his body wriggling as he tried to pull away. It
was usually like that when my penis first nudged against
his prostate. It always took some getting used to. It
was time to be patient. He needed time to adjust, for
his body to stretch, for his sphincter to slacken far
enough that greater movement was possible.
"G'night," Tristan cooed softly.
"Good night, beautiful," I answered. "I love you."
"Love you too, Papaw," he faded off.
Anyone who has slept with a boy like Tristan, knows what
I am talking about. For an hour he could lie perfectly
still, unmoving, barely breathing, not stirring in the
slightest. He has to be asleep because no one can stay
awake and not move at all. But Tristan could, and did.
He did that night. He exhaled with an occasional slight
sigh, the same way that his older brother did when he
slept on his back.
I gave up waiting. I was too tired to care. I waited a
few more minutes and carefully eased back. My penis
stretched like a worm, a worm caught in a hole, pulling
gently. Instinctively, the little opening closed, young
muscles clamping, holding my penis captive.
"I love you," I whispered.
"Uh huh." He was very close to falling asleep. "Love you
too, Papaw," he murmured. He sighed softly. "Don't take
him out, 'kay."
Nothing stopped me, nothing except his subdued voice. I
settled closer, placing my hand on his hip, then around
his lower belly. I kept my distance from his sex. I
wanted only to keep us together, to prevent us from
separating during the night. I lowered my head into the
pillow beside his, nuzzled the silky hair on his neck,
kissed his bare warm shoulder, and told him that he was
my 'lover boy'.
I woke up again in the middle of the night. Hard. Still
inside him. So hot. So alive. So tight. I was too tense
to move. I counted off the seconds, minutes, got all the
way to 832 before I gave up. I eased back, trembling as
I felt the ripple of his anus along my withdrawing
penis. Untrammeled, overpowering pleasure. There was no
equal to that sensation. It was soft, firm, hot, wet,
yielding, resisting. No wonder men have 'fucked' boys
throughout history.
Barely inside, yet still part of him, a narrow band
inside him always holding on to the most sensitive part
of my penis. That swollen plum-colored helmeted head was
the first part in and the last part out. I smiled
absently, relishing the moment, knowing what I would
have to do next even if it meant waking him up at some
point. A few times I had even given him an orgasm while
he slept.
I pushed slowly and began an inexorable return. Once
started, it was unstoppable. Not all the way inside, but
far enough that my penis was bathed in his slippery wet
heat, reached into the looseness within him. Then out
again, drawing back through his slick canal until my
penis was ready to pull free. After a couple of thrusts
it had regained full erection, throbbing mercilessly.
I was careful not to go too far. Not too quickly, and
never too hard. Slowly, always slowly, using gentle
pushes that were calculated to give pleasure to him
rather than provide immediate gratification to me. He
stirred slightly, waking partially, realizing. Still
drowsy, he shifted and moved his upper leg closer to his
chest.
It had the effect of lifting his buttocks, placing them
in line with the axis of my penis. I eased back inside
him. He sighed, closing down as my penis bottomed out. I
stopped there, feeling his muscles clamping, reacting,
momentarily resisting, trying to relax. With an arm
around his narrow chest, I could feel every movement,
every breath he took. I held him lovingly, aware of what
he was feeling.
There was a long period before I moved again. It was
difficult to do anything when I was so overwhelmed by
joy. Austin was so vulnerable that I wanted nothing to
disturb the sheltered haven we enjoyed. For that was
what it was, that special place we shared within him. A
haven. A sanctuary where we sought refuge and came
together.
He drifted off to sleep again as my penis slowly
deflated. Another hour passed, perhaps two, perhaps
longer, before I awoke again and gradually became
conscious of the heat and aching hardness. My penis was
still inside him despite his turning onto his back. I
smiled ruefully. Had he been awake while I was asleep?
It was possible that he could reposition himself from
lying on his side onto his back while he was still
asleep. Perhaps it was possible that he could even lift
his legs up and drape them over me. One leg was over my
thighs, the other over my hips. However, to do so while
keeping my penis inside his anus was another matter.
What else had he done? I moved carefully, flexing my
penis as I probed his bowels. Had he brought me to
climax there would have been a different feeling. It
felt smooth and slick inside him, his tender flesh
clasping my relentless maleness, embracing me securely
as only a young boy can. I smiled again as I realized
the possibility now presented to me. In this position my
penis could move much further, and with even less effort
on my part. It was even easier when he was asleep.
Musing, I reached between his legs, lightly fingered his
penis and the tiny silk-skinned pouch below. His
testicles were hard to find, so tiny that they
momentarily escaped. My hand cupped, sheltered that
precious boy-part, fondled the slackened moist membrane.
It was so soft that I could barely feel the folds of
skin, so different to the furred casing that swung
beneath my penis. This was a boy. Slender yet
surprisingly strong, lacking worldly experienced yet
intensely curious, androgynous yet not sexless. He was
beautiful.
"Do it, Papaw," Austin whispered.
"You're awake?"
"No!" He giggled. "I talk in my sleep."
"Some people sleep walk but you sleep talk," I
whispered.
"Uh huh. But I only do it when I'm horny."
"Do what?" I teased softly.
"Huh?"
I leaned into him, kissed his smooth cheek, lovingly
licked his delicate ear. He giggled, absently stroking
his fingers against my chest. In the darkness, I could
barely make out the outline of his head, a profile
against the white pillow. His fingers teasingly twisted
in my chest hair. Unlike me, like his uncle, Austin
would be relatively hairless. That came from his
grandmother's side. His leg muscles tightened and pulled
us closer together. I took that as a hint and pressed
against him so that me penis entered another inch.
"Is this what you want?" I said with my lips still
pressed against his small ear.
"Uh huh." He squirmed, clamped his inner muscle, relaxed
his buttocks, showed me what he wanted just in case
there was still doubt.
"You fell asleep before."
"I promise I won't this time."
His southern accent, Louisiana-south, was as innocuous
as it was sensuous. He would not fall asleep this time.
He was in the mood. I should have known to be more
vigilant but lust got the better of me. My arm was
around his shoulders, cradling him, supporting his head,
restricting his movement. Each careful thrust was met
with trust. He knew I would never hurt him, at least not
deliberately. Slowly, I regained the depth I needed.
Succulent, sublime joy.
His flesh yielded, conquered by the engorged thick stake
of my manhood. I sank into his rectum, reached up into
the spot that made him come alive. I felt him shudder,
felt his limbs writhing, the sudden hot flush, the
anxiety. He was close, desperately close. I started
doing it faster, pumping.
I listened to his whimpered cries, his urgent breathing,
understood his need. His little penis stayed limp. On
reflection, it was only logical that it remained
flaccid. There was no reason for it to stiffen. For
this, only one of us needed an erection.
He groaned, tightening his rectum, clasping as hard as
he could as he struggled to reach the peak. There was
always a point where it seemed just of reach, where no
matter how hard, fast, or deep, it was impossible to get
what he wanted. And there was fear, fear that he could
not do what he wanted so desperately to do, and fear
that he could. I clutched him forcefully, thrust into
him as hard as I dared, gave him what he wanted.
I wanted it to be over quickly. I wanted it to last
forever. It hurt him, that final rush. He was too young,
too small, too innocent.
"Are you okay?"
"Faster," Austin hissed through gritted teeth.
Another stroke, and then another, stabbing into his
weakened bowels. He was trembling against me, his body
wracked by erratic spasms. Timing was everything. I felt
it rising, the gnawing ache in my groin, my penis
stiffening into a solid, irresistible stake that I
plunged again and again into Austin's body. This was
love?
"Oh-h-h-h-G-o-d," Austin groaned.
His bowels slackened. That was the sign. Another frantic
lunge. He squealed, trying his best to hold it in. Then
the savage cramps, meeting the jerks of my penis as the
fluid spurted out. Six pulses. Slowing down. Stopping.
Sinking into the tranquility that followed and sharing
the boundless joy that came from knowing we had made
love.
Although he was sure, he quivered like a leaf, holding
my hand firmly in his feeble grasp, his distended anal
muscles still making pathetic efforts to work against my
shrinking penis, to avoid the inevitable end. He must
have felt my semen leaking out because when he finally
turned his head and gazed into my eyes, he grimaced in
consternation.
"What are you doing to him, Papaw?"
Tristan was awake. God only knew how long he had been
awake. God only knew how long he had been watching.
Because he had been silently watching us, sitting up,
looking over me, hidden in the darkness. The comforter
had pulled halfway down my thighs. Even in the darkness
he could have seen enough. He was close enough to have
seen much more. The realization of what he might have
seen chilled me. I panicked. He had to have seen
everything.
"Nothing, Tristan," I answered brusquely. "Just go back
to sleep, okay."
However, it was not 'okay', and I knew it, knew it
before the words were out of my mouth. He was curious
like his brother. He would never take 'nothing' for an
answer.
"Papaw?" Tristan persisted. "But that were you doing?"
"Lie down and go to sleep."
"Why was your weenie in his butt?"
Austin wriggled away. It was bad timing. The entire
situation was bad timing, and bad judgment on my part.
My 'weenie', slick, slimy, soft, suddenly slid out. The
sound was unmistakable. The sound of loose suction, a
sound that was not unlike the slurping sound that a boy
makes when he sucks the last of a milk shake through a
straw.
"Tristan!" I grumped.
Anger was a bad idea, I realized immediately. I sighed,
gently patting Austin's bare flank, the side of his
uppermost buttock. It felt slippery. How on earth did he
get it all over his rump? There was only one way to
ensure Tristan's complicity and that was to satisfy his
curiosity.
"I was making him feel good," I answered uncertainly. My
voice did not sound reassuring.
"Why?"
"Because he had a bad bream and woke up."
"Why does it make him feel good?"
"Because it just does." I paused.
Was I digging the hole deeper? There was nothing I could
say.
"But why?"
I took a deep breath and wondered where it would end.
"Because he likes how it feels."
"How does it feel?"
"Nice. It feels nice, TJ," Austin murmured. "Now go to
sleep."
"I'm not sleepy," Tristan chirped. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Not anymore," Austin said.
"But it used to?"
"Yes. When I was tighter. Papaw, make him go to sleep."
I smiled. "I wish I could."
I shook my head as I gently dabbed the edge of the sheet
between Austin's buttocks. Even though only five or six
hours had passed since the last time, I had ejaculated
more than enough for it to ooze out of his dilated
opening whenever his inner muscles tightened.
"Papaw, isn't it dirty?"
"Not really."
I cupped my hand over Austin's cheeks. Both of them were
barely enough to fill my hand. His cheeks were firm,
pinched, baby-soft. It was difficult to think of
anything we did together as dirty. Even that, the most
intimate and invasive act that two males could perform,
was part of our love. Certainly, there had been times
when it was messy.
There were even a few stains that were slightly
yellowed, one or two bloody smears that left discolored
spots on the living room couch. Yes, there were times
when I was grateful for the towel placed underneath
Austin, but such accidents were becoming increasingly
rare. The only thing that was essential was to change
the sheets on my bed before his mother came to my house
on Monday morning to straighten up for me.
"Doesn't his poop get on your weenie?"
"Not really, TJ," I answered calmly.
Not much, I wanted to say, and it would not bother me if
it did. It was part of loving him, accepting that it
could sometimes be messy.
"Why not?"
"I guess because he goes to the bathroom first."
"Oh." He paused, considering. "Papaw, why does it feel
nice?"
I breathed out, then filled my lungs again. It was a
bottomless pit. However, sheltering him would only lead
to misunderstanding and ignorance.
"Because it does," Austin answered flatly. "It's
supposed to feel good."
"Papaw, will you do it to me too... I mean when I'm
older?"
"Um... I..." I swallowed dryly.
Was it possible that he realized how I felt about him?
Did he understand why I looked at him the way that I
did? Did he sense what was in store for him if he chose
to follow in his brother's footsteps. The boys were so
much alike at times that they could be twins rather than
brothers separated in age by nearly two years.
"He will if you want him too," Austin giggled. "And I
bet you'll like it as much as I do."
"Is it like with Mommy and the man who lived with us at
the old place?"
"Yeah, I guess," Austin answered vaguely. "Except Papaw
puts his weenie in my butt. That's because boys don't
have a hole in front. They're different to girls."
"Oh. And you can't have a baby... Can you?"
"No. 'course not. Don't be a dummy!"
I smiled. What little I knew of their lives before they
arrived on my doorstep about nine months earlier, I had
gleaned from passing comments. Things had happened to
Austin, perhaps even to Tristan, but it was like barrier
existed for them to tell me more than that. I had tried
with Austin, pressing him to talk about what it was like
in New Orleans. He told me very little. And his mother?
When I asked, she told me to mind my own business.
The old house was a ramshackle wood-framed house on the
western bank of the Mississippi. The ground floor was
occupied by someone who the boys called 'Mister Jake'.
My daughter and her sons lived above. There were two
bedrooms on the third floor, one of which was apparently
frequently occupied by 'Mister Jake'. With paper thin
walls and a shared bathroom, I imagined that the boys
saw and heard more than they should have.
***
"And Tristan?" Tara asked uncertainly. "How much does he
know?"
I winced. "He saw us having sex."
"You let him watch you?"
I tensed, waiting for her wrath to build enough to
explode. She looked at me with glowering eyes. Silence
seemed like the best course of action.
"No, I didn't let him," I said at last. "He woke up one
night and saw us."
"You were fucking Austin, weren't you?"
I nodded awkwardly. Strangely, she smiled slightly and
slowly shook her head.
"It's funny how things have a way of repeating
themselves."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. How long was he watching, Dad?"
"For a while I guess. He was lying behind me. I didn't
know he was awake. I'm not sure how much he actually
saw. It was dark," I said shamefully.
"But he was looking, wasn't he? He saw you doing it.
What did you tell him?"
I told him as little as possible, at least at first.
There were more questions later. There were enough
questions over the next few weeks to show that he had
been affected by it, that he was not worried about it,
indeed that he was very curious about what he had
witnessed.
I shrugged, pretending lack of memory, thinking of my
answers. Eventually, I had told him what he wanted to
know. He was not disgusted. Most boys would have
rejected it as disgusting, but not Tristan. He was
mildly amused, as much by the somewhat ridiculous
concept of a penis going inside his bottom, as by
anything I said. At six years old, there is humor in
almost everything, and the penis and buttocks are
amusing body parts for a six-year-old boy. He also saw
the serious side.
In a moment of candid honesty, I told him that what I
did to Austin, by putting my penis inside his bottom,
was the most wonderful thing that we could do together.
We did it because that was how a man showed a boy how
much he loved him. The boy also wanted to do it as well
for the same reason. With a shy smile, Tristan promptly
informed me that it was probably something that he would
also do when he was older.
Tara regarded me with disdain. She scratched her neck,
half-closed her eyes the same way that Austin often did
when he was faced with a particularly vexing problem.
"Okay," I said slowly. "I'll tell you what I told TJ."
"I already know," she replied blandly.
"Oh?" I swallowed dryly.
"I'm not angry, Dad. Well, that's not true, I am angry.
I'm his mother after all. However, what you said to him,
well... it was a nice way of putting it. And while I
think Austin is still too young to understand what being
in love means, I think he knows he feels good inside by
making you happy."
"I appreciate your honesty."
I wanted to say more, to try to explain to her that her
son was old enough to love someone, that he needed
affection of a kind that she could not provide.
"Tara," I began.
I stopped, wondering. There were a lot of unanswered
questions. A year ago I had questions that had never
been resolved.
"You're wondering whether I'm going to report this to
the police?"
"No. Yes. I think that's entirely up to you. I think
you'll do what's in the boys' best interests. I do have
one question, Tara. What happened in New Orleans? Before
you came up here?"
"That's none of your business, Dad. For God's sake,
leave it alone."
I shook my head curtly. "I think it is. The first night
you were here, I should have known something was wrong.
That's when it became my business."
"How?"
"Because..." I chewed my lower lip.
Outside, some tourists were gathering in preparation to
making a foray into the Main Street Coffee Shop for a
mid-morning snack. Or was it lunch time already? One of
them, a fat lady was pointing down the street and making
a voluble case for an alternative establishment. She
would definitely be happier at the Gatlinburg Bar and
Grill. They served larger portions of everything except
salads.
"Why?" Tara asked softly.
"That night, the first night, AJ slept in my bed,
remember?
Because Tristan was sick and you didn't want him
catching it."
"I remember."
"He wet the bed," I said fondly. "So I cleaned him up,
Tara. I took his clothes off and changed the sheets. He
started crying when I got him back into bed."
"And?" Tara prompted accusingly.
"Tara, I din't do anything."
"Did he?"
"Yes."
"What happened, Dad?"
"For a while, before I got him back to sleep... I wanted
him to stop crying. He played with me... with my penis,"
I ended simply.
It was exactly the way that it happened. Tara nodded
slightly, inclined her head, considered me with her
dispassionate eyes.
"And you let him."
"Tara, I tried to stop him. All I could think of was how
it had been with Phillip all those years earlier."
"Oh! First you seduce my brother, and then my son. At
least you're consistent about incest, aren't you Dad?"
she said sarcastically. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled
for."
"It's true," I said ruefully. "Except that I didn't
seduce any one. It's just that I can't help it. I
thought I could stop myself. I really thought it was
finished once Phillip and I stopped. Then along you
came."
"And the next weekend, I went back to pick up the rest
of our things. It happened again, didn't it?" she asked.
I nodded. "What did you do with him?"
Again I remembered how easy it had been. It was so easy
to give in to my desires. Years without satisfaction,
tormented by urges that could result in spending the
rest of my life in jail. A beautiful blond-headed boy
prancing shamelessly naked through my house, pretending
to be... What was he pretending to be anyway? Other than
an little exhibitionist?
He flaunted his body, becoming a juvenile whore intent
showing off the merchandise, and it was easy to see what
was being offered for sale. And what wonderful
merchandise it was. What man would not give everything
he possessed for a few moments with that beautiful boy?
That magnificent male part of him captured my attention
and demanded my homage. I was swept along by the mere
sight of it until there was no escape from the
inevitable. In its intricate perfection, his little
penis embodied the rest of him. In that respect, a boy
was very different to a girl. Instead of mystery that
defined the opposite sex, a boy was revealed, displayed
to the world, naturally proud, sexually triumphant.
Austin had a beautiful body, just like Phillip when he
was young. He was hairless and lithe, delicately
featured, thin boned, sufficiently muscled to have
firmness under his skin. He was a sculpted form in human
flesh. He grinned wantonly, observing and drawing my
attention to the obvious indicator of a male's arousal.
Shamefaced and guilty that my body had defied my resolve
yet again, I capitulated. That time was the breaking
point. It was also the starting point.
"What happened while I was away?"
I glanced at her, wondering if she would believe. It
seemed so far-fetched. Austin was eight years old.
Eight-year-old boys do not seduce their grandfathers.
It's usually the other way around.
"He..." I was unable to say more. I sat there, consumed
by the secret knowledge of what had transpired.
***
It rained all of Saturday morning. It started out as a
miserable day. It was one of those days when the rain
clouds hung close to the ground. The surrounding hills
were veiled in mist and the mountains to the south were
shrouded. Austin was feeling low, avoiding my gaze,
sitting in front of the television as if Nickelodeon
held the answer to all of life's problems. Perhaps it
did for young boys.
Perhaps he had good reason to be unhappy. For a while I
endeavored to amuse him, but my attempts to cajole him
into responding were a waste of time. He shrugged off
any and all efforts to restore communication. Finally, I
ignored him and I was met with barely restrained
contempt. I presumed that he was sulking because his
mother had left him behind and taken his still-sick
brother with her. He would have to start school on
Monday and he was not happy about that either. How could
I be so far from the truth?
Around noon, I suggested that we have some lunch. Austin
turned up his nose, vaguely implying that anything I
would have in the refrigerator was not something that he
would want to eat. I changed course and suggested that
we go out for a hamburger. He warmed to that idea with a
barely observable shrug.
I hate McDonalds. Even if they have clean bathrooms,
their hamburgers are unpalatable. However, most kids
love McDonalds, didn't they? I took Austin to McDonalds
for lunch. So there we were, waiting in a long line of
tourists to buy hamburgers and listening to the
ubiquitous 'do you want fries with that'. Austin stood
beside me, his shoulders hunched, kicking aimlessly at a
stanchion.
We were only one person away from being served. She was
fat, displaying a huge rear end that shook every time
she moved. Rolls of fat were miraculously compressed
into a pair of tightly stretched stretch-pants. She
ordered three burgers, two fries, and a large soft-
drink. It was enough to turn a person's stomach. All
that food was destined for a single stomach?
"I hate McDonalds," Austin grumbled. "Why do we have to
eat here?"
"We don't," I answered as nicely as nicely as I could,
given that we had just waited in line for nearly fifteen
minutes.
"Can't we go somewhere else?"
"Yes."
I stepped out of line, of what was now an even longer
line than when we had first entered the store. Yet, the
mere thought of eating the same food that the lady in
front of me was about to eat, even if it was much less
in quantity, made me feel quite sick.
I placed my hand on Austin's shoulder and directed him
out of the queue. I hoped he was serious about going
somewhere else, otherwise I would be very angry. He
turned, looked up at me, and grinned. His gray-blue eyes
were radiant.
"Sorry, Papaw," he said.
"About what?"
"Everything. Mostly about being mean to you."
I shrugged. I didn't know it at the time, but I would
always be quick to forgive him. Our love was like that.
"It's okay. I'd like to know what I did wrong, though."
"You didn't do nuthin'. I was just actin' dumb, I
reckon."
"Did you see the butt on that woman in front of us?" I
asked with a smile.
"Uh huh. All that food were her's, wadn't it?" Austin
drawled.
I made a mental note to begin working on his language
skills.
We went to Main Street Coffee Shop, the same place where
his mother and I now were. We sat at a table at the rear
of the dining room. They served great sandwiches. Fresh
bread, cooked right there on the premises so there was
always a delectable aroma that did wonders for the
appetite. Austin picked the Appalachian Club so he had
his hands full with smoked ham and slices of pickles. I
had my usual turkey on rye. And we sat there, looking
out the back window, looking over the stream that
splashed over a rocky ledge and disappeared.
"You reckon there's fish n'there?" Austin asked.
His mouth was half full, giving me a prime view of
masticating boy. He had very nice teeth, white and
small. And his tongue? That little pink tongue of his
had the most amusing manner of darting out and licking
over his perfectly shaped lips every few seconds to
clean up the crumbs that had escaped.
"Probably a few," I remarked.
"Ah never bin fishin'," he added.
"Never?" I queried.
Austin shook his head and took another bite. He had made
good progress but he was slowing down. It looked very
much as if he would not be able to finish his sandwich.
"You don't have to eat all of it."
"Do! I gotta eat everythin' or Mom's gonna be real
pissed... sorry I meant... mad at me."
I grinned at him. There was something enjoyable in
hearing Austin say that. He was beginning to accept me
and treat me as someone he was familiar with.
"Ah cain't waste nuthin' when it costs this much," he
added as an explanation.
"Well, I'm paying, so it's okay," I replied.
The food had not cost all that much. However, I had a
sudden insight in Austin's life. They had been
struggling to make ends meet when they lived in New
Orleans. It must have been very difficult. Right there
and then I made a promise to do my best to help them as
much as I could. My daughter would not take charity. She
was the same as me in that respect. However, she might
take a loan if I could convince her that it was only to
be used to build a business. Perhaps I could convince
her to take up a business in Gatlin-burg so that I could
be close to my grandsons.
For an obvious reason, I wanted Austin to be close, more
than I wanted his younger brother or my daughter. I
smiled at him and he beamed back at me, still chewing
with his mouth half-open. I would also need to do
something about his table manners.
Only one thing continued to haunt me, and that was what
had happened earlier in the week. For two days now, I
had been unable, reluctant, to discuss it with him. It
hung between us. Sooner or later it would have to come
to the surface. Sooner rather than later.
"Austin," I began slowly. He looked up. I had his
attention.
"About what happened?"
"I was wonderin' when you was gonna bring that up," he
mumbled. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"No, not okay. We need to talk about it."
"What if I don't want to?"
"You don't have a choice in what you do all the time," I
replied.
"Well, I don't wanna talk about it, so I ain't tellin'
you."
"Okay," I answered.
I watched him chew the last French fry. Mastication was
a little like masturbation, only it gave a different
sort of pleasure to the senses. It also gave me pleasure
to watch him eat. His eyelids fluttered, Delicate veils
over his pale-blue eyes, eyes that darted back and forth
consumed by interest in the world around him. He tended
to eat with his mouth open, at least it was open more
than it was closed. He had small white teeth, perfect
except for a missing molar or whatever that tooth to the
side is called. I made another mental note to work on
his table manners. 'Uncouth youth' seemed to have been
invented for the sole purpose of describing Austin. I
smiled.
"What's so funny?"
"You are."
"Funny how?"
"Nothing in particular. You're a very good looking kid,"
I added boldly.
"Not beautiful, huh? I'm just good looking?" He smiled
at me.
I wondered for a moment before I spoke. How many boys of
Austin's age would refer to themselves as being
beautiful, or even want to be considered as being that.
Yet, Phillip had been beautiful and very aware of the
fact when he was not much older than Austin. He noticed
the way people looked at him even before I did. He was
not embarrassed by the glances that frequently came in
his direction, sometimes lingering stares, that I found
disconcerting.
Indeed, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the added
attention that people paid to him. Men looked at him as
well, but some of the glances were particularly
invasive, as if they were mentally undressing him,
comparing him to some paragon of preteen sexuality.
Phillip relished those looks, occasionally even smiling
back as if to say, 'I know what you are thinking. I'm
beautiful aren't I?'
Yes, Phillip was beautiful, and Austin, even more so. I
had not noticed other men looking at him in the same
way, but I had spent only a very short amount of time in
his company. Men had certainly looked at Phillip.
Sitting there, aware of the sensuous aura that he
exuded, seduced by an appearance that was nothing if not
exquisite, I realized it would be only a matter of time
before Austin attracted attention.
"Papaw?"
I broke out of a fantasy. What had I been thinking? For
a while my thoughts had been of Phillip, remembering
what he was like as a young boy. And Austin? When had he
taken Phillip's place? Those distant memories suddenly
seemed like déjà vu. I smiled, still enraptured.
"Huh?" I mumbled. "Oh. Well, boys are supposed to be
good looking. It's girls who are beautiful."
"I don't like girls," Austin said flatly. He regarded me
for a few moments, inclining his head, implying a degree
of objectivity. "Do you?"
"Do I what?" I asked. "Oh? Like girls you mean?"
Austin nodded seriously. "Well, you ain't married no
more."
He was barely eight years old. He was innocent, at least
I thought he was. There was no possibility that he was
mature or worldly enough make the connection between
marital state and sexual orientation, yet as my mind
rushed through a hundred conflicting thoughts, all I
could think of was 'how could he possibly know?'
I shrugged and pretended to be disinterested. Perhaps I
should have told him that I had been married, that I had
been married for many years before I was divorced, that
I had to have liked 'girls' to get married in the first
place.
"Some men like boys," Austin added quietly.
His head was lowered, but I could still see his eyes
looking at me with a dogged concentration. And his
voice? Barely more than a conspiratorial whisper. I
blushed. I felt the red flush rising up my neck, a
weight pressing down on me.
"That's because they're fun to play with," I said.
I intended it to sound innocent. Somehow it came out
sounding very different. It sounded depraved, and the
type of playing that I had in mind was worth ten years
in the state penitentiary.
Before I could say anything else, Austin smirked. What
happened after that should never have been allowed to
happen. It would be easy to blame it all on my lack of
self control. For nearly a minute we both sat in
silence. It was like a truce had been established, the
table between us a no-man's land of used plates and
glasses. I needed time to think.
Finally. "It looks like the rain has moved on." That
from me.
"Yeah, seems ta'have."
"You said you've never been fishing," I suggested.
"Can we, Papaw?" Austin asked excitedly. "Please."
I have never been able to resist a boy in the 'begging
mode'. Austin had it down to a fine art. His eyes went
big, big enough to show that he was excited by the mere
possibility of doing something that he had always wanted
to do. He gave me the patented little boy smile that was
custom designed to melt the most determined resolve,
showing perfect if gapped-in-the-front teeth. He would
have trouble whistling for the next few months. And that
face, strikingly attractive.
It was hard not to give in to anything he wanted. All he
had to do was ask. I was his to command.
"I suppose so," I agreed. "At least we won't have to
drive back home because I have some fishing poles and
stuff in the car."
We paid the bill and walked up the street to where I had
parked. Wouldn't you know that some dumb city-tourist
had parked his Cadillac right in front of my Jeep. It
was so close that it would have taken a dozen turns to
wriggle out of the narrow gap he had left for me.
There's a reason why Jeeps have four wheel drive. In low
gear, that car can push or pull just about anything that
needs pushing or pulling. With Austin in a fit of
giggles, I bumped that big ugly Cadillac three feet
forward despite its grim mechanical protest and pulled
into the street. The last thing I saw was a well-dressed
but overweight woman hurrying up the footpath. She
scowled at the back of my Jeep.
"Fat old bitch," Austin chortled. "You really showed
her, Papaw."
We laughed for the next fifteen minutes, inventing
scenarios that had me pushing her fancy car into the
creek, oncoming locomotives, even all the way back to
the freeway. When we finally pulled of the road next to
Buckley's Creek, Austin let out a 'whoopee' and
demonstrated a level of enthusiasm that made me love him
even more.
We fished, or rather undertook a series of activities
that pretended to be fishing, because the act of fishing
implies and outcome that gives rise to the word,
'fishing'. Namely, fish as caught. They simply did not
bite. That in itself was strange. Normally, the fishing
along Buckley's Creek was good, sometimes great.
After rain, it tended towards the latter, but this time
there was nothing. Perhaps it was a warning, the absence
of fish portending a sign for the future that we should
not have been there. After an hour, it started to rain
again, not hard just a slow but steady fine drizzle,
that was unpleasant but not enough to risk Austin's
dismay if I suggested leaving. So we stayed, moving
further along the creek in the dim hope that there were
fish elsewhere.
I wanted him to catch a fish. It was the reason why we
were there in the first place, that and some obscure and
barely discernible need on my part to bond with him.
Clearly, he enjoyed learning. He seemed to relish
instruction. He grinned constantly, asked a thousand
questions of which only a small portion actually had
anything to do with the matter at hand. I was patient.
It was normal for young boys to be like that. Phillip
had been the same way, so much so that I used to joke
that instead of a brain, he had a big sponge inside his
head, soaking up an ocean of unimportant trivia.
After another hour, there was still no fish. By then,
Austin's constant stream of questions was beginning to
wear me down. I had no idea why the runners on the
fishing rod he used were placed at the intervals they
were at. The one at the end made sense. It had to be
there, but the rest? Why did they become smaller and
closer together? Of course, there had to be a reason,
didn't there?
I was about to admit a complete lack of knowledge on my
part, when the drizzle transformed into heavy droplets
and the rain began in earnest. If our clothes were
already damp, within seconds they were soaked. I took
one look at Austin. His appearance verged on amusing,
and I would have laughed but for the fact that he would
not have appreciated being laughed at. Water streamed
down his face in rivulets. His hair was a mess. His
clothes clung wetly to his small body. He looked like he
was ready to scream. It was too much. I smiled.
And of course, he did scream. And then he grinned. It
was a big grin, a grin that said he had enough, but he
wasn't going to admit defeat. So we stayed ten more
minutes, watching the water splashing as if bullets were
being fired from the heavens. There had to be a fish
somewhere in Buckley's Creek. It was just a matter of
finding it. We laughed for most of the ten minutes,
despite, or maybe because of the pouring rain. We
weren't cold, just wet, very wet.
"Had enough?" I finally asked.
Austin, still laughing, looked at me with a slightly
hysterical expression.
"Nah. I figure that the fish're gonna be jumpin' real
soon, Papaw."
"Why's that?"
"'cause there's more water up here than in that creek."
And we laughed again. I loved the sound of his laughter.
It sounded like a bell ringing, a very special bell.
"What if I promised to take you fishing, the very next
time it's sunny?" I suggested.
"It'sa deal."
We packed up and started back to the car. To show you
how completely stupid people can be, we actually ran the
last hundred yards. As if running could somehow keep us
dry? Fortunately, it was only a few miles back to where
I lived.
Water was still dripping from us when we went inside. I
closed the door behind me. Already pools of water had
began to form underneath our feet, spreading outward
over the tiles in the foyer. There was no way I was
going to get the new carpet wet.
"We'd better get our clothes off, Austin," I said
without really thinking about it.
"You mean right here?" Austin squeaked.
"Don't be bashful," I joked. "We're both guys. You don't
have anything that I don't have."
It's strange how often men have used that argument to
convince boys to take their clothes off. There had been
a few times that I had used it with Phillip, not that he
needed a lot of convincing. Then, the line of reason
incorporated the fact that I was also his father, that I
had seen him naked all the time when he was a baby, that
I had even changed his dirty diapers. There's a reason
why it is used, of course. It works! Not because of any
great insight or convincing logic, but simply because
most boys have an innate interest in showing off their
bodies to men in the first place. And for those
inhibited boys who are not natural exhibitionists? It
becomes quid pro quo. There are very few boys who are
not motivated by voyeuristic instincts. The urge to see
a naked man and to be seen themselves almost always
wins. All they need is an excuse to do so.
So there we stood, exchanging mutual interest with a
silent perusal that ended only when Austin smiled shyly.
"Okay, but only if we do it together," he said
teasingly.
I nodded agreeably. In my mind there was no other way to
do it the first time.
"And I don't want you to laugh, Papaw," he added.
There was a trace of anxiety in his voice, but it did
not conceal his excitement. I smiled at him, trying to
keep a sincere face, an expression intended to reassure
him.
"Why would I laugh?" I asked.
"'cause mine's small." Austin licked his bottom lip. "'n
yours is 'normous."
"I promise I won't laugh," I answered seriously.
He smiled again. His hands crept slowly to his waist.
This was it! I felt an overpowering surge, a thrill that
made my heart pound. Within a minute, two at the most, I
would see him naked, as naked as the day he was born. I
breathed out, ran my tongue over my lips with unbridled
anticipation.
"You too," Austin instructed formally. "We gotta do it
together."
So I began to unfasten my belt at the same time as his
fingers fumbled to undo the metal button of his jeans.
It was a peculiar sequence of undressing. Our shoes were
still on so there was no way that we could take our
jeans off. Yet, we moved simultaneously. With his zipper
opened, Austin waited with his hands on his hips holding
his jeans up until I caught up.
"Now," he said with a broad grin. "On three."
It did not strike me as anomalous that the act of
stripping was being orchestrated by a boy who was not
even eight years old. I was too nervous. I was also more
excited than I had been for many years. It had been a
very long time, and the need was overwhelming. Even as
we gawked at each other, wondering who would initiate
the counting, I realized what a bad idea it was. My
penis was getting hard.
"One- Two- Three- " Austin said in a loud clear voice.
One. Two. Three. Was it really that simple? Was that all
it took to reveal myself, half erect, to the curious
eyes of a small boy? One. Two. Three. Austin was so
slender that even though his jeans were damp, they still
dropped halfway down his thighs. He wore white
underpants with nothing to show he was male. His eyes
widened.
"Now we do our undies," he added. "On three."
In the space of a few seconds, his demeanor had changed.
More excited, confident, eyes unwavering, staring at the
curved bulge in my briefs. His intense gaze was
disturbing. Again he licked his lips.
"One, two, three."
Fast, so fast that I had no chance for second thoughts.
Watching him, his hands tugging at his underpants, so
white and pure, overwhelmed by impure thoughts. Virginal
youth. Not a quick peek, but a long stare, ogling that
tiny part of him. He pushed his underpants down until he
reached his bunched up jeans. His sex was barely
distinguishable with my glasses. A scrotum shriveled to
the appearance of half a peach seed by exposure to the
dampness and cold. A penis shrunken to glans and nothing
more.
By contrast, my penis was enormous. Austin gaped, eyes
wide, focused on a single thing. After a few moments he
blinked.
"Wow! Your cock's really huge!"
I winced inside, not in shame but from the 'c' word and
the sudden despairing realization that he had a basis
for comparison. There was no other explanation for the
awe, the enduring fascination. If I was responsible for
instigating, Austin had not been far behind.
I swallowed and tried to pretend there was nothing out
of the ordinary in a man standing exposed and nearly
fully erect before a young boy.
"We're both the same, see?" I said awkwardly.
"'ceptin' you got a hard-on, Papaw," Austin giggled. He
did not need to point, but he did anyway.
Another shock. Phillip referred to an erect 'dick' as a
'stiffie' until he was nearly eleven years old. Only
then did he migrate to adult terminology. The only
possible explanation I could think of, beside the
obvious, was that it was different down south.
"Well, let's get the rest of our wet clothes off and go
get dried before we catch chills."
"It ain't cold 'n here," Austin remarked.
Without hesitating, he kicked off his sneakers, levering
one foot against the other until he stood in his socks.
Ignoring me, he shoved his soggy jeans and underpants
down his thin pale legs, all the way to his feet. He had
to sit down on the tiles to remove his socks and pull
the ends of his jeans past his feet. By the time he was
finished I had my shoes off and was quickly catching up.
He stood up and watched as I took my jeans and briefs
off.
By then, my penis was fully aroused and so hard that it
wobbled every time I moved. With a little less than
eight inches, I was better endowed than most men if the
average penis was really six inches long, rather than
the nine inches that most men claimed to have. Austin
continued to stare. Had Phillip been as engrossed?
Certainly, he had been amused by it. And there was an
undeniable yet respectful fascination when he was
confronted by my erection, but I could not remember him
being so reflective.
"Now we gotta take off our tops," Austin demanded
boldly. Then, by way of excusing his impertinence,
added, "'cause they're soaked too."
I nodded, giving in and perfectly content to let him
take control of the situation. Fixing me with a steady
gaze that warned me not to challenge his authority,
Austin began to lift up his soaked sweat shirt. It clung
to his body and it had to be peeled from his skin. Far
be it for me not to follow suit. We stripped to our
'birthday suits'. He was scrawny and pallid, yet he
regarded me with a bold awareness of my arousal.
"Why's your's hard?" he asked audaciously.
I shrugged. "It's gets like that sometimes."
"So does mine." Austin smirked. "So I can play with it."
"That's okay. Most every boy does that sooner or later."
"Is your's hard 'cause of me?"
I reddened instantly. I was confronted by the innocent
voice of a child and it arrested me. I mumbled something
with guilty vagueness, not even beginning to dare to
answer his question. I walked away to get some towels,
leaving him standing in the foyer.
By the time I returned from the bathroom, Austin had
relocated his nakedness into the living room and dried
himself off on the couch. He grinned at me, totally
devoid of shame as he rolled back and forth wresting
with a large pillow and making growling animal noises
and squeals of pain as he was attacked. I laughed as I
continued to dry myself.
"You want a knife to finish it off?" I asked playfully.
Austin shook his head, doing his best not to laugh as he
struggled bravely to subdue the unidentified pillow-
monster.
"Cain't kill it, Papaw, 'cause it's 'ndangered 'n all."
"Oh," I chuckled. "An endangered pillow? And a vicious
one too, I see."
"Terrible vicious," Austin squealed as he fought even
harder but was still pinned on his back.
"Does it eat little boys?"
"Nah, just their cocks," Austin gave in and chortled.
"It's a cock-sucker, see Papaw."
"A what?" I asked in surprised disbelief.
"A cock-sucker. You know, Papaw," he said
conspiratorially.
"They try to suck your cock off," he explained
gleefully.
"Oh! I didn't know they lived in these parts," I
replied.
"Just this one 'ere," Austin shrieked. "I gotta be
careful he don't bite me."
Then, he lifted the pillow high above him and brought it
down hard onto his lower belly and crotch, shrieking as
he did so. He buried one end between his slender thighs,
locking his legs around it. What followed was hilarious.
With a motion that was somewhere between humping the
pillow and attacking his crotch, Austin proceeded to
fight the 'cock sucker'. It was a losing battle, and one
that he had no intention of winning despite his writhing
and constants shrieks of pretended pain.
Finally, instead of fighting, he begged me to help save
him. It was all the encouragement I needed. I kneeled
down on the floor beside the couch and with some
difficulty managed to pry away the cushion-creature from
his groin. With an immediate and gratifying relief, I
realized that I was not the only person with an
erection. Warmth and physical stimulation had combined
to produce a healthy little erection. It was very hard,
and it was smaller than my little finger.
Two inches of rigid boy-flesh poked up at me. His glans
was slightly reddened from being rubbed against the
pillow. It was a minute yet perfect helmet-head with a
pronounced flare that gave way to a straight narrow
shaft. I could not divert my eyes. His absolute
perfection was marred, and then only marginally so, by a
brown-tinted circumcision scar more than half of the way
down the short projection.
"Are you a cock-sucker too, Papaw?" Austin asked as he
giggled.
He realized I was absorbed. I felt uncomfortable as he
regarded me with his big blue eyes. They should have
been the eyes of a child. What should have been trusting
and innocent was not. He licked his lips again,
unconsciously signalling. Or perhaps it was deliberate
seduction, conscious communication. The possibility both
excited and frightened me. Before I could say anything,
he continued, still giggling.
"Now I've bin bit, I'm just like a vampire."
"How so?"
What did I expect him to say? He smirked knowingly,
looking as if he was privy to a secret of great
importance.
"'cause," he whispered. His eyes flickered thoughtfully.
"Now I turn into one too."
I was stunned. Did he really say what I had heard? Was
my imagination running wild?
"No, I don't think so, Austin," I returned seriously.
He heard the firmness in my voice. Immediately, his
expression changed. I had stopped the game. Bewilderment
became apparent as he endeavored to understand something
that was beyond his comprehension. He blinked, pursed
his lips, averting his eyes. He was visibly
uncomfortable. He tried one more time. He glanced down.
"Your cock ain't hard no more," he observed.
If for nothing else, I was grateful for that and I
sighed inwardly. "Austin," I began awkwardly.
"You're no fun!"
He pushed the pillow between his legs, covering himself
shamefully. I felt terrible. I really had not wanted to
stop him. I did not want him to be ashamed. The way he
had looked at me had startled me, shocked me, aroused
me. I had to say something, anything to divert his
increasing discomfort. But what?
"Look Austin... I don't want to be mean to you. I want
to be your friend."
"Then why did you say no?"
I decided the best way to handle what was happening was
to answer his questions. In my experience it would not
take very long before he became bored.
"Because there are some things that you and I shouldn't
do," I explained.
"Why not?"
"Because men and boys aren't supposed to do those
things," I answered.
"Why?"
I panicked. 'Why?' For one reason it was illegal. That
should have been reason enough, but it did not stop
Phillip and me. 'Why?' Why not? Like Phillip, Austin was
not being forced to do anything.
It was only a game to him.
"You got that hard-on 'cause of me," he said matter-of-
factly.
Another bombshell. I did not need to see what part of my
body had become hard again. I could feel it, throbbing,
almost painfully stiff. He had not looked down. How did
he become aware of the effect he had on me? It seemed as
if he could sense my arousal.
"Um... well that happens sometimes when I don't have
clothes on," I said.
"Like when you're in bed?" Austin asked. I nodded. He
thought about it for a few seconds. "'cause he likes
being naked with a boy?"
"Ah, I guess," I agreed.
My hope that Austin's curiosity would diminish if I
answered his questions was fading.
"You're a precocious little kid, aren't you?" I added.
"What's that mean?"
"Precocious? It means you act older than you really
are," I answered.
He shrugged disinterestedly. For the moment, and much to
my gratitude, his attention had been distracted.
"Can I watch TV now, Papaw?"
"Dad?" Tara asked. "What happened?"
I sighed. "Tara, I'll tell you if you really want to
know."
"I want to know."
"What happened before you moved up here?" I blurted out.
She blanched.
"Tara?" I insisted.
"Dad, I can't," she answered quietly.
"Tell me."
"It's none of your business," she said emphatically.
"Are you sure?"
"What did he tell you?"
"He? You mean AJ?" I inquired. Tara nodded slightly.
"Nothing. He never talks about when he lived in New
Orleans."
"Never?"
"Well, not very much," I admitted. "He's told me about,
uh, what's his name, his friend..."
"Jake?"
"He mentioned someone he called 'Mister Jake'. He lived
on the ground floor or something."
"Good."
"What happened, Tara?" I demanded.
"Jake wasn't a friend, at least not how you would think.
He's close to forty."
"Isn't it time you started trusting me?"
She gave me an antagonistic look. "Trust? After what
you've been doing to him?" Yet, even a she spoke, she
was reconsidering. "Dad... maybe it's time you knew."
I nodded understandingly. "Please tell me. Something
happened there, I know it did. I have to know about it,
Tara. I love him."
"He never told you about it? About Jake?"
I shook my head slowly. Did she mean about her sharing a
bed with him? It was none of my business, although I
would much have preferred for the boys not to know what
was going on.
"Thank God. Maybe he's forgotten," she reflected
quietly. She shook her head. "I guess you have a right
to know if anyone does. If you love Austin as much as
you say you do maybe it's for the best."
She stopped and placed her hands on the table. Her fists
were tightly clenched.
"Jake and I, well... he was a faculty member at the Art
School. He and I..."
"Had sex," I finished. "So? You're human, Tara. It's
been years since the boys' father..." I trailed off as I
saw the dismay blanket her face.
"I thought Jake and I were close, Dad. I wouldn't have
trusted him otherwise." She let out a long sigh. "How
could he?"
"How could he what?" I asked.
"Because of his teaching schedule, he used to baby-sit
the boys for me. I worked at a restaurant on x street. I
had to, after classes finished, until late some nights.
He would take the boys when they got home from school. I
thought he truly liked them. He took them to the
playground all the time. I... I didn't know."
"What didn't you know?" I questioned apprehensively.
Tara gave me a cold stare. "He was fooling around with
them at night. I didn't know. Not until..."
"What happened?"
"I came home early. It was Friday, the week before I
came up here. Normally I wouldn't have come home until
after midnight. God only knows what he did later." She
took a deep slow breath and summoned her courage. "He
had them both stark naked, Dad. Even little Tristan.
Like he was going give them a bath, except that wasn't
the reason. He was lying on his back and Austin was, he
was... God! I still can't believe it. Austin was sitting
on his legs and leaning over him. I couldn't see at
first, not until I walked closer."
"And?" I prompted mercilessly. Suddenly, I saw reason
where I had been confused.
"Austin was sucking him, Dad."
"So that's how he learned about cock sucking," I thought
aloud.
"Huh?" Tara queried immediately.
I looked up, suddenly aware of what I had said.
"Nothing."
"I was so angry I could think straight. Of course, I
blamed Jake," Tara added earnestly. "Little did I know
at the time."
"About?"
"You didn't know you weren't his first, did you Dad? At
least with oral sex, that is."
I shrugged resignedly. "What about?-"
"No. I don't think so... no I'm certain about it... I'm
sure Jake didn't go all the way with him."
I had expected something like this all along. Austin was
too sexually aware, too uninhibited, too willing to
experiment for it to be otherwise. I nodded vaguely. I
was lost for words, but I was not surprised. Perhaps the
candid way she talked about it was what shocked me. It
sounded as if it was the most natural thing in the world
to discover your eight-year-old son sucking a middle-
aged man's penis.
"Tara," I tried weakly.
"I don't know how long it was going on for. A couple of
months at least I expect. Maybe a year. He never said a
word about it. Looking back I can understand why."
My lips formed the word, 'why', even though no sound
came out/
"He liked it, of course. I could see it on his face, the
way...the way he was doing it."
"I don't know how..." I tried to finish the thought but
the words were hollow.
"He liked it. That's why I'm sure he's gay. Because
that's what he likes."
"How can you be so sure?" I asked.
"Dad, did you seduce him?"
"I..."
"Just answer the question. Go on. Did you?"
"No," I replied meekly.
"Was it your idea? The first time, I mean." She smiled
with a barely noticeable movement of her lips.
"I guess. I... I don't know. It just sort of happened.
One moment we were sitting on the couch watching
television and the next... well..."
"And?" Tara prompted.
Her previous agitation appeared to have calmed. In a
way, her serenity was even more disconcerting.
"It was my fault," I said responsibly. "I should have
known better."
"What happened?"
"Neither of us had anything on," I said with an
uncomfortable feeling that she would understand. "It's a
long story how we..."
Tara interrupted me. "Austin told me about going fishing
and how it rained so much that you were both soaked to
the skin. I know all about him taking his clothes off.
He told me you were naked too."
"I'm sorry," I said apologetically.
"There's no reason to be. I've known about since the day
I got back from New Orleans. I didn't mind at the time,
and I still don't. He is your grandson."
"After a while he scooted over and sat in my lap," I
continued. "I shouldn't have let him stay there, knowing
how I was... but it had been so long... He felt so good.
He was warm and alive, and I thought all he wanted to do
was cuddle with me till the movie we were watching
ended."
It seemed like a long time ago. Austin had taken up his
position on top of me like a cat sits in its master's
lap. He was relaxed, totally oblivious to the fact that
his bare skin was against my bare skin. The only problem
was that I was not unmindful of the contact. I could not
avoid the inevitable response. Of course, Austin felt it
becoming hard beneath him. He wriggled around, squirming
directly over me.
"I should have stopped him before it got out of hand," I
added.
"But of course you couldn't, could you?" Tara
acknowledged.
"What did you do?"
"What did I do?" I repeated expressionlessly. What
didn't I do? "The first time, you mean?"
Tara nodded.
"I got an erection," I admitted.
She smiled a little. "Why am I not surprised by that,
Dad?"
I winced, but there was a vaguely assuming side to it.
"He uh, asked me if it was because of him," I remembered
fondly.
There had been pride in his voice, and no trace of
embarrassment, but instead I was mortified. The more he
wriggled the more I became harder, and the more ashamed
I was. I made one half-hearted attempt to get him off.
However, it had simply been too long.
"And?"
"He said something like 'I must really like boys a
lot'," I replied glumly. "Because it had gotten so big
and hard so quickly."
I breathed out, still remembering how he had been. He
had no shame. Indeed, he seemed to take delight in my
discomfiture. If not that, he was delighted that he was
responsible for the hard hot thing underneath him. The
surprising thing at the time was that he seemed to know
exactly why it was hard and what to do with it when it
was in an aroused state. Finally, he climbed off me and
back onto the couch to sit beside me. My relief was
immediate, but it lasted only a matter of seconds.
"What happened, Dad?" Tara asked persistently.
"He started to..." I began.
He started to rub my penis. How had that started? It
seemed like magic at the time. One moment he was sitting
beside me and the next? He put his small hand on it
first, just his fingertips with a feathery touch that
almost felt like he was not touching it, yet he was. I
was consumed by lust at that point. There could have
been a half-dozen policemen in the room and I still
could not have stopped him. His hand could not enclose
me, but he did not need to.
He was perfectly capable of giving me all the pleasure I
could stand merely by running his fingers slowly up and
down my throbbing shaft. Not really masturbating me, at
least not with the full fisted attack that I used
myself. He was gentle and slow, and his fingers had a
way of detecting my most sensitive places.
"Masturbate me," I ended.
The word made it seem clinical, somehow remote. It had
not been that way. It had been intense, unforgettable,
incredibly arousing. He took his time, occasionally
doing nothing but rub a single thumb around and around
my very swollen glans. It was covered in slime by that
point and more oozed out as he caressed it. When he
shyly put his little thumb in his mouth and licked off
my fluid, it seemed like the natural thing to do. It
was, however, only a precursor to what followed.
"I didn't expect him to suck my cock. I should have
stopped him."
I had not intended to say that. My thoughts had become
words, dry interpretations of one of the most powerful
sensations that a male can experience. It would have the
same effect even if I had said that he had performed
oral sex on me.
"He did that?"
There was no surprise in her voice. No outrage. Even the
way she had said it sounded more like she was
ascertaining that she had heard me correctly. I nodded
once.
"Oh!" She thought for a moment. "And you let him, of
course."
It was a statement, not a question. It needed no
response. It deserved an explanation.
"Tara, I couldn't help it," I said awkwardly aware of my
weakness. "It's like a drug. Like I'm an addict or
something."
She nodded slightly. "He was good at it though, wasn't
he?"
Now it was my turn to nod. "Tara..." I stopped. "Because
of Jake?"
"I expect so. He'd had quite a lot of practice by the
time we left New Orleans, I imagine."
Suddenly, a lot of things that had previously been very
confusing to me, became crystal clear. My daughter had
gone to New Orleans and had left a little blond time
bomb in my care. If she knew about Phillip and me as she
obviously seemed too, then surely she had to realize
that might happen when Austin was alone with me? What I
said next was predicated on nothing but assumptions and
wishful thinking on my part. It was a leap of faith, not
of religious faith, but faith in myself.
"You knew what would happen, didn't you?" I asked.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my confidence
began to ebb. It was impossible conjecture. Yet, the
sudden change in her expression suggested otherwise.
"Dad... I never thought... I didn't know what to do."
Tara rubbed her hands over her head, brushing back her
hair. Both boys had hair like their mother had when she
was a girl, like Phillip's hair. I remembered his hair,
straight and silver blond like corn silk. He was well
into puberty before it started to darken, and even then,
it was the color of gold.
"They were... I don't know how to put it... Austin was
sucking him when I found them. Deep-throating, I guess
you'd call it. He was going all the way down Jake. To
this day, I still don't know how he did it."
"He's done that to me as well. Right from the first
time," I ventured heedlessly. "I've never encouraged
him," I added quickly.
Tara smiled slightly. "Jake taught him. I wouldn't do
it. God! I didn't even like the idea of putting it near
my mouth, let alone into it. We fought about it a few
times. Then he stopped asking for it. I guess he was
getting his need satisfied by my son by then."
"You knew what would happen if Austin stayed with me," I
persisted. "Why did you leave him with me, Tara?"
"Because I had to, Dad. He was sick."
"Oh, come on, Tara. He was better by then, you know he
was. He had a bout of stomach flu. As soon as his
temperature went down he was okay."
"That wasn't what I meant, Dad. After I found him with
Jake, I tried to get him to understand. With Aids and
everything, you have to be so careful nowadays, so I
talked with him about how dangerous it was. It was, I
don't know... it was like he wasn't listening to me.
Like his mind was made up and there was nothing I could
do to change it."
"He can be a bit on the stubborn side sometimes," I
agreed.
Tara thought for a moment. "It was so worrying, watching
him from then on. He'd look at men, Dad. I used to catch
him doing it when he thought I wasn't noticing. Wherever
we went, he was doing it. A lot of men would give him
the same look back."
"You were probably just imagining it," I said without
conviction.
I had noticed it too, at least for the first few weeks
after they had arrived. Austin flirted. Voraciously. If
it wasn't so worrying, it would have been amusing.
Eight-year-old boys were not supposed to be enticing men
with meaningful glances at their crotches, and making
eye contact at every opportunity. It stopped eventually,
when Austin realized that I really loved him and he had
what he wanted.
"There was a man at the supermarket where I used to
shop, Dad. I swear I knew what he was thinking. Every
time we went in there he'd stare at Austin and
practically salivate over him."
"Austin's a beautiful boy. It's really not all that
surprising that people look at him."
"Maybe, but they shouldn't look at him like they want to
rip his clothes off and rape him on the spot?" Tara
joked.
I smiled. "He's also a very sexy boy," I added. "I think
he knows exactly what effect he has on men. He thinks
it's funny even if it's kind of weird."
"Oh, I'm quite sure he does, Dad. It's not funny to me
though. On the way up here, we stopped at a truck stop
somewhere in Georgia. I was tired of driving, and Austin
said he felt like he was going to be sick any moment."
She paused with an expression that reminded me of
someone looking into the past. "It was only a few
minutes."
"What happened?"
"He had to go to the bathroom. I knew it was a bad idea
to let him go by himself."
"You could hardly go with him," I said.
She shook her head. "I had to get some gas. So I told
him to go ahead and I'd meet him inside the store. It
was only a few minutes," she repeated. "I don't know why
I did, but I asked one of the truck drivers to hurry him
out for me. As soon as he went inside the men's toilet,
I heard voices through the door. They were arguing about
Austin. I heard someone say 'filthy little cock-sucker.'
And then Austin came running out."
I nodded. I was saddened, but I was not surprised. "You
still haven't answered my question."
"I'm trying to, Dad. It's not easy." She paused for a
moment and collected her thoughts. "Okay... Well, the
man who I had asked to go in and get Austin came out a
moment later. He started to push past me, and then he
stopped and said, 'I had better get that kid on a leash
before it's too late.' Right then, I knew what had
happened in the toilet. I knew what he meant, Dad.
Austin likes men. You were right earlier when you said
some boys are like that."
At first, and for the next few weeks, I had reassured
myself with the argument that Austin was merely
uninhibited and naturally sensuous. He was spontaneous
and open in other ways, so why not in that way as well.
It was certainly enjoyable for me and I was not about to
'kill the goose'. Every time Austin was with me, there
was another 'golden egg'.
However, it was more than a matter of a precocious boy
having fun. From the outset Austin had been wanton in
his search for a man's affection. That was what Tara was
telling me. It was part of his psyche.
"So you changed your plans?" I asked.
Tara looked at me with surprise. "You knew I wasn't
planning to come here?"
I nodded. "Austin told me you had a job offer in
Chicago."
"I did. I was so worried about him after that. I didn't
know what to do. I thought about you and Phillip and I
guess I realized you were the one person I could turn
to."
"I'll always be here for you and the boys. Why didn't
you come right out and tell me?"
"I don't know. I expect because of what I saw between
you and Austin. I really didn't think that you'd have
sex with him."
"What did you expect?" I asked calmly.
"Expect?" she repeated. "I don't really know, Dad. I
guess I just hoped that you'd know what to do about
it... about Austin and... everything... I don't want him
with a stranger, doing it with some man he finds in a
public toilet somewhere. I guess I wanted him to know
what it was like to be in love with someone. Then, it
simply isn't a matter of having sex, is it?"
"It's about love then."
Tara nodded. "It'd like it to be that way for him. I
know you and Phillip loved each other."
"I do love him... You know I do. And unless I'm very
mistaken, you also know that he loves me back. I made
love to him, Tara, only because I loved him. I did it
because he wanted me to, and because I knew he loved me.
It might have been something else for the first few
weeks after you'd moved up here, but not for much
longer. By the time, well... when we went all the way,
it was right for him. I would never do a thing like that
otherwise. Despite what some gay men do, it shouldn't be
like that."
Tara nodded. "Last night, Dad, when I found the spots on
his underwear, I was shocked. I suppose I'm naive. Maybe
after all this time, I should have expected it. It took
me by surprise, finding out that he was, well...
experienced."
I smiled weakly and wondered whether Austin had also
divulged the existence of the diary. I hoped not. Apart
from the anatomical evidence, it was the only physical
proof that I could think of. That and...
"Austin said you'd taken photographs," Tara said coolly.
"Uh, um, yes," I admitted.
She smiled. "He's very photogenic," she commented
without giving any indication of whether she intended it
as sarcasm.
I nodded. I waited. She regarded me dispassionately, as
if trying to decide whether she should be angry.
"You took photos of Phillip too, didn't you?"
I nodded again. I waited again. There was no sign of
anger. I observed her hands, one hand at least, with her
ring-finger, but without any sign of a ring, extended.
Casually she drew circles in a coffee spill, around and
around.
"What about nude photographs, Dad?" she asked in a
neutral voice.
Again, I nodded. What boy lover did not take nude
photographs of the boy he loved? Youth lasted no time at
all. The years of pre-pubescence were the precious
years, the years that would soon be gone when hormones
began to percolate through his body. The photo-graphs
were the only way of capturing him as I always wanted to
remember him. In a way, they were memories of not of
immorality but immortality. The boy preserved forever.
"I hope you've never posted them in one of those
Internet groups," she added. "I couldn't deal with that.
The idea of some pervert masturbating over pictures of
Austin. It's too gross to think about."
"No, I'd never do that," I answered truthfully. "I've
put some photos of Austin on the net, and Tristan too
for that matter, but they aren't nudes. I told you about
those at the time. I think there are a few where the
boys are just wearing boxers, and there's a couple of
the boys peeing, but all you can see are their backs," I
added quickly. "But that's all I've posted."
"The other photos, are they..." She stopped. "They're in
a safe place, I hope?" I nodded. "Why did you take them,
Dad?"
"For me, for something to look at later on when he's
older. I want to remember him the way he is right now.
He's very beautiful. For him too, so he has something to
look back on."
Tara smiled. "I hoped you'd say that. Not now, of
course, but later on, I'd like to see them too. He has
such a beautiful body, and I'm his mother," she joked.
"Are there pictures of the two of you together?" she
asked pointedly.
"You mean sex photographs?" I queried. Tara answered by
tilting her head. "Yes," I answered. "I've taken quite a
few of them over the last few months."
"That's what Austin said," Tara said. "He said there
were some photos that showed... where you were... doing
it?"
"Yes. Are you angry?"
"Not really. Not anymore. I was upset last night. The
whole thing was rather unexpected. After all this time,
I guess I thought nothing had happened, so nothing was
going to happen. He's been so good since he's been
spending time with you, so I began to think that there
was no problem."
"I don't think of it as a problem," I said curtly. "He
can't help what he is, Tara. Neither can I for that
matter."
"I know that, Dad. Actually, I'm glad you've been there
for him. The mere idea of him being with someone else,
like that man in Georgia. It makes me feel like I'm
going to throw up."
I nodded. "Me too. Tara, he needed someone. If it wasn't
me, it would have been someone else. He can't help it."
"I know, Dad."
"It's very dangerous for a boy like Austin. I've heard
some very unpleasant stories about gay boys growing up.
Some are terrible. I know of one boy who was raped. He
ended up dying from AIDS."
"I worried about that too," Tara admitted. "He's safe
with you, isn't he?"
"I don't have AIDS," I replied immediately.
"Do you use a condom with him?"
"No," I answered. "There's no need to. He understands
why he should take precautions if he's with someone
else. Particularly if his partner is sexually mature."
"Huh?"
"A boy his own age isn't likely to understand the
mechanics of anal sex, let alone have a penis that's
large enough to make him bleed. However, it's a very
different story once a boy is sexually mature. There's a
much bigger risk because of the size for one thing.
Pubescent boys are very active. It goes with the
territory."
"He's not even close, is he?"
"Huh?"
"Austin. He's not even close to starting puberty, is
he?"
"Hardly. He's still three or four years away. Most boys
start when they're twelve or thirteen."
"That's what I thought. It'll get worse then, won't it?"
"What will get worse?" I asked.
"The sex thing. You just said his sex drive would be
even stronger then."
"It's very likely, though it defies my imagination how
it could possibly be any stronger than it is now," I
quipped.
Tara chuckled. "He must keep you busy, Dad. No wonder
you look so worn out when you drop him off on Sunday
evenings."
"It isn't always because of sex," I added swiftly. "We
do lots of other things. Like last weekend, we must have
hiked thirty miles."
Tara looked out the window for a moment, watching the
passing parade of tourists.
"What happens now, Dad?"
"I don't know, Tara," I answered. "It's really up to
you."
"No, Dad. I've been thinking about it. It's up to both
of us.
We both want what's best for him."
"Which is?" I prompted.
"Please don't make me say it."
"I'm not sure you need to say it, Tara," I said gently.
"I want it to be you who's with him, Dad. Not some
stranger who doesn't care for him other than what he's
got between his buttocks. I want you to love him the
same way that you loved my brother."
"Tara..."
"Dad, let me finish, okay? I've been thinking about this
for a long while. You were very good for Phillip. It was
hard enough that he was gay, but you made it easier for
him. You're wonderful with Austin, and Tristan too.
You're been the father they've never had. Okay, so
you're more than a father in some ways," she added and
smiled. "I don't see anything that's all that bad. You
make Austin happy. You give him what he needs. Maybe it
is against the law, but maybe it's the law that is
wrong."
"Tara..." I tried again. She was close to tears.
"No, Dad. I have to say this. I've seen his face when he
comes home from spending the weekend with you. His eyes
sparkle. It's like he's discovered what real happiness
is all about. If he came home crying I'd be talking to
the police right now. But he doesn't! He comes home and
does nothing but talk about how wonderful you are and
what a great time he has with you. He's like that until
Friday. Then he's so excited, it's all I can do to get
him off to school. I swear, Dad, if I didn't see it for
myself, I wouldn't have understood. I guess what I'm
trying to say is that boy of mine really loves you."
"Tara..."
She shook her head urgently. "Dad, he loves you so much
I think it would kill him if you stopped seeing him. I
want him to be happy. It's all I've ever wanted. For him
and Tristan to be happy. I panicked last night. When I
saw him, when I found out what the two of you had done
together, I didn't know what to think. Not that there
was any sign that he'd been hurt, of course."
"Tara..."
"Dad, I need to get all of it out, okay? I guess I had
convinced myself there was nothing to worry about. For a
long while, I've worried about him doing those things. I
worried I was going to lose him."
"And?" I prompted, finally giving up on my attempt to
quell her acknowledgement of what we both understood.
"I don't want anything bad to happen to him. I don't
want to lose him." Tara paused. "He'll be nine next
weekend."
"Yes, I know."
"You were planning on taking him away, weren't you?"
I nodded. "We were going to the Aquarium at Chattanooga.
We'll be back early on Sunday afternoon, so he can have
his party."
Tara sighed. "This morning, when I was getting ready for
this, I was going to tell you that you couldn't take
him. But now, well it wouldn't be fair, would it?"
"He's really looking forward to it, Tara. It was going
to be a special celebration. Just the two of us."
"Yes, I know." Tara hesitated. She smiled slightly. "One
hundred times."
I reddened. She knew about the diary.
"You know about that?" I mumbled.
"You of all people should know he can't keep a secret,
Dad," she chided. "One hundred times?"
I winced. I met her eyes. There was no anger, just a
maternal interest.
"It just seems so much. He's had sex with you a hundred
times and he's not even nine years old. He's still so
small down there. I'm not wrong, am I? His cock is tiny,
isn't it?"
I shrugged uncomfortably. Austin's sex organs might be a
little bit smaller than those of the average nine-year-
old boy, but well within the normal range.
"It's hard to understand how there's any pleasure in it
for him," Tara added. "But I guess there must be,
otherwise you wouldn't do it, would you?"
"Tara..."
She smiled. From her hand bag she pulled out a small
blue tee-shirt. She held it up in front of her. From
behind it looked perfectly normal. It was small, the
size that Austin wore.
"I made this in the shop, before I came."
Slowly she turned it around so that I could see the
front. There was a picture of a hand in the center, a
finger pointing downward. It pointed towards where a
boy's crotch would be if the shirt was not tucked in.
And the text?
"Sometimes the best things come in small packages."
THE END