Date: Sat, 13 Aug 2011 20:00:56 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tague Micheals <tag.michaels@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Hero of Sorts

This story was actually born in a dream. I saw the boy clearly in my dream
as well as some of the scenes I describe. Weird. Anyway, hope it resonates.

Hugs
Tag_m
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~		~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~		~~~~~~~~~~~~~	~~~~~~~~~~~

The ad read: "Room to rent w/ Private entrance & semi-private bathroom in
quiet residential neighborhood close to college. Single mom w/3
children. Would prefer male willing to perform minor handy-man duties in
return for room and board and small stipend. Ph: 555-3381 Ask for Megan."

I wasn't thrilled about the 3 kids part. I'd spent the last 6 years on
active duty; 4 of them bouncing around the globe engaging in the kind of
ops that you don't see in the news unless some idiot general somewhere
slipped up and it leaked it out. And then the shit hits the fan,
congressional hearings take place behind closed doors and somebody, or
bodies, takes the heat for it, most often an enlisted man as opposed to an
officer.

I'd done my time; been there and done that and had a t-shirt that said I
passed the class. Along with a variety of scars that, for the most part,
didn't show. I wanted some peace and quiet, to come and go like most other
people and enjoy my life with as little drama and disruption as possible.

But I also needed a place to stay that wouldn't cost me an arm and a
leg. Uncle Whiskers separation pay and the GI bill weren't like they are
today and I needed to watch where my pennies went. I'd read a variety of
ads, looked at quite a few places and believe me when I say that most of
them sucked and those that didn't wanted an arm and a leg along with a
rental history that went back to the pilgrims.

This ad looked like something that might meet my needs. I'd spent my
teenage years working alongside my grandpa doing remodels and repairs so I
pretty well knew which end of a hammer to use, probably ended up with less
bent nails than your average Joe. My military experience also included
putting together short term makeshift living quarters out of pretty much
nothing so I felt confident that I could manage whatever the lady threw at
me. Still, there was the 3 kids piece.

I sighed as I climbed out of my '63 Valiant and stood there looking at my
surroundings. It was a quiet neighborhood indeed, on a quiet street that
was lined with huge old Oaks, Elms, and Maples; the kind of trees a boy
would love to have a tree house in. The houses were all early 19th century,
large 2 story residences that at one time was the upper income portion of
the city where politicians and founding fathers might have lived; founding
fathers and politicians being a redundancy. A brick driveway led up to a
portico that extended outward on the left side of house under which sat an
early 1960's Chrysler Imperial done in dark gray.

I walked up the sidewalk, red brick laid in a herringbone pattern like the
driveway, taking in the sets of pillars on each side at the top of the
stairway and the 2 pillars at each front corner that supported the roof of
the wrap around porch, the gabled dormers of the second floor and the
steeply pitched roof that covered the main body of the house. It was a
lovely old lady that needed some work done and I fell in love with it
immediately.

At the top of the stairs I was faced with a large front door whose oval
stain glass center covered more square inches than the wood that was
holding it. On the wall beside the brass doorknob was a typical old brass
button style door bell that I knew would produce an equally typical
irritating loud buzz. I wasn't disappointed when I pressed it. It took a
moment but the door finally opened and I was greeted by a woman, presumably
the lady of the house.

She looked to be late 30's or early 40's. I would be surprised later when I
learned that she not yet 32. "May I help you," she asked in tired voice. I
told her I was responding to the ad for a room, that I was KC; we'd spoken
on the phone. "Oh yes, please, come in," she responded, opening the door
and inviting me in. I was standing in a large foyer surrounded by dark
wood, a massive chandelier above me. A wide staircase set further back on
the right wall headed upstairs while a hallway going straight ahead
presumably led to the kitchen at the back of the house. A large wooden
bench with high back sat along the wall to left just beyond a set of closed
French doors. A large open archway on the right led into a living
room. That was the direction that the woman led me.

The living room was decked out in early 19th century furniture,
manufactured back when furniture was heavy, ornate and designed to last
more than 30 minutes. There were a couple of sofas, a loveseat, wing back
chairs, a variety of tables, floor and table lamps and a large brick
fireplace on one wall braced with built in bookshelves.

"You have a lovely home," I said, meaning it sincerely.

"Thank you," she said. "It's a lot of work. It belonged to my
grandparents. My name is Megan Adams and yes the Adams family used to live
here," she said, clearly tired of reference to the popular television show,
"and obviously still does. You said on the phone that you had some
experience in home repairs?" I nodded my head and gave her my background,
also explaining that I'd been recently discharged from the Army and was
planning on going back to school.

"Well, come then, I'll show you the room." She stood and I followed her out
of the room and eventually through the kitchen and a butler's pantry. "This
was the servant's quarters, 2 bedrooms and a bathroom. I said in the ad
that it was a shared bathroom and you would be sharing it with my
son. Micah is at an age where he seems to need to distance himself from
adults and his younger sisters which, I have to admit, sounds appealing at
times." There was actually a small sitting area with two bedrooms that were
separated by the bathroom. French doors opened onto a small patio and a
walkway that led to the alley behind the house. It was neat and clean but
needed paint as well as other small repairs. The bedroom room was large
enough for a bed and sitting chair, the closet more than adequate for my
needs.

"May I ask how old your son is?"

"Micah is just short of 14 and a half. He's a good boy, gets good grades
but his step father wasn't a good role model at all and treated Micah as a
stepchild. A boy his age needs an adult male in his life." I couldn't help
but wonder if she saw that in me, even if unthinkingly. At that, the door
to the other bedroom opened and the boy in question came out. He was thin,
had medium brown hair that hung halfway down his ears and over his
eyebrows. Had it been stick straight it would have been longer but the wave
in it made it shorter and more unruly, not quite wild but close.  His
unblemished face was narrow without being thin with large brown eyes
dominating the top and the wispy beginnings of dark hair on his upper lip
bringing focus to the lower part. He was wearing a battered Stones t-shirt,
equally worn faded blue 501's, and black Keds. He probably would be
considered to be a cute boy but not beautiful by any means, just a normal
teenager.

"Micah, this is KC. He's considering renting the room." The boy looked at
me warily and when I extended my hand he took it, albeit in a soft if not
weak grip.

"Nice to meet you Micah." He mumbled something like "who cares" under his
breath and went back into his room, closing the door with a little bit of
attitude but not slamming it. Megan shrugged her shoulders.

"You said that some repair work could be traded for room and board. What
did you have in mind?" Megan pointed out the things that I'd already seen
and as we left that part of the home she pointed out other things as we
walked through the main floor of the house. We finished in the kitchen
where she poured coffee for both of us and asked what my experience was and
what I'd thought so far. I told her about my youth, a very short version of
my adult life and my goal of going to college and possibly becoming a Phys
Ed teacher.

Megan shared with me that she'd inherited the house from her grandparents
along with a modest trust fund for repair and upkeep although her parents
had been holding it for her the past13 years, renting it out to professors
from the college. The substantial rent had also gone into the bank for
Megan. Now that she and the kids were out of the abusive relationship with
the younger kids father she had moved back to town hoping she'd be able to
move on with her life.

"How about this," she said. "How about I pay you 150 dollars a month plus
room and board? You'll eat your meals with us. When school starts in the
fall we can renegotiate.

"That's fair enough I guess," I replied.

"Well then, it's done." She extended her hand and we shook on it. "When
would you like to move in?" I didn't have much except a small carryon bag
of clothes, the rest of my things, mostly books, more clothes, and a weight
set were still at my grandparents place a half a days drive from where we
were. I told Megan I'd like to move in right away but that I'd be gone for
a couple days then be back. She said that would be fine and got me a key to
the front door and the private entrance to my area. "There's a place to
park your car out back."

I moved my car, parked it in a graveled area alongside the garage and went
in through the back gate. The large back yard was mostly mottled grass with
gardens along each side of the property that appeared to be more weeds than
anything else. A huge Oak tree held court in the far back corner offering a
canopy over the garage and a chunk of the yard and the yard next door. As I
approached the house I heard the sound of a stereo undoubtedly coming from
Micah's room. I sighed heavily wondering how much of an issue the kid was
going to be.

I met her two other children at dinner, Stephanie age 10 and Elizabeth age
8. Stephanie was a bit subdued but Beth seemed to be a cheerful outgoing
girl. Of course Beth wanted to give me the 3rd degree and her mother
informed her that it was none of her business. I chuckled, said it was okay
and shared with the family a little bit about myself. Micah appeared to be
bored but I could tell he was listening, particularly about my stint in the
Army.

"Micah's father was Army," Megan said. "He died while he was stationed in
Germany. They said it was a training accident but..."she let the sentence
trail off. Micah asked to be excused and without waiting for an answer left
the room. "I shouldn't have said anything in front of him. His father meant
quite a bit to him. We divorced when Micah was 2 but his father stayed in
touch quite a bit and spent a lot of time with Micah when he was stationed
here.

"I take it your second husband didn't mess with him while his father was
alive."

"Oh, he did, but nothing physical. He called him names, put Micah down, bad
mouthed Jason quite a bit but no, nothing physical until after Jason
died. If Jason had found out that Nate was laying a hand on Micah he would
have torn him apart. As it was he talked to him once about verbal abuse and
Nate toned it down but it never stopped." Megan had a sad, defeated tone to
her voice. I changed the subject.

"I'm heading home in the morning, be back in a couple of days. I'd like to
bring my weight set. Is there some where I can set it up?" When Megan said
I could set it up in the small living area outside the bedrooms I
questioned Micah's response to that. She shrugged and said she'd talk to
him about it. I was pretty leery about it but nodded my head.

I left as stated and returned 3 days later, the Valiant loaded down with my
meager possessions. I wanted to paint before I moved most of my stuff in
and Megan agreed. We discussed color schemes, took a trip to Lowe's Home
Improvement Center, a rapidly growing chain of stores that were popping up
like flowers all over the eastern seaboard. I started in the living area at
my end of the house, choosing a light pastel green for the ceiling and one
wall. No sooner had it dried than I set up my weight set which included a
bench and a rack for the weights and bars. Micah hadn't said more than a
dozen words to me although I always greeted the boy with nod and hello.

The boy didn't really give me any grief but I did have some difficulty with
the way he left the bathroom. I'm fairly neat but not compulsive about it
whereas Micah was a slob. Wet towels & underwear lying on the floor,
toothpaste left open and dripping, piss in the toilet and on the rim were
only a few of the irritating and to me, offensive behaviors. After a couple
of weeks I talked to Megan about it and she said she would talk her
son. She also said that I had permission to confront him, gently of course,
about it if his behavior didn't change. I knew when she'd talked with him
because of the glaring expressions I started getting from him. The next day
he confronted me with it in our living area.

"You had to snitch me out didn't ya?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"It was getting out of hand; I can't live like that Micah, I won't live
like that." He huffed at me and told me to move if I didn't like it. I
responded with something like I was there to stay for the time being and it
would be easier to get along than to have drama.

"Or what? You gonna start knocking me around like Nate did? Gonna call me a
sissy fag or a piece of shit like that prick did?" The boys' anger was
escalating rapidly. Clearly he hadn't been able to vent it and now he
was. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes; his body was tensing as
if he were ready to attack. I kept my hands at my sides, didn't move,
didn't want to provoke him any more than he already was.

"The fucking prick wasn't my father and neither are you. You can't tell me
what to do; you can't make me do anything." His voice had all but reached a
screaming pitch and when he stopped talking he stood there, tense as a
coiled spring, fists at his sides, his narrow body shaking and his
breathing very rapid.

"Fuck you," he screamed and launched himself at me. I deflected his arm and
spun him around and quickly wrapped my arms around his and took him to the
floor, quickly wrapping my legs around his so that he couldn't kick. It
happened so fast that the boy didn't have time to register it and when he
did he tried to head butt me but my head was up tight against his so he had
no leverage. He squirmed like a rat in the grip of a snake and like a snake
I held him mostly immobile.

"Let me go you fucker, let me go." His voice was still shrill. My face was
close to his ear so I started telling him softly,

"Settle down. Relax. Its okay, take it easy. He finally slowed his
struggling down. "I'm not going to hit you Micah. I don't want to harm you
in the least but I won't let you get physical with me. I'm sorry about your
father, I'm sorry about whatever Nate did to you but that's not me. I don't
want to be your father, I don't want to tell you what to do but for now,
we're roommates so I'm asking you; please, treat me with some bit of
fairness and respect, even if you don't mean it."

The boy was sobbing quietly, his body completely relaxed so I loosened my
hold on him. He brought his knees up and hugged himself into as much of a
ball as he could but since my arm was underneath him I still couldn't
move. Oh, I could have but I wanted to give him the opportunity to move. My
other arm was still resting against his chest and I brought my knees up to
sort of spoon into him, hoping that it would provide some modicum of
comfort and support. Micah allowed me this, assuming that he was really
that aware.

When he did finally move I disengaged immediately, moving my body away from
his and rolling mostly onto my back. He moved off of my arm and stood up,
went into his room and closed the door quietly. I left the room, found
Megan and told her what happened. She said she was going to give him hell
and started out of the room but I stopped her.

"Megan, please don't do that, it'll only make things worse. He didn't hurt
me in the least and in fact it may have been good for him to get it
out. How about if we let it go and see how he behaves." She didn't want to
let it go but did. I barely saw Micah over the next few days but when I
did, he avoided any eye contact with me. He did, however, pick up after
himself and kept the stereo at an acceptable level. He finally spoke to me
one evening while I was on my bench doing presses.

Micah had come out of his room as I'd finished putting 200 pounds on the
bar. I had laid down on the bench and got under it and Micah asked if
wanted him to spot for me. I said that would be great even though I didn't
need a spotter and even though I wasn't convinced the kid could hold the
weight. In the position I was my view was looking up at his torso and the
most noticeable thing about that was his groin. It seemed to push out the
fabric of the pajama like clothing. I wrapped my hands around the bar,
moved it up off the rack and began. Micah was directly above me, his arms
out palms up under the ends of the bar, ready to catch it if I
faltered. Considering that I routinely benched 275 my faltering wasn't very
likely.

I noticed that about rep 6 that the boy had cast his eyes down my body at
it seemed as if he might be focused on my groin. I was wearing a pair of
workout shorts that were sweatpants material and I'm guessing that the jock
strap I had on helped create my own bulge. I finished and put the bar back
and slid out from under it. As I sat up Micah asked how much weight I was
using and when I told him he said,

"Wow, I can barely bench 130." I said that wasn't bad for a boy his size
and age since he probably weighed less than what he was benching. His
seemed to enjoy the praise, small though it was. "It sounds like you'd like
to do more though" and he nodded his head. I asked what was stopping him.

"We don't get much weight time in PE and I don't feel comfortable hanging
out with the gym rats after school." Clearly the kid was not on the "most
popular" list.

"Well, you're more than welcome to use these," I said, waving my hand
around the room. He seemed to perk up for just a second then his shoulders
slumped.

"I don't really know how and besides, I wouldn't want to break something."
I didn't point out that breaking a weight set would be difficult for the
boy.

"Okay. How about if you work out with me? I'd be more than willing to show
you how to train effectively. If you stick with it by the end of the summer
you'll see some difference in your tone and over all strength.

"Do you think so?" he asked eagerly. I nodded my head.

"Pretty sure but... You're going to have to follow my directions." He
finally smiled at me.

"I can do that." And with that, my relationship with Micah changed.

He was as good as his word. We set a time late each afternoon for our
workout. We began with stretches then went through our routine. I rotated
through a 3 day schedule doing upper body one day, lower body the next and
cardio the third and ended with stretches. We took Sunday off. Body contact
started almost immediately with my using my hands on him gently directing
his posture. If anything Micah almost seemed to relish it and I suspected
that the boy had little nurturing physical contact for much of his life. He
began initiating contact with me as well, little touches used for emphasis.

In all that process Micah wore the same outfit as that first day; the
pajama bottom like pants and a t-shirt. It seemed to me that sometimes his
groin his groin moved or freely than other times, suggesting that he wasn't
wearing underwear. I also noticed his gaze drifting to my groin on many
occasions. I noticed something else interesting about the 3rd time that we
did a lower body workout. I was teaching him to do squats with 50 pounds on
the bar. The bottoms that he was wearing that day were thermal underwear
and thus were tighter. I had to correct his posture and when he dropped
into the squat it bunched the fabric at his crotch and the bulge was quite
noticeable and judging from the outline of things I was quite sure he was
going commando. I also noticed the smattering of black hair at the base of
his calf. He'd always worn tube socks before. I continued to watch,
correcting his posture but also very aware of crotch. When he stood up
after the 10th rep it appeared as if he had gotten hard, the tube of his
cock visible as it pointed toward his right hip. I watched as he hiked the
bar over his head and dropped it gently onto rack of the bench.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said as he stood and turned rather
quickly but not quick enough to hide his erection. I all but stared at his
narrow butt as he headed for his room and closed the door. I knew that he
was going to go jack off and as much as I wanted to listen at the door I
resisted. He came back about 5 minutes later seemingly refreshed but also
slightly sheepish. I resisted any comments but Micah didn't.

I needed that," he said by way of explanation. I nodded my head.

"Yeah, I understand Micah." Things went along like that for a couple weeks,
not the jacking off part, but the glances, the body contact, the coming out
of his shell. He did leave the room a couple of times, ostensibly to go to
the bathroom, but I knew the kid was going in there to squeeze the
weasel. When he came out he always had a bit of a sheepish look on his face
and avoided eye contact with me for a good 5 minutes. Micah also started
helping me doing some of the repairs around the house. I showed him how to
use a variety of tools including Skill and table saws. Little by little the
boy opened up to me, sharing things of importance and asking questions
about things he didn't understand.

Then a bunch of things happened that changed our relationship dramatically
and it seemed like they all happened at once. One was that he came into the
bathroom one morning just as I was stepping out of the shower. I had
grabbed my towel and was drying my face and hair when Micah stepped through
the door. His eyes dropped to my crotch right off and mine did the same to
him. Micah was wearing FTL white cotton briefs which were barely containing
a morning hard on and I had to say, he appeared to be nicely endowed. So,
we were both like deer caught in the headlights for a good 3-5 seconds
before Micah muttered an apology and quickly left the room. I dried quickly
and before I left the bathroom I leaned next to his partially opened
doorway and said "Bathroom's yours Micah" and went into my room.

Both Micah and I had gotten into the habit of rarely closing our bathroom
doors all the way so it was that I heard him pissing a few minutes
later. We had also gone in to each other's room, always knocking before
entering. So after the toilet flushed I heard his knock and responded with
"come," a typical military response. Micah came in, eyes downcast.

"I'm uhh, really sorry I came in the bathroom like I did KC." He seemed
genuine.

"It's okay Micah," I said gently, "No harm done."

"Yeah, but..." and he stopped.

"Yeah but, what? You saw me naked, you saw my dick. Micah, I just spent 6
years in the military showering with other guys every day not to mention
pissing and sometimes even shitting without any privacy. Really it's no big
deal." I decided to take a plunge. "And you know what else? I've seen
plenty of guys sporting a morning hard on and sometimes without
underwear. Hell, other guys have seen me the same way. Most guys wake up
like that every day. Honest, for me, it's no big deal, I'm not bothered by
it all and I hope that from now on you aren't either. Don't get me wrong,
I'm not advocating that we go around naked all the time or just wander in
and out of the bathroom when the other person is in there but really, it's
just us guys. Okay?" He nodded his head then looked me in the eyes.

"Thanks KC," he said and left my room. A couple of days later I was
spotting him while he benched and when the sleeve of his t-shirt fell down
I noticed bruising on the inner arm and a smaller one on his bicep. I
didn't need anyone to tell me that it was caused by someone gripping him
there. I elected not to say anything about it but determined to pay closer
attention from then on.

A few days later I had returned to the house after a trip to the hardware
store. The weather had been hot and we'd left patio door open day and
night. I went into my room to change into my workout shorts and had just
gotten my jock strap on when I heard a loud crash in the bathroom. I rushed
through the partially opened door to find Micah sitting on the toilet
facing me, fully naked with his cock in his hand. A can of room deodorizer
was on the floor along with a glass bowl filled blue rocks, one of those
interior design things, and some other items. The glass was shattered into
a zillion pieces. Micah's chest was splattered with streaks of freshly
squeezed boy sperm and in that I noticed a couple of things.

The boy was fairly large because at least 4 inches of rock hard cock
extended up out of his closed fist and another inch or two was visible out
the other end where a large set of balls were in full hang. The boy also
seemed to create a fair amount of cum and it wasn't over because his fist
was still moving and cum was oozing out of his slit and much of it stayed
on his cock head, covering the swollen gland in white goo. What it looked
like was, in the throes of his orgasm he had leaned backwards or tossed his
head backwards and knocked the things off the shelf with his head.

Micah started to move and I barked at him to stay where he was and he
stopped. I whipped a towel off the rack and draped it out on the floor in
front of the toilet then stepped on the edge and began sliding along the
tile floor in an attempt to corral the pieces of broken glass. From the
corner of my eye I could see that the boy was staring at my groin. I filled
out a jock pretty darned good and even though he'd seen my dick a few days
before, Micah was still interested, a typical 14 year old.

When I turned to face him I saw a streak of blood on the floor and moved to
stand in front of him. "Lift your foot Micah," I commanded and he did. I
could easily see the cut and grabbed a washcloth off the rack and knelt
before him and looked the foot over, tried to gently stanch the
bleeding. Of course I was looking straight up between his legs to his balls
as well as everything else.

"Well," he said as I inspected his foot, "This is pretty fucking
embarrassing." I glanced up at him.

"Yeah, I imagine it is. But don't worry about it." He was quiet while I
continued to probe gently in search of a glass shard in his foot.

"I suppose you've seen this before too, a guys cum and all?"  I nodded my
head.

"More times than you can imagine. You know, it would be really helpful for
you to get in the shower and try to clean this off." I stood up and watched
as he worked to maneuver into a standing position. He'd let go of his dick
to do it so I had a very clear view of a young cock that was damned close
to my own size, a solid 7¾ inches of moderately thick meat that had stood
tall and proud in front of a flat, taut belly.

"It's starting to hurt like hell KC," he said.

Okay," I said and told him not to move. I quickly dropped my jock and
gingerly stepped to the shower and got it running then turned to face the
boy whose eyes were still all but glued to my crotch. I moved next to him
and put an arm around his waist and together we got him into the shower. I
had him face away from me and lift his foot backward like a horse getting
shod and went about getting the area clean, found the glass shard and
plucked it out. It continued to bleed but very little.

Micah set his foot back down and turned to face me, one hand on the wall to
brace himself. He hadn't lost much of his hard on and I wondered briefly
about that. I grabbed the soap because I was closer then decided to take
another plunge. "How about if you stand still," I said and got my hands
soapy then began wiping the cum from his chest and belly. There was plenty
of the gooey stuff stuck in the thick nest of curly pubic hair. I took the
liberty of pushing his hard cock to one side and working to clean it out,
which every any male over 13 knows, is not always an easy task. Micah was
watching me with interest.

"I hate it when that happens," I told him as I tried to pluck his cum,
which was now in little balls, out of his hair. He asked what I
meant. "When my sperm gets caught in my fuzz like this. It's a bitch to get
out." Micah laughed at that and said he knew what I meant. I took things a
step further and soaped his half hard cock as well as his balls and got a
heavy sigh.

"That isn't going to make my boner go away."

"Well, that isn't necessarily a bad thing," I told him then had him turn
around. I started soaping his shoulders electing to give him a massage as
long as I was there. He moaned of course then said,

"What did you mean about seeing guys with cum on them KC."

"Well, I was your age once and I'm sure that you've probably jacked off
with a friend or two. It's not uncommon for boys to jack off together and I
was pretty much like any other boy," I told him. He seemed to assimilate
that and as I moved downward to the small of his back he asked softy,

"What about as a man. Have you seen men's cum too, have you ever jacked off
with another man?" The fact was that I had. I'd known since I was eleven
that I was gay and I certainly wasn't the only one in the army who was
queer. I'd found more than 1 guy whacking in the showers late at night and
I'd spent more than a few times shacked up with another guy on a weekend
pass.

"Yeah, I have," I said, my hand moving down onto his slender little ass to
soap the bubbly cheeks.

"What about with boy, when you were a man?" I stopped soaping his as for
just a split second, the question and the slight deepening in his voice
catching my attention. I had a quick debate about telling him the truth
because the truth was, that indeed I had. I'd had a quick little affair
with the nephew of one of my squad mates, a boy I'd met at a wedding my
friend had invited me too. The kid had been 15, cute as all hell, as horny
as any teen needed to be and an exciting lover. There had been others of
course but that one had been special. I'd essentially fucked the boy all
weekend long.

"Well," Micah asked again, "have you."

"Why is that important Micah," I asked him. He turned around to face me,
his cock once again at full stand, rock hard, locked and loaded. He looked
down at my cock which was no longer in a complete default state but had
started stretching out, the head pointing toward the boys' shin. Micah
reached out and grasped onto my cock and squeezed then stroked it a few
times which got me to full on hardness in almost record time.

"God I wanna do stuff with you so bad KC," he said, looking me in the eyes,
his voice low and husky. I guessed then, that part of the problem with his
step father may have been Micah's sexual orientation or at least sexual
activity. I remembered the blow up from a few weeks before when he'd said
that Nate had called him a fag, or a sissy boy or something along those
lines. The boy standing in front of me with my cock in his hand wasn't just
a horny 14 year old; he was a gay horny 14 year old, one that probably was
afraid to experiment with friends. Plenty of gay boys sought out older men
to show them the ropes and at that moment I guessed that Micah was one of
those boys.

I reached out and took hold of raging cock to squeeze and stroke it. The
boy sighed heavily and then, just like in the cheesy movie scenes, he all
but fell into my arms and held on to me like a long lost lover, as though I
was his personal savior. Holding a naked boy in the shower is one of life's
lovely pleasures and I felt my entire body warm slightly at the contact.

"I've waited so long KC," he breathed and while he didn't say any more, he
didn't have too. I knew what he was saying. I gently disengaged from him
and once again, his eyes strayed down to my cock which was now at full
stand as if showing itself off to the boy. "Can I suck you," he asked
timidly, as though I might refuse him.

"Of course you can." We moved out of the spray and Micah dropped to his
knees in front of me. He spent a moment feeling around, exploring the
various textures of my genitals before pulling my cock downward and leaned
in. he opened his mouth and covered his teeth with his lips before placing
his mouth over the head and closing down. He closed his eyes just before
contact so I was looking down on his raised face when the look of bliss
seemed to relax his facial muscles. It was a beautiful sight.

Micah did a credible job on, what I assumed to be, his first blow job. I
would find out later that assumption was indeed correct. I wondered if the
boy had been practicing with bananas or some other cock like object. He
moved his head to and fro while his right hand slid on my dick in the same
manner. His left hand rested on my hip but didn't move much. I knew that
when a boy did his first cock sucking there wasn't a whole lot of
coordinated movement as he focused on the task at mouth. He managed to last
a good 3 minutes before he stopped and stood up.

"Makes my mouth sore," he said by way of explanation, not that any was
needed. I nodded my head in understanding then dropped to my knees. I
reached up and cupped the boys' balls which were now at full hang because
of the shower. He sighed heavily as I squeezed and tugged gently on the
heavy sac. The bag had plenty of hair around the base of his cock and the
top of the sac and was beginning to have hairs sprouting out along its soft
surface, something I was sure the boy was downright proud of. His cock
stood, rock hard, in front of a very flat belly and pubic bone, the tip
reddish in color and seeping precum. He was a nicely healthy boy. As he had
done to me, I pulled it down and placed my mouth over it, allowing my
tongue to explore the silky surface before leaning forward and taking
having of it into my mouth.

"Oohhh," I heard him moan above me as I began to give him a very good blow
job. He stood stock still as I worshiped him, sucking and gently stroking
his boy flesh. Like any young teen having his first, or even early
interactive sex, it didn't take long to reach the sperm out stage. And he
told me so. I wanted to taste his sperm but I love watching a boy cum even
more, especially when it's my first time with him. I stood up and turned
him around and hugged him loosely as my hand sought him out and went to
work.

Micah relaxed against my body, allowing me to support him as I jacked him
off and pushing his tight little ass against my hardened cock. It didn't
take long. Since he was shorter than me I could see over his shoulder and
was doing so when he moaned loudly, his cock swelled against my hand, and
his swollen cock head spit out the first glob of cum. It was a little
disappointing since it wasn't much and didn't go very far at all. Like I
said, it sort of spit out. The second and third squirts more than made up
for it, each shooting a good 2 feet or so into the shower. Micah sagged at
the knees from the intensity of the feelings that were flooding his young
body and I held him tightly. His balls continued to eject boy honey only
they were more like burps and oozing but lots of it. I felt the warmth of
his sperm as it ran down, over my fingers, and either dropped or were
propelled onto the shower floor. A very nice showing considering that the
boy had just cum less than 15 minutes before that.

As soon as he finished I moved my hips to one side, wiped his cum from my
fingers onto my cock head and began to work my own dick. Micah moved to the
side enough to see but still have my arm around him. It didn't take long
for me either and a few minutes later my cum was blasting out onto the
shower floor. It had been awhile since I was with boy, and probably a week
or so since I'd cum so over all my body gave a good accounting of itself.

"Wow, Micah said as he moved away, "That was fucking intense." I nodded my
head then backed into the shower to rinse again then grabbed the soap and
proceeded to clean my body. Micah watched intently as if he had no idea
what showering was about, one hand absently playing with his balls or
squeezing his still hard cock.

"So, are you gay or just horny KC," he asked me, looking me in the eyes as
I reached behind to clean my asshole.

"I'm gay Micah. And you?" He nodded his head.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I mean I've thought so for a few years. I think
that Nate knew or at least suspected something cuz he gave me a pretty bad
time, called me names and shit. Fuck, he's such a dick." I nodded my head
and then, in as gentle a voice as I could muster, asked the boy if that's
where the bruises came from. I had noticed earlier as I helped him into the
shower that there was some slight bruising on his lower back around the
kidney area. The boy immediately turned slightly as if to hide the bruises
on his arm.

"No," he stammered, "I got that messing around at school." Clearly the boy
was lying but I didn't pursue it. I'm gonna get out now," he said and
stepped out of the stall. I wasn't much farther behind him and got a
glimpse of his ass and the underside of his balls as he had bent over to
dry his upper thighs. We didn't talk at all and when he finished Micah
stepped around the glass shards and went into his room, calling out over
his shoulder that he'd clean up the glass then pushing the door to a slight
crack after he went through.

Since I had already showered I didn't feel like working out just to get
sweaty again so got dressed and headed to the front porch where I was
making some repairs to damaged wood. I thought about what had happened,
wondered if Micah's change in feelings had anything to do with guilt or
shame or something else that he didn't want to talk about.

I was in the process of cutting some pieces of siding when he showed up in
the garage slash workshop and asked if he could help. While not quite the
bubbly boy he was becoming he wasn't sullen either and we went about our
job as usual.

The third thing that happened took place a few days after our shower
experience. Once again I'd been out procuring items for the house and had
taken a different route back home. As I was heading down one of the side
streets I saw what looked like a confrontation going on about half way down
the block. I rather large man was bent slightly at the waist jabbing his
finger into the chest of a person much smaller than he was. As I got closer
I recognized the smaller person as Micah. His head was half way to his
chest and his shoulders were slumped, all in all a typical victim's type of
posture. I stopped abruptly and got out of the car.

Micah saw me first and as much as I'd like to be able to identify the
expression on his face, I can't. It was a mix of fear, relief, shame, maybe
even guilt as well as pain.

"Excuse me," I called out and the man with Micah turned toward me. He was
taller than my 5'11 by at least 4 inches and had to outweigh me by 60
lbs. An evil grin crossed his ruddy face.  "You want to try that finger
poking shit on someone closer to your size?" I asked him.

"Stay the fuck outta my face faggot." Based on that statement I guessed
that faggot was his name of choice for people that he didn't like, or maybe
just people in general. I did not in any way look or act queer.

"Faggot? I said. "Sounds like you're a man of experience," I said as I
closed the distance.

"What the fuck is that spose to mean," he asked, having turned fully to
face me.

"It means be advised that I eat razor blades for breakfast and piss napalm
and if you so much as disturb a hair on the kid's head I'm going to have to
teach you some better manners."

Micah had backed away. "Don't KC, he'll kill you."

"Listen to the little faggot buddy. It's good advice," the man said. I'd
already figured it was Nate.

"Really? You'd kill me," I asked him. The big man nodded his head and gave
me the evil grin again.

"Yeah, but not until I fuck you up."

"I don't think so. In fact, I doubt that the only thing you could fuck up
is a wet dream." Micah had a look of doom on his face.

I was baiting the man but he was too stupid to figure that out. He was used
to people fearing him and those that didn't usually ended up on the floor
broken and bleeding, or worse. Backing down, or using common, sense wasn't
a part of Nate's repertoire of skills. He stepped closer to me, his fists
doubled and when he figured he was close enough to hit me he started to
pull back his right arm. I closed the distance quickly and, backed by 190
pounds, fired a full armed punch into his solar plexus.

Few men can take that punch, especially when their muscles are relaxed, as
his were. Nate doubled over, his breathing seriously impaired, gasping for
breath. I looked toward Micah, who eye's were was wide open as humanly
possible

"Go ahead and get in the car," I told him gently. It took him a moment to
respond but he finally did as I asked.

"How you feeling, buddy," I said, emphasizing buddy. He had sunk to one
knee still trying to breathe. "Yeah, I know, it hurts to breathe but hey, I
got a little time, I can wait. Unless you'd like put this off for another
time. I don't mind." He still didn't say anything nor did he turn his head
to look at me but I heard him mumble something.

"What's that," I said, dropping to one knee along side of him.

"I'm gonna kill you," he said although it was still almost
unintelligible. I leaned in close to his ear.

"No, that's not gonna happen. Here's the thing. If that kid so much as gets
a sliver in his finger I'm going to hunt you down. I will slowly and
methodically tear you apart and in that process I will introduce you to
pain that you've never experienced in you life. If you harm that boy in any
way I will do the same thing, only slower." I pulled my hand back and
punched him hard right behind the ear and he collapsed on the ground. I got
up and went to my car and climbed in. Micah was staring at me, then he
stared at Nate.

"Is he dead?" He asked, his voice small and quiet.

"Naw, just sleeping. Are you okay Micah, did he hurt you in any way?"  The
boy shook his head. He didn't say anything until we got to the house and
were walking up the sidewalk to our private entrance. He stopped, turned
and looked at me, a look of almost adoration in his eyes.

"Thank you KC, thank you very much." He turned and walked into the house,
headed for his bedroom.

"Micah," I called out to him and he turned. "When you're ready to talk
about it I'll be ready to listen." He nodded his head, went into his room
and closed the door quietly.