Date: Thu, 23 Feb 2017 08:43:52 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Adult-Youth;'beaux-thibodaux-6'{Bear Pup}(MB)[6!6]

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

"I understand. Tell Beaux that you have to come back in to talk about test
results. I talked to Dr Silvers and he can see Beaux tomorrow, but gave me
key pointers in case this came up. Just be at the office when you can, and
we'll work the schedule out." I could hear Eloise fussing and sniffling in
the background, knowing she understood and shared my horror.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 6: A Light and Tumble Journey*

By Bear Pup

M/T; sexuality; masturbation

I had eggs bubbling for an omelette and toast down when Beaux came up,
dressed in a very smart outfit, one that the sales-queen had picked out. It
reminded me that we needed a much wider shopping journey, and decided to
make a start today. Beaux sat silently and watched. We shared a leisurely
breakfast and I worked very hard to hide my nervousness.

"Okay, Beaux, you are just going to LOVE today. You get to go shopping!" I
laughed at his frowny-face, "I don't like shopping either, but you can't
live with four pairs of pants and a half-dozen shirts!"

His frown deepened. "Why?" I dawned on me that he likely had far fewer than
that for his life to date.

"Because people in the cities don't do that. It's just one of the things
that's different." His frown didn't leave but it loosened... well until I
added, "and we have to stop by Dr Martin to get some test results." His
face lit with alarm, "BUT! But no more shots, nothing but talking,
probably."

We were not a happy pair as we got around and headed back to the doctor's
office. I was a horrified bundle of fear and Beaux was a green-eyed and
thoroughly-disgruntled teen, grumpy and pouting.

Things did not improve when we walked in to find a woman and her young son;
the perhaps-10-year-old was in as foul a mood as Beaux, perhaps
worse. Glaring at everyone and ready to spit nails. From his flush, I was
betting that Mom had noticed a slight fever and he was now condemned to a
doctor's visit when he had planned to be out playing with his buds.

Eloise bustled out, far from her usual jovial self, and ushered us
back. Rob walked past escorting an older patient and looked in. "I'll be
right back." And he was. He sat across from us and took in my agitation and
Beaux's sulk instantly and professionally.

"Beaux, I'm a doctor. We are utterly immune to sulks, pouts, glares, stares
and grumps. Give it up, son, and take a deep breath and you'll get out of
here much faster." Beaux didn't smile but it was a close thing.

"We're going to talk for a few minutes, then I have to go see about Bobby
Myers and his overprotective mother, then I'll be back to finish up."

Beaux nodded.

"Okay, some of your tests came back with unexpected results, nothing bad,
but a little confusing in a young man as healthy as you are." He turned to
me, "Kevin, can you excuse us for a few minutes, please? This is private
'men talk' that parents, even uncles, don't get to listen in on." Beaux was
very unhappy, but had reverted to the stoic, imperturbable face I'd met on
that bayou.

I took my coffee with me and went to chat with Eloise. She'd ushered the
outraged boy and his fluttery mother into an exam room, so we had the front
office to ourselves. We chatted about nothing; her kids and their families,
local gossip, sports. Always our eyes would jump nervously to the office
door. Finally, the tension broke when an older woman and her greying
husband came to sign in.

It took everything I had not to laugh. It was abundantly clear that the
dynamic was identical to the prior family. Wife (like mother) had decreed a
trip to the doctor when husband (like boy) had planned to go out and
play. The difference was that husband had planned on a long day of golf,
having forgotten a check-up he'd scheduled months previously. The other
difference was the boy had just glared, not muttered imprecations that the
wife had no trouble dishing back to him in no uncertain terms.

The office door opened and Rob motioned me to return. He sat me down and
said that he'd talk to us both in a few minutes, then left. The stoic Beaux
I'd left was vanished, replaced with a shaken man-child literally quaking
with upset.

"Beaux? Beaux, look at me." He did, reluctantly. His eyes were a deep,
dull, lifeless green, a level of upset I'd not yet seen. "I don't know what
happened, Beaux, but I swear to God that this will be alright. Doc Martin
is a good man and a great doctor. I know I've been saying this way too much
since we met, but you really have to trust me on this." I was obviously not
getting through and Beaux immediately dropped his eyes back to the desk,
looking like a prisoner awaiting sentencing. It was about ten minutes later
when Rob returned.

"I swear, that woman is going to kill me if her son doesn't strangle her
first," he muttered as he sat. He turned his full attention on us and I
felt Beaux stiffen next to me.

"First off, Kevin, you don't get to know anything that what we talked about
so don't ask." Beaux visibly relaxed at that. "However, neither of you are
likely to be pleased with what I have to say." Both of us stiffened again.

"Beaux's test results," Rob's gave me a look so I knew he meant the news
I'd called him with, "didn't mean at all what I thought." I could have wept
with relief, "but we still have a lot of work. I talked to Dr Silvers this
morning and he's going to speak with you on Monday." I sighed deeply; if
this could wait until Monday, it was not the tragedy I feared.

"In the meantime, Kevin, for the weekend, you have to stop being a parent
or even and uncle. You have to be a big brother, something that I know you
have no experience with. I want you to take young Beaux to the ZOO. You are
both going to be terribly uncomfortable with the conversation and I just
don't care." I was starting to stutter and Beaux was the colour of a
Valentine card contrasting vividly with his still-green eyes.

"Hush, both of you. And, Kevin, I want you to explain and demonstrate the
use of the extra bathroom fixture, and other extremely important things
that young men do with the relevant parts involved." Okay, now I was
mortified. He couldn't mean... "Beaux has not had a father or other man in
his life, *ever*. You can blush and stammer and sputter and gawp all you
want, Kevin, I don't care. You've got about 10 years of catching up to do,
and you start today. I'm sorry, but that's the truth of it."

He turned to my new ward, "And Beaux, you are going to hate everything and
everyone, but that is because you're a young man, and that's what teenagers
do. You are going to be shocked and horrified and embarrassed, but trust me
when I tell you that it's going to be ten times worse for Kevin.  You both
have to deal with it.

"Now, I've sat in this office and told people they were dying of
cancer. I've sat in this very chair and told a man his wife had a few days
to live. I've sat here and seen men weep and women cry. If either of you
*seriously* thinks this is worse than that, God help you. Go away, relax,
try and enjoy it. But most of all, MAN UP, gentlemen. Sorry, but I now have
to tell a guy that his golf day is ruined and keep him from deciding to
poison his wife when she smirks about it. I'll call you this weekend,
Kevin, and you had *better* have a progress report." With that, Rob swept
out of the room leaving two shocked, horrified, bright-red, gobsmacked guys
staring at the open doorway.

I couldn't even look at Beaux. I stammer weakly, "Okay. That happened."

We sat a few more moments before Beaux quietly said, "Can we go now, Oncle?
I find I don't like what happens in this room."

We shuffled out to the truck, Eloise in a suddenly-chipper and chatty mood
again, something that neither Beaux nor I could stomach.

"Um, Kevin, can I ask, um, why he said we have to go to the, um, zoo?"

Can a person die of a blush? It appeared that I was going make a stab at
it. I swallowed several times. "Beaux, I swear to God we'll get to that,
but I think I need a few minutes..." or years.

"It's okay. Right now, I'm not real sure I want to know. He asked me some
mighty personal questions and I got an idea that the zoo and the... other
stuff is related. We're back to me being most awful worried about our 'no
lying' pact, Oncle."

"You and me both, son. You and me both."

By that point, I'd gotten to the Metro-North mall and into Dillard's. As a
more-typical department store, the salesmen were more about upselling and
ringing stuff up, so Beaux and I were able to browse in relative peace. I
made a note to get Beaux fitted for a suit at some point, but there was no
real urgency. I didn't know of anyone getting ready to marry or die in the
immediate future. I did make sure he was equipped with a couple pairs of
dress slacks, some nice shirts and some 'play clothes', athletic gear
generic enough for just about any sport or exercise. A set of sweat-clothes
in the then-inevitable velour rounded out the clothes for the day

We ate at the food court and Beaux was overwhelmed with the choices. I
decided to order for him and hit Great Steak Escape, a cheesesteak place
with phenomenal fries back then. It turned out that Beaux was a huge fan of
cheese (like me) and had absolutely no use for mayonnaise (unlike me). By
the end of the meal, Beaux's expressive eyes were back to hazel, a minor
victory I was delighted to cherish.

We browsed the mall and bought a number of odds and ends, including a nice
camera which really intrigued Beaux. Next stop was an office-supply place
where I kitted Beaux up with a backpack and general supplies required for
schoolwork, maths and writing. Then to Radio Shack, when Beaux's eyes
popped out when I got him one of the new HP calculators (in hindsight, one
of the first handheld computers on Earth) and showed him the rudimentary
things I knew to do with it. The thing came with an instruction book that
was literally bigger and thicker than the product it described. That got us
all the way to blue on the eye-mood scale.

We headed back to the house and my bladder was giving me serious demands. I
saw that Beaux squirm a little as well and began to buckle on my
metaphorical armour. I was going to have to start teaching Beaux, doctor's
orders, and why delay it? We got home and unloaded, Beaux getting more and
more fidgety.

As casually as I could, I said, "I've got to take a piss. How bout you,
Beaux?" He looked up at me as his jaw dropped and realised that I was just
as red as he was. He looked down and his shoulders dropped, but he trudged
after me into his bathroom.

"I know that you never were taught this, Beaux, and I was so young that I
don't even remember my own father teaching me. But it's easier and faster
to piss standing up." I just couldn't look at Beaux, I just couldn't. I
could see a bright red blotch of my glowing face reflected in the porcelain
as I unzipped.

"It's why men's pants have zippers in the front and most women's clothes
fasten up the side." I unzipped, adjusted my boxers and fished out my
shrivelled dick. Still not a bad size, but certainly about as far from
perky as it ever got outside a freezing swimming hole. "You just pull out
your, well, your cock, make sure you're aimed someplace that isn't your
clothes or the floor, and let loose."

I can do this. I can do this. Finally, nature took over and I was in full
flow. I risked a glance at Beaux. His jaw was around his knees and every
skin surface I could see was either flaming red or pallid white. His eyes
were like emeralds. I realised with a sudden start that mine was the first
cock he'd ever seen other than his own. Wow. With that revelation, I
started to harden and quickly cut my flow and tucked in before I melted
from embarrassment.

"Your turn, Beaux," I said quietly. I flushed and stepped away as he moved
forward. I watched from behind as he unzipped, fished himself out and tried
to piss. This went on for a minute or two.

"Um, I don't think I can, Oncle." He voice was tiny and shaking. I snuck a
peek around. Holy FUCK. No wonder. The kid was railed like steel and about
the size of a girder!

"It's okay, Beaux. Most guys can't piss when they're, you know, excited. It
happened to every guy, every age, everywhere and is nothing to be ashamed
of. You try later. I'll give you some privacy and see you at the Bar." I
beat a hasty, desperate retreat. My breathing was probably back to normal
in ten minutes. I'm not sure which got to me more, the embarrassment of
doing that, the sight of Beaux prodigious gifts, or the fact that he'd
boned by watching me piss and seeing my cock.

When I finally calmed a bit, a new wave of humiliation washed over me. I
was the first man he'd ever seen. I got one look at his rod, told him there
was nothing to be ashamed of then ran out like my ass was on fire. What
kind of idiot was I? I was still kicking myself when a shrunken, dejected
Beaux slunk into the room. 'Yeah, fine, I fucked that up. Man up, Kevin!'

"Beaux, sit down." He didn't look at me at all as he moved toward
me. "Beaux, I am so, so sorry. Rob, er, Dr Martin was right. I was acting
like a little girl instead of a big brother. Me being embarrassed was
wrong, and running off like that was both stupid and mean.

"Beaux, look at me, please?" He did; it didn't help. His eyes were mournful
and again that mortified shade of dull green I'd seen at the doctor's. I
was devastated.

"Beaux, everything, EVERYthing is new to you and I am too much of an idiot
to realise it sometimes. I can't promise that I won't get embarrassed --
God will I get embarrassed -- but I swear I will try." His eyes softened
and I could see his own guilt blossom.

"No, now stop that. You did fine and I was stupid. I need to back up, way
back, and start over. I'm going to start with {gulp} anatomy. What we both
piss through is a c-cock. Actually, it has more names than I know, but
that's what most guys I know call it." I now had his rapt if terrified
attention; eyes no longer dull but still an ominous shade I already
associated with zero self-confidence and intense worry.

"It has two purposes. The first is the eliminate liquid waste from the
body, as piss. The second is very, very different. It is the part of the
body used in sex. I am not going to get to that right now. In answer to
your earlier question, you're right, it's why we're doing the zoo
tomorrow." I had to plough through the blush, both his and mine.

"To get ready, the cock has to get hard. It engorges with blood. Um, we'll
talk about why tomorrow. Anyway, when you're younger, like exactly your
age, your body is just figuring out how everything works. It's learning to
make hormones, blood-chemicals, that it's never made before, and many have
to do with sex. Even when you're not thinking about sex, you'll get hard as
your body 'practices' what it will need to do when, um, the time is
right. When you do think of, well, anything remoted related to the human
body or sex, you are almost guaranteed to get hard. You following me?" I
risked glance and saw that he was still mortified (as was I) but was
hanging on every word, eyes now worried but alive.

"Most people... actually, strike that. Most Americans are incredibly
sensitive about sexual topics. Seeing another man hard is, for reasons I
have never understood, taboo. It's stupid and mean and counterproductive,
even downright harmful. I will do everything I can to overcome that,
because you have never, ever been tainted by those ignorant ideas. Yes,
your body needs to be covered when with strangers and most friends, but
never, never be ashamed of it or what it does naturally. You still with
me?" Beaux nodded, breathless.

"You got hard in there, you got an erection. It's normal, natural and
healthy. Being a complete fucking idiot, I reacted the way I'd learned from
all those mean and ignorant people, and I'm sorry. Now, ask me a question
before I keep talking, please."

Beaux almost smiled, but his voice was still a small and skittish creature
ready to bolt. "Why couldn't I, um, piss?" I literally sighed in relief. I
pulled an easy one out of the gate.

"Like I said, that part has two functions, and they don't go well
together. For most men, your cock can either be in soft, ready-to-piss mode
or in hard, ready-for-sex mode. Going from one to the other takes
time... well, for someone your age, getting *into* sex mode takes an
eyeblink and a lot, LOT longer to get out of it! There are things we'll
talk about after the zoo that can help, though, if you have the time and
the privacy. Next?"

"Your, um, yours looked different." Not a question but I knew what that was
about.

"You have a foreskin, a sheath for your penis. Sorry, like I said, that
part has a lot of names, most of the rude and all of them pretty well
taboo. Penis is like the 'official' name; cock and prick and rod are some
of the most-common rude ones. Anyway, some people for either health or
religious reasons, cut that skin off."

At this point, Beaux's face took on such a look of abject horror that I had
to laugh. It was wrong, but he looked... I can't even describe it. After
the laugh, though, he looked pissed off, eyes anything but dull as they
glinted at me.

"No, Beaux, it is pretty awful. You're right. But it's usually done as a
tiny baby so there's not as much pain and they don't remember it. But, yes,
it's pretty horrible if you think of it logically. For when and where I was
born, that process, called circumcision, was considered not just normal,
but good for you. Very few people my age from the Midwest are, like you,
uncut. Among the other things different about your childhood is that you
were saved from that.

"So I look different because I am missing that skin and you still have
yours. As a matter of fact, I'll need to teach you to keep that part clean
in special ways to avoid irritation and even infection..."

"Oncle, um, Kevin? Can you be honest with me later, please? I don't think I
can think about this anymore right now!"

I laughed again, "Oh, yes, thank you. That would be great. I hate
embarrassing you and making you feel, well, like you don't know enough. And
I have my own issues with stupid, hurtful taboos to work through on my
side. Rob was right, this sucks!" Beaux laughed nervously and I suggested
that he grab a book and I'd show him my office and what I do. He got very
enthusiastic at that and snatched up one of the biographies.

I had forgotten one aspect of my office area that Beaux would enjoy, and I
kicked myself when we got up there. The first door to the right when you
walk into that area is... my library. A floor-to-ceiling window at the
front of the house was the only part of the room not completely covered in
bookshelves. It was 14 feet deep and only about eight wide. I kept
constant-reference items on shelves in my private office, but about a
quarter of the library space (and nearly all the taller sections) was
professional tomes. The rest was everything from tween-wars mysteries to
science fiction, from classics to modern fantasy, from religion to
sexuality. At the time, I had about 1600 books and room for around 400
more.

Beaux... goggled. He stood like a statue of 'Zeus Freezing the Twink' or
something. I spoke quietly, but knew he listened. "Every book here, Beaux,
is available to you. Read what you want. Learn what you want. You never
have to ask. You never have to answer for where a book is. If you want
others, we'll get them. You hear me, Beaux? These are your books, just like
this is your home." A tear ran down my cheek when Beaux took a shuddering
breath and nodded, never looking away from the what, to him, was truly a
treasure.

One of my true extravagances was in that room. From the same defunct
monastery as the refectory table, a tall, simple iron candle-stand, seven
feet high and hold six wax candles, stood just inside the window. Just in
front of that was the largest, most comfortable set of leather chairs I'd
ever owned, , facing one another across a small table. There are few things
in life as pleasurable for me than to sit and read by candlelight,
something I would share with Beaux for years to come.

I gently moved past the statue of Beaux blocking the doorway and went into
my office. Nearly a week off work, I knew there would be permitting and
supplier details waiting for me; nothing tragic, just normal work. I was
diddling around with the Verona/Mission Hills plan. New restriction on old
trees (which I approved of) and the terrain made the site interesting. It
would be a complete rebuild, slab up, after a tragic fire had wiped away
the previous old home. Part of the challenge was to ensure that it fit
perfectly in that very respectable (read: snooty) neighbourhood, but still
be distinctive for the new owners.

I sensed Beaux move into the room, but didn't really look up until he
sucked in a really deep breath, like he'd just discovered a wonder. He was
looking at one of the design docs for a really cool remodel of an older
home just off Loose Park. The challenge had been to replace a load-bearing
wall so the space could be opened on the lowest level that let out onto a
terraced slope. I walked over and saw that he was captivated by an
engineering detail sheet on the beam we'd use. I'd had a long, painful
discussion with the fucking Building & Permits Dept had inflicted on
me. The sheet was covered with scribbled equations and diagrams about the
complex stress loads and how they'd be supported in various ways.

Beaux eyes were a bright and vivid blue. He was actually smiling. "I
understand this, Oncle! I do!" He shuffled through a lot of hter
drawings. I could tell that those with serious engineering math were things
he could read as easily as I, but he skipped over a lot of the
architectural and design detail like they were irrelevant. I filed that
away for a future discussion.,

Dinner that night was as simple as possible, for both our sakes. I grilled
a couple of pork chops and served them with a big salad with bleu cheese
and bacon. Beaux demolished three chops and enough roughage to keep a
platoon regular. He retrieved his book, laying forgotten in the Library of
Heaven. I lit the candles and dowsed the lights. We sat in companionable
silence and peaceful candlelight for an hour or more. Today, we both
started to nod about the same time. We said our goodnights and crashed.

Zoo Day arrived clear and breezy, no match to either of our moods. I'd had
a terrible night of tossing and turning, something increasingly-common as I
aged. I was in the kitchen cooking my "not awake enough to cook" go-to
breakfast, pancakes. Dry mix. Eggs, milk. Stir, stir. Pour, flip, pour,
flip... Even I could handle that. Beaux arrived dressed in sneakers and a
casual shirt with jeans. He looked good. I looked and felt like a train
wreck. I was practically mainlining coffee by that point, but had managed
to drag myself into a shower and pull on something that, in poor light,
would pass for clothes.

As expected, Beaux put away pancakes like a fiend. I took one out of four
as they came off. I made a second batch and decided to leave the milk
carton on the counter, as I'd had to pull it out about 47 times
already. Note to self: Up milk purchase. Scratch that: Drastically up milk
stocks. Scratch that: Buy cow.

I was nearly human as I poured the last of the coffee into a travel mug and
we set off. Beaux was honestly delighted when we got to the zoo. Everything
about it was new to him. Some of the exotic creatures amazed him; he'd
never heard of or imagined giraffes and hippos and kangaroos; un,like
elephants and lions, they'd never made it into the classics he's read. Some
that amazed others he dismissed with a wave. In particular, the American
Alligator got a serious sneer. "I'd'a thrown him back as too small for
bait, me." I smiled as his eyes flashed with amusement. To the best of my
knowledge, that was his first actual joke.

I won't bore you with the zoo visit. Suffice it to say that the chimps,
baboons and hyenas provided exactly the subject matter required. Penis,
vagina, erection. Nipple, nursing, grooming, tenderness. Aggression,
submission, copulation. Mounting, orgasm (male and female), post-coital
let-down. One young male chimp helpfully -- but to the horrified squeals of
a group of schoolgirls and the intense blush of a young mother with a 6-
and 8-year-old -- demonstrated masturbation quite thoroughly, including
completion, ejaculation, sperm, etc. He was defiantly as proud of his
accomplishment as Beaux was mortified.

We lunched at one of the huts. Kansas City is famed for Bar-B-Que and,
oddly, the Zoo had one of the better offerings. Succulent pork (this was
before the iron-clad idea that BBQ=Ribs arose) with grilled corn and sweet,
succulent cornbread to soak up the sauces. The only real hiccough came when
we were watching the magnificent and beautiful African Painted Dogs. Beaux
pulled my attention, "Oncle, what they doing there?" I looked over and
coughed.

"Um, they're copulating just like we talked about with the, um, chimps."

"But the one on the bottom is a boy dog, ain't he?"

"Ah, uh, ah, um, Yes, yes he is."

"How's that work, Oncle."

Time froze and I watched a mote of dust, stuck and unmoving, pinned by a
sunbeam. Remember, I was a *gay man* trying to explain the very rudiments
of sex to a complete innocent and a teen to boot. Now he notices that?!?
And all I could think of was the punch line, "Why do you ask, Two Dogs
Fucking?"

Time returned with a vengeance and I spluttered, "Um, Beaux, there are a
lot of, um, many different, well, ways to, for two people -- or two
animals! -- to, um..." I prayed that I'd catch some humour in his eyes, but
all I found was polite curiosity and interest. I panicked completely and
resorted to the most-ancient parental ploy, "We'll get to that later,
son. For now, we've got a lot that we can talk through. Let's go on home
and talk there."

Beaux's eyes were narrowed. He smelled the evasion as clearly as he'd
smelled the monkey house, and with the same level of satisfaction -- none.

We got home and I pulled into the garage. When I opened the inner door,
though, I froze. Vacuum cleaner. Saturday. Saturday AFTERNOON. Barry was
here. Eyes rolled to heaven, I literally held my breath as we went in. I
let out an explosive sigh when I actually saw him, but it was Beaux's turn
to freeze.

Barry was a big guy. Perhaps six foot and broad of shoulder with thick arms
and legs. He had a few fading tattoos on his arms (and, I happened to know,
his back, ass and, um, 'pubic region'), thick and curly coal-black hair and
sideburns and a handlebar moustache straight out of cheap 70s porn. I had
been worried he'd be naked or worse (yes, worse; we'll get to that some
other time). What he wore, though, was perfectly acceptable and even sexier
than nudity.

He had on a pair of Levi's 501 Shrink-to-Fit jeans which he'd bought tight
before shrinking them. Among his many, many talents, Barry makes art out of
fabric, so he knew ways to get effects that others only dreamt of. In this
case, he'd confided in me that after he'd shrunk them to second-skin,
crotch-cradling perfection, he washed them in a tumbler with river rocks
and borax for some insane amount of time.

The result was a pair of jeans the colour of a summer sky and the texture
of delicate rabbit skin. Not only did they leave nothing to the
imagination, they positively broadcast new things that you needed
desperately to imagine. He'd paired that with a shirt that he'd probably
gotten at a DAV Thrift Store, faded black and several critical sizes too
small to showed off every ripple of his muscular and toned torso. He
looked, frankly, like sex on a stick.

He looked up at us and deployed his signature expression, a sensual and
seductive smile the likes of which I've never seen matched. Suddenly, hand
to God, all I could think was, "Why do you ask, Two Dogs Fucking?" I began
to giggle inanely.

Beaux and Barry both frowned at me. I pulled it together enough to make
introductions. When I got to Barry's function, Beaux turned to me concerns
and worried, honesty wanting nothing but to help and... making his first
truly-tragic faux pas. I could have guessed and headed it off, but I was
far, far too late. "But, Oncle, I can clean for you!" Even the dust stopped
moving for fear of making a sound.

Among Barry's many, many traits was an accent that I swear to the almighty
he makes up as he goes. It keeps blending from Russian to German to South
African like an actor in Around the World in 80 Days. The other is... well,
how to put this delicately? He was the gayest fucking butch man I have ever
men. When Mel Brooks wrote in Blazing Saddles, "I hired you people to try
to get a little track laid, not to jump around like a bunch of Kansas City
faggots!" I always thought Mel had somehow met Barry...

The moustache flared. The eyebrows skyrocketed. The hip cocked. The lips
pursed. The purring, basso rumble revved up. This would either be really
good or really, really bad. "Honey, you listen up here. Cleaning is just
the part you *see*. I have seen for Kevin since he was... never mind,
child, you're too young to know. I know this house, and your uncle, better
than he does. I make all this work, honey. Now, I'll be happy to teach
someone as cute and nice as you, but you handling all this and THAT man?
Hmph!" He flounced off, a term I would teach Beaux later, for if flouncing
became a competitive sport, my money would be on Barry.

There are a pair of terms that would arrive three decades after this tale
that sum up what I thought and even produce appropriate icons:
(facepalm)(headbang).

I pulled the gaping and utterly bemused Beaux up the stairs and headed for
my conference room. At some clueless and pointless level of my mind, I
apparently thought whiteboards would be helpful in the coming discussion.

He pulled the screech-halt move as I led (dragged) him into the room and
shut the door. With an abruptness that satisfied me and shocked Beaux,
every hint of sound from Barry's vacuum and, well, anything else vanished
like mist. The windows were smaller here, and higher, designed to showcase
a tiny bit of the horizon, but especially the flight path from MCI. If,
heaven forfend, a tornado strikes, I'll be in the safe-room that doubles as
my exercise and utility room. However, anyone in my conference room would
hear nothing, NOTHING, until the twister literally dismantled the
house. Recording studios and CIA spy nests don't have this level of sonic
isolation.

Professional pride aside, it was also a rich and sumptuous space. The table
was a single piece of heartwood, polished and oiled to a butter sheen. Each
chair was upright but comfortable, screaming 'serious business happens
here'. The carpet was a luscious pattern of crimson reds, hunter greens and
robin's-egg blue.

Using his shoulder as a handle, I manoeuvred Beaux into a chair. I poured
each of us a glass of Tempranillo (a tannin-rich Spanish wine I liked to
sip) and took the chair around the corner from him, close but not in his
space.

For some inexplicable reason, the Barry thing completely loosened me up. I
fielded Beaux's questions and gave him honest and brotherly advice. We
talked about boys and girls, romance versus sex, lust and love, even
kissing (a subject that, if it comes to boy-girl intimacy, I had slightly
less experience than your average Pope... I hope). His eyes gradually lost
their worry and regained their keen, hazel (almost blue) tone.

We talked about attraction; physical, emotional and sexual. We talked about
what it means to be faithful, what it means to be honest, what it means to
be a father. What it means to be a man. I was careful when we skirted
around the idea of being a father, a mother, of caring for and teaching a
child. My heart was breaking, but I could see Beaux lining up ideas, facts,
concepts and judging them against his own childhood. I longed to go
downstairs, lock my door and cry into my pillow for what this man-child had
been robbed of by those two evil bitches, one my own blood kin.

Even with that, it was going far better than I'd dared to hope. And then
those fucking dogs came into it again.

"So, Oncle, you said we'd talk about the dogs where they were both, you
know, boy dogs?"

The Tempranillo and my success so far relaxed me. He would find out
eventually, why not now? A small but very, very loud part of me screamed
about going to prison and corrupting youth and being a pervert. I swigged
another huge slug of wine and drowned that whinging voice.

"Beaux, that's different and it's not something people normally want to
talk about. Most of what we saw was animals of different sexes
interacting. Those are called heterosexual relations. Some people prefer
the company of, and sex with, people of the same sex. It is called
homosexuality. If they are men, they are called gay or, if you want to be
cruel, faggots or queers. If they're women, they're called lesbians or, if
you want to be nasty, dykes. Do you follow this so far?"

"Yes, Oncle. But how?"

"In all the same ways you saw today with people, um, animal of different
sexes. They touch and love and do whatever it takes to make their lover
happy, just like the others. It's not sex to create children, it's sex of
love and, when it's done right, even romance."

Beaux sat for a moment.

"Oh, okay. That makes sense. Why didn't you want to tell me, Kevin?"

"Oh, Beaux. A lot of people think it's wrong to even admit that such love
exists. Telling a, well, what they would see as a child would make them
furious and disgusted, and in the worng states even get me arrested. They
think that it puts evil ideas into your head and might corrupt you."

His face scrunched. "But if it's about love, why would they care?"

"I don't' know, Beaux, and that's the truth."

"So gays look at men the way other men look at women?"

"Yes."

"Like they are sizing them up as a sexual or love-partner?"

"Exactly."

"Like that New Orleans salesman looked at me?"

Cartoon screech-to-a-halt. What the FUCK? I saw him looking intently at me,
and I did my best to immobilise my face. Oh, God, if they'd only come up
with Botox two decades sooner! Some part of me, the part that cherished the
fucking evil and stupid 'I'll never lie to you' pledge, took over.

"Yes, I suspect you're right. You can never really tell for sure, but yes,
I am pretty certain that was exactly how he was looking at you. Does that,
um, worry you, upset you?"

"Could he make me, Oncle?"

"Rape exists, but it's rare. He was also the size of a mosquito, so let's
say no. Does it upset you?"

Beaux thought a long time, staring at the sky through the window.

He voice was slow and careful when he spoke. "No. No, it makes me sad and a
little, well, I don't know, Oncle. It makes me feel good that anyone would
get excited about me, even if I didn't want to.

"And Harrold at the Judge's office? The way he looked at you, Oncle? Did
that worry you?" Oooooh, dear. Ah, FUCK IT!

"No, Beaux, because I found him extremely attractive." I was sweating
bullets, but what choice did I have? Lie to the kid after all he's been
through? Pretend? "I am gay, Beaux."

"Oh, okay then." WHAT?!? Just like that?!? "Do you find me attractive that
way, Oncle?"

Fuck, fuck FUCK!

"Beaux, that is a complicated and embarrassing question, but I promised
{fuck me} to try to answer. You are truly stunning and really gorgeous,
but, to be completely honest, no. I prefer big, muscled and hairy
guys. It's also the fact that you are my nephew and now my... in a
way... my little brother. It feels... wrong, Beaux. But even beyond that, I
like people who don't really, well, look like you. I know that's probably
shallow or silly..."

"No, Kevin..." Beaux's voice was solemn but in no way upset or
unsettled. In many ways, he was far more balanced than I was. "It would
be... strange if everyone was attracted to everyone else. Of the guys who
seemed to notice, one liked you and the other liked me. I think that's... a
little bit special."

He smiled at me. I melted like wax.

"And, um, do you like me, you know, like that, Beaux?"

My ward cocked his head one way then the other. Honestly, I felt like a
cross between a steer on auction and an antique in a dusty shop. I am not
ashamed to admit that I literally held my breath awaiting his verdict.

"No, Oncle, I see why Harold would like it, but you don't, I don't know,
make me want to think about that. Is that okay, Oncle?"

I laughed. "It's more than okay, Beaux, it makes it easier. I can teach you
without either of us wanting, well, more."

Beaux was and is one of the most precocious souls I've ever known.

"And that little chimp, Oncle? You know that Dr Martin asked a lot about
me, well, doing what that monkey did?"

"No, actually, I didn't know that's what you talked about but I
guessed. Yes, that is a big part of why we went. Healthy, um, healthy boys
do that a whole lot." I took a huge, deep breath. "A whole, whole, WHOLE
lot." This was going to be a tough part of the conversation.

"When I came in to check on you yesterday morning, I found that your bed
was, well, wet. I thought you'd wet the bed which might mean... well, Dr
Martin said to check because it could mean that someone had done horrible,
unforgivable things to you. Based on some of the things you've asked and
how the doctor said it wasn't what we'd feared... I'm guessing that there
is another reason the sheets were damp?"

Beaux eyes were now a hard, glittering green. "Let's get back to that,
sir. So yesterday, all that, 'Everyone needs and deserves privacy,' and
that you'd, 'never, ever enter my room without knocking or permission'? I
even offered, Kevin, you do recall? I did truly *offer* even: 'You can come
into my room anytime,' I said, because it's your house? And you jumped up
with it was my house too?"

Fuck.. When I was a kid, I wasn't that quick. Damn. "Well, Beaux..."

"No, now you answer me, Kevin. Did you say those things and then come into
my room and, and, and f-feel in my bed?"

Deep, deep sigh. "Yes, Beaux. I will break any rule, break any promise if
it's your health or wellbeing at stake. And I won't feel bad about it. I am
going to apologise to you, and I am sorry, but the doctor..." I looked
down, "no, *I* was terrified that something was really wrong. He talked to
a specialist after your exam and told me that one of the signs you might
have been just horribly abused was wetting the bed. I was terrified, Beaux,
and by God still am.

"You are one of the most special young people I've ever met, and the
thought that someone had, that someone could..." I saw my hand shaking. "I
can't explain how much that hurt." I looked up. Beaux's eyes were narrowed
in calculation, but they were soft, as was his expression.

So soft and quiet, Beaux said, "I think you just did, Oncle." He sat for
minutes, looking at me, emotions jumping across his countenance, each
flashing up then quickly shoved under his thoughtful mask. Suddenly he
blushed and looked down at his hands, speaking quietly and with as little
emotion as possible.

"What, what that monkey did? I was taught that was one of the worst things
a boy could do short of rape or murder. It was wicked and wrong. Mama would
yell at me how disappointed and disgusted she was, and G-Ma would make me
go cut a switch." He shivered.

"But if I didn't, um, do that, I'd wake up with dreams and if that woke
G-Ma, oh, she'd plain go crazy. Cussin about why God even let men, let me,
get made at all. How men, and me, were pits of sin waiting to rape
women. G-Ma was law, you see? She knew what there was to know and told me
and Mama. And she had always been right. So I, I learnt to do it sly and
quiet. Even in the bateau, no one could tell. I could never know when Mama
or G-Ma might be glancing.

"So when that monkey done run out and went at it before God and everybody,
I near died. And you just acted like it was nothing and even a good thing
and just explained and talked? I knew then why the doctor told us to go to
the zoo. Cuz he knew how I'd reacted when he, well. How I reacted. And now
you were telling me that the worst evil short of rape was
just... nothing. And then of all things you blushed near purple when I
asked about those two boy dogs, like that were huge compared to that
monkey." Beaux's voice simply wandered away as his eyes came back to mine.

"I'm guessing that all this is something a big brother would...?"

"Yes, Beaux. That's what Rob, Dr Martin, meant, that I needed to be a big
brother. I never had one," I chuckled, "but I knew what he meant. I learnt
from my best buddy who did have a brother, though. Then about a year
later..."

I had to laugh, "Dad sat me down and I found out that roughly half of what
I'd 'learnt' was bullshit. He was probably blushing as hard as I am now,
but we talked and talked. That's what I want to give you, Beaux, what my
Dad gave me. No hang-ups. No complications. No bullshit. But I have to tell
you, Beaux, I have new respect for my Dad. If it's this hard for me to tell
you, he must have about died to talk to me that way."

"So, um, your buddy, um, showed you...?"

"Yes, Beaux."

"Are, um, are y-y-you, um, ah...?" and right there, BAM!, it sunk home. If
I didn't die first, I was going to kill Rob. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Beaux laughed, "Well, Kevin, that look done answered the question." He
sighed, "and if you can handle all that just blowed up inside your head, I
can too. So, um..." Beaux gulped a few times, Adam's Apple bobbing like a
cork, "Um, wh-when...?"

"Let's see about dinner, Beaux." We both heaved a huge sigh of relief, and
both laughed at it.

"For something normal and ain't no big deal, Kevin, it done got us both
worked up a notch." I chuckled and nodded, and we went out into the main
area and across to the kitchen. I just stared. The idea of cooking after a
day like this was... unendurable. I flipped on the oven. When I made
certain dishes, I assembled several and froze some of them for cooking
later. Lasagne was one of those.

I pulled out the frozen slab, put it into a baking dish with a cover (the
one in which I originally freeze items so they fit perfectly later) and put
it into the oven. I set the timer for 75 minutes just as I heard the
massive, rumbling growl of an angry tiger (or teen stomach) behind me. I
moved to the pantry. Barry had been true to his word, even above and
beyond. In addition to the grocery store, he'd raided the Snack Aisle at
the Quick Trip. There were two single-serve bags of every known snack. I
grabbed three different flavours of salty-snacks, letting Beaux
choose. Predictably, he chose the nuclear-orange cheesy puffs.

"How many of these can I have, Kevin?" You see, I'd blinked and missed
it. He was already searching for orangy dust at the bottom of the
bag. Just... wow.

"Start with one each afternoon, no more. We can work on that later. If you
need something to tide you over other times," I opened the right-hand
fridge, "you can anything in this fruit bin, and as much of that as you
want." Beaux had already snagged two apples and an orange.

We went downstairs where our books from the previous evening waited on the
table. I watched as inconspicuously as possible. Beaux had pulled two
napkins (I use cloth ones; they last forever and seem less wasteful) and
used one to contain the peel and cores, the other to ensure that his hands
were pristine before he touched the pages. I smiled inwardly at this
meticulous man-child.

Barry emerged from the upstairs guest rooms, massive duster in hand. I
giggled; sorry, I could not resist. The whole ' the role of French Maid
tonight will be performed by Hunky Guy' got me. Barry sent me a very clear,
'you will pay for that one, child' look, then turned to Beaux. The look on
the kid's face made me giggle more. Equal parts terror and intrigue.

"Beaux, child, I am here Monday morning, Wednesday morning, Thursday
afternoon and Saturday afternoon. Monday it's floors, and if you're around,
honey, I'll be more than happy if you want to help and I got -- lots and
lots -- I can teach you. Wednesday is linens and wash just like today was
dust. Now, doll, I need to have a loooong conversation with your 'Oncle'
bout Thursday, as that's bathrooms." He looked at me and I seriously envied
turtle who could simply pull back into an armoured shell. Barry used
cleaner and bleach that wreaked havoc on clothes, but not on bare
skin. FUCK! "But if you're around, child, I think we'd get along great and
you would make quite the maid..."

Beaux just nodded. What fascinated me was that Barry didn't seem to
intimidate him at all. He cowed me and always had, but Beaux just took
everything at face value and smiled. "I'd right like, that Mr Barry, sir."

"Doll, don't you DARE 'mister' me. I'm Barry. You're Beaux. We'll do
just... fiiiine."

Barry finally left and Beaux turned to me. I prayed to God and a variety of
other deities, many of whom I invented on the fly. And did they listen?
Hell no. "What he mean about the bathrooms, Kevin?" FUUCK!

"Beaux, I can't even start right now. Anyways, we have a lesson to
complete." Those words were barely out of my mouth when I realised just how
much I would rather talk about a nekkid Barry with Comet and Clorox than
face what I'd already committed to.

Beaux turned more shades of red than I thought possible, and I'm pretty
sure I supplied the rest. We had at least an hour on the meal, so I
suggested Beaux's bedroom.

We walked in and I immediately dropped the blinds and lit the fireplace
for, well, I'd like to say it was atmosphere but it was just a delaying
action.

Dread and hypocrisy dripping from every word, I said, "There is nothing to
be embarrassed about when it comes to your body, Beaux," as I peeled off my
clothes, utterly unable to look at my ward.

"Then why you sweating bullets, Kevin?"

'Because I am a complete fucking cowardly idiot who can't even deal with
helping a young man realise what is between his legs...'

"Because I have things to work through, too, Beaux. I never said I had all
the answer or the calm and logical view of... all this... that I hope you
can attain."

FUCK! What had I gotten myself into? FUCK! And with a kid who -- every
fucking time -- would call my bluff?

"I'm, um, a bit intimidated, Beaux. With you, um, clothed and me, um,
naked?"

"Turn round, Oncle, please?"

I did and Beaux, the smart one, was already stripped. I was half-hard and I
noticed that Beaus was well past half!

Damn, fuck and every other cuss word I knew. The kid was a walking wet
dream. I like big, burly, hairy, dumb-jock-agro-farmboy types. Even I could
see that Beaux was beyond merely beautiful. His long, pale, delicate body
was wreathed in lean, defined, taut muscles. His Adonis Belt simply forced
the eye to a massive, uncut cock with a silky foreskin pulled back in his
excited state. That pale skin simply made the silky raven hair -- thickly
bunched at crotch and lightly dusted between his breasts then concentrated
into a treasure trail -- pop with
emphasis. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Yeah, not working.

"L-L-Lay down B-Beaux, on y-your b-b-b-back." He did, far less afraid than
I was.

Laid before me was a twink-lover's dream. Long, lithe, lean body, utterly
and undeniably innocent and pure. His eyes, when I worked up the guts to
meet them, were sapphire with excitement and interest. There was worry
there, but it was buried under a thick layer of (completely unearned)
trust.

"Sh-sh-" gulp. Breathe. You can do this, Kevin. Focus. Man up! FUCK! Wrong
phrase at a time like this.  "Show me how you, um, pleasure yourself, when
you're in bed, Beaux." He started to turn onto his stomach and I stopped
him. "Stay on your back and show me, Beaux, so I can see and show you
things, please."

"You sure, Oncle."

"Um, um {gulp} yeah, Beaux. And, um, Beaux, please call me Kevin for
this. Being an 'Uncle' doing this make me feel like a really, really sick
and terrible person. Can y-you do that, please?"

Beaux smiled at me, a crooked and mischievous look, "Sure, Kevin. You know,
Kevin, it's doing me a world of good to see you shaken up like that. To
know I'm not the only one all outta sorts, you know?"

"Oh, fuck do I know." That was more whisper than anything, but Beaux
beamed. I desperately asked the universe, 'Is it too late for me to trade
for the dumb-as-fuck, sexually experienced Beaux model instead?'

"So, sh-show me, Beaux, and I'll stop and ask or point out, um, things."
Beaux got a look of concentration on his face. He moved his right hand
slowly down, with practiced movements obviously meant to enter and arrange
briefs that he was not wearing. He slipped his thumb between his dickhead
and belly, then used it and two fingers to fold down the foreskin. When
that was fully exposed, I saw him take and hold a breath carefully, like a
pearl diver, before he began to flutter thumb and both fingers on the ridge
below the head. He panted in tiny, inaudible breaths that did not seem to
move his frame at all as he frigged and I saw a bead of pre form.

"O-Okay, Beaux." He stopped and looked at me.

"Beaux, we animals have sex. Human are animals too. Tell me what it looked
like. How did they move?"

"Move, Onc- Kevin?"

"Were they still? What did they look like?"

"Oh, no, Kevin. They were never still. They right threw themselves into
it."

"What parts move and how?"

"Well, their hips moved an awful lot. And their legs and chests. With the
monkeys, their arms were right active."

"And the little monkey?"

Beaux giggled. "Why, his arm was flying, Kevin, true that! Hips, too!"

"Sit up for a moment, and let me show you some things." Using my own
rock-solid and dripping dick as a model, I first pointed to the glans. "You
are teasing and pleasuring the nerves right along here, and they are some
of the most-sensitive and most-erotic in a man's body. But the body is
meant to promote and encourage sexual behaviours. Like we talked about,
it's nature's way to ensure that animals produce offspring. It's why the
body is full of parts and places that put you in the mood for sex -- we'll
talk about those later -- and the sexual organs are studded with triggers."

I moved my hand slowly up and down the shaft, "Every part of your dick is
sensitive, and masturbating in a way that most-closely resembles actual sex
is the most satisfying way to do it. See?" I continued to stroke with a
long, full, slow cadence.

Beaux nodded and laid back. I watched his hand come down and start to
lightly stroke along his cock. "Beaux, when those critters were fucking,
did it look like they were only touching a small part of themselves? Or
touching very lightly and slowly?"

Beaux smiled at that, "No, I can't say that they did." He looked to me,
still full-fisting and holding tight enough that Beaux could see the skin
tug and pull. He encircled the entire shaft now and gripped a little
tighter. About the second stroke and his eyes popped wide, "Ohhhhhh. Oh,
Kevin."

I smiled. "Okay, Beaux, let up for a minute. It's time for me to talk about
a couple of items that really help." I pulled a jar and a towel
out. "First, your body and that of a woman both produce a lubricant to make
sex easier. For humans, males produce very little and women produce a
lot. Without a partner, the skin of the shaft can get very irritated and
abraded," Beaux blushed, "and I'm guessing you found even the head can as
well." He grimace-smiled at that. I unscrewed the top of a jar that looked
for all the world like cold cream but was labelled 'Jax Wax'.

"Give me your hand for a second." I scooped out a dollop of the thick,
creamy jack-off lube onto his palm. "Gently massage that into your cock for
a minute, then start jacking again like you were." Beaux seemed a bit
sceptical, but his eyes flew open as the silky cream coated his hot and
throbbing pecker.

Beaux got a look of serious concentration on his face and I could tell he
would rapidly approach the point of no return. I reached out and took his
wrist gently. "Stop, Beaux." With extreme reluctance and a serious frown at
me, he did so. "When we were watching at the zoo, how many of the animal
were holding their breath and all quiet and still?"

"Oh, Kevin. I don't know if I'm ready to make those noises!"

I laughed, "No, Beaux, but you can make your own. Breathe deep and let your
voice loose. Trust me, Beaux. And let your hips in on the action. We'll do
more later, but let's start with basics."

Beaux looked at me steadily, then his eyes unfocussed as his hand went back
to the long, luxurious strokes. He started to hold his breath again, then
let it out in a long sigh that became a soft groan. He shifted his hips on
the down-stroke and his eyes popped open and a serious moan escaped. I
watched and smiled as his pace picked up, waiting for the tell-tale huffing
and chuffing of impending orgasm.

With a high and strangled "EEEEEEHHHHH! Oh! Oh! Oh! OHHHHH!" the cum began
to erupt from my new ward. Muttering in broken French, English and
Orgasmese, Beaux blew a serious and messy load. He wasn't as much of a
shooter as I was (I could frequently paint the walls), but he was not that
'lava-shot' type that gushed and dribbled. He was between the two,
liberally coating his lower chest and stomach. I just beamed as I watched
his newly-discovered hips twist and jerk through what was likely his first
real, unrestrained orgasm.

He eventually came down and resumed something like normal breathing, and
looked at me with eyes like pools of deep, clear water, sparkling blue and
utterly amazed. "And now, Beaux, we get to the last critical item, the cum
rag." I handed him an old and treasured friend. Barry had engineered it
with his fabric-magic. It was thick, but as soft and supple as a lover's
touch and as absorbent as a basketful of tissue-paper. I... decided not to
mention that it had been my own cum rag for years, nor that I had another
just like it. I made a note to talk to Barry about a few custom-made for
Beaux.

I showed Beaux how to collect and wipe away his ejaculate and clean his
nuts and pubes for both cum and pre-cum. When he was finished, he laid back
and sighed. "That was right wonderful, Onc- Kevin."

I laughed. "Yes, and that's why both Dr Martin and I were so worried that
you didn't seem to, you know, take advantage of one of the most wonderful
things about being a guy." He turned to me, and his eyes dropped to my own
raging hard-on.

"I think it's your turn, Kevin." Now it was my turn to go all bug-eyed and
start to stammer.

"What, Kevin, you can watch but not show? That sound fair, does that? Show
me, Kevin, so I'll have an idea of what else I should be doing." That
fucking mischievous smile was back, knowing he had me trapped. I could put
the lie to everything I said about being forthright and comfortable about
sex and run off and wank in my bedroom, or I could break down and jack off
in front of this near-stranger.

Two things made up my mind: I had just almost-forced Beaux to do the same
was the logical reason. The other was that my cock rather forcefully
insisted that I cave. I took a deep shuddering breath and reached into the
Jax Wax. I knew it wouldn't take long after the show I'd just seen. I
noticed, too, that there was a sizeable patch of saturated carpet beneath
my dick when my own pre-cum had leaked steadily.

I groaned loud and clear when the cream started to coat my achingly-hard
throbber. I threw my head back, both out of pleasure and an unwillingness
to meet Beaux' bright and curious stare. I frigged with long, hard strokes,
pausing every second or third to tease the head. Unconsciously, my other
hand fell to my sensitive nuts and began to tug and massage. I was
muttering prayers and imprecations, moaning throughout.

I have always been a vocal and lusty lover, solo or with friends. I
unhooked all the parts of me that were aware of Beaux and the crippling,
mortifying embarrassment that I knew would lock back in place in a few
short minutes. Instead, I grabbed the cum-rag from Beaux and threw it
across the bedspread. With a guttural and incredibly loud growl-shout, I
unloaded into the damp rag, pulling the far side up to catch the six- and
eight-foot streamers that I knew would otherwise have erupted. My huffing
and chuffing steam-engine of a voice finally wound down and I fell back
onto the chair behind me, desperately trying to catch my breath.

I finally looked up and saw Beaux. His mouth hung open and eyes glowed. He
was in flat-out awe of my explosion of movement, cum and loud, loud
fuck-noises. I blushed into the range of lava as every red blood cell fled
my cock and went straight for my face.

"Oh my, Kevin. Oh my. Will I get that good, Onc- Kevin? Am I g-gonna get
or-r-r-orgasms like that there?"

I laughed. "Yep, and let me tell you, Beaux, it's a hell of a lot better
that it looks and sounds!"

Beaux gulped. "I, um, I'll have to work to that, me. I'd surely die of
that." We looked into each other's eyes and smiled.

<eof>

Sorry the chapter took so long (and was so long). They both had a lot to
learn and accept before they could get to this point without changing who
Beaux and Kevin really are. Let me know your thoughts, please.

*A Light and Tumble Journey: For those of you who might not recognise the
reference, it's from the song 'At the Zoo' by Simon and Garfunkel in their
prime. Google or YouTube it. It is a lovely song that includes phrases so
appropriate to this chapter, and to Beaux's wondrous and sustained
innocence: "Someone told me / It's all happening at the zoo. / I do believe
it, / I do believe it's true," and especially, "The monkeys stand for
honesty." For Beaux, one monkey in particular.

*****

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Karl & Greg: 16 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/
Canvas Hell: 13 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 6 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 6 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Mud Lark Holler: 4 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/
Turntable Rehab: 5 chapter .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/

New One-Off: .../historical/that-lion