Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 17:58:58 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: CALIFORNIA BOY COCK

Hi, my name is Jason Townsend, and this really is an Adult-Youth story, but
I feel I need to give you some background information about how I got
hooked on young boys.  It took me a while to even admit to myself I was gay
and longer still to discover I was attracted to boys.  At some points in
the story, I want to tell you about some distractions/detours I encountered
along the way.  I'll try to keep those parts as brief as possible.

I have known I am gay since I attended Architectural School at the
University of California in Berkley.  However, I didn't realize I was that
way until I answered a want ad in the campus newspaper and shared a
one-bedroom apartment in Berkley with a roommate who was that way.

I sucked a few cocks and have been sucked off in high school, but I also
fucked a lot of cunts in high school after I plowed a date one night in my
car. She spread it around that I was hung big time, 8-inches and hefty to
be precise.  I am also tall, skinny, blue eyed and a dirty blonde. Then,
one night I asked my roommate, Jerry, if he wanted to go to a party with
me.  I drove my car and it was lucky that I did, as he got sloshed.  We had
twin beds and went right to bed after I had more or less undressed him.  I
hadn't scored, so I thought of jacking off as soon as I knew he was asleep,
but decided against it for some reason -- tired I guess.  The party had
lasted until 1 AM.  Anyway, in the middle of the night I woke up and Jerry
was doing a cocksucker's number on my dick, and he was good at it.  When he
saw I was awake he jumped in my bed and said, "Fuck me."

He'd already worked my boner up to the point it was about to shoot, so I
quickly shoved the whole 8 inches into him - bareback - and shot big time 8
inches deep into his young ass.  It was apparent he'd been fucked before.
He didn't whimper about how it hurt -- in fact he kept wiggling his ass
around and hollering, "Oh yea, oh yea, that's It."  After I shot off in his
boy cunt, he dropped his legs and I went down on his cock.  He was hung
what I always thought of as standard; he had a six-inch cock but, even in
the dark, I could see he had a big cock head.  I sucked him up and kept
sucking until I got his load -- I enjoyed it.  I hadn't swallowed a load of
cock juice since high school; I'd almost forgotten how much fun and
satisfaction there was in making a guy's hard cock shoot its load and how
great cum tasted.  Too, I loved Jerry's boy cunt.  Even though he'd been
fucked before, his love hole was tight yet slippery. He gave me the best
fuck I'd ever had, even though it didn't last long.  After that night Jerry
and I got to it at least twice a week after studies and I got so I didn't
miss girls at all.  I felt no need for them.  I didn't try to kid myself by
thinking I was bi.  I knew for damn sure that male cocks and asses were my
real turn on.  After graduation, I soon landed a job as a project manager
with a small architectural firm in San Francisco and commuted to work from
the peninsula between San Francisco and San Jose.  In the office was where
I really got into sex, big time, with a young boy.

Oops!  Mentioning commuting makes me realize that I better back up a little
and tell you my grandma had died recently.  She had raised me from the
minute I was born.  My mom had gotten herself knocked up by some asshole
that my grandma hated.  But, being Catholic, she talked my mother out of an
abortion on the condition that she'd take me.  My mom immediately
disappeared with the dude that had that had gotten his dick in her and I
have no memories of her and I'm sure she wouldn't recognized me if we were
to meet face to face.  When grandma died she left me all of grandpa's stock
and annuities in a trust fund as well as the house, what is known in the
Bay Area as an Eichler home.  Some builder had built a few of them in the
late forties or early fifties.  My grandpa had paid $39,000 for it and
neighboring houses were now selling in the million-dollar range. They were
early modern, extremely good architecture, and sold like hot cakes.  People
even had their names on a waiting list with one or all of the local real
estate offices.

So, back to the architectural office and my sudden sex hook up with a boy;
the senior partner was a man named Jack Mooney and his cousin's 15-year-old
son, Alex Noble, worked as an office boy after school and all day during
the summer.  The kid lived with his parents close by the office.  He was
tall for his age; in fact he was probably 3 inches taller than I was at 5
ft. 11 in.  He was all legs and, totally "fem" -- his voice, his walk, even
his hand-on-hip posturing and his limp wrist.  But, what the fuck, I'd
heard that "fems" put out with red-hot sex.  Anyway, he was always talking
to me, asking if he could do something for me and giving me a sexy, come-on
look.  Then, one night I worked late to catch up on something.  Alex, hung
around, asked if I wanted a sandwich and a soft drink from the deli, that
kind of stuff.  So, I told him, "I'd love one of their roast beef
sandwiches and a beer, so why didn't we lock the door and walk down there
together?"  On the way he asked me to get him a beer, too, and literally
talked my head off walking to the deli and waiting for the order (he
decided to have a sandwich too, and I picked up four Buds).  Again he was
full of chat while we ate.  He got around to asking where I lived, if I was
married, did I have a lot of girl friends, that sort of stuff.  I knew
where he was heading, and sure enough, after we'd downed our second Bud and
had a cigarette, he got down to the subject he'd been skirting around -
"What do you do for sex, living down there on the Peninsula?"  I gave him a
smart-ass response, "Anything I can get."

"How about me?"  When we got back from the deli we had locked the door and
activated the security alarm, so we began getting our pants off right away.
The kid turned out to be both passive oral and anal, which was fine with
me.  We stripped to the waist, including our shoes, and he went ape when he
saw my cock, already hard, as was his. He was hung nice himself, especially
for his age -- 7 inches, cut, slightly on the thin side and he had a very
generous pair of balls.  I sat him on my desk, spread his legs and rolled
my desk chair up close so my face was right in his crotch.  Shit, was I
ever hungry for sex -- it had been two months since I'd left Jerry and I'd
been missing his cock and love hole like mad.

Alex acted like he was in Heaven.  After I worked over his cock with my
mouth for a few minutes, he leaned back on his elbows, braced his feet on
my legs and literally raised his lower torso up from the desk, as if he
wanted to make sure my access to his 7-inch, hard, boy cock was unimpaired.
He was the hottest thing I'd ever sucked and when he blew his nuts he
really blew.  His big nuts pumped out a load of cum larger than I'd ever
had the pleasure of swallowing before -- I had forgotten how sweet teenage
love juice was.

I was still hard so I stood him up facing my desk and bent his torso,
stomach down, atop my desk.  I was out of my mind crazy to get into his
teenage pussy. Shit, like I told you before, he was all legs and I couldn't
get it in; I just couldn't line my cock up with his little fuck hole.  He
realized my trouble, lay back on the desk raised his legs and gave me a
fuck I'll never forget.  I never once thought of or called Jerry after
that.

As it turned out, the kid was not only hot when doing it but also hot to
get it all the time.  In fact, even when I had no real reason to stay late
I'd fake one, we'd go to the deli and get sandwiches and beer or,
sometimes, just beer.  After our first sexual encounter, I blew his nuts
for him, took his cum in my mouth and fucked his tight little, teenage ass
twice a week and on Saturday if I was working.  He was truly a boy whore
and he was turning me into a sex fiend.  It got so I needed it all the time
and was jacking off at bedtime, more than I ever had before, always
thinking of Alex.  At the office it was hell.  He'd look at me and I'd look
at him and we both knew that the other wanted it -- I mean like wanted it
like real bad!

Once during the summer his parents took off on Friday for a long weekend in
LA and once in the winter they did the same for a skiing trip to Tahoe;
both times he went home with me for the weekend.  If his folks called and
he wasn't home they'd call on his cell phone and he'd fake his whereabouts.
And, both times we'd stay naked for two nights and one and a half days,
except for going out to eat in the evenings and there was no such thing as
enough sex.  Both times we got so close to being male nymphos that it began
to bother me. We were sucking and jacking each other half an hour after
we'd just emptied our balls.  Sometimes we'd get semi-erect but there was
no fucking way we could climax again so soon.  It just seemed that we had
to be doing something with the other's cock whether there was a payload at
the end of the game, or not.  The kid not only had a great cock and a great
ass but it seemed his whole, young body was meant for sex and I was the
lucky dude that he used to satisfy his lust for man cock -- or at least I
tried to.  To completely fill his need was the impossible dream.

Of all the fucking bad luck, after about eighteen months his parents moved
to the LA area.  God but I missed him.  We'd grown to love each other in
addition to being wild, greedy sex partners.  He called me twice a week for
a while, but that finally drizzled down to zero like my calls to Jerry
ceased after I met Alex.  He never told me but I suspected that some other
lucky dude was sucking his seven inches and sinking a cock into his sweet
little love hole.  Whoever the guy was, I knew he must have a big dick,
because Alex never ceased telling me how much he liked mine and how good it
felt to get fucked by one that was big.

After a while, I just had to get some, so I started cruising the San
Francisco streets on Friday and Saturday nights.  In certain areas there
was lots of young stuff looking for it on the streets -- especially on
those two nights.  Some did it because they liked it and some for the
money.  I was selective.  I never picked one up that wasn't a hot looker
and I knew I could get my nuts off being with despite what their genital
size might turn out to be.  Genital size was just something you had to
gamble on.  There was no use asking them, especially the ones that wanted
money.  They always told you they had 8 or 9 inches but the truth would
come out in the hotel room that, in actuality, they only had 5 inches --
sometime even less.  Of course, subconsciously, I was looking for a kid
that had a skinny 7-inch dick and a set of big balls -- just like Alex.

Then came Christmas.  Everyone rotated hosting the office Christmas party I
was repeatedly was told.  This year everybody put the pressure on me to
have it at my house, as they'd never seen the interior of an Eichler home
-- as if I didn't get the hint about rotating the hosting feelers. They
loved it and especially the fact that a lot of the furnishings were of the
same period as the house.

I know from experience and have been told by other guys, too, that
Christmas seems to be a rough holiday to handle for a lot of men -- both
married and single. In fact a realtor once told me that between Christmas
and New Years was the strongest week of the year for apartment rentals --
guys splitting from their wives and moving out.  It was since grandma died
that I'd been experiencing the problem.

Then, in a Sunday issue of the San Francisco Chronicle I accidentally ran
across a travel article on Vancouver. B C.  The town looked breathtaking
and the article described it as Canada's San Francisco.  After debating
between Canada and Mexico, I called Amtrak and lucked out on getting a
reservation to Seattle if I would take a sleeping car, which I wanted
anyway.  Getting into a hotel didn't seem a problem to me being it was a
holiday.  (Guess I should tell you guys that I am a real train buff. They
absolutely fascinate me.)

Jack Mooney agreed to a 10-day vacation so in Vancouver I did the tourist
bit for two days and stuck pretty close to my downtown hotel at night.  The
day after Christmas I picked up a teen-age hustler -- or rather he picked
me up.  They operate differently than in San Francisco.  They hang out in
coffee shops and hotel lobbies.  I actually met this kid in the lobby of
the hotel I was staying at, near the lobby entrance to the hotel's bar.  It
was when I was coming out of the bar, after a few drinks, on my way up to
my room to take a nap that he made eye contact, said "Hi" and rubbed his
crotch a second then took his hand away to reveal an outline of his cock
sticking sideways across one leg.  Even then I didn't catch on - I just
couldn't imagine that the kid was really a hustler in this posh hotel with
lots of people sitting or milling around.  But, when I didn't stop to talk
to him or otherwise react as he'd expected, he got up and followed me to
the elevator, squeezing in at the last minute, got off at my floor.  While
I was fidgeting with my access, card key (I hate those fucking things) he
asked, "May I come in?"  I couldn't believe the little shit and the chance
he was taking.  He was so young I don't think anyone would have beaten him
up even if they were a radical homophobic, but they sure as hell would have
gotten the kid into a pile of shit by retaining him and calling the hotel
desk.

Now I realized he was a hustler, a real young one, 15 or 16 years old, so I
said, "OK, for a minute until we talk about what you're after."

Once in the room, I said, "Make it short!"

"I'll make it short, "If you want to fuck me or want me to fuck you,
goodbye!"

"Neither, I'm after oral.  Show me your dick."

I figured he wouldn't and that would end the conversation.  To my surprise
he whipped it out and he had a nice, 6-inch, cut cock, which was more than
I'd imagined he'd have. It was hard as a rock."

"Now it's your turn, show me what you've got."

I unzipped, reached in my boxers and pulled mine out -- not yet erected.

"God, that's the biggest one I've ever seen.  You're on."

"So, what's your stud fee?"

"My what?"

"How much are you going to charge me?"

"Six dollars, Canadian money."  That absolutely floored me.

"I'll gladly pay more than that.  You're a cute kid."

"That's all I want.  I left home with $10.00.  I've spent four on lunch and
I need a dollar for bus fare home.  If I turned up with more and my mom
found it, the shit would hit the fan.  Ten is my weekly allowance."

After he told me his name was Billy and I told him mine was Jason, we
undressed and flopped down atop the bedspread.  He wanted to suck on mine
and I wanted to suck on his so we switched to a 69 position.  The kid was
full of surprises and no novice at sucking cock, despite his remark about
the size of mine.  He was so fucking good at sucking it that he distracted
me from what I was doing and he had my cock jerking around in his mouth and
spewing cum in what seemed like seconds. It was hard for me to continue.  I
knew he was old enough to have been through puberty and he did have pubic
hairs, so I persisted -- I wanted his boy juice real bad.

After we'd calmed down I put my back up against the headboard of the bed
and sat up; he immediately crawled in between my legs, leaned his back
against me, got hold of my arms and pulled both of them around him.

"Thanks, Jason."  Holy fuck, he was the first trick that had ever said that
to me.

"Thank you William, I really enjoyed that."

"You're from the states, aren't you?  I like guys from the states better
than Canadians.  They aren't as rough.

We chatted for almost 30 minutes before he said he had to go.  I'd really
enjoyed cuddling with him and wondered if he ever got it from his father
because he seemed to need it.

As he was dressing I had a chance to really take note of what he looked
like. He was small for his age, brown hair, neatly trimmed, blue eyed and
when he got dressed he had clean, expensive looking clothes - well fitting,
tan, corduroy pants, and a pale blue, turtle neck sweater, brown leather
shoes with a moccasin toe plus a tan windbreaker jacket.  It was then I
realized I was mistaken by thinking he was a hustler. He was just a kid,
kinda out on the town, so to speak. Once dressed he said, "Jason, give me a
kiss."

That night I went to a bar I'd seen walking around the neighborhood and by
the name thought it was possibly a gay hangout.  It was and it was bursting
at the seams.  One small booth and one bar stool were the only seating
choices so I opted for the bar stool which was between 2 women about my age
on the left and a line of men on the right. There were two bartenders on
duty but I waited a long time to get served.  The guy to my right was in
conversation with the dude next to him and didn't say one word to me all
evening.  The girl to my left broke the silence when she asked, "Are you in
here by intent or by accident?"

"By intent. And that is an appropriate question for you too."

"By intent; my friend and I couldn't find a lesbian bar so we settled for
gay.  We're from the states and from your accent I'd say you are too.
Further conversation determined that her name was Vicki, she was from
Sacramento, department head for data processing at a large bank, unmarried
and the friend was just a friend and from Chicago. I was getting nostalgia
-- it had been a hell of a long time since I'd had a prolonged conversation
with a girl.  She was a really tiny person, very attractive, a good
conversationalist and seemingly very intelligent. I'll be damned if I
didn't like her -- a lot.  As it turned out, she, her friend and I were all
staying at the same hotel.  In fact, by the time we were ready to leave it
was kind of late and the pedestrian traffic had thinned, so we had the
bartender call a taxi, which we shared.  The friend said goodnight and
Vicki and I sat awhile talking in the lobby when Vicki asked if we could
find a near by coffee shop and have breakfast in the morning.  We agreed to
meet in the lobby at 9:30 and exchanged last names and room numbers in case
one or the other developed a glitch.  Her last name was Logan.

We walked two blocks before we found a coffee shop.  The conversation
started off innocently enough being it was between a gay man and a lesbian
woman.

"Jason, last night you said you were in the bar by intent.  Are you
married?

"No, why?"

"Just wondering if you were cheating on your wife."

"If I were married why would I cheat on my wife in a gay bar?"

"Your naive, lots of married guys seek sex in a gay bar reasoning that if
it's with a man they really aren't cheating on their wives."

The talk developed into harassment in the workplace and I told her I hadn't
experienced it but I hadn't been in an office environment for too long, as
yet.  She said she had and had been the butt of some lesbian jokes, the
frequency of which increased and decreased depending on changes in staff.
Finally she said she wanted to ask me a question if I promised I wouldn't
drop dead in the coffee shop -- she asked me if I would marry her.  I
didn't drop dead but I felt as though I'd been hit by a stun gun.  Rather
than give you the details, I'll make it brief so it is not a long
interruption to the adult-gay, man-boy theme of the story.

After finding a sunny bench in a nearby park, she told she lived alone in
her deceased parent's house, which like mine had also belonged to her grand
parents -- it was some 30 miles east of Sacramento near I-80 -- a monster
of an old, much remodeled farm house with 5 bedrooms upstairs and a master
bedroom on the first floor, along with a kitchen, dining room, living room,
family room and a library.  The property still had the original barn, also
remodeled into a 3-bedroom rental unit. Vicki was forthright and honest in
saying she had no demands or expectations in mind as regards sex.  I could
find my own and she would do likewise; even evenings or weekends away from
home would be OK.  She just wanted to get rid of the heckling at the office
but didn't want a marriage immediately followed by a divorce.  She finally
talked me into it and I accepted her proposal.  Being a businesswoman she
said she'd compose a pre-nuptial agreement so everything would be fully
understood.

She made some calls and found that getting a marriage license in Canada and
scheduling a minister indicated it would be faster and easier to just go
home as we'd each scheduled and have the ceremony in California, which we
did and were married with two witnesses, who were friends of Vickie's, in
St. Mary's Catholic Church in another small community close to where she
lived.

Now back to Vancouver, Vicki had packed her luggage before we went to the
coffee shop, I went up to her room with her and helped carry it down after
we'd exchanged our first kisses and hugs together. She had an afternoon
plane to catch back to California.  I went back to the coffee shop for an
early, light lunch and when I got back I spotted Billie sitting in the
lobby, positioned where he could see the door. He immediately rushed up to
meet me, followed by another, larger and a little older boy who, except for
height, could easily pass for a brother of Alex.  Just looking at him
immediately brought back strong memories and produced some strong desires
at the same time.

"Hi Jason, school vacation is still on so thought I'd try to connect with
you again. He introduced his friend, who's name was Allen Morris.  In the
room, Alex said he'd told Allen about me and he didn't believe dicks came
that big, so here they were, both ready for fooling around with an adult
male. I hadn't masturbated for two days, so I didn't offer any real
resistance when they said they wanted to take turns sucking on it.

Once naked, Allen again reminded me of Alex right down to his big balls and
the shape and size of his cock.  I lay on my back and had the one doing the
sucking kneel and straddle me, legs along my sides so their already
erected, boy cocks were practically in my face.  After they were really
into it and showing early signs of climaxing, I'd reach up and jack them
off so I could watch their cum shoot out of their teen dicks and down onto
my stomach. This time, they wouldn't take any money so I treated them to
lunch.

I didn't eat anything, but I enjoyed watching them each devour a man size
lunch.  We had an enjoyable chat, even though it was limited as to subject
by the place being public. Billie was still in the closet and thought he
was too young to come out (I told him not to do it until he was certain
that his parents would understand and he felt comfortable with doing it).
Allen sort of twisted his hand back and forth as he answered, saying, "I'd
say part out but still in most of the way.  Billie shielded his lips with
his and whispered across to me -- "the part that's out is his cock." for
which he got a sharp dig in the ribs from Allen's elbow and a chuckle from
me.  Out on the sidewalk I walked with them to their bus stop and when they
spotted their bus down the street about two blocks, they each thanked me
for the lunch and the "fun time" referring to the sex in the hotel room,
gave me a hug and had me bend down so they could kiss me on the cheek.

Well, so much for married life.  It was a good thing that Vicky had no
expectations from me and had given me all the latitude I needed to have fun
with men -- I didn't tell her that boys were my sexual preference and
probably never would.  Most people have a nasty name for men who like boys
-- pedophiles.

When I got back to San Francisco, I called Vicki and learned that the best
she could do, because of the priest's schedule, was two weeks so we decided
I'd go to SAC Friday so we could get the license and blood tests out of the
way. (By the way, Los Angeles is called by its initials - LA and San
Francisco, much to the chagrin of its residents is sometimes called Frisco
by non-residents.  Sacramento is referred to by it's initials SAC, but
verbally called Sac as in the word sack).  The only downside I saw to
moving to the area was, that in my estimation, the place was dull as hell.
I just never could find much to praise it for.  By comparison to Los
Angeles or San Francisco, I didn't even think it was very gay.  I will
admit though, it did have the nation's best railroad museum.  Maybe living
nearer, it would begin to endear itself to me.

Next week, I did put in 32 hours at the office and in the evenings I began
taking stock of reality as to my real need to work.  My grandfather had
arranged my trust so that I received a monthly check from my broker, taken
out of my annuities, plus dividends from stocks, paid quarterly, added
another nice sum to my income. The brokerage firm had provided me with
checks for emergencies.  Adding everything up, plus the fact that I had
nearly $200,OOO in my savings account from grandma and grandpa's insurance
policies made me realize that I was making much more from inheritance funds
than I was from work and more than I would probably make in the next five
years.  Then it dawned on me that it was not inexpensive to commute back
and forth and pay for lunches -- an expense that would skyrocket after I
move to the SAC area, even if I were to commute by Amtrak, which was
possible

I decided since I took no time off between graduating from Berkley and
starting work with Jack Mooney that a couple of years absence from work
wouldn't be a disaster, especially if I did some traveling in Europe and
spent some time studying the architecture that was so varied in the
European countries.

Friday. I went to SAC. Vicki and I got the blood testing and marriage
license requirements over with. I talked over my work or not to work
dilemma with Vicki and she agreed that I should just give notice to quit my
job.  (And I discovered one of the benefits of marriage was that you had
someone to discuss things with.)

Guess you know what happened next.  Monday, I went to the office and had a
nice long and honest talk with Jack, telling him of the pending marriage
and the financial aspects of my decision.  He congratulated me on my
marriage, said he agreed with my reasoning and said he do the same thing if
he were my age and in my shoes because he sure as hell could use a two-year
vacation.

I was out the door and another problem hit me like a rock.  How dumb could
I get?  I hadn't given five minutes of thought to grandmas house.  I turned
around, headed for Dick Carlson's cubicle, told him I had just told Jack I
was quitting and asked if I could take him to lunch.  He said he'd like
that but to make it 11 o'clock to avoid the mob and why not go to that
little place down the block from the deli, as their food was good and not
overpriced.

It was now 9:30 so that gave me 2 hours to formulate exactly what I would
talk with him about.  I knew I didn't want to sell the house; it was my
grand parent's home and to sell it would seem a sacrilege to me.  At the
same time I realized that the house couldn't maintain it's outrageous,
inflated value forever.  Maybe I should take the now over a million,
inflated price and run, but I couldn't.  I was willing to gamble.  I people
became less fanatic in their obsession with Eichler homes, so what.  It was
a first class neighborhood and there was no way it would go for less that
houses in nearby neighborhoods.

And, leasing or renting were absolutely out of the question -- I had heard
to many horror stories on that subject, even when a qualified property
manager was hired to manage the property.

Then I mulled around what I knew of Dick Carlson and his wife, Jeannie,
which really wasn't too much - I knew I liked Dick and was impressed by
Jeannie at the Christmas party.  In fact I liked Dick a lot -- he was my
favorite among all the people at the office.  Dick was always super clean
and neat in his appearance and fastidious about his workspace and how he
kept his drawings and reference materials -- in fact he even surpassed me
in being a neatness freak.

Walking to the restaurant I told Dick about Vicki and my upcoming wedding.
He put his arm around me and pulled me next to him.  "Congratulations,
Jason, We're going to have a drink before we eat and I'm paying.  I'll bend
the rules and say I was with a client if anything comes up."  That meant a
lot to me because he really had displayed warmth and sincerity in his
actions and words.  "I knew some girl would come along and drag you up a
church aisle to a waiting minister.  You're a real nice guy, Jason, and I
really mean that."

"Thanks Dick, I know you do."  If he didn't know now he'll sure as hell
know when we finished lunch."

I started off by telling him I had an offer to make him -- not employment
of course, but something else and, although I didn't want to appear
forward, would he mind telling me how much a month he paid for rent?"

"Not at all - $1,800 dollars for a third floor, studio apartment in an old
fire trap. If Jeannie wasn't working we wouldn't even be able to afford
that."  (If you're getting the impression that young architects aren't high
wage earners, you're getting the impression I'm trying to convey.) Then, I
broadly discusses my problem and thoughts about my house on the peninsula
-- not wanting to sell it -- not wanting to rent it -- and asked him if he
and Jeannie would want to rent it, complete with furnishings.

"Man, would we ever, but its way beyond our mean's, Jason."

"Knowing you and Jeannie will have a longer commute, for which you could
carpool, could you afford $1,500.00 per month?"

"Jason, don't pull my leg, as the old saying goes.  You'd have to be wacko
to even consider that."

"I told him I guessed he'd missed the meaning of my introduction.  He and
Jeannie were the only people I personally knew that I would consider
renting it to -- no first or last -- no security deposit.  I just wanted
his word that the house would be in the same condition when he moved out,
as it was now -- none of that normal wear and tear crap excepted and if he
needed help or money with repairs I'd furnish them at no extra cost.

"Jason, what's the date today?"

"I don't know exactly, around the 15 of January, why?"

"I thought maybe I'd slept through Christmas."

"No, you're OK and I'm not wacko, except in the intensity with which I want
you and Jeannie to be the ones who I leave in charge of my house."

I know I don't even have to ask Jeannie whether it's a yes or no, but can
we drop out tonight and talk with you awhile?  Are you going to be home?

"Sure and yes to both questions."

When we'd finished eating and gotten up from the booth, he gave me a long,
tight hug and said "Thanks a million, Jason."  For a minute I actually
thought he was going to kiss me and I wish to hell he had.  The guy was so
fucking good looking and I really did like him a lot.  I should know, I'd
been staring at him every chance I got in the office ever since I started
there. He. without doubt, was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.
Beautiful is not a word usually used to describe a man, but it did apply to
Dick.

When I was in SAC to get the wedding license and blood tests taken care of,
we didn't go on out to where Vicki lived.  After the wedding, at 11 AM on
January 22 and lunch afterwards with the two witnesses -- both girls from
Vicki's office, I followed her back to her house.  It about took my breath
away with its size and complete lack of any architectural merit.  She had
told me it was a much-remodeled place, but it was just plain farmhouse --
frame, painted grey with white trim and a black roof, long, narrow windows
and a porch all along the front.  It was typical of the 1850 to 1900 era.
The good side to the place was the 3-car garage with door openers and a
lovely interior -- in period style but, thank Heaven, not Victorian.  In
short order the library with its fireplace became my favorite room despite
the lack of any books it had that were of interest to me.

Vicki and I really hit it off.  We couldn't have had a better relationship.
We both had a similar sense of humor and we both liked to tease each other.
I teased her that she married me as a security guard (she was so uptight
about someone getting in upstairs that she made me search every room, every
closet and every window every fucking night.  She was paranoid about it and
I wondered, living alone, why she hadn't long ago had a burglar alarm
installed.)

She had a one year old, red Corvette and she teased me about my 7 year old,
dark blue, Buick Century (despite the fact that I kept telling her my
grandma had bought it for me and had picked the blue color because the only
cars my grandpa ever owned were Buicks and then only if they were blue.  I
loved the car and lavished it with care.  It ran and looked like new.)

Saturday, she had to work overtime.  After breakfast while looking around
outside, I saw a huge, unopened UPS package in the garage.  It was from a
nursery; I opened it and found bulbs of all types that should be planted if
it was not already too late.  I was thinking maybe I'd plant them for her
but I didn't know where she wanted them when someone behind me asked if I
was Mr. Townsend.

I stood up and turned around to see the cutest, most stunning looking,
sexiest teenager I'd ever laid eyes on. In a mere fraction of a minute I
knew I was in love with him.

I managed to reply that yes I was Mr. Townsend.

"I'm Michael Voss.  You can call me Mickey, everyone else does.  I came
over to plant those bulbs for Ms. Logan, I live down the street a few
houses."

"What a coincidence, I was thinking of doing it myself, but I didn't know
where she wanted me to plant them.

"Would you help me? She told me she wanted them arranged in clumps and not
rows.  I'd sure like to do it so she'll like it

Sure I would Mickey!" And, to myself: (You're fucking A I'll help you --
you teenage sexpot.  It's the most exciting thing I can think of.  I'd love
nothing better than to look at you, stare at your face, stare at you crotch
and stare at your cute little ass when you're bent over planting bulbs.
All I have to figure out now is how to cop a feel of it.)  Mickey was a
little shorter than I was and on the verge of being painfully thin with
short, black hair and blue-green eyes.  His skin, what you could see of it,
was like white marble. He had either avoided or completely overcome the
plague of teenagers -- pimples. The planting areas had been tilled and
raked smooth.  I drew irregular, ameba like shapes in front of the
foundation planting along the porch.  As Mickey dug holes with a bulb
planter, which he found in the tool shed, I unwrapped the bulbs and laid
them out on newspapers sorted as to type and color and in such a way as to
achieve a nice mix.  At noon, I took off to a hamburger joint and brought
back burgers and fries.  We had just finished eating when a rickety, old
pickup pulled onto the driveway.

"Shit, I forgot my dad was coming to haul away some yard trash for
Ms. Logan -- I mean Mrs. Townsend."

He seemed so upset and I couldn't understand why.  I followed him to the
truck.  His dad looked less like Mickey than a desert looks like the North
Pole -- he was obese and untidy, even allowing for work clothes, and I
guess slovenly is the word I'm seeking.  He knew where the trash pile was
and when he'd loaded it and pulled back on the driveway from in back of the
garage, he motioned for Mickey to come over.  When Mickey returned he said,
"That fucking asshole." which really took me aback.

"Mickey that's your father you're talking about"

"He's still a fucking asshole."

"What did he do to get you so upset?"

"I don't want to tell you."

"Hey we've been hitting it off like mad so far.  I was hoping we'd become
good friends that could open up to each other if we needed to talk."

"That sounds real nice to me.  I'd like that but it will make you angry if
I tell you."

"I don't thing so -- test me."

"The asshole said you looked to be as big a queer as I was and I better be
careful or I'd have a sore asshole for the rest of the weekend."

"Was he right about you being gay."

"I don't want to answer that."

"Would it be easier if I told you I was."

He didn't respond with as much as one word.  The job was too much to finish
so we quit.  He said he'd put the tools in the shed and he would be back
next Saturday, but earlier in the morning if that was OK by me.

He didn't come back and didn't come back.  There was no alley and the side
yards were fenced and also blocked by evergreens.  I was curious because I
wondered if he'd left with saying goodbye or without my seeing him -- the
latter seemed impossible.  So I looked in the shed; he was on his haunches
bent over and looking in a box for something, or so I thought.

"Mickey, are you OK?  He didn't say anything but stood up and turned
around.  He didn't look me in the eye, but his jeans were unzipped and
hanging out was his beautiful teenage cock, looking painfully hard, and a
hairless ball sac.  I immediately drew him close and locked our mouths
together without protest.  His mind wasn't on kissing but both of his hands
were busy frantically trying to unzip my jeans and get my cock out but it
was as hard as Mickey's and was not cooperating.  I backed off and got it
out for him.

"Oh Mr. Townsend that's beautiful."

"So is yours Mickey"

"Can I suck it? Please let me suck it."

"Since you've worked for Vicki before, do you know what time she usually
gets home when she works on Saturday?"

"Never before 5, so we've got 30 minutes. I didn't have time to respond.
He was on his knees and had what he could get of my 8 inches in his mouth.
I almost fell trying to brace myself so I could get a better look at him
sucking my cock as frantically as he was trying to get it out of my
pants. In very short order my cock gave him what he was wanting and began
unloading cum into his mouth.  I saw his 5-incher was also spurting a load
on the floor of the shed (what a waste of teenage love juice.).

"Why didn't you respond Mickey when I told you I was gay?

"It floored me.  I thought you might be tricking me.  I took a little while
for me to realize that you were too nice of a guy to pull a fucking mean
trick like that on me."  We kissed each other and zipped up before moving
out into the yard, in the event Vicki appeared.  I don't think I can wait
until next Saturday to do it again, Jase.  Can I drop by some afternoon on
the way home from school?"

"Of course, as often as you can manage. If it's unsafe for some reason I'll
leave the single garage door open and my car on the driveway. And, please
call me Jason or Jase. By the way, when does school let out?"

"Most days by 3 o'clock.  I'll be here by 3:15."  "I can't thank you
enough, Jase."

"Yes you can.  I want you as friend.  Just become one."

"Don't worry about that."

"Mickey, what do I owe you?"

"Wait until next Saturday when I we finish."

"As he ran down the street, all I could think of was how long it was going
to seem before I saw him again."  I had it in my mind that I wouldn't see
him until probably Wednesday but Monday at exactly 3:15 he was knocking at
the back door. I led him into the study where I had just lit a fire in the
fireplace, grabbed him and we were open mouth kissing like mad while
undoing buttons and zippers and, pulling off clothing.  Naked, he was
absolutely breathtaking and while standing I kissed every inch of his body
except the soles of his feet.

"You did the honors in the shed, Mickey.  Let me go first this time.  I'll
try to save my load for you."  I had him lie down on the floor in front of
the fireplace and scooped his balls into my mouth and sucked them -- the
one part of his anatomy I had not kissed while he was standing. Then I
slowly and gently made love to his 5 inch, uncut cock after I'd slipped the
foreskin back over his cockhead.  I wanted to pleasure him, pleasure him so
completely that he'd never forget.  When he started to cum, I stopped and
let him enjoy his climax and his teen cock jerked wildly and poured his
love juice, the essence of his boyhood, into my mouth; I turned him on his
side and pressed his body against mine.  It took him a little while to
recover, but as soon as he had, he looked down to verify that I was still
hard, scooted down and took me while I was still lying on my side.  Taking
a clue from what I had done, he paused and held my cock in his mouth when
he realized I was climaxing.

When resting enclosed in each other's arms, saying nothing, it was Mickey
who broke the silence.

"I just figured out what you did to me that was so different than what the
two boys who'd done it before did."

"What's that?"

"They just sucked my cock.  You actually made love to it, didn't you?"

"I really tried, Mickey and not only to your cock but to all of you."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, I really think I do."

"I really think I love you, too."

We saw each other again Thursday and of course Saturday.  By Saturday there
was no guessing or thinking on either's behalf.  We went into the house, up
stairs to one of the bedrooms where I occasionally slept, and we had sex as
only two people can when the sex act has been elevated far above the
purpose of satisfying carnal desires and becomes, instead, a tender,
emotional and a beautiful expression and celebration of the love that
exists between them.  When we finished and were again resting, arm in arm,
Mickey started to cry.

I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong but he couldn't stop crying,
so I pulled a blanket over us and continue to hold him.

Ultimately, he managed to say, "I never thought it could be like this --
loving and being loved by a man.  I think about it all the time in bed at
night -- I just can't believe that you could love me.  I'm such a plain,
skinny kid and you're so handsome.  I can't believe it.  I hope you really
mean it or I'm in for a rough time ahead."

"Mickey, roll over so I can look you in the eyes.  You are not in for a
rough time.  I truly love you; more than I thought it was possible for one
person to love another.  Yes, you are skinny and I'm sort of that way
myself, but plain you are not.  It just so happens that you're being skinny
really turns me on and makes me love you even more - I don't hesitate to
tell you know that I worship you.  As to being plain, you couldn't be more
wrong.  Mickey, you are absolutely beautiful.  In my mind you are
perfection and I can't believe you love me.  I feel as though I am the
luckiest person in the world having you.  Do you get what I'm saying?  I
hope so because it comes from my heart.

"I do Jase and I love you in all the same ways."

After I'd kissed him, I threw the blanket back, swatted him on the buns and
said,

"Good, no more tears.  Lets accept and enjoy each other's love and get our
asses outdoors and plant some more bulbs."

After we'd planted more and it was time to break for lunch I again went and
came back with the same as the week before.

"While eating, I said, "Mickey I want to say one more thing about our
conversation this morning and then, like I said, lets both accept and
enjoy. What I want to say is that I have no argument with your saying I am
handsome." It took a little time for it to sink in and then he couldn't
stop it; he spit out the coke he was about to swallow and said, "You jerk,
look what you made me do" and then laughed. We were not only lovers, we
were the best of friends; we were dedicated to each other and would
hopefully remain so for many years.

January 22 arrived again, our first anniversary, and Vicki dressed to the
nines getting ready for work in plenty of time not to have to worry.  I was
going to meet her when she got off work and we had reservations at one of
Sacramento's best restaurants.  Going out the door she said, "It looks like
a decent day.  I hope there's no tulle fog on the way."

"Never hear of it, what is it.

"Sort of a ground hugging fog that doesn't happen until you get down to a
little lower elevation and then you run into it like a wall -- people slam
on their brakes and stop instead of slowing down to a lesser speed and get
rear ended.  Sometimes it results in a 10 or 15 car pile ups, lots of
people always get injured and several people get killed, depending on the
number of trucks involved."  With that said she gave me a kiss and was out
the door.

Two hours later the phone rang and I assumed she was belatedly calling from
work to say she'd arrived OK.  Instead, it was the California Highway
Patrol.

Vicki was killed in a multiple car pile up under the exact same
circumstances she had described to me on her way out the door. I was
totally shocked and went out to sit on the front steps -- minus even a
jacket.  For some reason, two things she said -- one from when she proposed
to me and one recently, came back to me. "I don't want a marriage that ends
in divorce within a year" and, a few weeks ago, "If I die before you, don't
arrange to give me a damned open casket funerals.  I'll come back and haunt
you if you even think of doing that to me."  I looked out across the lawn
and thought, "Vickie, you got your wish on the divorce and I'll see that
you get it on the second matter, too."  I began to cry.  The neighbor
across the street walked over and said, Jason are you OK?  I managed to
tell him what had happen, he hustled me inside and I had him take me into
the study.  He lit a fire, found the liquor cabinet and came back with a
very large brandy; then called his work place to say he'd be late he had an
emergency.

Just as marrying Vicki had given me a totally new, totally different life
than I had been used to, I knew that I was now stepping into another one --
one even more unforeseeable than this one had been.  One thing that I
couldn't clear from my mind was wondering if Vicki had foreseen what was
coming, if she had had some sort of premonition of dying -- even though I
didn't really believe in such things.

TO BE CONTINUED