Date: Fri, 24 Aug 2007 23:59:18 -0300
From: Masculine Cub <tomasccub@hotmail.com>
Subject: Father Figure Part 1

FORWARD: This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of
homosexual sex acts between a youth and several adult males. If this type
of content offends you or is illegal in your area of residence or if you
are under the age of 18, do not read it.


Father Figure Part 1

by T.O. Masc Cub
(c)2007


I had been curious about hairy men since I was a child. Some of the few
memories I had of my father were falling asleep on his chest late at night
as he watched TV and dozed with me -- the side of my face buried in the
thick dark hair there like it was a pillow. He left when I was very young
but that image had always stayed with me.

As I got older, I began to flip through the pages of the Sears catalogue
searching for models with chest hair. There was usually just one model -- a
handsome mature man who appeared somewhere on almost every page. His easy
smile and the nest of dark curls that showed above his neckline is V-necked
shirts and tank top pictures were amazing. Best of all were the underwear
pages where I would try and guess which headless pictures were his. I
secretly collected other underwear ads with furry en as well -- some
allowing a tantalizing curl or two peaking over the collar of an
undershirt, and some showing muscular guys-next- door in a locker room
setting modeling Y-fronts with their furry chests proudly exposed. Jim
Palmer in particular filled many of my fantasies with his sexy Jockey ads.

A few times at camp or scouts I had seen an older boy changing and noticed
the modest spray of hair sprouting above his cock, and twice I had seen a
handsome furry young me camp councilor change out of his bathing suit. I
was fascinated by the wet matted fur that spread out from above his limp
tool to spiral around his navel and then fan out over his pecs. Once I had
even gotten a view from the back as he turned to towel off his legs
unintentionally exposing his furry ass crack and gently swinging balls to
me. I had longed to see what that fur felt like -- so black and silky
against his pale skin, and also to feel his generously proportioned cock
and balls. I used to fantasize that he would take me into the woods and
find a secluded spot where he told me he had seen my staring at his fur. In
my fantasy he'd strip and let me touch it as well. When I was 10 years old,
a scenario amazingly similar played out in real life.

I spent most of my childhood running around the neighbor hood with my best
friend Robert who was 3 years younger than me. His family was German and
his father was a tall lean man who like my father worked in
construction. The Fleischer's were strict but kind people and I had spent
many summer days in their care as my mother worked days. They were like
second parents and disciplined me as if I was one of their own children. My
mother trusted them implicitly, even when I had been spanked a few times
for more serious infractions, agreeing that I had been very bad and
deserved the punishment (she was usually right).

I was playing in a vacant lot with Robert one Saturday morning when we came
across a few muddy torn pages from a porn magazine. One of them showed a
muscular hairy man with his stiff cock standing straight out from his
body. I had only recently begun to get erections myself and couldn't take
my eyes of the rocket that seem to grow out of big blonde bush. Other
pictures showed him fucking an almost cartoonish looking woman, but his
cock could not be seen in those. Robert and I smoothed them out and folded
them up carefully, taking them back to his place. Hiding behind the shed in
his backyard, we opened them up and examined them more. Nerves got the
better of us and we decided to hide the pictures so that we could come back
later and look at them on a day when parents were less likely o be
around. Mrs. Fleischer had gone out but Mr. Fleischer was working around
the house. We went into the shed and closed the door behind us, shifting
old jars of nails and screws around to looking for a hiding place.
Suddenly the shed door opened, and there stood my friends father.


Mr. Fleischer looked at us suspiciously. He had been working in the gardens
at the far side of the house so we had not seen him. He was sweaty, and
covered in dust and dirt. A small trowel was in one hand.

"Why is the shed door closed?" he asked.

I glanced at Robert and knew we were sunk. His face had turned beet red and
his jaw had dropped. There was no way out of this now. The father looked
down at his silent son who had a jar of bolts in one hand and the folded
magazine pages in another. He held out his hand and his son obediently
handed him the pages.

"What's this?" Mr. Fleischer said unfolding the pages, but it was clear he
knew already. Robert's eyes were as wide as saucers but he said nothing,
staring at his father in terror. The father turned to me.

"Where did you get these?"

"From the lot where the sewer drain is. They were blowing around." I
stammered.  He looked to his son again, then back at me.

"And what were you doing with them?" he asked.

"Just looking." the son replied, his lip trembling and a tear slowly
pooling at the corner of his eye and sliding down his cheek.

"Just looking? Should you be looking at these?" the father asked, holding
the pictures up. My own cheeks began to burn and I wondered if I was as red
as Robert. Mr. Fleischer went on, "If you found them in the lot, why are
they in the shed?"

More tears slid down Robert's face and I stared down at my sneakers in
embarrassment.

"So you found something you should not have and you were going to keep
them? You were going to hide them in here and look at them later, ya? It
was right of you to pick them up, these are garbage, but these are not for
you to look at. They should have gone in the garbage with the other trash,
but then you came to hide them, ya? And to keep them? Then it is not good."

He looked to both of us, but neither of us said a word. Wiping his forehead
with the back of his hand, he tossed the trowel into a nearby bucket on the
shed floor. The sudden clang sound of the trowel hitting the metal bucket
made Robert and I jump. Mr. Fleischer looked over the magazine pages again,
then sighed and folded them up, slipping them into his back pocket.

"Robert, go upstairs to your room. Right now." Robert made a beeline to the
door, forgetting momentarily about the jar of bolts still in his hand.

"Wait," said his father, "Leave those."

Robert turned awkwardly and handed his father the jar and then ran across
the lawn and into the house. His father set the jar on a shelf and turned
to me.

"Robert is very young, but you should know better." he said to me, wiping
his brow again. He looked at me for a moment and my eyes returned to the
ground. He sighed and then spoke again.

"You will go in and wait for me."

"Wait where?" I asked.

"In my office. Close the door behind you and wait for me. I will shower and
then we will talk. Go."

I didn't need to be told again. I headed into the house and went down to
the little office in the back, closing the door behind me as I went.

Mf Fleischer's office was a no-nonsense affair. Cold florescent lights, a
couple of metal desks, and two olive green vinyl chairs on
rollers. Blueprints and construction plans spilled out over one desk while
the other was neatly ordered with pens, pencils, an old calculator with
paper rolls, and various drafting rulers. This was an area that was usually
out of bounds -- particularly if the door was closed as it meant
Mr. Fleischer was working and must not be disturbed.

Once he had invited Robert and I in too look at plans for a house he was
building down the street. The only other times we were ever in that room
was when Robert and I were in serious trouble and needed a talking to as
this was also room where Mr. Fleischer disciplined his children -- me
included if I needed it. Robert and I had gotten into plenty of scrapes and
ended up the office stammering together, and sometimes getting a firm what
of a ruler on our behinds together (I suspect that the punishment was more
effective if we could see each other squirming and sniffling). This time
however Robert was told to go to his room and it was just me waiting in the
office. I stood by the door, not even daring to sit until I was told to.

I heard Mr. Fleischer come in, take his boots off, and make his way to the
small washroom with a shower stall off the hall that led to the office. A
moment or two later I heard him peeing, and despite my terror at facing up
to what I had done, I found myself imagining him standing before the toilet
with one hand on his hip (I had inadvertently walked in on him once in the
same bathroom, his back to the door) and his cock in the other hand as he
aimed it into the bowl. I began to wonder if he had stripped down before
pissing, or if his cock was hanging out of his workpants. I then heard the
shower turn on and the stall door open and bang shut and knew he must be
undressed by now. I pictured him naked; lathering up the fur that I was
sure covered his body. I quickly got a miniature hard on thinking about
this and felt a little ashamed once more. Seeing the pictures earlier
seemed to make me even more curious about fur and cocks and it wasn't
letting up. I on the verge of becoming a young teenager and was discovering
how powerful horniness could be.

Soon the shower went quiet and the stall door opened and banged closed
again.  After a few minutes of silence (when thankfully my erection
subsided), the office door opened and Mr Fleischer walked in wearing a
bathrobe. The neck was open a little ways and I could see the start of his
pelt -- a few drops of water from his shower glistening in the hair
there. I was about to get another erection when I saw that he had the
crumpled magazine pages in one hand. He closed the door firmly behind him
and sat down at the larger desk, sighing.


"So, what have you and Robert brought to my house?" he asked looking me in
the eye.

"Nothing." I replied meekly.

"No, this is something. This is not good." he said, slapping the magazine
down on his desk for emphasis. "Do you know it's not good to have that?"

"Yes," I squeaked in reply. No matter how brave Robert and I ever tried to
be when facing discipline, Mr. Fleischer had a straightforward and sensible
way of dealing with us head on that made us so ashamed of ourselves, any
spanking was nothing in comparison. I was quickly feeling my nerves about
to crack.

"Yet you and Robert bring this here anyway?"

I had no answer.

"Robert is still young, to young to want to see these. Not to young to know
better than to hide them though. But you, you might be curious. Still, it
is not right. You have to learn something's you are curious about, but they
aren't right so you don't behave that way, ya?"

He studied my face for a moment and then spoke again.

"You are older, It is normal you are curious, but that does not mean you
hide things. It means you ask about things, and you look out for younger
children like Robert who is very young for this."

"I'm sorry." I managed to get out before I chocked and tears began to well
up in my eyes, much to my mortification.

"No tears." Mr. Fleischer said sternly. These things you are curious about,
they are men's things. You are starting to learn about becoming a man, so
no tears.  Men do not cry over such small matters."

I could feel my ears burning with embarrassment and I clumsily wiped my
eyes dry with my fist. Again Mr. Fleischer studied me. A decision flickered
across his face and he stood up.

"Fine," he said at last, "You are curious and that is okay, but when you
are curious, you ask someone who knows about these things and you do not
hide things, ya?"

"Yes Mr. Fleischer." I replied, fully expecting a ruler to be taken form
the desk behind me. Instead he turned and reached for the blind cord,
dropping the metal blinds down over the window with a snap and twisting the
attached rod until the room was dark.

"Turn the lock." he said, pointing to the door.

The office lock was only engaged whenever the house was empty, and that was
in case of a burglary as financial records were stored there in a small
safe. I had never know him to use the lock when he was the office was
occupied though, as it was clear that if the door was shut, there was work
going on and no one was to go in for any reason. Confused, but too timid to
ask questions, I turned the small button on the door handle until it
clicked and turned back to Mr.  Fleischer. He had sat back down at his desk
and turned on a plastic and metal florescent desk lamp that lent a ghostly
white glow to his desktop.

"Come" he said and beckoned me to join him at the desk.

I timidly stepped towards him, unsure of exactly what was going on. He
reached with his left hand took my shoulder, pulling be beside him to the
desk where he swiveled his chair so that I was standing very close to
him. His hand slid down to the small of my back which he patted before
resting it there.  "If you are curious, then we will look. But we look
together, ya? And this way you learn." he said firmly as his other hand
reached for the magazine, smoothing the pages and spreading it open. I
couldn't believe what I was hearing. He wanted me to look at the magazine?
And with him?

"So," he continued "Now we look at it and we talk. So here is a woman who
is undressed, ya?"

"Yes." I answered, unsure.

The photograph was of a woman in a very short plaid kilt. It was a school
girl type lay out and she was shirtless, holding her ample breasts in her
hands suggestively. Her very large nipples were a pinkish brown and her
lips were glossy and painted a bright cherry.

"She is not so pretty, but she has a large... bosom, ya?" I giggled
involuntary.  He looked at me and I thought he may get angry again but
instead he smiled.

"What is funny?" he asked, "That I said bosom? What do you call them?" he
said pointing to the models chest.

I flushed an even deeper shade of red and said nothing.

"Come," he said "This is two men and we are talking so it is good. When we
talk, we are honest, ya? There is no need to feel bad or silly -- that is
why we are here. No one else knows because we have shut the window and the
door so it is just us. Here it is safe, so we talk and we are honest. So
talk then, what do you call these?"

"Breasts?" I said hesitantly.

"Good," he said, "That is the right name. But there are other names, ya?
Tell me what else you call them." I looked at him apprehensively. His warm
eyes were full of encouragement and his smile seemed genuine so I took the
chance".

"Tits?" I said.

"Ya, good. And...?" he asked.

"Um, boobs, knockers..?" I ventured.

"Boobies, ya. And knockers too. All of these mean the same thing but women
don't like some of them so it s best to say breasts or bosoms. Mostly
though we don't talk about them. We are interested so we look, but we are
careful so the women don't feel bad. Mostly women only show men they are in
love with their bosom, but here this woman was paid to do this, so it is
not the best way. You understand?"

"Yes." I replied.

I was starting to feel a little more comfortable, but I was a strange
conversation to have. He turned the page and the same model was lying on
her back, legs spread to the camera. This seemed even more forbidden and I
hoped the question would not come. It did just the same.

"And what is this? What do you call it?" he asked pointing to her crotch.

"Her pussy." I answered, cringing.

"And what else is it called?" He said, his smile fading a little.

"Um, her cunt?" His smile disappeared altogether, and I quickly searched
for the right word. "Her pussy, or cunny? Her box?"

"That is enough. It is a vaginal." he said. I was unfamiliar with the word
myself so I didn't know to correct him. "Women don't speak about it mostly
at all. It is where they pee and where they make babies from."

I knew the latter well enough, so I simply nodded. He flipped another
page. This was a series of smaller pictures that showed the school girl
kneeling before a man in a headmaster's outfit, who lifted his robe to
reveal his hard on. The last picture showed her licking and sucking his
tool.

"So here she is with a man, and he is happy. He shows himself too and she
does this to him."

Considering the explicit nature of the conversation concerning the previous
pages, this seemed fairly lightweight. I realized that he was also somewhat
embarrassed, but was doing his best to be open with me about the
pictures. This stirred great affection for him in me, and combined with the
pictured of the male model cock being sucked, the feeling began to spread
to my groin where my own cock began to harden. I hoped we would not have to
name confront the male anatomy much more than that. He flipped the page nce
more and I knew there was no escaping it. It was a double page picture --
an extreme close up. Both models were now naked and the woman was looking
towards the camera, her vacant doe eyes floating above the shiny red mouth
that formed a perfect O. Behind her, the man had his legs spread to the
camera affording a blatant view of his lightly haired thighs, balls, and
crotch. His cock shot straight up where the tip met the school girl's wet
pink tongue. Mr. Fleischer cleared his throat and went on.

"So here they having sex, only it is a different kind of sex. Sex is for
making children, that you do when you are married. This sex is
different. It is not good, but it is also not real. They are paid to do
this and the pose and take pictures, but they are not in love and they are
not making children. That is why this is garbage, ya? It is not real."

I nodded faintly, but I was transfixed by the sight of the male models cock
and the smooth satiny skin that held his balls. He followed my gaze.

"And this is the man. What do you call what he has?" This seemed like too
much.  I said nothing.

"What do you call it?" Mr. Fleischer insisted.

I looked at the long arching shaft ending in the perfect pink head, and
lost myself a bit. Finally I answered.

"His cock?" I asked.

"Ya, and what next?"

"His penis? His dinkie?" I ventured

"Penis is the right word. Dinkie is a word for children when they learn to
go pee themselves. But what is below?" he said.

"His balls." I answered.

"Good," said, "There are more names, but this one is okay even if it is not
what the Doctor might use."

I nodded and looked back to the magazine. He turned the page and there was
a picture of the girl, white creamy semen dripped down her face and onto
her lips from her partners cock.

"This is not good either. The man gets hard so that he can put his seed in
a woman. Here, he put it on her face. That is a waste, there will be no
babies this way. Do you see?"

I nodded, transfixed by the picture. I had never seen semen before (not
even my own as I was too young to produce any) and didn't really know what
it was.

"That's seed?" I asked, pointing to the white globs.

"Ya," Mr. Fleischer replied "That is what a man plants in a woman to grow
into a baby, but not in the face. That is like dirt."

Without realizing it, my hand had moved down to my crotch and I was cupping
my very hard, if still very small penis through my shorts. My Fleischer
noticed this.

"So you are erect? Like the man in the picture?" he said pointing to the
hand over my crotch.

"Yes. It happens sometimes. I can't help it." I quickly replied, trying in
vain to push it down discretely.

"It can't be helped, but sometimes it comes when you don't want it so it is
best to think of other things. That is the only way to stop it. Now, we
have been looking at these pictures so it is normal that it happens. Do not
push it down like that, it might hurt you." he said taking my hand from the
front of my shorts. Freed, my small boner stuck straight out tenting the
fabric out in front of me.

Seeing my embarrassment he added, "It's nothing, it happens. You do not
need to be ashamed of it with me. We are both men, ya?"

"Yes." I replied unconvinced, avoiding his eyes.

"I have it too, it is normal." he said.

My mind reeled. Was he saying he was hard too? I didn't dare look to his
crotch.

He went on, "Mostly when you are not married or don't want more babies, you
try and think of other things and it goes away. Sometimes though, you need
to do more. Like a hose when you water the flowers, ya? When the water is
on -- you need to let the pressure out before you put it away or it is not
good for the hose."

I laughed despite myself.

"How do you let the water out of your hose then?"

I grinned. He smiled back, but I could see he was a little uneasy at this
turn of conversation.

"You release it, only it is not water, it is the seed. You build up a lot
sometimes so you have to get rid of it. If you are not wanting more
children, sometimes you take care of it, only it's something very
personal." He said, avoiding my eye, but I was not to be so easily
dissuaded.

"How?" I asked point blank. It was clear I wasn't going to let this go so
he dove in.

"You touch yourself and play with yourself until you get very hard and then
you release your seed. But you never do this except by yourself when you
know it is safe, and not very often." he said. I had an image of him
playing with himself the way I did and my mind raced.

"Do you do this too?" I stammered.

"All men do this. It is normal, but you don't want people to know. It is
best to keep it to yourself."

"When do you do it?" I heard myself saying before I could stop myself.

"Only when I need to. I get very hard and I know it is time, but not often
and only when I am alone. It is something a man keeps to himself. It is
okay for you and me to talk about it, but women don't understand it so we
keep it for our own time."

"But you are hard now?" I asked

"Ya, I am hard now. But so are you and so we are the same. It is okay."

"Is it time to take the pressure off?" I grinned at him.  He looked shocked
and then smiled back.

"Soon, yes. It has been a long time. I might have done so in the shower
when I was alone, but we had to have this talk so I did not." he said.

"Wow." I half whispered to myself, and stole a glance down to his crotch.

The folds of the bathrobe revealed nothing however. I looked back to the
magazine and a new thought came to my mind.

"Do you look like him when you are hard?" I asked pointing to the picture
again.

"Men all look the same, but there are differences."

He leaned in to the desk and took a pen in his hand. Using it as a pointer,
he indicated the man's cock.

"You see here, where the skin is darker?" he asked, pointing to a dark pink
ring below the cock head n the model.

"Yes." I answered.

"That is a little scar where his penis was cut when he was young. They took
part of his skin off called the foreskin that protects the penis end."
Mr. Fleischer explained. I had never heard of this.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When he was little, they took off a bit of skin that covers the end, like
a sleeve."

"Why"

"It could be custom, or maybe it is religion." he tried to explain but I
was lost. "Mine is not like that, I still have the skin. And it looks as
though he has shaved himself, but I do not."

"I don't know what that skin is," I admitted, "But I thought you only
shaved your face."

"I do, but some men shave down there as well. I don't know why." he
patiently replied.

"So you have more skin and you are hairier?" I said.

"Ya." he replied.

I looked back to the picture and tried to picture Mr. Fleischer like that,
only hairier and with more skin. I just didn't get it. My expression must
have made that clear. He sighed heavily and spoke.

"So these things that we are talking about in here—they are just between
you and me, ya?" he asked. I nodded and he went on. "Some people don't
understand what it is like to be young and curious, and they would not
understand why you and I talked about this and why I let you see the
pictures and ask questions. If your father were here, he could talk to you
about these things, but he is not, so I will, and that is okay. It is good
that we do this, but some people don't think so. Then they make trouble
where there is none. So we keep this between you and me, ya? Because we are
friends too, like you and Robert."

I wasn't sure what this was about but I kept nodding.

"So Mrs. Fleischer, your Mother, even Robert doesn't know what we talk
about in here. Just us two men. It is our business only if we talk and I
show you these things."

"Yes sir," I agreed "But I still don't understand about the extra skin."

Mr Fleischer sighed again and looked a little unsure. He flipped through
the remaining few crumpled pages as he spoke.

"Let me see if I can find a picture in here. Where I was born, people leave
the skin, but here most people do not." As he turned the pages, I noticed
his other hand slip down and adjust the folds of his bathrobe. He got to
the last page and stopped.

"No, there is no man in here that left with his foreskin." He said, looking
back at me. I was looking at the page and there was an add for a phone line
that read `Curious? Man to Man chat now!' and had a picture of a very furry
muscle man wearing only a towel around his waist and talking on a
phone. The towel was open and you could see part of his cock and balls. He
was one of the furriest men I had ever seen and one of the few times I had
seen fur and muscle. Mr Fleischer noticed I was staring and cleared his
throat. Embarrassed, I spoke up.

"Are you hairy like he is if you aren't shaved? Will I be that hairy?"

"No, not like him. I am different. Such things are hard to say. You may be
hairy or maybe not." he replied.

"What is it like to have that hair?" I asked.

"It is hard to explain." he said uncomfortably.

I couldn't hold back any longer -- I had to take the chance so I blurted
out "Can I see your hair and your extra skin?"

The room was silent except for the drone of the florescent desk lamp. His
eyes stared into mine and his jaw dropped a little. I lept in again.

"I mean if you need to release, could I see you do it, and then I could see
what the skin is, and what hairy looks like, and how you make seed?"

"This is not good." he said quietly.

"Why? You said I could ask you and talk to you and that all this was okay."
I said.

"It is okay just between you and me, but..." he started.

"This would be just between you and me as well. I really want to see. I
won't tell anyone, I'm just really curious" I insisted

He looked at me, unsure - then to the door, and back to me again.

"This should be your father talking to you." he said weakly, "I am not your
father and I could get in much trouble."

"I don't have a father anymore, and this is just between us, no one will
know" I repeated.

He looked at me again for a long time, then finally said "The door is
locked for sure, ya?"

"Yup." I answered.

Was he really doing to let me see this? He glanced to the closed blinds and
then to the magazine lying open on his desk. Absentmindedly he flipped the
pages back to the picture of the woman with her leg spread to the
camera. Finally he spoke.

"Okay, I will show you. But you and I agree that no one else knows --just
us, ya?"

"Yup!" I answered, a little too enthusiastically.

"Okay." He nodded, looking about the room, thinking.

"Sit down on the chair, there." he said pointing to empty green chair. I
did so without question.

He nervously stood, gathering the front of his robe in his hand over his
crotch, and turned to check the blinds again. Seeing they were still firmly
closed, he looked back at me, tried to smile and let go of the front of his
robe. The belt was still tied but with the fold falling down flat it was
clear he had a sizeable hard on. He stood before me like that for a moment
and then spoke again.

"Are you sure you want to see?" he asked.

"Yeah, please." I said, then added "I'm curious."

He smiled nervously and reached down to undo his belt.

END OF PART I

Comments/feedback? If you enjoyed this story, I'd like to hear from you.
Feel free to write me at tomasccub@hotmail.com.