Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2018 21:45:31 +0000
From: eightxsixat14@protonmail.com
Subject: Is That The Milk - Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at writing a story.  I have written scientific
articles and books, but never fiction, and I find it quite a challenge,
especially dialogue.  So, please forgive me if you find the writing a bit
stilted or otherwise strange.  Scientific writing and good story telling
are worlds apart.

Nifty's guidelines required that I elevate the boys' ages in the story by
several years to 9-years old.  I think the story still works, even though I
think it worked better with the boys younger.  This story, while largely
fiction, is based on a true incident.

This work contains intimate sexual acts between men and boys for the
purpose of erotic fantasy.  I do not condone such acts in real life.  In
fact, I support all laws that outlaw such acts.  If reading such material
is illegal where you live, or if you personally find it offensive, please
do yourself and me a favor and do not read any farther.  I have no patience
for closeted gay homophobes who will proceed to read this material and then
condemn it.

Don't forget to donate to nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html.
Nifty receives a paltry $1 for every 60,000 downloads!  Surely, we can do
better.

IS THAT THE MILK?  Chapter 1

My heart is beating hard, so hard I can hear it beating in my ears.  I'm
standing in my living room with my legs apart, stark naked, with my hands
on my hips.  I'm looking down at Brody, the 9-year-old son of my life
partner, as he wraps his small fist around my thick erect cock, too thick
for his fingers to entirely circle.  Wait...oh my God no! ...he's not
going to...oh fuck he is!  ...he's moving his head closer...Holy Christ!
...he's opening his...!

But, wait, I'm getting ahead of my story.  Let me back up a few hours.

I arrived home from work with a painfully full bladder after an unusually
long commute.  A three-car pile-up on the freeway caused a maddening delay.
Without seeing my partner, Peter, or Brody, I rushed into the nearest
bathroom, the guest bathroom, unzipping my pants on the way.  As I entered
the room, I gave the door a shove, intending to close it.  The latch bolt
did touch the strike plate but not with enough force to catch and close the
door completely.  With my piss stream at full throttle, I suddenly heard
behind me, "Papa, Papa, can we...."  He never finished that question.

I was so startled that I jerked, flipping piss onto the underside of the
toilet seat.  Reflexively I pinched the head of my penis to stop the urine
flow and shouted angrily, "Brody, can't you knock and not just barge in
like that?"  But before I could even complete that reprimand, Brody ran
around me, and craning his head to get a better view, he looked directly at
my penis and said, "Is that the milk?"

His words did not immediately register, and feeling my space and privacy
violated, I quickly responded with irritation, "No, I was just peeing.  Now
go out and leave me alone...and damnit knock next time."

Saying nothing, and knowing that I was clearly irritated with him, he
withdrew from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

As the door clicked shut what he had said suddenly struck me, "Is that the
milk?"  "IS THAT THE MILK?"  What in the hell did he mean by that?  He was
looking directly at my cock as he asked, "Is that the milk?"  He is only
9-years old for God's sake, much too young to know anything about a man's
cum and much too young to know about masturbation, or was he?  I tend to
forget that I was taught how to jack off when I was 9, and I in turn taught
two neighbor boys that were only 7.  He was too young by several years to
be producing cum himself.  (I tend to judge such things by my own history,
and I dribbled watery boy cum for the first time when I was 11).  Little
Brody is much too innocent; he couldn't possibly have ever heard of semen
let alone seen some, I reasoned.  I shook my head thinking that perhaps I
was making too much of his question, that perhaps I had misunderstood him,
but I knew that I hadn't.

As I entered the kitchen a few minutes later, I saw Peter stirring
something on the stove.  "You're late," he said rather flatly.  "Fix
yourself a drink...dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes."

"Damn," I thought, "he's still in a bad mood."  He hadn't been himself the
past two weeks, barely responding to me, not looking me in the eye, and in
general, acting rather depressed.  He wasn't sick enough to stay home from
work, but something wasn't right.  He said it was his allergies and that
his boss was on his case, but I wasn't convinced.  I know this man.  He's
my soulmate, and I was certain that something serious was troubling him,
but I had been unable to get him to open up.  And his silence was troubling
to me, because we had no secrets.  Of that I was certain.  There wasn't
anything that he couldn't discuss with me or me him.  When two people are
madly in love, as we were, they don't harbor secrets.  Or so I believed.  I
decided to simply wait him out.

I stepped up behind him, and putting my arms around him, I gave him a warm
hug and a kiss on the neck.  His body stiffened.  "God," I thought, "this
can't go on."

"There was an accident on the freeway," I said, with clear irritation.
"I'm frazzled; I'm going to fix myself a double martini.  Can I fix you
anything?"

"No, nothing, you know I have to work tonight...just go relax with Brody."

As I walked into the living room, Brody was sitting on the floor in front
of the TV.  He turned and looked up at me, but quickly returned to the game
he was playing on the TV.  I went up to the bar and fixed myself that
double martini, well, actually it was a Gibson; I much prefer onions to
olives.  After taking a deep and satisfying swig, I left the drink on the
bar and went up to Brody and picked him up and gave him a big hug.  He was
still clutching the game controller in his hands.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper in the bathroom," I said.

Ignoring me, he said, "Papa, can we play a game?"  That was probably what
he had run into the bathroom to ask me when I first got home.  He meant, of
course, an electronic game on the TV.  That is all he ever wanted to do,
and I hated electronic games.  But I felt guilty for shouting at him in the
bathroom.  It wasn't that I was concerned that he had seen my penis.  He
had seen Peter's and my penises on any number of occasions.  We didn't want
him growing up thinking that nudity was "dirty" or something to be ashamed
of.  That didn't mean that we ran around the house naked, but if Brody
walked into the bathroom when we were showering or shaving, or into the
bedroom when we were dressing, we were always very nonchalant about our
exposed privates.  We treated such situations as if they were no big deal.

No, seeing my penis was not a big deal; it was just that he startled me
when he barged into the bathroom unannounced, and I reacted angrily.  So,
feeling bad about my loss of temper, I replied, "Sure, kiddo, we have time
for a game before dinner.  What do you want to play?"

"Fossil Fighters."

"Okay but are you sure?  ...you know I beat you last time we played."  He
was sure, so we played the game, and I let him win this time.  Of course,
he had no idea that I took a dive.  In the excitement of the game, I
momentarily forgot about his puzzling question in the bathroom..."Is that
the milk?"

"Dinner's ready guys...go wash up.  Brody, Tom, you hear me?"

--------------------

During dinner that damn question came back to me, "Is that the milk?"  It
began to haunt me, "Is that the milk?"

"Tom, are you all right?  I don't think you heard a word I just said."

"Sorry, Honey, I just had a rough day today...and then that awful accident
on the freeway.  Pass the salad please.  Your dinner, by the way, is
especially delicious tonight...isn't it Brody?  Don't you think your daddy
fixed us an especially nice dinner tonight?"

"Yeah," Brody responded, "I like the meat balls."

I didn't share with Peter that puzzling question that Brody asked me in the
bathroom.  I didn't have time for he had to leave for work immediately
after dinner.  Those goddamn casinos never close, and Peter is always
working some ungodly shift.  He never complains, but it can be a challenge
to a relationship.  Sometimes it feels like we are ships passing in the
night.  It was difficult to find time for sex before Brody came to live
with us, and now with him here full time, it was especially challenging.
And with Peter in his bad mood and offering myriad excuses, well, we hadn't
had sex in over two weeks, and I was horny as hell.  But I'm digressing
from my story.

--------------------

"Give me a hug, Brody," Peter pleaded.

"No, I don't want to," Brody teased.

I stepped in as usual, "Come on, Brody, give your daddy a hug; he has to go
to work and he doesn't want to leave without a big hug from you."  He then
took off running as fast as he could to Peter's open arms and gave him that
big hug.  It is usually like this...the same silly game every time Peter
has to leave for work, but a game that we all seem to enjoy.

After Peter left, I busied myself in the kitchen doing the dinner dishes
and cleaning up the mess Peter always leaves when he cooks.  I don't mind
though; he is the better cook between the two of us, and he cooks most of
the meals.  Thirty minutes cleaning up his mess is not a chore.  But
tonight was different, very different, because I couldn't take my mind off
Brody's query, "Is that the milk?"  What on God's green earth did he mean
by that?  "Is that the milk?"  He was looking directly at my penis, and he
was craning his neck to do so.  The "milk" had something to do with my
penis, and what could it possible mean other than semen Ð cum, spunk,
splooge, jism?  Has he seen some man's cum and the man told him it was
milk?  When and how might he have seen cum, I wondered?

And then it occurred to me that until a couple of months ago when Peter got
full custody, Brody lived with his mother and her two male roommates in a
two-bedroom, one-bathroom house.  She claimed that the men were purely
roommates living in the second bedroom while she and Brody slept in the
other.  But Peter was able to present evidence in court that showed that
one of the men was her lover, that he had bought her a car and was paying
her rent.  Was it possible that one of the men was beating off one time
when Brody came barging into the room, as he had just done with me?  If so,
it most likely was not the boyfriend since presumably Brody's mom was the
ever-ready receptacle for his cum.

Of course, you never know.  Perhaps the roommate was standing at the toilet
shooting his wad when Brody barged in and saw the eruption.  The man might
have explained that it was "milk" shooting out of his penis.  Of course, it
was even possible, I mused, for the roommate to have seduced Brody, and
deliberately jacked off in front of him, or, Lord forbid, even have Brody
jack him off!

My mind was racing around these possibilities, and the more I thought about
it, the more I thought I was probably right.  Brody had somehow seen the
cum...the "milk" ...of one of these men, or, oh my God, maybe even both!
But of course, I wasn't sure.  How could I be?  I was now obsessed and
probably not thinking clearly, but I had to know what this sweet, beautiful
boy that I loved so much meant by "milk" ...milk that he clearly
associated with a penis, my penis, a little more than an hour ago.

I have never harbored the slightest sexual interest in boys of any age.  I
have never looked at a boy and thought," Gee, it would be nice to see that
boy naked."  Or, "Gee, but I would like to kiss that boy, or touch his
little cocklet or balls, or touch his buns, his boy pussy, or any other
part of him."  Little boys aroused no erotic interest in me whatsoever.
Except....as I was absently washing the dishes and thinking about Brody
having possibly seen a man's penis, of his seeing a man's cum, possibly his
seeing a man shooting his load or even helping a man cum by jacking him
off...well, these thoughts were new to me, and I found myself getting an
erection as I visualized these things possibly happening.

"Tom, what are you doing having such perverse thoughts?"  I asked myself.
"You know nothing like this has happened to Brody.  You do know that, don't
you?  No, you don't know, and it is hot as hell imagining their happening!
You can't deny that.  You have a God-damn hard-on right now for Christ's
sake just thinking about these things!"

Finishing in the kitchen, I went into the living room where Brody was.
Grabbing a couple of magazines and holding them so as to obscure the bulge
in my pants, I said, "Brody, I'm going to take my shower now, and I want
you to be in your pajamas when I get out of the shower."  No response.  "Do
you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"I'm serious; go put them on now."  He reluctantly stopped what he was
doing and headed for his room.

I undressed in Peter's and my walk-in closet and held the dirty clothes in
front of my raging hard-on as I walked the short distance into the master
bath.  I made a point of locking the door.  I scarcely remember showering
because I spent the entire time rehashing my thoughts as to how Brody might
have seen a man's cum, and as to how I might find out the truth.  I
deliberately didn't jack off in the shower, though I was certainly horny
enough.  As I noted earlier, I hadn't shot a load in over two weeks, but I
decided I would take care of that situation later, after Brody was asleep.
I deserved a good jack-off session, I reasoned.  Peter and I knew that in
the absence of the other, we each jerked off from time to time.  That was
not a problem for either of us.  Our only rule was that we wouldn't do it
within several hours before there was any possibility of our having sex
with each other.  To my knowledge, neither one of us has ever violated that
rule.

I stepped out of the shower, and as I dried off, I looked in the
full-length mirror, and thought, "Damn it, Tom, you are 36-years old, and
you are just as good looking as you were in your 20s."  People still
comment on my thick black eyebrows and dark, "bedroom" eyes, as they
reference them.  My hair is still thick and black, although, it's true, I
have a few gray hairs at the temples.  I have never had a mustache or
beard, although even when clean-shaven I have a distinct 5-o'clock shadow.
Weekends by our pool have left me with a deep tan, one I sometimes fret
over because of the danger of skin cancer.  As I continue to look in the
mirror, I admire my strong jaw and pronounced Adam's apple. I still have
the body I had when I was in college, the body of the competitive swimmer I
was at that time.  I'm tall, 6'2", to be exact, slender (185 lbs.), have
broad shoulders, dark pronounced nipples, and a six-pack that never fails
to bring admiring looks from men and women at the health club.  Although
nobody would every call me a "bear," my chest, arms and legs do have a
manly amount of hair.  I'm not a narcissist, but I did inherit good genes.

Then there is my pride and joy...my cock...my big muthafucking cock...an
honest 8 inches measured topside and 6 inches in circumference...when
hard, of course.  In a Craigslist ad, it might be correctly described as
"thick."  It looks cut, at least most of the time.  I have a naturally
short foreskin, so short that it only partially covers my large,
mushroom-shaped cockhead when my penis is soft.  When erect, or even
semi-erect, it completely retracts from my cockhead.  But I still have
enough foreskin so that I can easily jack off without the use of
lubricants.  I have always felt sorry for circumcised men who, due to the
lack of sufficient skin on their shaft, are forced to use lubricants to
effectively jack off.  Then, of course, to complete my package, are my
low-hanging balls, each the size of a hen's egg.  Only modestly covered
with hair, they hang so low that when laying down, if I spread my legs,
they touch the bed or sofa beneath me.  Men have always admired my cock and
balls; they have never lacked for attention, although for the past 5 years,
Peter has been the only person to touch, suck, or play with them.  I'm not
complaining; monogamy hasn't been difficult for me.  Peter is my soulmate,
and, except for the past two weeks, I couldn't ask for a more exciting or
satisfying sex life.

But now, SHIT...suddenly I found myself having thoughts of how exciting it
would be for a boy, namely Brody, Peter's beautiful son, to see me with an
erection, and God Almighty, maybe even see my cum!  "Tom, Tom," I thought,
"thinking this way is sick...you have to get a grip on yourself!"

I was so caught up in these new and strange thoughts and emotions that it
didn't even occur to me what else a boy might do with a man's cock.  All I
could think about was that Brody had most likely seen a man's cock, seen
his cum, and even maybe seen him shoot his cum.  Fuck!  The visualization
of that was damn hot!

Like I said, I had to find out what he had seen, but I figured that if he
did see these things, the man involved would most likely have sworn Brody
to secrecy, so I didn't want to approach the subject in a way that might
cause him to clam up and tell me nothing.  The fact that he asked me that
strange question didn't violate any vow of secrecy that he might have made;
undoubtedly it was a spur of the moment question, a question that popped
out of his mouth before he thought of the implications or any possible
negative consequences.

I stopped looking at myself in the mirror and slipped on my jeans, pointing
my still fluffed-up cock to the left and over my thigh a bit.  That was all
I put on....my usual outfit after showering on a warm summer evening.  I
went into the living room where Brody was still watching television, only
instead of sitting on the floor he was now sitting on the ottoman.  He was
dressed in his adorable Spiderman pajamas.  I sat down in the overstuffed
chair behind him.  My heart was racing, and I was trying to calm it down
before I spoke.

"Brody, could you turn the TV off for a minute...there is something I want
to talk to you about?"  It must have been something in my voice, because
normally he would have given me a bad time.  Instead, he turned off the TV
and turned to face me.

 "Do you remember, Brody, earlier tonight when I first got home from work
and was peeing in the bathroom...you came barging in...."

He quickly interrupted me, and twisting uncomfortably he said, "I'm sorry,
Papa.  I won't do it again."

"No, no, that isn't what I want to talk about.  Do you remember when you
looked at my penis and asked me, `is that the milk?'  Do you remember
that?"  Silence and fidgeting.  I repeated, "Do you remember that?"  More
silence and more pronounced fidgeting.  "It's okay, Brody, I'm not mad.
I'm not going to punish you.  I just want to know if you remember saying
that."

"Yeah," he said almost inaudibly while looking everywhere but up at me.  I
assumed he was feeling remorse for having let the question slip out of his
mouth.

"Well, I just want you to know that I do make milk, just like all men, and
I can make some for you anytime you want."  I figured that his response to
this statement would make it perfectly clear to me whether I was completely
off base in my assumptions or if I was dead on.  9-year olds are not that
hard to read.  If I was off base, I would know it immediately, and could
recover before I got in over my head.

Well, he didn't disappoint, for his head quickly snapped up, and wrinkling
his nose and eyebrows, he looked me in the eyes and said, "Really?"

"Great God Almighty," I thought, "he knows what I am talking about, he has
at the very least seen a man's cum, and most likely his cock."

"Yes, I am serious.  Anytime that you want to see my milk, just let me
know, okay?"  I was trying to act naturally.  I didn't want him to know how
nervous I was.  "Okay?"

"Yeah," he answered enthusiastically.

"Great, I'm glad we got that settled.  Now, what would you like to do now?
We have an hour before you must go to bed.  So, would you like to play a
game, watch TV, read?  It's up to you."

"Can I see your milk now?" he asked without missing a beat.

"Holy fuck!  Now what do I do?"  I thought, "It's not too late to abort
this dangerous path, Tom.  Continue and who knows what horror might lie in
your future.  You can walk away from this now.  You have lived a straight
and narrow life...now is not the time to fuck it up.  Tom, oh Tom, don't
do anything you will later regret.  You love this boy, Tom, almost as much
as if he were your own son.  And he is your life-partner's son for God's
Sake!  Walk away while you can.  You have done nothing so far that can't be
undone."

"But, wait a minute," I rationalized, "boys see their father's and
step-father's cocks all the time, don't they?  Brody has certainly seen
mine.  There is no crime in that.  And if he sees me jack off and shoot my
wad, well, boys, at least some boys, must inadvertently walk in on the
fathers and stepfathers while they are beating their meat. That is not a
crime...maybe an unfortunate incident, but you know it happens.  Of
course, there is a risk, but surely Brody can keep a secret.  If he has
indeed seen cum, it obviously didn't freak him out.  If anything, he wants
to see more.  You can handle this, Tom, in a way that Brody won't be
psychologically scarred, and everything can be explained simply should the
need ever arise."

"Well, can I?" he persists.  "You said any time."

I leaned forward in my chair and tousled his hair.  He was truly a
beautiful child...curly blond hair, blue eyes, full lips, and lean body,
maybe even skinny...all boy...I don't think I had ever really appreciated
how beautiful he was until that very moment.  "Sure, Sweet Boy (I often
call him that), tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it.  Okay?"

"Okay," he says, then silence.  No movement.

"So.... what should I do?"  I ask.  He was still sitting on the ottoman
facing me.

"Stand up," he said shyly.

"Okay."  And I stood up, placing myself directly in front of him, my
fluffed-up cock beneath the Levi denim quickly becoming a near raging
hard-on.  His face was inches away; he couldn't help but see it.

"You can still abort this, Tom.  It isn't too late," I thought to myself.
But, instead of aborting, I asked him, "Now what?"

"You know."

"Yeah, well...maybe...but I want you to tell me."  I needed him to take
the lead, so if I was wrong, I could still safely recover.

"Take your pants off," he said shyly, as if it was a question.

Fuck!  I'm right!  My legs trembled slightly.  "Stop shaking," I told
myself, "You don't want him to see your nervousness."  I unbuttoned the top
button, and then I just stood there, afraid to take the next step.

He looked up into my eyes, then down to the bulge in my pants, then back to
my eyes.  I smiled, tentatively, and nodded as if to say, "Go for it."  He
understood and slowly reached for the zipper, then slowly pulled it down.
"You don't have any underpants on," he giggled, as my pubes were suddenly
visible to him.

"I never wear underpants in the evening after I shower.  I suppose you
didn't know that, did you?"  He didn't respond, and instead stared with
complete fascination at my pubes, even though it was a somewhat restricted
view at this point.  But not for long.

Completely confident that I hadn't misread Brody's interests or desires at
that moment, I opened my pants as far as they would go.  He looked
wide-eyed at my thick, wiry, black bush, untrimmed as nature intended, and
at the base of my thick cock as it disappeared under the fabric toward my
left hip.

"Well?"  I said, bouncing on my toes to control the shaking in my legs.

At that he grabbed my pants at my hips and with a couple of tugs pulled
them down to my knees, giggling as he did so.  My cock, now free of all
restraint, immediately swung directly forward, fully erect, pointing right
at Brody's face.  His eyes were huge, filled with awe.

I quickly stepped out of my pants, tossed them aside, and stood there
totally naked with my hands on my hips.  My cock was perfectly horizontal,
unlike Peter's that in a similar situation would point somewhat skyward.  I
have always attributed that difference to the fact that my cock is bigger
and therefore heavier than Peter's.  In my experience, the weightier a cock
is the less likely it is to point above horizontal.

I closed my eyes, my heart racing, my breathing forced, and I thought,
"There is still time, Tom, you don't have to proceed.  You love this boy.
You don't want to fuck up his life.  This is your lover's son, for Christ
sake!"  But, then, the rationalizations stepped in again.  "You're not
forcing him to do anything.  Everything you are doing he eagerly wants to
do.  How can I get in trouble for that?"  And then commonsense reared its
head: "But you are the adult here, Tom.  It is up to you to draw the
lines."  And then another rationalization: "Yeah, but we are just playing
like a couple of kids.  He is obviously having a good time."  Commonsense
was quickly giving way to carnal impulses.

"Papa, it's huge," he said wide-eyed and almost unbelieving.  "It's too
big."

"What do you mean, `It's too big?'  It's not too big.  No man's penis is
ever too big, Brody."

"It's bigger than..." ...and he stopped cold.  Clearly, he was going to
compare my erect penis to someone else's.

"It's bigger than whose penis, Brody?  You have seen another man's penis?"
Silence.  "Well, have you?  I won't tell anyone, Brody.  I promise."

He uttered a barely audible, "Yeah."

"That's okay.  You don't have to tell me who it was.  He asked you not to
tell anyone, didn't he?"  I waited for a response, but getting none, I
said, "That's okay.... it's always best to keep a secret."  Of course, I
was convinced that it was one of his mother's "roommates."

"What we are doing right now must be our secret, Brody.  Do you agree?
Neither one of us can ever tell another living soul, not even our best
friends.  Not even your daddy."  I had never cheated on Peter, and here I
was about to cheat on him with his 9-year-old son.  "But then...this
wasn't actually cheating, was it?"  I asked myself.  "Is it possible to
cheat on one's lover with a 9-year old?  Besides, I'm being seduced, am I
not?"  Things were happening so fast that I was making it up as I was going
along.

"Do you understand, Brody.  This has to be our secret?"  I repeated.

"Of course," he said with exasperation, as if I was the stupidest person on
earth.

"I have to know one thing, Brody...this man...the man whose penis you
saw...did he force you to do anything you didn't want to do?  Did he hurt
you in any way?"

"No," he responded emphatically.

"Well that's good.  Don't ever let anybody force you to do something you
don't want to do.  Do you understand?  I don't mean cleaning your room or
doing your chores...I mean sex stuff.  Do you understand, Brody?"

"Yesssssss," again said as if I was stupid to even ask the question.

Through this brief conversation, he never took his eyes off my raging
hard-on and low-hanging balls.  I was both terrified at what I was doing
and sexually charged like I can't remember ever being before.  I was
experiencing the hottest sex I think I had ever had, and, so far, he hadn't
even touched me.

"Your balls are funny." he said, his voice still filled with amazement.
"Balls" was a word that was okay for him to use in our household.  It was
easier to say than "testicles" or "testes," and besides, the word was used
on mainstream television all the time.  It was a dirty word when I was a
kid but seems to be a perfectly acceptable word today.  But Peter and I
called a penis a penis when talking to Brody.  We never called it a `cock,'
`dick,' or `prick' or any of the other slang terms used to reference it.
So, I wasn't shocked or surprised at his use of the word "balls."

"Funny?  I don't think so," I said defensively.  "What do you mean?"

"Why are they way down here?" and he reached with both hands and gently
cupped them.  He knew balls were sensitive and easily hurt.  In the course
of his six years, when rough housing with his Daddy and me, he had
accidentally kicked us in the balls more than once, and we had lectured him
on having to be careful not to hit a man down there, that a man's balls
were very sensitive.  And he had been hit in the balls himself a couple of
times, experiencing the pain directly.

I shuddered involuntarily at the touch of his small hand.  "Holy Christ," I
thought, "little Brody is touching Papa's big balls."

"Well, Brody, some men have low-hanging balls like me, and some men have
balls that are way up here," and at that I put my hand under his hands and
lifted my balls up to the base of my cock.  "And other men have balls that
are somewhere in between," and I lowered my hand a bit so my balls, still
resting in his hands, were positioned mid-way between the two extremes.  I
realized now that the man whose cock Brody had seen must not have had low
hangers like mine, or he wouldn't have thought mine "funny."

I removed my hand and Brody removed his hands as well, but he kept looking
at my equipment with disbelief in his eyes.  It was then that I wondered,
where do we go from here?  He wants to see my "milk," my cum.  How are we
going to get from here to there?  Just then a huge drop of precum flowed
out of my piss slit and dripped to his knee.  Watching it fall, Brody said
nothing, but then he reached out and wrapped his fist around my thick cock,
too thick for his fingers to entirely circle its circumference.  "There's
my answer!"  I thought.  He wants to jack me off!  Wait...oh my God, no!
...he's not going to...oh fuck he is!  ...he's moving his head
closer...Holy Christ!  ...he's putting it in his...in his mouth!  As my fat
cockhead totally disappeared into his fully stretched mouth, I
involuntarily let out a loud moan, clearly startling Brody.  He quickly
pulled his mouth away, and with his brow furrowed, he looked up at me and
asked, "What's the matter Papa?"

"Nothing Brody, nothing.  I'm sorry.  It's just that you are the first boy
that ever put my cock...er...my penis in his mouth.  And looking down at
you, a mere 9-year-old boy, with your small hand grasping my big man penis
like that, then putting it in your mouth...well, it is just a surprise and
a shock to me."  But I hastened to add, "I love what you are doing, Brody,
and I love you, and I don't want you to stop.  So, please, Sweet Boy, put
it back in your mouth."  All my inhibitions had fled; I was now eager for
Brody to suck me off.

"It's too big for my mouth, Papa."

"Oh, is that what you meant before when you said it was too big?  Is it?
Well, it is big.  I will give you that, but I don't think it's too big for
your mouth."  I desperately wanted it back in that beautiful child's
welcoming mouth.  "Try again.  You had the head in."

"The head?" he giggled, "What head?"

"Yes, the `head'...this part here."  And I showed him what I meant.  "The
nice word for it is `glans,' but most men call it the `head' or
`cockhead.'"

Taking in every word I said, he once again slipped his moist lips over the
sensitive skin until they slipped over the pronounced coronal ridge, once
more fully enclosing my large cockhead in his hot 9-year-old mouth.

"See Brody, it's not too big.  You have the most sensitive part of my cock
in your mouth right now...the most important part.  Can you move your
tongue around under the base of the head?  Oh, shit, yeah, baby, like
that...just like that.  Move your tongue around as far as it will go in
all directions...oh, yeah, oh yeah...now move it around in circles if you
can...oh, fuck, fuck Brody, but you are good...yeah...I don't want you
to ever stop doing that to Papa."  I was in pre-orgasmic heaven.  Even if
he never got more than the head of my cock in his mouth, as long as he
could tongue it like that, I was transported to some ethereal realm.
Looking down at that beautiful boy with his curly blond hair, and those
gorgeous blue eyes, and those thick lips wrapped around the shaft of my
cock, one hand grasping my thick shaft and the other lifting and feeling my
heavy balls...well, it was almost more than I could stand.  My legs were
quivering in excitement, and, yes, possibly even fear.

"Brody, I want you to do Papa a favor now and see if you can take a little
more in your mouth.  I'm sure you can."  And he gamely tried.  "That's it!
See, baby, you have about a third of my penis in your mouth right now!  Wow
are you good!  Now keep moving your tongue.  Oh, yeah, Sweet Boy, you are
making Papa feel so good right now...more than you will ever know.  Can
you move your mouth up and down a little now?  Oh, yeah, see, you can do
it.  Oh, Christ, Brody, you are doing a fantastic job.  I've been sucked by
men and women before, but nobody has ever sucked me as well as you are
doing right now."  That wasn't entirely true, but it felt incredible, and I
wanted him to feel good about what he was doing.  Besides, the whole
situation was unbelievably hot.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Sweet Boy.  Can you go just a little faster now?  That's
perfect.  You have no idea how wonderful this is.  You make me feel so
good.  Now put both of your hands on my cock...that's it...and move them
up and down while you suck on the head."  I had to show him what to do, but
he got the hang of it quickly.  And what a sight it was.  His left hand was
near the base of my cock and his right hand just above it touching his
lips.  His hands and mouth moved in unison...down, then up, then down,
then up, and in perfect unison.  It was a sight that is burned in my brain
forever, and I get horny and drip volumes of precum every time I visualize
that incredible blowjob by little Brody.

"Now, don't stop until I tell you to.  Okay?  You know if you keep doing
that, I am going to shoot my cum, er, my milk, into your mouth.  Is that
what you want me to do?  Do you want Papa to pump his milk into your
mouth?"

And without taking his mouth off my cock or losing his rhythm, he nodded
"yes."  Well, that was all it took for me to go over the edge and give up
my heavy load.  I could feel that burning tingle somewhere deep in my groin
begin to grow and spread to my entire body.  I was going to shoot my hot,
slimy load into the mouth of this beautiful 9-year-old boy, the son of
Peter, my lover and life partner, and he was eagerly, skillfully asking for
it.  I had no choice but to oblige.

"Brody, Brody, you are amazing, Sweet Boy, I'm going to cum, yes, sweet
Jesus, I am going to give you all my sweet milk, Baby, in just a second.
Oh, fucking Mary Mother of Jesus...Brody...Brody...just don't stop,
Sweetheart, don't stop.  Oh, shit...Oh, shit...Oh, yeah, here it is
baby," and those incredible orgasmic pulsations began.  My knees buckled
slightly, and my hands automatically reached for Brody's head, so he would
not pull off too soon.  I held it gently, with just the head of my
pulsating cock inside his mouth, and I shot wad after wad after wad of my
sweet jism into that adorable boy's welcoming mouth, all the while moaning
something primordial with each blast.

I didn't fuck his mouth.  I had always hated it when someone did that to
me.... it always threw off the timing of my head and mouth action, and,
worse, it took the power away from me.  To me the joy of cocksucking is
largely in the power I have to give my sex partner the supreme pleasure of
an incredible orgasm...all on my own with no help from him or anyone else.
For me, there is no greater feeling than that of a man pumping his load
into my mouth, gasping in pleasure...all the result of my cock-worshipping
skills.  I have always found the power inherent in that act intoxicating.
So, that whenever a man tried to abuse my mouth by fucking it like it was a
goddamn pussy, I made him stop, and I'd ask, "Do you want a blowjob or not?
If so, then just relax, stop the fucking, and let me perform my magic.  If
you want to fuck face, that's fine, but you will have to find someone else
to help you out there."  I wasn't always that abrupt.

Besides, what a horrible thing to do to a young boy...use his mouth as you
would a woman's pussy, or a slab of liver, or a watermelon with a "glory
hole" carved through the rind to accommodate your dick.  At any rate, I
stood quite still, at least as still as I possibly could with my legs
trembling while getting my first blowjob from a 9-year-old boy and while in
the throes of probably the most intense orgasm of my life.  Sure, my hips
tensed forward slightly with each blast of my man cum, but not so much that
Brody couldn't easily keep my cockhead positioned just inside his mouth so
as not to lose a drop of that precious fluid, the "milk" he seemed so eager
to get.

And, thank God, Brody didn't cough or gag...he just took it all like a
pro.  I must have shot 8 or 9 blasts, several more than usual, gasping
loudly as the volleys of hot cum from deep in my balls entered that
beautiful boy's mouth.  I was looking down at Brody the whole time, but I
wasn't seeing him through the height of my ecstasy, that
once-in-a-lifetime, earth-shattering orgasm.  My body was elevated into
some other plane, some other state of consciousness as I pumped and pumped
two weeks' worth of my thick, hot cum into that amazing little boy's mouth.

I don't know how long I stood there, cradling Brody's head with my cock
still in his mouth, while I came down from the glorious afterglow of what
was clearly among the most intense orgasms of my life.  I had to struggle
to remain standing.  My body wanted to collapse.  Brody was patient.  He
seemed to know that I needed time to get my breathing back under control,
to open my eyes, to return from wherever that orgasm had taken me.

I finally released his head, and as he pulled off my deflating cock, I
watched him as he swallowed once, twice, then three times, wincing as if
the taste wasn't all that wonderful.  I shuddered involuntarily as I
watched him swallow it, probably because I don't like the taste of cum.
It's okay when it is in the front of my mouth stimulating the "sweet" taste
buds, but as it rolls over the back of my tongue and stimulates the bitter
receptors.... well, yuck.... I find it quite offensive, like my response
to beer.  Unfortunately, I'm one of those people that is hyper-sensitive to
anything bitter.  I've often wished I had a higher tolerance for "things"
bitter, like Peter for example, because he has no problem swallowing my
cum.  In fact, he swears he quite likes it.

I could see streams of my jism running down Brody's chin with one even
hanging 3 or 4 inches below his chin.  Still aglow and panting from that
massive orgasm, I gathered the largest glop up on my finger and held it out
to him, curious what he would do.  He looked at it, and then readily sucked
it off my finger, although this time he showed no reaction to the taste.
Then I scooped up the remainder of my leaked load from his face, and he
sucked that off my finger as well.  And then I stripped my urethra from
below my balls all the way to the tip of my cock, and a huge blob of cum
appeared and threatened to drop, but before it could, Brody quickly leaned
forward and literally sipped it off the tip of my cockhead and even stuck
his tongue into my oversized piss slit, seemingly to get the last morsel.

"You sure make a lotta milk, Papa," he said, licking his lips.

"I know, Brody, I do, but you know, I think you made me make more than I
ever have before.  That was the best damn blowjob I have ever had."

He didn't question the word `blowjob," apparently knowing what it meant.
He just beamed, looking very proud, which, of course, he should have been.
He then said, "You sure use a lot of bad words too."  He's right, I
realized.  I had.  I used some words that Peter and I would never use in
front of Brody.  But I am very verbal when I'm in the throes of hot sex,
especially in the moments leading up to ejaculation.  I seem to lose
conscious control of my tongue as bliss overcomes my body and soul.

 "What can I say, Brody, I'm sorry, but when a man is pumping his cum, I
mean his milk, out of his balls, he doesn't have much control over what he
says.  I'm sorry, though.  Please try to forget what I said.  Okay?  Don't
let your Daddy or anybody else ever hear you use any of those words.
Okay?"

"OK."

And then I dropped, weak, drained, exhausted, and yes, confused and
fearful, into the chair behind me and slouched down so my head (the one
with the brain in it, although I suppose that is debatable considering what
I had just allowed to happen...so my head could rest on the back of the
chair.  Brody quickly got on his knees between my spread thighs and
engulfed my cockhead in his mouth once again.  I didn't protest; it felt
good.  I just closed my eyes.  As my cock got softer and softer, Brody took
more and more of it into his mouth until he had it all and his nose was
buried in my pubic hair.

Overwhelmed with love for the boy, I ran my hands affectionately over his
shoulders, arms, neck and back.  "Something tells me you enjoyed sucking my
penis, Brody, and drinking my milk.  Am I right?

Raising his head, allowing my cock to fall from his mouth, he said, "Yeah,
it was fun.  Can you make it big and hard again?  I wanna suck it some
more."

"Well, not tonight," I said with a chuckle.  "You made me cum like never
before, and my balls need time to make more milk."  And then my conscience
starting speaking, "Besides, Sweet Boy, we probably shouldn't do this
again...ever.  If anybody were to find out what we just did, I could get
in a lot of trouble, possibly even go to jail, and never be allowed to see
you again.  And that would kill me.  I know we just had a lot of fun; I'm
glad we did it, but we live in a world that doesn't approve of what we
did."

"But I like sucking your penis, Papa.  I won't tell nobody.  I promise," he
said sadly.

"Well, we will see.  We don't need to talk about it anymore tonight."  At
that moment, with guilt beginning to take hold, I was certain we would
never do that again.  I just didn't want to debate him at that moment.

"Please, Papa, please let me suck your penis again and swallow your milk.
I won't tell anybody," he said, whining as children do when they're not
getting what they want.

"I said we would see, Brody.  Right now, it's your bedtime.  But first,
tell me something.... you made me a very happy man by swallowing all my
milk, but when you first swallowed it, you didn't look like you liked the
taste very much.  Did you like it?  Did you like the taste or not?"

"No, but Daddy said it was good for me."  My God, you should have seen the
look on his face when he realized what he had said.  He looked me in the
eye, wide-eyed, horrified at the thought of the trouble he might be in for.

At first, I didn't comprehend the implications of what he had said, and
then it hit me.  "DADDY," I shouted, lifting his chin to look directly in
his eyes.  "Your Daddy told you that a man's milk was good for you?"  I
said incredulously.  But then I didn't want him to think it wasn't good for
him considering that he had just swallowed a ton of my cum, so I quickly
added, "Well...yes...your Daddy is right...of course...but, Brody, why did
your Daddy tell you that?"  "When did he tell you that?"

Holy Shit.  Has my partner, my soulmate, the love of my life, been having
sex with his son?  It took me a minute to wrap my mind around that
possibility. Clearly, Peter wouldn't have said to his son, "Oh, by the way
Brody, should you ever have the opportunity to eat a man's cum, I want you
to know that it is good for you."  Of course not.  He must be feeding his
son his own jism, his own abundant cum.

Brody was near tears, so I picked him up and sat him on my lap and kissed
him on the side of his head.  "Don't cry now...everything is going to be
okay.  I promise you, your Daddy won't get mad at you for telling me that
you sucked his penis and swallowed his milk.  I guarantee you...you won't
get into trouble.  Okay?"  He made no effort to correct anything I had
said.  I apparently hit the nail on the head; my beloved Peter was feeding
his 9-year-old son his cock and his cum!

My assurances seemed to calm Brody down, but, oh boy, how was I now going
to deal with Peter about this shocking revelation?  It wasn't one of
Brody's mother's roommates after all!  It was my soulmate...Brody's
daddy...the love of my life!  The whole situation was almost more than I
could comprehend.  What was I going to do?  After what I had just done, I
couldn't very well be angry with Peter.  God, what a day this has turned
out to be!