This is a fictional story dealing with love and consensual sexual activities between multi-generational males. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, leave this site now.

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Love is...

Chapter I

I had not even wanted to be there. I didn't really care much for the mean old bastard anyway. Truth be told, I hated him. But as my sister so eloquently pointed out, he was our Grandfather, and he was dead, and he did have a fortune. I didn't care, I never wanted anything from the son of a bitch before, I certainly didn't want anything now. See, I had known I was gay since I was five years old. I knew I liked the other boys in my neighborhood, I knew I liked to touch and be touched by them. I even knew that I wanted to touch the men around me. And if my Grandfather would have just asked me first, if he would have just shown the slightest portion of kindness and caring, I would have done all those things for him with a sweet smile on my face; but he didn't ask... he just took what he wanted and threw me aside when he was finished. And that was the worst time... because my Grandfather was not gay, I don't even think he was straight, I think you would have to be capable of even the smallest level of love and compassion to be considered either. No, my Grandfather was one of those men who just used “bodies” for his pleasure. So I would be laying there on the bed, his seed still leaking from my aching hole, my legs trembling from the strain of being stretched open wide while he took his time fucking me.

But his coldness didn't deter me from my desire to be with a real man. In fact each time he would have a go at me, I would lay there and imagine what it would be like to be loved gently and slowly by a good man. The feeling of his firm body holding my young form close. The warmth of his skin and the coarseness of his hair wiping across my smooth flesh as I clung to his large chest. Mmmm...the thoughts ran through my head as my Grandfather plunged deeper into my small body. I dreamt of what it would be like to get to actually take time and be able to play with his big thick cock, roll the head around between my small hands, the taste of his sweat as I sucked on his fingers before he used them to prepare my sweet pucker. Yes, I was undeterred by my Grandfather's lack of caring, in truth you could even say that I was made more determined to find a good man by his cruelty. But unfortunately, while I did manage to come across a handful of nice men over the following years who would gladly allow me to accept their lust into my mouth and my tight young ass, none would ever love me the way that I had always hoped. And so I grew up, horny as ever, and accepted the fact that my young boy's dream of having a grown man as a lover would have to settle on just being a sexual object, though mutual, and simply playing out my fantasies in my mind as my body acted and reacted to pure animal lust.

So as I stepped out of the limousine and into the cold rain of that dreary September day, I had no love in my heart, or illusions in my mind that I had come here to the Morris Brothers Funeral Home to do anything more than say a final fuck you to the man who had never once in my life shown me an ounce of decency. His lawyers had tried to convince me to come to his side at the hospital the day before he passed. They had said that he had been desperate to speak with me and had been calling for me all day. I told them I had other plans. The truth is that I, despite normal human short comings, am a good man. And I knew that if I were to come to him at his most vulnerable, and he were to say anything to me, that I would surely lash out at him and curse his very birth for the cruelty he had shown me those many years. But I had no wish to engage in any such display. I had long since dealt with my demons and had no desire to allow them to resurface for even an instant. Again, I had no illusions about being abused, and I certainly required no form of a cry for forgiveness from him... I liked having sex as a child, I even liked it when he would cum inside me and then stand over me, continuing to stroke his spent cock until it inevitably spewed forth a thick stream of warm piss all over my tired body. I justed hated the complete lack of feeling he had when he did it. Therein lay all of my hatred for him.

I took my sister's arm and led us both into the large building where our Grandfather's body lay as cold and lifeless in death as it had when he walked among us. My sister had never known the side of our Grandfather that I had been so heartlessly made to give audience. Being only my half sister, after our mother and my father died, she went to live with her father while I took up residence with my Grandparents. We made our way through the lobby and found the room designated for the old bastard's wake. As I looked up from signing the guest book I noticed a group of people clamoring into another viewing room across from ours. There were about ten of them all together, mostly adults, crying and holding each other up as they walked in to say their goodbyes to whomever it was that they had lost. I envied them. I wondered for a moment how it must feel to be here right now and actually care about the person laying still in that room. I felt nothing. As they disappeared from sight I noticed a young boy of no more than 11 sitting on a chair outside of the doorway, his head towards the open doors, his face streaming with tears. I instantly felt his pain and my eyes began to water. I was borrowing grief. He must have sensed me staring as he turned his head and our eyes met. He was a beautiful boy, an angel with light brown hair and softly tanned skin. He wore his loss on his face and I felt so badly for the pain that must be ripping him apart inside. Who was in that metal box in there? His father? Mother? Whoever it was, must have meant the world to this tiny angel. I smiled at him with all the compassion I could muster and he wiped his eyes clear. I thought that he was about to smile back when he was abruptly pulled to his feet by a large elderly women in a black dress. Grandma? As they made there way into the room, I caught him flash me a glance and the startings of a smile. I smiled back to the empty doorway.

My stomach turned and I fought back the redness that must have surely overcome my face as I wrenched in my seat listening to one speech after another from will-chasers who shared made up stories and praises for a fallen man who I knew they too despised just as much as I did. I was the only one in the room who was being honest. I felt my head begin to spin and knew that I needed to get out of there fast. I told my sister that I needed some water and excused myself to the lobby. I got a glass from the refreshments table and filled it with water from a sweating pitcher. I quickly downed its contents and poured another; needed something stronger. I headed outside for a smoke and stood underneath the ornate lantern adorning the funeral home entrance. My mind wandered as I blew stream after stream of finely twisting smoke from between my lips. My thoughts went back to the beautiful boy, his sweet face wracked in pain. Pity, I thought, something that beautiful should never know that kind of pain. I was lost in my lost I never noticed the young angel appear at my side.

“Are you alright son?” I asked when I finally noticed him.

“I'm fine,” he replied sheepishly, his fair voice skipping with false bravado.

“It's always hard when we lose the ones we love,” how would I know?

“That's just it sir,” he looked up at me, his gloriously green eyes now revealed to me, “I'm all alone now”

He burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears as he plunged his frail form into mine. I instinctively wrapped my arms around him and held on tightly as he shook in sorrow. I patted his head and whispered kindly to him as he grieved. I was filled with a caring for this strange boy that I had never felt for anyone else. Perhaps it was because he was so young and therefore invoked the paternal instinct in me, or perhaps it was my memory of being ripped with grief myself at so young an age that I felt a kind of unique bond with him. Whatever the reason was, it was a new feeling for me indeed.

He broke from our embrace after a short while and proceeded to tell me of his loss-filled life. The source of his current grief was his younger brother. He had been struck down with a high fever and had passed away after a few days in the hospital. The doctors discovered only too late that the young child had a poor heart and by the time they had, infection had already ravaged him. He had never known a father. His mother was a heroine addict which resulted in he and his brother being taken into the custody of the State Child Welfare system when his brother was born testing positive for drugs. The two had bounced through a few foster homes before ending up with their Aunt Janice and her three sons. They never wanted us to come and live here anyway, he confessed. For reasons he wouldn't share with me, he said that his cousins hated him and that his Aunt merely tolerated him for the board payment she received from the State. He did have a grandmother whom he visited with regularly. Unfortunately her health was not so that she could permanently care for the boys; a fact she bore like a cross.

“I'm sorry sir,” he looked embarrassed, “ I haven't even told you my name.... It's Milo, Milo Harding.”

“No worries Milo,” I patted his sweet head, “pleased to meet you. My name is Aidan, Aidan Hughes.”

Just as we finished our belated introductions a frail old woman appeared through the front entrance of the building. Milo's Grandmother made her way to us and introduced herself, careful to ask forgiveness for her Grandson's display. I assured her that I had not a second of concern for his expression of grief. She inquired as to my presence at the funeral home and as she did I noticed Milo cringe as he realized that I too was 'in mourning'. She gave her respects to me as I did her and she told Milo that he needed to come back inside and finish saying goodbye to his brother. As she said this I saw his eyes begin to glass over once more. He told her that he would be in in just a moment and she bid me thanks again for my kindness to her grandson and made her way back inside.

“I have to go,” he looked up at me with his eyes beginning to tear, “thanks for listening and all, and sorry about your Grandfather.”

“Don't worry yourself about that son,” I smiled, “at 82 he wasn't half the man your brother was at 7. I hope things with your family improve for you Milo...and if they don't....just remember who you are inside and you will be free of them before you know it.”

While I knew he didn't know the true meaning behind what I had said, I could tell that he understood it. He hugged me again and for a second time tonight I felt the warmth of his tender body against mine. He thanked me again for being kind to him and then disappeared to find his Grandmother.

After the wake, my sister and I, and a few other guests were summoned to my Grandfather's estate for the reading of the will. I watched in cynical disgust as the vultures licked their lips at the thought of what monies awaited them. At the estate I flashed back on the years I spent within its walls, slave to my Grandfather's uncaring lust. I sickened at the sight of my old bedroom and felt the hair on my neck stand up as I felt the cold wood of the bed frame that I had gripped so many times as a child while my Grandfather speared my small opening with his thick cock. Miserable old bastard. How is it in hell you sick fuck, I hissed through my clinched teeth.

Once we had all been assembled in the library, Mr. Edwards, my Grandfather's attorney read from the will. There were grunts of displeasure and disbelief as each of the guests was handed an envelope which contained their reward. I concluded by their gasps that they had felt slighted by their respective bounties. Too bad, I laughed to myself, all that false sentiment wasted...what a pity. After the opening of the letters, Mr. Edwards stood before me and presented another envelope. When I hesitated to accept it from him, he opened it and read it for me:

To my Grandson Aidan,

It has become clear to me through your silence and refusal to come to my side at this my final hour, that my assumption of your hatred for me is correct. I do not blame you for your hatred and I do not hold you ill for your absence. I am a horrible man and worthy of your disdain. I know it unfair to ask for your forgiveness for the terrible way in which I treated you as a child those many years ago, and so I do not. I have followed your life since you left this cold place and I am pleased that you, unlike the rest of these mongrels have made a rich life for yourself through the working of your own hand. I cannot give you back what I have taken from you, nor can I go back and tell you then how I really felt. I can only hope that you will continue to be a better man than I. All I can offer you now is the chance to be the man I should have been with what I was given. So with that said, I hereby leave my entire estate and all that I own to my Grandson Aidan Hughes.

The room fell silent as these words were read. I was silent for another reason. The others in the room had missed the part about his treatment of me and had zeroed in solely on the money. I however was in shock. My Grandfather had actually admitted what he had done, albeit vaguely... but I knew. And now I was a multimillionaire. But the money meant nothing compared to the worth of his words. I spent the rest of the night pouring over thoughts and memories. What had he meant by how he really felt? My head was spinning.

But when I finally laid down to bed, it was not my Grandfather's voice that filled my head, it was Milo's sweet tones. I drifted off to sleep with his angelic face staring lovingly into my mind's eye. And in my dreams I saw him standing before me, clothed in a silken white robe which lay open exposing his soft tanned skin. My eyes traced the contours of his beautiful face and drifted down to his neck and onto his smooth chest. He walked closer to me and as he did he discarded the robe and stood before me completely naked and unafraid. I took in the beauty of his form. The small brown nipples that lay on either side of his child's chest. The softness of his tight stomach and the creaminess of the skin that padded the area above his small boy's penis. While I had no idea what he must have really looked like under his clothing, in my dream he had the most perfect little 3 inch soft cock I had ever witnessed. He was cut, with a small wrinkle of soft skin gathered at the ringmeat of his plump little tool. I could feel a heat pass over me unlike I had felt in so many years. Not since my days as a boy his age when I had dreamt of the pleasure I would someday feel when a loving man would take me into his bed and show me how good sex could truly feel.

I rolled in my sleep as my mind filled with the sight and smell of my young visitor. I brought him to me and held his lovely face in my hands. Without even the slightest hesitation he leaned forward and brought his supple lips to mine. I could feel his lips part as my tongue pressed past his borders and made its way into his wet mouth. He moaned in pleasure as our tongues danced. As we kissed, my hands explored the softness of his warm flesh. I cupped his plump ass in my hands and gently kneaded as he moaned in delight. He suddenly broke from our lips embrace and lowered his head to my groin. Taking his lead I freed my aching prick from my underwear and stroked its thick 7 inches to full mast. He dropped to his knees and took position before me as a few strands of slick pre-cum oozed from the tip and ran down over my hand. He took my meat into his mouth without any guidance and set to work on my throbbing tool. My head swam with thoughts of pure ecstasy as I felt his tiny tongue massage the underbelly of my beast while it plunged in and out of his throat. Only in a dream could the young angel I met at the funeral home ever engage in this kind of sex play... but I didn't care. I was drunk with the feelings his young mouth was giving my hungry meat and I never wanted to wake up.

I felt my orgasm quickly approaching and as I sensed the fluid in my balls begin to rise up I attempted to pull my young lover off of me in an effort to spare him the full blast off my seed. But he wouldn't hear of it. He bore down even harder on my cock causing me to release stream after thick stream of my juice into his waiting mouth. When I finished pouring out my cum into his young throat, he rose to his feet again and brought his lips to mine. I opened my mouth and our faces met. As we kissed our tongues tangled and I could taste my fresh cum on his breath. He had swallowed it all but I could still sample a remnant. As we kissed I reached down and caressed his tight virgin hole with my finger. He cooed as I massaged his tiny bud. I brought my finger up to his mouth and he instinctively sucked it inside coating it with a thick slicking of our shared spit. I replaced the greased finger at his doorway and pressed inside. He gasped a little as I pushed passed his muscle and felt for his prostate. He bucked backwards against my finger as I found his sweet spot. We returned to kissing as I fucked his tight hole with my finger, careful to rub against his youthful gland with every stroke. It was not long before he was thrashing wildly as orgasm overtook his small body. He began to scream out in pleasure as the waves of his dry orgasm swept over him like a raging storm. When he had finished he collapsed into my arms and I picked him up into my bed. I held him tightly as we both drifted off into a deep sleep.

In the morning I awoke to an empty bed, alone....and confused.

To be continued...

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