Date: Fri, 4 Oct 2002 06:21:58 -0700 (PDT) From: chip ster Subject: My Lover's Son My Lover's Son By chipster071053@yahoo.com This story contains some graphic sex between boys and men. If this offends you, or is not legal where you live, do not continue. I have two other stories posted on Nifty Archives. The first is in the bisexual/college section entitled "Weekend In Houston," which is a basically true story of my first, and only, bisexual experience. The second is a series called "Camp Clover For Boys," which is a sexual fantasy about a special summer camp where boys are sent to learn the facts of life. I encourage you to read both and let me know what you think. This story is about the relationship between two boys who grow up and how that relationship transcends generations when one of them dies. If you want lots of sex, you'll find it, but only toward the end of the story. This story, unlike the others I have written, is strictly gay. MY LOVER'S SON The phone in my apartment rang and when I answered, I heard the voice of a young boy. "Mr. Donovan," the voice said, "my name is Dirk Colton." The memories that flooded into my mind almost overwhelmed me. Dirk Colton had been my best friend in high school, and unknown to all, my lover for five years before college pulled us apart. I met Dirk for the first time on a Boy Scout campout. He was 13 and new to the troop. I was 15 and junior patrol leader. Dirk was assigned to me and we became tent mates. That weekend, we hit it off so very well that in the weeks to come we became almost inseparable. We grew up in a small city, population of about 40,000, and the junior and senior high schools shared the same campus, so Dirk and I shared lunch hours together, rode the same city bus to school (different stops), and even a few classes together that first year. Dirk was smart for his age and wound up in some freshmen classes even though he was only in 7th grade. When I first met Dirk, he was 5'3" and might have been 130 pounds wringing wet. Dark brown hair, glasses and a cute smile. His body was slender but not well defined. I was 5'9, 160 lbs with a stocky build, still working to rid myself of baby fat that would eventually turn into small love handles that simply don't want to go away. We had our first sexual explorations together on one of those Scout campouts. For reasons that escape me, we'd pitched our tent away from the rest of the troop and the first night there, thinking Dirk was asleep, I started to jack off in my sleeping bag, only to be caught. Dirk, ever curious, wanted to try it, too, and so we jacked ourselves off lying side by side. When he came, he was horrified. He wasn't expecting it, and managed to get cum all over his long underwear top and his sleeping bag. I was surprised by the sheer power and volume of his climax, as he had managed to get a few shots onto the roof of the tent, probably three feet above him. He was worried about what his parents would say when they found the cum stains. I assured him we could get it cleaned up and so the next morning we did our best to hide the evidence. If his parents ever suspected, they never said anything to him. Our explorations became more venturesome as we got older, mostly confined to campouts but occasionally in moments stolen from sleepovers and the occasional empty house. When his mother decided to go back to work during his freshman year, we were in heaven. We learned to explore each other, touching, licking, sucking and eventually fucking each other with youthful exuberance. This went on for two years, until I graduated. I went to a state college about 75 miles from home and Dirk would come to visit me, first on weekends when my dorm roommate would be going home, then later in a small apartment I managed to afford from working at the campus bookstore nights and weekends. Dirk grew. By the time he graduated from high school, he was almost 6 foot tall, 180 pounds and had a body to die for. He'd started wearing contact lenses and his boyish face now showed signs of maturity. Being on the football team, he had started working with weights and became well developed with firm pecks, six-pack abs, a slender waistline and tight buttocks. I, on the other hand, only grew another inch and my weight went to 185 as I constantly fought with my waistline. But it didn't matter to Dirk. I worshiped his body, gave it love and he loved me back. No, not love. Puppy love, maybe. We had a great fondness for each other, a closeness that kept us together, that kept our friendship alive and vibrant. But we both knew we'd not stay lovers together forever. While I was confident in my gayness, Dirk knew there was more that he wanted. I encouraged him to "play the other side of the fence," and he frolicked in that field. Practically every girl in the school chased after the team's star running back and he managed to conquer more than a few of them, but he always came back to me, sometimes sharing his tales of conquest, but more often just for the companionship of someone he felt comfortable with and trusted. During his senior year, Dirk, always the brainier, received a full-ride academic scholarship to UCLA and planned to go out for the football team, where he was assured at least a place on the J-V squad. As it came closer to the time when he would leave for the west coast, we both knew that our sexual relationship was about to come to an end. I saved every dime I could out of my meager salary and rented a suite at a hotel in a city near my school. I had been going to summer school, trying to pick up a few extra credits during the summer so I could graduate early. Dirk had been spending almost every weekend with me, hanging around on campus while I was in class, getting a feel for the academic life ahead. He even audited a couple of my classes a few times and surprised one of my instructors with how much he knew about the subject of the class. That weekend with Dirk was filled with lust and passion. We'd never had sex that often or that good. At times we made tender love. At other times, we were animals, practically clawing at each other's bodies as we fucked each other's brains out. I remember the last morning most. We stood in the shower together, hugging, crying like little babies, and taking assurance from each other that we'd always be there for each other no matter what. What came two years later? During my senior year, I met a graduate student who was to become my mentor, and my lover for the next year. He helped me get a job at the same firm where he was interning and when he graduated, we worked side by side and lived the same way. Then, I discovered I had Hodgekins' Disease. The thought of going through that with me was more than he could handle, and so he left me. I had to give up my job to pursue treatment and wound up in Kentucky at the UK School of Medicine, living in an attic apartment across the street from the hospital. All through that time, Dirk kept in touch by the cheapest, most efficient way available. He wrote me two; sometimes three letters a week, letting me know what was happening with his life. (I was a dismal failure at that, usually writing a couple of times a month, with an occasional phone call, but Dirk never said anything about it to me other than that he was always glad to hear from me.) I could tell by the tone of the letters that he was happy. He'd been picked for the team and by his sophomore year, he was on the varsity squad when his football career was suddenly ended by a severe knee injury during the second game of the season. He took it well, though, and went on to be one of the team's student managers. Dirk had also found a girl, the one he believed to be the one he was destined to spend the rest of his life with. So sure of it was he that she remained a virgin until their marriage, and he never strayed from her side. When word reached Dirk of my condition (through my parents to his; I was trying to keep it from him until I knew the outcome of the treatments), he came to my side. I found him standing at my bedside when I awoke from the exploratory surgery they had done to determine the severity of my condition. He stayed until I could leave the hospital, then spent the first two weeks of my radiation therapy with me, helping me get to my appointments, helping me get settled until he finally could stay no longer. While nothing physical happened between us, it was still apparent to both of us that the bond of friendship between us was still strong. Fortunately, my Hodgkin's had been caught early enough that after two series of radiation treatments, the disease had gone into remission, later determined to be permanent. I got back to my life, found a good job and lived alone for several years, not wanting to tie myself back down to a long-term commitment. I was best man at Dirk's wedding. He and his lovely bride Karen were so happy together, but over the next few years Dirk and I drifted apart, probably because of the responsibilities of family life he faced following the birth of his first, and only, son, who they lovingly named Dirk, Jr. I found myself buried in my work, proving myself worthy of the promotions I was earning, until I reached the status of youngest junior partner in the company. Then came the tragic news that Dirk was dying. He'd developed some kind of rare blood disease that sapped his strength, then his very life. I didn't know about it until he was on his deathbed. It had been his wish that I not know, but when I did find out through my parents, I practically killed him for not telling me. We spent a few days together rehashing old times, our sexual exploits together never mentioned but always on our minds, until our last moments together when he reminded me of that moment in the shower together. "I've always cherished that memory," he said to me, breathing shallowly, and "I've always loved you. You've got to know that. In spite of how things went, I've always loved you." "I know," I told you. "Remember what I said to you that morning before we got out of bed?" "Yes, I'll never forget it. You told me that I wasn't a Colton. That reminded you too much of a little pony. You said I'd always be more like a Stallion to you," and he tried to laugh, ending up with a wracking cough. The silence after that was unbearable. His eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep. I went outside to comfort his wife and I held their 12-year-young son in my arms for the first time as she went into the room to spend the last few minutes of his life together. She said he woke up and told her to stay in touch with me and that his last words to her were of his love for her and of his admiration of her courage through his final ordeal. Then he had died quietly, holding her hand tightly. Karen had remarried two years later, but her life was tragically cut short by an auto accident, killed by a drunk driver in a senseless tragedy. Her son, Dirk's only son, had stayed with his step-father, who was a good man, kind and caring, but not used to the idea of raising a teenager, especially one who was confused about his own identity, who had seen his family ripped apart by tragedy. Dirk's mother had continued to stay in touch with me, although I was never really sure why. We were never truly close, but she made the effort, so I knew about young Dirk's early adolescence as she confided in me some of the concerns she had about his growing up. When she was suddenly out of his life, I was very surprised when I started getting letters from Dirk, Jr. And that is how he and I got to this phone call. "Dirk, is that really you?" I asked. "Yes, sir, Dirk Junior," he answered. "I haven't seen you since your mother's funeral. I'll bet you've grown, haven't you," I said, still surprised to be hearing his young voice. He sounded so much like his father had at that age. "Probably," he answered. There was a long pause. "My dad told me before he died that if I ever had a problem that was too big for me to handle that he thought I could always come to you," he said hesitantly. "Your dad was my best friend, Dirk, and he believed that, then I have to believe he knew what was best for both of us. How can I help you?" I asked. "I need to talk to someone. There's something going on in my mind that I have to sort out, and I need help getting through it. I think Dad would want me to talk to you," he said. "What about your step dad? Can't you talk to him? I know he loves you," I said. "Not about this. I can't explain it on the phone, but can we meet somewhere? Dad left you a letter and he told me when the time came I was supposed to deliver it to you personally. I really need to see you," said Dirk, almost pleading with me. "OK. Let me talk to your Dad and see if I can arrange something," I told him. "I'll call you back tonight." That evening I talked with his step father, Richard, who confessed he was confused about Dirk. I told him I was even more lost than he was, not having children of my own, but reassured him that I knew he could handle it, whatever the situation. "I appreciate it," he said, "but I think that's where you might be wrong. Dirk and his father were very close, not like he and I have been. He says that whatever this is, it has something do to with you and his dad and that he has to talk to you about it." "If that's the way he feels and that's what he wants, then I'd be glad to talk with him. How do you want this to work? Should I come there?" I asked. "Would it be possible for me to send him to you? I don't know why, but he seems very uncomfortable even talking about this around me. Maybe being with you would give him the privacy he needs for whatever this is," Richard answered. "Well then, let's fly him down here. Make the arrangements and I'll meet him at the airport. Plan on him spending the weekend if you want, that'll give you some time, too," I told him, and he seemed grateful. Dirk got on the phone, and I explained to him that his step dad would be letting him come down to visit me, if that was all right with him, and I could hear the excitement in his voice. Obviously we'd made the right decision. "That's wonderful! Thanks, Mr. Donovan. You'll never know how much this means to me," said the boy. "I'm looking forward to it, and please call me Cliff," I said. He put his step dad back on the line and he assured me he'd either call or e-mail me with the trip plans as soon as he had them. The next day, I received a e-mail from Richard telling me that I could expect Dirk at the airport around 6:30 that following Friday evening. I prepared for a three day stay by this child I barely knew who for some reason desperately needed to talk to me, to confide in me something, the big mysterious "what" I didn't know, nor would I have ever guessed. At the airport that Friday afternoon, I was able to get through security and go down to the gate to meet Dirk because of his age. I almost died when I saw young Dirk come off the plane. He was the spitting image of his father at 16. I had the most overwhelming desire to rush over and hug the boy, but we met with a friendly handshake and went off to baggage to claim his tote bag. On the drive home, I asked him what he'd like for dinner, and like a typical teenager his choice was fast food, so we stopped for a burger and fries and I started trying to gently probe, wanting to see what it was that weighted on his mind so heavily that he had to travel over a thousand miles to talk to a man he hardly knew. Slowly the boy began to open up. He told me that his father had left something with him before he died and said that someday he should give it to me for safekeeping. Dirk's dad told him that only he would know when that time would come. "Dad wanted you to have something of his that he considered very special and he said we should talk about it when the right time came, Cliff. I think this is the right time," said the boy, opening the travel bag he'd brought along with him. Dirk pulled out three spiral bound notebooks; the top one had the logo of our old high school on the cover. Until that instant it never dawned on me that Dirk, always the writer, had kept a diary. Dirk slowly slid the notebooks across the table to me. I sat there stunned. "Do you know what's in these?" I asked. "Yes," he said softly. I reached for the books and opened the front cover of the one on top. "Today I start 8th Grade. This will be a journal of all I do in the months and years to come as I go through junior and senior high school," it started in Dirk's distinctive, very neat handwriting. It was the kind of thing a lot of kids that age write on the first page of a diary that winds up empty. But not Dirk. The three notebooks in front of me attested to that. We sat in silence together for the next half hour as I flipped through the notebooks. I found the page that noted our first meeting. "Just got back from my first Boy Scout Campout," it said. "The assistant patrol leader was my tent mate, a guy named Cliff Donovan. He's two years older than me and knows a lot about camping and Scouting. He was really nice to me, not like the other boys who like to pick on the new Scouts. I like him a lot. Hope we get to tent together again." I saw notes about classes and classmates, achievements and heartbreaks, and several more entries about me and our times together, some pretty graphic. He'd put in photographs, too, taped to the pages. I saw one of him and me at a Scout Board of Honor when he'd been given his First Class patch. On into the second volume, I started seeing stories about his football career, club meetings and, there they were, even more very detailed notes about our times together, some sexual, some just two guys hanging out together, going to the movies, camping, doing homework together. Our discussions about our sexual preferences and how he wanted my permission to start dating girls, as if he ever needed it. It was all there. In the third volume, I found entries written after I'd left for college. I read about some of the girls he'd dated (and bedded), I saw our weekends together, I read the joy in finding out about the scholarship he'd won. And finally, the last entry in the journal detailed our final weekend together in great detail, almost stroke-by-stroke, as if he never wanted to forget a moment of the time we spent that weekend. It ended, "I know we'll never be together again like this, and I will grieve that fact for as long as I live, but our lives were never meant to be spent together, and I will move on, cherishing the last five years as the happiest of my youth." I looked up and into the reflection of the face of my boyhood lover. "I know all about it, and so did my mom. She knew where the journals were, but I don't think she ever read them," said Dirk, Jr. "Richard doesn't know, and I don't see any reason for him to, either." Another pause, then Dirk continued. "He gave me a letter to give to you, too. Do you want it now?" "No," I said, "wait until we get back to my place." The 16-year-old across from me waited quietly until I started to get up, then he reached for the notebooks. I reluctantly pushed them toward him and he put them back in his bag. On the drive to my loft, I said, "I hope you don't think less of me for what your father and I did when we were your age. I never thought anyone would know about us, much less you and your mother." "It's OK, Cliff," he said. "From what Dad told me, it sounded beautiful. Two guys who loved to be around each other like you two did, who shared so much, who cared so much about each other. I wish I had that kind of a friendship." "Is that why you're here, Dirk? Do you have questions about your dad and me and what we did?" I asked, glancing at the boy to my right. "Yea, something like that. Dad and I had long talks before he died about you two, and he tried really hard to let me know how special you were to him," said Dirk. I noticed a tear in the corner of his eye. "Cliff, I think I'm gay," he blurted out, sobbing. I pulled over to the side of the road and reached for him, putting my arm around him and comforting him, just the way I did his father. "Dad and I talked about it a lot before he died. He said then that I was probably too young to be sure, but that either way he'd still love me. We talked about it with Mom, too, and she knew what I was going through in my mind. I still talked about it with Mom before that stupid idiot killed her, but I've never talked to Richard about it. I don't think he'd understand. I needed to talk to someone about this and Dad always said he thought I could talk with you. That's why I'm here." It had all come rushing out of the boy. I pulled him closer and held him tight, feeling the sobs rake through his body. He threw his arms around me, and suddenly I found myself crying, too. We sat there for a few minutes just holding each other. I gave him little kisses on his cheek, just like I had given his father hundreds of times so many years ago. Finally, I pulled away from him and slid back behind the steering wheel. "Dirk," I said, "I want to talk with you, too. Let's get home." He looked at me and smiled, the same kind of killer smile his Dad gave me when he was really happy. I may have been wrong about it, but I felt like I could read this boy like I had his father and I suddenly felt very, very close to both of them. When we got to my loft, which was a big, open room in an old warehouse, I helped him carry in his things and settled him into a room I had partitioned off with some dividers. I showed him around, which wasn't difficult since everything was there to see, and we settled in on the sectional sofa in front of the open fireplace that set in the middle of the room. He handed me the letter. The legal-sized envelope had my first name written on it and nothing else. It was still sealed. While Dirk, Jr., watched, I opened it, took out the two page letter inside and began to read: "My dearest friend Cliff, "If you are reading this, then two things have happened. First, I'm no longer living. That being the case, and I never had the chance to tell you in person, I want you to know that I have always considered you my dearest, closest friend, even though we've drifted apart because of the ebbs and flows of life. I always cared for you, and though we both knew it wasn't love, those feelings ran deep. I've never forgotten our life and times together, nor did I ever want to, as the diaries Dirk has for you attest. "Second, Dirk has reached a crisis point in his life and needs to turn to someone he can trust. While Karen and I discussed the possibility that she would remarry after I died, neither of us knew what life would hold in store for them. We had both agreed that if the time came when Dirk needed to discuss this subject with someone, that you would be that person. I always trusted you, and I now trust he can feel the same with you. If Dirk felt the same about his relationship with a stepfather, then you'd never be reading this. "I hope that you'll forgive me for the journals. It's probably the one secret I kept from you in all the years we've known each other. I've never gone back through them, nor did I ever feel the need. All of the memories were burned deep into my mind, as vividly as if they had each just happened. Maybe I kept them for you. Something inside me just felt it was right, and I hope you'll agree. "And finally, Karen knew about us. I knew from the moment I met her that she was my one true love in life, and I wasn't going to keep anything from her. She knew long before we were married and accepted that it was a part of my past, but that she, and the family we hoped for, were our future. Together. "Little Dirk knew, too. When he first told me of his struggles, I told him about us. I shared with him the way I felt for you and told him that if anyone in the world could understand how he felt, you could. I went through those struggles with you, too. I was there when you came to recognize your sexual identity and appreciated your encouragement when I went to find mine. "As I write this, I believe that he can come to you for help, and that is what I'm asking for as one last favor, Cliff. Help my son find himself. "If I've gone to a place where I can watch over you two, be assured that I will be there, as close by your sides as I can possibly get. If love can transcend death, then know my love surrounds you both. I know you will take care of him. "With all my love, forever, Dirk." Dirk watched me as I closed the letter, tears flowing from my eyes. This time it was his turn to give comfort, and I held his head to my shoulder as my grief came pouring out. He understood. He'd been there, too. I asked gently if I could go wash my face and he pulled away from me so I could stand. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on myself and stood for a few moments staring at myself in the mirror. I'd never realized how much I had repressed the grief I had from losing Dirk, first the distance I had let grow between us, then the knowledge that I'd never be close to him again. But now I had to face his son, a virtual copy of my own best friend, and help him confront the feelings he felt he could only confide in me. I went back into the room and found Dirk flipping through the pages of the notebooks. "He really loved you, didn't he?" "Yes, he did, and I loved him deeply, too," I said. "When did you know you were gay?" he asked, his eyes holding the question his lips had asked. "When your dad asked if he could start seeing girls," I answered. "I knew that kind of relationship wasn't something I was interested in developing. I also knew your father wasn't gay, either." "That's what Dad said. He told me that what you two had between you was special, that he loved you more than just sexually, but that he was longing for someone to spend his life with, someone to raise a family with, and you'd both agreed that it was something you'd never want or be able to do together," said Dirk. "He told me that sex with you was always great, but that he had no desire to ever be with another man. He always felt that you were destined to find your love with someone of the same sex." "That's a nice way to put it, and your father always knew the right words. He once told me that I was going to wind up an old fag gumming on some young kid's cock, but that he'd be there to help me put my teeth back in when I was done." That broke the ice, the tension in the room and Dirk, for the first time, started laughing, and just couldn't seem to stop. As he calmed down, he said, "That sounded just like Dad. Oh, Cliff, thank you so much for letting me come here this weekend. I have so much to talk about and I just know you can help me." "What about you," I asked, "What makes you think you're gay?" "The feelings I get when I'm around some guys. The way I catch myself looking at the other guys in the gym locker room. The things I fantasize about when I jack off at night. Never girls, always guys who turn me on. Girls don't turn me on. I have lots of girls who are friends with me, but I don't have a girlfriend. I don't feel a sexual attraction for any of them." "Maybe you haven't found the right one yet," I said. "After all, your Dad didn't start dating for four years after we starting hanging out together." "Yea, but Dad knew other men weren't attractive to him the way you were. You were the only man he ever wanted to be with in bed and that never changed his whole life. He told me that he never even thought about other men that way. I don't. I can't. I see a cute guy, I get horny. I see a good-looking guy naked in the shower and I start to pop a hard-on. I can look through a whole straight porno magazine and never even get a rise out of it! That's why I think I'm gay!" "Well here we set then, the old queer giving council to the young one," I said with a chuckle. "Come on, it's late and I know you have to be tired after the trip you made today." I showed Dirk to the bathroom, a modern open room with a large, open shower in one corner, a few tall plants along the side to deflect water. To my surprise, Dirk started to strip before I could leave. "Can we talk while I take a shower," he asked. "What do you want to talk about," I answered as I sat down on the commode. "Just about how you and Dad knew what you were doing was right. Weren't you ever afraid of getting caught?" he asked as he turned on the shower. "All the time. Back then, queers weren't acceptable to society the way gays are becoming now. We both knew that there was a chance we'd be caught and carry that brand with us all the way through school, so we were extra, extra careful. We never showed affection in public, we never tried to do anything that might be really dangerous..." "Like give each other blow jobs under the bleachers during a game?" Dirk butted in. "Oh, you read that part, huh? Well that was just stupid and we never should have done it, and I'll tell you what else. We never tried it again!" I said. "I don't think my grandparents ever knew about you two," the boy said as he lathered himself up. "If they did, they never told Dad." "Neither did mine, although they both knew I was gay before they died. They thought it happened in college and that a graduate student I lived with had seduced me or something. They never suspected your dad and I were having sex on those nights he slept over with me," I told him, beginning to stare at Dirk's body under the spray. Our eyes both fell to the same thing. "See, this is what I mean," he said, gesturing to a boner that looked surprisingly familiar. "I get to thinking about two guys having sex and I get so hard that it hurts!" "Want me to leave you alone so you can take care of that?" I asked, finding myself hoping that the answer would be 'no.' It was. Without hesitation, Dirk began to jack himself off as he continued to ask questions. "What made Dad decide to be the one to suck you off first?" he asked, his hand lazily stroking himself. "I don't know, but I'll bet he wrote it in his diary, and I'll also bet you know the answer, don't you?" I said. "He said he'd seen a porno mag one of the other guys had on one of the campouts that had pictures of girls sucking on guys dicks. He saw how turned on the picture got you, so he wanted to do it so you'd see what it was really like," Dirk answered. "He wrote down that when you came in his mouth he couldn't decide whether to swallow or spit it out at first, but that you tasted so good that he swallowed it all." "I remember that, too. He sucked so hard it almost hurt me, but he was determined that I was going to cum. And I sucked him for the first time that same night. If anyone had gone by our tent, there would have been no doubt what was going on inside!" I remembered. "He said you fucked him first, too, for the same reason. One of the guys had found a gay magazine and they were making fun of it. He said he could tell you were getting turned on by the pictures, so he wanted to try it with you." "I told him he could do me first, but he wanted me to do the honors. It hurt like hell, for both of us, and I don't think either of us walked right for a week, but we took each other's virginity that night, right there in my bed, with my parents on the other side of the wall. I don't know how we managed to do it without screaming our heads off, but, boy I remember that well," I said, then added a chuckle. "I guess a guy never forgets when he loses his cherry, does he?" asked the naked boy. "No, I guess not. Have you ever, ah, you know..." "Been fucked? No. Never. In spite of my raging hormones, I've never even touched another guy's cock. This is the first time I've ever jacked off in front of anyone," he said, beginning to stroke a little faster. "How do you feel about it, doing it in front of me?" I asked. "Really, really weird, but kinda good. I'm getting excited just knowing you're letting me do it. I don't think Richard would never let me do anything like this!" said the horny boy. "Just do what you feel," I said. "I'm not watching you, I'm watching your dad right now. I hope you don't think THAT's weird." "Naw. Mom always said I reminded her of dad shrunk down, and I don't mind," he said. As the young teen began to gyrate his hips in rhythm to his stroking, I started to become mesmerized. He continued to pelt me with questions. "What drew you to my father?" he asked. "At first, it was his enthusiasm and his playfulness. Then it became his curiosity and eagerness to learn, and the way he could make me interested in the things that interested him," I answered. "Like sex?" "Yea, that was part of it. Even though he caught me jacking off first, his curiosities lead us to some interesting places. He was the first to give a blowjob, he was the first to get fucked, and I think he might have just seduced me. But it wasn't just that. Because of him, I became interested in lots of things like going to see movies that weren't just action films, reading great literature, and sports. He loved sports and I loved sharing them with him." "He said he used to love showering with you." I felt like I was falling under a spell. This young, naked boy was exciting himself in front of me, bringing back memories of the lover I used to share my body and soul with. In my mind, I found I wasn't watching this boy, I was watching his father, my Dirk, once again. "He told me how he used to love the way you would hold him while he did this. He said you used to caress his chest and play with his nipples while he came closer and closer to his climax. He said you had the most magnificent hands." I found myself fingering my stiffness through my pants. "And he loved to have you nibble and give little butterfly kisses around his neck and shoulders," the boy was writhing now, his eyes closed as he imagined what he was saying. My hand was involuntarily pulling down my zipper and I quickly had my cock in my hand, stroking with his rhythm. His eyes suddenly opened, he looked at me and I saw a twinkle I had not seen in twenty years. "Cliff, come hold me," said Dirk. My clothes were off in a flash, piled next to his, and I stood behind the boy who reminded me of my young lover. I began to run my fingers over his abs the way I had done so many years ago, kissing his neck, nibbling at his earlobe, tweaking his nipples lightly as he continued to stroke himself. His breathing became more erratic and I felt the shudders begin to go through is body. "OH CLIFF! YOU'RE MAKING ME CUM! THANK YOU! OH GOD THIS FEELS SO WONDERFUL!" the young boy almost panted. With one final moan, I watched as he released his youthful cum in powerful bursts, shooting across the room. Wrapping my arms around him tightly, I held him close as he continued to have orgasm after orgasm. I hadn't realized what I had done. I found myself naked with this young teen, fantasizing that he was his father and that we were once again sharing youthful play together. I reached my hand down to his cock and began to fondle his balls as he continued to slowly jack on himself. His head turned slightly and our lips met. We began to kiss as he slowly turned around to face me, his tongue starting to intertwine with mine in a way that felt strangely familiar. His arms went around by back and he pulled me close. I felt my cock poking into his abdomen and I started to rub up against him. His hand went down and grasped my throbbing cock. I turned to putty in his hands. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I felt like I was making love with my Dirk again. Without a word, he sank to his knees and took me into his mouth. With the skill of an expert he began to excite me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. I couldn't help but think that this was MY Dirk making love to my cock. His tongue rolled around the head of my shaft and sent shivers up and down my spine. I began to ache for release. He pulled his mouth off of me and slowly stood, giving my body kisses and probing with his tongue as he stood. When he reached my face, he took my head in his hands and kissed me deeply. "Take me, Cliff. Fuck me the way you fucked my father. I want to see how he felt when you put your cock inside of him. I want you to take my cherry the way you took Dirk's," whispered the boy. "Not here," I said softly. "I want to take you into my bed and explore you. I want to go where I had thought I could never go again." "Yes!" he cried. "Tonight let's be lovers the way it used to be!" I reached for a towel and gently dried both of us off, exploring his body with my tongue as I did. When we were both left with only a slight dampness, I picked up the boy and carried him to my bed. We fell onto the bed and kissed passionately for what seemed hours, and then I began to again explore his young body with my tongue. I occasionally found myself remembering things I had done to this boy's father to get him excited, and found the same things worked with him. I rolled Dirk over onto his stomach and spread the cheeks of his ass, sliding my tongue into probe the pucker. I was surprised by the very familiar taste that only made me want more. I heard him moaning, calling my name, just the way his father had when I licked his asshole. I got the boy wetter and wetter with my tongue in preparation for what I knew would be coming next. I didn't have to ask. "Cliff. Fuck me. I want you so much; I've waited so long for this. I've dreamed about having you inside me. Please Cliff, fuck me," said the boy. I rolled him over onto his back, lifted his legs and put the tip of my cock to his puckering hole. As I slowly pushed forward, I watched his face for signs of pain, but there were none. Just a gentle smile that never went away as I slid inside him. Without taking a moment to get used to what I knew was his first penetration, he began to buck beneath me, urging me to move my hips and thrust forward. "Cliff. That feels so good. It feels like I've always had you there," he said, smiling at me. "It feels like you've fucked me a hundred times before." "Are you having any pain, because if you are we can rest for a moment," I told my youthful lover. "No. No pain at all. Only pleasure. Lots and lots of pleasure. Cliff, fuck me slowly. Fuck me deeply. Fuck me hard," begged Dirk. And so we did. All night long I fucked. He fucked me. Sucked each other and kept each other hard all night long. I hadn't had that kind of stamina in years, but he kept coaxing me back time after time until we both collapsed in the wee hours of the morning, covered in each others cum and sweat, our tongues having practically tied into knots together as we kissed deeply and passionately between orgasms. At times, I could almost imagine that it was my Duke I was again with. The realization that I was fucking his only son never entered my mind that whole night. We feel asleep together, Dirk in my arms exactly the way his father had layed with me in our youth. The next morning as the light crept into the windows of the loft, I laid awake, running my fingers through young Dirk's hair as he softly buzzed beside me. A twinge of guilt had swept across me as the reality of what we had done settled over me. Had I seduced this innocent child, or had he me? I was a willing partner, and so had he been, too. I felt Dirk begin to stir in my arms and his head rolled toward me as his eyes sleepily opened, a slight smile across his lips. "Good morning, Cliff," he said sleepily. "Good morning, Dirk." Pausing, I added, "You know we have to talk." He lifted himself up on one elbow and looked into my face. "You can talk all you want, but I know what we did was right. Right for me, and probably right for you, too. I've wanted to know how Dad felt in the arms of someone who truly loved him and knew how to please him. All night long, I knew you were making love to my father. I expected that. I hoped for that. And you didn't disappoint me. Last night, I wanted to be your lover, I wanted to be my father, and you made it possible," said Dirk. He bent over and kissed me. Softly. Gently. Lovingly. I kissed back. Yes, I thought, I had been making love to his father. All the old familiar feelings had come back as we released passions and lust, giving him new feelings to experience as he made love with me for his first time. And I found myself wishing, hoping, that it would not be the last time, either. He pulled away from me and slid off of the bed, heading for the bathroom. I heard him start the shower. I pulled myself from the bed, still sticky but not terribly uncomfortable, and walked toward the bathroom to relieve myself. Unsure of what to do next, I asked Dirk if he wanted something to eat. "I'm starved," he yelled from under the warm spray. "Why don't we go out to eat this morning," I asked. "Sounds wonderful," he said as I watched him washing his beautiful body. "I'm going to go start some coffee while you finish up. Want any?" I asked. "Never had any, but I'd love to try some," he answered with a grin on his face as he rinsed off his chest. I went to the kitchen island and turned on the coffeemaker when I noticed a card on the countertop. I picked it up and almost dropped it when I realized the handwriting on the card was the neat script of my boyhood lover Dirk. "Thanks for one more time," the card said. No signature, but the handwriting was unmistakable. As Dirk came into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, I motioned for him to come to me, and showed him the card. "Did you leave this here?" I asked, already knowing that he had not been anywhere near the countertop since his arrival the night before. "What is it?" he asked, taking it from my hand. As he took it, I realized there was a smudge on the corner I had released that I knew wasn't there when I picked it up. The ink was still fresh. "That's Dad's handwriting, but I don't know where it came from. I've never seen it before. Something you had?" he asked, handing it back. Suddenly, I sensed a presence in the room I had felt during the night but had attributed to old memories being replayed in my mind. I felt something on my shoulder and a tiny puff blew into my ear. I got goose bumps as I looked into the face of Dirk, standing there, still holding the card, giving me a look that was so familiar from so long ago. I looked at him and said softly, "Something I'll always have, Dirk." EPILOG Dirk and I spent the weekend getting to know each other better, talking about his problems and sharing my memories of his father. We made love several times, but each time I acted more as a teacher, showing him how to give and receive the pleasures of sex. Each time was good, but never quite as good as that first time. But it didn't matter, because for Dirk it was a coming of age. Over the next two years, he came to recognize his own sexual desires. He found a steady partner of his own, a boy his age who attended a private school not far from his school. I arranged my work schedule so that I could travel and visit Dirk frequently. Each time, shared with me his feelings and together we worked him through his growing pains. He also came to visit me three or four times a year, a couple of times accompanied by his lover. I laid awake at night, listening to their lovemaking and remembered my youth with his father as the two boys played out their desires behind the privacy partition that separated us. I never made an effort to participate in their lovemaking, nor did they ever invite me to join them, although I would have in a heartbeat. When Dirk graduated, he looked, sounded and acted exactly like his father. As a graduation gift, I took him to the same hotel where I had made love to his father for the final time, arranging to have the same suite, which surprisingly enough had not changed at all. Although I never had the feeling I was making love to his father again, we had a wonderful time together that weekend, even taking the opportunity to play a little tourist, and visit the college campus where my Dirk and I had spent so many weekends together. Under the guise of being a father and son touring the campus, I was even able to show him the dorm room where we made love secretly. Dirk and his lover made plans to attend college in the city where I lived. I told Richard Dirk was welcome to live with me and he readily approved. By then, Richard was aware of Dirk's lifestyle decision but wasn't really comfortable with it. He had been a good stepfather to the boy, had supported his decision, but was glad have me accept the responsibility of caring for him. We divided one end of the loft into three bedrooms so the two boys could have privacy, but they both slept in the same room together for as long as they stayed with me. I took the third room to insure their privacy. I also found a love of my own. A man slightly younger that me that I met during my travels now became my companion. He had no problems living with my youthful roommates and we often found ourselves urged on to the sounds of their passion. They told us that they often lay in bed listening to us as well. Dirk is now a successful young man, working his way up through a small consulting business and will probably be a junior partner in a few years. His lover is still with him, equally successful as a designer working for an import company. They live in the loft below us. Every once in a while I get out Dirk's journals, but I never get very far into them. I don't need to. Every time I see young Dirk, it all comes back to me. And every once in a while, I get the most comforting feeling that my Dirk is standing next to me, watching his son with great pride. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a really strange story. It started with an unfinished dream. When I sat down to write it out, I had no idea where the story would go. It literally finished itself as I wrote it. I have no idea who these characters are, but their names came to me as if I'd known them all my life. I can't explain it, and I'm not sure I want to try. Chipster071053@yahoo.com