Date: Sun, 16 Mar 2008 15:08:22 -0700 (PDT) From: adm2780 Subject: Second Time Around Chapter One All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. As in real life, the sexual themes unfold gradually and are kept to a realistic level. If you are looking for sex on every page, then this is not the story for you. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author, Dwight Wilson, at adm2780@yahoo.com This story contains descriptions of consensual sexual contact between males, adult and minor. As such it is homoerotic, designed for the entertainment of mature adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, or if the subject matter would create irresolvable personal moral dilemmas, please exit now. NOTE: Special thanks to Matthew for his time and efforts proof reading and editing the chapters. Want to read a couple of good stories? Try "Never Take Love For Granted" or "One Gift To Give". They are both excellent and Matthew wrote them. Chapter One: Second Time Around I looked at the young man standing on the corner and couldn't help but laugh at myself. Compared to him, and a lot of others, I had to be the most naive person around. Day after day I watched him stand on that corner flipping something from one hand to the next. I had no idea what he was doing until one of the younger guys in the office told me that flipping coins from one hand to the other was the street sign for panhandling. A young fella in Key West, America's piece of paradise. I couldn't help but wonder why panhandling, and what else was he doing, and where's his family? He looked young, but the massive tattoo running up his left bicep and under the edge of the sleeveless shirt said he had to be at least eighteen. I knew that no responsible shop would give an under aged boy a tattoo without parental consent. When I looked at him close though, his face barely showed signs of peach fuzz; this kid had probably never touched a razor. He was a walking contradiction. Oh, another thing he walked around with, a white rat that sat on the back of his collar. And those eyes . . . This is the story of how a not quite middle-aged man who lived his life for many years as was expected of him, decided to make a change and find the life he wanted, needed. This is the story of denial, awakening, discovery, and support from the most surprising of places. This is my story of how I found a life. **** One of the advantages of working for a large bank is the ability to choose where you work. That doesn't mean an employee can suddenly decide they are tired of working wherever it is they are, such as upstate New York in January, and move tomorrow to the Sunbelt. It does mean there are more opportunities available when the time does come. It's usually just a matter of being patient. I had always thought of myself as a patient person and I was definitely tired of shoveling snow. There was something else I was tired of, too; the same-o, same-o routine, day after day. As a wealth management loan officer, I had what many considered a good life style. I belonged to and attended the right country club. I played golf and I swam. There were parties to attend two or three times a month, usually on weekends, and I had a nice expense account to entertain clients in all the right places. I wore the right clothes and I drove the right cars. The clothes came from Joseph Banks and the cars were a Cadillac and a Lincoln. Now, most people would say a Lexus or Mercedes was the right car, but the Cadillac was really a spare. It was a year old DTS model that said the owner had arrived without being overly ostentatious, and the bucket seats and console helped take it out of the old-fogey market. The right car for me was a 1957 Lincoln Mark II, my pride and joy. The country club even had a special parking spot for it, just to make sure it didn't get scratched. Everyone at the club knew the car, and knew who owned it. There's one thing I didn't have – a life of my own. I worked almost everyday, including my days off. Going to the country club on weekends is not relaxing when you have to be dressed right, eat right, and see or be seen with the right people. After trudging through all the daily crap I looked forward to going home and facing the challenges that could only be presented by two teenage boys. Thank God for a little sanity, or was it the insanity, in my world. Why do I rant like this and put most everything in the past tense? Because that's the way it was until the day came that this patient sole decided it was time for a change. I was tired of my ultra-boring 'right' life and wanted, no needed, a change. It was time for me to tell everybody, except my sons, of course, to just plain fuck-off! I needed to get a life before I was too old to enjoy it! Oh, one other thing I needed, I needed to discover who and what I was! I just had no idea how long it would take me to get there. My name is Richard Geoghagan; Rick to friends and family. I'm a widower and a father. I married my college sweet-heart, Kathy, but lost her seven years ago to breast cancer. Kathy was a truly beautiful girl who always had a smile and was the most supportive wife anyone could ask for. She was also the only girl that I ever had sex with, so I couldn't say she was or was not better than average in bed. I can say that it was okay. Unfortunately, I also learned with her that it was possible to love someone, to love them to the point of knowing you would never do anything to hurt them, but not be 'in love' with them. When Kathy died I didn't have time to feel devastated. I had two sons, ages twelve and thirteen at the time, to raise. Frank, the twelve year old, going on twenty-five, and Mikey, or Mike or Michael depending on his mood, the thirteen year old going on six, were a handful. They were also great kids. They were far from perfect, regardless of what most people and their grandparents thought; I knew better; they were boys! They could get into a little mischief, but it was never anything harmful or destructive. I used to tell them that if a kid didn't get into a little trouble once in a while, that kid either had a very dull life or was a great liar. Mine got into trouble, and they got punished. When they were little the punishment was to hurt their feelings by warming their little backsides. As they got older and were supposed to have the ability to reason, notice that I said 'supposed to' because it was highly debatable sometimes, they were grounded or lost privileges. I didn't always let them know that I knew they had been up to something they should think twice about. If it wasn't harmful, I felt a kid needed to be able to get away with a little something once in a while. One day, several months, actually a little over a year, after their mother died, I came home and found the house quiet. That was a definite worry. I looked around, knowing the boys should be there, but didn't find them. I walked down the hall and heard sounds coming from the bedroom they shared. The door was almost closed, but not quite. Being a normal parent I looked through the crack. I was surprised at first, and then had to bite my lip to avoid laughing, when I saw my two boys, their mother's absolute perfect angels, on their knees facing each other, stark naked, discovering and enjoying the pleasures a lot of boys their age enjoy; they were masturbating. I watched as each boy worked himself into a frenzy, jacking away and playing unabashedly with his brother's nipples. The boys shot off all over one another almost simultaneously. Both boys nearly fell over from their exertions. Imagine my shock when I watched them use their fingers to scrape the essence of their youth off their brother and then feed it to him. I debated over whether to talk with them and just what to say and how. After much debate, I decided they were just boys being boys exploring the gifts nature gave them, and decided this was one of those incidents I'd know about and be one of those things they got to get away with once in a while. That decision also helped me deal with the guilt I felt for standing there in the first place, spying on them, not to mention the anxiety I felt at trying to figure out how to talk to them without them thinking I was giving them a free ticket to masturbate and shoot off all over each other and feed one another their cum. I reinforced the decision with the knowledge they would do it anyway, with or without my free ticket. I also knew, being honest with myself, that I wished I could have been that comfortable at their age and felt a slight pang of jealousy. I decided that I needed a beer and headed for the kitchen. After chugging the first bottle and half the second, I called out to let them know I was home. Soon, my angels appeared, acting sweet and innocent. Both of them should have received an Oscar. >From the time the boys were born, Kathy and I decided we wanted to be liberal with them. She and I both came from very conservative backgrounds and felt as though we missed out on a lot because of a lack of self confidence. Both of her parents worked and dedicated themselves to their family and their church. As conservative Baptists, strict rules were imposed on dress, dating, and partying. She wasn't allowed to do many of the things her classmates enjoyed. My family, or at least the part that was religious, was staunch, hard-core, fire and brimstone fundamentalists. My grandmother drove by the school one day when I was playing baseball in a pick-up game. I didn't expect anyone to see me and, like most of the boys, I was shirtless. She stopped and I panicked when I saw her; it was too late. All the kids heard how I was going to burn in hell for all eternity for indecent exposure. My parents were upset and didn't approve of my grandmother's actions, but my friends had witnessed my embarrassment and the damage was done. Only when going swimming or to the beach did I remove my shirt after that incident. At school, I found a private place to change to gym clothes. I rebelled later through my boys. Our boys were allowed their freedom. They were encouraged to be themselves and not be embarrassed by what they did or how they looked. The Puritans believed a soul was condemned to hell from the time of birth. Salvation was to be had only by living a strict and sacrificial life. We believed our children were God's gift, and He would never give us anything that wasn't pure; and that's what we taught our boys. After their evening baths, if they wanted to run free some, they did. They were not allowed to run free all the time, just part of the time. As they got older, I realized that their 'part of the time' became 'most of the time'; at least when they were at home. The idea was for them to be comfortable with themselves, be comfortable around us, and not be afraid to ask questions or talk to us. They took advantage, once in a while, and we knew it. When they'd grown out of diapers and could communicate with us, we enrolled them in swimming lessons; a pool followed, a heated pool. A favorite pastime for the boys was to skinny dip, and we let them. The boys were not the least bit inhibited about running free around their mother and we knew friends and neighbors did the same with their children; so it wasn't unusual for me to come home and find several young boys running free through the house and around the pool. I would come home occasionally and hear little sounds coming from their room. Sometimes I did stop in the hall and listen. I knew what they were up to and had to laugh to myself. I remembered what it was like at their age to be curious and to be horny, particularly horny. There was something else I knew, if that had been me at their age, odds were my dad would not just laugh to himself and keep going. I asked my dad a question the first time the milky fluid escaped my body. I was too embarrassed to tell him I was in the tub letting the water run onto the area behind my sac and loving every moment. When the fluids came out I felt light headed, and scared. I thought I had done something bad to myself. It took me three days to work up the nerve to let him know I had to ask him something. We went to the bedroom where I sat on the edge of the bed. My knees were too weak to support me. I told him what happened and how I got scared. He laughed at me. I'll never forget it; he laughed at me. Worse, several days later I went to work with him and he told some of the men what I did. They all laughed at me. It was the most embarrassing time of my life. I never asked him another personal question. I never shared another secret with him. I never got over it. When the boys came along I swore they would never have to be afraid or embarrassed to ask me anything. I kept that promise. As all children do, my boys became curious about their bodies and started asking questions. Kathy and I agreed that when that time came we would answer the boys honestly and there would be no talk about the cabbage patch and such other things adults sometimes use to confuse their children. The time came and the boys were given the opportunity to ask their questions. I don't know, at the time, who was more nervous, me or them, but now, I'm sure it was me because I didn't have a good experience with my father to relate to. They asked and we discussed the proper names and the slang names for parts of their bodies. They asked why their 'thingy', which I then insisted they call by its proper name or a street name, not a baby's name, got hard. The answer was simple and honest. Each question was answered the same. If their expressions said they needed more explanation, they got it. If they asked for more information, they got it. My boys were not going to grow up as ignorant and naïve as I did. The talk only lasted a few minutes and they left smiling and laughing. I got a beer, then another. As time went by, the boys seemed to adjust fairly well to their mother being gone. I knew that they missed her and sometimes would sit around thinking about her, and, sometimes, shed a few extra tears. I remembered people telling me how resilient kids were and the boys proved it. They did better than me. They spent their time being kids and enjoying themselves. I spent my time working and worrying if I was doing what I needed to do for my boys. A few months after the mutual masturbation and feeding incident I arrived home and followed my usual routine of heading straight for my bedroom to change into what I termed my lounging scruffies. They were old clothes that Kathy always got upset over me wearing out anywhere, but they were comfortable. Passing the boys' room, I heard some familiar sounds that gave me cause to stop for a moment. I wasn't completely sure, but I could guess from the sound of sharp breaths and muffled moans what was going on behind the closed door. Reminding myself of an earlier promise, I gave the boys their privacy and space. After taking a deep breath, I headed to the family room to find my paper. The door to the boys' room opened and I could hear them laughing and acting silly as teenage boys sometimes do. Frank came bouncing out and I had to look as he yelled out a greeting. I don't know why, but I took the time to look at my boys. I don't mean glance at them, but really look at them. I was accustomed to seeing them run around the house au natural and usually ignored them; not this time. Frank had grown. He had curly, dirty, strawberry blond hair that came from his mother's side of the family. His eyes were a deep blue and seemed to smile just about all the time. Straight white teeth with a big smile framed by dimples, he was the essence of what most teen girl's fathers didn't want to see around their house. Frank was athletic and had the build to prove it, with solid muscles, slim waist, and minimal fat. He was also gifted in the brains department; an asset I will take partial credit for. In addition to brains, he could apply some good old-fashioned common sense. Sometimes I would sit around and listen to the boys and how Frank was able to lead Mike around without Mike even knowing it was happening. Barring any absolutely stupid moves on his part, Frank would do well. Following Frank on this little escapade was Michael, a year older than Frank in some ways, and far behind in others. Mike was a natural blond with deep blue eyes like his brother's, and a smile to melt your heart. Both boys knew how to use their boyish charms on family, teachers and friends. Mike wasn't athletic, but he was really into weight- lifting. He had a build like a junior Mr. Universe and I had pictures of him posing in front of a mirror admiring himself. If he knew where I had them hidden, he would destroy them. My plan was to have them blown up poster size for the bachelor party he would have one day. Mike was also gifted intellectually and thought anything below an 'A' was failing. He had absolutely no common sense and was known to lose his shoes in the house. It had to be difficult, but he was the one that could pull it off. Besides their good looks, brains and personalities, the boys had one other thing in common; they were what one would term 'well endowed'. Like most boys going through school, I worried in junior high and high school if I could measure up to my peers. Yes, I looked, and yes, I discovered that I was larger than most and smaller than some. At their ages, my boys had me beat by a long shot. Neither boy was circumcised, but just hanging natural, Frank had to be a good five inches and had respectable width. Mike had to be between five and a half and six inches and was twice the width of Franks'; Mike just flat had a log bouncing around. Sometimes I teased Mike about exercising one particular muscle more than the others. Anyone seeing them naked would think they were sex gods. When I looked at them all I could think was 'Michelangelo, eat your heart out'. If these boys had been around then, there would never have been a David. Behind my two boys came Sean, their best friend. I didn't even realize he was there until I heard, "What's up, Mr. G?" Fatherless and with a mother who spent more time on the social ladder than home caring for her son, Sean was like an adopted member of the family. Sean was a tracker. I think he did sprints and short distance stuff. Not being into track, I really didn't understand except that he liked it. Not surprisingly, he was as naked as my boys. With shoulder length black hair, minimal muscle definition, and hardly any tan, Sean didn't compare to my two. The boys had given him the nickname of "stump dick", something I wasn't supposed to let on to Sean that I knew. I looked and didn't think he was that small. He wasn't as big as my boys, but he didn't need to be ashamed either. The three boys passed on through, laughing and playing grab-ass until I heard the familiar splashing sounds. Suddenly it struck me, what I had just done. I had admired my sons, their bodies, assessed their attributes and classified them sex gods; I perved their best friend. So what? They were good looking boys and I had the right to feel a father's pride. Then I remembered the sounds I heard coming from their room earlier. Sean was in there. Did I hear two voices or three? Were they fooling round like I thought they might have been, or was my imagination out of control? No, I know I heard the familiar, but special, sounds of a boy reaching a peak; but there were three of them. I looked outside to see three happy go lucky boys having fun. What were they doing earlier? I thought about it a few more minutes and felt my heart begin to pound. Were my boys having boy-boy sex with other boys? I decided they probably were experimenting a little. I headed to the kitchen to begin dinner for four; but first, I needed a beer. Boys could definitely be a challenge. End Ch One To Be Continued Comments Welcome: contact Dwight Wilson at adm2780@yahoo.com