Date: Fri, 28 Mar 2008 15:55:31 -0700 (PDT) From: adm2780 Subject: Second Time Around Chapter Three 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. Chapter Three: Second Time Around After the talk with my sons, I continued to think of Kevin and the day that we lay together. I questioned whether I enjoyed it as much as I remembered, or if I just wanted to enjoy it that much. A few days later I thought of Kevin less and less. Many times I wanted to kick my own butt for freaking out like I did, but I couldn't change anything. That was a different time and a different place. Now, I was older and capable of understanding more. What I now knew was that, deep down, I wasn't happy and it was up to me to change things. When I made the changes I also had to remember that there were two young men depending on me to support them while they learned to make their own choices. Several days after our talk, it was a Friday night and I was already in bed, I heard someone enter my room. My back was to him and I waited. When Michael called to me, I heard the little boy in him, not the teen, and knew he was ready to talk. When he asked me if we could talk, I rolled over to face him and lifted the covers. This was the same routine we had followed since he was a little boy. If my older son thought he might have done something wrong, his conscience would not give him any peace until he confessed. When he was small, Kathy and I usually knew what he wanted to confess before he decided to tell us. As he got older, it was often a mystery, but the end result was the same. We let him know that he was loved and we would always be there for him. As he slipped into the bed with his back to me, and moved so he touched me, I felt the warmth of a naked boy. He lifted his head and I moved for him to use the crook of my arm as a pillow. My hand touched him and he lifted his right arm so I could wrap an arm around his chest to hold him close; we were in position. I smiled as he wiggled to find his comfort spot and settle down; I waited. "Dad, did you mean what you said the other day? Will you always be there and love us, no matter what?" Normal beginning; I grunted an acknowledgement and waited. "Love you," he added. I shifted and pulled him closer. Now we had reached the point for the confession. Then he surprised me. "Dad, are you naked?" That was a first. Normally he just reached back for a feel. Both boys knew it was rare for me not to sleep nude. I wiggled for him to feel. He giggled, then he became very quiet for a few minutes. I could feel his heart beat and knew he was nervous which said this was a big one, at least to him. "When you were little, I mean like first grade little, did you play with yourself?" My son was full of surprises. Neither boy had asked me such personal questions; there had to be a reason and I was curious. "Most boys learn from a very early age that it feels good to be rubbed there. Parents usually have a challenge getting little boys not to play with themselves in public. You were horrible about it." His body jumped as he laughed quietly. "Mom used ta let us sit in her lap and she'd hold us. There was somethin' real special when she did. She'd lean back against the sofa or chair and I could lay my head on her chest." He was quiet for a moment and I knew he was fighting his emotions. "She felt warm and soft; smelt good, too. When she'd be in here or, maybe, layin' on the couch I liked ta get naked and lay with her. She never told me 'no'. If we were on the couch she'd scoot back a little and turn so I had a place to lay kinda on the couch and on her. I'd always get my back rubbed and mostly she'd get some powder and sprinkle on me. Her hands were so soft and nice. Almost always I'd fall asleep and when I woke up, she was usually gone, but I had her bath-robe over me. It was warm and snuggly and smelled good with that bath stuff she liked. I liked it when she let me snuggle like that." I didn't say anything. My son was hurting for his mom, whom we knew he would never see again. He needed those memories and I was glad he had them. The warm moistness of his tears fell on my arm and my heart ached because I couldn't take the hurt away. We lay that way for a few minutes when I decided to tell him some of the funny things his mother and I remembered about him. "Your mother used to tell me about those times; she cherished them. When she talked about some of the things you did, her eyes just sparkled with love and pride. You were always our real sensitive one. You always wanted to be held and snuggle and, I know you're not telling me the whole thing." I smiled to myself when I felt him get a little tense. "Your mom said you would walk up to her and whisper in her face. The question was always the same, 'are you asleep' and the answer was always 'yes'. You'd giggle and then take all your clothes off and climb up next to her. She'd wrap an arm around you and pull you close; she always called you her beautiful naked boy." He laughed again. "That's also when you started sleeping naked. After a while you didn't bother to come in with your pajamas on. When we discovered that the two of you would strip them off before climbing in bed, we just let it go. "When you were little and it was time to get out of diapers, you were next to impossible. We'd set you on the potty and tell you to stay there till you did something and you'd stick your bottom lip out at us and look pathetic. You acted like we were trying to punish you. To keep things easy, in case you decided to use the potty, we had you running around here in just a diaper for a long time. Instead of using the potty though, if you had to go to the bathroom, you'd run into whatever room we were in, stand in front of us and fill the diaper, grinning the whole time from ear to ear. As soon as you finished, you pulled the tabs and dropped the diaper right on the spot and ran off laughing. Your mother and I were ready to trade you in." "How'd you get me to stop?" "It turned out to be real simple; one of your mother's friends said she had the same trouble with her son and told us how she cured it; we tried it and it worked. The next time you filled a diaper and dropped it on the floor, we didn't put another one on you. You ran around here au natural. You always thought it was funny and hardly stopped giggling. We were in the kitchen and you came running in, stopped right in front of us and the look on your face broadcast what you were about to do. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to be aware that you weren't wearing a diaper. You unloaded, and I mean unloaded, both ways. It was all down between and behind your legs. When you realized what you'd done you screamed. You didn't cry, you screamed and reached down to your legs. You scraped some poop off your legs and the next thing we knew, you smeared some of it across your front and then in your hair. You had a record fit, that time." I had to stop the story and laugh myself. "Daaad, that wasn't funny. That wasn't nice, neither!" he protested. "Funny? We thought it was one of the funniest things we ever saw. You would have thought you were dying. Later, we were just sorry we hadn't thought about grabbing the camera. I took you by your little wrists, picked you up and carried you outside. After I rinsed you with the garden hose I carried you to the tub. You cried through the whole clean-up process. Your mother and I laughed through the whole process. Towards the end you started crying for a diaper and we said no. We also told you that when you needed to pee-pee or poop, if you didn't use the potty, you'd get dirty all over again. You always ran for the potty after that, but we had a fit trying to keep clothes on you. You always wanted to be naked, and we just sort of gave up the fight and let you run free. We thought it was just a phase you were going through and you'd eventually give it up; we're still waiting." "Does Frank know that story?" "No, that was a special memory your mother and I shared. I don't think she would mind me sharing it with you. Of course, other family members know about it, but they wouldn't say anything." "Do me a favor, Dad? Don't ever tell Frank. He'd never let me have any peace." I just squeezed him close as a response. "Dad, didn't you ever like to go naked? It feels good sometimes ta feel your package bouncing around. It's good to let the air flow, don't ya think?" "Son, all guys like to enjoy their equipment and feel it floating free sometimes. I think you just like it a little more than most, that's all." "That's 'cause I got more than most," and the little boy giggle followed. He wiggled and I popped his butt, gently. "Owweee, that's wasn't nice." He became quiet and I knew he was thinking. "'Member the talk you had with me and Frank once? You know, about sex and that stuff and playin' with ourselves and exploring and all that?" I didn't answer; I waited on the bombshell that I knew was imminent. "After me and Frankie would get our bath we'd stay naked. We used to get on our knees on the floor or the bed and sit back on our ankles and play with ourselves. Sometimes we played with each other's dicks just ta see what it felt like." "I know, I caught the two of you playing around more than once, remember?" "Oh yeah, I forgot. Well, we read a story once about Indians and Indian boys and how they liked to play boy games. They called it belly rubbin'. Somebody'd drawn a picture of two cartoon kids belly rubbin' Me and Frank tried it. Dad . . . it felt good and we did it a lot after that. In fact, we did it one time and Frank thought I peed on 'im." My son had to take time to laugh, "but I didn't. That was the first time I shot off and I did it all over Frank's belly." Now he was in a full fledged laughing mode. I couldn't help but laugh as I pictured all this in my mind. It felt good to know that he was comfortable enough to talk to me like this. "Michael, did it feel good; is that why you liked it?" He shrugged and I knew I had only one chance. "There was nothing wrong with it, son. You were boys learning about being boys. There is something I want you to remember for me, though. A man can have feelings from two different sources. You know that one comes from the fires burning between your legs. Another comes from a fire that burns in your heart. Be careful son, and know which fire you're fanning." "Dad, let me have your hand for a minute." He took my hand and guided it to his scrotum of all places. "Hold 'em for a minute. Feel 'em? It'n that weird how they just kinda move around like that?" I couldn't believe I'm laying in bed with my son holding his testicles. He's wanting me to feel how they move around in his sac. He wiggled his butt. "Dad? You're gettin' a boner!" he laughed, and I knew his mind had gone elsewhere. I popped him on the butt again and wrapped my arms around him. I held my son while I felt his body relax as he drifted off. * * * * "Hey, Dad. Where's Mikey? He didn't sleep in his bed last night." My younger son made his morning entrance. Having been unable to break old habits of waking early, I had slipped on my robe and was enjoying a cup of coffee and the headlines in peace. Frank came in fresh from the shower, but at least he had a sarong, however brief, wrapped around his waist. Mornings, particularly on weekends, were Frank's time. The boys seemed to have worked out a schedule between them as to who had what time alone with me. Since Michael was our late sleeper, Frank claimed the mornings for his private time. "Good morning, my son, I'm fine, thank you for asking; and yourself?" That earned me an exasperated look. "He's in my bed; let him sleep in." "Ohhhhh, I see said the blind man. One of those, huh? What's he confessin' to this time?" That mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Now, would you want me to tell him about the talks you and I have sometimes?" "You can if ya want to. He pro'bly wouldn't understand anyway. Right?" "Okay, kiddo, enough; leave your brother alone." "But, he's so easy to pick on. He's got buttons that just beg to be pushed." I just looked at him; he gave up. "Would you like some breakfast? How about a bacon and cheese omelet?" When Frank wanted to be helpful, he was really quite good. Of course, when he wanted to be a pain in the ass, he was good at that, too. While I prepared the omelets, he took care of the orange juice and toast. We ate without saying too much. As I finished one section of the paper, he'd pick it up and read. Of course, the first section I read was financial; the first section he reached for was sports. It was a generation-responsibility thing. "I thought that if you and Mike didn't have any plans for the day, possibly the three of us could go over to the club for an early dinner and then maybe a movie. What do ya think?" My son looked at me and then outside. "Yeah, that's okay. Looks like it might be a crappy weather day, any how." "Gee, thanks; should I feel honored? Do you save only crappy weather days to spend with your old man and brother?" "Daa-aad, you know I didn't mean it like that. Well, actually, as far as my brother is concerned, though . . . but, you; no, I'd even give you a good weather day." That mischievous smile he knew he could use to work his way out of a lot of messes appeared. "Would my younger son care to tell me what's been going on in his life lately?" "Nothin's been goin' on. It's the same-o, same-o at school and stuff. Actually, dad, it's been kinda dull." In other words he didn't want to tell me. Frank was always Mr. Independence. He'd tell me he was about to fall into a cess pool when he was almost there and had no life lines left to grab; that's why he worried me the most. "Hey, dudes! Wha'sup?" I recognized the voice and knew son number one had made his entrance. I wasn't the least bit surprised to look up and see him come bouncing in to some tune only he could hear in his head. He was running a comb through freshly washed hair, dripping because he was only half-dry, and in his birthday suit. It was a normal beginning to the morning for him. "Michael . . ." "Ooooooo, Dad called you Michael. You're in a world o' shit now, bud. Little Mikey there looks kinda red; he been up or somethin'?" Frank couldn't leave it alone. I looked at him. "Dad, it's like I said, buttons just begging to be pushed." "Shut-up Frank! What buttons? Hey, Dad, watch this. Now watch and listen close and tell me what you see." Mike could fuss and refocus faster than anyone I knew. My older son stood at the entrance to the kitchen, spread his legs about shoulders width apart, leaned forward a little and began to swing his boyhood from side to side. I just looked, dumbfounded. "I know!" Frank suddenly yelled out, and before I could stop him, "It's a big dick swingin' a little dick, right?" "Noooo! Dad, make him stop bein' such an ass! See? I'm swinging it in time to the grandfather clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock. It's almost as long too, huh?" and he giggled as only Michael, fifteen going on five, could. That boy was definitely regressing. "Still looks like a big..." I heard Frank begin to mumble and stuck the end of my middle finger in his ribs. "Ow!" I had to turn away to avoid them seeing me laugh. "Michael, as fascinating as we both find it to sit here, trying to eat our breakfast and watch you swing your pride and joy around, do you think that maybe you could find something else t focus on? Get something on and I'll fix you a bacon and cheese omelet, okay?" "Okay, just for you guys for breakfast." He answered as though the entire statement was perfectly normal. "But no bacon or cheese on the omelet; too fattening." Frank almost choked on his food, laughing, and I wondered what I did to deserve all this. How could two human beings, drawn from the same gene pools, be so different? They were my boys and there's no way I would have had it any differently. I watched Michael turn around and bounce back down the hall, with his little bubble butt bouncing like two globes of Jello, to the tune only he heard. I had to laugh to myself as I remembered that Kathy and I had agreed that if some poor girl ever married that boy, on their one month anniversary we would send her a sympathy card with a letter of apology. "Gee, Dad, just think; what would you have done if I'd turned out like that too?" * * * * There comes a time in every parent's life that they realize two things. First, their children are getting older, approaching the point of being grown and there are so many things they wanted to do with them, share with them, but didn't. Second, their children are getting older, soon will be grown, and there's only a limited amount of time to make up for all the wasted time. My sons were fifteen and fourteen, growing up way too fast, and I knew that before long they'd have lives all their own. The only time I would hear from them was if they needed money, were in trouble, sick, or hungry; that last one more often than not. Other than those four things, any teenage boy can tell you he's a man and can take care of himself! Before my boys reached that point, I wanted time with them. The idea of an early dinner at the club was intended to give me some of that time. If we did an afternoon dinner, the boys could wear casual clothes and relax more than at a more formal evening dinner. I wanted them relaxed, and happy. Either before dinner, or after, there was a game room with billiards and other games we could enjoy. If there was a good ball game on, there would be others there to share in the excitement and good times. Several weeks earlier I had made myself the promise that my boys would be first priority at the club, not business. The biggest problem with lofty goals as a parent, is that the children don't always share them. I shouldn't have been surprised when I walked through the family room and found Mike lying on the sofa with a book in one hand and the telephone in the other; nor should I have been surprised to know it was Sean on the other end. "Hey, Dad! Sean's home all alone; his mom's out to some function." Mike said 'function' like it was a dirty word. "He can come to the club with us and the movie, right? Can we pick him up and what does he wear?" "No. No. And because of the first two, it don't matter." Frank popped in with his opinion. Frank understood how I felt and was letting his brother know in his own, not so subtle, way. Frank also knew I wouldn't say no as I glared at him. Why did he feel such a need to pick on his brother that day? Like he could read my mind, Frank started pushing imaginary buttons in mid-air. "Yes, Michael. Haven't I always said that Sean is welcome to join us whenever he can?" I really wanted to choke on that one, but what can you do? "Hey, dude, get ready and we'll pick ya up before long, okay? See ya." And I watched my plans sail out the window, unbeknownst to my innocent number one son. When we arrived at the club, the normal routine began to repeat itself. The boys quickly spotted friends and drifted off to the rooms that were setup for teens. Randy, a fellow loan officer at the bank, called out to me to join him and some friends. The friends turned out to be potential clients, so my resolution to not engage in business, but enjoy my boys, dissolved involuntarily. One thing I did salvage for myself that day was using the Mark. I didn't normally drive it anywhere I had to park it, except to the club. I was just in the mood to bring it out; it had been a while and needed to be run. A lot of people make the mistake with an old car of thinking if they let it sit up they don't have to worry about wear and tear. A mechanical thing is meant to be used and must be used to keep it running properly. Besides, I didn't buy it to decorate my garage; I bought it to enjoy. As with most parents of teenagers, I accepted what they gave me. I heard the boys laughing and having a good time and just enjoyed that they did. They didn't leave me completely out. About an hour or so after we arrived they came looking for me and invited me to join them -- in the dining room; they were hungry! It was no surprise to me that Sean joined us for the rest of our weekend. It seemed that his mother had a full schedule and he was on his own. When the three boys were together they could either act more mature than I thought possible, or just plain silly. That weekend they chose to take silly to an extreme, but they had a good time. As soon as we hit the house they ran to the boys' room and appeared three minutes later, stark naked and headed for the pool. Go for it guys; have fun. After their post-dinner snack, or possibly their third post-dinner snack, they stayed in the boys' room. They never bothered to put any clothes on again and I could hear them giggling even though the door was closed. I thought back to some of the stupid things we did as teenagers and the stories we told or other things we talked about. Once, as I headed to my room I heard something about 'measure mine' from one of them. I stopped a minute, looked at the door and then decided to keep going. They were happy go lucky boys, enjoying the discoveries of being boys. Of course, I did wonder who was getting measured and what the measurement was. Also, I couldn't help but wonder how it compared to mine when I was their ages. Lying in bed, I thought about Michael. He wanted to tell me something and I knew he wasn't there, yet. I worried about him, but I knew he would be back to cuddle and be cuddled. He would let me know when he was ready, and I knew him well enough to know it wouldn't be long. The house was quiet and all the lights were out. I lay in bed listening to soft jazz on my radio. As I relaxed and slowly drifted off I felt the covers move and my bed bounced. Without saying a word or making a sound I had a naked boy lying half way on top of me. His arm draped across my shoulder and his head rested on my chest and shoulder. I wrapped an arm across his back and rubbed it gently. As I ran my fingers through is hair and kissed the top of his head I felt him take a deep breath and relax. My younger son had appeared to claim the rest of his time. End Ch Three To Be Continued Comments welcome: contact Dwight Wilson at adm2780@yahoo.com