This is a fictional story dealing with love and consensual sexual activities between males. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area
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I have been away for a few years, taking a break, growing in my own life. Now I feel it is time to reconnect with my fantasy side and pen a few tales that have been rattling around in my head for awhile.
I hope you enjoy. As always, please check out my other stories here on Nifty (listed with year posted at the end of this chapter) and feel free to email with comments, suggestions, or even just good old Boylove chat!
Mason Chambers was not the most popular of boys. In fact if you to ask him he… well truthfully he probably wouldn’t respond at all…but if did he would tell you that he was about the lamest kid at Johnson High…if not in his whole town. At just under 5’ 11” and 200lbs he was a walking disaster area. He had always been the stocky kid in class and due to his height and rather uncooperative bumbling feet he simply could not help drawing attention to himself no matter how hard he tried. He could often be seen walking the halls of his school, hugging closely to the lockers so as to prop himself up and avoid contact whether eye, or more importantly bodily with the other students. Yes, Mason was a mess. At home he was no better off. Having lost his mother when he was only 5 years old in delivery of his twin brothers, Mason now 15 lived a life of isolation and misery. From the outside looking in you wouldn’t think that his home life was all that bad. Apart from the horrible tragedy of losing a mother, his life looked fine. His father earned a substantial living as a lawyer and the family lived in a very nice home in an exclusive suburban neighborhood. But if you were Mason Chambers, you would have a very different perspective on it all. Mason felt like an outcast from almost the moment his twin brothers were born. Adam and Allan were the spitting image of their jock father in every way. Both were naturals at any sport they played and had beautifully well sculpted bodies that made their father very proud of himself which of course led to a never ending litany of comments both at home and in public like well I guess we can tell which apples fell closest to the mighty tree and well you know when you have genes this good you always want to share…of course ya can’t get a masterpiece every time can you…would offset the natural balance in the world…hehehe. It sickened Mason. The twins’ personalities were carbon copies of their father’s as well. On any given night Mason would be treated to tales of his father’s sexual exploits both before he met his mother and since-even horrifying him with a few sordid yarns about those he’d had even while they were together. The twins were no better. While Mason didn’t believe them to be sexually active, they were certainly no virgins to filthy and vulgar talk and could often be found openly masturbating in the family room as they watched pay per view porn. When it came to big tits, tight asses, and hot wet cunt the boys had a full case of Tourettes. Their father did absolutely nothing to discourage this behavior, in fact, on occasion, he would come home, grab a beer and sit down to watch with his boys and usually join them in releasing the day’s pent up load of spunk. Understand though that there was “nothing gay” about this behavior at all. Even when the twins would cheer their father on to “shoot! shoot!” and drench their father in praise over the distance and height of his ejaculate, nothing about it was considered “gay” in their house.
Mason had a different perspective on the matter. He took after his mother in every way; well almost every way. Unlike his father and brothers, Mason had blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He had a nice tan to his fine skin but only because his father made him swim in the family pool nude “just like us men”. He would endure hours of his brothers mocking his body, starting with his belly, then to his boy tits, his big feet, and of course his plump uncut cock. Their father had been furious with Mason’s mother who insisted that circumcision was a form of torture and demanded that Mason be left as he was born. His father wanted nothing of the sort, wanting his son to look like his father. So when she had died in childbirth with the twins, he took advantage of the situation and immediately had the boys cut. He had tried for years to shame Mason into agreeing to get cut knowing that no doctor would perform the procedure on a boy who was old enough to verbalize opposition without it being a medical emergency. So he settled for doing nothing and even encouraging the twins to make fun of him in hopes that he could finally break the boy down; but Mason wouldn’t hear of it. Inside he didn’t really care but he felt that in keeping his skin he was keeping a part of his mother with him as she had been so adamant about the issue.
Yes, Mason had almost nothing in common with his family. He was not interested in ogling women or trash talking. He could care less about sports and wasn’t the slightest bit interested in competing with everyone who issued a challenge. Mason was a dreamer, an artist, and yes, as his brothers and father loved to tease… he knew he was a “fag”. Though he would always deny it to them and never show any signs of giving in to their constant taunts to get him to reveal himself, he knew that he was in fact gay. Mason knew better than to “come out” and to his way of thinking his entire life was a “closet” as he felt like another one of his mother’s old things that had been packed away into storage when she died. Depressed doesn’t even begin to get it. But Mason Chambers had no plans taking his own life or anything like that; no Mason knew that he had but three more years left to endure the state of his life until he would be free to leave the home and start his life. Mason would often dream of the day when he would become an adult and be able to access the trust fund his mother’s family had left for him. He wanted to travel abroad and go to university in Paris or Milan. Yes, Mason had dreams…and those dreams kept him alive.
Now living in a home full of over sexualized males who had no problems with parading around nude and even masturbating at will was not all that bad either. Mason accepted that he was gay around age 10 when he would stare longingly at his father and brothers as they bathed nude in the warm sun. He would excuse himself to the bathroom and within seconds be molesting his own body becoming increasingly drunk with lust over their hot bodies and juicy pricks. Mason would skin back his plump cock and spit on the head, adding extra coating for the pumping action that would in no time at all have him doubled over in ecstasy on the tile floor. As he grew older he would become more brazen with his lust incorporating some of his inner hostilities towards his brothers into his self loving.
When Mason became of age to produce his own cum he decided it was time to have a little payback. At first he would just take a small glob of the cooling juice still clinging to his belly and wipe it around the tops of the 2 liter bottles of soda the twins coveted as if they were infants and the caffeine laden drink were their formula. Mason would smile on the inside as he watched them take giant swigs directly from each bottle the next day, and as they licked their moist lips he would imagine them lying on his bed, stroking wildly at their own hot little nails as his freshly expended spunk would leak out over their full lips. This progressed into midnight salvos into the twin’s room where he would deposit his load into his hand as he jerked his meat standing over them as they slept. He would dip a finger into the puddle and then wipe some in their hair or around their tight little brown nipples and creep back into his room feeling elated at first but then ultimately saddened and guilty for lowering himself to their level of depravity. By the time he was 15, Mason had made a weekly habit of spraying his cum over their naked and sleeping forms. The twins were sound sleepers by nature but on the nights that Mason felt he had a particularly deep score to settle with the now 10 yr old little assholes, he would slip them two tablespoons each of Nyquil in their nighttime glasses of warm milk which he had been preparing for them religiously since they were very young. The twins would be out for sure those nights and Mason would have no trouble using their bodies to fulfill nearly all of his needs. He would suck their stiff pricks, eat out their hot little pink holes, finger bang them as he rubbed his fat cock all over their faces and then shoot a nice load into their open mouths being careful to rub their young throats so that they would swallow his cream. Mason would also sometimes coat his finger in his cum and insert it into their tight, warm, wet asses so that he knew that no matter what they did in life, he would always be the one who bred them first.
For a little insurance, he would often take his digital camera with him on his weekly pleasure trips and click away series after series of pornographic archives documenting each depraved act he performed on the helpless twins. He hated them, that was for sure, after all they had made his life a living hell from the day that they could talk…but deep down, in places he didn’t like to look often, he raged against them for killing his mother.
Yes, much of what Mason did to his brothers at night disgusted him and he would spend hours beating himself up for being a sick freak. It would takes days for him to get over his guilt feelings which is why he usually only did this act once a week. It would usually take that long for him to work through the natural process to get back to the point where his lustful side would resurface and his ability to justify his actions would become stronger.
On a handful of special occasions, when he had come home early in the morning drunk and barely able to stand, Mason would exact a little piece of revenge on his own father. He would wait for the intoxicants to take their full measure on the man causing him to pass out naked on his large bed and proceed to spend the next hour or so defiling his gorgeous body. Mason knew that the alcohol would impair his father to the point where he wouldn’t be able to ‘get it up’ as his father called it, so he would be prepared with a crushed up Viagra taken in advance from the man’s medicine chest and place the powdered boner creator under his sleeping father’s tongue. Mason would then go to work on other parts of the man’s body knowing that in a good 20 to 30 minutes his beautiful cock would have come to life and be standing at its fully engorged 8 inches.
The only thing Mason didn’t like about his father’s body was his almost complete lack of body hair. As a jock, he waxed himself regularly save a small finely crafted V-shaped patch above the base of his thick cock. Mason would had loved to rub his face through a forest of chest hair or run his fingers through a fine dusting of silky fur as he grope the man’s firm ass ending in a swirl of thick brush encircling his juicy hole. Yes, this did disappoint the sex crazed teenager, but he would be content with the otherwise flawless body that lay helpless on the bed beneath him.
Mason would strip himself down, making sure that he had locked the door to his father’s room and slowly snake into position over his father. He would take him first on his stomach laying his thick teen’s body over the passed out man, resting his now stiff 5” uncut plumper in the man’s tight crack. Mason would shudder as his cock made first contact with the hot flesh of his father’s sweaty cleft. The mixture of the alcohol induced sweat and his own leaking precum would make it easy to glide his cock over his father’s searing skin. Mason would kiss and bite at his father’s neck and back as he ground into him, grunting and sweating as he worked out his lust on the passive man. Careful not to get too excited less he end his fun before it had really gotten going, Mason would slow down his strokes and occasionally lift off of his father to allow the cool air to tame the fire in his prick. He would then dismount and turn his father over to reveal his now fully hard and leaking cock. Mason needed no further invitation then the mere sight of the swollen prick and he was down on it. Wasting no time he would take the whole of the man’s meat into his mouth and throat. Mason had learned years ago after a few failed attempts and close calls to relax his throat muscles and breath through his nose as he face fucked his father. The heavy musk of the drunken man was like a drug for the teen and his head swirled as he would pull completely off of before plunging the large tool back down his throat. Knowing that his father would not awaken out of his deep sleep, Mason would throw caution to the wind and fill the room with the lustful sounds of his throat making love to the hard cock in its grasp. After a while of hard sucking Mason would slow down and use his tongue to caress the hot flesh as he spread his father’s legs and gained access to his slippery hole. Mason would then jerk his own cock slowly a few times to produce a heavy slick of precum which he would use to coat his finger before plunging into his father’s hungry asshole. Mason loved to watch his father’s prick dance as he massaged the man’s prostate. More and more precum would flow out of the tip of the hard 8 inches as he applied pressure to the man’s love nut. He would replace the one finger with two, and then three as he gentle finger banged the sleeping man. When he was sure that he had him stretched out adequately, Mason would move the man onto his side and spoon in behind him. Mason had tried to plow his father from on top the first time he had him in this place but found that without him awake to hold the weight of his own legs, he couldn’t get him into position to penetrate his tight hole. From behind though, his sweaty chest now stuck to his father’s smooth back, he could maneuver his cock between the tight cheeks and into the waiting hole of still drunken man. While this position didn’t allow Mason the angle to really hard fuck his old man like he wanted to, it did afford him the ability to watch his father’s face as his tool pierced his most private place and invaded the darkness of his tunnel. Mason would stay hard and slow fuck his father as long as he could, reaching over his body to jack his still stiff prick. As he felt his orgasm growing, Mason would pump as fast as he could given his position until he tensed and shot rope after rope of cum deep into his father’s bowels.
When he had regained his ability to think and to move, coming down from his explosive orgasm, Mason would get back between his father’s legs and take his hot prick back into his mouth. He would pump the man’s rod in and out of his mouth as he massaged the outer flesh of his now stretched hole. Mason could sense his father’s balls tightening up and knew his own orgasm was fast approaching. As Mason prepared to receive his father’s full load into his mouth he jammed a finger inside of his recently abused ass and applied ample pressure to the man’s quivering nut. The man would then rocket volley after volley of hot juice deep into his son’s throat as his ass clamped down and released over his finger. As his orgasm subsided his muscles would go limp and his son’s still hot spunk would begin to flow out his gaping entrance. Mason knew to quickly grab the towel he had placed at the foot of the bed and get it into place to gather up the spilling seed. When he was satisfied that he had gotten all of it that he was going to get, Mason would climb out of his father’s bed and make his exit. Mason didn’t bother to dress him or even to cover the naked man up with a blanket; he didn’t care that much about him to afford him those decencies.
In school, Mason was a good student although he struggled often due to his tendency to drift off into his own mind. He excelled though in the areas of art and creative writing. It was his creative writing class that would ultimately be the catalyst for changing his life forever. Mrs. Deavers had always found it rewarding to challenge her students to engage in writing that would break them out of their comfort zones and expand their minds. It was with this in mind that she gave Mason his next writing assignment.
“I want you to write a biographical piece on a complete stranger,” she looked the boy up and down as she gave him his orders.
“Huh?” Mason had been daydreaming again, this time about his 4th period Science teacher Mr. Fortnoit. Mason had often lost minutes and hours to dreams of taking his hot teacher’s stiff cock into his mouth and licking up all of his manly juice.
“C’mon Mason,” she retorted, “snap out of dreamland and pay attention!”
“Sorry Mrs. Deavers,” Mason blushed.
“Ok…here it is again. I want you to find a complete stranger and interview them about their life. Then put together a retrospective piece for the class,” she smiled, impressed with her own assignment, “and not anyone known to you or known in town. This has to be someone who you are completely unfamiliar with.”
“How am I gonna do that?” Mason sighed.
“Oh don’t pull this lazy shit with me Mason Chambers,” she knew he wouldn’t say a word about her breaking the rules and using profanity with him, “look around town, find someone and present them with your assignment and ask them if you can interview and write about them.”
“But what if they are…you know…boring?” a fair question he felt.
“That’s the point Mason,” she leaned her head back, squinting her eyes and rubbing her chin as if to demonstrate deep thought, “as the writer, you need to find the interesting story with your subject and flush it out. FIND THE STORY”
“Um…ok, I guess,” Mrs. Deavers knew Mason had great potential as a writer, or anything for that matter…if he could only get out of his own way.
“Well good,” she looked mischievously at the boy, “because it will count as 50% of your total grade…consider this your final exam.”
Now on most days, after school, Mason would walk to the Meadows Hospice where he volunteered. Mason had been hooked up with the hospice center through his church when he was 12 as a way to help him deal with some of his issues with grief and loss. Church had been something his mother had taken him to although his father had never bothered. When she died, different families from the church volunteered at first to pick the boy up and bring him so that he could continue that tradition. After awhile though, folks got tired as they often do of giving and the rides stopped. He would attend on and off again from age 8 through 12 when he could spend the night with a church friend or convince his father to drop him off for the late service when he and the twins were on their way to a football game. One Sunday Mason attended a church trip to the hospice center to visit an ailing church member and he felt a connection to the place immediately. Having worked it out through his Pastor, Mason began volunteering at the center almost every day after school. For the next three years Mason would spend his time helping to make the dying more comfortable and spending time with their children and grandchildren helping to ease their pain through keeping them occupied. In a way, this helped Mason feel closer to his mother as he became less and less afraid of dying and grew to understand the beauty of the death transition.
Mason thought about asking one of the family members of the folks at the center to do the interview but he thought better of that quickly. Surely those people would not want to be bothered with a high school kid wanting to interview them about their life when their loved ones were dying…and since most of the folks in the hospice waiting to die had other things on their minds…or couldn’t talk even if they wanted to, he was out of luck. So it was, on a sunny day in April, with summer longingly peaking around the corner, a frustrated and tired Mason Chambers walked in to the Meadows Hospice center and prepared for another day of volunteering.
“Got a new one today,” Nurse Becky said too busy with her crossword puzzle to look up at the boy she was speaking to, “what’s a six letter word for ‘to find your way out’”?
“What’s the new one’s story?” Mason paused at the chart rack.
Nurse Becky looked up from her paper with a slight glare.
“Escape,” Mason sighed, “now what’s with the new patient?”
“Same old same old,” she sighed in return then lowered her voice, shielded the ride side of her face and mouthed, “cancer”.
Mason always found this behavior amusing and puzzling at the same time. Why whisper, he thought. Everyone is here to die anyway…why be all secretive about it? It’s like they’re afraid if they say it out loud they’ll catch it or something.
“Oh,” Mason thumbed through the chart for room 62, “Mr. Smith… ok well I guess I’ll add him to my rounds.”
“Good luck,” she said as she buried her face back in her crossword puzzle.
Mr. Smith had been transported to the hospice center from Wade County General. County was the hospital you went to when you were poor… everyone knew that. That usually meant that you didn’t have much time left. According to his chart Mr. Smith, in his late 60’s, was an end term cancer patient. What had started out as prostate cancer had now metastasized to his kidneys, liver, and brain. Wow…he’s wrecked… Mason thought as he thumbed through pages. The man had no identified family, no money, and nowhere to go to die. These cases had often been the hardest ones to deal with. The patients were often very angry to be dying alone and their rage fueled constant verbal and sometimes physical attacks on the staff. Mason was not sure what to expect from the man in room 62, but he was prepared for the worst. As he entered the room he took a deep breath and got into character.
“Excuse me Mr…ah..Smith,” why did I pause….I know his damn name…what the hell is wrong with me?
“Yes?” the feeble old man replied as he turned his head and broke his gaze with a small bird hopping back and forth on a thin branch outside of his window.
“My name is …um uh….” Mason winced at his stupidity,
“Now I can understand you getting my name mixed up but from the looks of you I’d say you’d had yours for at least 15 or so years so it shouldn’t require that much thought should it?” the old man smirked.
“No..I …ah….wow!,” Mason slapped himself in the forehead, “I’m sorry sir, I just got all tripped up in my head and well…you know the rest.”
“So how about you try that one again then?” the old man laughed.
“Sure,” Mason smiled, “my name is Mason Chambers and I will be one of the volunteers that come to see you every day. I am here to help out in any way I can.”
“Well I can’t say as I have much use for a tree of a boy such as yourself these days,” he coughed, “all I have left to do is lay here until my body gives out and then I’m worm’s food!”
“Oh now Mr. Smith please don’t talk that way,” Mason switched into script mode for volunteers.
“Oh well shit…no son…no you were doin’ just fine there,” the old man grunted in disapproval, “don’t go and cock it all up being plastic like these other soulless fops.”
“I …wasn’t…I just…” Mason gave up after he heard his own excuses, “damn….sorry sir, I was just saying what they taught us to say…you know, to keep you thinking positive thoughts.”
“What a bunch of bullshit,” the old man chuckled, “I’m dying son…I don’t have any illusions about it… I know it’s comin’… and no amount of positive psychobabble bullshit is gonna change that. So, if it’s all the same to you I’d just rather dispense with all the fake pleasantries and try to spend the last few days or whatever I have left being honest…for once…in my life. Whattaya say kiddo? Deal?”
“Deal…” Mason shook the old man’s hand and was actually surprised at the force of his grip.
Mason spent the next few hours with Mr. Smith, exchanging small talk, going over everything from the weather to the slightly mothball scent of the center. Mason told him all about his family…well not everything, and Smith just listened and gave little response save to acknowledge the boy and to encourage him to “go on”. By the end of his shift Mason had managed to cover pretty much everything from birth to the present day. Mr. Smith thanked him for coming by and resumed his bird watching as the large boy made his way out of the room and down the hall.
Over the next week Mason spent nearly all of his time with Mr. Smith, discussing school, friends-or lack thereof, and even the subject of girls and dating. Mason had gotten to know many people over the years but none had ever captured his interest and left him always wanting more and counting the minutes until he could see them again. Mr. Smith had a quiet but sharp way about him that Mason found intoxicating. He also could pick up on the slightest changes to the boy’s affect and had an uncanny ability to see through his reasons and excuses and pinpoint exactly what was going on for the boy. It was eerie to say the least and while Mason often feared what lie around each new corner in their relationship, he was addicted to it. As the spent time together, Mason learned a lot about himself and his fears as Mr. Smith broke down walls and debunked simple teenage perceptions about life and the world around them. Smith would challenge the teen to question and examine everything in his life and to always flush out the root motivations for the behaviors he witnessed in himself and others each day.
“Can I ask you somethin’ Mason?” the old man looked seriously at the boy causing him to sit up somewhat nervously in his chair.
“Sure Mr. Smith, anything,” he meant it.
“You’ve told me all about your family, your school and your plans for the future once you clear outta that hell hole you call home…” Smith got up on his haunches and motioned the big boy over to his bedside with an intensity of purpose that resembled someone preparing to whisper dark secrets, “So tell me truthfully…”
“I will” Mason whispered as their closeness now called for a serious reduction in volume.
“Why are you wasting my time and yours talkin’ about girls and dating when you are clearly a cocksucker?” Mason felt the blood drain quickly from his entire body as the words pierced his flesh.
“What…wait…I…huh…no..I’m no…hey what do you mean?!?” Mason was a mess at this point.
“Oh c’mon Nancy,” Smith rested back onto his bed, a look of satisfaction at his outing of the boy smeared across his face, “we both know that there ain’t no damn way that mouth of yours is EVER gonna be tastin’ any cunt!”
“Hey!” Mason sprang up sliding his chair backwards as he pushed himself to an attacking posture, “wait a damn minute Mr. Smith…you don’t know me…you don’t know shit about me!”
“Settle down…settle down,” Smith motioned for the boy to relax and retake his seat, “don’t get your panties all twisted up…I didn’t mean to offend you…well maybe I did..but I just couldn’t take one more story about some girl at your school that you are all hot and bothered for when we both know that’s total BS.”
Mason sat back down. As he did he wrestled in his mind about the obvious truth to what Mr. Smith was saying however he was lost in the natural throws of denial as he was in no way to have his secret exposed. He had not slowed his breathing down yet when Smith broke the silence.
“Look kiddo,” he assumed a very soft and compassionate tone, “there’s nothing wrong with it…but if you say you aren’t then I’ll believe ya”
Mason still fought against the revelation, “well whatever…but I’m not …ok?”
“Sure kiddo…no worries,” Smith conceded.
It would take a few days for the heat to dissipate. Mason continued to visit every day but the durations became shorter and shorter. Finally, Mason settled back into a better routine and their talks resumed.
“So what were you reading over out there in the hallway earlier?” Smith posed.
“Oh it’s nothing,” Mason replied knowing full well that he was running out of time for his creative writing assignment and had still not found an interview subject.
“I thought we were past bullshitting bub?” Smith gave the boy a fixed stare.
“Oh well…you know…it’s really not important…just some stupid homework assignment.”
Smith worked him down over the next 30 minutes and finally Mason revealed the secret of his assignment. Mason then explained how he had not been able to find anyone to interview yet and that the time was running out. Smith sympathized with the boy but did not offer any solutions at first. Eventually Mason built up enough courage to ask Smith to be his subject.
“Oh I don’t think so buddy,” Mason retorted, “I don’t think that you’d be interested in my story.”
“Sure I would,” Mason pointed out wanting desperately to get this assignment over.
“No…you wouldn’t,” Smith quickly restated his earlier belief, “besides you would probably feel compelled to edit it down if you found anything at all you could write and that would just cheapen it”
“Why would you think that I would do that?” Mason didn’t like his motives and professionalism in writing being called into question.
“It’s not that I think that you wouldn’t write a good story,” he made sure to help the boy understand that he was not making fun of him or minimizing his natural writing talents, “it’s just a very adult story and I wouldn’t have it retold as anything but the truth.”
“What do you mean ‘adult’,” Mason scratched his head. He knew about what the old man meant but didn’t understand why those things would have to be put in the story anyway, “I mean I get that you’re referring to more risqué stuff like sex, relationships, and all that stuff… but why would you care if I made it PG?”
“ Because son,” Smith motioned him closer again , not as if to mock the relaying of a grand secret, but rather to convey the respect he held for what he was about to say, “ the only way to tell my story is to tell the whole story, and there ain’t no way to do that without being brutally honest. You see, mine’s a different sort of story all together… and in order to tell it right, you have to care about and respect the people and places in it. You just can’t do that in a watered down, public school kinda way.”
“But I don’t want to water it down Mr. Smith,” Mason was surprised at how interested he actually was in hearing the old man’s tale, “I want to be honest to the work. I may be just a teenager, but I really do love to write and I’m damn good at it.”
Smith appreciated the kid’s gusto and pride in himself, “oh... so I have a real journalist on my hands then?”
“Well I would like to be…someday,” Mason knew there were few things in his life or about himself that he could talk about and portray much self confidence in… but when it came to writing, he became a totally different person.
The old man reclined in his bed and looked the teen over as he thought. He looked deeply into the boy’s crystal blue eyes and took a deep breath in through his nostrils making a distinct noise that filled the silence in the room.
“Maybe you are serious,” he rubbed his chin, “and maybe you aren’t. Only time will tell on that matter. I tell you what…”
Mason was completely drawn in and stood next to the old man’s bed in waiting, tensed and hanging on his every word.
“Go home tonight and write me a short form essay entitled ‘If They Only Knew…’.” He smiled devilishly at the boy, “and I want you to tell me your deepest, darkest, most horrifying secret. And don’t try to bullshit me with some silly little tale of how you once broke your Daddy’s favorite watch and hid it under the stairs. I want to know the one thing about you that would make everyone you know, everyone you love, stop dead in their tracks and look at you with shock and horror. I want to know the one thing about you that would make them all turn against you.”
“Wait…I ….ah….but…” Mason was blown away and searched for his thoughts which seemed to be hiding along with his breath, “how the hell do I know that you won’t just take it and post it on the net for everyone to see?”
“You don’t,” Smith simply replied, “but if you really want to write my story, if you really want to hear the secrets of my life, then I have to know that you will have something to lose as well.”
“I don’t know,” Mason spoke honestly, “what if it just turns out to be some boring, lame ass story and you’re only building it up to get me to confess my darkest thoughts and sins to you?”
“Look kiddo,” Smith laughed, “I ain’t your Daddy and I’m not a priest so there’ll be no confession going on here. I just want to know that you’ve risked something in this relationship. I want to know that you’ll know what it feels like to open your life up to examination. That is the true test of a great writer. Will you be able to capture the essence of my life and the lives I have loved? Will you be able to look past your own self and be able to report on what you learn in a way that honors their memories? I need to know that you can before I give them over to you.”
Mason sat back on his heels and thought deeply about the offer on the table before him and the huge price he was being asked to pay in order to get what he wanted. He also wrestled over why he should give a shit about what this man might have to say about his life any damn way. He was just some random old guy after all…some old guy dying in a bed in a hospice center. Why would his life be anything worth the exposure of himself in this way? It wouldn’t….would it? And why did he even care? He just met this old bastard. These were all valid questions and the reality was that there was in fact absolutely no legitimate reason or evidence to support going ahead with this. But Mason could not escape the strange attraction and mystery of this man.
“Well….,” Smith wrinkled back into is pillow, “the choice is yours. It looks like it’s closing time for you today pal.”
Mason snapped out of his pseudo coma and looked at his watch which verified Mr. Smith’s report that it was in fact time for him to head home. He turned to leave without saying a word. When he reached the door he stopped himself at the frame and turned around again slowly.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he didn’t really look up.
“I hope so kiddo,” Smith responded.
With that Mason made his way down the hallway and out through the lobby to the darkening street outside. He stayed deeply buried in his own head the entire walk home. Would he give the man what he wanted to get the stories out of him? Would he be able to really admit his darkest secrets? In the end he decided that he would write two essays. The first would be about his mother dying and his loathing for his father. The second or the truth as he saw it, would be about his sexual orientation and the deviant expressions of his anger and rage towards his brothers and father. He hoped that the first one worked, but he was not sure.
To be continued…
Positive emails or just good old BL chat can be sent to email@example.com
If you enjoy this series, check out my other stories on Nifty originally posted during the summer and fall of 2003:
“The Boys of August”