Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2017 14:58:28 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Maybe Next Time 3

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/maybe-next-time/)
for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved.
Includes *BULLYING* and *ABUSIVE SEX* between male teens and between teens
and adult males, many of them related. Go away if any of that is against
your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like,
but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

'Maybe next time...' I thought as I picked up the soap, tasting the vile
mess in my mouth, remnants of my father's stale load from the night before,
slightly fresher semen from this morning, all buried under an appalling,
horrifying layer of piss-flavor and realized to me dismay... I couldn't
finish the sentence. 'May next time...' was all I had.

*****

Maybe Next Time 3: The First Why

By Bear Pup

*****

Washing Pop was an education in itself. He was too tall for me to do his
hair, but for the rest he was very vocal, telling me how he liked each part
of his body rubbed, washed and massaged as I went about it. He had very
sensitive nipples, feet and (as I already knew) balls. I also had to be
unimaginably-gentle when washing his ass. Any sort of pressure would earn a
rebuke.

When I was done and he was rinsed, he picked me up like a toy and took the
handheld shower, putting in pulsate. He bent me over and aimed it at my
ass, playing with my hole as he massaged it with the hot water. I was
whimpering and he smiled as he put the shower back, "Cocksucking
faggot. Damned, this is gonna be good." He got out without another glance
and got dried and dressed as I showered, tasting and smelling his piss
every moment.

School was a torment. I knew, just KNEW that every classmate and teacher
could smell Pop's piss on my breath. I somehow knew that Pop would know if
I cheated, though. I quailed from any conversation or contact and a lot of
my buds sent me looks on the order, of, 'Are you okay, dude?' When the
lunch bell rang, I ran for the nearest water fountain and drank until the
taste started to fade.

I nearly cried when I got into the lunch line. The hot lunch was corn dogs
and French fries and the veggie was asparagus. The cold option was long,
thick wraps almost exactly the size of Pop's dick. The salad dressing was
blue cheese, pale and gross like Pop's cum, something I could still vaguely
taste even under the piss. Everywhere I looked at was my Pop's cock,
waiting for me to put it in my mouth. I choked down lunch and, finally,
felt a little human with food in me. I saw Tyler a few times, but he
seemed... ill, distracted, worried. His pack gave him space and I sure
didn't want to get close to him!

We got home about the same time and Tyler pushed past me, not roughly at
all, just in a hurry and I could hear him sobbing before he even reached
the door to 'our' room. He closed the door and I would have cut off a limb
before going in there! I settled at the dining table and started my
homework. I like school, well, that's a flat-out lie; I like learning
things and loathe school itself. It's like a social experiment to see how
much pressure a person can survive without devolving into a Jock, Sosh or
Stoner.

I was through math and in the midst of English when Pop came home. I froze
and began to shake. It was Tyler's turn to do dinner and he hadn't, and I
hadn't noticed or filled in. Fuck. We were so screwed.

Pops came by and ruffled my hair. "Hey, sport. I figured Ty needed some
adjustment time so I brought chicken. The familiar orange-and-white Popeyes
box showed through the white plastic. He laid out the haul and headed to
the stair. I cleared my stuff, frantically finishing the English assignment
and not caring how many points I missed. He was up there for maybe fifteen
minutes, so I had the table cleared and the chicken and sides (Pops always
got green beans and mac-n-cheese) with biscuits on the plates and set out
with silverware, salt, honey and hot sauce before he came down, pushing a
white-faced Tyler in front of him.

"You know," Pop was jubilant, "this is working out a hell of a lot better
than I expected. Ty is being respectful to me and others, and Kyle is
taking the initiative to make us all happy. THIS is what family is about."
Tyler was on the constant edge of tears and I was terrified of what the
night might bring, but Pops was on top of the world. When we finished, he
blithely said, "Ty, your turn tonight. Get everything cleaned up."

Pop lifted me to his shoulder like a pillow and went to the master
bedroom. He set me down gently and said, "I gotta use the head. Get
stripped and wait on the bed, sport." Like I was gonna defy him *now*?  I
stripped and waited for him to come out. He was naked when he did, and
nearly hard. "Tell your daddy 'welcome home', son."

I hadn't the faintest clue what he meant, but had a guess he wanted me to
'honor' him somehow. I got on my knees and looked up at him. His fists were
on his hips and he had a slight smile, obviously wondering what I would
do. "W-W-W-Welcome, home, Pop. Can I, can I suck you?" He smiled and it
sent a chill through me. All I could think, all I could pray, was, 'Maybe
this time he'll be gentle.'

"Actually, not bad. When you ask me a question, call me Pop, which is fine,
but Sir or Daddy would be better. And I have a present for you. Get up on
the bed, Kyle." I sat and he tilted my head up.

"Open up really wide now and don't swallow til I tell you." He had a spray
bottle of something nuclear-red in his hand that I couldn't really see. He
sprayed two big squirts in my mouth that hit right in the back of my throat
and nearly made me choke, but I held still. "Now gargle it around a little
and count to thirty, then swallow." I did and he smiled. "Now, get back
where you were and start telling me how much you want to suck me off and
make me happy, cocksucker." His cock throbbed on that last word.

I slipped off the bed and onto my knees. I was at a complete loss, but
tried to read his mind as I locked with his eyes. "Can I t-t-t-touch you,
P-- Sir?"

"Tonight, touch anything between my asshole and my balls. Nothing else. The
only things that touch my cock tonight are your lips, tongue and throat,
cocksucker."

"Um, thank you sir. Thank you for letting me please you. Can I suck you,
s-sir?"

"Not yet. Convince me why I should let a filthy little cocksucker like you
touch me at all."

He wanted more and I thought frantically, thinking about how he degraded
me, and decided to try and use that as a starting point. "Your cock is so
big, and I can st-st-st-still taste your {gulp} piss and cum from this
morning."

"How does that make you feel, Kyle the cocksucker?"

"Um, horny for you? C-C-C-Can I start, please? I n-n-n-need to have you,
D-Daddy." A surge of dogwater rushed out when I used that word. Even better
than Sir, or even him calling me cocksucker. "Please, Daddy. Let me make
you happy. T-T-Tyler never let me; he just shoved it in. I want to learn
how to make you cum, Daddy. I want to be your c-c-c-c--" I tried not to cry
and looked him straight in the eye. "Teach me to be the cocksucker you
really want."

"Oh, baby, that's the way. Always look me straight in the ye when you beg,
Kyle. Tell Daddy you want him but let me see it in the way you look at me,
too. I want you to remember that. I want it every night and any other time
you see me naked near you. Always beg me for it. If you're really good, I
reward you. Like tonight. That spray is your reward for doing so well this
morning. I can tell by looking at your sweet eyes, baby, that you did
everything even though no one was looking. You won't get many rewards from
now on for just obeying, since you had damned well better do that anyway,
but this time? Your first? You deserve it."

"So, Daddy, do I deserve to get to suck your huge cock? "

He looked down and slapped me, not hard but loud. He voice was suddenly
stern, "Don't get cocky and don't get pushy. You're the cocksucker here,
Kyle. You get what's given."

"I'm so sorry, Daddy. I just need you so much," I said, trying not to let
him see the self-loathing in my eyes, "that I had to ask. Please, Daddy?
Please?"

"Lick the sweat off my nuts, first, cocksucker."

I did, of course, trying to suppress a shudder as the skanky smell became
my entire olfactory world. He moaned and I looked up. One of his big balls
blocked my view completely, but my other eyes could get a glimpse of the
predatory delight that had transfigured his face into that of a gargoyle. I
dug deeper, not because I wanted more of the vile sweat but because that
face... terrified me.

"Yeah, you fucking cocksucker. Eat that nasty ball-sweat. I've been saving
it for you, bitch. I edged myself over and over so my pre would soak in and
rot, motherfucker. YEAH! Suck that shit outta my nasty, hairy crotch"

Pop grabbed my hair and hauled me out, painfully and with the maximum
shame. I could feel my face plastered with the sticky sweat from down there
and could see Pop wanted to look at exactly that. His smile was a thing of
nightmares. He slapped me wetly and then rubbed the reeking sweat all over
my face, more than it was already.

"Get on my cock, bitch. You begged for it, get to work." I sobbed once but
dove onto his dick, licking and slobbering as much as possible, terrified
that he would cram it into my throat again. I massaged and teased his
balls. I repeated what I'd done this morning, going frankly nuts trying to
make him spew quick before he got to that point. He grabbed two fistfuls of
my hair and yanked me back.

"Ah, ah, ah!" His voice was a little sing-song, like we were playing a
child's game on a playground. "No, no, no, Kyle, this is one I want to
enjoy. If you make me cum before I tell you, I will beat your ass black and
blue." The creepiness of that tone and those words were like a cold steel
knife at my belly button. I started to use my hands more, going further
back as well, and slowed the cock assault. One hand on his spit-slick nuts
and the other in the trench of his ass.

"Ohhhh. Yeah, baby, just like that, boy. Get your fingers in my
crack. Tease around in there. Yeah! Right there! Yeah!" I could feel the
revolting folds of his actual shithole as my fingers got there, and I
shivered as I realized that was what he loved. Revolted, I resumed teasing
and poking there, trying to keep my tear-filled eyes on his face throughout
my humiliation.

"Yeah. You like that, don't you. Pull off my dick, baby. That's right. Now
suck your fingers. No, you stupid bitch, the ones from my ass." I stared to
sing to myself, 'I will not puke. I will not puke,' as I pulled the
repulsive fingers to my mouth and began the ghastly task of licking the
filthy things. In actual fact, as sickening as it was, it wasn't really
that much worse than his balls and gooch. More concentrated, maybe, and so
much more degrading, but not actually much *worse*.

"Okay, cocksucker, enough playtime. I know you crave my butt-smell like
every fucking queer, but time to get back to your real job." I went back to
his dick, again letting my hands roam to the places that got him hot. I
figured that getting ass-juice on my fingers was a lot better -- if I could
get him to blow -- than a throat-fuck.

"Okay, Baby, the spray's gotta have worked by now and, if it hasn't, I
don't fucking care!" He cackled like a Halloween witch. He reached down and
put a big paw behind each ear, wrapping my skull in his hands as if he
planned to crush it. His cock was now as hard as I'd seen it either time
I'd serviced him. As I'd dreaded all along, he inexorably pulled me further
and further onto his prick.

I looked up, hoping to see some shred of mercy in his eyes. What I saw was
concentration on his task. I was no longer his son, or even his
cocksucker. I was the thing into which he wanted, needed, had to get his
cock all the way into. I felt the bulbous head hit my throat and started to
cry heavily while still making sure that my teeth never came close to his
manhood.

On his next push, I realized just what a 'reward' he'd given me. Whatever
he'd sprayed in there had completely numbed the 'top' of my gullet. When he
finally speared past and made that bull-bellow noise of triumph, I didn't
gag and puke and want to die. It wasn't comfortable, but it was
bearable. Instead of waiting, I pushed forward, diving down his cock until
my nose was hard in his bush and my chin was knocking his balls.

"YEAH! YEAH! That's it, cocksucker! Get down on your father's prick. Moan,
bitch! Let me know how much you love it. BEG me to spray your insides with
your little brothers and sisters, you fucking cocksucker!" I started
moaning, having no fucking clue what he wanted. I felt my own voice vibrate
my throat and thus his prick and he hissed in a gasp.

That was the clue I needed. I grabbed a quick breath anytime he pulled back
*just* enough, and started talking and screaming and moaning around the
dick lodged in my throat. Pop went fucking ape-shit. He was screaming and
cursing and fucking my face and every muscle stood out as he howled like a
fucking movie monster when he ground his cock so far in I thought he'd
broken my nose. He unloaded and screamed, howled, cussed and (to my shock)
whimpered.

Suddenly, Pa pushed me back violently. Apparently, he'd gone from cum to
over sensitive in the space of a spasm. He staggered for a moment, turned
and fell back onto the bed both of us desperately trying to regain our
breath. Knowing I'd have to anyway, I moved in and started to very gently
lick the places where his cum had leaked or splattered. Pop moaned and
groaned in continued ecstasy. When I saw a new pearl of cum on his shaft, I
licked it north, then milked the shaft upwards until another was there and,
tenderly, removed it with the tip of my tongue.

Pop moaned and grab bed my under my armpits and lifted me bodily into the
bed. He pulled me tight enough to make my ribs creak. "Kyle," he panted,
"you are a fucking treasure. We are gonna have soooooo much fun, you and
me. Now, go do your bathroom stuff and get ready for bed, then turn out all
the lights." I think he was asleep before I got out of the bed. I know he
was snoring like a pig by the time I made it to the bathroom.

I very quietly closed the door and tried to be as silent as possible as I
vomited over and over into the bowl, watching swirls of thick, fresh cum at
the beginning. I made a silent promise to myself that I'd start taking
large lunches to school. I had a feeling that after 'suck your ass-juicy
fingers', I'd be puking a lot after dinner.  I did all the normal evening
bathroom things and cleaned up as best I could, including brushing
vigorously and spending about a week with the mouthwash. It didn't help.

I went in and crawled into the bed, cuddling back into the curve of my
father's muscular body. Why? Why didn't I curl into a corner of the bed?
Why didn't I put as much distance from this, this, this *monster* as I
could? The answer left me weeping -- because I wanted, needed and craved
his approval, no matter how degrading and mortifying the steps to get it
would be. As per usual, I cried myself to sleep. 'Maybe next time, he'll
just let me make love to him.'

I awoke the next morning and silenced the alarm as quickly as I could,
perhaps just a 'Beep-a-do' into the ringtone. It took a second after that
to recall why. Right. Pops. I wormed my way under the covers and found his
flaccid cock. Fucking great. I got it in my mouth and started to do what I
could. Soft, it was far more loathsome than it was hard. It
was... squishy. I was gratified when it thickened, then hardened. He had
already started hunching when he apparently woke and put a hand on my
head. A few cuss words and a loud, inchoate moan and I had him blasting
into my mouth.

As he came down, he threw off the covers off and pulled me up into the
first real kiss he'd given me. Yeah, it was a bit like mouth-rape, but it
WAS a kiss. "You done good, kid. You lick my balls first?" I considered
lying and then just shook my head. He had a kindly-voice going, but he
growled, "Then get to it, cocksucker."

I dove in and started to lick everything I could find. I wasn't terribly
surprised when he forced my head a lot further down in his gooch than
before, and I found myself licking the entrance to his vile, reeking
trench. He was quickly satisfied and, I was tearfully-relieved to find, did
not need my services as a urinal that morning. He cleaned up and I did
afterwards. It was Saturday, so I expected to be his, well, cocksucking
bitch all day. Instead he tousled my hair and told me to go play.

I was out of the house in an instant. About half an hour later, I watched
as Tyler was sent out to mow the lawn. He moved funny and I figured it was
because of the plastic cage around his cock. He didn't really see me at
first as I was sitting in the shade of the honeysuckle I'd trained to grow
over a space using old rose-lattice I'd found. He saw me first when he
turned the mower and the look he gave me was chilling. He was crying. I
don't think he'd stopped crying outside of going to school. When he finally
got to the point just in front of my honeysuckle cave, he shut down the
mower.

I halfway expected him to sit with me, perhaps apologize or commiserate
since I was being used even worse by Pop than I'd been by him. Instead, he
stared, his breath getting shorter and shorter before he finally
sob-screamed, "I fucking hate you, Kyle! I hate your fucking guts!" He was
off mowing again before I got my mouth working. *He* hated *me*?

I grabbed my bike and went over to the Veteran's Memorial at the end of
Horsetooth. 'Maybe next Time, Tyler will understand I didn't want this to
happen, either.' Fort Collins is basically a desert, but if you get out
from the houses, you can see the mountains a little. The nice things about
the Veteran's plaza was that no one ever went there because there wasn't a
lick of shade to be found, but I didn't really mind. It was early in the
year, just after spring break, so the brutal heat hadn't really started
yet. Today, there was even a breeze.

I settled on one of the low bench-wall things, trying not to look at the
super-creepy statue of the soldier with the kid on his shoulders and focus
on the mountains, instead. When the sun was straight up, I had to think
about lunch as I'd skipped out on breakfast just to not be in that
house. The nearest food was way over on College, a couple of miles
away. That meant a fifteen-minute bike ride, or I could go eat at home and
be there in two or three. I also had very little money. Even with all that,
I decided to skip lunch at the house (frankly, I was terrified for my
brother, now, as well as dreading what Pop would make me do next).

I locked my bike on the rack outside Noodles & Co and checked my
finances. I had a five, three ones and a pocket full of change. I was
really, really hungry, so I splurged on a whole order of Japanese Pan
Noodles, but that left me with less than the cost of a drink so I did
water. I'd learned a long time ago that making something spicy made me feel
full, so I grabbed the chili jelly and the mustard as well as soy and mixed
them until they were hot but not enough to upset my tummy. It was
delicious, and I could feel myself calming down and beginning to breathe
easier as my body sucked in the food.

I went across College using the light at Monroe and hit the mall. Just for
the AC and the shade... and the boredom. I meant, what could I buy with
$2.71? Without people to hang out with, though, Saturday at a mall just
sorta concentrates the boringness of life. You have to watch all the other
kids, roaming and laughing in packs, going in and out of the pizza place or
the burger joint. Every one of them, not knowing it, pushing home the point
that I'm a loser, a nobody, a ghost of sorts.

It's weird. There are other kids on Dalton Drive. They aren't any richer
than we are. But they have plenty of friends. Somehow, though, some weird
semaphore went out when we moved in about the time I was six. 'Don't go
near the Volker place,' and 'don't play with the Volker kids.' Tyler got
out of that by being good at sports, but all of his own friends were from
other neighborhoods. I didn't have that and probably never would, and the
kids around here, from that very first day when we were unloading boxes,
treated me in one of two ways: I was poison, or I was invisible.

Pop grew up in the Timber Ridge mobile home park just about a hundred yards
from our house. He and Mom, when they first married, moved into some
apartments that were closer to Pop's job at the Dump -- excuse me, the
Waste Management Recycling Center. Pop was a Heavy Truck Mechanic or
something. That mainly meant that he smelled like diesel and oil instead of
rotting garbage most days.

But Pop wanted to be back in the old neighborhood and they bought the
run-down house with a plan to fix it up, resell it and all that like you
see on TV. I think they fixed the roof and other things to keep the place
standing and... stopped. Part of it was Mom got sick about then. She lasted
years, getting worse, finally dying when I was ten. When she died, the
whole area seemed to look at us even worse, as if we'd killed her ourselves
instead of the cancer doing it.

I finally couldn't take the mall's happy people parade anymore and rode
slowly back to the park where the Veteran's Memorial is. I decided I
couldn't stand Creepy-Solider either and rode a bit further, settling next
to the fence and watching the antics of the mutts and their humans in the
dog park. When the sun started to head to the mountains, I pulled what
courage and calm I'd built during the day around me and rode home.

Pop seemed in a great mood, setting out burgers and telling Tyler how he
wanted the baked beans fixed. Tyler was shirtless and his shorts hung off
his hips a little; he seemed about as limp as the mesh of his b-ballers. He
didn't look at me, just stood chopping onions and peppers and
jalapenos. The only real sign of trouble was when Pop turned to me,
smiling, and asked, "Where's you get off to all day?"

"Um, I went to the Veteran's and looked at the mountains, then the mall,
you know, normal stuff. Just, you know, Saturday running around stuff."

His smiled didn't go anywhere but his voice changed, "Don't you ever vanish
on me again, Kyle." He was speaking loud enough for Tyler to hear but my
brother pretended not to listen. Apparently, something had gone down while
I was out. The contrast of Pop's smile and the edge in his voice washed the
day's heat off me like a January wind. "If I get an itch on the only day I
get off work each week, I'd damned well better be able to find my fucking
cocksucker to scratch it. Do we understand each other?"

I nodded frantically. "Yes, sir. I'm so sorr--"

"Don't you fucking dare apologize, you little shit," the smile still in
place like a rictus, "when you know damned good and well it's the whole
reason you ran off. Next time, don't brag to your brother that you were
gonna make sure not to be around for me." My jaw dropped like a rock and I
turned every shade of red. I started to sputter, wanting to explain I'd
said nothing, nothing at all, to Tyler. "Shut it. One word, baby boy, and
you will regret it even more than what I've already got planned."

Pop's voice instantly went back to Happy Saturday Cookout. While Tyler
worked on the beans and got them bubbling on the stovetop and Pop got the
burgers on the grill, I assembled plates condiments and such. As I was
getting silverware, I hissed furiously at my brother, "What the fuck did
you tell him, Tyler?"

He turned to me, still stirring the beans, with a kind of hatred I didn't
even imagine. "You fucking bastard! You left me here with him all day. I
h-h-h-h-h-hate you! I told him you did it on purpose. That you bragged you
were getting out from un-n-n-nder him. You deserve whatever he does to you,
fuckwad." I rocked back, feeling the slap his hands couldn't deliver but
his voice packed in there. What did he mean? What had I done that could
possibly have hurt him?

Pop came in right then with the seven thick, juicy burgers. Two each for me
and him and three for Tyler. My brother (and still my tormenter) put the
hot beans on the trivet and I got the silverware sorted. Pop grabbed the
buns and chips. Pops is a monster in many ways, as in Tyler, but both could
cook. The burgers dripped with juice and the beans were incredible, thick
with brown sugar, peppers and onions, redolent of Liquid Smoke and fajita
rub. We finally sat back, satisfied.

"Tyler, you clean tonight. Kyle, get me a Saturday Night drink. Then both
of you finish up your homework. I'll get you when I'm ready."

A Saturday Night drink meant I used one of the double-walled plastic
tumblers shaped like a Mason jar with 'Aladdin' in script on the side. It
held 32 ounces of... whatever. For Saturday Night drinks, it held a dozen
freezer-balls (Pop didn't like watery drinks) and a big slice of orange. I
filled it to the half-way line with bourbon, then the 3/4 line with Campari
and sweet vermouth and the rest of the way with sprite. Utterly vile, but
Pop's Saturday Night treasure.

I screwed on the lid with the built-in straw and carried it to him. He was
already settled in the decrepit Lazy Boy and watching God only knows what
sport, something involving a lot of hitting and violence, obviously. I set
it next to his elbow and very, very softly asked, "Can I get you anything
else, Pops?"  He grunted, so I took to my heels and settled my books on my
third of the desk (my bed was also my chair) and set to work.

I had a big essay due Wednesday, "What about the American Dream changed or
remained constant due to European immigration at the turn of the last
century?" All I could think of was, 'Fuck the American Dream. Can I write
about the American Fucking Nightmare instead?' But I already had my thesis
(B+) a outline (B-), so it was just plugging in the right crap from the
textbooks and remembering the difference between paraphrasing and
plagiarizing.

Tyler came in right about then and settled in; his own homework appeared to
be related to math stuff. By age, I should have been in 8th grade, not High
School, but I was skipped ahead when I was nine, something I was proud of
then but have regretted every day since. I was now universally the
youngest, smallest and most-picked-upon in every class, and this year, my
first in High School, was by far the worst.

I was mired in my books, as usual paying no attention to Tyler. I noticed
he hadn't written anything in a long time, though, and looked up. He was
staring at me, still crying. "I hate you."

I kept my voice flat and steady. "You mentioned that already Tyler."

"It was supposed to get better. It was supposed to get better, you little
fuck, now that you're old enough for him. And it's worse! I wish you'd
never been born."

Those words should have hurt me, stuck a knife in my soul. My own brother
wishing I'd never existed. Instead, I felt a sudden overwhelming relief
mixed with inescapable despair as the penny dropped. My voice came out in a
horrified whisper. "He d-d-d-d-d-did this to you? He, he, he made you...?"

"Of course, you fucking asshole. Since I was 12! Since Mom couldn't,
c-c-c-c-couldn't satisfy him anymore. FOUR YEARS. And he promised, PROMISED
that it would stop when you started, when you could cum. And now," he
sobbed uncontrollably but didn't collapse as I would have, just sat there
with his shoulders heaving, "now it's even worse and today, today you run
off and p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-play? And I have to do all that all over again,
'cept now I'm l-l-l-l-locked up? Unable to c-c-c-cum? I hate you. I hate
you." He repeated those words like a mantra and finally subsided to just
the sobs, then dried them and went back to his homework like nothing had
happened.

I sat, dumbfounded. I finally whispered, "I never knew, Tyler. I'm so
sorry." The tension in his body made it clear that he would beat the fuck
out of me if I touched him in any way, so I just sat back, and finally
returned to my paper. Again, I was at a loss. 'Maybe next time...' what?
Maybe next time I'll be born to a family instead of, of, of whatever this
was?

Pops came in about eight and kissed Tyler goodnight and lifted me onto his
shoulder. "Come on, sport! Time for us to have a little fun!" His voice was
thick from the booze, but he wasn't -- sadly -- so drunk he might just fall
asleep. Thank God he couldn't see my face, the dread clear to read
there. Tyler looked up and just smiled.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 34 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 25 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 26 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 19 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Culberhouse Rules: 11 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 9 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 4 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/
Maybe Next Time: 3 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/