A Short Story for Gay Males


Sugar Dad <>

I had been away from home on business for almost two months, traveling extensively throughout the Pacific Northwest on assignments that had been scheduled so closely together that I had been compelled to go directly to each new assignment from one that was just completed. It would feel wonderful to finally get home, to relax and unwind and not have to plan a presentation for a new client while in flight or while driving. Mostly, I looked forward to sleeping in my own bed rather than the standard hotel and motel beds that really couldn't compare with my wonderful Beauty Rest mattress. I was pleased to be able to get home almost two weeks earlier than originally anticipated.

The shuttle dropped me off in front of my house. They always insisted on stopping way out front in spite of my request that they turn in and take me the fifty or so yards up the drive to the porch. And I always remembered to let it affect my generous nature when determining what amount of gratuity to give them.

I lugged my baggage up the drive, thankful that it was still early morning and not later in the day when the heat would have made this trek so much more miserable. Being as tired as I was, I was not moving swiftly so there was little noise from either my shoes or the wheels on my large luggage on the concrete walk or porch. I unlocked the large oak front door and let myself in, leaving my baggage in the entry hall to be attended to at a later time, and climbed the stairs slowly to my bedroom.

As I entered my room, I could hear water running in my bathroom - or at least thought I did - because suddenly the sound was gone. I shrugged my shoulders convincing myself it was just the imaginings of an exhausted brain. Stripping off my sport coat and tie and tossing them carelessly across the bed, I was struck with the thought that the bed was unmade. I would have sworn under oath that I had made the bed the morning that I left on my travels, but then given the extent of the pressures I had been under for so long, it was entirely possible that I was becoming pre-maturely senile. How many nights in the past year had I come home, gone to bed, arisen the next morning to find that the front door had remained unlocked all night and that I had forgotten to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher before retiring for the night.

There was a noise to my left, like the sound of someone pounding or bumping into the wall. I looked in the direction of the sound, my ears on alert, but heard nothing more and returned to the task of undressing. Just as I removed my white shirt and tossed it atop my sport coat, the door to my bathroom opened releasing a cloud of steam into the bedroom. Out of that cloud of steam emerged a teen aged boy, stark naked, and dripping wet.

I was startled and yet my mind worked at a breakneck pace taking in the picture, analyzing facts and arranging them for later consumption. My most prevalent thought of the moment was merely the realization that I was in trouble, big trouble. My attraction toward other, younger, males had been successfully repressed for almost five years but looking at this seeming man-child was quickly unraveling those years of self control and focus. Additionally, he looked younger than what was legal age and just his presence in my home, nude, regardless of how he got here, was enough to give me a mental picture of a black robed old man saying 'Guilty! Ten Years!'.

The boy saw me and stopped dead in his tracks. He stood frozen, speechless, obviously as stunned and surprised as was I. He seemed unaware for the moment of his nudity and made no effort to cover himself in any manner. This allowed me the greater opportunity to look him over as we stood staring at each other.

He was a compact young man, perhaps five feet eight inches in height, with brown hair that was dripping water on my white carpets, an extremely attractive face and a slim, compact body. His upper body didn't show any signs of muscular definition, more of a smooth flowing from waist and belly to chest and shoulders. His skin was flawlessly smooth and silky looking, enhanced by the sheen of water that glistened on his skin and also dripped on my expensive white carpets. The boys legs seemed sturdy, yet also did not show any marked muscularity or definition. It appeared that the only hair on his entire body was the small black growth which surrounded his penis and framed the soft organ and pendulous orbs below. In a word, he was beautiful. In a phrase, he was jail bait.

I found my voice and stammered out a seemingly reasonable question. "Who the hell are you?"

Apparently he found my question somewhat unreasonable because he responded with one of his own and took a step toward me as if I were the intruder. "Who are you? Why are you in this house?" He still had made no move to cover himself, not even the gesture I would have expected of placing his hands in front of his genitals.

"I'm the guy who owns this house. Now answer my question."

"I rented this house for the summer. I paid cash!"

Well, this seemed like an impasse. And, I figured as long as it lasted I would just continue to stare at this boy, whoever he was, and enjoy the view. But, my staring became obvious and finally brought the boy out of his reverie. He looked down, noting his nakedness, and turned and retreated to the bathroom. It gave me an opportunity to see a perfect, well formed, smooth rear end that provided the only evidence of muscle yet as each cheek moved and dimpled with each step. The boy returned with a towel wrapped around his waist.

I looked at him as non-threateningly as I could. "I'm sorry, son, but I think you've been the victim of some kind of scam. I own the house and I've lived here for more than ten years now. I've been away on business for the past seven weeks but I haven't authorized anyone to rent the house out. How did you get in?"

The boy moved toward my big dresser and produced a silver key. I recognized it as one that I thought I had lost over six months ago, one that I had formerly kept in a hidden place outside just in case I ever locked myself out. "Looks like someone helped themselves to my emergency key and then used it to convince you that you could live here. Didn't you wonder when you came in and found the place full of furniture, personal belongings and clothes?"

"The guy who rented it to me told me that the owner was gone for the summer and wanted a housesitter to care for the place while he was away. He said that was why the rent was so cheap for a place like this."

"How much did you pay this guy?"

"Eight hundred dollars - two hundred per month - in advance."

My heart sank. I knew it wasn't my fault or my responsibility but I also knew that eight hundred dollars was a lot of money for a teenager and probably represented most of what he had. "When did you arrive here?"

"You mean in town or here at the house?"

"You're from out of town?"

"Yes. I'm from Savannah, Georgia but I ran away. I got here just over a month ago, in town that is, and moved in here about three and a half weeks ago."

"How did you meet the guy who rented you the place?"

"At the beach. I was sunbathing at the beach - actually I guess you could say I was living there - and this guy asked me if I was homeless."

"You'd been living on the beach for awhile?"

"Just a few days actually. But I guess the guy noticed. Anyway, I told him I was just on vacation but couldn't afford to stay at a motel for $80.00 a night. He said he had a friend who had been called out of town suddenly and had asked him to find a housesitter for his place that would pay some minimal rent to cover any utilities or other expenses that having someone in the house might create. When he told me it would be eight hundred for the entire four months I thought it was like a dream come true. I thought that would give me time to find a job and get some money so by the end of the four months I could get some small place for myself."

I just looked at him. He had an honest face. Actually, it was a beautiful face and I was probably being swayed by it. Right now I didn't care much. He was in no position to steal anything and hide it on his body. "How old are you, son?"

"Just turned eighteen." He said it matter of factly, softly, without the emphasis or strong tone that I would have expected if he were lying and trying to convince me. But it still didn't alter the fact that he looked no more than sixteen.

"Why did you come out here to California?"

The boys shoulders drooped slightly, almost imperceptibly and he looked more at the floor than at me. "Couldn't take it at home anymore. It was getting to tense."

"So technically, you're a runaway?"

"No. I'm old enough to make my own decisions and I decided to move out on my own. California seemed the best place to try and get started and have a chance at finding work."

I shook my head slowly. "Famous last words."

"I've got a job!" This he said very emphatically and I could sense the touch of pride in his voice. "I grew up on my grandparents farm so I know a lot about growing things. I got a job in the maintenance department of the hospital working on grounds maintenance. Pays almost nine dollars per hour!"

I was suitably impressed. It wasn't easy for a teenager to get a job these days and this boy had done so in short order and had landed a pretty impressive one. I guessed the strong improvements in California's economic climate of late and the condition referred to as 'an employee's market' had worked in the boys favor. "That's very good. I'm impressed."

The boy smiled at that remark, obviously pleased that I was impressed. Then, realizing he was still virtually naked except for the towel that kept trying to slide off of his slim hips, he moved to the small bureau in the corner. "I'd better get dressed so I can get out of your house. You won't call the police on me will you?"

Apparently the realization that he was an intruder had suddenly occurred to him and was worrying him about the legal complications that he might have to deal with. My heart went out to him and I knew that he was probably in no condition to be able to go and get another place to live just now. I also knew that there was plenty of room in this big old Victorian home with its twenty two rooms, six of which were bedrooms that were mostly being used for storage of family heirlooms.

"I'm not going to call the police. But where will you go?"

"Dunno. Not that much money left and it's still over a week until my first paycheck. PAYCHECK! Damn! I'm going to be late for work and it's only the middle of my second week. They'll fire me!"

"What time are you supposed to be there."

"Nine o'clock."

"Well, that gives you fifty five minutes. How far?"

"Takes about forty minutes on average."

"I can drive you."

The boy paused, tilted his head looking at me strangely, questioningly. Then, "I have a car. It's in the garage."

"Well, get dressed and get going. When you get back tonight your things will still be here and we can discuss what to do then."

"Really? That would be okay with you?"

"Sure. You're as much a victim of that bastard as I am so why should I allow you to be victimized all the more? I'm certain we can resolve this. I'll plan to see you about...."

"...six thirty?"

"That's fine. By the way, my name is Roger Marshall."

"Oh, yeah. Nice to meet ya. I'm Ashley Winters, but everyone just calls me Beau!"

"Why Beau?"

"My parents had this thing about wanting their kids to have typically old fashioned Southern names. My full name is Ashley Beauregard Winters. Somehow Beau sounded a bit better for a guy than Ashley. Not much, but a little."

I smiled with understanding, imagining the dilemma Beau had faced as a boy trying to decide which name to go by and which one was least likely to get him teased at school. "Okay, I'll see you tonite then."

Beau turned his back to me, dropped his towel treating me to another delectable view of his smooth backside, and reached into the small bureau drawer, retrieving and pulling on a pair of white briefs. Rushing to the closet, he pulled out an olive green uniform obviously issued to him for his job and quickly dressed, grabbed his wallet, car keys and a pair of gloves and headed out the bedroom door with a wave.

Beau was nothing if not prompt, walking in the front door at six twenty-eight that evening. I sat in the living room reading the evening paper, more comfortable than I had been that morning now that I had rested, showered and dressed casually in beige slacks and a white polo shirt. Looking over the top of the paper as Beau sank into an overstuffed chair opposite me, I smiled at the obviously exhausted youth. "Good evening. Dinner should be here soon. I called Tony's Italian Kitchen and ordered dinner. Hope you like pasta - lasagna, spaghetti and ravioli."

"Love it. I figured you were probably a pasta person when I first move in. You had virtually every kind of noodle there is in the cupboards and your own pasta machine."

"Guilty. Love pasta. But I also love beef. I have my steaks flown in from Omaha, Nebraska. Best filet mignons in the world. Good old mid-western grain fed beef. I guess those are the two major staples of my diet. Along with a good drink."

"Let me guess. Brandy."





"Root beer!"

"You've gotta be kiddin'!"

"Well, maybe a little. I do like a good aperitif before certain meals and a good after dinner drink. But I have to be in my 'elegant' mood for that fancy schmancy stuff. But I love root beer, hamburgers and hot dogs, especially in the summer and especially if I've grilled the dogs and burgers out back."

Beau laughed. "Just a regular guy, right?"


The doorbell rang and I got up to answer it. It was the delivery from Tony's Italian Kitchen. One of the main reasons I liked ordering from Tony's was that it was Tony's sixteen year old nephew, Jon, who always delivered my order. And Jon was a living doll with his olive skin, black hair and eyebrows and sultry bedroom eyes that were almost smoking with the heat they put out. Standing at about five feet ten inches and thin as a rail, he was a little armful that I just ached to hold but had obeyed the orders of my own will for two years now and maintained a complete hands off attitude toward the youth.

"C'mon in Jon and I'll get your money. Just put it on the dining table, please."

Jon, having delivered here at least twenty times a year for the past two years was comfortable with me and the house and knew exactly where to place the orders he delivered. He headed through the living room toward the dining table. I noticed a look cross his face when he saw Beau and he cast him several sidelong glances as I pulled some bills out of my wallet for him.

"Twenty-one seventy-five, is that right?"

"Uh...yeah. You haven't called for quite awhile. Tired of our cooking?

"No. Been out of town for a couple of months. But I'm back now so you'll be coming around regularly again. Okay, here's forty. Keep the change for yourself, Jon."

"Wow, thanks Mr. Marshall. Anything else I can do for you?"

I noticed Jon look at Beau as he asked the additional question. There was something going on there but I wasn't exactly sure what. "No, that's it for tonight. But I'll probably be calling later in the week. Now that I'm back I have to make up for lost time, all of the pasta I've missed for the last several weeks."

Jon thanked me again and let himself out. I watched him leave, puzzled by his reaction to Beau, and my face likely reflected my confusion. Beau spoke up as I slowly shook my head.

"He's jealous."


"He's jealous. Or at least he's wondering if he should be."

"What do you mean."

"He likes you, man. Can't you tell? Obviously he's delivered here a lot and knows you pretty well judging from the fact that you guys know each other's names and he knows his way through the house. He's probably got a crush on you. Then you're gone for awhile and the first time you call when you get back he comes in and sees another guy about his age sitting in your living room ready to have dinner with you. He's confused, but he's jealous."

"Jon? He's just a nice kid who delivers food. Besides, I've heard Tony talk about all the girlfriends he has. And Jon's not the type to just fall for an older guy that he know's nothing about."

"You underestimate yourself. He's got it bad. Probably just waiting until he turns eighteen to make his move so that you won't reject him because of his age. Kids nowadays are very aware of this legal thing and if they really like a guy they sure don't want to mess up his life and cause him trouble."

I was curious about the direction of this conversation but afraid to explore it any further as it was a little too close to home for comfort. Instead, I ushered Beau to the table and laid out some plates and set out the various containers that Jon had delivered. But I couldn't help thinking about Jon and wondering if there was any truth to what Beau said.

After dinner, we sat in the living room and I actually poured each of us an after dinner drink and we relaxed, completely stuffed, and talked about any number of things. Everything, that is, except Beau's situation. I was a little concerned about where that conversation might lead after Beau's comments about Jon.

As the clock in the entry hall chimed nine o'clock I knew that we were going to have to talk about the conditions at hand and where Beau would be living. "Well, Beau, I guess we'd better talk about your living situation. I'm sure it's something you're anxious to have settled."

"Yeah." It was a terse response in a very subdued tone. I could tell he was very nervous that he was about to be evicted.

"Through no fault of your own, you've kind of landed in a bad situation. You seem like a nice kid - sorry, young man - and I don't have any objection to giving you a break." Beau's expression seemed to visibly soften and relax. "I've got more rooms than I use or will ever use so I don't see a problem with renting one of the bedrooms out to you. Of course, I won't charge you rent for a couple of months since technically you've already paid for the entire summer. I don't need the money so it's not a big deal."

Beau leaned back in his chair, relaxed to hear that I wasn't kicking him out. He stretched his legs out in front of him and my eyes were drawn to the sizeable lump which was evident to the left of his zipper. I averted my gaze quickly before it became obvious again that I was staring. I couldn't help but recall what he had looked like a mere thirteen hours earlier, naked and dripping wet.

"Here's what I propose. This weekend, we clean out one of the spare bedrooms to be your room. I'll go out tomorrow and buy a bed and some other furniture to have delivered on Saturday. Then you can get all of your things moved in there and we'll be roomies until such time as you want to find your own place." I was careful to word the discussion of eventualities so as to not make him feel there was a time limit on his stay. Hell, as cute as he was I wouldn't mind him staying around for a long time. Especially if he was in the habit of walking around nude.

"Thanks, man. That's real cool of you. Uh...until this weekend, where do I sleep?"

"Well, there's only one furnished bedroom and that's mine so I guess we could fix you up with pillows and blankets on the couch for the next couple of nights."

"What about your bed?"

I almost swallowed my tongue. "My bed? You mean sleep together?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's a huge bed, big enough for three or four people."

"True. It's a California King, wider than it is long. I just didn't want to suggest anything that would make you uncomfortable."

"You mean because you're gay you're afraid I'll get the wrong idea?"

"Gay? Me? What makes you think...." I was stammering, starting to deny what I was but I could tell from Beau's expression that it was a useless effort.

"I found your video tapes. The ones of guys making out with each other."

"Oh, the tapes. Right."

"I really liked the one where the older guy was like a father to the younger guy during the day but at night they were lovers. That was a real turn on."

I nodded. It was a favorite of mine, too. But then it struck me. He liked it. It turned him on. He had said so himself. Did that mean...? Of course it did. He was admitting to being gay. But was he also saying that he liked older guys. That he wanted a relationship such as that portrayed on the video. Was he coming on to me?

A glance up at him, my eyes resting on that lump in his pants, was revealing. He was fully erect, his pole making a heart stopping protrusion down his pants leg. I looked at his face. He was smiling. He raised his eyebrows at me as a question.

"You know, Roger. For the time I was here, I got to know you quite well. From the tapes I learned you were gay. From the awards you've got hanging on walls in your study from various charities, I could tell you were a compassionate man. From the photographs of you I knew you were handsome. I jerked off twice looking at the picture of you vacationing on the French Riviera wearing that tiny little bikini swim suit. I kept trying to think of a way that I could meet you, maybe coming back here after you had returned. But you solved that problem for me."

Beau looked down, noticing how obvious his erection was showing. "When I came out of the bathroom this morning and saw you standing there, my heart almost stopped. I knew who you were even though I pretended not to because I was caught off guard. I didn't mind standing naked in front of you because I was hoping that you would enjoy looking at me. The way you kept staring at my dick told me that you were probably interested. And when you didn't force me to move out right away, I hoped that it could mean there might be more. It was hard concentrating on work thinking about having this conversation with you tonight and hoping you'd want me to stay."

"I...I..." I was stammering again like a fool. What was there to say. Beau was baring his feelings to me and in a short space of time I was going from the lonely bachelor to the older guy that had a beautiful eighteen year old boy expressing feelings of passion for him.

"But I don't want my own room. I want to sleep with you at night, if you'll have me."

I crossed the space between our chairs and pulled Beau into my arms. I kissed him lightly, at first, on the lips. He responded, pressing his lips against mine. Our lips parted and our tongues sparred momentarily for entrance to each other's mouths. I could feel Beau's hands move down my back to grasp my buttocks and I did the same. His firm ass cheeks were round and so perfectly shaped, like small basketballs had been crafted to his backside. Beau's erection was pressing against my leg and I pressed forward on his buttocks moving his hips forward to better feel the strength and power of that teenaged pole against my thigh.

My hands went to his waist, pulling his shirt out of his pants and going under to caress his belly and chest, and then withdrawn to unbutton his shirt. I pushed his shirt back, off his shoulders and he lowered his arms allowing it to drop to the floor. I bent over tonguing the small dark brown, dime-sized nipples on his chest while undoing his belt and opening the fly of his trousers. Then shucking his pants and briefs quickly down over his hips, I dropped to my knees and took his strong erection into my mouth, enjoying the first sharing of a sexual experience with another person in over five years.

Beau tasted wonderful. The flesh of his circumcised rod tasted clean and bland but with all the power and excitement that the knowledge proffered that I was making love to a beautiful, vital eighteen year old beauty. I kneaded his wonderful ass as I sucked him passionately, tonguing the slit at the tip and the ridge around the glans and concentrating on that sensitive little area just under the head. I tasted the slightly haired, pebble grained sac that covered his testes and felt the power they possessed, rolling about in their skin covering, tightening and drawing up and then relaxing and lowering.

Finally, Beau could withstand my ministrations no longer and released a staccato grunt in three parts and his release flowed. I engulfed his pole just in time to receive his offering and enjoy the honey nectar of his sex. I held him tightly in my arms as his legs began to weaken and finally lowered him slowly to the floor, staying with him all the way and continuing to suck on the gradually softening pole until it became so sensitive that he grabbed me by the ears and pried me of.

I hated allowing that beautiful teenaged organ to slip from my lips and continued licking at his relaxing nuts and nipping at his pubic hair playfully until I finally moved up beside him and took him in my arms. "Is that what you were wanting?" I whispered my question directly in his ear, softly, passionately.

"Yes. But I want something else, too."

"What's that?"

"Your dick in my mouth."

"Let's go upstairs."

I guess we never know what surprises life holds for us, or what unexpected pleasures are just around the corner. I had closed myself off from love - I guess even from much of what life has to offer - to avoid being hurt, or worse. But life worked it out so I came back from my trip early to surprise just the right person in my home and remind me that love is something that is worth the effort, the risks, and all of the hurts, real or imagined, which might occur along the path to real love.

Oh, about that extra bedroom. We never have cleaned out the room for Beau and I never did go shopping for the bedroom furniture. We haven't slept apart in five years. And as far as Beau's belief that my bed was big enough to accommodate three or four people? He was right. Remember delivery boy Jon? Beau was right about him as well. And for his eighteenth birthday we both gave him a birthday present he will never forget. How could he? We keep giving it to him every Saturday night.

The End