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 where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, leave this site now.

The author retains all rights to this story. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the permission of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many of the characters who will play parts in this story were previously introduced in either "When Love Comes" (last posted in the College section on Sept. 6, 2001) or "Love of a Lifetime" (last posted in the College section on May 19, 2003). While not necessary, readers may find it useful to read the two earlier stories posted on this site.  Both previous stories are also posted at

A special thanks to Dick for feedback on the draft chapters. I also owe thanks to Robb for doing the final proofreading and catching all those silly little errors I missed.   Send comments to:


by Jeff Allen


My life changed with one late night phone call.

I'll get to the phone call in a while, but first I've got to give you some background. My given name is Bishop Parker Arnold. The name Bishop comes from my mother's side of the family, and Parker comes from my paternal grandmother's side. Now, no kid in their right mind wants to be called Bishop Arnold so by age eight I was insisting that everyone call me Parker. Eventually even my parents and brother gave in and called me Parker.

I guess I was a surprise for my parents. Dad was 55 when I was born, and Mom was 45, and my brother Deuce (real name Anderson Parker Arnold, Jr) was 18. Dad used to joke that he and mom had two only children. In a sense he was right. Because of the extreme age difference my brother and I really didn't know each other very well. Heck, by the time I was in kindergarten, he was already married and in his first year of law school out in California. We only saw each other at Christmas and maybe once every other summer. Deuce and his wife, Christie, had one son, Anderson Parker Arnold III who was soon known as Trey. He was born when I was eight.

I know the stereotype of late in life children is that they're spoiled brats. Mom and dad were aware of that stereotype and took pains to make certain I wasn't spoiled. I always had jobs to do around the house. I played mostly, joined boy scouts, got in fights with other guys in the neighborhood, and got roundly punished when I misbehaved. I don't remember ever being spanked by my parents as punishment, but I do remember being grounded. I remember being grounded a lot!

The realization that I was gay hit me during a sex education class in junior high. I can't say it really bothered me, but I knew it was something I'd better keep to myself, at least while I was attending St. Albans Day School in suburban Atlanta. I knew of a couple of guys a year ahead of me who'd been caught jerking each other off in the bathroom. They couldn't take the sneers, snickers, and down right abuse that was heaped on them the rest of the school year. One of them transferred to another school over Easter vacation. The other stuck it out, but he didn't come back after summer vacation. I decided to keep my fascination with the cocks and asses of my classmates a secret.

Dad had been an accountant, but he was retired by the time I was in junior high. He and mom were at all of my soccer matches through school. In fact they sort of became the unofficial team parents, and our house was a major hanging spot for the guys on the team.

Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at the start of my senior year in high school. She died in the early spring, and that spring season the team wore her name on black patches on their uniform sleeves.

I graduated second in my class from St. Albans with a full ride soccer scholarship to Adams State University in North Carolina. I loved everything about Adams State from the challenge of the classes and the competition on the soccer field to the mountains that surrounded the campus. I especially loved the freedom of being away from home, and I finally lost my virginity to a guy down the hall in the dorm my freshman year.

I did have one really bad experience at Adams State. In my junior year I fell in love with a guy on the wrestling team. It turned into a nightmare.

We went at it hot and heavy for the first couple of months. He had a body that just oozed sex, and he was ready for it all the time. I thought I'd found my dream man, but he started getting rougher and rougher during sex. He wanted to know where I was all the time, and he became insanely jealous of my other friends. Finally he hit me. Oh, he apologized right away, but his right fist to the side of my face opened my eyes. I realized I was in an abusive relationship, and I got out fast.

The problem was, I really had loved the jerk. I decided that the only way to protect myself from being hurt again was to never allow myself to fall for another guy. After that experience, I was rarely with the same guy twice. Quick pick ups and one night stands from the bars in Charlotte and Atlanta became my mode of operation. I was a pretty good looking dude with blue eyes, dark curly hair with a little premature gray at the temples, and soccer had given me a buff body (six feet tall and 180 pounds) so I wasn't lacking for sex. In fact, I got plenty of sex. What I didn't get was love.

I decided early in my college career that I wanted to teach so in the spring semester of my senior year I was looking for teaching jobs while trying to do student teaching and keep up my edge on the soccer field. I had several interviews with school systems in Atlanta, Charlotte, Raleigh, and Asheville. I got job offers from all of them, but the job offer that really interested me was from a small school system in the mountains of western North Carolina. Carter County High School was located in Carterville, a small tourism-oriented town nestled in the lush Appalachian Mountains about an hour and a half west of Adams State.

I'd been to all of the bigger cities at one time or another, but I really didn't know anything about Carter County and Carterville so the weekend after my interview with Dr. Eileen Bergman, the principal, a buddy of mine from the soccer team and I visited the area. I loved it. The town was idyllic. The surrounding countryside was breath-taking. It reminded me of the town of Adams without the university. Another plus was that the gay bars in Atlanta, Charlotte, Knoxville, and Asheville would be easy to visit when I needed some sex other than that provided by my right hand.

I called Dr. Bergman to accept her job offer. That's when she told me that she'd like me to consider coaching the school soccer team. I was peeved.

"Dr. Bergman, when you offered the job were you trying to hire a history teacher or a soccer coach?

"Let me assure you that I was hiring a history teacher, Mr. Arnold. The job is still here for you whether or not you take on the coaching. However, I have to tell you that the soccer team here has been limping along for years with volunteer coaches who, quite frankly, don't know that much about the game. As one of the star players at Adams State, you know the game, and I'd be delighted to have you take over the team."

"And if I say 'No', is the job offer is still there?"

"Absolutely. Your future in our school depends on how well you teach history and government to your students not on the win/loss record of an athletic team."

"Okay, with that understanding, you've got yourself a history teacher, and I'll agree to coach the soccer team next year."

"Thank you, Mr. Arnold. We're glad to have you join the faculty."

After graduation I had intended to go home to Atlanta for a week or so before finding a place to live in Carterville. I had some money saved, and I wanted to spend the summer exploring the Carter County area and working on lesson plans for my classes, but I didn't get up to Carterville until mid July.

Dad had aged quickly after mom's death. Being ten years older than her, I think he always expected he would go before her. I know he missed her terribly. I tried to get home to see him about once a month during the school year. With my classes and soccer, I wasn't always able to do that. There seemed to be a noticeable change every time I went home. He just became weaker and weaker. It was almost as if he'd stopped wanting to live after my mother died. He went into the hospital the week after my graduation and died ten days later.

I called Deuce as soon as dad went into the hospital, and he flew in from California the next day. We took turns staying with dad in the hospital, and then Deuce stayed over another four days after dad's death and the funeral.

Those two weeks were the most time I ever spent with my brother. It was awkward at first. After all, what do a forty-year-old corporate attorney and a twenty-two-year-old wannabe high school teacher and reluctant soccer coach have to talk about? Amazingly, we did find things to talk about. It was mostly about our different memories of mom and dad at first but then we branched out to other, sports, politics, etc. I found that I really enjoyed being with my older brother. He certainly was easy to look at. He'd kept his body in shape with running and works outs in the gym three times a week. We'd both inherited our father's dark curly hair and blue eyes. We'd also inherited our mother's tendency to go gray early. Deuce's hair was mostly a steel gray color while I already had gray at my temples and a few silver strands peeking out of the dark brown curls in other places.

It was the second day after dad's death that I realized I had the hots for my brother. We were both dressed in shorts and tee shirts and sitting in the living room drinking beer and talking. Deuce stood to go get us another beer. He stretched and the tee shirt rode high exposing his firm belly with a sexy trail of silky dark hair extending from his navel to the top of his shorts. The stretch also caused his cock to be outlined by the material of the shorts. He turned and headed into the kitchen for the beer. I finally exhaled. God, he was hot! I hoped I looked half that good at forty!

The next day Deuce and I met with dad's attorney to hear the provisions of his will. Now you have to understand that my father was more than careful with money. I was driving a twenty year old Volvo station wagon that had been the family car until the day I got my license at 16. That day dad came home with another Volvo wagon that was only three years old. The old car became mine, and the "new" car was my parents'. We always looked for clothes at the thrift stores, and only if the needed item wasn't found did my mother ever go to a retail store. It's not that my folks didn't spend money when needed. Both Deuce and I had gone to St. Albans. The tuition there was pricey. They were just very frugal. I'd always figured that my dad never made that much money.

Boy were we surprised! Even without the house included the estate was worth nearly three million dollars split evenly between Deuce and me. After my brother and I got over the shock of the size of dad's estate, we got down to some serious discussions with the attorney. We decided to sell the house which dad owned free and clear. The attorney would handle the sale and split the profit, minus his commission of course, between Deuce and me. We were to remove everything we wanted from the house. The rest of the personal property would be auctioned off in an estate sale.

The attorney talked to us about tax shelters, tax obligations, and investments for our inheritance. I didn't understand most of what was said, but Deuce, being an attorney himself, was up on all of the legal mumbo jumbo, and he assured me that the attorney was playing straight with us.

That evening, Deuce and I started going through the house to decide who would take what. I ended up with a lot of the furniture because Deuce and his wife already had a house and mom and dad's stuff just wouldn't fit.

The next day we went through most of the pictures and keepsake things and divided them between us. We also drank about a six pack of beer apiece during the day so we were pretty buzzed at the end of the day. We ordered a pizza and ate it sitting on the floor in the living room with Deuce's stuff piled on one side of the room and mine on the other.

About half way through the pizza, the whole situation just hit me. Both mom and dad were gone. I was an orphan at twenty-two. I would be moving to a brand new town, starting a brand new job, and I didn't really know any one there. I felt very alone. Tears started streaming down my face.

I kept my head down hoping that Deuce wouldn't see my tears, but he did. He came over, sat down next to me and pulled me into a hug.

He told me to let it out, and I did. I cried in his arms for over an hour. I cried until my eyes refused to produce any more tears. Then he pulled me up and took me back into my bedroom. He sat me on the edge of the bed and pulled my tee shirt over my head. He knelt down and removed my sandals before reaching up to pop the button and undo the zipper on my shorts. I lifted my butt off the bed, and Deuce slid my shorts off. Then he stripped himself down to his boxer shorts and climbed into the bed with me. He pulled me into his chest and held me while I went to sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night with my face still pressed against Deuce's hairy chest. My dick was rock hard in my briefs and pushed up against Deuce's thigh. God, it felt good! I knew I needed to move away so he wouldn't feel my erection and guess my secret, but my body refused to move. In fact my body began to hump Deuce's thigh. Slowly at first. Then faster.

Suddenly he moved. His breathing changed. I knew he was awake, and I panicked. I tried to move away, but he pulled me closer.

"It's okay."

"Deuce, I'm sorry. I never meant to do that. just felt good. I must have been dreaming."

"It's okay, Parker."

"You must think I'm some sort of pervert."

"Parker, it's okay. I don't care."

"You don't care that your brother's gay...a queer...a faggot? You don't care that I was humping your leg while you were asleep?"

I tried to pull away. He held me and pressed our bodies closer together. I started to struggle but stopped when my brain registered the fact that his hard cock was pressing up against mine. My brother was hard too!

"No, I don't care. What you label yourself doesn't change the fact you're my brother and I love you."

He placed his hand in the small of my back, slid his fingers under the elastic band of my briefs and pushed our crotches closer together.

We lay together like that for a long time. Our straining erections were separated by two thin layers of fabric. My face pressed into the hollow between his neck and his chest. His hand kept moving up and down the back of my briefs. His fingers gently increased and then released the pressure on my butt causing our cocks to slowly rub against each other.

God, it was sexy! But more than sexy, I felt safe. I felt loved. I hadn't felt either for a long time.

Finally the rhythm set by the pushing of Deuce's fingers on my ass grew more insistent. I felt my balls begin to draw up. His body tensed. I felt his dick pulse and the wetness of his semen spreading through the fabric of our underwear. I gave a shudder and erupted mingling our loads between us.

He kissed the top of my head, and we went back to sleep wrapped in each others arms.

When I woke up the next morning, I was alone in the bed. My briefs were painfully stuck to my body by the dried cum, and I wondered how Deuce would feel. Would he be angry? Would he be guilty? Would he hate me?

I rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. After pulling off my cum-encrusted briefs along with several pubic hairs and washing some of the dried cum off, I returned to my bedroom, donned a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and headed out to the kitchen.

Deuce was sitting at the table sipping coffee and reading the paper. He was already showered and dressed.

I mumbled my greetings as I headed for the coffee maker.

"And a 'good morning' to you too, sunshine."

I mumbled something in return, poured myself a cup of life-giving coffee, and sat down at the table opposite my brother.

"Deuce, about last night..."

He reached over and put his hand on top of mine. "Parker, don't worry about it. We were both emotionally exhausted from the last few days and needed to get it out of our systems. Besides, I enjoyed getting to know my brother a little better."

"'re not angry or anything?"

He smiled. "No, I'm not angry. Actually, I'm glad it happened. I'm glad you told me that you're gay. I guess you could figure out from my responses last night that I'm bisexual. I had some gay experiences in college before I met Christie. I'm sorry dad died, but I'm glad you and I finally got a chance to spend some time with one another. I want you to come out to California at Christmas. You're all the family we have now, and your nephew Trey is growing so fast. You won't believe how big he is now, and he's turning into quite the soccer player. Now hurry and get dressed, I've got a plane to catch."

We exchanged warm hugs at the airport. I was half hard from the contact with him. We pulled apart. He reached down and patted the tented front of my pants.

"Take care, little brother. I'll see you at Christmas." He winked, turned, and walked over to the line for security screening.

I watched until he disappeared down the concourse hallway. It was the last time I saw him.

(To be continued)