STANDARD WARNING: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is pure coincidence. Do not read this story if you are offended by man-to-man romance or sex. Do not read if you are underage according to the laws in the country, state/province, county, city/town/village or township where you live. There is sex between males. You have been warned!

Copyright 2000 by archer. Permission is granted to Nifty Archives to post one copy. No part may be copied, reproduced, republished, or reposted on another website without written permission from the author.

Paternal Instincts

By Archer

Chapter 23

Bill had been right, of course. Matt did make a great parent. He was firm and fair without being too strict. He instinctively knew the boundaries between child and parent, between father and son, between friend and lover. He never saw Brian as a friend or as equal, although he spoke to him as if he were. Matt knew that Brian was still a child, even though his body was developing. He was honest with Brian about his own opinions, facts and foibles. Matt grew to love Brian.

Of course, Matt had his doubts. Brian was the model child most of the time. Matt was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Adolescence brought out the worst in almost all kids.

Brian entered the room and inserted himself between Matt and Tim.

Matt groaned. "Brian, what are you doing?"

He giggled.

"Go back to your own bed."

"He’s OK, Matt," Tim interjected.

Matt sighed loudly. There wasn’t much room on the full-sized bed for Tim and Matt let alone Brian. Matt and Tim shared a full bed at the town home, but by this time they were used to each other’s sleep habits. Tim tolerated Matt’s tossing and turning and his snoring. Matt had to get used to Tim’s cold feet.

Brian’s presence felt a bit weird for Matt. They shifted positions to accommodate Brian. The bed was a tangle of arms and legs. Brian was on his side facing Tim. Both men put their arms around the boy. Matt’s lips were millimeters away from the back of Brian’s neck, and he could feel his body heat on his face. His right hand rested on Brian’s chest, and he couldn’t resist grazing the boy’s nipple with his fingertips. It was a comfortable, cozy moment, and the three males enjoyed the warmth and affection of each other’s bodies. That morning as they shared the priest’s bed, they let their bodies speak the love their weary voices couldn’t.

Later that day, they went to the beach. The weather was cooler today, but the sand was burning under their feet. The whole summer had been cooler than average with much heavier rain. The Mississippi River had flooded thousands of acres in the spring of the year.

Scott was there again. He shook hands with Matt and Tim again, then seated himself on the sand near Brian.

"So," Matt said, "are you parents here?"

"Yeah," Scott answered, "I’m here with my dad."

"If you see him, tell him I’d like to meet him."

"I sure will, Mr. Rosato." Matt winced. Mr. Rosato was his father, not him. Besides, he was more used to people calling him by his first name. Coming from an adolescent, it sounded almost insolent.

"Brian told me you live in Park Forest. Where do you live?"

"In a duplex on Lester."

"Where are you staying here?"

"At the Timbers. It’s a bed and breakfast."

"Sounds nice." Matt noticed that his right ear was pierced twice. Almost everyone knew the men’s ear-piercing dictum: Left is right and right is wrong. Supposedly, a pierced right ear was supposed to indicate that the wearer was gay, or a gang member. By the early 90’s, however, pierced ears had become commonplace for men. Matt let his own ear grow over when he spotted a boy about seven or eight in the bookstore with an earring. It was then that Matt noticed the small heart tattoo just above Scott’s ankle. Tattoos were the newest fad among the trendsetters. Immediately, his opinion of Scott’s father plummeted. In Illinois, you have to be 18 to get a tattoo, and if you were underage, you have to have signed permission.

"The people who run it, the Stevensons, are old," Scott continued. "They have a ‘no children’ rule and we almost couldn’t stay there."

"Is your mother here, too?"

"No, sir, she’s dead."

Matt winced again. He might let Scott get away with calling him Mister, but he drew the line at sir. "Please don’t call me sir," he said with a touch of irritation in his voice.

Brian must have picked up the irritation in his voice, too, because he grabbed the raft. "C’mon, Scott. Let’s go."

When the two boys were out of earshot, Tim commented, "You don’t like him, do you?"

"No I don’t. And that’s something we don’t need to tell Brian."

"He’s an intelligent kid, Matt. He’ll figure it out sooner or later."

"Still, we don’t need to rub his face in it."

"Why don’t you like him?"

"I’m not sure." Matt thought about the query, then added, "He’s the reincarnation of Eddie Haskell – you know the type –total suck-up when adults are around, but a complete troublemaker when they’re not."

"I don’t know. I like to see a kid his age with manners."

"That’s what makes me suspicious. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. Brian made a friend and that’s a positive thing."

"He is hunk-a-licious."

"Yes, he is."

They both retreated into paperbacks they brought with them. Matt was reading Family Dancing and Tim was working through the latest Tom Clancy novel. His reading skills had improved greatly from the tutoring he was receiving through Governor’s State. He was even reading for pleasure, which thrilled Matt.

Almost an hour passed before Brian returned, and sat dripping on the sand next to Tim. He pulled a towel around his shoulders. His teeth were chattering and his lips had a bluish color from the chilly water. "Ready to go?" Tim asked him.

"Scott is bringing over his dad to meet you. He should be here anytime."

They stood up, brushed off as much sand as they could and gathered their belongings. Scott approached again, this time with a heavyset middle-aged man. He was carrying a 35 mm camera. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt. His flabby, pasty thighs were the same color of his T-shirt. He was spectacularly unattractive, and Matt privately wondered what gene pool his son had inherited his good looks from.

Matt shook hands with him first. He introduced himself as Barry Hauser. There was something about him that made Matt wonder. He had met Barry before!

They exchanged pleasantries for a few seconds. Matt tried to free himself as soon as possible. Barry invited Brian over anytime. Matt made the excuse that Tim was leaving tonight, and wanted to spend time with Brian.

As Barry and Scott walked away, it dawned on Matt. Barry was the photographer from Windy City Weekly who had taken their pictures in Lincoln Park.


Marty had always had mixed feelings about Matt and Tim. He liked Tim, which was unusual because he had hated all of Matt’s other boyfriends. Tim was so likable, friendly and personable, it was impossible not to like him. Deep inside, he loved Matt on a deeper level than he would admit to anyone. But he had long ago admitted that any relationship beyond friendship was quite impossible. Besides, it might ruin a perfectly good friendship.

But there was one emotion that still lingered. Marty was jealous. From a front-row seat, he watched the relationship between Matt and Tim develop and deepen from lust and infatuation to friendship, and finally, to love. Marty wanted that kind of love in his life. He had innumerable friends and acquaintances that he had met and maintained over the years. But none of them had a hot meal waiting for him when he got home from work, or made him go to the optometrist, or knew which was his favorite section of the Sunday newspaper, or rubbed his shoulders when he was tense. Marty wanted to have a common goal with someone, like Matt and Tim did. Their common goal was raising Brian. Outside his place of work, Marty didn’t have any goals in common with anyone.

With Matt and Tim gone for a week, Marty had time to think about himself and his relationships. He decided that he was going to do something about it. If he couldn’t find Mr. Right, he would find Mr. Right Now. He had heard about the Forest Preserves near Park Forest. He was lonely and horny and decided to make the trip. Matt was gone, and he was unlikely to run into him.

It was after 6PM by the time Marty reached Grove #2 off Ashland Avenue. The entrance curved slightly to the right, revealing a long rectangle of a parking area, shaded by mature trees. At the far end, were six vehicles; four of them were empty. He parked his car, and stepped out. The sun was already setting this Tuesday night, and it struck Marty how much shorter the days were becoming. He knew the Forest Preserves closed at dusk. Set far back from the parking tray was a picnic pavilion which was perhaps built in the 1950’s. It was empty. A very elderly man watched Marty from his maroon LeSabre. Their eyes met, and the old man licked his lips. Marty sneered in disgust.

A path started from both the far corners of the parking lot. Marty chose the left one, since it seemed to more heavily trafficked. His heart was pounding and his palms got slightly clammy. His reaction was partly out of anticipation and partly out of the thrill of having public sex. It was slightly risky, and that added to his excitement. He knew that Forest Preserve police sometimes cruised through the parking area, but gossip had it that they never got out of their squad cars.

He followed the path into the woods, watching his feet lest he trip over any roots. The path was dry and dusty. He looked around. Through the branches on another path, he spotted a heavy middle-aged man with his back to Marty. He was obviously masturbating. Marty hurried along before the man could spot him. He thought this is not turning out very well at all.

He turned right, then left and walked deeper into the woods. The setting sun was filtered by the trees and the air was sweet and clean. He spotted several used condoms along the path. A pristine white pair of jockey shorts sat on the ground as if they had been tossed there minutes ago. He ducked some low branches over the path and entered a sunny spot. There, he turned left. Someone had pulled a picnic table all the way back here. A man was standing at the end and leaning against it. He was a bit older than Marty. He had a full head of hair which was cut fashionably short, but it was all gray. His face had a few lines, but the lines made him look more distinguished. The man was wearing very faded jeans, work boots and a navy blue T-shirt.

Marty’s heart started beating faster as he approached. The man smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth and dimples.

"How are you today?" he asked Marty in a deep voice.

"Good. Just out for a walk."

"Nice day for it." They were silent for a moment. "Interested in anything else?"

Marty gulped. "What did you have in mind?"

The man rubbed his crotch and looked Marty right in the eye. "I could use some head." He took Marty’s hand and placed it on his dick. Through the well-worn demin material, Marty thought he was touching the head of a baseball bat.

The man scanned the forest for any other people. "I think we’re safe here."

He unzipped his jeans and unleashed one of the biggest cocks Marty had seen in a long time. Marty sank to his knees and opened his jaw wide to accommodate the huge, erect penis.

"Uhn, yeah! God you’re good!" Marty was glad he had responded. He hated men who just stood there.

Marty had a difficult time at first swallowing the huge piece of meat. But gradually his jaw and throat relaxed. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and went for the base.

When his lips met the man’s public hair, the man responded by moaning loudly. Marty hoped there was no one else around to hear.

The man pulled his cock out of Marty’s mouth and with three spastic convulsions, let out a huge stream of jism.

They both adjusted their clothes, and started out of the woods together. The man put a rough, callused hand on the back of Marty’s neck in an affectionate way.

"Maybe next time, I’ll do you." He glanced at his watch. "Now, I gotta go."

Marty ventured, "Are you married?"

"In the process of a divorce. Where do you live?"

"Blue Island. You?"

He paused just a split second longer than he should have, and it indicated to Marty that he was lying. "The Heights. I’d like to get together, again, though."

Marty smiled. "OK. By the way, my name is Marty."

The man smiled and extended his hand. "I’m Rick."


Brian had a decision to make. He loved Matt and Tim but his new friend excited him. He had an erection just thinking about Scott as he rode Father Grimes’ ancient bike to the bed and breakfast where Scott and his father were staying. He was supposed to be back at six sharp. That was the time Tim was leaving and Matt wanted him home by then.

The possibility of seeing Scott again was just too compelling. He couldn’t get Scott out of his mind. He swore that Scott had tried to grab his crotch yesterday when they were playing in the water. Scott had told him with a wink that his dad was cool, and they could have a good time.

Brian waited patiently in the reception room of the large Victorian house for Scott to come downstairs. "See you later, Barry," he called over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs.

"You call your dad by his first name?" Brian asked. Brian wanted to call Matt ‘Dad" and couldn’t comprehend why someone would want to call his father by hsi first name.

Scott shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The late afternoon was balmy and humid. Scott jumped on his bike. "I borrowed the bike from the ancient people who run the dump," he commented as he rode a bike equally as outdated as the one Brian was riding.

"There’s this awesome place I want to show you." They rode to the beach and parked their bikes. Scott led them to a dune hidden from the rest of the beach. "This is a great place to just kick it."

Indeed it was. It was hidden from the main beach. Unless you knew what you were looking for, you were sure to miss it. The empty beer cans and used condoms were testament to the fact it was also a party place where kids could get away from the scrutiny of adult eyes. Many of the kids had established their own friends here as well as in their own neighborhoods. Alcohol and marijuana were easier to obtain because parents were less vigilant than they might have been back in the Chicago area. Unfortunately, they should have been more vigilant. Mayor Daley discovered this one weekend when his own son was almost arrested because of a drunken brawl at his father’s cottage in New Buffalo. It was compounded by the fact that the boy was underage. A few days later, the Mayor dealt with the issue in a press conference and did something that every parent in the city of Chicago could relate to: He cried. Instead of being ridiculed or even voted out of office, this very public display of parental concern and anxiety had endeared him to his constituents. The Mayor knew what they were going through with their own teenage boys.

Scott sat on the sand with his back on a dune. "I got some killer weed." He produced a hand-rolled cigarette.

Brian’s eyes opened wide and round. He hadn’t actually seen weed and had never smoked it, although he wasn’t going to admit that to Scott. He idolized Scott, and lived for his approval.

After lighting the bud with a Bic lighter, he took a deep hit, and held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment. He grinned at Brian as he exhaled. Scott handed the rapidly burning cigarette to Brian. He hesitated at first. Brian wasn’t really interested in trying it, but he didn’t want to appear a loser to Scott. Brian held the roach by the tip and brought it to his lips. He inhaled deeply, and attempted to hold the smoke in his lungs the same way Scott had done. But the smoke felt like it set his throat and lungs on fire so he coughed it out. Once he started coughing, he couldn’t stop. All of a sudden, he felt queasy, dizzy and nauseous. On all fours, he vomited the remnants of lunch. Scott patted his back in a condescending way.

"First time?" Scott asked.

Brian nodded and sat back up. Scott put an arm around his shoulders. The touch thrilled Brian.

Once the wave of nausea passed, Brian started to feel good. His legs felt light as if they were filled with helium. Time was Silly Putty being stretched to the limit. Colors seemed sharper and truer and his depth perception seemed to be different as well.

"You’re so cute, Brian."

Brian giggled though he wasn’t sure why. Scott’s statement simply seemed to be funny. Brian started laughing uncontrollably.

Scott pulled him closer and kissed his cheek. Was this really happening, or was it the product of the herb? Brian felt invincible. He felt good and invulnerable. Brian just giggled again when Scott slipped a hand under his T-shirt. Scott kissed him again and again, this time on the lips.

Scott pulled his own shirt off, then tugged at Brian’s shirt. "Come on, big boy. Take off your shirt."

Brian started to feel uncomfortable. He had no way of knowing that the paranoia was probably induced by the marijuana. He giggled. "No, Scott."

He felt Scott’s gentle hands slip under the waistband of his denim shorts. The hands started to work at the top button and the zipper.

Red warning lights began going off in Brian’s head. Something was wrong.

He pulled away from Scott and his hands which were still fumbling at his shorts. As he backed away, the baggy denim shorts fell to his ankles. He fell backward on his rear end. Scott laughed at him.

Brian was panicky, embarrassed and hurt that they would laugh at him and it showed on his face. Scott sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you." He kissed Brian again on the cheek.

As far as Brian was concerned, the damage was done. He didn’t like to be laughed at.

"What’s wrong?"

"Don’t," Brian said referring to the fact that Scott was again tugging at his shirt.

"You know you want to." He reached down between Brian’s legs and grabbed his penis through this white underwear.

Brian panicked. He didn’t know what to do. He liked the kissing part, but he didn’t want to go further. Scott was obviously much more experienced than he was. He wanted to tell him the truth: I’m just not ready. I don’t want to do this because you’re coming on so strong. He couldn’t tell Scott this because Scott would laugh at him, or worse, not like him anymore. He had to leave. It was the only way.

"Come on, Brian. I need you."

Brian thought it was going to be more romantic than this. His fantasy included a warm bed, at night with the door closed and a lot of affection. None of this grabbing and groping. He hadn’t pictured his first sexual encounter taking place in broad daylight behind a litter-strewn dune where anyone could walk up and see them. He stood up, fastened his shorts, picked up his shirt, shook out the sand, and turned to leave.

"Faggot. Fucking little prick tease," Scott called after him as he walked to his bike.

"I know you are. But what am I?" Brian tossed back at him. As he mounted the bike, Barry walked right past him with his ever-present camera. Where had he come from? Brian didn’t remember seeing him. Barry flashed him an evil look as he passed.

As he rode away he could hear Barry and Scott arguing. He wasn’t sure, but the conversation went something like this:

"Why did you let him get away?"

"He was scared."

"Some of the others were, too. That’s your job to calm them down."

"This one was different. Besides, if he was scared, the pictures wouldn’t have come out right anyway."

"Shit. This one was....."

By this time, Brian was pedaling as fast as he could for home. He made a couple promises to himself that afternoon. No one would ever treat him like Scott had treated him. He felt used and humiliated. Scott had treated him as if he were a piece of meat. He would never use pot again. It made him lose control and he hated that feeling. And it would forever be associated in his mind with the encounter with Scott. He rode back to the cottage as fast as his legs could pump.

He never looked back.

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