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 2002 by Nick 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.

Thicker Than Water

By Nick Archer

Chapter 7

Perspiration dripped off Tim’s nose as he leaned over the bed they shared to kiss Matt’s sleeping face.

Matt moaned quietly. "How was your run?"

"Good. I feel good."

He tried to kiss Matt again, but Matt pushed him away. "Go take your shower, first. Are the boys getting ready for school?"

Tim saluted him. "Yes, sir."

A lazy, contented smile crossed Matt’s face. "Good."

"I hope there’s some hot water left," Tim grumbled as he left the room. Tim had been jogging with Jake and sometimes Tommy in the mornings. Their jogs had turned into terrific bonding experiences between them.

Since school began again, Matt and Tim had established Thursday mornings as their time. Matt had most Thursdays off because he worked Saturdays. Tim started work later so they could spend a couple quiet hours by themselves.

A short knock disturbed Matt’s reverie. Without waiting for an invitation, Tommy stomped into the room with a protesting Ryan behind him.

"Dad, Ryan’s wearing my shirt!"

Matt opened one eye to observe that Ryan was, indeed, wearing Tommy’s favorite Hilfiger shirt.

Matt’s next question sounded typically parental and did nothing to assuage Tommy’s protest. "Is that shirt clean?"

"But, Dad, he didn’t even ask."

Matt was tired of their bickering and avoided the situation by pulling the pillow over his head.

Tim waltzed into the bedroom with only a white terrycloth bathrobe. Matt had bought it for his last birthday and it was way too short for him. "What’s up?" he asked the boys.

Not getting any satisfaction from Matt, Tommy repeated his complaint to Tim. "Tommy, I think it’s OK for a day. Besides, he looks cute in it." Tim turned his attention to Ryan. "You think you could ask next time, buddy?"

"Yeah," Ryan mumbled.

"Thanks Ryan, I appreciate it." Tim rewarded him with a brief hug. He was, after all, wearing only a bathrobe. "Go get ready for school."

"And hurry up," Matt added. "If you are late, I am not, repeat not, driving you to school."

"Shit, man," Tommy mumbled under his breath. "This sucks."

"Language, young man," Tim admonished. He patted Tommy on the rump. "Go."

Within a few minutes, they heard the boys crash out the back door.

"Finally," Matt mumbled as he rolled over onto his stomach. Matt peered at Tim and let out a wolf whistle. "How Elke Sommer can you get?"

Tim eased himself onto Matt’s back. Matt felt his warm breath and smelled the toothpaste as Tim kissed the back of his neck.

Matt wriggled. "What’s that pressing up against my butt?" he teased.

"Hmmmm" Tim’s voice was rumbling, low and sexy. "He needs you, Matt." Tim kissed a trail across the back of Matt’s neck from ear to ear. He worked his hands underneath Matt’s white T-shirt that he usually wore to bed and tweaked his nipples.

Tim’s cock insisted on entry as he thrust it against Matt’s underwear-clad buttocks. Matt could feel the saliva rapidly cooling as it evaporated on his neck.

"Fuck me, Tim. Please," Matt breathed. Matt wanted the fullness of his lover’s cock in his ass. Tim knew just how to massage his prostate, and knew how to prolong their lovemaking. Tim also knew how to speed sex up if needed. Matt, too, knew what techniques would push Tim over the orgasmic edge. Too often, they had to use their partner’s favorite stimulus just to get them off.

Time became their enemy when the subject was sex. They had been together just over a year, and like a heterosexual couple their union was blessed with children almost from the start. Matt was fostering Brian when they started to get serious about their relationship.

Tommy followed soon after. Then Jake. Then Ryan.

The resulting reality check hit like a tidal wave. True, the boys didn’t require potty training or feedings at 4 AM. But the constant demands of their adolescent charges crashed like waves on the shores of their partnered bliss. There were plays and soccer games to attend. The boys had to be shuttled to CCD and to school and because of this, Tim’s Jeep earned the nickname The Taxi. Of course, they still had the normal daily chores to attend to: laundry, grocery shopping, home maintenance, bills, and shopping for clothes for the ever-growing adolescents under their roof. All this on top of their regular full-time jobs. The demands of parenting were never ending.

As much as they loved the boys, and never begrudged the time they spent with them, Matt and Tim struggled to find time for each other. It had been easier when the boys were in school. Once school was out for the summer, they had even less time to spend with each other. During the summer they had to try to keep them entertained and monitor their time alone, which usually meant one of them calling home or Brian’s cell phone to check up on them. Matt guiltily found himself masturbating for the first time since he met Tim. He needed some sexual outlet.

When they finally had an opportunity to talk toward the end of August, they discovered that they hadn’t made love in almost two weeks.

Their solution was Thursday mornings. Sure, a Thursday morning was not nearly as romantic as a date on Friday or Saturday night. But they were parents.

They had to make concessions if they wanted to find time for each other.

"Roll over," Tim commanded. Tim liked to fuck face-to-face because, as he explained to Matt, he liked to watch Matt’s facial expressions and he liked to kiss during sex.

As he rolled over, Matt grinned at the sight of Tim’s hard prick, which was poking through the folds of his bathrobe. With his hands calloused by construction work, Tim pulled off Matt’s underwear and then ran his palm over Matt’s hairy belly. Just as Tim was excited by Matt’s hairy chest, Tim’s smooth body aroused Matt. Well, and why not? Opposites attract, after all.

Tim reached for the nightstand drawer and removed a bottle of lube. He laid the closed bottle next to the pillow and leaned over and kissed Matt with passion.

His voice husky with lust and emotion, he whispered, "I love you, Matthew."

As Tim squeezed the bottle of lube, it emitted a fart-like sound. They both giggled.

In anticipation of the cold lube on his anus, Matt closed his eyes and threw his head back. His Adam’s apple pointed at the ceiling.

Tim could barely control his desire as his big, fleshy fingers drilled their way inside Matt’s hungry hole.

"How’s that feel?" Tim was always considerate of Matt.

"Fuck me, Tim," Matt pleaded again.

Tim placed his glans against Matt’s throbbing asshole. With a gentle push, his cock was inside his man. This was his Matt. This was the man who gave himself completely to him. He was so grateful to Matt.

Matt relaxed his sphincter to allow the invader inside. Tim began to pump almost immediately. The world fell away from them. All their energies, their attention and their focus was on the connection between their bodies.

Tim’s veneer of self-control fell away and he fucked Matt with vigor. Soon, the bed was squeaking and the headboard banging in unison with each thrust. Tim’s cock brushed up against Matt’s prostate and Matt’s cock spewed all over his belly.

Matt’s orgasm caused his sphincter to throb and grip Tim’s cock even tighter.

"Yeah, Matt! Oh, yeah!"

"Let it go, Tim."

Tim released his load into the condom.

Exhausted and perspiring, Tim lay on top of Matt. Matt always loved the weight and pressure of Tim’s body against his. He was never heavy. They kissed again.

"I’m hungry," Matt announced. "How about some breakfast?"

Tim smiled and placed his hand on Matt’s forehead. "Are you feeling OK? Did I just hear you say you’re going to make breakfast?"

"Yes, you did just hear me say that."

"And who said God is dead?"

The waffle iron sizzled with the batter that Matt fed it. He closed the lid and sipped his coffee as he watched the little amber indicator light on top.

Now fully dressed after his second shower of the morning, Tim stood behind Matt and wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck.

"Thanks," he whispered in Matt’s ear.

"For what?"

"For this morning. For breakfast. For everything." He kissed his ear. "You’re getting a lot of use out of that waffle iron."

"It was a pretty good deal for five bucks," Matt agreed. He had purchased it at a garage sale over the summer. "Go sit down and I’ll bring it out to you."

Tim noticed the Tribune on the table. Matt amazed him sometimes. He knew that Tim liked to read the sports section in the morning. Or maybe he was that predictable. Since Tim was the first to get up in the morning, he usually brought the daily paper in. The headlines were still featuring the ongoing OJ Simpson trail.

Matt brought him a plate with sausages and a delicious-looking waffle that almost covered the entire plate.

"You did a good job resolving the shirt incident this morning."

"Thanks. I had a good teacher." Tim raised smiling eyes to Matt.

"You’re so full of shit," Matt chuckled.

"I’ve lost almost twenty pounds," Tim announced.

"Excellent! I’m proud of you. Although, I have to remind you, it makes no difference to me what the numbers on the scale are."

"I did it for myself," he mumbled. "Plus, I’m getting closer to Jake."

"That’s great. Jake has lots of issues with men. He has a hard time trusting men. Can’t say that I blame him."

"I wish you’d come to the gym again with me." In addition to running, Tim had been working out at a gym in Richton Park.

Matt had accompanied him once, and didn’t like the atmosphere. He wrinkled his nose. "It’s all professional bodybuilders there. They looked at me like, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’"

"They did not. They were checking you out. Most of them are queer. Besides, I’m not a professional."

"I think I’ll pass." The truth was that Matt was intimidated.

Tim knew better than to force the issue. "So how’s Son Number One doing?" Tim asked before he popped a sausage in his mouth.

Matt knew exactly what Tim was referring to. Brian had had some issues adjusting to high school. Not academically, since he was a bright and motivated student. Brian had a bit of difficulty socially.

The group of students he ran with in junior high had accepted his gayness without too many reservations. He was popular, in part because he was so good looking and his classmates of both sexes wanted to be around him, but also because he was so jovial and so much fun. At Rich East High School, which was fed by several junior highs in the area, he was somewhat lost in the crowd. Rich East had a diverse student population, too. Over half the students were minorities.

Educationally, it was a good school judging by the Illinois standardized test scores. But another school in the district, Rich South stole the thunder by being recognized as a Blue Ribbon school. Still, Tim and Matt were confident enough that Jake and Brian would receive a good education there to eschew the local Catholic high school.

After the second or third day of school, he approached Matt nearly in tears. The issue had been finding a place to sit in the cafeteria. Brian described the lunchroom seating arrangement as strictly segregated by cliques. The jocks sat at one table, the cheerleaders at another. Freshmen didn’t mix with seniors. And since none of his other friends had the same lunch period, he had eaten alone.

Brian’s main challenge was his gayness. He was secure and confident, thanks to the love and support of his parents. Nevertheless, adolescence is all about peer pressure and fitting in with the crowd. Brian was feeling the stress of trying to find his place within the school’s social climate.

Matt rolled his eyes. "He’s struggling." Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

"I hate to see him struggle."

"Me, too. But sometimes we just need to let him find his own way. He might even be resentful if we tried to help. Besides, what are we going to do, order kids to sit with him at lunch?"

"We could try to switch his lunch hour."

Matt leaned across the table for a kiss. Tim’s lips were sticky and sweet with pancake syrup. "That’s a good idea, but let’s talk to him first. We’ll find out how he feels about it."

"You don’t think it’s a good idea?"

"I didn’t say that," Matt responded a bit defensively as he stood and picked up their empty plates and took them into the kitchen. "We can’t always go running to his rescue. He needs to learn to work out his own problems sometimes. Besides, he might resent it if we just went ahead and did it without talking to him first."

Tim, not completely satisfied with Matt’s answer, turned his attention back to the Tribune. "Here’s an ad for the subdivision where we were working when the tornado hit last summer." He held up the tabloid Homefinder insert that arrived with every Thursday Tribune.

Matt squinted at it. "Beautiful but expensive."

"I like Frankfort. Good schools, too."

"I know that, babe. You’re forgetting I grew up there."

"We’re going to need a bigger house."

Matt wrinkled his forehead. "For what, Tim?"

"Well, you never know." He reached over and patted Matt’s belly. "We may have another blessed event."

Matt laughed. "I’ll admit this townhome is a bit small."

"A bit? The kids have no room. We have no room. I would love to have a master bathroom, where I could pick my nose if I wanted to."

"Please, Tim, I’m trying to digest breakfast. Besides, Frankfort is Republican country."


"So, Park Forest is diverse and liberal. Plus I don’t want to leave Leah. I love St. Irenaeus. Imagine bringing our queer little family out there. Before you know it, they’ll be donning white sheets and burning crosses in our front yard."


"Tim, I grew up there. The signs at the town line say: Welcome to Frankfort. Where the Men are Men and the Sheep Are Frightened."

"The real issue is that we need a bigger house. There’s other towns besides Frankfort. You know as well as I do that there aren’t any larger homes here in Park Forest."

"I can’t afford it."

"But we can." He took Matt’s hand and lowered his voice. "You keep forgetting that we’re a team."

Matt sighed. "Ok, babe. We’ll discuss it some more. Right now, you need to get to work."

Tim smiled and realized Matt was putting him off and that -- for the moment -- the topic of a new house was a lost cause. He kissed Matt. "What does Ryan want to do for his last day?" They had promised to take the boys out of school the following day so they could spend the day together. Bill would be picking him up on Saturday to return him to Marilyn. It was up to Ryan to choose their activity.

"He wants to go see Godspell at St. Irenaeus."

Tim rolled his eyes. "How 70’s can you get? So, they’re going to school after all? I thought Ryan wanted to go downtown."

"He did. He still does. I had no problem taking him downtown or going to the play at St. Irenaeus. But we’re not doing both. I told Ryan to choose, and he chose the play. That’s why the boys are going to school tomorrow."

"But, you already took the day off, didn’t you?"


"Maybe I can get the day off, too."

Matt kissed him. "I’d like that." He kissed Tim again and glanced at the kitchen clock. "We’d both better get going. I love you, Tim."

"I love you, Matt."

Jake opened the locker that he shared with Brian. It was situated in the main corridor of Rich East High School. He sighed as the opened the metallic door and an avalanche of papers and books slid onto his feet. "Shit," he mumbled.

Stacey opened the locker next to his.

"Hi," she said to him with a coy smile.

"Hi, there," he managed a smile back.

"Where did Brian go?"

"Nowhere. This is still his locker."

"I’ve seen you opening his locker." Her face was an odd combination of accusation and curiosity.

"Oh, that’s because I’m his brother. He let me share his locker." He noticed her puzzled look and explained. "I just moved back from Mokena. The locker they assigned me is in East Bumblefuck."

Stacy put her hand to her mouth and giggled.

"So, I persuaded Brian to let me share his. Actually, I threatened him."

Brian stepped behind Jake and shoved his algebra book on the shelf. "You threatened me to do what?"

"Take Stacy to the homecoming dance," Jake said with a smirk to Brian.

Brian discreetly poked Jake in the back with a pen.

"Ow! That hurt!"

Brian gave him a look that said Shut the Fuck Up.

Stacy grinned vapidly and tossed her head. The idea of being seen at Homecoming with the hunky blond was exciting. She didn’t yet know about his orientation. It was common knowledge among most of the graduates of Forest Trails Junior High. But several things kept many of them from spreading the news. They were all still adjusting to the demands of high school and readjusting to the homework, the schedules and the new social climate. Plus, they genuinely liked him and had no reason to hurt him. Yet.

Stacy shut her locker. "Bye, Jake." Then she looked at Brian with a dying cow look. "Bye, Brian," she allowed her voice to linger on the words.

"Asshole," Brian whispered to Jake after she was gone.

"Oh, get over yourself."

"What class do you have next?"

"Gym. What about you?"

"Study hall."

"I hate the asshole who teaches my PE class."

"Who is it?"


Brian didn’t know who the teacher was so he just shook his head.

"Did dad say anything about taking us out of school on Friday?" Jake asked him.

Brian lowered his voice. "Which dad? Matt or Tim?"

"Matt, who else?"

"No. Why?"

"He mentioned something to me about taking the day off and going to the city or something for the day, since it’s Ryan’s last day."

"Yeah, I forgot it was Ryan’s last day. No, he didn’t mention anything to me about it."

The tardy bell rang. "Gotta go!" Jake dashed off.

Three lockers away, Robb Mahoney was retrieving his books. Robb was a junior and Brian was attracted to him. Actually, it was more than just an attraction; Brian was infatuated with him, the same way he had been with Mike and Jake in the past year. Robb was an actor and an athlete. He swam on the swim team and acted in as many plays and musicals as he could try out for. He would be appearing in Godspell this weekend and next at St. Irenaeus.

The junior was tall and lean. His nose was pert and turned up at the end, which Brian thought was extremely cute. His smile revealed a row of perfect, white teeth, unhindered by braces. The skin on his face was clear and smooth.

To Brian Robb was self-confident, almost to the point of being cocky. He was ultra cool. He spelled his name with two ‘b’s.’ He wore red Converse high-tops - the old-fashioned canvas kind. He had rings on every other finger. His hair was usually an outlandish color - red or purple or orange - although currently he had reverted back to it’s natural brown because of the play. His leather biker jacket was covered with buttons from groups Brian had never heard of, like Bronski Beat, Butthole Surfers, Erasure, The Communards, Meat Puppets and Phil ‘n’ The Blanks. Brian made a mental note to ask Matt if he’d ever heard about these groups.

Robb presented himself to the world exactly the way he wanted, without succumbing to peer pressure, and Brian admired him for it.

Brian took a deep breath, checked his zipper, and approached him.

"Hi," Brian said.

"Hi," he mumbled without removing his eyes from the locker.

"I’m going to St. Ireaneus tonight, to see Godspell. You’re in it, right?"

"Yeah," he answered. Finally, he stopped and looked at Brian. The look was pure contempt. Who are you and why are you speaking to me?

Brian wanted to melt into the tile floor. "Well, um, break a leg."

"Yeah, thanks." He flashed an insincere smile and slammed his locker shut.

Brian bit his lower lip and watched him melt into the flow of adolescents.

Friday morning, Tim kissed Matt into awareness. The Overture had begun.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Without opening his eyes, Matt wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer. As if reading Braille, Matt used only touch to locate Tim’s lips. Their lips joined in heat and passion.

"Are the boys up?" Matt asked when their lips parted.

"They’re up and fed," Tim said with a smile.

"What a guy," Matt smiled. Finally, he opened his eyes and peered into the incredibly blue eyes of his husband. "What did you have planned for the day?"

"I don’t know - I thought I’d fuck the living daylights out of you for starters."

Matt grinned wider. "I was planning on fucking the living daylights out of you, for a change."

Leah pulled up to the cul-de-sac of Rich East High School in her Cadillac on Friday afternoon, watching the doors expectantly.

The dismissal bell rang and the doors spewed forth a flood of adolescents. Leah watched for her son. Mike’s face was a blank as he opened the passenger door and seated himself in the cushy sofa-on-wheels.

"How was your day, sweetie?"


"Learn anything interesting?"

"Not really."

The time had arrived, Leah thought. Mike had entered the stage where he was embarrassed of his adoptive mother. Leah had been expecting it. It was a normal stage of development, she knew. All adolescents go though it in varying degrees. Mike had entered the "parents are lepers" phase.

Mike began to be embarrassed by Leah. She was much older than most of the parents of his friends and acquaintances. He began to think of Leah as hopelessly uncool, unattractive and the last person he wanted to be seen with, especially by his friends.

Her older sons had gone through a similar phase, but not to the extent that Mike was going through it now.

Leah knew Mike loved her, and was grateful for being adopted. She also knew that if she was persistent and consistent about trying to get Mike to talk, eventually he would come around.

They drove in silence west on Sauk Trail to Cicero Avenue. Their destination was Lincoln Mall. Mike had an optometrist’s appointment at Lenscrafters.

The intersection of Sauk Trail and Cicero was busy at this time of day. It took two cycles to get through.

Leah opted for an open-ended question. "So do you want to tell me about it?"

Mike simply shook his head and directed his eyes out the window.

The shapely bottle blond at the main desk smiled widely at Mike. "Hi, Mike."

The boy turned eight shades of crimson. "Hi, there."

"You’re here for a checkup?"


"OK, sweetie. Have a seat and the doctor will be with you in a moment."

Momentarily, Mike was ushered back into one of the examining rooms. Dr. Barbara Breen was a large, matronly woman. She performed the necessary exams and asked Mike about his contacts and glasses, their usage and maintenance. She mumbled "mmm hmm," several times, and had him read several charts. Finally, Leah was ushered into the examining room.

"I think Mike is coming along nicely," Dr. Breen told Leah. "Is he wearing the contacts on a regular basis?"

A significant look passed between them. Mike nodded his head ever so slightly.

The optometrist chuckled. "I think I know what that means. If you want to continue wearing contacts, you have to do it on a regular basis. Carry a small bottle of solution with you everywhere, in your pocket. Those green-tinted contacts are very attractive on you." She ruffled his hair.

For the second time in an hour, Mike blushed.

Leah signed the necessary insurance papers and wrote a check for the balance.

"I’m hungry," Mike stated.

"When aren’t you hungry? We’ll be eating at the show tonight," she reminded him. They were going to the presentation of Godspell at St. Irenaeus that evening. Dinner was served before the show.

She grinned and gestured toward Karmelkorn. It occupied a tiny space near the main court. Inside they had bins of caramel corn, cheese corn and plain and buttered popcorn. She bought them both a small bag and a drink. Leah chose the classic caramel corn, while Mike chose cheese corn. They sat on a bench in the mall.

Leah decided to approach the subject again. "So want to tell me what’s bothering you?"

Mike took a sip of his Pepsi. "I hate high school."

"What about it don’t you like?" She wanted to add the word sweetie, but swallowed it at the last second.

"I’m lonely," he mumbled.

"What?" She asked, almost a little too sharply.

He repeated his statement.

Leah narrowed her eyes. Maybe this isn’t the best place to get him to open up. Still, she had an idea of what he was referring to. Being gay in an all-straight environment must feel daunting to Mike.

She glanced at him and noticed for the first time that his jeans were just a bit too short. Her son had been growing at an incredible rate, and over the summer he had surpassed her in height.

With sudden inspiration, she decided to splurge. "Let’s go to Carson’s."

His face was a blank. "Why?" Leah disliked shopping, he knew, and her suggestion seemed out-of-character.

Without answering his question, she led him back to the department store. She felt a sting of guilt as well because she thought she should have taken him shopping at Marshall Field’s in Park Forest. The store has signed a lease with the understanding that the community would support the store.

"Michael, you know I’m not a materialistic person."

"I know."

"I’ve tried to teach you that a person should be judged by their character, not by what they own or how they look."

"I understand."

By this time they were upstairs in the men’s department in front of the Tommy Hilfiger shop. She saw the longing look in his eyes.

She smiled widely. "But someone much wiser than me said, ‘What the hell.’ You need a new outfit for tonight. You want to look nice, right?"

He grinned widely. "Yes, mom."

She took a deep breath. "Let’s go for it."

"Can I help you find something today?" An effeminate but attractive younger man asked. He was wearing a red silk carnation near his name badge, a charming tradition that traced it’s roots far back into Carson’s history. A white carnation indicated a regular salesperson. A red one marked this man as a supervisor.

Leah heard Matt’s voice wafting through the open windows as she stood on her back porch and fumbled with the keys. "Son, go take your shower. Now! Let’s get moving or we’re going to be late." Leah conjectured he was addressing Tommy, who was an expert dawdler. Mike stood right behind her, holding the large, paper Carson’s bag.

"I think that’s good advice, son. I’ll snip off the tags while you take a shower."

Once inside the sanctuary of their home, Mike hugged her. "Thanks, mama."

Leah patted his back. "I know you want someone you can care about. If it makes you feel any better, lots of kids your age have romantic fantasies. Why do you think Beverly Hills 90210 is so popular?"

Mike laughed.

"It’s a soap opera for teenagers. Run along now, sweetie," she dismissed him.

Mike stepped out of the shower and wiped the steam off the mirror with the palm of his hand. His face was clear of unsightly blemishes but a line of fuzzy sideburns extended down both sides of his face. In addition, long, dark rogue hairs sprouted on his chin and his upper lip was covered with fuzz.

It was at times like these that he longed for a man in the house. How jealous he was of Brian, Jake, Tommy and Ryan to have not one but two approachable dads to teach them the things a guy needed to learn. For all he loved Leah, there were just certain things she couldn’t help him with. An excellent example was his loneliness.

Mike longed for a special boy in his life, even if it was just a friend. He wanted someone to care about him, ask him how his day was, and maybe - just maybe - show him some affection. But Brian, whom Mike knew at St. Luke’s, had become distant. They had once been an item, but Brian had torpedoed the relationship and Matt disapproved of the sexual component. When it became clear that it was over, Mike had sunk into a depression that he was only now just recovering from.

Tommy was adorable but too young, and Ryan too silly and effeminate. Ryan somehow related every statement and comment into a show tune.

That left Jake. Since Jake’s homecoming almost two weeks ago, Mike had set his sights on him. Images of Jake had occupied his jack-off fantasies.

Mike had an inspiration. He grabbed his razor and shaving gel and opened the bathroom door. He peered into the hall to see that the door to the master bedroom was shut. Leah was getting dressed. As he passed his own bedroom, he spied the new clothes neatly laid out on his bed. He slipped on a pair of underwear, his bathrobe and a pair of sandals.

"I’m going next door for a sec," he announced through the closed door, and beat a hasty retreat before she could question him.

Mike trotted downstairs, out the back kitchen door, down the porch steps and up again to his neighbor’s house. He spotted Tim in the kitchen pouring some juice for himself. Mike knocked twice briefly - it was the knock both he and Leah used - and without waiting for an invitation from Tim, entered the kitchen.

"Hey, buddy, what’s up?" Tim was shirtless.

"Could you help me with this?" Mike asked timidly as he held up the razor and the can of Edge.

Tim chuckled. "Absolutely. I think the downstairs bathroom is free. Finally."

As Mike followed him down the stairs, he commented, "You’ve lost weight, Tim."

"Thanks. Yeah, I’ve been working on it."

"Looks good," the young teenager appraised the man’s body with a touch of longing.

The basement bathroom was still steamy from it’s most recent occupant. A towel was heaped on the floor next to the shower stall.

Tim grumbled as he picked it up. "Tommy…..when will he learn to hang up his towel?"

Tim closed the sink drain and turned on the hot water. Hot water soon filled the basin. Mike doffed his bathrobe and hung it on the doorknob.

"OK, the key is to keep your face wet. It makes the razor glide. If your face dries, the razor will start to drag."

Mike wet his hands in the water, wiped them on his face, and dispensed a glob of gel on his fingers.

"Good. Now, start shaving. Don’t press down - let the razor do the work." Mike followed his directions. "You may have to shave in several directions to get an area, at least I do. But, your beard isn’t thick enough to need it, yet."

When Mike had shaved his face, Tim continued. "Ok, wet your fingers again and feel for any stubble." Tim demonstrated in the mirror behind the boy. Mike watched his arms and pecs.

God, look at the size of those biceps! Mike thought. And those pecs - they look like half a melon. He has no hair on his chest at all! I wonder….

"I feel some here," Mike indicated his chin.

"Apply some more gel. You might want to stretch the skin a bit." Tim demonstrated again in the mirror.

Tim stepped out of the bathroom and retrieved a clean, dry washcloth from the laundry area. He wet it in the utility tub and carried it back.

"Good job, Mike," he encouraged. "Go ahead and drain the sink. Don’t forget to rinse it out. I’m sure Leah won’t appreciate stubble in the sink." He smiled at the boy in the mirror.

"How about some gel in your hair?" Tim offered.

"OK," Mike agreed. He seldom wore gel in his hair, but the offer included more contact with Tim. It was an offer he couldn’t pass up.

Mike backed away from the sink and faced Tim. The man squeezed a dollop of gel onto his fingertips and rubbed it into Mike’s hair. Mike felt excited by the touch of his big hands. Tim combed his short hair forward and, using the palm of his hand, made the bangs stand straight up.

"This is the latest style. Whaddya think?"

Mike glanced in the mirror and smiled. "I like it."

"Quite a handsome young man," Tim agreed.

Mike’s face crinkled. He wanted to ask a question that had been troubling him for the past few minutes. He yearned for further insight into the world of maleness. "Tim," he hesitated, "how come you don’t have any hair on your chest?"

Tim’s dimples appeared and he chuckled good-naturedly. "I shave it. But I’m not very hairy to begin with. Not like Matt."

"Do you shave it all the time?"

"No, not all the time. It itches like hell when it starts to grow out."

"I have a little hair." He gestured toward his treasure trail from his navel to the waistband of his underwear.

Tim’s glance caught something else. Mike’s underwear was tented out. Tim’s smile disappeared.

Tim swallowed nervously. "You’d better run along, kiddo," he said a bit tensely. "I have to make sure Tommy the Slowpoke is ready."

For the third time that afternoon, Mike blushed crimson. He made a quick grab for the bathrobe and covered his crotch.

"Thanks, Tim." Mike thanked an empty bathroom. Tim was already out of the small room and on his way up the stairs.

"Not a problem, kiddo," Tim replied as he was halfway up the steps.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. As always, your comments and suggestions are welcome. I read and respond to all email (even if it takes a few days) Just click on one of the links below. And don't forget to check out my website (Chapters are always posted there earlier than here) and my other stories here on Nifty, Pocketful of Stars in the Young Friends section and The Cooksville Chronicles in Historical.

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