Date: Tue, 4 Mar 2003 20:38:31 -0800 (PST)
From: Tom Borden <tombor99@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Becoming a Real Man"  1st Installment

This is a purely fictional story about a conflict in values between a
father and his son.  Comments of any kind are welcome.

Tom Borden
tombor99@yahoo.com

Becoming a Real Man
Chapter 1

My name is Jeb, and I was born by mistake in a small town out in West
Texas.  My birth was not really a mistake, I suppose.  But it certainly was
illegitimate, my dad having knocked up my mother when he was seventeen and
she barely fifteen and still in school.  He was a janitor's helper in that
school, and the two of them would meet in the janitor's supply room after
school, where she allowed him to have his way with her.

Of course, she became pregnant.  Shortly before I was born, my mother's
parents insisted they get married.  But my mother had a difficult pregnancy
and died during childbirth.  My dad and I moved in with his parents, where
we lived until my first birthday, at which time, at the age of only
eighteen, he remarried, this time to a girl of twenty-one.

My step-mother tried hard to be a good mother, trying to do it alone most
of the time since my dad was rarely home in the early years.  He had fallen
in with a crowd of motorcyclists and, with them, rode the open roads for
the next two or three years.  My step-mother was forced to work wherever
she could to keep us going.  When dad did finally come home, he had tattoos
on both arms and on his stomach, and wore his black hair in a long
pony-tail.  He took a job as a roustabout in the oil fields outside of town
and took up with a really rough crowd of oil field workers.

Dad drank heavily . . . only beer . . . and would frequently come home very
late after being out most of the night with his buddies.  But I never
really saw him drunk.  He always seemed to be in perfect control.  He was a
huge man, with enormous, powerful arms and legs.  Even though he would wash
up everyday, I believe I never once saw him without that black oil under
his fingernails.  His voice was loud and growly, and he smoked both
cigarettes and cigars.  He was never without them.  They were his constant
companion.  Whether at home or away, his speech was peppered with a litany
of four-letter words.  He seemed constitutionally unable to express himself
without them.

He had a room in the back of our little frame house that he called his
playroom.  It was there that he would invite his rough roustabout friends
to come on many evenings to play poker and drink beer into the wee hours.
He allowed me to come in to say hi to his friends whenever I wanted to.  He
had a rule, however, that all had to get comfortable and sit around the
table naked.  I learned later that they liked to do that because it put
them all in the mood to tell wild stories of the sex they had or were
having with women.  I would sometimes stand in the hall and listen at the
door.  The stories were so wild, I was sure that most of them were made up.

On other evenings, dad would go out to "The Club."  Neither my step-mother
nor I really knew what that was.  He would never tell us anything about it,
other than to say it was a private gathering of his friends to enjoy things
that men enjoy.

Dad never really spent any time with me.  But my step-mother did her best
to interest me in the finer things in life, like reading and appreciating
art.  She was a good artist and painted some beautiful pictures of West
Texas scenery.  She sold them and was often able to command a good price
for them.  She taught me how to paint, and it became a very satisfying
hobby.  Through the reading material she had provided for me, I also became
very interested in poetry, and when I started writing my own poetry, I
received very good comments and encouragement from my teachers at school.

All the way through high school I could sense that my dad was distressed
over the course my life was taking.  He thought that a boy . . . especially
a son of his . . . should not be spending his time writing poetry and
reading novels and painting.

One night he came into my room and said, "Jeb, you ain't sittin' there
writin' some more of that fuckin' poetry, are ya?"

"No," I said.  "I'm just doing my schoolwork."

"Shit, boy," dad said as he sat down.  "It's Friday night.  You should be
out with a girl like all yer other fuckin' friends are.  It ain't natural
you sittin' all couped up in here when ya could be out havin' a good time.
Ya know, boy, ya never told me about any girl friends ya got.  Ya got a
girl friend?"

"No, dad, I don't have a girl friend," I said.

"Well, shit, boy!  Why not?  Don't ya ever git horny fer a nice pretty
girl.  Yer seventeen, boy!  Ya should be out there gittin' yerself a
little, like all the other fuckers yer age out there."

Dad was getting worked up, and I really was getting uncomfortable.  I
didn't want to discuss it with him anymore.  "Dad, I really want to get my
homework done."

Dad didn't move.  He said, "I worry about ya, boy.  Ya ain't livin natural.
Ya should be goin' out with girls.  That's what a feller like you should be
doin.  Jeb, look at me.  I don't mind tellin' ya I don't like seein' how
yer growin' up.  I bet ya never even jerked off yet.  Huh?  Have ya ever
jerked off?"

"Dad, Please!"  I hated it when he started talking like this.

"Well, have ya?" dad said.  "If ya haven't, yer jist not natural.  All guys
jerk off.  It's jist somethin' ya gotta have!  Now have ya?"

"Yes, dad" I finally said.

Dad got up and shook his head and walked out.  I just knew I hadn't heard
the end of this.  He was going to badger me about going out with a girl
until he was blue in the face.  It was no use.  There wasn't any way I
could concentrate on my school work that night.  I flopped down on my bed
and stared at the ceiling.  How could I have a dad like that, I thought.
All the other guys I knew at school had dads who dressed in suits and came
home for dinner every night.  But I realized dad was right about something.
All my friends were dating girls and having a good time.  I liked girls,
and I liked talking with them at school.  But I never wanted to be alone
with any of them on a date or anything like that.  I always recognized a
pretty girl when I saw her, but none of them ever excited me sexually.

Well, I admitted to my dad that I masturbate.  I lay there wondering if
that would be enough for him to think that I was developing into the kind
of man he thought I should be.  Probably not.  It wasn't the girls at
school I thought about when I masturbated.  It was the guys who dated the
girls.  I knew that if dad ever found out that my masturbation fantasies
were all about boys, he would disown me.  I was also convinced that I was
the only person in the world who fantasized about boys, and not girls.  It
was obviously a birth defect.  Maybe it was one of those strange things
that happened because my mother was just a child when I was born, and my
brain didn't develop normally.

Not long after that evening when dad talked to me about girls, he had his
friends over again for another night of drinking, poker, and impressing one
another about their sexual prowess.  Their talk did excite me in a way, and
I often listened at the door.  That night, dad told his friends about how
disappointed he was in me.

I heard him say to one of his friends, "Hey, Marty, you got a boy about my
boy's age.  Does he have any girl friends?"

"Yeah," said Marty.  "He got a shit-pot full of em."

"Well, does he git anything?" dad said.  "I mean does he git any pussy?"

"Sure, he does.  When he was only fourteen, I caught him oncest dickin'
some little cunt in the shed out back.  I told him he didn't need to hide
away out in the fuckin' shed.  He should use his own bed, which he's been
doin' ever since."

"Marty," dad said, "I'm a little worried about my boy, Jeb.  He ain't never
been with no girl in his life.  And he's seventeen.  It jist ain't natural.
I want him to git to be a real man someday, but all he does is keep his
nose in some fuckin' book.  And he writes poetry.  And he sits and paints
all these fuckiin' pictures.  He's jist like his step-ma.  I'm afraid he's
gonna be a sissy-boy."

Cal piped up and said, "He ain't a bad lookin' kid.  He outta be able to
git all the hot pussy he wants."

Then dad said, "It ain't that.  I'm jist afraid he don't want no pussy in
the first place.  I seed his fucking dick and there ain't a cunt in the
world wouldn't cry out fer it.  It's a long, fat mother-fucker.  He oughta
be out there using that fucker instead of jerkin' it off all the time."

"I'll tell ya what ya oughta do, Ben," said Marty.  "Why don't ya bring him
along to the Club sometime.  Maybe he needs to see what real men do.  It'd
be an education for the little fucker.  It'd show him what it's all about."

"Maybe I oughta do that," said dad.  "If I can git his ass outta that
fuckin' room of his and git him to see what the real fuckin' world is like,
I might be able to save him."

When I heard that, I knew I was in for trouble.  I didn't know what went on
at that club of theirs, but I had the feeling it wasn't my cup of tea.  If
he'd only leave me alone.  A few nights after his last party, I was lying
in bed and could hear dad and my step-mother talking in their adjoining
bedroom.  We lived in a rickety old house and the walls were as thin as
paper.  I could always hear everything they said.

"I've made a decision, Marion," I heard my dad say.  "Jeb jist ain't
gitten' raised right.  I'm gonna take his ass over to the club some night
and see if I can't make a fuckin' man outta him."

"Now you leave that boy alone, Ben," she said.  "He's turning out to be a
decent young man and I don't want him being influenced by that awful gang
you hang out with."

"Marion, he's my son, and I'll see that his ass is raised any fuckin' way I
see fit.  He needs to see what real men are like."

"Yeah," she said, "and I suppose he'll come home with a big ugly tattoo.
You've never understood, Ben.  That isn't what real men do."

"You don't like my tattoos?"

"I hate them!"

"Well, it's you, then, that don't understand," dad said.  "Women loves my
tattoos!"

"I don't want to hear about it," she said.  "I don't know what you and your
slimy friends do at that so-called club, but I have a pretty good idea.  I
wonder sometimes how they compare to me, your wife."

"Aw, yer a hot little fuck machine," dad said.  "I always come home to you
in the end, don't I?  How 'bout given me a little tight ass tonight?  Huh?
I ain't tasted that little fuckin' rosebud fer weeks."

Then they fell silent.  Although they stopped talking, I could hear that
squeaky old bed of theirs bouncing around, and the headboard banging
against my wall.  While I never enjoyed being around my dad, I always found
it so erotic to listen to his rebel-like shout when he was having his
orgasm.  Whenever I knew they were fucking, I would masturbate and could
imagine the great streams of hot, thick sperm shooting from the end of his
throbbing penis

The dreaded moment finally came when dad told me he was taking me to the
Club.  "I'd rather stay home, dad," I said as firmly as I could.

"Don't gimme that horse shit, Jeb.  It's time ya got outta that sissy world
of yers and git into the world of real men.  Yer gitten too old to sit
around writin' all that fuckin' sissy poetry."

We arrived at the Club, which was in a small abandoned house on the edge of
a ranch about a half-hour from town.  There was a small platform at one
side of the room, and there were about a dozen small tables scattered
about.  In the back of the room was a makeshift bar where two men were
hooking up a couple of kegs of beer.  When we arrived, there were only six
or seven men there already seated at some tables.  Over the next few
minutes, another twelve or fifteen arrived.  They all ranged in age from
about the mid-twenties to around fifty years or so.

One man, who looked to be in his forties, came to our table and said, "Hey,
Ben.  This yer son?  I'm glad ya decided to bring him out."  Extending his
hand, he said, "I'm Marty.  I'm glad ya came tonight.  Yer dad's a good
man, makin' sure ya got a good start on yer manhood."

After everybody had full mugs of beer, four fully-dressed girls walked out
of a door and onto the platform.  Over the next twenty minutes or so, they
danced around awkwardly and slowly stripped down to nothing.  "Hey Jeb," my
dad said, poking me in the side, "Ya ever see such hot little bodies in yer
life?  Bet this is the first fuckin' time ya ever seen a fuckin' pussy,
eh?"

I have to admit that I was transfixed by the sight.  It was true, I had
never seen a naked girl before.  As they writhed around, they pushed their
fingers in and out of their pussies.  Then each picked up large dildos from
the floor and began fucking themselves.  The sight of the realistic dildos
made me more excited than looking at the girls themselves.  After a few
minutes, four young handsome naked men walked out and began fucking the
women in every imaginable position.

Dad said, "Now take a good look at this, Jeb.  There ain't nothin' better
in a real man's life than having good hot fuck!"

I looked around and noticed that most of the men in the room had unzipped
and were stroking their penises as they watched.  I glanced over at my dad
and saw that he had pulled his pants down slightly and was playing with the
head of his uncut penis.  Now, I had to admit I was really beginning to get
turned on.  I wanted to pull out my penis, too, but was embarrassed to do
it.  Soon, dad reached over and undid my pants.

"Pull that little fucker on outta there," dad said.  "Don't make out ya
ain't hot lookin' at them cocks goin' in and out them pussies, because I
know ya are."

I sat there transfixed at the sight of all the huge penises being stroked
in the room.  One of the boys on the platform pulled out and shot his cum
all over the girl's tits, and then leaned over and licked it all up.  One
of the other boys groaned loudly as he shot his sperm into his girl's
pussy.  When he pulled out, one of the men sitting close to the platform
jumped up and started eating out that girl's pussy.  Dad could see me
staring in disbelief.

I blurted out, "That man!  What's he doing?"

"He's suckin' out that young fella's cum outta her pussy.  Ya ever taste
cum, boy?  It's the fuckin' nectar of the Gods!  When ya jerked off, ya
musta tasted yer own cum, didn't ya?

I said, as though I were in a trance, "Ya.  I tasted it."

"It's good, ain't it?" dad said, "Some guys' cum is sweet and creamy, and
other's is a little bitter.  But it's all good."

Then one of the boys on the platform lay next to another boy and began
sucking on his penis.  It was almost getting too much for me and I had to
stop stroking myself because I was on the brink.  I could feel that little
tingle in the middle of my body that signaled an approaching orgasm.

As the evening progressed, and as more and more beer was consumed,
everything started to go crazy.  At first, I noticed several of the men
kneeling in front of other guys and sucking them off.  Shirts were being
removed, then pants came off.  Soon, most of the men were completely naked
and either lying on the tables or on the floor getting sucked off.  Then
when I looked up, I saw my dad's friend, Marty, up on the platform fucking
one of the young men who had earlier fucked one of the women.  Everywhere,
men were fucking and sucking each other and sucking cum out of each other's
asshole.

I looked over at the next table and saw dad lying on his back with his huge
hairy legs held up in the air as another man was fucking him violently.
Dad was pinching the man's nibbles as he was getting fucked.  I had not
touched my own penis for some time since I remained on the verge of
cumming.  Suddenly, I felt a hand on my penis.  There in front of me was
one of the roustabouts about to take my penis in his mouth.  He licked up
and down the top and underside of the shaft and sucked in each of my balls.
I was in another world.  I looked around at all these hugely masculine oil
rig workers, with their completely naked and masculine bodies, sucking or
being sucked and fucking or being fucked.  I thought to myself, "These are
the pleasures that dad was saying belonged to real men.

As soon as this man took my penis into his mouth, I shot my load down his
throat.  His tongue felt so good on my penis.  It was nothing like just
using my own hand to stroke it.  After he finished swallowing all my cum,
he looked up at me and smiled.  He was large and hairy like the others, but
he had a sort of sweetness in his smile and in his eyes.  The room was
fairly silent, filled only with the grunts and groans of men fucking,
sucking, and cumming.

The man said, "Would you like to lie down there on the floor.  I'd like to
. . . ."

He didn't finish his sentence, but I knew what he wanted.  He wanted to
fuck me, but I just couldn't imagine having a hard cock up my ass.  Putting
my hand on his soft, curly brown hair, I said, "No, please, I just can't do
that."

He smiled again and said, "You're Ben's boy, aren't you?  My name is Matt,
short for Matthew. I noticed you the minute you walked in several hours
ago.  You're very good looking.  You're not like all the rest of us."  As
he ran his hand lightly over my stomach and legs, he said, "You have
smooth, velvety skin, and you're so slender."  He ran his tongue over the
light hair on the calves of my legs.  "I like you a lot.  I don't want to
do anything you don't want me to do.  Maybe I can see you again sometime."

I had seen a lot of guys at school and in the showers there who excited me
and fed my jack-off fantasies at night.  But here was a big masculine oil
rig worker who, for some reason, also excited me.  And unlike the boys I
looked at in school, this one actually touched me and got me off and ate my
sperm.  And on top of that, he wanted me.  I looked into those beautiful
dark eyes, shaded with his long dark eyelashes, and noted his speech, which
was in no way crude like that of the others.

As he continued to look into my eyes and gently fondle my balls in one
hand, I said impulsively, "Yes, I'd like that.  Maybe we can see each other
again sometime."

Matt put his hand very gently on my cheek and said, "I have to go pee.  Do
you have to pee, too?"

I said, "Let's go."

When we found the bathroom unoccupied, Matt said, "I'd like to kiss you.  I
didn't want to do it out there because your father was on the table right
next to us, and I wasn't sure he would like me doing something like that."

"Well, he must have seen you sucking me off.  Why would he be upset if he
saw you kissing me?"

"Jeb, kissing sometimes means something more than just getting a blow-job.
It sometimes means the feeling for someone has gone beyond pure sex."

I said, "What do you like to be called?  Matt or Matthew?"

"It doesn't matter, Jeb.  Whatever you'd like to call me."

"I think I like Matthew," I said.  He smiled as though that was what he
really wanted to be called.

It was the first time I had ever put my arms around another man's body, or
even touched another man.  But here I was doing not only that, but kissing
his lips and that beautiful face of his.  We broke for a few minutes to
empty our bladders, and then we were back in each other's arms.  He had
hair on his body, but he was not as hairy as the others.  And there was no
black oil under his fingernails.

We soon went back into the main room where everyone was lying around
exhausted, all having shot their loads one way or the other.  Very shortly,
the men, one by one, began getting up, getting dressed and leaving.  My dad
was still lying on his back, with another man idly flicking his tongue over
my dad's wilted penis.  When dad saw me, he simply said, "Well, Jeb?"

I sat down in a chair next to him and said, "Well, dad, so this is what
real men do, huh?"

"You got it, son.  I want ya to think about this.  It'd probably be a good
thing if ya came to the Club regular.  And git yerself broken away from all
that shit you do.  Ya know, all that fuckin' poetry and stuff."

When we were once again in the car on the way home, it was 3:00 a.m.  I
said, "Dad, I had no idea that this is what you meant by doing things real
men do.  I can see why it's so great.  And I'll say it does open a whole
new horizon for me.  But you've got to understand that I will never give up
my poetry or my painting or my books."

"Aw shit," dad muttered.

After a long silence, I finally said, "Dad.  Having those girls strip and
get fucked by those young guys is kind of what I expected.  But . . . but
. . . I have to admit I wasn't expecting all you guys getting it on with
each other."

When we drove into the back yard, dad turned off the ignition and said,
"Jeb, fuckin' a hole is fuckin' a hole.  Don't matter whether the hole is
up the ass of a man or up the ass of a woman.  A good tight asshole is a
good tight asshole wherever ya find it."

"But when I saw you and the other guys sucking and eating each other's
cum," I said, "and getting fucked yourself, that's kind of going beyond
just a tight asshole.

"One thing ya got to remember about this fuckin' life, Jeb, is that it's
hard to figure where pleasure begins and where it ends.  When ya git
yerself into a horny state, ya jist got to let yer passion take ya where it
wants to.  Us guys don't have the feeling fer each other as we have fer
them women.  But when ya git real horny, there ain't no tellin' what ya
would do to satisfy yer hunger.  Hungry animals will eat any fuckin'
thing."

"I see."

Dad smiled at me and reached his hand over, laying it on my crotch.  "I
have to tell ya, boy, I was proud of ya tonight.  I seen young Matt really
do a fuckin' job on ya.  I could tell ya loved it.  Was that yer first
time?"

"You mean being sucked off?  Yeah, that was my first time.  And yeah, I
liked it."

Dad started rubbing his hand a little harder.  I leaned my head back and
had to smile because I knew he could feel my penis getting harder.  He
said, "I'm glad, Jeb.  These are things I was afraid you'd never learn as
long as ya kept yer fuckin' nose in them books."

Dad carefully unzipped my pants and let my hard penis flop out.  "Ya gotta
good cock between yer legs there, boy.  Ya can't keep a little fucker like
that to yerself.  Penises is the most precious thing a man has, and it's
meant to be shared."

Dad slowly leaned over and took my boner into his mouth.  It felt as good
as it did when Matthew did it.  I closed my eyes and, as my orgasm swept
over me, I could feel my sperm shooting into my dad's mouth.  Suddenly, I
began feeling differently about my dad.  He was always crude and boorish,
but he was never mean or thoughtless.  He thought he knew what was best for
his son, and he followed through on it.  As I leaned back on the seat,
trying to catch my breath, I had the most liberated feeling come over me.
I no longer tensed up with dread over the thought that my dad would talk to
me about my sexual life . . . or lack of it.  I felt completely at ease now
with him for the first time in my life.  I thought now that we could talk
about anything.  The only fear I had was that he might continue to push me
into situations involving fucking with women.  But somehow, I now felt
strong enough to handle anything he wanted to bring up.

My dad suddenly straightened up and said, "Aw shit, I can feel the cum
running outta my fuckin' ass.  We better git inside and clean up."

After we had both taken showers, and I had climbed into bed, I asked dad to
sit on the edge.  I had something to ask him.

"Dad, who is this guy named Matthew?  Tell me about him."

"Well, Jeb," dad began.  "He ain't really like the rest of us.  He's kind
of new on the job.  He does the heavy work pretty good fer a fuckin'
college man."

"He went to college?"

"Yeah.  He's an engineer of some fuckin' variety, but he ain't been able to
git a job.  So he's workin' out there with us fer awhile.  Why do ya ask?
He was the one that sucked ya off, weren't he?"

"Ya, that's the one.  But he was different.  He was so nice.  He told me he
liked me and wanted to see me again."

"Oh, Jeb, be careful.  Fuckin' around with each other is one thing.  But if
he likes ya too fuckin' much, it might mean somethin' else."

"Maybe," I sighed.  "I think we'd better get some sleep, dad.  It's almost
daylight.  Goodnight."

For the next week, I couldn't get Matthew off of my mind.  He was so strong
and so handsome, and when he kissed me, his strong arms held me tightly,
but I had never realized that another man's lips could be so soft and
tender.  I masturbated every night, and Matthew was always in my fantasies.
But my fantasies were never about sucking him or fucking him, or having him
do that to me.  Each time I masturbated, I imagined his warm, moist body
pressed up against mine, and we did nothing but kiss each other's lips.  It
seemed so strange.  Dad had done what he could to make me realize that
sucking and fucking a person were the hallmarks of a happy, masculine life.
But I wasn't feeling that with Matthew.  It was the feel of his strong,
firm body, and his lips on mine.  That's what I craved from Matthew.

About a week after my experience at "The Club," I was running out of school
and heading down the block to catch my bus home.  Suddenly, I heard a voice
behind me, calling, "Jeb.  Jeb."  I stopped and turned around and saw
Matthew standing there looking at me with a smile so sweet, I almost wanted
to cry.  He was wearing a short-sleeved blue and white striped sport shirt,
a nice pair of slacks and brown leather loafers.

"Matthew!" I said.  I wanted to run to him and have him take me in his
strong arms.

"I'm glad I caught you, Jeb," said Matthew as he came closer.  "I have the
day off and I thought maybe . . . before you went home . . . we could go
down the street to the ice cream shop and have a sundae or something, or
maybe a cone.  Will you have time?  Then I'll drive you home."

"Of course I have time, Matthew.  This is the most wonderful surprise I've
had all week."

Matthew and I sat in a booth and ordered two hot fudge sundaes, covered
with mixed nuts and whipped cream.

Matthew said, "I wanted to see you again.  I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," I purred.  "I wanted to see you again, too.  When
I saw you at The Club, I memorized what you looked like and I had you in
bed with me every night."

"That makes me feel very good, Jeb.  I've had you on my mind, too."

"You look very nice, Matthew."

"Thank you.  I wanted to dress up in some nice clothes before I saw you
again."  Then reaching across the table and taking Jeb's hand in his, he
said, "It's been a long time since I had anyone to love.  But when I saw
you, I went all crazy inside.  The only problem is that I'm ten years older
than you are."

"Why is that a problem," I asked.

"Well, Jeb, it's not really a problem, I guess, but at seventeen, you're
still technically a minor.  I've been attracted to guys younger than you,
but I always knew enough not to go after them."

"Can't you just make believe that I'm eighteen.  I'm going to be eighteen
in March, a few months before I graduate this coming June."

Matthew squeezed my hand in his and said, with a smile, "I'll try."

"Matthew, you said it was a long time since you had anyone to love," I
said.  "When was the last time?"

"Oh, Jeb.  It was back when I was doing graduate work in engineering at SMU
in Dallas.  I'm twenty-seven now, so I guess it was around when I was
twenty-two.  Ned and I met at a little coffee shop just off campus.  We sat
next to each other at the counter.  And one thing just led to another
. . . and we fell in love.  We had an apartment and lived there together
for close to three years.  I loved him almost more than life itself, and I
know that he loved me the same.  Almost every afternoon, he and I would
meet at that coffee shop, and we always sat in the same seats we were in
when we met.  It was just one of those silly things, but it had meaning for
us.

"We would usually meet about three in the afternoon.  One day, he told me
that he had an appointment with one of his professors, and that he might be
a little late.  That was alright.  I would wait.  At about a quarter to
four, he still had not arrived.  I sat looking out of the front plate glass
window, idly watching several ambulances and a fire engine roaring down the
street.  They had stopped at the next corner, out of my viewing range.  I
heard the waitress telling another that there had been a terrible accident
down at the corner, and she believed there were fatalities.  I threw some
money on the counter and told them I would be back.  I was just going to
walk to the corner to see what happened."

At that moment, Matthew bowed his head and buried his face in his hands.  I
somehow knew instantly what he was about to tell me.  I sat very still and
didn't say a word.  I was afraid to say anything.  After a minute or two, I
reached up and put my hand gently on his cheek.  I was about to cry.  I
could feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes.  Then Matthew looked up
at me and held my hand tightly against his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Jeb," he said with his own eyes brimming a little with tears.
"It was Ned's car, an old black '53 Chevy.  He took really good care of it
and polished it a lot so it looked almost new.  But there it was up over
the curb in a sickening pile of twisted metal.  The medics had just put him
into the ambulance, and I asked if he was okay.  They told me he was dead
with a badly crushed skull."

"Oh, Matthew, I feel terrible," I said.  "His name was Ned?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry."

We sat there in the booth quietly for a long time, eating our ice cream.
Finally, Matthew said, "You know, this isn't what I wanted to talk about at
all.  That was five years ago.  I have my moments, but I'm dealing with it
. . . better and better each year."  Then with a smile and another squeeze
of my hand, he said, "Now let's talk about you.  Tell me about yourself.
You know, you're not at all like your dad."

I laughed and said, "That's an understatement!"  I went on to tell Matthew
about my dad's life, having dropped out of high school in tenth grade, then
getting my mother pregnant with me when she was fifteen.  And I told him
about my dad's life as a biker out on the road with what he referred to as
his "biker family."

"You already know, Matthew, what my dad is like now.  He's a really crude
old son-of-a-bitch.  I know he runs out on my step-mom all the time, but
there's nothing she can do about it.  My interests are more genteel, I
guess you could say, than my dad's.  He thinks the sign of a real man is
fucking everybody he can.  So that's how I ended up at The Club that night.
He thought I needed to be exposed at what he says real men do.  The best
thing that happened there, though, was that I met you."

"I agree, but I feel kind of ashamed that you had to meet me under those
circumstances.  I came on to you by grabbing your penis, if you remember,
and sucking it off.  I really don't want you to think badly of me for that,
Jeb."

"No, of course I don't.  But tell me, how did you end up there that night?"

"Well, Jeb, it was only my second time there.  The first time I had some
really down and dirty sex with some of those guys.  But it was just sex.
With you, Jeb, it's more than that.  Why did I go there in the first place?
Good question.  I was new on the job, and all the other guys on the rig
were going and they told me to come along.  I didn't have anything else to
do, so I went.  I was really kind of lonely working out on the rig and
sleeping in that hothouse shed we use to sleep in.  So I was ready to go to
the Club a second time just to get my nuts off.  But then I met you, and
everything has changed.  I'm so glad to know, though, that you didn't go
there on your own, but was more or less forced to go.  I want to tell you
that I'm never going to that club again.  That is, if you think you and I
can see each other sometimes."

I looked into Matthew's eyes and said, "We can see each other any time and
as often as you want, Matthew."

"But where can we go to be alone, Jeb?  I sleep in that stupid shack with
all those other idiots."

"I know, Matthew.  I have a nice bedroom with a nice bed in it.  But I
can't bring you home with me.  My Step-Mom wouldn't allow it.  And on top
of that, I don't want to make my dad think I only like guys, and not girls.
He thinks it's okay if I like both, though.  He likes to fuck people in the
ass, and he doesn't draw any distinction between a man's hole and a woman's
hole."

"What we could do, Jeb, is to take a trip together over the Christmas
holidays.  We could rent a little place on the beach down in Galveston or
Corpus Christi.  Would your dad object to that if we told him we were going
down to do some fishing in the Gulf?"

"That sounds like a really good idea, Matthew.  And I think my dad would
buy it.  He knows that I like you, and that you like me.  And also, he told
me he likes you, too, and that you're a good worker."

Matthew finally drove me home just in time to sit down at the dinner table.
When he let me off, I saw my dad holding the curtain aside on the front
window and looking at us.  He didn't say anything to me at dinner, but
after dinner when I went up to my room to do some studying, dad came in and
sat down.

"Jeb," dad began.  "Do ya wanna go to the Club again with me tonight?"

"No, dad.  Once was enough.  Anyway, I've got studying to do."

"Well, shit, boy.  I thought ya told me ya liked going there."

"I did like it, dad," I said.  "But somehow it all got a little heavy for
me."

"Yer still young.  You'll git the hang of it as ya git older."

"Maybe."

Dad sat quietly for a few minutes and then said, "That was that Matt fella
that drove ya home today, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said.  "We ran into each other when I was on my way to the bus
stop.  He took me to the ice cream shop for a sundae.  And we talked about
things."

"Why did he do that, Jeb?

"I don't know, dad.  He was just being friendly.

"What did ya talk about?"

"Dad, I don't remember," I said.  "We just talked about a lot of stuff.  I
like him very much."

"Well boy, does he like you?

"Sure.  I think he likes me.  Dad, what's the matter?  Don't you want me to
be friendly with him?"

"Oh, I don't know.  I jist don't trust the fucker.  He's one of those
fuckin' college types."

"Dad, I'm going to be one of those college types next year when I go to
U. of Texas.  Anyway, you're the one who's responsible.  You're the one who
took me to that place and wanted me get to know those guys and emulate
them.  And Matthew was one of those guys."

"Emu----- what?  Don't use them big fuckin' words with me, boy.  That fella
isn't really one of us.  He's jist workin' with us temporary."

"Dad, please," I said.  "What's bothering you?"

"I jist want ya to be careful.  That's all.  Don't let him . . . I mean
. . . don't git too fuckin' personal with him."

"Dad, how much more personal could I get with anybody than I was with him
and those other friends of yours that night I went with you to the Club.  I
just don't understand what you're talking about."

Dad looked deeply into my eyes and shook his head slightly.  Then he said
softly, "Yer my only son, Jeb.  Just remember I worry about you.  I jist
don't want anything to happen to you."

After dad left the room, I tried to figure out why he was so concerned over
my friendship with Matthew.  He had hardly ever given me a thought during
my growing up years.  Why now?  Why was he so concerned about me now?  How
could he be worried about my friendship with Matthew?  With anybody?  He's
a strange man.

I saw Matthew several times since then, always at the ice cream shop.  One
day, after he drove me home, he came in to tell my step-mom that he would
like to take me to the Gulf for fishing one weekend during the holidays.
Mom had no idea that he was one of my dad's "Club" friends.  He looked very
nice and civilized, and she was very much approving of our weekend away
together.  I told her that I was worried that dad would not approve.  But
she said, she would handle that.  She thought it would be good that I had a
chance to get away for a few days and have a good time during my vacation
from school.

That evening at the supper table, my step-mom mentioned to dad that I was
going away to Galveston for the weekend with Matthew.  I braced myself for
the tyrade I was sure would follow.

Dad never looked up from his plate, and merely said, quietly, "That's nice.
Be sure to tell us where you'll be staying so if we have a fuckin'
emergency, we can git hold of ya."

I could tell by the tense tone of his voice that dad did not approve.
After supper, I went to my room, as usual, and started studying.  Dad came
in and sat down.

"Why do ya have to go off fishing with this guy?"

"Because he asked me to, dad, and because I think it'll be fun."

"You could go with me somewhere," dad said.  "I could take ya any fuckin'
place ya wanted.  I could take ya fishin'.  I could take ya down to the old
McGinty place and do some Quail hunting, if ya like.  There's lots of
fuckin' things we could do."

I turned in my chair and faced him.  "You never took me anyplace, dad.  You
were never around.  I hardly even knew you until I got into high school."

Dad said, "But we could have gone places if you'd wanted to."

"But we never did.  It wasn't because I didn't want to."  I could feel the
tears coming to my eyes.  "Do you know why we never went anywhere together?
We never went anywhere because you never asked me!  You never once asked me
what I would like to do.  You never once asked me to go somewhere with you,
except once to that stinking club of yours!  I'm going with Matthew because
he asked me!"

I remember I tried to hide my tears by covering my face with my hands.
Then when I looked up, dad had left the room.  I didn't want to hurt him
like that.  I truly didn't.  He had always been good to me . . . when he
was around.

Matthew and I were going to stay at a cottage he rented on Galveston Beach.
We'd be there two nights, Saturday and Sunday nights, and then drive back
home on Monday.  When Saturday morning came, Matthew arrived to pick me up
at about nine o'clock.  Dad had left the house about an hour earlier,
saying that he had to work at the rig that day.  He had never been required
to work on Saturdays before, and I knew that his leaving the house early
was another silent expression of his disapproval.

Matthew and I both loved country-western music and, during the drive to
Galveston, we had our favorite station blaring away the whole way on the
car radio.  Matthew had a great singing voice and would sing along as we
drove.  I hardly ever looked out the window at the scenery, but rather kept
my eyes on Matthew's face and his strong hands as he gripped the wheel.  I
was so happy.

It was a long drive, and when we arrived at the cottage on Galveston Beach,
we carried our bags inside.  When we put them down, and before we sat down,
Matthew took hold of me by the shoulders and pulled me to him, holding me
tightly in those powerful arms.  Without saying anything, he kissed the tip
of my nose very lightly and then moved his lips down to mine.  Those soft,
gentle lips.  I felt almost as though I was in a dream.  No man had ever
held me like that.  I had fantasized about it a thousand times, but never
knew what it would really be like.  I kept saying to myself, "Don't let go
of me.  Hold me like this forever.  Don't ever let go of me."

But he did finally let go and went to his suitcase.  He took something out
and quickly put it into his pocket.  Then he said, "Jeb, it's dinner time.
I know a wonderful little restaurant right on the beach down the way a bit.
They have an outdoor patio where we can eat and have a beautiful view of
the Gulf of Mexico.  Okay?"

I told him that whatever he wanted to do, I wanted to do.  We changed our
clothes and then slowly walked down the beach to the restaurant.  The sun
was just setting in the west and the sky was all orange and purple and red.
But we could see heavy dark clouds off to the east.  As we were seated on
the patio, I still couldn't believe what was happening.  I still felt as
though I was in a dream.  Matthew ordered a Brandy Manhattan, but refused
to order one for me.

He said, "I'm not going to break the law and contribute to your
delinquency.  But you can take a few sips from my drink.  And if I order
another one, you can drink part of that one, too.  But when you turn
eighteen, I want to be the first one to buy you a drink to celebrate your
majority."

Matthew did have two drinks, and I drank fully half of it.  We had a huge
mound of Crab claws for dinner and Mexican custard for desert.  I had seen
romantic scenes in the movies plenty of times, but this was the most
romantic time I could ever imagine.  It was dark when we finished, and we
walked slowly, hand in hand, down the beach.  The beach lights were on and
gave off a soft faint glow.

When we came to some empty beach chairs, Matthew said, "Let's sit down here
and watch the waves come in.  I want to give you something" He reached in
his pocket and pulled out a small box.  When I opened it, I found a very
thin gold chain with a small medallion hanging from it.  Inscribed on it
were simply the words "Jeb & Matt."  I hardly knew what to say.  I wanted
to say so much, but all that would come out was "Thank you.  Thank you,
Matthew."  He put the chain around my neck and pressed those beautiful,
soft lips against mine so gently.  I couldn't believe this was happening.

After getting back inside the cottage, Matthew said, "Just stand there,
Jeb, and let me look at you.  I don't want you to do anything.  I want to
undress you myself."

Matthew very slowly removed each item of my clothing, stopping frequently
to kiss me on the lips.  I began to feel a little embarrassed as my
nakedness slowly came into view.  I was so much smaller than Matthew.  He
was twice my size in all directions.  I was very slender . . . more so than
I wanted to be . . . and I was not very muscular.  When he had my shirt
off, he ran his tongue over my chest and stomach and up and down one of my
arms.  I thought how could he enjoy running his tongue along my thin arm
when his were so much more muscular and masculine.  But he did.  He took my
arm and held it like a ear of corn and nibbled on it from my wrist to my
elbow.

When he had me completely naked, he picked me up in his arms and carried me
to the bed.  As I lay there, I watched as he slowly stripped himself.  The
sight of his beautiful strong naked body coming into view made the blood
rush to my head.  I almost felt dizzy, again as though I were in a dream.

He lay down beside me and, propped up on one elbow, he caressed my face and
hair with his fingers.  Then moving very close to me, he began kissing my
eyes and running his tongue over my ears, my neck.  As I felt his tongue
moving slowly over my chest and stomach, I closed my eyes.  I was certain I
was in a dream.  He began sucking on my pubic hair, then my balls, and I
felt my gorged penis being sucked into his mouth.  Just as quickly, he
released it and brought his tongue down over my legs, swirling it around on
the dusting of teenage hair that covered them.  Again, he took each of my
legs and nibbled on every inch of them.

Then I found myself lying on my stomach and felt my ass cheeks gently being
pulled apart.  I could feel the pressure of his tongue on my hole.  Then he
had me on my side, and we were lying facing each other, with my body
clasped tightly in his arms, and with our hard penises pressed together.

Matthew whispered, "I hope you liked that as much as I did."

"Oh, yes, Oh, yes," I groaned as I kissed his beautiful eyes.  His long,
slightly curled, black eyelashes tickled my lips.  I began to follow the
same path with my tongue down over his body as he had with me.  He was very
tan, and the hair on his body glistened like a mass of gold threads.
Almost ravenously, I bathed his whole body, every inch of it, with my
tongue.  Aside from the thrill of tasting his warm, moist skin, it felt so
good to hear him moaning with pleasure as I went over his body.

Soon we were lying side by side again, and I began stroking my penis, now
wet with semen.  Matthew said, "Do you want to jack off?"

"Yes," I answered.  "I'm so worked up, I have to get myself off.  How about
you?"

Matthew said, "I am, too.  Shall we do it together?"

We both lay there stroking faster and faster.  Sweat was pouring off my
face.  I could tell that Matthew was going to cum before I did.  I watched
his muscles tensing up and rippling as his face began to contort.
Suddenly, long thick ropes of sperm spewed from the end of his penis onto
his chest and stomach, with a little splattering onto my arm.  As I looked
at him, it seemed as though his orgasm was going on and on, almost without
end.  I continued to stroke and could feel my orgasm beginning to take over
my body.  Matthew suddenly took hold of my penis and said, "Let me finish
you off, Jeb."

Matthew stroked my penis with great long strokes.  It brought on a feeling
of such intensity that I had never felt before with my own hand.  I kept my
eyes open and watched a spurting fountain of sperm stream out of my penis,
most of which went all over Matthew's hand.  As I lay their gasping for
air, Matthew licked his hand clean and then leaned over and kissed me, with
the taste of my own sperm still on his lips.

We lay there in each other's arms for a long time.  Finally I said,
"Matthew, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I know that you may have wanted to do something else to get off.  You
know, something other than just jacking off."

"Hush, Jeb," Matthew said.  "What we did was perfect."

I lay there looking into his eyes.  It was perfect.  But I was sure he had
wanted more.  "Matthew," I whispered.  "Would you give me time?  This is
the first time I have ever lain in bed with another man.  I want you more
than you'll probably ever know.  And if I've disappointed you, please give
me time."

Kissing me gently, he whispered back, "Jeb, you can take all the time you
want.  We never have to do any more than what we just did.  I told you.
What we did was perfect."

"Matthew," I said, "I'm afraid of fucking.  I don't know if I can do it."

"Don't think about it.  We don't ever have to do it if you don't want to."

We continued lying in each other's arms gently feeling each other's body
with our fingers.  Finally I said, "Matthew, what does becoming a real man
mean to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"My dad has been worried that I won't become a real man, according to his
definition.  That's why he took me to that Club one night.  He said he
wanted me to see what real men are like."

"Well, what does he think real men are like?" asked Matthew.

"I'm still not real sure, but I think that he believes you can't be a real
man unless you do stuff like he and all his friends were doing that night.
You know, drinking and smoking and fucking and sucking, and all that."

Matthew laughed.  "Really?  That's his definition of a real man?  I'd say
that's his definition of an over-sexed sex maniac."

"Well, then, I don't know what being a real man means," I said.

"I don't think I know what that term means, either," said Matthew.  "We're
all men, and if we're breathing, I guess we're real men.  I think one
should think more in terms of being a great and honorable man.  I think
your dad believes that a guy has to prove to everyone he's a man by showing
how sexually potent he is.  I guess he thinks that's the only way a man can
account for himself as a man.  But in my view, Jeb, there are a lot of ways
that men can do that; in other words to be great and honorable.  I would
say that a guy can consider himself a man, rather than a boy, when he
begins to view the world around him in an adult and rational way.  No man
has to live a prurient life to prove himself.  I think that once a guy
finally puts away his childhood toys and develops a passion . . . a real
passion for something that truly matters in this world . . . not just a
passion for self-absorbing sex . . . he's then a man to be noticed . . . a
man to be reckoned with."

"Well, dad's passion is sex in any form," I said.

"A guy's passion can be anything, Jeb.  Some men have a passion for
building the longest bridge in the world or the tallest building.  Some
have a passion for composing beautiful music or writing a Pulitzer
Prize-winning novel.  And some have a life-long passion to save the
starving children in Uganda.  Those guys are men of this world, and they
matter, whether or not they're good in bed.  These are truly great and
honorable men."

I thought about that for a few minutes and said, "Matthew, would writing
poetry be classified as a passion?"

"Of course.  If you love poetry and you love to write poetry, it becomes a
passion in your life.  It's a passion for something that matters
. . . something that could affect the lives of many people who read it.
The great poets in history, in so many cases, have had profound influence
on others."

"Then I don't have to wear my hair in a pony tail and mutilate my body with
tattoos and show off my sexual prowess to prove myself as a man."

"Of course not, Jeb.  I understand you're graduating from high school with
honors and have won a National Merit Scholarship for college.  You have
everything going for you."

"How about sexual desire and things like I'm enjoying right now with you?"

Matthew slipped his arm under me and pulled me tightly against his body.
"You let your heart take you where you want to go in matters of love.  If
you want to do nothing sexually other than masturbation, that's your
choice.  But let your brain, as well as your heart, lead you through the
passions you develop.  If poetry is your passion, and you write it in order
to affect and influence others, then you are a real man of this world.
Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Do you have a passion, Matthew?" I asked.

"Of course I do.  I'm a trained engineer, don't forget.  My passion is to
someday engineer the construction of a great building that will withstand
earthquakes, hurricanes, and flying missiles.  And I'm going to do it
someday."

"You'll build it so even an airplane flying into it won't knock it down?"

"You got it!  It's not only a passion, Jeb, it's a mission I've set for
myself.  I may never get it done, but if I don't, at least I'll die
trying."

"I love you, Matthew," I said impulsively.

"There's another thing that is the mark of a good and honorable man.  And
that's his honesty and sincerity with those who love him.  If you and
someone else fall in love, never take his love for granted.  And
furthermore, infidelity is never the mark of a truly loving and honorable
man."

"You tell me that because I told you I love you?" I asked.

Matthew laughed and said, "No, not really.  But someday, when you say it
again, I want to know that you truly mean it."

"But I do love . . . .  Matthew pressed his lips against mine before I
could finish.

When Matthew and I tried to go to sleep, a violent thunderstorm blew in off
the Gulf with wild thunder and lightning.  We did sleep, but only fitfully.
By morning, we discovered the electricity had gone off.  There was no
air-conditioning and our portable coffee maker didn't work.  We drove down
the beach to look for a caf^Â of some sort, but since there was no
power, all were closed.  The rain came down steadily all morning.  We
weren't going to be able to do any fishing, and the cottage was now so hot
and damp inside, that we decided to drive on back home instead of staying
another night.

When Matthew dropped me off at my house, it was early evening.  Dad was
having another one of his poker parties back in his "playroom."  I sat for
a little while in the kitchen with my step-mom and told her what a nice
time I had had with Matthew in Galveston.  She kissed me and told me how
glad she was that I knew someone who wanted to do things with me.  She told
me that dad had been moody while I was gone and that she believed he was
resentful that I had gone away with Matthew.

I was really tired from so little sleep the night before, and decided to go
on to bed.  On my way, I stopped momentarily at the door of Dad's Playroom
and could hear a little of the loud bragging about sex that was always
present at these parties.  I went to my room, stripped down, and then went
down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower.  I found one of dad's naked
guests standing at the toilet peeing.

"Hi, Jeb," he said.  "Here, I'll move over.  I guess we can both pee at the
same time.  It's kind of hard to pee with a hard-on, though.  Your dad's a
riot.  His stories always get me hard as a rock.  Boy!  What a man he is!"

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Well, because any man who can screw and satisfy three women at once is a
man for all seasons!  That's for sure!"

The man left, and I took my shower and went on to my room.  "How does a man
screw three women at the same time?" I thought.  "Do those guys believe
that crap?"  I stood naked in front of my full-length mirror and looked at
my body and the beautiful gold chain around my neck.  I wondered how
Matthew could have liked my body.  As I looked at myself, I could see that
it was well-proportioned, but it was so thin.  I felt so inferior next to
Matthew's well-developed body.  I took off the chain and, as I looked at
it, tears came to my eyes.  I kissed it and put it on the bed table.  I lay
in bed thinking about Matthew and the night before.  I was sure I loved
him.  But he didn't want me to say it.  My mind was whirling.  I got up,
turned on the light again, and pulled out from my notebook some of the
poetry I had recently written.  I read it over and wondered if I could ever
be a truly great poet someday.  Matthew said that if I really had a passion
for it, and could somehow influence and move others with it, I would have
proven myself to be a great man.  As I read over the lines I had written, I
knew that I did have a passion for it.  I sat at my desk and began revising
some of it, making it better, knowing that it would be great poetry someday
if I followed my passion for it.

I saw on my clock that it was 3:00 a.m., and I heard a knock on my door.
Dad came in, completely naked, as usual.  "I didn't have a chance to
welcome ya back home, Jeb," he said.  "I had this fuckin' poker party goin'
on and didn't realize you'd come back so soon.  Was there a problem?"

"No, dad.  It started storming over there and the electricity went off, so
we really couldn't do any fishing.  So we just came home."

"Did ya have a good time?"

"Yes.  Matthew's a very nice man.  And he has a lot of ambition to do
things in his life."

Dad then said something softly under his breath.  I said, "Dad, what did
you say?"

"I said, I missed you."

"You missed me?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Dad, you had all your friends here tonight.  How could you miss me?"

Dad just stood there, looking as though he didn't know what to say.  I
said, "Dad, you don't like Matthew, do you?  Why does it upset you so much
that he and I are friends?"

"It don't upset me."

"Yes it does, dad.  Tell me why."

Dad moved toward me slowly and then suddenly grabbed hold of me and wrapped
me tightly in his arms.  He kissed me on the neck and cheek and then
whispered, "I love ya, Jeb.  I love ya so fuckin' much."

Dad released me and left the room.  I just stood there for a few minutes,
stunned.  I climbed into bed and lay there, my mind whirling in all
directions.  I told myself I needed to go to sleep.  I would deal with this
in the morning.


If there is sufficient interest, this story will continue.  Write me at:

Tom Borden
Tombor99@yahoo.com