Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2001 10:58:56 -0500
From: MS
Subject: Daddy's Little Boy Ch. 12 Gay/Incest

Daddy's Little Boy
Chapter Twelve

(This is purely a work of fiction; any resemblance to anyone living or dead
is strictly a coincident. This story contains sexual situations between
adults/minors, minors/minors, and gay/incest; if this material is illegal
in your area or this offends you please don't read any further. Otherwise
read on and enjoy! The author would like to thank all of the readers who
have written concerning Mason and his story, your support has been
wonderful, so keep the letters cummin'!)


June 1977

   Brett McPherson tried to calm his rapid breathing and racing heart; he
couldn't feel anything below his waist! His legs were like two heavy,
useless, blocks of wood; he was paralyzed! But the smell of hot metal and
the overpowering stench of gasoline reminded him that he and Mason were
still in danger, somehow he had to get them both out of the wrecked car.

   Turning his head sharply he looked over the back of the seat to where
Mason lay sprawled in the back seat, his body twisted and covered in blood,
his head and arms hanging down off the glass littered seat, dangling toward
the floorboard on the passenger side. "Hang on Mason I'll get us out of
here!"

   Though Mason's chest rose and fell there was no response. Taking a deep
breath Brett looked around the battered interior of the car, illuminated by
the dim bulb of the dome light, which hung down from the sagging roof by a
few wires. He looked through the gapping rectangle where the windshield
used to be, the headlights shone at crazy angles lighting the woods
beyond. The hole could be an escape but without the use of his legs he
could never pull himself and Mason through it!

   With panic clawing at his throat Brett tried the handle to the passenger
door again, jerking at it as hard as he could, the handle moved but the
door didn't budge. Steeling himself against the pain he rocked sideways in
the seat and threw his shoulder at the door; ripping pain shot up his arm,
he thought he was going to faint and had to fight to stay conscious. Taking
deep, ragged breaths he slammed his shoulder into the door again, his
vision swam in and out of focus and he had to stop.

   After the wave of nauseating pain passed the thought of Mason trapped
and unconscious in the burning car gave Brett almost inhuman
endurance. With a growl of frustration and anger he began to slam his
shoulder against the jammed door over and over. Like a trapped, frenzied
animal fighting to break free of its cage Brett threw his bruised body
against the unyielding door again and again until the pain became too much.
Like a red curtain falling over him, suffocating him…stealing his
breath…the world dimmed and abruptly went black, his last thought was,
'I failed.'

   Two miles away TVA Patrolman Tom Duncan was cruising slowly down the
tangle of gravel roads that snaked throughout the hundreds of square miles
of the national park known as, "Land Between the Lakes" or LBL as the
locals called it. He and twenty other officers patrolled the long finger of
land that separated the two large manmade lakes, keeping drunken tourists
from setting the woods on fire and rescuing the local rednecks from their
stranded pickup trucks when they got mired in the mud trying to ford one of
the creeks.

   It was a government operation with government pay and benefits, so Tom
had no real complaints, but it could get awfully boring at times driving up
and down these mostly lonely, deserted gravel access roads in search of
lawbreakers. He glanced at his watch by the light of the dashboard; "Damn!"
he still had an hour to kill before his shift ended.

   He steered the four-wheel drive patrol Bronco down the cutoff road that
led to a nice secluded place called Hillman's Cove. He took his wife
camping there on his vacations and sometimes at the end of an evening shift
like tonight's he pulled the Bronco to the side of the road to smoke a fat
doobie and relax.

   Five minutes later he pulled to the side of the road near the mouth of
the access road that dead-ended near the cove. Shutting the lights and
engine off he pulled a long, white, neatly rolled joint from the sun visor
and lit up. Sucking in the harsh smoke from the burning weed he held it
deep in his lungs and stared off down the moonlit shadowed road. He decided
he needed music to get high by; twisting the ignition key backward he
switched on the auxiliary power and the radio dial began to glow green. It
was already tuned to his favorite station, 107.5 Home of AM Gold, so he
turned the volume up.

   "All of our times have come. Here but now they're gone," sung by Blue
Oyster Cult filled the cab. Now that was luck, this was a killer song to
get stoned to. Tom took another deep pull from the joint and held it while
Blue Oyster Cult sang on. When he exhaled he realized he was filling the
cab with reefer smoke and quickly cranked the window down, it wouldn't do
to turn in a vehicle that reeked of weed.

   Deciding it might be better to just smoke the jay outside, Tom turned
the radio up and climbed from the Bronco. With gravel crunching under the
soles of his shoes he walked to the front of the vehicle and leaned against
the warm grille. Blue Oyster Cult floated on the air as he continued his
recreational smoke.

   "Romeo and Juliet, are together in eternity, Romeo and Juliet…"
Dragging on the joint Tom hummed along to the dark tune.

   Down the steeply sloped embankment less than a hundred yards away Brett
stirred and opened his eyes, the nightmare was still there, alive and in
living color, complete with pain. Every fiber of Brett's being seemed to
throb with pain and the stench of gasoline was so strong it burned his eyes
and throat.

   It took him a moment before he noticed the faint sound of music
playing. Brett recognized the song but looking down to the radio he
realized it was not only turned off but had been completely torn from the
dash and lay in a tangle of wires on the floorboard.  Confused Brett stared
dumbly at the dead radio for a long moment before he realized that the
music was coming from somewhere outside the car. People! People who could
help!

   Grimacing against the stiffness in his muscles and the dizziness that
threatened to drag him back into the darkness of unconsciousness, Brett
leaned over to the driver's seat and pressed the horn, nothing
happened. Frustrated, and terrified Brett slammed the side of his fist
against the horn, once; twice…the darkness was coming back, dimming the
corners of his vision. Just before the dark curtain swallowed him again a
steady blare began to emit from the warped car hood, droning on and on
filling the night with it's hollow sound; the horn was stuck.

   With a curse Tom bent and snubbed out the half smoked joint and pocketed
it. Who in the hell was laying on their car horn? Damned ignorant rednecks
whooping it up no doubt. He walked to the edge of the road and peered down
into the shadows beyond the incline, he noticed a pair of red taillights
glowing through the underbrush several yards away and down the
slope. Probably a group of good ole boys that had decided to go off roading
in the dark and gotten stuck! "Son of a bitch!"

   Rushing back to the Bronco Tom jumped in and cranked the motor; steering
the vehicle down the access road that led to Hillman's Cove he pulled to a
stop when he saw headlights shining down below the road. Turning on the
spotlight he swung it down the embankment and illuminated a wrecked white
Trans Am.

   Grabbing his flashlight Tom skidded halfway down the embankment calling
out, "Is anybody hurt?" He paused to shine the beam of his flashlight into
the car, from his vantage point above he could make out two forms, one in
the front passenger seat, the other lay in the back. Neither of the people
was moving; with the car's horn still blaring away he rushed back up the
incline and to the Bronco where he radioed for an ambulance. Tom flipped on
the blue flashers of the Bronco as he gave directions over the CB. In the
background the radio played on…

   "The candles blew and then disappeared. The curtains flew and then he
appeared, saying don't be afraid. Come on baby, and she had no fear. And
she ran to him, then they started to fly. She had taken his hand, she had
become like they are. Come on baby, don't fear the reaper."


   A week later Brett's parents, Dr. Kyle McPherson, his wife Patricia and
Mason's mother, Sarah Smith sat in the office of Dr. Shuemaker at Martin
County Hospital. Dr.  Shuemaker was one of the top ten surgeons in the
nation and chairman of the board of the hospital. He adjusted his rimless
glasses on the bridge of his nose and steepling his hands he spoke to the
three parents sitting across from him.

   "We've done every test available and the results are clear, in the wreck
Brett's spinal column was compressed like an accordion cracking his three
lower vertebrae and pressing against the nerves in his spinal column
paralyzing him from the waist down. But since he's been here the spinal
column has returned to normal and the pressure on the nerves has been
released."

   "Then why can't my son feel anything below the waist?" Patricia
McPherson asked, dabbing a Kleenex to the corner of her eyes. She was a
pretty woman, tall and elegantly coiffed and dressed, but her face and eyes
were puffy from crying.

   Dr. Shuemaker nodded, "That's what I want to try and explain. You see
all of the tests show that there's no physical reason for Brett to be
paralyzed. And didn't you say that he had taken the news of Mason's coma
extremely hard?"

   "Yes," Dr. McPherson answered, placing his arm around his wife's
shoulder as she cried softly into the Kleenex.

   "I'm afraid that what's taken place," Dr. Shuemaker explained, "Brett
has internalized his guilt. Dr. McPherson you've heard of psychosomatic
illnesses?"

   Dr. McPherson nodded.

   "I'm positive that that is exactly what has happened in Brett's case,
his paralysis is a physical manifestation of his remorse and guilt over
Mason's comatose state."

   Sarah spoke up, "But I've told him no one blames him, that we all know
it was an accident. I told him that I know Mason wouldn't blame him
either. He looked up to Brett like a hero, Brett is all he could talk about
since they met…" She stopped and pressed a hand to her mouth as tears
sprang to her eyes.

   "I know Mrs. Smith and I know the McPherson's appreciate your efforts,
but Brett still isn't responding. What I'm most concerned about is his
right leg, the operation to repair the damage and place the pins is serious
and one of the factors in a full recovery is exercise. If Brett doesn't
begin to use his right leg soon he may lose almost full use of the limb,
the muscles will atrophy." Dr. Shuemaker paused to take a breath. Then
catching Dr. McPherson's eye he nodded, signaling for the other doctor to
speak.

   "I've told Dr. Shuemaker I may have a solution that could help out both
boys." Dr.  McPherson said calmly.

   Sarah looked up shocked and hopeful, "How?" For the past week she hadn't
touched a drop of liquor, hadn't even wanted to, all she could think of was
her poor baby being kept alive by all those machines. Poor, tiny, Mason was
almost lost in all the tubes, wires and whirring, clicking, and beeping
machines that surrounded his bed.

   Dr. McPherson cleared his throat, "I think Brett might listen to Mason's
father, and who knows maybe Mason would respond to the sound of his
father's voice."

   Sarah flashed an angry look at the green-eyed doctor, "Why would he
respond to that man and not me?"

   "I didn't mean to upset you Mrs. Smith, but at this point I'm ready to
try anything to save both of our sons."

   The fire in Sarah's eyes quickly faded, "I'm sorry…" her voice faded
away.

   Patricia reached over and took Sarah's hand, "Just listen to what my
husband has to say please." Her voice was high pitched and her tone
desperate.

   Sarah squeezed Patricia's hand and smiled weakly, "Go ahead, but I don't
see how we could even get David here, he's in prison."

   Straightening his posture Dr. McPherson told them his plan, "One of my
close, and personal friends is the Governor of Kentucky, he has the clout
and power to do what we need, he can not only release David, but he could
give him a full pardon."

   Sarah tensed and she felt the anger begin to well up again but then the
image of Mason lying pale and deathly on his hospital bed washed the anger
away. "Go ahead, if David can help your son walk and my baby come out of
that coma, you have my permission."

   Patricia McPherson couldn't contain her gratitude and leaning far over
in her seat she hugged the smaller Sarah to her in a powerful hug as she
wept, "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

   Dr. McPherson let out a sigh of relief and was surprised at how tense
he'd been without realizing it, "Governor Thompson wants to hear you give
your permission first hand before he'll start the ball rolling."

   Dr. Shuemaker pushed the phone to the edge of his desk.

   Dr. McPherson stood and lifting the receiver dialed his childhood friend
in the state's capital. After giving the receptionist his name he waited,
"Hello Joseph, it's Kyle McPherson, I have Mrs. Smith right here." He
handed the phone to Sarah.

   Sarah sniffled and wiped her eyes before she took the receiver, "Hello?"
she nodded once. "Yes, I understand, and I give you my full permission."
She listened for a moment longer then handed the phone back to
Dr. McPherson, "He wants to talk to you."

   Sitting on the edge of Dr. Shuemaker's desk, Dr. McPherson listened for
long moments then nodded and smiled tightly, "Thanks Joseph, this means a
lot to me. Bye now."

   Turning to the two teary mothers Dr. McPherson smiled wanly, "He's going
to get the paperwork together. David should be out of prison by tomorrow."

   As Patricia hugged her husband Sarah looked outside through the slats of
the window blinds, outside the world was bright with sun and the whole
world went on as if nothing were wrong. She'd felt so guilty after she'd
heard about the wreck; she realized she'd been so full of self-pity she
hadn't paid the least bit of attention to her son or what he might be going
through since David had gone to prison. At first she'd blamed David for all
the misery she was feeling but now she knew some of the blame was her own
and all of the blame for ignoring Mason all these months was completely
hers. 'Please Lord,' she said in a silent prayer, 'let David bring my baby
back.'

June 31, 1977

   David Smith sat in the empty gym, located in the bowels of the Kentucky
State Penitentiary finishing the last series of reps that would complete
his workout. For almost two years he'd come to the featureless weight room
three times a week to shape his body through vigorous weight lifting
sessions.

   The results were evident in his massive biceps and forearms, his hairy
pectorals were square slabs of muscles topping a torso that was taut with
well defined abs that ended in a "V" below his slender waist. The thick
muscles of his legs and high round ass stretched the nylon fabric of his
blue workout shorts hugging him like a second skin. The outline of his
heavy balls and thick cock bulged the crotch of the shorts outward, putting
his sex on proud display. Not bad for a thirty-five-year-old, not that
there were any admirers except for the skinny guard who shadowed him.

   Because sex offenders were so despised by the general prison population,
inmates like David were kept in segregated cells to protect them from being
seriously injured or in some cases killed by the other inmates. David and
those like him slept in separate cells and took their meals, showers and
exercise sessions alone. So in a prison population of thousands David was
almost always alone except for the guard assigned to him when he was out of
his cell. If it weren't for the kindness of the guard Franklin Horner and
the letters he brought from Mason, David believed he would have lost his
mind long ago.

   With a grunt he placed the fifty-pound dumbbell back on the rack and
snagging the towel from the top of the weight rack headed for the showers.

   A guard named Moody stood just outside the open showers, leaning against
the tan tiled wall as David soaped his body. Standing under the stinging
spray in the cavernous room he watched the cluster of soap bubbles slide
over and down the ripples, swells and bulges of his muscles. The suds
traveled down his torso, his hips, thighs and calves before slipping over
the arch of his feet and between his toes. David found himself staring at
the tiny bubbles as they made their escape from the prison's walls by
swirling down the holes in the round silver drain set in the concrete
floor.

   "I wish I could follow you guys out of here," David said quietly to the
small islands of bubbles swirling away to freedom on a sheet of spinning
water.

   After he finished showering David stood toweling his body dry when he
heard his guard Moody talking to someone. That was unusual because the sex
offenders were almost always kept separate, so the only person Moody could
be talking to would be another guard. Wrapping the towel around his waist
he walked around the short dividing wall.

   Moody a tall, dark haired, scraggly, thirty six year old man stood
talking to another beefy guard everyone called Bear. Bear was a massive man
with arms the size of most men's legs and a big barrel chest and every
exposed part of his body was covered in dark wiry hair.

   Bear was holding a young Latino prisoner by the upper arm as he talked
to Moody. The Latino youth looked toward David and tried to act unconcerned
and unafraid but it was obvious the boy was terrified.

   "Got us a little car thief here," Bear said to Moody nodding at the
young Latino, "Pedro and some of his buddies were running a good sized
stolen car ring just outside Peyton city limits, got him on a list of
charges a mile long. Aint that right Pedro?"

   Pedro stood and stared off into the distance ignoring everyone.

   "I heard you were down here with one of the peds and thought you might
want to help break in Pedro here." Bear smacked the flat of his hand across
Pedro's firm rounded ass.  "Seems he's got a big mouth and thinks he's a
real Billy-bad-ass, thought we might see how bad he was with a big cock up
his ass."

   Moody's gray eyes glittered with excitement, "I'm always willing to lend
a hand in keeping a jailbird in his place," his eyes were already trying to
undress the young Latino.  "Hey Smith!" Moody called out without taking his
eyes off Pedro.

   "Yeah?" David said with a sigh. He knew what was coming and though he
hated the idea he knew it would be pointless to argue. Arguing with a guard
only got your head cracked and maybe a few of your teeth knocked out, and
that was if you were lucky.

   "What do you say to giving little Pedro here a taste of prison life?"
Moody asked moving closer to Pedro and unzipping the front of the Latino's
blue prison jumpsuit down to the navel.

   David looked at the lightly muscled chest and stomach of the Latino
youth, his skin was the color of heavily creamed coffee, he was short and
his face was handsome with full lips and a strong jaw. "Sure,"

   Pedro shot David a look filled with hate and disgust, "You fuckin' fag!
You aint even gonna touch my ass!"

   David stepped up to the other prisoner and whispered, "If you'd rather,
these two guards will do it instead of me, but they usually use their billy
clubs," he closed his forefinger and thumb in a circle and taking his other
hand rammed a finger in and out of the hole.

   Pedro's dark gaze circled from the two faces of the guards and back to
David's. The guards looked like real pricks and he didn't doubt what the
white prisoner was saying but he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone
put anything up his ass! "Fuck all of you pussies!"

   Bear moved so quickly his arm was a blur as he slammed his meaty fist
into the base of Pedro's skull.

   With a cry of startled pain Pedro went down on his hands and knees,
hitting the concrete floor hard.

   "You'd better listen to prisoner Smith there," Moody warned, "I'm just
dying to see if I can get some punk's asshole to swallow this whole thing,"
he held up the thick, long black billy club, "That is without having to get
stitches."

   Bear jerked the youth back to his feet by pulling on the cuffs that
locked the boy's hands behind his back. "So big man what's it gonna be? Ole
Smith's dick? Or Mr. Billy Club?"

   Looking down at his feet to hide his humiliation and the tears of
frustration in his eyes Pedro mumbled, "I'll take Smith."

   Bear thumped the back of Pedro's skull, "What's that? We didn't hear
you?"

   "I'll take Smith!" Pedro said louder.

   Bear's meaty face split in a wide grin, "Looks like we're gonna have a
little show Moody!"

   "Let's go girls!" Moody said motioning toward the showers.

   David took off his towel and draped it back over the dividing wall as
the two guards took Pedro's cuffs off then ordered the young Latino to
strip. Even though he didn't like what was happening he couldn't help but
feel a thrill of sexual excitement as Pedro pulled off his prison jumpsuit
to reveal his lean, hard toffee colored body.

   "Smith is already getting a boner!" Bear announced.

   Pedro looked over at the naked prisoner and his jaw dropped, the guy had
a monster piece of meat swelling and growing between his legs. "I can't
take that!"

   Moody pushed Pedro toward David, "You'll have to learn!"

   David led the shaking Latino to the tiled wall and leaned the young
man's back against it and whispered in his ear, "What ever you do in this
hell hole, never let anyone see that you're scared, not the guards or the
inmates. If you do they'll rip your intestines out through your ass and
shove them back down your throat."

   Pedro snorted and rolled his dark eyes, "You're scaring me!"

   "I warned you," David said and turned the youth around so that he was
facing the wall and had him bend at the waist. "I'll try and get you ready
but it's still going to hurt."

   "Just fucking get it over with!" Pedro snapped.

   David sank to his knees behind the bent over Latino and using his hands
he spread the smooth round cheeks of Pedro's virgin ass. Lapping with his
tongue like a dog he began to rim the young Latino car thief's puckered
asshole.

   At first Pedro squirmed in discomfort, it felt weird having a man's
tongue poking and licking around his shitter but then something strange
happened, he started to actually like it and his cock started to swell and
lengthen.

   David stiffened his tongue and began to jab the pointed tip deeper and
deeper into the youth's wet pucker, working his tongue further and further
into the softer tissues beyond the boy's spastic sphincter.

   "Aw, shit!" Pedro moaned as his fat seven incher reached full erection,
throbbing and bumping against the muscles of his stomach. The white guy's
tongue jabbing in and out of his ass was actually turning him on! He
wondered if this made him a fag, then David replaced his ramming tongue
with his thick forefinger and Pedro forgot about everything except the
sensations.

   Twisting his finger as he thrust it in and out of the Latino's tight,
slick ass David tried to stretch the kid's hole, preparing Pedro for his
ten-inch cock.

   "Yeah! Finger fuck his ass!" Moody urged walking in slow circles around
the pair of naked inmates.

   Bear stood leaning his back against the far wall yanking on his
half-hard pud.

   "Uummmmm!" Pedro moaned and pushed his ass back to meet David's plunging
finger.

   Keeping his finger buried in Pedro's hot hole David stood and gripped
the base of his throbbing cock, "Okay, here comes the real thing, just try
and relax."

   Pedro opened his sex glazed eyes and looked over his shoulder, "What?"

   David placed the fat plum colored head of his cock against Pedro's spit
shined hole, "Try and relax," David said as he began to press his hips
forward pushing the head of his cock harder and harder against the Latino's
virgin hole.

   "You're too big!" Pedro grunted as the pressure of David's fat cock
against his sphincter increased, trying to push it's way inside his ass.

   "Relax," David crooned running his hands up and down the smooth, hard
skin of Pedro's back. Then he felt it happen, the tip of his cockhead was
forcing its way into Pedro, stretching his ring of sphincter muscles wider
and wider.

   "Aaaahhh!" Pedro cried out in pain, "You're killing me! Take it out!
Take it out!"

   "Shut up pussy boy!" Moody barked. "Go on Smith, ram that big dick up
his ass!"

   "Relax!" David grunted as sweat began to bead over his entire body. He
could feel the spongy mushroom head of his cock forcing the Latino's ass
wider and wider until finally the flared head disappeared into the hot soft
tissues beyond.

   "Aw, Fuck!" Pedro shouted, "It hurts man!"

   "Try and relax," David panted as he began to push again, forcing the
shaft of his cock to sink deeper and deeper into Pedro's incredibly tight,
hot, virgin hole. He could actually feel the kid's ass muscles being forced
apart by the hard shaft of his cock as he sank in deeper and deeper.

   Pedro was panting in short bursts of breath, "Uhhh, Uhhhh, Uhhhh!"
resting his hot forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall. It felt
like the guy was shoving a baseball bat up his ass! The pain was a burning,
scorching ball of electricity that ripped through him threatening to
unravel his sanity.

   David was panting as well never letting up but slowly forcing his ten
inch cock deeper and deeper into Pedro's spasming ass until at last his
hips hit the smooth flesh of Pedro's ass and his low hanging balls thumped
against the back of Pedro's hairy legs.

   "Take it out!" Pedro wailed, his voice echoing and ricocheting through
the cavernous shower room. "You're fuckin' killing me!"

   "We're just getting started!" Moody crowed his gray eyes flashing with
sexual heat.  Reaching into his shirt pocket he pulled out a tube of
KY-Jelly and uncapping it squeezed a large blob of the clear lubricant onto
the fat end of his billy club. Then putting the tube away again he placed
the blunt, greasy end of the club between David's ass cheeks.

   David winced as Moody rammed the end of the thick club into his ass,
forcing it in rather than easing it in slowly. Moody was a pain freak and
one of the guards he really hated. He tried to relax his ass muscles as
Moody rammed the club deeper and deeper up his unprepared ass.

   "Oh, hell yeah!" Moody panted as he watched at least eight thick inches
of his black billy club disappear up David's ass! He fumbled with his fly
and pulled his hard cock free. "Go on!" he snapped at David, "Fuck his
ass!"

   Trying to ignore the pain the billy club up his ass was causing him
David began to ease his cock in and out of Pedro's ass in short slow
thrusts. He kept up the slow pace until his own ass grew used to the
guard's thick billy club.. Then he leaned his body over Pedro's bent back
and whispered, "I'm gonna have to really start fucking you now, so try and
relax."

   Pedro didn't reply but raised his head away from the tiles and
nodded. He focused his attention on making his tight ass muscles relax when
David began to withdraw and plunge back in his full ten inches. "Awwwww!"
he shouted out his pain.

   "Ride that club!" Moody chanted to David as he jacked his own cock,
"Fuck his ass!  Ride that big black billy! Fuck his ass hard!"

   Each time David withdrew his cock from Pedro's ass he pushed the club
deeper into his own and each time he thrust his cock into Pedro the club
slid from his own ass. At first the sensation was painful and distracting
but as his ass adjusted to the invasive club he began to enjoy the feeling
of having something fucking his ass while he fucked Pedro.

   Pedro was slowly getting used to the big, fat cock plowing in and out of
his ass and the erection he'd lost had started to come back. To his
surprise he was actually starting to get turned on!

   Leaning on the far wall Bear was really pounding the shaft of his fat,
six-incher as he watched David's thick cock plunging in and out of Pedro's
smooth ass while Moody rammed the black billy up David's ass. He could feel
the tight hot sensation in his groin, "I'm gonna cum!" he bellowed.

   David picked up his tempo, throwing the full length of his cock in and
out of Pedro's tight, pulling hole, and riding the billy club harder and
harder up his own ass as he did.  "Are you close?" he asked Moody through
gritted teeth.

   "You gonna blow your load up his ass?" Moody asked eagerly, his skinny
face shiny with sweat.

   "I'm almost there," David warned, then he reached down and gripped
Pedro's fat seven-inch boner and began to jack his fist up and down the hot
hard shaft in time with his thrusts. "Cum with me!"

   Pedro tossed his dark head and his eyes rolled back in his head, "Aw,
fuck me! I'm cumming!"

   As Pedro's cock began to throw long streamers of white cum onto the
tiled wall and shower floor, David felt his own cock squeezed by Pedro's
ass so tight he couldn't move it begin to shoot hot globs of thick cum deep
into the Latino's guts. "Fuck! Here it comes!"

   Moody's eyes were almost bugging from their sockets as his own skinny
cock began to spew quick jets of jizz onto David's legs and ass. "Shit
yeah!"

   Pedro thought he was going to pass out from the intensity of his climax,
his cock kept shooting out thick ropes of cum as David's fat cock pumped
hot slick jizz up his ass again and again.

   The cavernous shower room echoed with the four men's grunts and groans
as their orgasms ran their course. Cum splashed onto the wall and spattered
in thick drops onto the concrete floor until they all fell silent, drained
and spent.

July 1, 1977

   One day later David sat on his bunk in his tiny cell located in
Cellblock C anxiously waiting for the familiar tread of the guard
Franklin's footsteps. David passed the time doodling in a small sketchbook;
the corner of his latest letter to Mason peeked from beneath the sheets of
drawing paper.

   As David sketched his pencil lead made scritch-scratch noises that
echoed in the sparse cell. The face he was sketching was the face of his
son Mason, or at least the way he remembered Mason; almost two years had
passed since he'd last seen him, surely the boy had changed in that
time. He tried to imagine the changes that would have occurred in a
maturing boy from age thirteen to fifteen and adjusted his sketch to
reflect those changes.  He paused in mid-stroke, his pencil frozen over
Mason's eyes.

   Down the long concrete walkway that ran down the center of Cellblock C
the heavy tread of shoes could be heard echoing up and down it's hollow
length. Strange, David thought as the footsteps grew louder, how over time
he had adapted his hearing to recognize several different guards by the
sound of their footfalls alone. He knew the heavy tread approaching now
belonged to the tall and powerfully built black guard, Franklin Horner.

   For nearly two years now Franklin would casually walk by David's cell on
the first of every month and give a verbal signal that he was ready to take
David's illegal correspondence and deliver it to Mason as well as deliver a
new letter from Mason to him. It was an exchange that took only seconds and
the slight of hand the men used would have impressed a seasoned magician.

   David's stomach knotted with anxiety as it always did at this time, he
pressed his face close to the bars, looking and waiting for Franklin to
walk by. If either of them were caught there would be hell to pay. At last
he saw the tops of Franklin's highly polished black shoes flashing beneath
the hem of his uniform pants legs.

   "How's it hangin' Smith?" Franklin gave the signal as he paused in front
of David's cell door.

   "About ten inches!" David responded with his own signal.

   "Hot damn and pass the ham!" Franklin said with a deep laugh, "Give me
five my man!"

   Keeping the tiny folded square of his letter hidden in his palm David
reached through the bars extending his hand toward the towering black
guard.

   "Take it easy sleazy!" Franklin said slapping his open palm against
David's. As their hands slid apart each transferred a tightly folded note
to the other's palm. As he walked away whistling to himself Franklin
scratched his wrist and in the process slid David's note under his
watchband.

   David stood at the bars of his cell door listening to Franklin's
retreating footsteps and his tuneless whistling until both faded away to
silence. The next ten minutes were the most anxious for David because as
Franklin clocked out to end his shift there was always the chance that
David's illegal letter could be discovered. Even the guards were searched
before leaving the prison; no one was trusted in a place like this.

   Keeping a careful eye on his watch David counted down the ten minutes
then hurried to stand on the seat of the toilet on the back wall. By
leaning far over to the left he could just barely peek out the corner of
the small barred window set high in the cell wall. When he saw Franklin's
bulky form emerge from the employees exit and head for the parking lot
below David sighed with relief and jumped down to the floor.

   Now that he could breath again David quickly unfolded Mason's latest
letter, eager to read his son's writing. Holding the paper he shook his
head and frowned, it wasn't from Mason at all; it was written by the guard
Franklin. He read the short note: 'A week ago Mason was in a serious car
wreck. He's alive but he's in a coma. Keep your cool and don't do anything
stupid, there's been talk about a pardon from the Governor, maybe it's a
rumor, maybe not, just don't do anything crazy. Hang in there. I'm sorry
about Mason, he was a good kid."

   Suddenly the man who looked powerful enough to crush rocks in his fists
crumpled like a puppet with severed strings. David sat heavily on the edge
of his bed and clutching the letter to his heart he cried without making a
sound. In prison you never showed weakness, and the only weakness David
Smith had was the love and passion that burned inside him for Mason. As his
tears flowed one splashed down on the open sketchbook, falling onto the
image of Mason's sketched face.

   Twenty minutes later he quickly shredded the letter and flushed it down
the toilet. He hated doing it but he couldn't afford to be caught with
illegal letters during one of the many cell searches the warden called for
at random intervals.

   David watched the shreds of paper swirl away and turned from the toilet
to find a prison guard and a man dressed in a gray pinstripe suit standing
outside his cell. His heart leapt into his throat, he was busted!

   "David Smith," the prison guard Moody called through the bars, "this is
your lucky day!"

   Confused, David shook his head, "I don't understand."

   "You've been pardoned by Governor Thompson," the man in the suit said,
"I'm Jack Krauss, your attorney."

   A few hours later David blinked at the bright July sun as he and Jack
Krauss left the prison driving through the huge iron gate that clanged shut
noisily behind them as they drove on. He was dressed in the clothes he'd
been wearing the day he'd been arrested over two years ago, and they were
almost uncomfortably tight. He'd gained a lot of muscle mass and the
t-shirt looked too small, stretching tightly across the hills of his chest,
hugging the six pack of his stomach and his biceps nearly ripping the seams
out of the sleeves. His pants were the same, skintight, hugging every curve
and swell of his ass, legs, and crotch.

   The drive to Martin County Hospital passed by in a blur of colors that
David barely noticed; he couldn't believe he'd actually been pardoned and
released. Jack Krauss had explained everything but it still floored him. He
was free!

   "This is where I get off." Jack Krauss said pulling up to the Hospital
Entrance, "Congratulations on your new lease on life Mister Smith!"

   David opened the car door and stepped out but then turned and stuck his
head back into the car, "How are you going to bill me for all this?"

   Krauss smiled, "Dr. McPherson has already taken care of all that."

   David nodded, "Well, thank you for everything!"

   David stood for long moments at the main doors that led into the
hospital trying to brace himself for everything he was about to encounter,
not the least of which would be his wife. With a deep breath he stepped
through the doors and walked to the Information counter where two gray
haired women sat smiling blandly. After getting directions to Intensive
Care Unit he turned and began to walk down a series of long corridors.

   His shoes seemed to click too loudly on the tiled floor and the lights
seemed too bright, he hated hospitals! Then it him, a sharp, sterile odor
of medication and alcohol, it reminded him of illness and death.

   He only had to back track once and finally arrived at the double doors
marked, "Intensive Care." David's heart was hammering in his chest, like a
trapped bird throwing itself against the bars of its cage as he looked for
and found the room marked 132.  Stepping into the room his blood seemed to
freeze in his veins turning his heart into a solid mass of ice in his
chest.

   Lying draped with white sheets in the hospital bed, Mason's small body
was dwarfed by the large array of machines whirring, clicking, and beeping
around him. Wires, tubes and hoses connected his little boy to a respirator
that wheezed and huffed as it breathed for him, a heart monitor displayed
Mason's steady heartbeats with beeps and a small screen that displayed a
bouncing green blip in time with the beeps. Fluids of different colors
dripped into tubes that ran into Mason's hands that lay above the sheets
straight and flat at his sides.

   David rushed to the bed and fell to his knees, stroking the only patch
of skin that wasn't covered in bandages or electrodes, Mason's pale
cheek. His little boy's flesh was warm beneath his touch. "Mason? It's your
Dad."

   "Thank you for coming," Sarah said rising from a chair sitting in a
shadowed corner of the room.

   David turned his hurt and confused eyes to his wife, "Our baby…" was
all he could manage before the tears came. He was surprised when he felt
Sarah's small hand on his shoulder, comforting him as he cried out his
grief and confusion.

   After David gained control of his emotions he and Sarah sat talking for
well over an hour before Sarah said, "I think it's time you went to see
Brett."

   David nodded and rose from beside Mason's bed, his blue eyes gazed down
at his frail looking little boy and with a quick kiss to Mason's cheek he
left the room and headed for Brett McPherson's room.

   Rapping his knuckles on the closed door David waited.

   "Come in," came a deep male voice from inside.

   David opened the door and slipped inside quickly closing it behind
him. When he turned around he found himself facing a handsome well-muscled
young man sitting in a wheelchair. So this was the young man Mason had
written so glowingly about, it hadn't taken him long to figure out that
Mason had been falling in love with Brett.

   "Hello," David said to his rival for Mason's love, "I'm David."

   Brett recognized David immediately, he could see where Mason had gotten
a lot of his good looks, "I know who you are." Brett said coolly.

   "Your Father wanted me to talk to you," David began.

   "Look, I know why my Dad sprang you from prison, he thinks you can
convince me to walk again." Brett shook his head, "What a joke!"

   David tried to think of the best approach, he wanted things to go
smoothly on their first meeting. "Brett listen..."

   "You're wasting your time here," Brett said turning his chair so that
his back was to David, "shouldn't you be out lurking around a playground
somewhere? I hear there's one just down the street, Martin Elementary, just
your type!"

To Be Continued...

(Lyrics to 'Don't Fear The Reaper' are copyrights of Blue Oyster Cult and
Elektra records 1976. No copyright infringement is intended or implied.)