(incest, mast., oral, anal, m/b, b/b) If you're not supposed to read this, don't. If you'll be offended if you read it, don't. If you're planning to vote Republican, don't. email: tobyj68 @ yahoo.com homepage: Searching for Answers.


By TobyJ68

Part One


Toby Johansen had two grandfathers. One, his mother's father, he called “Mad Grandad.” He was frightening to the young Toby. He held strong opinions about “niggers,” queers, communists, and liberals and had never tried to hide his displeasure over the marriage of his daughter, a respectable Baptist girl from Nashville, to Toby's father, a Norwegian Lutheran from the Northeast. It seemed to Toby that no matter how hard his father worked and no matter how much he accomplished, Mad Grandad was never satisfied.

Mad Grandad seemed to apply those standards to Toby as well. He couldn't understand why anyone would waste time teaching a four year-old to read when boys should be outside playing games and learning to be men. Long before the last time Toby ever saw him, he had decided the boy was a sissy and didn't have much use for him. And, Toby reciprocated those feelings with gusto.

“Papa” was his other grandfather, his father's father, and he was completely different from Mad Grandad. For one thing, he wasn't a Southerner. Instead of living in a respectable city such as Nashville, he resided in a "dangerous" and "disreputable" Northeastern city called Sherburne. For another, he didn't sell insurance, as did Mad Grandad; he was a librarian. Mad Grandad listened to the Grand Ol' Opry and raised hunting dogs. Papa listened to grand opera and raised orchids. Mad Grandad had a Confederate flag on his Lincoln along with a bumper sticker that read “America: Love It or Leave It ”. Papa wrote letters to the New York Times and the Evening Chronicle denouncing Richard Nixon and the war in Vietnam. Mad Grandad hated Papa.

Toby came to realize at an early age that he was different from other boys and this realization came, in part, because of his two grandfathers. Mad Grandad never let pass an opportunity to explain that boys should know how to hunt, throw a baseball, and catch a football. Toby preferred to sit in the corner and read. Mad Grandad was firmly convinced that Toby was a sissy and that it was all the fault of his father and that “pinko” Yankee, whom he suspected was a little light in the loafers and not quite “right.”

The other cause of this realization was less overt and ill-intentioned. Toby had been born when his father was an undergraduate in college. He was in Medical School when Toby was four and the three of them, Toby and his parents, lived in an old apartment near the university. One autumn afternoon, Toby chose to violate his mother's prohibition against wandering around the apartment complex alone. Their building, one of several, consisted of eight apartments, four on each floor. Toby had wandered around to the opposite side of the building and saw a boy even younger than he with short blond hair and a round face, sitting under a great maple tree, half buried in a pile of bright orange and red leaves. He was playing with some plastic dinosaurs and seemed totally oblivious to his presence.

“Hi, I'm Toby.”

The boy looked up for a second and then resumed playing with his dinosaurs. Papa had taught Toby about dinosaurs from a huge book called an encyclopedia, so he knew all about them. He sat down in front of the boy as he used a large reptile with a long neck to attack another.

"That's a brontosaurus. It doesn't eat animals. It eats plants."

The boy seemed not to hear him. His brontosaurus continued to attack.

"That's a stegosaurus, with the big fins all over its back. It used its tail like a hammer."

Still, the boy continued to play, seeming to ignore his presence. Finally, Toby grew bored; assuming the boy didn't want to be his friend. Toby didn't have any friends and he had hoped the boy would become one. He stood and was about to turn when the boy finally looked up and handed him the brontosaurus. Toby sat back down and allowed his bronto to eat grass while the stego and a t-rex fought it out nearby.

A few minutes later, during which time the boy had still not spoken, a woman appeared in the doorway of the nearest apartment and called, “Jimmy Ray, you come in now.”

The boy seemed to ignore her as his dinosaurs continued their fight in the leaves.

“Jimmy Ray, you're Daddy says to come in now.”

At this, the boy looked up with a cloud of fear on his face. He stood and looked down at Toby, biting his lip. Toby stood and handed him his brontosaurus.

“Bye,” he muttered before turning away and sadly walking up to the door of the apartment. Toby stood watching him until he disappeared inside with his mother and felt a powerful sadness at that moment and the urge to hug Jimmy Ray.

Over the next few days, Toby began to see Jimmy Ray outside more often and the boy even began to speak to him. One day, Toby brought his plastic airplanes outside and they had dogfights in the air over Nashville. Another day, Toby brought out some of his books and read Goodnight Moon to Jimmy Ray, who was deeply impressed with his abilities and maturity.

Late one Sunday afternoon, after his parents had brought him home from church and Sunday dinner with Mad Grandpa and Grandma, Toby wondered outside in search of Jimmy Ray and found him on the steps outside his apartment. He was crying and the tears flowed down his face. Instinctively, Toby did what he thought he was supposed to do. He ran over to him and put his arms around him. Jimmy Ray leaned into him and allowed him to hold him while he cried. Soon, his sobbing subsided and they separated, watching some older boys tossing a football on the green in front as the late afternoon sun set behind the trees and houses across the street.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and a man in dark slacks and a sleeveless t-shirt stood behind them, a look of deep anger on his unshaven face. His eyes were red and he swayed as he stood in the doorway. Toby was frightened, but not as frightened as Jimmy Ray. He jumped up and looked at the man in terror.

“Get the hell in here,” the man slurred and Jimmy Ray immediately ran inside.

The man gave Toby a sour look and turned away, slamming the door loudly. Toby ran home.

Somehow, Toby's mother and Jimmy Ray's became acquainted and Toby was occasionally allowed to visit his friend inside his apartment during the daytime, though never at night and never on the weekends. Jimmy's room was neat and orderly, though he didn't have as many toys as Toby did and certainly no books. One day, as they were playing with his dinosaurs, Jimmy Ray took his stegosaurus and put it next to Toby's brontosaurus, They rubbed together and he said softly, “They're friends, like you and me.” Then he scooted over next to Toby and leaned on him the way his dinosaur had leaned on the other. Toby smiled and put his arm around him, hugging him as his Papa would whenever he came to visit; and, just as his Papa would, he kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you, Toby,” the boy said softly.

“I love you, too, Jimmy Ray.”

From that point on, it became a ritual for them at sometime or another during their playing for Jimmy Ray to lean against Toby and for Toby to hug him and kiss his cheek, followed by their childish declarations of fraternal love. However, it was all to come to an abrupt and frightening end.

It was a cold and blustery afternoon, with threatening clouds and a damp chill in the air. Toby's mother had walked him over to Jimmy Ray's apartment and when she had gone, the two boys retreated to Jimmy Ray's bedroom, where they proceeded to build things with Jimmy Ray's Lincoln logs.

It was not long after they had begun their construction project that the front door of the apartment was slammed loudly. Jimmy Ray turned to Toby with a look of fear on his face. Instinctively, he clung to the older boy and Toby held him tightly as he fearfully watched the doorway to the room.

They could hear arguing in the kitchen.

“I don't fuckin' know why he fired me! “Cause he's a prick! What do you want from me?”

Toby couldn't hear the response, but after moment, he heard Jimmy's father yell, “Where's the God-damn bourbon? I said I want the God-damn bourbon!”

He heard a slap and the crashing of chairs at the kitchen table. Jimmy Ray clung even tighter to Toby, who was now terrified himself. They were both crying and Toby kissed Jimmy Ray on the forehead as he held him protectively.

“Oh, shit!”

Toby looked up in panic. Jimmy Ray's father was standing in the doorway, apparently already drunk, in a greasy work shirt and filthy jeans. His eyes were blazing with fury and disgust at the two boys.

“What the fuck are you doing to my boy, you little faggot?”

He stormed into the bedroom, grabbed Toby by the arm, and threw him toward the door. Both boys screamed in terror and when Toby's head hit the door frame, he began to cry. He ran down the hallway, out the front door, and into the biting cold of the growing dusk.

As he ran desperately around the corner of the building, his daddy was just pulling up in the parking lot. The man ran out of the car and clutched his son in concern. Toby explained what had happened and his father stood with a look of fury and determination on his face that Toby had never seen.

"Tell your mother to call the police," he said as he stormed toward Jimmy Ray's apartment. Toby ran as fast as he could, his face stinging from the cold, his heart fearful for his daddy.

Later that evening, when the police officer sat down in the living room to get Toby's statement, the boy described in very great detail the events leading up to the drunk's assault on him.

“Why did he say what he said?” the policeman asked as Toby's parents both stood over the boy in shock.

“Because I was hugging and kissing him. Jimmy Ray was afraid, so I tried to make him feel better.”

The policeman had a strange look on his face. Toby couldn't understand why; it seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do. Jimmy Ray had been afraid. Toby was his friend. He hugged him and kissed him to make him feel better. Why wouldn't he do that?”

Toby looked up at his father, whose expression mirrored the policeman's, though mixed with embarrassment.

“Daddy, what's a faggot?”

The policeman stood and cleared his throat.

“Well, I think I've got everything I need,” he said quickly. When he was gone, his daddy took him to his bedroom and explained that boys didn't hug and kiss other boys. It just wasn't normal. It was different.

“But, I was trying to make him feel better. He's my friend,” Toby protested.

“Maybe a quick hug, or a pat on the back, or maybe a handshake would be better.”

“A handshake?”

But, as Toby lay in bed that night, after a long and lonely cry, he felt very alone. The police had taken Jimmy Ray's father away, but Toby was not allowed to see his friend anymore. And, even worse, he now knew he was different. He liked hugging and kissing Jimmy Ray. But, if “normal” boys didn't do that, then that meant that he wasn't normal. He was different.

That feeling was reinforced a few days later when Mad Grandad came to visit while Toby's father was at the hospital. His mother told Mad Grandad of the events of a few days before, sparing no details including the hugs and kisses.

“I knew there was something wrong with that boy,” he declared as Toby hid in the hallway and listened to the conversation in the living room. “He's takin' after that damned communist nigger-lovin' fruit up there in Northborough. He needs a real man to show him what's what. Now, I'm not knocking Michael. He's smart and he works hard, but, he's not a man's man and doesn't spend any time with the boy. You mark my words, young lady, that boy is going to be a problem for you if you don't do something about it right now. Hell, I'm afraid for him to get around Missy's kids. God knows what he might do to them.”

Toby felt dirty and ashamed. He was not right. He was broken. He was different and for days after that, he moped around the apartment, sad and dispirited, his parents unable to bring a smile to his face, even when they put up the Christmas tree and laid the presents around it. It was not until his beloved Papa, his “real” grandfather, as he thought of him, came for the holidays that Toby finally smiled. One night, when he was in bed, Papa came into his room to read The Wind in the Willows to him. As he snuggled up close to his Papa, he interrupted the story.

“Papa, am I different?”

His grandfather looked down at him in surprise and asked, “Toby! Why in the world would you ask such a thing?”

“Because Mad Grandad said I'm different and there's something wrong with me and that when I get older, Momma's gonna have a problem with me.”

Papa eyes grew red with rage.

“Why did he say that?”

Toby didn't want to cause a fight between his Papa and his Mad Grandad, (there had already been several), but he couldn't leave the question unanswered. He explained about the incident with Jimmy Ray's father and the funny looks on his father's and the policeman's faces when he mentioned hugging and kissing his friend. Papa huffed and then wrapped his arms around Toby, brushing the golden hair from the boy's eyes.

“Toby, there is nothing wrong with you. You are a kind and considerate and compassionate boy and I am so proud of you that I could just explode. Don't you ever listen to anyone who tells you anything like that. Maybe you are different, but if you are, it's in a good way. And, you be proud that you're different. I am. I am so very proud of you.”

And, for the duration of Papa's stay, he was never very far from Toby and the two laughed and joked and hugged and didn't care what anyone thought.


There was no specific moment when David Laurent realized he was different. It seemed that he had always known. He had always seemed to be the center of attention, which he loved. Whenever his mother would get together with the other wives of doctoral students at Harvard, David was always the one baby or child they seemed to dote on most; and, he could always count on them, when he was three or four, to laugh and applaud when he stood in the middle of the floor to do the Mashed Potato or the Twist. His imitation of Chubby Checker asking, in a low voice, “How low can you go?” was famous.

For some reason, other children just didn't seem as entertaining or clever as he. He didn't look down on them for that or feel superior to them. It was simply a fact he accepted.

He had always known he wanted to dance. He never missed a presentation of Swan Lake or The Nutcracker on television and begged to be taken to the ballet in Boston every time there was a new production. He dreamed of the day when he would have huge, strong, muscular thighs like the great male dancers he had seen. He dreamed of the day when he would be taking bows on the stage and acknowledging the standing ovations. But, mostly, he simply dreamed of dancing. It wasn't the fame he coveted, but the dancing.

David would spin and leap and sway in his room for hours each day. His mother would frequently chastise him for running and leaping in the apartment; but, he was undeterred.

And, then, his dreams came crashing down when he was six. It was his father's intention to enroll David in a good dance school once he had completed his Doctor of Divinity degree and been assigned a church in the Boston area. However, he received an offer to take over a Unitarian church in a smaller city called Sherbourne and to be the chaplain at Sherbourne College. He jumped at the chance. His wife didn't. She had no intention of leaving the Boston area, particularly after falling in love with a law student from Harvard. She turned her back on her dancing son and the life of genteel poverty her Unitarian minister husband promised her. Alex Laurent moved to Sherbourne and David's dreams of being a great, world-renowned ballet dancer died. Or so he thought.

Not that he stopped dancing on his own. Other boys in College Hill Elementary made jokes about him, but because he seemed oblivious to their comments, they soon lost interest in doing so. He had no friends, but that didn't bother him. When the school day was over, he went home to the modest house near the college campus and, not having any dance clothes, would strip naked and dance about the house. He read every book he could find about ballet and dance and taught himself as much as he could on his own until, one day, his father, a rather short-sighted and single-minded individual who sometimes couldn't see the obvious because he was focused elsewhere, recognized his son's talent and abilities and made arraignments with a dance instructor at the college to take on David. She immediately saw his potential and began a rigid regimen of instruction and practice. David was in heaven, particularly when the nine year-old had the opportunity to ogle the older male dancers with their huge legs, strong arms and full chests.

David began to understand another way in which he was different from other boys one night that winter when, after a personal training session with Madame duFair at the college's theater arts building, he was joined in the shower by one of the male dancers from the college program. Peter was tall with thick, dark curls about his head and the huge thighs, strong arms, and full chest of which David dreamed. Peter seemed to take no notice of the slender nine year-old for several minutes as he soaped himself. But, when he glanced to his side as he rinsed off and noticed the rigid little erection rising from between the boy's legs as David gazed worshipfully at him, Peter immediately felt his own erection grow. He smiled and nodded and held his arms out, inviting the boy to come to him. David jumped and for ten minutes, he ran his hands all over the dancer's perfect body, lovingly caressing the muscles, eagerly stroking the long, thick erection until he was shocked to hear Peter moan and see long streamers of thick white goo shooting forth from the penis and landing all over David's face and chest. Peter knelt down and kissed the boy on the lips and left, never again to join him in the shower, never again to acknowledge their acquaintance in the hallways and practice rooms of the college. But, David understood something fundamental about himself after than event and it made him happy. Here was another way in which he was different and he celebrated it.

It was not long after this that he was laying in bed one night. He had just turned the light off and was dozing off when he heard the front door open. His father had been out all evening attending a function on campus and he was quietly returning home. However, David heard giggling and it didn't sound like his father. Quietly, as he heard his father slip the lock on the front door, David snuck to the door of his room and peaked out. His father was tip-toeing up the hallway to his bedroom with a young man from the college. David thought that was strange when suddenly his experience in the shower and the sight of his father and the college student both united in his mind.

His father was going to have sex with that young man. Immediately, the tiny penis in David's briefs stiffened into a hard little erection. His heart was beating quickly and his breathing became short. He waited until it was safe and then slipped out the door into the darkness of the hallway.

Kneeling in the darkness outside the closed door of his father’s bedroom, he heard passionate whispering and moaning and it drove David into a frenzy. Not even when he had been with Peter in the shower had he felt such intense desire. His little cock was hard as he quietly and carefully turned the door knob. Peaking through the crack, he saw the young man standing naked beside the bed, his cock seemingly gigantic to the nine year-old boy, as his father knelt before him, his cock huge as well. His father was sucking the guy’s penis! He was sucking it! Nothing had ever seemed so perverse to the boy, or so appealing. David reached down and squeezed his little erection, gasping at the delightful sensation as he watched and at that moment, a thought came to him. He wanted to be with his father in that way. He desperately wanted to be naked with his father and do the things his father was doing with that college student. Further, he knew that this was something boys didn’t do, and that made the appeal of it all the greater.

And, as the two men crawled onto the bed and did things David had never conceived of, the boy resolved that he would be with his father. He would do this.


Jeff Shoemaker was in the first grade when his mother died during a hysterectomy. He knew other boys in College Hill Elementary who had lost a parent, so he didn’t feel particularly different from other boys. He was quiet, but he enjoyed playing the usual games and complaining about school and the teacher. He was the only boy in his class with red hair and people often teased him about it, but it was good natured and it didn’t really bother him. In fact, he rather liked his red hair. He was proud of it. Other than that, he considered himself just another boy, nothing special, nothing unusual.

That changed dramatically one night.

After his mother’s death, his father had become quite depressed, which Jeff, even at the age of six, understood. He had lost his wife. Of course, he would be sad. However, he remained sad and soon began to drink. Before his mother had died, Jeff had often spent evening playing games with his father, wrestling, reading, watching television. But, after, his father became distant. He no longer wrestled or cuddled with Jeff, no longer seemed to take any interest in him at all. He would cook dinner at night when he came home from the office and go through the motions of being a father, but Jeff could tell that there was no heart behind it. He was a perceptive child and he knew that his father, the rock of his life, was undergoing a profound change.

In the evening, his father would pour himself a vodka and orange juice and then sit in the chair, watching television and drinking until after Jeff had gone to bed. The boy tried to make his father feel better, but his efforts were all in vain. Then, one day, he came home and announced that he had quit his job and, with a friend, bought a bar. They were moving from their little house across the street from school to an apartment above the bar a few blocks away. Jeff was frightened of the change at first and saw his father even less than before. But, he soon became accustomed to the solitude. His father would manage the bar during the day and the early evening and the partner would take over in the evenings, though his father seldom came upstairs before eight or nine. Some nights, he would stay down in the bar all evening and not come up until after Jeff was in bed. He would be very drunk and occasionally brought other men up to drink with him. They would disappear into the other bedroom.

One evening, a Friday night, his father came up to the apartment around eight with several other men. They had all been drinking and they all seemed to be in very good moods. They were laughing and signing along to the music from below. Jeff had developed a taste for the music played in the bar, usually The Supremes, Smokey Robinson, The Temptations, or James Brown, and laughed as he watched his father’s friends dancing in the living room.

As he was getting them drinks, one of the men walked over to Jeff and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“Michael, this boy is adorable!”

“Yes!” declared another as he stood beside the chair Jeff was sitting in and gazed admiringly down at him. “He is just precious. That red hair is so cute. He looks just like a nine year-old version of you.”

His father looked toward them as he held a vodka bottle and looked at Jeff as if seeing him for the first time.

“You know,” the first one said, “you could make a mint off him. He’d be the main attraction downstairs!”

His father chuckled as he handed drinks around to his guests.

“I don’t think so. Jeff is not going downstairs.”

However, when he was pouring a second round, his father handed a glass of vodka and orange juice to Jeff as well and by the time the men left, the boy was quite drunk.

“Dad,” he asked with a grin as the man stumbled about the living room emptying ashtrays and cleaning up, “are those guys, you know, queer?”

His father smiled, though he didn’t look at Jeff, and walked into the kitchen with his hands full.

“Yes, they are.”

“Are all the guys who go to the bar queer?”

“Yes,” his father replied as he reappeared. “They are.”

Jeff finished off the last of the drink and looked up at his father as he stood before him. He could see that the front of his slacks was tented out and it sent a strange thrill through the boy. He felt a stiffness forming in his own pants. He looked up into his father’s green eyes and breathlessly asked, “Are you queer?”

His father smiled and slowly replied, “Yes, I am,” adding, “and so are you.”

Jeff felt short of breath.

“I am?”

His father nodded and as he held his hand out, he said softly, “Yes, you are. And, it’s time that you learned what it’s all about.”

He gently pulled Jeff up from the chair and, turning off the lamp beside him, led him to his bedroom.

Wrapping his arms around the boy, he kissed Jeff deeply and passionately on the lips. The taste of vodka and cigarettes on the man’s breath was slightly unpleasant to the boy, but his father was hugging and kissing him and it was the first true sign of affection of any kind that the man had shown him since the death of his mother. That and the three screwdrivers he had drunk led Jeff to accept his father tongue as it pushed into his mouth.

He moaned as his father squeezed him tightly. It was the most wonderful sensation, the man holding him, his strength keeping him from moving as his tongue rampaged through the boy’s mouth. Jeff felt an excitement he had never known and was loving everything about it.

Michael released the boy and stood back.

“Take your clothes off,” he said hoarsely. It was a command and there was something about it that thrilled Jeff. With his young heart racing, he quickly slipped off his tennis shoes and pulled off his shirt. As his father fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, Jeff could hardly breathe as he unfastened his belt and unsnapped his pants. His father’s eyes were glued to him as he unzipped. Feeling a nasty sense of control, he slowly slipped his pants downward, unconsciously teasing his father as he stood before him, his stiff little boner pushing outward the cloth of his underwear. Michael didn’t wait and dropped his boxers with his slacks, standing naked before his son, his erection rising stiffly from the red hair around his cock.

Jeff was unable to take his eyes off his father’s penis. It was so big and hard and beautiful. He had seen it before in the bathroom, but never in such a state and under such circumstances. He was astounded by it. He looked upward at his father’s face with a questioning look. He didn’t know what to do.

“Take them off,” Michael ordered as he pointed to Jeff’s briefs. He did as he was told and allowed them to fall to his feet, freeing his hairless erection to rise from between his legs.

“Damn,” Michael muttered as his eyes took in the naked boy before him. “You are one hot kid.”

Jeff felt such a glow at his father’s words as they stood facing each other.

“Come here,” his father ordered. “Feel me.”

Jeff stepped forward and with trembling hands grasped his father’s cock. The man moaned softly as the boy’s hands took his erection. Jeff was gasping as he stroked the rigid shaft, running his hands over the fat balls and through the thick red pubic hair. This was the most exciting thing he had ever done. And, it grew even more exciting when his father’s hand rose and grasped his own young boner.

“Oooooh,” Jeff moaned as he felt his father’s fingers wrap around his cock.

“Like it, don’t you?” he said softly. “Feels good.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jeff answered. “Feels so good.”

Suddenly, his father turned away and pulled back the covers of his bed. He pulled the boy over and gently pushed him down. Jeff eagerly climbed in and groaned as he father climbed partially on top of him. Immediately, the man resumed kissing him, this time with even more ardor and enthusiasm, as his hands roamed freely over the boy’s naked body. They slid down his slender back, over his ribs, down his hips, and along his slender legs, all the while plunging his tongue deep into the boy’s mouth and moaning loudly.

He tore his lips from the boy’s and attacked his throat, sending shivers and chills exploding through the boy and causing him to cry out with surprise and delight.

As he licked and sucked and kissed Jeff’s throat, he whispered into his ear, “You like being queer, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah!” Jeff responded eagerly. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah, feels so good to be queer,” his father said as his mouth moved down the boy’s chest. He took one of Jeff’s nipples in his mouth and the boy nearly screamed with shock and glee. Michael ran his tongue fiercely across the hard nubbin of the nipple and then sucked and nibbled it. Jeff twisted beneath him, crazed with the feelings he was experiencing.

Michael moved to the other nipple and the process repeated. Jeff was delirious. He could never have imagined anything so exciting, so wonderful, so nasty. He loved it. He couldn’t think of any other boy who would be doing something like this with his father or anyone else. It was like he was special, participating in something rare for only a privileged few.

He was beyond new ways to react when his father lifted his arm and began to lick the hairless armpit. Jeff simply writhed beneath him, crying out in delight and surprise, and loving every moment.

His father began to scoot down the writhing boy and Jeff watched in wide-eyed wonder and excitement as the man’s mouth approached his boyish cock. Was it possible the man was going to kiss it, lick it, even suck it?

He watched in utter amazement as his father proceeded to do just that. He ran his tongue all over Jeff’s sensitive, tight balls and licked his hips and upper thighs. He found the tip of the pulsing, bobbing cock and licked all around it, sliding down the sensitive pink area beneath the crown and around the circumcision scar. Jeff simply wriggled and twisted and babbled as he beat the bed and lost his mind.

When his father’s mouth hungrily descended on Jeff’s hard-on, the boy’s scream mixed with James Brown’s from below in the bar and as the singer snag I Feel Good, Jeff’s dick began to spasm and his body seemed to explode. It was too much for the boy and he passed out for a moment.

When he awoke seconds later, his father was still straddling him, but now he was up on his knees, towering over Jeff and wildly stroking his cock. His hips churned and his hand flew up and down his man-sized boner as Jeff watched in dazed fascination. Suddenly, his father’s body seemed to freeze and a look of agony came over the man’s face until his cock exploded with streamers of thick white goo, which flew the boy, splattering his face and chest. Jeff knew it was sperm, but he had never seen it before. His father’s sperm was on him!

As the man’s orgasm subsided, Jeff unthinkingly grasped his still rigid little cock and began to frantically masturbate. Some of the ejaculate has landed both on his hand and on his penis and Jeff used it to lubricate his erection as he desperately rubbed his boner. He wriggled and twisted beneath his father as the gasped for breath above him and after a moment, Jeff was able to produce the same feeling his father had. His body seemed to explode a second time and even though nothing came out of his penis, it pumped and spasmed in his hand.

“So now you know you’re queer,” his father declared drunkenly from above. “I need to pass out now.”

He gestured for Jeff to get up and leave. The last of Jeff’s second orgasm was dying as he looked up in shock and dismay at his father. He thought they would hug and cuddle and go to sleep in each other’s arms. His father was showing him love and affection for the first time since his mother’s death and he was loving it. Why was he evicting him from the bed now.

“Come on,” his father demanded impatiently. “I need to sleep. Let’s go.”

In utter confusion, Jeff rolled over and crawled from the bed. He fought the tears that were threatening to pour forth from his eyes as he watched his father crawl under the covers and roll over, his back to him.

“Good night, Dad,” Jeff muttered. Not waiting for the answer that never came, he turned and walked out of the room.

He had wondered over the years of his father’s declining signs of affection whether he loved Jeff. Tonight, he had been so thrilled to experience his first sexual encounter, because he was certain it was a sign of his father’s love for him. But, now he knew otherwise. As he walked naked to his room and crawled into the cold bed, he rolled up into the fetal position and held himself tightly.

Well, it was nothing, he decided. But, it was long into the night and after the music had ended in the bar below them that Jeff Shoemaker finally fell to sleep.