Date: Fri, 29 Mar 2019 21:04:21 +0000 From: Derek HERFORTH Subject: His sperm-donor Dad 1 His sperm-donor Dad Chapter 1: Feedback in good faith, positive or otherwise, will be gratefully received. I'm almost as interested in the attitudes that underlie erotica as in the erotica itself. Herewith, much palaver on sexual topics, less sex, raunchily depicted. Let me know what you think? Dear fans of Nifty, If you are not submitting stories for publication here, might you not contribute in another form? It does not take a lot, guys, to keep us going ... If the site affords you pleasure, why not support it, even if only $lightly? http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Time: 2008 Place: Sydney, Australia Characters: Nick: first-person narrator, mid-40s; actively bi when younger, now tending strongly towards mm, top; three-time sperm donor when in his 30s Paul: 25, Nick's Aussie boyfriend Kent: 15, Nick's younger son, via sperm donation; male-inclined Clyde: 18, Aussie high school student, Kent's new boyfriend I'd never ever considered myself straight enough to be the marrying kind; yet, in the 1990s, I managed to beget three offspring while living and working, single, in Hong Kong. In a nutshell, I was recruited for my genes by two mf couples, each made up of a young, highly fertile Asian woman and her elderly, virtually impotent Caucasian husband. It all happened totally privately, before the current legal strictures concerning sperm donation, artificial insemination, surrogacy, etc., came into effect in that particular jurisdiction. It was the result of reproductive decisions arrived at through consultation by five private individuals (the two couples and myself), and was not disclosed to any official agency, neither to hospital nor birth registry, but only, in good time, to the offspring so produced. From an early age, all three have known I'm their bio-Dad. The situation described allowed me to sire offspring, to extend myself biologically beyond my own generation, something I'd not anticipated I'd ever get to do, given my strong "bi, tending to gay" orientation. As stated, I was never one for wedlock. Nor, of course, could I be described as committed to child-rearing; thus, whether single, or same-sex-partnered, I've never considered adopting, because I've never really felt the urge to rear. The two couples in Hong Kong and I were able to work things out, however. In exchange for my gene in-put, both couples agreed to accept full financial and child-rearing responsibilities for my three bio-kids. I, of course, checked into whether the Moms seemed competent, their husbands well-salaried, etc., before I agreed to sire, directly, on the two Asian women. The three fruit of my loins, a daughter (oldest) and two sons, were all taken to the US while still quite young, when their Mom's hubby either retired, or was transferred back there from Hong Kong, where we'd met in the first place. Several years later, my own career took me down to Sydney, where I have lived ever since. So, my kids grew up largely apart from me, except for when I was able to drop by to see them, still relatively young, on business trips to the US, or, when they grew old enough to get on a plane themselves for the long flight down to Australia. They would come down during the northern summer, to spend a few weeks with me in Sydney, then travel around some on their own so as to get a feel for different regions of Australia, and New Zealand sometimes as well. This story is about how things developed between Kent, the younger of my two sons, and me, his sperm-donor Dad, who had not reared him, as explained above. In my mid-thirties, I still qualified as `active bi', which explains what made it so attractive to sire on two young Asian women, by mounting them each more than a number of times and eventually impregnating them, all as planned. But as time passed, things for me started to shift. That shift coincided with my getting to know my younger son, Kent. I was coming more and more strongly inclined towards the pleasures of same-sex company. Along with my other two offspring, Kent has long known that I'm "some sort of bi". I'd asked the two Moms, very specifically, to be totally open about such matters, when asked by their kid(s), especially as I felt it might easily become an issue for them, seeing that, as they grew up, I remained firmly unmarried, and kept no secret of often having male companions. "Your Dad was bisexual, even when I knew him in Hong Kong. He continues to be so, though he now tends more towards same-sex companionship." Each of them was given the same information, as soon as they started asking, were of an age capable of appreciating the answer. From my two older children I've heard very little about such issues, apart from polite enquiries about my male companion, whoever that happened to be at the time of enquiry. I can only assume both kids are relatively mainstream, in terms of sexuality, and not at all uncomfortable with my own choices. About Kent, the youngest, there was no firm certainty early on, of course, but I gained various hints and insights when the two of us were occasionally brought together during his puberty and later. From very early days, I'd taken him swimming, inspiring him to train in the sport in both primary and junior high; he eventually qualified for `pre-varsity' at the very young age of 14. He'd "skipped" in primary, been put a year ahead, so at school was typically around boys a year or so older than himself, an ambience he soon became quite comfortable with. Even before that, though, I noticed his (imperfectly concealed) interest in male changing rooms and the showers at the various pools we frequented together. Already, in his pre- and low-teen years, he had a something of a `roving eye'. He was not at all pervy, or over-the-top about it, but clearly seemed to enjoy the sight of older males in various states of undress. His mother, Felicia, is a Filipina, and genes from her side make themselves felt in his smaller-boned, but definitely not skinny, physique, his fine features and gorgeous, olive skin, silky-smooth. Like many Asians, he was also relatively late in acquiring what little body-hair he has come to have, though, later, in his twenties, he began to sprout some facial hair, of all things, and even cultivated a rather handsome `stache for a while. He's never had much body hair at all, apart from the little bit in his pits and a small, dense pubes. His ball-sac and butt-crack remain even now virtually hairless, making him not at all unattractive to non-Asian men of certain tastes. Kent is not "typically Asian" in at least one respect, though. He has apparently inherited my gene for genital size, which means that, ever since his mid teens, he's stood out quite conspicuously within the "Asian" crowd, something that often tends to surprise both Asians and others. In spite of the frequent, passive interest I observed Ken taking in males older than himself, the two of us never got to the point of breaking the ice on that or any related topic, acknowledging that we probably understand "intuitively" many things about each other's likes and interests. Perhaps the time spent together, on those rather short transpacific junkets of mine, was too brief, did not allow us to relax in each other's company and come out to each other. Perhaps Kent was just still too young for that kind of openness with someone he saw so infrequently. He was, after all, still only thirteen, the last time I saw him in California. Not long after his fourteenth birthday, Kent wrote to me about the possibility of doing a sophomore year in Australia. A year overseas was something strongly encouraged at his private boys' school in Los Angeles, and as he had not so far shown any outstanding talent in French, his only foreign language to date, an Anglophone environment was felt to be appropriate. It was worked out that he would come down to attend a private boy's school here in Sydney, at a level to be determined on his arrival, and would stay with me as his guardian. As I've remained in close touch over the years with his Mom and her husband, `Uncle Charlie' – we are on very good terms – the plans went forward virtually without a hitch. Kent is legally "their" son, of course, so I needed their consent to become his "temporary guardian"; it was granted forthwith. The proper visa, for two years, was issued in due course by the Aussie authorities. Kent arrived in Sydney in February, a few weeks before the start of the new academic year down here. He'd had his fifteenth birthday not long before, and was placed in Year 10, roughly equivalent to tenth grade in the US system, a year he'd already completed more than half of in California before his departure. (His Aussie classmates were thus that same "year older" he was already quite accustomed to at home.) It didn't really matter to us where he was placed academically, as the curriculum was quite distinct – he would be learning a lot of new material here – and Kent was, in any case, not intending to stay down-under long enough to graduate high school within the Australian system. I was pleased, as was Kent, to see that he would remain in the company of somewhat older boys while here. Kent is quite mature, intellectually, and has learned to take such companionship easily in his stride. My younger son settled quite comfortably into a second of my three bedrooms – I let him choose from the two remaining, of course – and seemed from the start totally unfazed in any way when the younger man I was seeing, Paul (25), would drop by for hours at a time, often staying the night. Once the school term started, I, sometimes together with Paul, would be regaled at dinner by Kent's lively accounts of life at the famous Sydney boys' school, of differences between Aussie and American high school boys, and of his struggles with "incomprehensible" Aussie slang, struggles Paul was only too glad to help him with. (I'm a native user of North American English, myself.) Once he'd spent some time with Kent at our place, Paul joked with me in private, that, "If Kent turns out not to be straight, I'm gonna bet he'll be a bottom boy." "Really?!? What makes you think so?" "It's an intuition, Nick. He's nothing less than totally masculine as a boy, of course. I don't see anything `fem' about him; it's not that at all. Still, there are things about the way his mind works, some of his interests; they just feel, to me at least, a bit towards `the bottom end'", winking at me. I kept my bottom partner Paul's observations in mind, as Kent and I embarked on our planned ten-month life together here in Sydney. I encouraged Kent to keep up with his swimming, especially as it's such an iconic sport in Australia. Together we made an appointment to see the swim coach, a fine Lebanese male, and, on hearing of Ken's sporting activities in California, the coach invited him to train with the team for a trial period of a couple weeks, after which a decision would be made. The upshot was that Kent was accepted onto the squad as a "visiting athlete" and was soon representing the school in meets. It wasn't long before I began hearing from Kent about a certain Clyde, who I initially assumed was a fellow swimmer, probably because I hadn't been listening closely enough the first time Kent mentioned him to me. Before long, though, the references to, news of, Clyde became so frequent, I could only conclude Kent had formed some sort of crush on the lad. It turned out the two of them had begun chatting in the locker room, not long after Kent had put in his first appearances there. Clyde was 18, almost three years older than Kent; he was in Year 12, and on the wrestling team. "Hmm", I thought to myself, "I wonder who caught whose eye first there in the changing room?" To me, it was gratifying to learn Kent was drawn to an older boy, true to the pattern he'd established at home, where he was in school surrounded by classmates a year, if not more, older than himself, a situation he apparently relished. A week or so after his first mention of Clyde, Kent produced, with evident pride, a photo of the lad in his wrestling gear, on the back of which was scrawled "For Kent, my bosom-buddy yankee swimmer-boy, from your big Aussie brother Clyde" – friendly enough sentiments, surely, but perhaps just a tad over-heated for two "straight" teen boys in Sydney in the noughties. At eighteen-and-a-half, Clyde showed quite hirsute in his gear, every inch a 180' weight-class high school wrestler boy: impressive, solid bulk that was clearly mostly muscle, thick hairy thighs and upper body, his well-developed torso matted with light brown hair, studly anglo-celtic features, sky-blue eyes set in a fine head crowned by ginger-tinged blond locks. The relevant ice between us still unbroken, Kent and I have not yet advanced to the point of discussing together exactly how we `appreciate' other males, so I hesitate to ask him for details of exactly how he feels about the older boy in the photo. I myself find much to admire in the way the lad is put together. It was not hard at all to imagine, in my own fatherly way, what my Kent might see in a butch stud-boy wrestler; or, indeed, from the other side, how my son might possibly have aroused Clyde's interest: Kent's flawless, café-au-lait skin, svelte swimmer's build with its tight, compact bottom, silky-smooth chest, thighs and lower legs (absolutely no need, anywhere on the boy's body, to shave for the swim squad!), finely-chiseled Asian features, ... maybe even his uncharacteristically generous endowment, somewhat serendipitous, given his rather `Asian' look in most other respects. But, interestingly, on this occasion, Kent and I drift quite easily into a detailed discussion of Clyde's photo. "A very fine-looking lad, Kent. It's easy to see what you might see in him!" "He's a total stud, Dad – champion in his weight-class in our local varsity division here in Sydney, that's city-wide champion." "He definitely got that champ look about him, son. I see he's using a pretty prominent groin cup there. Are wrestlers still required to use those nowadays?" "Interesting you ask about that, Dad. Actually, Clyde tells me coaches here and everywhere across the globe are working with big sporting ware companies on new ways to protect wrestlers' groins, cos absolutely none of the athletes likes to wear the cup – it's uncomfortable, and gets in the way of things, as you might imagine." "Can certainly see how it might. Clyde's photo makes that abundantly clear." "He doesn't have to wear a cup at every match any more, just sometimes. It's become a kind of `on-again-off-again' thing, but Clyde had this photo taken with the cup on." "Why's that, son, if it's going out of style? Wouldn't he want to appear more up-to-date, more `natural', in front of the camera?" "Well, this pic was taken for team publicity, and they started out trying to take all the wrestlers without groin cups, but Clyde's photo was rejected as "too revealing", and he was asked to use the cup for a retake. He wears the biggest size cup produced, Dad, because he needs to. I can tell you, it's not at all `for show', but because that's what's required in his case." "I see – fascinating" "Clyde needs the same oversize cup used by many adult black athletes back in the US, he told me. When he went to buy one here, it had to be special-ordered from home." "Really? He has a lot to be proud of, then." "He sure does, Dad!" Kent proudly produces a second, larger photo of the entire wrestling squad. Clyde, as the reigning champion in his weight-class, is seated in the front row, where he stands out, for a number of reasons, one being, he's obviously the only boy on the team wearing with a groin cup. "See what I mean, Dad? The coach told him he had to have it on for the team photo too. ... You know what else Clyde told me, Dad?" "Can't imagine, my boy. What?" "Well, he told me kind of jokingly, with a wink in his eye. He said in primary school he earned the nickname `donkey-boy', and that was in, like Year Four, when he'd' have been like nine!" "Most unusual for a boy that age to be developing so obviously, Kent, I agree." "Well, nobody calls him that anymore, especially now that he's in Year 12, a senior, and a wrestling champ. You know what happens instead?" "No idea, son; tell me" "When new boys come into the high school from the junior high, in Year Nine, they are told to keep an eye out for a "freak stud sportsman" in the showers, in case their PE class is at the same time as his, or they're on a team and shower at school after practice." "That's amazing, Kent. And what are they told about the `freak'?" "Nothing specific, but that's the fun part of it! The boys are left guessing, at first. But after a few of them, just a couple, have seen him, word gets out and around, of course, so later boys know exactly what sort of shock they're in for." "Amazing; so he's a kind of `icon', of sorts?" "Guess so, Dad. In terms of what he's hauling around down in front, he's definitely iconic, to the whole school. He tells me he catches underclassmen gawking at him all the time. And he's not even nineteen yet." "Well, son; it's not uncommon for a young white or black male to reach full maturation by 18 or 19 – with exceptions, of course. Clyde may already have grown to be about as large as he's going to get, especially if he was already going gang-busters at nine." "Hmm, Dad. It's hard to imagine how he could get much bigger!" I'm intensely pleased, of course, to find my son so eager to discuss an older boy's endowment, the boy's school-wide `iconic reputation', as he reveals to me much about the older boy, details and anecdotes that have clearly inspired my Kent's admiration. The boy has never been so frank, open with me. On this occasion, however, our discussion of Clyde's physical attributes goes no further. Kent, instead, tells me other things about him, or rather, them. With totally different class timetables, classrooms in different parts of the campus, each boy committed to a different school team, the two have rather little, if any, time together, outside the showers and locker room, before, but mostly after practice each day. Kent kind of hints around that they wish they had more time together "to catch up, on this and that". "Clyde's really been helpful to me, Dad, explaining so much about the school, its history and traditions, how it works. He's also mentioned he's interested in trying to get into a good college or university in North America – US or Canada – if he can pull it together; thinks it would be great for his exposure to `life beyond Sydney', as he puts it, and maybe for his wrestling too, depending on where he ends up, of course." I take Kent's rather detailed explanation as a sure sign that the two lads are sharing a lot with each other on a number of fronts, not just small-talk, chitchat about games, entertainment. I decide I should actively foster, facilitate, to the degree I'm able, what seems to be developing between them. "If that's the case, son, why not have Clyde over here after practice, when you guys have stuff you want to discuss, do together? There's no earthly reason I can think of why the two of you should not have access to this space of ours for that, son. You've got a key, and it seems you always get home long before I do. I say you might be hosting your friend here, at our place, when you both have the time and inclination." "Is that really gonna be ok, Dad? Clyde's Mom doesn't work, so she's around during the day, and besides, he's got younger sibs at home, so your place here would be much quieter, a better atmosphere." "Well, it's *our* place, Kent, for as long as you're here with me in Sydney. I understand completely, if quiet's what you need. Sure, have him over, son, whenever you feel the urge. We're so close to your school here, you can just ask him to drop in on his way home, no? But, at some point, before too long, you'll introduce him to me, yes?" "Sure, Dad, as soon as I can, ok? I've already told him a fair amount about you, that you and I are bio-related, but that you didn't raise me, and stuff, showed him photos, of you, and of Mom, and Mom with Uncle Charlie, the guy who did raise me, huh." "Good, son; it will only help him get to know you better, I'm sure." "Wanted to ask you, Dad, what about Paul? Should I tell Clyde about you and Paul, you think? I mean what if Paul happens to be around sometime when Clyde's here? How would I explain that?" "That's something you're going to have to make up your own mind on, son. I don't yet know Clyde, from Adam, right? – so I've no inkling how he might react to such information about his friend's Dad" "I know, Dad, but I get the feeling Clyde's very open and accepting." "As I'd expect him to be, almost 19 years old and living in a big city in a liberal, progressive society" "Right, Dad. I think I'm going to bring it up with him soon; just so he'll know." "Way to go, son. I'm glad you can be so positive and supportive of me on that score." "Sure, Dad; there's absolutely no way I couldn't be." My son walks over to me, holds out his arms and we hug. This is the closest we've gotten so far to coming out totally to each other. He understands me, of course, but continues to hold back somewhat about himself. Still, our discussion about Clyde and his attractions must have been partly intended by Kent to suggest that things between us, Dad and son, are about to change. It won't be long now, I sense, before there's full disclosure from his side. It actually arrives even sooner than I'd expected. A few days later, I get home from work and hear someone in the shower – Kent, presumably. The door to his room is ajar, though, and I can see his bed is in total disarray. He does not usually leave it that way in the morning, when he goes off to school. I hear the shower still running, so I nip into his room for a quick look. Sox, briefs, tank-top are all scattered about on the floor; that is not at all like him either. He tends to be very neat. Picking up his briefs, I touch the front panel; it feels moist, sticky and there's the faint scent of pre-cum ... Crossing to his bed, I find some rather copious cum deposits on his sheets, the semen no longer warm, but not yet dry. My boy Kent has just had sex with someone in his own bed in his room in my house. Judging from the freshness of the semen, he and his sex-partner, one or both of them, cummed there not long before my arrival, his partner escaping in the nick of time. Looking again over the deposits, I decide it might have been only one of the two who leaked out all over the sheets. I move to my own room, highly aroused. I decide not to interrogate my son about this, but instead wait to see how things develop. Kent emerges from the bathroom, still drying his hair. "Hi, Dad. How did things go at work today? Have a good one?" "Well, son, you're aware of some of the issues the business is struggling with. We had another lengthy meeting today, and I think some real progress was made towards a consensus solution." "Great, Dad. Hey, sorry for the utter mess in my room. I'm going to pick it up now." "No worries, son. You don't have to be squeaky-neat every day of the week, ok?" "Thanks, Dad; guess I'll change my sheets while I'm at it", as Kent retires to his room. "Feel free, son, of course", not wanting to hint that I'd already seen said sheets. I wander into the bathroom, where the shower steam has mostly cleared, so I close the door. Laid out next to the washbasin I find a number of items related to anal hygiene, conditioning and after-care – witch-hazel, a couple of special-use creams, an expensive super-mild "natural" soap, for use on highly sensitive skin tissue. The bar of soap is still wet. The brand names are not local; Kent has brought these items in his luggage, down from the US, at the age of barely fifteen. Perhaps he was worried such products would not be available down-under? I decide I'm going to have to make a gentle effort very soon to break the ice with my boy. There are things we, dad and son, need to acknowledge about each other. Given his total acceptance of Paul, his and my very recent and frank discussion of Clyde and his attributes, I don't think it's going to be especially difficult to get Kent to come out to me. He's on the other side of the bathroom door. "Dad, are you in there? I forgot to clean up, pick up the stuff I left around." "It's ok, Kent. I'll be out in a minute, so you can get in." Fortunately, I need to urinate, which I do loudly, into the water in the bowl, so he can hear. "Do you see my stuff there, Dad?" "Yeah, it's all here, Kent." "Oh no!" "What's the matter, son?" "You weren't supposed to see that." "Well now I have, so it's no big deal, son. ... In fact, I'm very glad to see you're looking after yourself properly." "How do you mean?" "Well, there are parts of the male body somewhat susceptible to problems, if they're not properly looked after. Those areas need special attention, care. I just can see you're already aware of that." "I guess I am, Dad." "That makes me proud of you, son. You clearly know how to look after yourself, given what you seem to be doing in some of your spare time here." Suppressing a giggle, "Thanks, Dad. You know, I've really been wanting to talk to you about things, especially since I'm down here with you for a while, and Paul is around too, and stuff." I open the bathroom door and come out, smiling broadly. "Well, son, through the bathroom door is hardly the way to have a chat about such matters. I'm going to get myself a glass of wine, and we can have us a nice chat before dinner. How does that sound, Kent, and what can I get you to drink?" "Super, Dad. I just never imagined it would happen quite this way. I guess I'll have some iced tea, thanks." "It can happen in lots of different ways, son." "I know, but I've been thinking so long and hard about how to come out to you." "Should be one of the easiest things in the world, Kent, given what you already know about me. There's no need to worry about it anymore." "I know, Dad ... but still ... for a long time, for me, it was all about finding the right moment, the right mood" "Do you feel this is not such a good time?" "No, not at all. Given what's happened, the stuff about Clyde and stuff, the timing couldn't be better, I think." My son and I have a leisurely, detailed talk. It extends into our dinnertime together. We're at the dinner table, enjoying our evening meal and trading, for the first time, a few `trade secrets'. My son, I learn, has been making himself accessible to adult, or at least somewhat older, top males for over a year, since shortly before he turned fourteen. It all started with him being `shown the way' by the janitor in the apartment block where he lives with his Mom and sister. (Uncle Charlie has retired to a "rest village" not far away.) The janitor, Jim, is a large and very lusty black male, three times the boy's age. (Before moving into the narrative of Kent's seduction, there is something just a bit special about the boy's "tight, compact bottom" that should be touched on, as it might help explain why he was targeted at just short of fourteen by Jim, and why he's proved so attractive since, as a mid-teen to other total-top males like Jim. I note that `something' descriptively here, in preparation for further mentions below. Kent's butt has a totally natural, "lower-crack cleft", as I've heard it called. That means his fine mounds, which are tightly adjacent, "cheek by jowl" above, about half way down his crack, start gradually to part as one travels southwards towards his prominent banus. At the bottom of his crack, his cheeks are a bit open, have some space between them, a bit of a gap – it's a type of butt-design that's very clearly visible when he's in Speedos or butt-tight slacks. It's, actually, not an uncommon feature of boy butt anatomy. On many boys, the slightly open low cleft is readily apparent when they're viewed from the back, in (swim-) briefs, for example. The ass-crack gapes somewhat at the lower end in a natural split between the cheeks. As is well-acknowledged, this anatomical feature, especially on teen boys, tends to attract the close attention of certain would-be admirers, as we will see.) Kent would get home from school in the late afternoon, after swimming practice, but long before either his Mom or sister arrived back. The janitor, however, would still be around. The boy would change out of his school uniform and wander around the building, checking out this and that, sometimes in rather tight play-slacks that displayed his young butt-cleft pretty clearly. Whenever he ran into the janitor, the latter would always show a very friendly interest, chat the lad up for a while, especially if there was no one else around. Jim started by simply patting the boy lightly on a butt-cheek from time to time, in a friendly test-gesture intended to reveal to him how Kent reacted. When the boy did not draw back, move off, or even flinch when butt-patted, Jim let the boy know he had something the older male liked to see, especially when Kent wore "those tight slacks". "Turn `round for me, boy", soon became "Turn `round for me, boy; show me what you've got." When the lad obeyed, Jim's large hand would go to Kent's low cleft, rubbing gently but persistently in the slightly open groove between the boy's lower buttocks. Kent wouldn't move away, but just giggle a bit. Jim's hand was sometimes there for a minute or more, fondling the boy's lower backside, making it feel good, wanted. After a few times, Kent started, involuntarily, to rub his young butt back on Jim's hand, encouraging further groping as he snuggled his young rear-parts against the older man's gently intrusive hand. This response was, of course, hardly lost on Jim, was, in fact, taken as a green light, a clear go-ahead. The lad already seemed to have a sensitive rear, firing up the janitor considerably with visions of further, more intimate sexplorations. Kent, for his part, soon got wise about how to "dress for" Jim when he changed out of his school clothes, always looking first for a clean pair of those "butt-huggers", the slacks that got Jim to pay him such special attention. Down in the basement, there was a large, enclosed boiler room, outfitted with some simple furnishings and a lock on the door. The janitor would retire there for a nap when there was little for him to do around the apartment block. After the boy's backside sensitivity became clear to him, Jim began to invite Kent down to his "room", where Kent was eventually persuaded to `play', first by letting the janitor fondle him, his fresh mid-teen genitals and silky-smooth butt. Next, Jim got Kent to return the favor and play manually with his stallion-sized tool-kit. Then, long aroused by the frequent sight and feel of the boy's butt-cleft, Jim introduced Kent to the rudiments of passive anal play, even as Kent was being shown how better to fondle and orally service the black man's genitals. The boy's hole was duly awakened and sensitized by Jim's frequent and extended oral and digital stimulation. Jim had very thick fingers, not the easiest to accommodate, but once welcomed, excellent prep for even thicker inserts. No toys were employed, but eventually, after several weeks, Kent was persuaded to yield to (at first very *painful*) penetration and mounting by his generously endowed older playmate. Jim proved a highly-skilled sexual mentor. Given his job in a large urban apartment block, it's highly unlikely that Kent was his first conquest, or even first white cherry-boy. Kent had, in fact, been preceded by several others, all white boys, high school or younger, experiences that had made the black male more or less a sexpert in that particular branch of youth-training. Kent was taught exactly what a lad in his position needs to know – how to loosen up, adjust to the older man's girth, breathe correctly on penetration, so as to take in a large male more easily – all techniques Kent soon came to excel in. Before long, within a month or so of first getting himself felt up by Jim, Kent got into the habit of hurrying home, unshowered, from swimming practice, so Jim could mount him for a while before 7 pm, when the janitor would clock out at work, and Kent's Mom and sister arrive home. Such intense "boiler-room play" between the forty year-old Jim and his fourteen year-old white sex-boy would sometimes occur two or three times within a single M-F work-week. On weekends, Jim was not available, and besides, Kent's family was around. The boy's rear-hole was thus sensitized early on, and when Jim was moved to another location, too distant from Kent to be convenient, Kent was driven to seek out other top males, with occasional success. He's had a small number of adult boyfriends as he's made his way through ninth and tenth grades. After Jim, only one such was black, but Kent did express to me his preference for black partners, "at least", he added, "until I met Clyde". Another of his boyfriends had been especially considerate, mentoring the boy in anal hygiene, enemas, `after-care', etc. It was on the recommendation of that partner that Kent acquired for himself the anal-care kit he'd then brought along to Sydney. When Kent decided to come to Australia at 15, he'd been seeing an older, huge-penised white male in his forties. It was not going well, however, as the older gent was constantly being harassed, sometimes stalked, by a former young partner, not quite as young as Kent, who wanted the older stud back. Kent felt it was time to give the two a break, some space, to see if they could iron out their issues. He saw Australia as a temporary `escape' from this uncomfortable situation, among other things, of course. "If they can work it out, why not? If not, I'll be happy to have him and his huge cock back!" was the boy's basic attitude. And so he left California for his Dad's guardianship, and another all-boys' high school, this time down in Sydney. That evening, Ken's revelations burst forth, thick and fast, the spillage in part caused by my having spotted his anal care-kit in the bathroom, of course. But, all things considered, there'd never been a more opportune moment for Kent to come out to me; his confessions may have been precipitated by my unintended discovery of his stuff, but, the dam finally breached, Kent shared his history with me quite willingly, unreservedly. At this point, I did not try to share any of my own, much longer and more extensive sexual history with my boy. That could wait for other times, of course. Kent seemed to want to unburden himself, finally to represent himself to me as an already quite sexualized, mid-teen bottom; so, I let him do just that. I took it all in stride, immediately gaining deeper insight into his infatuation with Clyde, though I hoped, of course, to learn further intimate details about the pair, if Kent would share them. Paul too, I could see, had been spot on with his intuitions about Kent's inclinations, "if he turns out not-straight". Later, the same week, I return home to find two young males in my unit. `He' and Ken can be heard conversing in the bathroom; perhaps they've just showered together. Kent comes out first, wrapped in a towel, and seems genuinely embarrassed. "Dad, this is *not* the way I wanted to introduce Clyde to you, believe me!" "Son, we all seem to understand each other here; so, does it really matter that much?" "But Dad, you know something? I have this fantasy of him in a tuxedo, when I introduce you. He is so incredibly studly!" "Would he need a tux for me to appreciate that, you think?" "But a tux makes him seem even sexier, Dad, for a while; cos it's what lies underneath, what comes after, no?" "You're quite right, son. Given some of your experiences, I'm not that surprised you already appreciate such things, even at your young, relatively tender, age." Clyde emerges, deliberately, from the bathroom, an XL beach towel hugging his broad bull-hips. The towel is slung low, well below his navel, revealing fully the sharply etched musculature of his hairy lower belly. I get my very first look at the "school icon" in the flesh, a look that confirms, in a glance, everything displayed in the photo in wrestling gear he'd signed and given to Kent, confirms that he's the real thing, 100% Alpha Teen Male. But there's more, unrevealed in the photo: something about the way the towel hangs down in front of him suggests, pretty unmistakably, that this lad sports, quite simply, one of the very largest penises I've ever seen on a white male. "No wonder Kent's utterly infatuated!" I can't help thinking. Clyde comes toward me, hand extended. "Kent's Dad, I presume. It is a genuine pleasure, sir" The grasp is firm, warm, neither vise-like, nor overbearing. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Clyde, after hearing so much about you from Kent." "Can't imagine what you may have heard, sir. Whatever it may be, it's almost certainly not to be believed in full." "I think we may both be aware how younger lads can sometimes go overboard, head-over-heels with their crushes, Clyde. Only time will tell, just how infatuated my son Kent is with you", I said deliberately, with a smiling nod to the wrestler's exposed mid-body. "Indeed, sir; you are no doubt right about that," with a broad smile. He excuses himself, retires to Kent's bedroom, from which he emerges, fully dressed, a few minutes later. "Excuse me, sir, but I must be getting home. My mother expects me for dinner there." "By all means, Clyde, don't let me delay you further. I hope, though, there will be an opportunity to enjoy your company at dinner here sometime soon." "For that, I would be entirely at your disposal, sir, I can assure you." When he's gone, I congratulate Kent, openly and frankly, on his incredible catch, mentioning not only Clyde's physical attributes, but how well-spoken the older boy sounds, how mature he comes across to me. "Seems to me he's right up your ally, son ... exactly what you need most" "Clyde is easily one of the most awesome men I've ever met, Dad. To me, he's hardly a `boy', though. But he is still in high school, of course, so I'll understand if you choose to refer to him that way", with a wink. "Well, he's certainly impressed me here today. And, it doesn't surprise me at all to learn you need some tlc, some soothing of your parts, once he's `dropped by' – I mean, those things you forgot in the bathroom last time." "That I do, Dad; I do need the `soothing', as you put it. But yeah, how you came across my stuff like that kind of embarrassed me at first, cos I hadn't intended to let you know about me in quite that way. But it was all my own carelessness that brought it on, so no one to blame but myself." "Understand, Kent. I see it as you finally revealing yourself to me in a totally natural way, your Freudian mishap leading easily to explanation, verbal sharing, such as we had. But what was your plan, son?" "Not sure, maybe introduce Clyde to you as my "closest Aussie buddy", let you draw your own conclusions" "In a tux? Sure, but that would not have revealed much at all to me about why and how he's so impressed you, Kent" "True, Dad. Clyde's actually impressed me in a fair number of ways, but I see what you're getting at. After the formal introduction in tux, maybe get the three of us to go swimming, allowing you a second angle on him? You would not possibly have missed it then. You should see him in Speedos; he's absolutely humongous – perhaps shouldn't even wear them. `Groin cup required; Speedos, forbidden, huh!" with a mischievous grin. "Would definitely not have missed that, son, for the world!" Chuckling, "No one does, Dad. At a beach or pool, Clyde just naturally kind of becomes the center of attention. ... He loves to see me in swim briefs too, Dad; says I look so good from behind! Clyde's so amazing, Dad, in that he's totally white, right? But, I can tell you, he's most definitely in the running, way up there in the stats department, along with those couple of black men I got to know at home, Jim, then Damian. That's why he needs the size groin guard he does. He's just magnificent, and, in addition, knows all about how to use it in me. Have not met anyone anywhere near his age both so well-equipped and with such prowess." "What a lucky boy you are, Kent, and not even sweet sex-teen yet! It's amazing that you can already rise to Clyde's challenge, at your age." (giggling) "Hmm, I think so too, Dad. Thanks. I'm getting' there, maybe – sex-teen, huh! And Clyde seems pretty happy with me too." "How could he not be, Kent?", with a smile. On my next get-together with Paul, I share some of these details with him; they arouse his interest considerably, in Kent, but especially in Clyde, not surprisingly. A week or so passes, during which time I find Clyde still around the house most evenings when I get home from work, the signs of his activity with Kent no longer a source of embarrassment to anyone. On the Aussie calendar here, we find ourselves heading into a long weekend. Kent's entire "Federal Politics" class is booked for a three-day excursion by bus to Canberra, the nation's capital. My boyfriend Paul, unfortunately, has been wrapped into family affairs in another city. Am I to sit at home, alone? Kent departs with his class on Friday morning; they are due back Monday evening, so classes can resume on Tuesday. At work Friday morning, I take a call from Clyde. (At my urging, Kent has passed him my business card, just in case he needs to get in touch urgently. I feel I should show myself, not only to Kent, but to them both, as supportive as possible of what is pretty obviously developing between the two of them.) Clyde wants to know if we can go for a drink together that evening. (At 18+, he was legal, of course, in Australia.) I told him I was already booked, and asked if he'd be free for lunch the following day. In fact, I was not booked, but preferred not to run the risk of being seen out on the town with a man so much younger than myself. Either of us might have been recognized, and while that need hardly constitute a major issue, I was a bit apprehensive about possible repercussions with Kent, should he hear I'd been "on a date" with Clyde in his absence. Paul was, of course, far less of a worry in that respect, as he'd readily have understood. "For you, sir, I can be free, yes. As there's no wrestling tournament this weekend, I'm kind of at a loose end for some activity, especially with Kent out of town. I'll work out on a couple of days, for sure; but other than that ..." "I see. Would you like to come by for lunch at my place? So you understand that Ken won't be there, yes?" "Yes, sir. He's told me he's off on that excursion to the capital. We all do it in Year 10; it's required. I hope he learns a lot about our system of government, how it differs from the American." "I'm sure he will, Clyde. He's a bright lad, if I say so myself, already very aware of what's good for him, what will stand him in good stead in the future." "That he certainly is, sir. I've been impressed by how sorted he is, aware of his own needs, requirements, as he goes forward. To me, the most amazing thing is, he's just turned 15, right?" "That is correct, Clyde. I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well; however, he won't be around tomorrow or the entire weekend, in fact, until Monday evening." "Thanks for that information, sir. He'd only said to me he'd see me at school on Tuesday. Ah, speaking of Kent's timetable, I was just wondering, will your mate Paul be around? Hope you don't mind my confirming that ..." "No, he's had to go to Adelaide, on family business." "I see, so it will be just the two of us then?" "That's correct. ... Shall we say 12:30, for lunch together, at Ken's and my place?" "That would be awesome, sir. I thank you in advance." "No worries at all. Looking forward to it myself, Clyde." The wrestler-lad shows up promptly, with the customary guest bottle, a good Shiraz. As the weather's still warm, he's in a tank top and tennis shorts, no doubt more than just slightly aware of how such attire might appeal to his latest conquest's Dad. "Hope you'll excuse the informal attire, sir. I know Ken has talked about presenting me to you in a tux ... but, I guess today's not going to be that day." "I'm sure that day will come, Clyde, when I'm allowed to see you in a tuxedo, and, incidentally, when Kent is around to make the presentation. As for us here today, I hope you'll be equally forgiving of informality on my side as well. No need to be formal, is there, when no one's around to notice?" "Absolutely right, sir! We could both strip down naked here, for all it would matter – have a `naked lunch', no?" Chuckling, "I agree, Clyde, but in your case that might prove more than a tad distracting for me, and, as I'm here to host you, I need to keep my wits about me, for a while, anyway ..." "I do understand, sir, and will refrain, at least on this occasion. As for your hosting me, perhaps we can look into that a bit later, after lunch?" We chat, small-talk, but only very briefly, before I pour two glasses of red. "You drink wine much, Clyde, or are you more of a beer buddy?" "Oh no, sir; we produce some world-class reds here in Australia, as you know, I'm sure, but we've been over-producing, which keeps prices pretty reasonable. Wine's my preferred beverage, actually, when I feel I'm ready to kick back and relax – it's most conducive to that." "Well, feel perfectly free to do just that here with me, Clyde. I intend to entertain you for the afternoon." "Thank you, sir. I have made plenty of time for you here today, and have been rather curious about the possibility of you hosting me." "Nice to hear that", failing to catch quite what it later turns out the boy is implying. "Sir, on another matter of interest to me, if I may, Kent tells me you're indisputably his bio-Dad, the DNA demonstrating that all over the place, but, on the other hand, you did not have a major hand in rearing him there in the US, is that right?" "Correct, Clyde. I sired on his Asian Mom, in Hong Kong, actually, at her request and with the blessing of her elderly husband, who was no longer potent, shall we say? She and Charles then took baby Kent and his older sister, my bio-daughter, back to the US when Kent was still pretty young." "How old were you when you gave his Mom a baby, sir?" "She was a mere 22, and I ten years older." "Hmm, the ages sound pretty ideal, for breeding purposes. And Kent has a half-brother, I hear?" "Yes, my older son, Owen Jr, whom I sired on a second Asian woman who was in a similar situation. The two Asian-white couples knew each other, and Felicia, Kent's Mom, and her hubby Charles in fact introduced me to their friends, Mia and Owen Sr. I ended up performing the same service for them as I had, and did again, for Felicia and Charles. Mia is Korean, and she carried son Owen Jr in between the births of my daughter, Melody, and then Kent, who are, of course, full siblings. "Most interesting pair of family situations, may I say, sir. You were clearly very highly thought of by both couples." "I suppose I must have been, yes, as I was `recruited'. But what makes all this so interesting to you, Clyde?" "Are Owen II and Kent close in age, sir?" "They are, in fact, separated by only a few months." "A very productive period for you, sir!" "All three of my offspring are quite close in age, Owen. It's not at all difficult, on the male side, as you'll no doubt appreciate." "Yes, of course – the productivity of the male siring in close succession on several females, one after the other, right? Sounds to me like it was your golden `donor age', sir." "It was, now that you put it that way, but I have a friend who donated successfully six times in a single year. All his kids are about the same age, and all have, of course, different Moms. For me, it happened because the opportunities I've described cropped up when I was single and actively bisexual there in Hong Kong. I was recruited by the two couples to fill their felt reproductive needs: both women wanted to bear, but neither husband was in a position to help with that. Though I was still seeing women in those days, I doubt very seriously I'd have gone out looking, on my own, for chances to breed, Clyde. That typically involves marriage, at least in our moral culture, and for that, I was not ready, and still am not." "I understand the point fully, sir. What fascinates me most is that you're Kent's bio-Dad, and yet Kent did not grow up in the same household with you; you did not raise him, in other words." "Correct; it makes our relationship rather different from a conventional father-son pair, where the two have spent many years together, the boy growing up under his Dad's guidance." "I bet. Kent has shown me some lovely photos of his Mom, and they've helped explain a lot about him – at least for me, I mean – his looks, why he caught my eye. And, I don't mind mentioning to you that I've heard some very complimentary things from other boys at school about Ken's looks, his comportment, in the few weeks he's been with us so far. He's already being called `the yankee cutie', in fact. Clyde continues, "It seems a number of boys on the swim squad were really pleased when the coach decided to let Kent train and swim competitively with them. They seem to like having him around, as a great swimmer, and as a boon to the team image. At present, he's the only rather `Asian'-looking member of the squad, so he definitely adds to their diversity, in terms of looks." "I'm sure you'd be familiar, sir, with how much high school boys pay attention to their own and each other's appearance and physical attributes, especially at an all-boys school, all quite irrespective of any sexual inclinations, of course. Gay-inclined or not, they're all so `image-conscious', well, at least many of us are." "Yes, I'm quite familiar with that social syndrome, Clyde; it's been around for a long time, I suspect, especially at all-boys high schools, as you suggest. All the same, it's very nice for this Dad to hear that his son is so well regarded by his schoolmates, even if I am only a donor-dad! I'm really glad you two boys seem to have found each other. Kent's told me a bit about how he feels about you, as well", delivered with a wink. Clyde smiles back, broadly, confidently. "Well, your donor-Dad status means you've had considerable genetic in-put into Clyde and what makes him attractive to many of us, I'd say, sir. I can only imagine, there must be ways he takes after you quite closely, no?, even given the pretty obvious influence of his Mom's contribution." It's quite arousing for me to hear a studly, eighteen year-old fan of my son analyze Kent's genetic make-up in this way. Clyde has clearly been observing Kent quite closely of late. We move to the table, where I serve a light lunch, keeping Clyde's wine glass filled. "Kent has also mentioned your friend Paul to me, sir. How is that going?, if I may ask." "Paul and I have been spending time together for some months now, almost six. Though we find we're well-matched, compatible in many important ways, we don't quite feel like living together at this point. Perhaps that day will come, though. For the moment, I'm actually more occupied with looking after Kent, making sure all his needs are met. Paul's aware of that too, of course, and he's hardly the jealous type; so, I believe things are going to be fine amongst the three of us in this new situation. We manage to see each other here a couple times during the week, Paul and I, and he's often here again for part of the weekend, so Kent has already met him a number of times." "That's admirable, sir. I'm sure Kent will learn a lot from observing you and Paul, your interaction. Frankly, I feel I have myself become somewhat involved in meeting Kent's needs as well, and he mine." "Yes, I gathered that was the case, just the other day when I found the two of you here, still showering" "Was that acceptable, sir?" "Totally, Clyde. Now that I've met you, I have no concerns at all about you being around here, together with Kent, as much as you like. I'm pleased that you seem to want to keep each other company." "Thank you, sir; that we do. But my Mom's place would be an absolute no-go zone for us, in that sense." "I certainly understand, Clyde. Please feel free to come here whenever Kent asks you over." "He's been asking me a lot recently, like every school day." "And, are you ok with that?" "Most certainly, sir. I like a younger boy who needs it often, needs it bad. I like him to have it from me just as often as he requires. It's just that there needs to be a place we can escape to for that, into our own shared world. Otherwise, it just doesn't happen the way, as often, as it should, and that can be very frustrating." "I can understand that, of course, especially for lads your age. I'm so glad Kent opened up to me about wanting to bring you here." "Yeah, Kent needs me, if that doesn't sound too cocky, sir." "Of course not; I understand totally." "When Kent and I first spotted each other in the showers at school, I could kind of sense what his needs might be. He wasn't gawking bug-eyed at me, the way lots of the younger boys do, especially the first time they run into me in that situation. I'm totally used to that by now, have learned to ignore it, in fact." "Not surprised, Clyde. I imagine you get the young-boy sort of reception a lot, no?, especially from boys not as sophisticated as my son. You're impressive, no doubt about it, in a way Kent now knows how to appreciate fully. So with Kent, it's not just curious, bug-eyed gawking, or perving, I think. He wants to convey to you that it can be a lot more than that." "You're absolutely right, sir. Kent was more subtle, and used quite a different approach. As a matter of fact, though, I have to say I noticed Kent first, even before we encountered each other in the showers, when he first noticed me. Do you mind if I tell you about that?" "Not at all, Clyde; I'd be eager to hear how the two of you got started." "Well, I was in the changing room after training, preparing to shower, but still in my gear. Kent came in, fresh from swim practice, was talking to a fellow swimmer with his back to me, still in his Speedos. They had not noticed me, probably because I was still geared up. From across just a couple of benches, though, how could I – sir, your boy has an absolutely incredible booty! – how could I possibly miss that sweet `lower crack cleft' of his? It shows up so well when he's in his swimwear! I took a mental snapshot of him from the rear, so I could scope him out later in the showers, when he'd perhaps have taken his Speedos off to wash himself. Kent didn't perv me at all, sir, and yes, he certainly does know how to appreciate. I could tell that just by how he reacted after catching sight of me in the showers." "Yes, and what were some of the tell-tale signs for you, Clyde" "Your son has absolutely gorgeous, mouth-watering rear-parts, sir, especially how he's slightly open down below, that lovely low cleft on him. He'd seen me coming along in our walk-through shower, I guess, and maybe that inspired him somehow. While bathing there under a shower-head and facing outwards, he actually turned and let me have a good look at his assets, putting that low cleft of his clearly on display. He certainly seems to know what a lovely calling card that is! But what he did was done subtly, sexily. He got me to stop in my tracks, something I've rarely done in the showers before. I watched the water cascade down his back, over his perfect mounds and then sort of gush out of his cleft down below. I was totally mesmerized there for a moment, and Kent noticed, of course. From then on, the dynamic became pretty clear to the two of us, sir. We got to chatting soon after, in the locker room." The wine is clearly loosening Clyde's tongue, I'm pleased to note. "But, there have been other lads who got you to stop, `in your tracks'?" "Well, sir, I don't mind telling you I have a special, rather deep, long-staying interest in boy-butt. A nice one, especially a low-clefted one, is going to give me to pause, yes." "There must be a fair amount of that at school, no? – observable in the showers?" "There is, sir, though a nice low cleft is not all that common. But younger boys are typically shy, skittish, if not downright scared by me; many of them just bolt, on my approach." "Hmm, they lack the kind of experience that would sustain curiosity in you, perhaps? "I think the curiosity is there, sir, and it's pretty strong too; but they are often totally inexperienced in everything but gawking, curiously." "Frustrating for you, no doubt" "It is indeed, sir. There are, of course, `old boys' who come back to school from university to train with their former teams sometimes. Since leaving high school, some of them have been around a bit, gotten themselves mounted here and there. When they see me in the showers, they come on to me, big-time." "And how do they do that?" "They display, of course, that they are ready for me ... or so they think. But they are just so much less subtle, less sexy than your boy, sir. They'll lift a butt-cheek when I'm looking in their direction, or, if no one is around, even squat down on their haunches and splay their thighs, showing it all. While standing, some even spread both cheeks. Sir, I like boys, and such behavior is in no way `boyish', in my view." "We can agree on that, Clyde. So, you must feel Kent is a bit different in that respect, not skittish, of course, and more sophisticated than the `old boys', though he's still only fifteen, right?" "Yes, sir. That's precisely what's so special about him, as I realized on that first encounter of ours in the shower. Rather than acting skittish, let alone bolting away, he turned himself round, displaying, totally unaffectedly, his charms so I could see them better than I'd been able to as I approached him. And yet, in no way was it `in your face', `old-boy style'." "Did it occur to you that he might be making you some sort of offer?" "Well, a low butt-cleft on a boy always strikes me as an unspoken offer, sir, if I may say so, the gap needing filling. But frankly, I wasn't thinking of Kent in quite those terms yet. I was just aroused by the savoir-faire he displayed – his cool, collected reaction. Whatever it was he'd noticed about me, whatever got him to react the way he did, he seemed very comfortable with it – both with what I have, and with his own, totally natural reaction to what he'd observed in me." "I'm sure he was impressed with you from the moment you came on the scene in the shower, Clyde. He just knew how to react, unlike so many of the younger or older boys, how to appeal to you, in a subtle and suggestive way. And, as a result, he may now bring you here whenever you want him to, Clyde, every day, if that would be to your liking." "Yes, sir, that's precisely what I would like, the opportunity to mount and ride Kent, at least once a day. I'm just afraid of becoming a nuisance to you, and maybe Paul, if he were around." "Don't you worry about us. You won't get in our way. We, the two couples – I mean you two, and Paul and I – do have separate bedrooms, no?" "So true, sir. It's not as if we have to sleep in shifts, let alone", with a broad smile, "all together!" Chuckling, "In fact, my friend Paul would be very pleased to meet you, I'm sure, so there's absolutely nothing for you to be worried about." "Glad to hear it, of course, but why is that, sir?" "Well, I've told him more or less what the situation is between the two of you. He's already met Kent a number of times, of course, and he's intrigued ... by you, in particular, now." "Oh, is there any particular reason for his interest?" "Well, let me say it this way, Clyde; I've shared with Paul what I've seen of you with my own eyes as well as what Kent has told me about how special you are. And, to put it out there, well, I do for Paul what you do for my boy Kent, Clyde" "I see, sir; I do enjoy knowing that about Paul, prior to meeting him, and about you too, sir, of course." "I thought you might. As he already knows a fair amount about you, Clyde, I think, when you meet, you're going to find Paul most, eh, amenable." "And you are ok with that, sir? After all, Paul is your regular meet-mate, if I may put it that way." "Indeed he is, but I have always had Paul's true interests at heart, which means I'm not possessive in the least. In fact, I quite enjoy seeing him deeply satisfied, even if I'm not the one satisfying him at the time. I've already done that on a couple of occasions, shared Paul with someone I think would enjoy him, is worthy of him." "I see, sir; I do hope there will be a chance for us all to meet, at an appropriate time, of course. I would not want to cause any problems whatsoever between you and Paul, or with Kent." "Very kind of you to think that way, Clyde. You're a most impressive young man, with an admirable sense of self-control, meaning you can be trusted." "Well, when I find I'm in a good situation, as I feel I am now with your Kent, I'll strive to preserve it, don't want to make mistakes, cause any hard feelings, muck things up." "Excellent. And what makes the current situation so worthy of preservation, Clyde" "Well, your son, Kent, has opened himself up to me, in a number of ways; he's fully capable of receiving me, which is pretty unusual in a boy his age, I've found." "I see; from a number of things you've been saying here, I gather you tend to like somewhat younger boys?" "I do indeed, a couple of years younger, at least. That said, though, I do not like to baby-sit, mentor or train them up, just don't have the time or the patience for that. I like them already mature in the right sense, experienced, accommodating, from the day we first meet, from even before we start getting together." "I see, and you've not found many younger boys like that here in Sydney?" "No, they're all really young, in terms of thinking and experience, I've found. Few of them can accept me as I am." "And that's often a physical problem, I gather." "Always, yes. They're just not yet ready" "Hmm, but my Kent is different?" "Kent is awesome, what he's capable of. I guess he may be a bit more experienced than many of the local lads." "That may well be the case, Clyde. He's shared with me some of the experiences he's had at home pretty recently in Los Angeles, the year before he got here. The very receptive accommodation you find in him is the result of some of those experiences at home, it seems" "Awesome. It's great he can open up to you like that." "It is indeed. In fact, it's just since he's arrived here that he and I have been sharing so frankly. When he was younger, he was less sure of himself with me, probably because I was not around him that often. I'm sure he'll be willing to share some of his history with you, eventually." "Look forward to that, sir. ... May I be frank, sir?" "Why hold back, Clyde? We all know what we are." "Sir, I just find it incredibly hot that both a Dad and his bio-son are male-oriented – have never encountered that before." "I'm sure it happens more frequently than it's been reported in the press, Clyde," with a bit of a smirk Chuckling, "It was just a huge turn-on to have you look at me the way you did the other day, just moments after I'd enjoyed your young son, Kent, for the second time that afternoon, first in his own bed, then later, there in the shower, right before you saw me." "You're a total stud, Clyde -- no wonder Kent can't get enough of you. You mean when you came out of the bathroom after showering, Clyde?" "Yes, that's what I mean" "Well, you are extremely impressive, but you must know that." "So I've heard tell, more than once, sir; just never heard it from the dad of my current boyfriend" "Nice, Clyde. Glad I could give you a new, first-time thrill" "There are lots of thrills you could give me, sir, I'm sure" Clyde, now perhaps more than a tad Shiraz-laced, gets up from his side of the table, comes over to mine. Standing behind my chair, he puts his large hands down, first gently, then more firmly, onto my shoulders, letting me feel their weight. In my equally wine-flecked brain, the heft of his big wrestler's hands on me somehow translates into the gravity of his confident, eighteen year-old, total Alpha super-male-hood. He leans down and kisses me on the neck, assuming, as he would about any male he moves on, that I'm there for the taking. "It's such an incredible turn-on to know you are Kent's real, bio-Dad, sir, and not just an unrelated, temporary `guardian'. You're far closer to him, biologically, than even an uncle would be." "Glad that pleases you, Clyde. How else do you think you could be pleased? Are you wanting to know me now as well as you already know him?" "Absolutely, sir. I'd love the opportunity to take you to bed, sir, to start out by fucking you in just some of the ways I fuck your son, Kent. Are you going to offer me that opportunity, or will I have to claim it from you?" I'm thrown off guard, it bursts forth so suddenly. Before I can formulate a reply, he lifts me up by the underarms from my chair, stands me on my feet, spins me around to face him then kisses me on the mouth. His tongue licks my lips, and, as soon as they part for him, it darts in, licking the inside – gums, teeth, everything. When he exits my mouth, drawing his face away for a moment, I look down and see six inches – easily – of massive, uncut, blood-engorging but still soft penis dangling down below the hem of his tennis shorts. There'll be at least another three inches, if not more – the root of his massive shaft – still hidden up inside his shorts, I tell myself. He apparently isn't wearing any briefs or jockstrap, is free-balling. I recall what I'd made out under his beach towel a few days before, and realize it was no optical illusion. I struggle to breathe normally: is this really happening? My son's super-hung fuck-bud is wanting to head to bed with me, his fuck-boy's Dad? That's something mental, surely, but even more urgent is a physical issue: I've not bottomed in a long, l-o-n-g while, so how am I going to deal with this way over-endowed high school senior, a born top? But the lure of (i) what I already know of Clyde's body, especially his genitals, (ii) his 18 year-old insistence that I, so much older, yield to him, and (iii) the fact I know my own son just adores getting himself fucked by this young stud all combine to crush, forever, any resistance I might have felt. I start pulling him gently towards my bedroom. "Let's go to my room, Clyde." "Ah, no we're not, sir!", he replies firmly. "You and I are going to use Kent's room. That's where I've been fucking your son, when not in the shower, and that's where I intend to start fucking his Dad! Just come with me now, Nick, unless you'd rather Kent and Paul heard about this little episode, down to the last detail. Save your own room for Paul, ok?" It's the first time Clyde addressed me by name, instead of by `sir'. (He came, fairly soon, to use `Nick' more frequently.) We spend the rest of the afternoon in Kent's room, and return there after some supper. Clyde leaves for the gym around noon the next day, after a late brunch. It would not be easy to describe how I felt after experiencing Clyde; it was something like the shock of rediscovering, perhaps even `resurrecting', someone I'd known long ago, but had had no contact with, had hardly even thought of, since. Clyde had broken through me, as he is wont to do with any male bold enough to submit to him. In less than 24 hours, he'd devastated me, repeatedly, I'd been laid waste, again and again. But I'd also been profoundly re-enriched, flooded by feelings from deep inside me I'd very nearly forgotten, as they'd not been aroused for decades, to cascade over me in waves of delirious anal enjoyment. The wrestler has just finished showering again, is dressing, tossing things into his sports bag, on his way away. Gently, if not gingerly, "What do we do about Kent, Clyde?" Smiling, as if suddenly reminded of something, "Kent? Nothing at all, sir; at least, nothing on your side. Just let me look after the situation, ok? All will be well, if you let me handle it, I assure you." "Sure, Clyde; will do." 1