Date: Fri, 08 Oct 1999 13:09:10 GMT
From: Tim Foure <yngtim@hotmail.com>
Subject: New Story: "Me and Dad, part 18" (M/t) (incest)

Me and  Dad, part 18
by Tim Foure

If you are under 18 or not permitted access to homosexual erotica where you
live, then you should not read this story. The other usual disclaimers too.
___________

We got to Grandfather's house about five in the afternoon the next
day. Everyone called the house Grandfather's house, but of course
Grandmother lived there too. They had bought it when I was about seven, so
this wasn't actually "home" for any of their children. The house itself was
very large, with five bedrooms, and it sat on nearly three acres. There
were lots of trees and a pond. If it hadn't had the disadvantage of
Grandfather living there, it would have been quite a nice place to visit.

Grandfather had had an addition put on the house soon after they bought
it. On the first floor, the addition doubled the size of both the dining
room and the family room connected to the kitchen.  On the second floor, it
added the bunk room and its connected bathroom. The bunk room was just
that, a room containing three sets of built-in bunk beds with two drawers
under the bottom bunk in each set. There were also three straight-backed
chairs. The bathroom had an enclosed toilet, two sinks set into a counter
with a mirror covering the wall behind them, and a shower room. I call it a
shower room because it reminded me of the kind of facility you'd expect to
find in a gym rather than a home. It was separated from the rest of the
bathroom by a wall just over six feet high. At one end that wall stopped
about three feet short of the wall of the room. You entered the shower room
through that opening. There was no door. Inside, the entire area was
covered in ceramic tile, even the ceiling. To the left as you entered the
shower room were two rows of hooks, one at the usual height for an adult
and one which a child could reach. There were two shower heads mounted on
the wall at the end opposite to the hooks.

Apparently the bunk room and bathroom fulfilled some fantasy of
Grandfather's about how male children should be housed. I was in my teens
before I made a connection between it and the memory of my mom's "the men
need to head for the locker room now" as a signal that it was time for me
to shower and go to bed.

My mother and I were the first to arrive for the holiday. As expected, she
was assigned to the bedroom she had previously shared with my dad when we
visited. I moved into the bunk room.  Sue, my mom's older sister, her
husband Tony, and their two girls Sue and Melissa, arrived just after
us. Sue and Tony were assigned their usual bedroom too, which was connected
by a bathroom to the bedroom which Sue and Melissa shared. Sue was twelve
and Melissa was ten. In Grandfather's view of things, Sue and Melissa were
young ladies. A bunk room simply wouldn't do for them. Young ladies had to
have a bedroom. It was barely acceptable for the two girls to share one
room. I suppose if one of his children had produced another girl,
Grandfather would have added a bedroom just to accommodate her.

The two girls and I tolerated each other. We had no interests in common, so
we seldom spoke beyond a greeting, and even that was grudgingly given. It
was generally omitted altogether if there was no adult present.

Tony was a virtual clone of Grandfather. You would have thought that he and
not Sue was Grandfather's child. My dad said that in Tony's effort to be
the perfect yes-man to my Grandfather, he would repeat whatever issued from
Grandfather's mouth so quickly that you thought you were hearing an
echo. Before the divorce, when my dad had been forced to come to
Grandfather's for some occasion, he would occasionally look around when
Tony began to speak as if he was trying to locate the source of the
echo. At first my mother was annoyed with my dad for his having told me
what he was doing, but after a while even she had trouble keeping a
straight face when dad began his echo-searching routine.

Everyone was seated together for dinner that night. One by one, we
grandchildren had been allowed to move from the children's table in the
kitchen to a seat at the adults' table in the dining room. The move
signaled our having reached a certain level of maturity beyond which it was
believed that we could be counted on to use good manners and not to throw
food at each other.  Sue was very annoyed that she had had to remain at the
children's table for a year after I was moved. When she did move, her
perpetual pouting expression was replaced temporarily by a radiant smile as
she announced triumphantly that she had achieved a seat at a younger age
than I had. But in the end I felt that the unfair advantage she had been
given because of her sex was revealed for the favoritism it was when she
emptied a bowl of cranberry sauce into her lap during that same meal.

Besides good manners, Grandfather also required conversation at the dinner
table. The children were generally exempt from having to come up with
something to say on their own. But they were expected to answer when spoken
to. On the other hand, I still refused to speak to him.

My mom had discovered that there was going to be a problem with this almost
immediately after we arrived. We were in the house barely long enough to
take our coats off when Grandfather proceeded to tell me how glad he was to
see me and to put his hand out for me to shake. I simply stared at him as I
folded my hands behind my back. My mom quickly told him how glad I was to
see him too and that my hands were probably too cold from our being
outdoors for me to want to shake his just then. There was an awkward moment
between them as he considered the situation.  After all, we had only been
outdoors for the time it took us to walk from the heated car to the heated
house. Having failed once before in an attempt to discipline me, he
apparently decided to play the game my mom's way and act as if it had been
I and not she who had spoken to him. So it continued just that way. He
would speak to me occasionally, and whenever he did, my mom would answer
for me. He then acted as if I had answered for myself.

Tony had a particular problem dealing with this situation. His knee-jerk
reaction would probably have been to pull me out of my chair and put me
over his knee. He had tried to spank me once years before, but before he
could land the first blow, my dad had grabbed his arm and stopped it in mid
air. He told Tony then that it was not his business to punish me, and that
he would be sorry if he tried. Tony was a good four inches taller than my
dad and probably outweighed him at the time by about fifty pounds. There
was a tense moment between them before Tony backed down. But his wounded
ego required a great deal of salving by both his wife and Grandmother.
Since I did deserve to be punished for whatever it was that I had done, my
dad then spanked me himself.

Tony probably thought that since my dad was now out of the picture, the
rules about what he could do to me had changed. He was sitting almost
directly across the table from me, so I had a clear view of him as his brow
wrinkled and began to lower, the sure sign of growing anger. But since
Grandfather was maintaining a jovial attitude in spite of my silence, Tony
was caught between his own inclination to punish me and his long-ingrained
habit of shoving his nose up Grandfather's ass. In a short time the storm
clouds cleared from his face, leaving behind what I thought of as his usual
stupid expression.

After dinner the adults conversed, which meant they listened to Grandfather
voice his opinions.  My dad said that you had two choices when Grandfather
revealed one of his cherished beliefs at these gatherings, you could agree
with him or you could keep quiet. Tony-the-echo always agreed, of course,
and at great length.

It was during one of these evenings that I discovered that Grandmother had
the ability to sleep with her eyes open. She could maintain an expression
of polite interest, keep her eyes focused on her husband, and sleep soundly
through it all. I suppose she had had plenty of opportunities to develop
that ability in the thirty-seven years of their marriage. She gave herself
away one evening when I noticed that she was snoring gently, but
fortunately for her, I was the only one sitting close enough to hear her.

The grandchildren were excused from conversation and allowed to "go
play". Playing did not include watching tv, since the conversation was
taking place in the only room with a set. And doing anything at all with
Sue and Melissa was out of the question. Fortunately I knew from previous
visits that the pickings were likely to be slim in the area of
entertainment, so I had brought a bag of books. I chose one and took it to
my mother's room. Since Grandfather never read for enjoyment himself, he
apparently couldn't imagine his grandsons needing a light conveniently
placed for reading in the bunk room. When my mother came to her room to get
ready for bed, I went back to the bunk room to do the same thing.

Showering in the shower room always felt odd the first day or two. Since
all of the shower room, and in fact most of the rest of the bathroom, was
lined with ceramic tile, the sound of the shower was amplified as it
bounced off of all of the hard surfaces. It made the room, already large,
seem larger. And the tile was always cold, even in the summer. I turned on
both showers, aiming one at the wall to warm up the tile while I washed
under the other. After I finished, I leaned against the warmed tile,
lathered up my crotch, and jerked off with luxurious slowness. When I came,
I shot towards the hooks on the far wall, feeling proud of myself for the
distance the first shot covered before it hit the floor. I fell asleep
almost immediately when I got in my bunk.

Bill, my mom's younger brother, his wife Linda, and their three boys
arrived in the afternoon the next day. Bill and Linda got their usual room,
which connected to my mom's by a bath. The three boys were installed in the
bunk room with me. Jerry, the seven year old, was turning into a pretty
good kid. We got along. He chose the top bunk above mine. But Pete and Pat,
the four-year-old twins, were another matter. They lived in a world
entirely their own. I often thought they had their own private language
because I never understood anything either one said to the other. They
looked so much alike that not even their parents could always tell them
apart. Pat, the younger by three minutes, had a small brown birth mark on
his left shoulder. That was the only clue to which was which, other than
the fact that whatever they did, Pete always led and Pat followed. Still,
they were no problem to me. Bill assigned them the top and bottom bunks
opposite the ones Jerry and I were using. I knew from other times that we
had shared the bunk room that, come bedtime, Pat would get out of his own
bunk and into Pete's as soon as Bill left the room. They would also strip
off their pajamas. They preferred to be naked but could usually be coerced
into wearing clothes during the daytime. Sleeping, they were all over each
other. They reminded me of a litter of puppies, each touching the other for
security and warmth. Even Grandfather's edicts had not been able to
separate them. In fact, grandfather gave Pat a Labrador Retriever puppy
that Christmas, much to his parents' chagrin. He had apparently planned to
drive it as a wedge between the brothers. Instead, it too began to follow
Pete, and on Christmas night the puppy, named Roger by Pete, was sleeping
in bed with the two of them. Somehow, fortunately, Roger always ended up on
top when they squirmed around in their sleep. It probably never missed its
former litter mates.

Dinner that night was at seven. Jerry, Pete, and Pat were to eat at the
children's table in the kitchen while the rest of us were placed at the
large table in the dining room. Jerry wanted me to sit with them, which
would have suited me just fine, but Grandfather wouldn't have it. Once a
grandchild graduated to the dining room, he was banished forever from the
more comfortable atmosphere of the children's table.

Grandfather had become quite comfortable with the little game my mother had
devised to make it seem as if I was actually speaking to him. Conversation
flowed easily as dishes were passed around the table. We had just begun to
eat when Grandfather started talking about the divorce between my mom and
dad. He began by giving us a list of my dad's shortcomings, each one to be
elaborated upon later.

I had only eaten about three bites at this point. I put my fork down
carefully on the plate, put my hands in my lap, and stared at
Grandfather. He was oblivious, but my mom noticed right away.  She tried to
catch my eye, but I wouldn't look at her. I continued to stare at
Grandfather. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my mom's frantic eye
movements as she tried to tell me to go on eating. I knew she was afraid of
what might happen next.

One by one the other adults apparently also noticed that I had stopped
eating. I could tell from the diminishing sounds of cutlery on china that
they continued to eat, but more slowly. Their attention was shifting from
their food to Grandfather and me. Only the noise from the part of the table
where Sue and Melissa were seated remained the same as they continued to
shovel food into their mouths at a steady rate.

Finally, Grandfather himself noticed that I wasn't eating. He probably
didn't notice my stare at first because he preferred to have all eyes
focused on him anyhow. He continued to talk about my dad, but he began to
look puzzled. He looked around the table. I could see only my mother and
Grandmother in my peripheral vision as I continued to stare at Grandfather,
and neither one was eating any longer.  I became aware that all sounds of
eating had stopped. Grandfather's knife and fork stopped in mid air as his
narrative about my dad slowed to a halt.

"What's the matter with all of you? Why aren't you eating your dinner?" He
asked the question generally, but he had finally realized that I had been
looking at him instead of eating, so he began looking at me.

At first no one answered. Then Grandmother looked down and said quietly,
"Perhaps you should change the subject."

"What?" he asked. And then after a minute, because he apparently became
aware that I was not looking but was in fact staring at him, he looked down
and mumbled, "Oh, well, perhaps . . .  well, yes, I think so."

I looked at my mom then and asked, "May I be excused?" None of the
grandchildren left the table without permission.

She looked relieved. "Yes," she said. "Go ahead."

I got up, shoved the chair back into place, and walked out of the room. I
could see everyone looking at me as I passed them. Tony's mouth was
actually hanging open. I guess they continued to look at me until I was out
of sight on the stairs. I went straight to the bunk room.

At first I couldn't decide what to do. It occurred to me that if I called
my dad, he would probably come get me. But after I thought about that for a
while, I realized that it would just make trouble for my mom. I decided
that it wasn't her fault that her father was an asshole, and I didn't want
to punish her for what he had done. In the end I took my book and went into
her room to read.

About an hour later Grandmother slipped into the room with a sandwich and a
glass of milk. "I thought you might want this," she said.

I said, "Thanks. I'm hungry."

Then she did something that surprised me completely. She patted me on the
head and said, "You're a good boy." After that she left.

It was the first truly natural-seeming gesture that I had ever seen her
make. Always before she had toed the line that Grandfather had marked out,
which meant that she maintained a formal distance from all of her
grandchildren. It was also the first time I had ever heard her say anything
that showed disapproval of what Grandfather said or did. I already felt
fine about what I had done in standing up for my dad, but I felt even
better after receiving her approval.

My mom noticed the empty plate and glass when she came in to get ready for
bed. "Your Grandmother bring you that?" she asked.

I shook my head that she had. I waited a minute to see if she was going to
say anything about what I had done, but she didn't. So I told her good
night and went into the bunk room.

Bill was there coping with the bedtime routines of his three sons. They had
already been bathed and were struggling into their pajamas. "Jesus, you
must have balls as big as watermelons!" he said by way of a greeting. "I've
never seen anybody stare Father down!"

"I just wasn't going to sit there and let him talk about my dad that way,"
I said.

"Good for you! Your dad's a lucky man."

I didn't know what to say to that. And I was embarrassed too. Bill and I
had never paid much attention to each other before. Since he never said
much, I had always taken it for granted that Grandfather had him under his
thumb in the same way that he did my mom in spite of my dad telling me he
was not a bad guy. I started to change my opinion of him right then.

When he had the three boys in bed, he left. Pat ignored me as he climbed
down into Pete's bed, pulled off his pajamas as Pete kicked off his own,
and snuggled up to him. I wondered why Bill bothered putting them on in the
first place. I saw Jerry looking at me as I got undressed, so I smiled at
him and he smiled back. The top bunk put him right at my eye level. I put
my head close to his and whispered to him to go to sleep, and he closed his
eyes, but he was still smiling.

After my shower, as I was leaning against the water-warmed tiles, I
conjured up a memory of showering with my dad. I jerked off slowly as I
relived the entire experience. When my cum shot across the floor, I smiled
because it flew farther than it had the night before. I was totally relaxed
when I crawled into my bunk. I was asleep in minutes.

Sometime during the night I was awakened by someone shaking me. I seemed to
know it was happening for a long time before I could do anything about
it. When I did get my eyes open, I was looking at Jerry. He stopped shaking
me. "I had a bad dream," he said.

"Ok," I replied, still mostly asleep.

"I don't remember where my mom and dad are," he added in a pitiful voice.

I figured out that he was still frightened from the dream. I lifted up the
covers and told him, "Get in with me."

I didn't have to ask twice. He was plastered against my side in a flash,
his arm across my belly and his leg practically wrapped around mine. It was
the same position I used with my dad. I got my arm under his head as I
pulled the covers over him. I hugged him against me, not that he could have
gotten any closer, to make him feel secure. "Ok now?" I asked.

"Uh huh," he answered. His mouth was pressed against my chest just above my
nipple.

It only took me a few minutes to go back to sleep. As I laid there, I
realized he thought of me as an adult. I was happy I could make him feel
safe when he needed it.  It was a good feeling.

In the morning I woke up when I heard Bill come in to get the boys up. I
must have been very close to waking up on my own, because I was at least
half conscious when I opened my eyes.  Jerry was still in bed with me,
sound asleep.

"Morning," he said quietly. "He have a bad dream?"

"Yeah," I replied, almost whispering.

"Lot of tension last night. That's probably why. Thanks for taking care of
him."

"I liked doing it," I said. "Sorry about giving him a nightmare."

"Wasn't you. Father snapped at everybody after dinner. It always affects
Jerry that way. I expected him to be in bed with us this morning."

"He couldn't remember where you were," I told him.

"Good thing you were here for him then," he said as he lifted the covers
and peeled Jerry off of me. I was immediately aware of my piss hardon, so I
grabbed the covers to keep them over my crotch. With the narrow bunk and
Jerry attached to me like a second skin, I hadn't moved since Jerry woke me
up. I had pins and needles here and there as the blood flowed back into my
arm and leg.

Jerry, meantime, had wrapped himself around his dad and laid his head on
his shoulder. He apparently woke up as slowly as I did. Bill held him with
one hand across his butt as he pulled the cover off of Pete and Pat with
his other hand. They were completely intertwined. He didn't even try to
separate them, he just woke them. Unlike me and Jerry, they woke up at full
throttle.  They were on the floor and headed for the bathroom in less than
a minute.

Bill said "I'll get them out of your way as fast as I can," as he started
toward the bathroom door.

I wanted to go pee, but I thought I might as well lie there and wait until
the three boys had finished in the toilet. "Just let me know when I can get
in the toilet, ok?" I asked.

"Sure thing," he said as he disappeared through the bathroom door.

It was as if this Bill was a completely different person from the one I had
known all my life.  Always before he had tended to ignore me, as he had all
of the children besides his own. And I didn't have a very high opinion of
him since he was Grandfather's son and seemed to be even more under his
control than my mom was. Dad had said he really wasn't a bad guy, but I had
never warmed up to him. Now, suddenly, he was treating me not only as an
adult, but one he trusted his kids with and, even more, one he seemed to
like. I decided that I'd try to like him better too.

Breakfast was catch as catch can since there were so many people in the
house and they were all getting up at different times. Grandmother was
prepared to cook a number of things on demand. I was working on a
substantial stack of pancakes when Grandfather came into the kitchen. My
mom and Linda were at the table, along with Melissa, who had been run out
of her own room by her sister. You could feel the sudden rise of tension as
everyone waited to see which way the wind was blowing with Grandfather this
morning. I didn't care. I was prepared to walk out again if it became
necessary, and this time, I decided on the spot, I would call my dad to
come get me. I just continued to eat.

He sat down next to me, said a very cheery good morning, and bestowed a
smile on each person individually by nodding at them as he swivelled his
head to survey the whole table. You could feel the tension dissipate as
everyone realized he had decided to pretend that the previous evening's
events hadn't happened. The possibility that he might actually apologize
never crossed anyone's mind.

I was the first person he spoke to.

"Quite a stack of pancakes you have there, little man. You must have a very
hearty appetite this morning," he said.

I just looked at him, but my mother chimed in immediately with, "Oh, yes,
he can usually eat more than his father and I put together."

There was a bad moment when she realized she had mentioned my dad, but
Grandfather was apparently determined not to have his Christmas eve
spoiled. He recast her comment into, "Yes, children have the ability to
consume incredible amounts of food." He ignored me after that. I returned
the favor.

Immediately after the last person was fed, the grandchildren were herded
into the family room so that the men could carry presents from the cars to
the large room Grandmother and Grandfather shared. After that, the women
closeted themselves there for most of the day to wrap them. This was a
Christmas tradition.

Tony-the-echo scowled at me whenever our paths crossed, but Bill seemed to
make opportunities to talk to me. In the afternoon he asked me to go with
him to pick up the Christmas tree. It had been purchased well ahead of
time, but by tradition it was never brought to the house until Christmas
eve. I knew that Jerry wanted to go, but Bill said that we had to sneak
away and leave him behind because we were picking up some presents as well.

In the car he asked about my dad. He seemed very pleased to hear that he
was doing well.

We got the tree first and lashed it onto the roof of the car. Next we
picked up the bicycle which was the reason Jerry had been left
behind. Finally, we picked up the puppy. Bill made it clear that the puppy
was Grandfather's idea, and that he had persisted in his plan to give it to
Pat even though Bill and Linda were opposed to it. I wondered why they
hadn't simply told Grandfather not to do it, but when I thought about it, I
realized I already knew the answer. Besides, I had begun to like Bill
enough that I didn't want to embarrass him by asking.

Back at the house, I sneaked in the back door with the bicycle and puppy
while Bill distracted the other grandchildren at the front door with the
tree. Even Sue, who tried to pretend that she was too old to be excited by
all the Christmas activities, was part of the screaming mob of kids who
ushered the tree into the house. They hindered more than helped as the men
set the tree up in the corner of the family room next to the
fireplace. Grandfather watched the whole process from his throne of a
chair, beaming on one and all.

Dinner on Christmas eve was, traditionally, a hearty soup and bread to sop
it up with. The very practical reason for that was to allow Grandmother to
make dinner a day or so ahead and thereby have time for wrapping
packages. The adults raved year after year over how good the soup was and
how seldom they had anything like it. None of the grandchildren cared for
it in the least. Sue, strangely enough, was the one who finally rebelled.
It wasn't that the soup wasn't good. It certainly was. But as Sue told
Grandmother, she wanted "solid food". So did we all. After that the
grandchildren had frozen pizza.

Then we trimmed the tree, a process which took hours. First Bill put on the
strings of lights and tested them to see that they worked. After that
everyone got into the act. In addition to the ornaments that Grandmother
and Grandfather had had for years, they had started a new tradition on my
first Christmas and gave me an ornament with my name, my age, and the year
on it to put on the tree. They continued to give me another one each year,
and they did the same for each grandchild as he or she came along. The
total number of such ornaments had reached nearly four dozen. The tree
looked completely overwhelmed by the number of ornaments hanging on it by
the time Grandfather climbed the ladder to put the star on top.

Traditionally, the grandchildren's bedtime followed shortly after the
placing of the star. A half hour was allowed for appreciation of the fine
job we had all done trimming the tree, and then the grandchildren were
marched off to bed. It was usually later than the normal bedtime for the
younger ones anyhow, and as soon as they were allowed to settle down, they
usually began to get sleepy. I didn't think the curfew necessarily applied
to me, and I knew Sue was prepared to fight it if only on principle.

Bill settled the issue by asking me, "Mind giving me a hand with the boys?"
Apparently my willingness to soothe Jerry's fears in the middle of the
night had marked me as willing to help with other things too.

"Sure," I said.

Jerry thought that was wonderful. He leaped onto me, nearly knocking me
over. He wanted me to carry him up to bed as his dad sometimes did. Pete
and Pat walked. They seldom touched anyone besides each other.

As we went by Bill's room, he ducked in to change into his robe and pajama
pants. I went on with the boys to the bunk room at the end of the hall. I
knew the drill from having observed it on other visits. All three started
to undress, coming to me for whatever help they needed. Bill arrived when
they were about half finished and began to help. In a short time we were
herding three naked little boys into the bathroom.

Bill said, "Linda and I do this together at home, but Father is so definite
about this being the boys' bunk room that she feels uncomfortable coming in
here. Would you mind drying them after I wash them?"

"No," I said. I knew that Linda, while she was a pretty forceful person who
ran her own business, was intimidated by Grandfather.

Bill hung his robe and pajama pants on the adult-height hooks and turned on
both showers. From the time that my dad had said he had a big dick, I had
been wondering if I would ever get a chance to see him naked, but it never
seemed very likely. And now he was standing there as naked as his sons. And
what was better, I had a good reason for staring at him as he washed the
boys.

He was more muscular than he looked with his clothes on, and he had hairy
arms and legs. As he walked away from me, I noticed that he had muscular
legs and a rounded butt with a deep crack, probably from his years of
jogging. His chest was smooth, but a little line of brown hair started a
few inches above his navel, widened out around the navel itself, narrowed a
little again under the navel, and then widened out again to become his a
large thick patch of dark pubic hair. His dick was thicker soft than mine
was hard. It was cut, which was no surprise since I knew Grandfather's
feelings about foreskins and since dad had told me as well. The head looked
to be the same size as the shaft. His dick hung down maybe three inches
when he took off his pajama pants, but after he had washed all three boys,
the heat of the water had lengthened it to four and a half or five
inches. My own was about that length hard, but not as thick as his. I was
truly impressed. I wondered how big it could actually get. He had shortish
brown hair parted in the middle and brown eyes. His eyelashes were long. At
one point they had caught droplets of water, and because of the reflection
of the lights off the white tiles, they seemed to sparkle for just a second
as he moved his head to shake them off. I decided that he was really a good
looking guy, something I had never thought about before. I started to get
hard looking at him.

He was processing the boys through their baths with the efficiency of long
practice. Pete and Pat stood and waited while Jerry was lathered, rinsed,
and sent over to me to be dried. Pat was next, directed to his dad's
waiting hands by a shove from his brother. I had Jerry dried and wrapped in
a towel by the time Pat was ready for the same treatment. Bill lathered
himself last while I dried Pete. When he had rinsed himself and turned off
the showers, I was holding out a towel for him just as I had for his sons.

"Next," I said.

He laughed and took the towel from me, saying "Thanks. I think I can manage
on my own."

I was a little disappointed, but not very since I didn't really expect him
to let me dry him.

Bill got back into his robe after he was dry. We herded the three boys back
into the bunk room and helped them into their pajamas.

As Bill was tucking the boys into bed, I gathered up the towels and said,
"I'll hang these up to dry."

"Thanks," Bill said. "G'night. Sleep well."

"You too. G'night," I answered.

Since the bathroom had been planned for up to six people to use, it had two
fold-down drying racks for towels instead of regular towel bars. I hung up
the three I was carrying on the same rack with Bill's, which he had hung up
on his way out the door. Then I took off my clothes and went into the
shower room. I got both showers running, aimed one at the wall to warm the
tiles, and used the other to wash myself. I had gotten a completely new
perspective on Grandfather's design of the shower room while I was helping
Bill wash the boys. It was in fact the perfect setup to wash a lot of
little kids with minimum trouble and mess. Much as I hated to admit it,
Grandfather had actually had a good idea.

After I had washed and rinsed myself, I worked up a double handful of thick
lather and rubbed it around my crotch. I turned off the shower which was
warming the wall, leaned against the warm tiles, and started to jerk off
very slowly. I cradled my soapy hardon in my curled palm and started moving
my hand back and forth. The lather was so thick that I didn't even have to
put pressure on my dick because I could feel the lather itself moving back
and forth against it. Then I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to
reliving another of the experiences I had had with my dad.

The gentle sensation of the lather caressing my dick let me draw it out for
quite a while before I felt the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. I
closed my hand around my dick, producing more pressure on it as my hand
pumped more quickly. Having made it to the end of my fantasy with my dad, I
started to think about Bill again, particularly what his dick looked like
after he had showered and what it might look like hard. Then I
shot. Because I had built it up for so long before letting myself cum, the
feeling was more intense than usual. I shot hard, thinking, "I bet that
went farther than last night's."

When I had fired my last shot, I opened my eyes to see if it had. There
stood Bill staring at me.  A cold chill went straight up my spine. I felt
caught and vulnerable. I suppose I was afraid of what he would do.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a shaky voice. I felt my hardon
shrinking in my hand.

"Jesus," he said, "I never saw anything so hot in my whole life!" I noticed
as he said it that he was clutching the front of his robe with one hand and
he had the other hand inside it.

"What are you doing here?" I repeated.

"I got back to our room and then I realized I left my pajama pants hanging
here." He twitched his head to indicate them hanging on the hook behind
him. I looked at them, then back to him.

"How long've you been there?" I asked. I was getting over being afraid and
starting to get angry that he had stood there and watched me. I also
realized that I was still holding my dick.

"I don't know, not long. Jesus, it was so hot!" he said. "I couldn't
move. It was like I was hypnotized or something! I just had to watch! I
never saw anybody so wrapped up in it before."  His hands were moving. I
realized he was squeezing his dick.

I didn't know what to say then. The anger which I was beginning to feel
died away. Confusion replaced it. I didn't have any idea what to do. I
shouldn't have worried, though, because the next thing he said stunned me
with its clarity.

"Listen, I can't go back to Linda like this. She won't ever have sex with
me in this house." He sounded frantic.

With that he pulled open his robe. His left hand was wrapped around his
dick, so I couldn't see much of it beyond the head. He was pumping it so
fast that he couldn't have lasted more than a minute. He was staring
straight at me. I could tell the exact second when he went over the edge
because his eyes half closed and he broke eye contact with me. His mouth
dropped open into a perfect "O". The first shot hit the wall next to
me. There were five more, the second on the floor close to the wall, and
the others falling closer and closer to him. The last one fell near where
my long one had landed, right at his feet. He tilted sideways until his
shoulder made contact with the wall. He almost seemed to sag after his
orgasm.

I realized I was hard again. I was also squeezing my dick so hard that it
hurt. I hadn't even noticed myself doing it. I was too intent on watching
him. I let go of it. It snapped up against my belly.

"Wow," I said, looking at the trail of cum from him to where the first shot
was running down the wall. "Wow. You really shot a long ways." It sounded
lame even to me.

"Oh, Jesus!" he said. He was still holding his dick, milking it
slowly. Suddenly he straightened up and pulled his robe closed. "I'm
sorry!" he almost wailed. He spun around, grabbed his pajama pants from the
hook, and was gone.

Even though I had just had an intense orgasm, I started jerking my
dick. There was nothing slow and caressing about it this time. I simply
needed to cum. I closed my eyes and tried to picture his dick, but I had
never gotten a good look at it. It had just registered in my mind as
big. Then I shot again. There wasn't a lot of cum, and it wasn't the best
feeling orgasm I ever had, but it provided the relief that I needed. I
leaned back against the wall and gave myself a few minutes to get back to
normal. Then I set about cleaning up all the cum the two of us had
spattered across the shower room.

To be continued.
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