Date: Mon, 04 Dec 2000 20:39:22
From: Ganymede
Subject: Merry Christmas Part 2

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. PART 2. By Ganymede


     WARNING


     This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts
between men and MINOR boys. If the subject of man/boy sex offends
you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if
you are under the legal age for such material, do not read fur-
ther! You have been warned! Read at your own risk!

     The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. Cop-
ies been submitted to this archive. Placing the story in other
archives for monetary gain violates the copyright. Feel free to
post the story to Internet newsgroups or send it to your friends.
If you enjoy my story, please contribute funds to a charitable
organization providing services for boys.

     The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual,
alive or dead, is unfortunate.



     DEDICATION:



     This is the first Ganymede story to have a dedication. How-
ever, this is more than a simple "thank you". This story would not
have been written but for Teglin, the author of "Three Weeks to
Heaven". To dedicate this story to him would be nothing short of
an understatement of the value of his friendship and support. It
exists only because of him. He challenged me to write a romance in
the same way I once used to write about boys and the men who love
them. Teglin also introduced me to a remarkable young man who I
will always remember as someone who influenced my life for the
better.



     FINAL WARNING:



     If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal
in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't
your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!

                          ***!***!***

     Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. PART 2. By Ganymede



     Noon, Christmas Day



     It was noon by the time I pulled up outside the house again.
Grant gave me his familiar grin as he opened the door. Even as the
words left his mouth he was out of the Jeep and bolting across the
snow-covered ground towards the house.

     "Last one in gets to bring in more firewood," he shouted.

     I leaned over and tried to close the door that he had left
wide open. My arm was about two feet too short. I loved him the
way he was, although his exuberance was sometimes hard to appreci-
ate.

     I dutifully accepted my assignment of bringing in more wood
for the fire before I finally took of my snow-encrusted boots and
jacket. Grant was kneeling before a blazing fire, having re-
ignited the flame from the embers. He swivelled around, grinning.

     "What took you, old man?"

     "Who are you calling old man?" I grumped tiredly. "I can whip
your ass any time I want."

     "Yeah? Like you did yesterday?" Grant taunted.

     He guffawed gleefully, and I raised an eyebrow. It was impos-
sible to determine whether his comment was a statement or a ques-
tion, or whether it referred to sledding or what we had done in
the bath. Either way it left me feeling slightly uncomfortable. I
decided to ignore it.

     "We'd better start getting dinner ready. Gary said he'd be
here around four o'clock so we have to put the turkey in the oven
right away."

     "That's your job."

     "My job? I thought you were going to help me."

     "Me? I'm just a kid. My job is to sit around and watch you
work. Oh, and to play Nintendo when I feel bored."

     "You better get off that cute little ass of yours and give me
a hand if you want to eat dinner," I warned.

     Grant scrambled to his feet and followed me into the kitchen.
That's not quite true. He darted in front of me as we went through
the doorway. There was a flurry of activity as he opened the
refrigerator door and began to extract items and carry them over
to the table.

     "Well? Come on old man. Give me a hand here," he chided with
growing amusement. "I can't do everything by myself."

     We set to, truly a team if ever there was one. While Grant
tried to peel potatoes, a task that was performed largely by
squaring off the ends of the potatoes, I worked on the turkey. I
opened the plastic bag, removed the sundry items that turkey sell-
ers insist in including inside the bird, and washed off various
pieces of feather and flesh. It was amusing to think that the
chest of the turkey, though still cold and rather clammy, felt not
like a young boy's goose-pimpled butt. I patted it, then gave it a
few playful slaps.

     Grant grinned. "What are you doing?"

     "Getting it ready."

     "Yeah, but ready for what?" he laughed. "You going to beat it
into submission or something?"

     "That's for me to know. It takes real skill to get a turkey
ready. The knowledge is passed down over many generations," I said
in mock severity. "When you're ready to become a man, I'll proba-
bly teach you how to do it, Grant. However, it'll still take years
before you have the skill to do it properly."

     Grant giggled. "You're crazy, old man. It doesn't take any
skill."

     "And how do you know? You've never done it!"

     "Geez. How hard can it be? You clean all the crappy stuff out
of it and then you wash it. Then you take it in your hand and you
stuff it full." He smirked, clearly appreciating what he was about
to say next. Slowly, he added two words. "Of bread."

     "Were that it so easy," I commented dryly.

     Perhaps it was only my imagination, but again I chose to
ignore the undertone. Was it possible that a boy who was only ten
years old intended the words to mean what I wanted them to mean.
He laughed as he pushed the potatoes and peelings, or should I say
discarded chunks aside.

     I grasped the turkeys legs and pulled them further apart to
get at the rear opening.

     "Despite what you might think, this is no laughing matter," I
said seriously. "The slightest mistake and I could lose my hand in
here."

     With a surgeon's expertise, or a parody of that, I cautiously
inserted my fingers. "Hm, I mused. It feels about right. No
lumps."

     Grant burst into hysterical laughter. "You're gross, Dad.
That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

     "Yeah, right. Maybe it's time you started to learn how to do
it, Gee-Tee. This might look disgusting bit it feels really
great."

     I winked at him, the kind of exaggerated wink that says a lot
more than words can ever say. I could never have such a ribald
conversation with his mother around.

     "You're not sticking your fingers up its butt hole, you
know."

     "I'm not? Then what is this big hole doing back here then?"

     "Well, it's not its asshole, that's for sure Dad," Grant
answered indignantly, despite his grin.

     "The poor thing just happens to have this huge hole back here
so I can stuff it. Is that it? They breed them like this?"

      He stood up and came over to stand beside me. "Gross," he
repeated. "I don't know how you can do that. There is no way I'd
put my hand up there." "No way?" I glanced at him. I don't know
why I said what I said next. "How about your dick then? It'd prob-
ably fit."

     There was a momentary silence. We exchanged a look. He was
bewildered, clearly surprised that I would say such a thing. He
was lost for words. I smiled and winked.

     "Just between you and me, it really does feel wonderful in
here," I added slyly. I pulled my wet hand away from the turkey,
bits of stuffing stuck to my fingers. "Are you sure you don't want
to try it?"

     Grant blushed as he backed away. For a few minutes we concen-
trated on our respective jobs. He looked up, regarding me silently
for a long while before he spoke.

     "Dad?"

     "Yes?"

     "What does it feel like?"

     "What does what feel like?"

     "You know?"

     "I do? I wish I did. Uh? Um,... You mean having sex? What we
did yesterday?"

     Grant nodded slightly. "I told you how it felt for me so it's
only fair you tell me."

     "Haven't you done it with Brando?"

     "Done what?"

     "Put your dick in his butt?" I teased. "I don't care if you
do, by the way," I added quickly.

     Grant's mouth dropped open. He swallowed, then nervously
chewed his bottom lip. "That's not fair."

     "Huh? What's not fair?" I asked.

     "Asking me that." He thought for a second. "Would you want me
to tell Brandon what we did yesterday?"

     "That's different," I countered swiftly.

     "Is it? How?"

     "Um, well one thing it's different when you're both younger,"
I answered vaguely. "It's not against the law at your age for
another thing, least if it is no one is going to send you to
jail,... and,.... well,... you see,... it's okay with me if you
and Brandon do stuff," I muttered. "Kids do that sort of thing all
the time at your age."

     "Not that," Grant smirked.

     "Really? I'm not that dumb," I chuckled. "So have you?"

     Grant raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "That's none of your
business," he chided. "If you want to know, you'll have to ask
Brando."

     "Maybe I will," I laughed. "Then again, maybe I'll ask his
Dad."

     Grant glanced at me quickly, showing surprise. Then realizing
that I was teasing him, he shrugged and walked back to where he
had been sitting. He started peeling potatoes again, though from
the size of the chunks he sliced off, his mind clearly was not on
the task.

     "Dad, what did it feel like for you?" he asked without look-
ing up.

     "What? Oh. Uh. Um, you really want to know?" I asked uncer-
tainly. He nodded. "Okay. I don't know how to put this. Let's
see,... It's very hot. And of course it's tight. And it's abso-
lutely incredible," I admitted without thinking further.

     "Is it the same as doing it to a girl?" Grant asked abruptly.

     I smiled. "Are you trying to figure out what it will be like
if you're going to be straight after all?" I teased. "It's differ-
ent, Grant. More than that, it's hard to explain. It's unlike any-
thing else."

     "Better or worse?"

     "Than what?"

     "A girl?"

     "Better. Much better."

     Grant grinned. "Really? You're not kidding me?"

     "Really," I confirmed. "What did you expect?"

     He shrugged. "I don't know. I've never done it with a girl,"
he added as if still being a virgin at ten years old was something
out of the ordinary.

     He studied me for a few seconds as if looking for an answer
to a question that he had yet to ask. Slowly his head lowered, his
bountiful curiosity deflated for the time being.

     By the time the turkey was stuffed and in the oven, Grant was
putting the finished touches on the chamfered remains of a dozen
potatoes. Bits and pieces of potato skin littered the counter and
floor in a circle that was surprisingly well defined. I smiled,
aware of how much I would miss him if we were apart for more than
a few days. It had been a long time since I had thought that way
towards his mother. Now, her absence seemed more like a reprieve.

     He ambled back to the fireplace and stood before it, still
deep in thought. I sighed. It would take time. There were some
things that he would have to come to understand by himself. He
stood legs slightly apart, his arms folded resolutely across his
chest. He stood there for a long while, gazing into the orange
flames. I breathed out, completely entranced by the sight of him,
by the knowledge of what I had shared with him only twenty-four
hours earlier.

     Gary arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. Grant and I were
in the closing stages of a long game of chess. He challenged me
every move, but that was only to be expected because he took for-
ever to move each piece. On the other hand, I tended to play a
risky game, which would have been far more in character with
Grant's general attitude to life than it was mine. With two cas-
tles, his queen, and a bishop still active in the game, it looked
like it would take another half hour before we finished. I opened
the door to let Gary inside. He stomped his feet on the threshold
mat and shook off a dusting of snow.

     "Getting colder. It's as cold as a witch's tit out there," he
complained.

     Grant giggled. Like any preteen boy he had mysteriously
acquired the ability of immediately picking up any phrase that had
anything to do with women's anatomy.

     With his arms full of presents, Gary crossed over the tree,
dropped them into an untidy pile, and carried on to the fireplace.

     "Nothing breakable I hope?" I asked.

     "Only yours, Chris." He laughed, and reached down with one
gloved hand to ruffle Grant's hair. "You're beating your old man
again, I see."

     Grant looked up and beamed. It did not matter that Gary could
not play chess. "Not yet. But I'm going to."

     "In your little boy dreams," I laughed.

     "Maybe, but give him time. Gee-tee'll beat you sooner or
later. Until then you ought be glad that they're not wet dreams,"
Gary guffawed.

     His hand was still hovering over Grant's head. I felt
strangely at ease. It was not the first time that he had disturbed
me that day, but this was in my house, our house. I felt dispos-
sessed.

     "You want a drink?" I offered.

     That got Gary's attention. He grinned, gave Grant one last
rub on the head that was more like a playful cuff and followed me
into the kitchen. As I poured two glasses of Californian merlot,
he stood by the counter, watching Grant. he seemed to be com-
pletely absorbed, not unlike I often was when I took the time to
watch him from a distance. There was something introspective
about him, and Brandon too for that matter, that engaged a per-
son's curiosity. Perhaps it was the sense of an emerging mind
joining with the sheer exuberant joy of just being alive, that
they existed for more than the sole purpose of being happy. Grant
was leaning over the chess board, as intense as I had ever seen
him.

     "He's going to beat you this time."

     "Huh?" I mumbled. I glanced at Gary.

     "He will. Mark my words. He's giving it everything he has,
Chris. He's going to show you who's boss. You can see it in his
eyes."

     I started to walk back into the living room. About halfway,
Grant looked up, grinning gleefully.

     "I've got you beat, Dad."

     "Wanna bet," I laughed.

     I sat down beside him and considered the board. For some rea-
son I suddenly realized that I no longer had nothing to be worried
about. The look on his face was very serious, his brow furrowed as
he concentrated on the remaining pieces.

     "Six moves," he said softly.

     "Yeah, right," I replied hesitantly.

     His hand moved out, small thin fingers stroking the head and
shoulders of his queen, still considering his next action. Then
bravely, he slid the queen across the board. Under any other cir-
cumstances I might have reprimanded him for the riskiness. No
foolhardiness!

     "Is that six moves for you to win or for me to win?" I asked
as my knight logically struck out from behind one of my few
remaining pawns.

     Grant squirmed. His lips compressed. He swallowed nervously.
He glared at the board. It was hard not to smile. he seemed to
reconsidering his options. If he had a plan when I sat down, it
was very clear that it had been hastily shelved. Again, nearly a
minute passed before his hand moved out. Over his shoulder he
glanced up at Gary who was hovering nearby. He was also intent. I
had not felt this pressured since I was in college.

     "Your move, old man," Grant said softly.

     I could hear the nervousness in his voice. I breathed out.
Like me, he hated to lose. There were at least half-a-dozen moves
I could make. The one that made the most sense was to move my
knight further out on the board. It was like a general moving
reserves from a defensive position into a direct line of fire. My
fingers hesitated before I completed the move. It was very logi-
cal. Perhaps that was the problem. It was like Grant was expecting
me to do it. I glanced at him as surreptitiously as I could. He
was stoic, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as he breathed. My hand
lifted away. My decision was made.

     Grant's next move was to position his castle right before one
of my few remaining my pawns. It was one of those moves that at
first glance seems to be innocuous in the extreme, yet invokes an
intuitive feeling that something is amiss. With uncertain relief,
I realized that there was no reason to make the move beyond having
to make a move of some kind.

     "So?" Grant asked as he smiled slightly.

     "Did you say six moves? Or sixty?" I teased.

     He wriggled, twisting further onto his side with feigned dis-
interest in how I would respond. He absently moved his right hand
slowly down his uppermost flank, stopping on his hip. Then, as if
he was alone, he rubbed over his small rounded buttock. It was
mesmerizing. The memory of what had happened in the bathroom
flooded my consciousness. All I could think of was him, of him
lifting up as he squatted over me, his hot tightness pulling
against my penis, then settling by himself, driving it up into his
bowels, deeper, hotter, tighter than seemed humanly possible. I
could feel my fluids being pumped out into that grasping tube, my
penis expanding, growing bigger and harder, bursting with the
need to thrust into him. Taking over, clutching his slender body
so that he could not escape. Thrusting into him. Doing that sacred
act that men have always done to boys. Joining with him. Sharing
my manhood. My seed squirting. Taking his virginity. Possessing
him completely.

     "You got an itchy butt there or something, Gee-Tee?" Gary
taunted.

     I looked up instantly. Barely a few seconds had passed, yet I
knew that for a few seconds at least I have been so captivated by
the memory that I had been unaware of both of them. Grant grinned,
removing his hand from the furrow that had formed in the seat of
his jeans.

     "I'm getting bored waiting for someone to make a move," he
grumped as he smirked at me.

     "Oh, it's my turn," I responded. "I must have forgotten,
Hm,... sorry. I was thinking of something else. Okay."

     I moved my knight further into the attack, closing the gap
towards Grant's king which was poorly protected by a pawn and one
of his castles. Grant breathed quickly, held it in. His eyes
flickered across the board.

     "Are you sure you want to do that?" he challenged.

     I shrugged. We both knew that my fingers were already off the
piece before he said it. Not that we both took the opportunity to
"cheat" at times if it served our purposes. I resisted the impulse
to pull back. He was beginning to develop skills of psychological
warfare. He had bluffed me before on more than a few occasions.

     Again his free hand rubbed over the firm mound of his bottom,
his fingers scratching to deepen the "vee" in his blue jeans,
until his cheeks were perfectly defined like the halves of two
small melons. Again, the memories of the day before rushed back. I
had to force myself to breath deeply. I could feel his body
squirming, gripping my penis like clenched fist so tightly that
the veins swelled up. The urge had been instinctive, a frantic
need to have my penis sheathed within his hot flesh, deeper and
deeper inside his slim body. I had lost control at some point,
taking him with brute shameless force. I had become an animal
intent on a single purpose, of satisfying my desire, fulfilling my
loins. I could hear his whimpers, my mind churning in confusion as
I tried to decipher whether his sounds were the result of pain or
pleasure, or something else.

     "Hey Gee-Tee, that's gotta be one hell of an itchy butt
you've got back there," Gary guffawed.

     Grant looked over his shoulder and smirked back at him. The
expression on his face was disturbing. Both innocent and wanton,
the kind of look that said more than words could ever begin to
convey! He turned back again. His small hand slowly moved outward,
from his buttocks back to the board, lifting up a pawn that had
been inching its way down the board over the last half hour. It's
surprising how easy it is to overlook some things, even when they
are right in front of you.

     His pawn was now only a single space away from its ultimate
goal. I brought my castle back into play, moving from attack to
defense. It did not strike me as strange that I had repositioned
my castle in the same place that it had started the game nearly an
hour earlier. Grant chortled.

     "Check, old man."

     "Huh?"

     "Two moves from now, and there's not a thing you can do to
stop me." He grinned, obviously very pleased with himself.

     I shrugged. I was now certain that he was trying to bluff me.
It was an easy matter to take out his pawn as soon as it moved
again. Still grinning, his bishop swept across the board on a
deliberate charge. He bumped my castle to the side, toppling it
onto the hearth rug. I tried not to laugh but the look on Grant's
face was something that made me very proud. He had played with
skill and he knew it.

     It was my move and there was only a few moves possible. He
had only to move his pawn and I would be in check. I studied the
other end of the board, wondering whether it was possible to
reverse the situation. My knight was well positioned, but still
another move from checking Grant's king. I went for it, a last
ditch effort to win.

     His pawn crossed the finish line. Grant giggled, suddenly a
little boy who had taken on his father and managed to beat him.

     "He's a castle now," he proclaimed. "Oh, and by the way old
man, I have you in check."

     I smiled back at him. It was impossible not to be proud of
him. He had figured out the strategy, determined the moves, both
his and mine, developed tactics for each situation that could
arise, had kept the entire play in his mind, evaluated continu-
ally. He was ten years old.

     "Not mate?"

     "In another move. And there's nothing you can do to stop me,
is there?"

     "You're asking me?" I said with pretended sarcasm.

     "Has he won?" Gary asked gleefully.

     "Of course he's won," I laughed. He's got a castle and a
bishop right where he needs them. I can move my king out of the
way, but as soon as I do that, he'll move his other castle over
one space and he's mated me."

     "Oh!"

     "Great game, kiddo," I said. "I'm really proud of you."

     Grant grinned happily. "You played your best didn't you?"

     "Yes."

     "Want to play again, old man? I aced you once and I can do it
again!"

     "Being beaten once by a ten year old is enough for one day.
Besides I have to do some more work on dinner."

     I stood up. Gary looked at me expectantly, as if he should
offer to help, but not sure what he could do to help. I winked and
gestured for him to stay. if he wanted to follow he could decide
for himself and not out of any sense of obligation to help me.

     "Make yourself comfortable, Gary. If you want some more wine,
you should know where it is by now, I said as I headed off to the
bathroom for some much needed bladder relief.

     It was several minutes later when I emerged and went into the
kitchen. Gary and Grant were sitting on the floor before the fire-
flace. They were talking in subdued tones. Grant nodded. He hesi-
tated a few seconds, then leaned forward to whisper something,
words that I was clearly not intended to hear. The conspiracy, for
that's what it very clearly was, chilled my spine. I stopped very
still, watching them. I wondered what Grant was telling Gary. Gary
nodded, said a few words. Again Grant nodded. This time Gary
smiled and looked even more interested. A few more words where
whispered. I swallowed dryly, imagining the worst without any
other reason than my mind was running out of control. My thoughts
were unfettered, envious, guilt-filled, uncertain.

     Then, just as my qualms reached the breaking point and I was
about to say something to interrupt them, Gary flipped Grant onto
his back and playfully held him down. I heard my son's squeals as
Gary began to exact an adult's delight, his fingers moving quickly
into places to tickle my son.

     "No! Don't you dare. No! NO! Awh! Hey Dad! DAD? Make him
stop! Help!"

     I watched them from across the room. Gary was relentless,
attacking Grant at every opportunity. As Grant tried to escape,
Gary pulled him back, holding him in such a way that he was
exposed. His hand slid across Grant's chest, scratching between
ribs, following a pre-planned course towards the nearest armpit.
Too late Grant realized his vulnerability. He shrieked and tried
to pull his arms down to his sides.

     The sound of a young boy being mercilessly tickled is rather
like an hysterical soprano, though certainly not something out of
an Italian opera. Grant wriggled and writhed and did his very best
to get away. Gary was resolute, and considerably stronger. He
flipped Grant onto his back, pinned him to the floor with one hand
and set about finding the places where he could inflict the great-
est amount of torture.

     "Hey Gary," I laughed. He looked up. "Take his shirt off so
you can really get at that tender boy-skin."

     "You don't mind?" he guffawed.

     "Mind? After what he just did to me playing chess. You can do
whatever you want to him. Just don't break any bones."

     "How about a few bruises, Chris?"

     "Bruises are okay just so long as they are in places people
can't see"

     I stood by the kitchen table watching another man man-handle
my son into a position where he could remove his sweat shirt. Then
while Grant tried to resist, the shirt was dragged up his abdomen,
all the way to his shoulders. His bare belly was still suntanned
although not nearly as dark as it had been during the summer. Firm
flesh, rippling with young muscle, unblemished skin, a navel that
was a perfect whorl. Then, in a flurry of activity, the sweat
shirt came over Grant's head. His arms were yanked out. The cloth-
ing was discarded. He was half-naked and in another man's arms,
yet it did not seem inappropriate. He was laughing too hard and
making only a half-hearted attempt to get away to give me any
cause to intervene. Gary went back to tickling him, striking into
Grant's arm pits without warning. Grant bucked and twisted and
bellowed for me to come over to help. I owed him some support and
I slowly ambled over to stand in front of the fireplace.

     "Could you keep the noise down?" I said as I looked down at
them.

     Grant's head was barely visible from where he lay underneath
Gary. His fingers were pushing into the man's shoulders as he was
subjected to one foray after another. Gary glanced up at me, his
face full of merriment.

     "Should I gag him?"

     "It wouldn't be a bad idea," I answered with a laugh. "Just
don't hurt him too much. I'd hate to have to spoil Christmas din-
ner by taking him to the hospital."

     "I'll try not to squash him," Gary added as he pressed harder
against the boy.

     "Just keep him mostly in one piece."

     "Sure. If he misbehaves, can I throw him outside for a couple
of minutes without his shirt on."

     "Okay by me if you want to. Personally, I'd take his jeans
off as well."

     "Nah, I wouldn't want to do that. It's so cold out there, his
weenie would freeze and snap right off."

     Gary rolled to the side, finally allowing Grant the opportu-
nity to escape. he came to his knees quickly, crouching, his body
tensed to jump up if Gary made even the slightest movement. I
smiled.

     "Well, I don't think I'd want that to happen. Not that he
doesn't run around here stark naked most of the time. I'm pretty
much bored whenever I'm being flashed by bare boy-butt now."

      Gary chuckled. "I know that feeling. You know, I've always
thought the sexiest sight in the world is a boy in blue jeans and
nothing else. I think Grant pretty much proves it."

     I knew my mouth was open, the words I had been about to say
came tumbling back into my throat. He was right, of course. So
right that I was stunned by the fact that another man would dare
it acknowledge it. In only his jeans, Grant was sexy. He was
incredibly sexy. The realization took my breath away. Grant
blushed slightly, aware that both of us were staring at him. I
felt my heart pounding, recalling with overpowering intensity the
smooth warmth of his skin when I touched him.

     "Hm, I don't know about that. He plays a mean game of chess
though."

     I winked at Gary. He moved slightly, not enough to warn Grant
that we were planning something. I took a step closer as Gary's
arm began to lift. Grant saw it coming too late. He tried to jump
back but he was between Gary and me, with the fireplace at the
back. Short of bolting for the opening between he, he was caught.

     "What are you going to do?" Grant asked suspiciously.

     "Do? What on earth makes you think I'm going to do anything?"
I said slowly.

     I picked up the king I had lost so ignominiously. I weighed
it in my hand, thoughtfully. It was hand carved, polished wood.
Grant's penis was not much different in size, although the deli-
cately grained body tapered considerably as it approached the
crowned head. I smiled, the kind of smile that sends a warning.
Grant edged away until he felt Gary's hand against his thigh. I
started to ease downward onto the floor, moving slowly so as not
to arouse his suspicions. He looked back at Gary, eyes pleading.

     "Okay. What's up? What are you going to do with that?" Grant
asked nervously.

     "Nothing," I answered. "Only, I'm,... going,... to,...
stick,... this,... right,... down,... here,...." I said.

     As the same time I was saying the words, my hands were reach-
ing out, grabbing both legs. Simultaneously, Gary reached around
from behind him and clasped Grant's arms tightly to his sides.
Immobilized, there was nothing that he could do as I pushed the
crowned end of the King down between his belly and blue jeans,
making sure that his underpants were not in the way. For that sec-
ond or two that my fingers touched his bare warm skin, I felt a
shiver of excitement. It was as much from knowing that only a few
short inches away was a place that was considerably warmer and
softer than he belly. I pushed the king downward, until it disap-
peared, until my fingers were under the waist of his jeans. From
his sudden screech and frenzied jerking, it had to be in the imme-
diate vicinity of his genitals.

     "No! hey! Don't! That's fighting dirty, Dad! Hey, stop!"

     We released him at the same time. Grant scrambled away, his
face distorted by a grimace that left no doubt in my mind that he
thought he had been abused. It was hard not to laugh at his dis-
comfiture. He groped his crotch, feeling the foreign object pok-
ing dangerously close to something else.

     "What did you go and do that for?" he demanded. He moved
uncomfortably, stepping backward as he eyed both of us suspi-
ciously.

     "Well," I laughed. "You wanted it so badly, I thought I'd
make you a present of it."

     "Very funny!" Grant retorted. He scratched at his crotch,
trying to reposition it.

     "What's the matter, Gee-Tee? Is the king playing with the
family jewels?" Gary teased.

     Grant made a face that was intended to show his contempt but
instead, looked rather like bewildered clown. I fell back onto the
rug, laughing. When I finally managed to stop and sit up, Grant
was glaring at me.

     "What's so funny?"

     "You are! You ought to have seen the look on your face."

     "Hmp," Grant grumped. "It's easy for you to laugh, old man.
It's poking right into my nuts."

     "Then you had better take it out before something gets hurt,"
I said, still trying to avoid bursting into what would surely turn
out to be another prolonged laugh.

     Without hesitating, Grant unfastened the metal button at the
top of his jeans and yanked his zipper all the way down. His jeans
opened at the front, revealing the bright red of his briefs. He
also revealed something else, something that he may not have real-
ized was going to be seen. Then again, perhaps he did. The vermil-
ion nylon was certainly stretched over the bottom of the miscreant
king as it jutted into the underside of his small scrotum. However
there was another bulge of a quite different nature, but one that
was infinitely more arousing. it was also more obvious.

     He was erect, a condition that both Gary and I realized at
precisely the same instant. His stiff penis pointed directly up, a
long tube lying along his belly. It looked not unlike half a hot-
dog, just as long and thick, though any details of color and tex-
ture were hidden under the cloth.

     "First time I've seen a boy with two woodies," Gary joked as
he stared meaningfully at Grant's groin.

     I laughed again. "Unfortunately only one of them is the real
thing. Hey, Grant, I think you better get that king out of there
before he tries to get revenge and does some real damage," I chor-
tled.

     Grant glared at me, yet he ended up smirking. "Your king is a
dirty old man!"

     He reached under the waistband of his briefs, sliding his
fingers past the elongation of his boyhood, plucked the king from
its uncomfortable resting place and withdrew it with a surprising
amount of bravado.

     "Dadahhhh!" he exclaimed as he held it up.

     Gary gave him a sly look as he came to his feet. "I can't
imagine how you got the other woody. You must be very ticklish in
certain places."

     I watched from the floor as Grant nimbly closed his zipper
and refastened the metal button. There was no denying that I felt
envious. Another man had just made a sexual pass at my son and I
was lost for words. Similarly, there was no denying the sudden
question that rose in my mind. Gary's words reverberated with
other thoughts, all of them centered of why Grant had been sexu-
ally aroused. And he had been sexually aroused. It was not just a
matter of a spontaneous erection, although he was quickly getting
to the age when he would start having them. This was different.

     His eagerness to reveal that part of his anatomy to our
inspection, was nothing short of willful. Even as a toddler, Grant
had been volitional whenever he was allowed the opportunity. His
sense of independence sometimes drove his mother mad. Me? I rather
enjoyed how he always opted to do the things that he enjoyed. In
my book, it was a sign of leadership. Whatever had happened on the
floor while he wrestled with Gary was something that he had wanted
to do. It gave me cause to wonder whether Gary and Grant were
closer than I imagined.

     I came to my feet, aware that my face was red. My son's hard-
ness, as much as his shameless grin disconcerted me. I needed to
think. I made a lame excuse about having more work to do in the
kitchen and headed off.

     It was however, no less disconcerting to see them talking
quietly. They stood a few feet apart, Grant looking up to Gary,
who smiled and nodded back at him. he asked a few words, perhaps
of clarification. Grant nodded, smiled, looked shyly downward.
Gary spoke again. For am moment Grant shook his head, then slowly
he shrugged. Gary asked another question. Again, the same vague
response. Then Grant nodded and said something. Gary reached out,
placed his hand on the boy's slender shoulder, squeezed. Grant
looked bashful. He was quiet for a few seconds before he looked up
into Gary's steady gaze. Again Grant said something. Again, Gary
nodded before he replied.

     Grant backed away a step. He was smiling. I got the distinct
impression that he would have rushed into Gary's arms at the
slightest indication that a hug was appropriate. He wandered away
towards the collection of toys that he had received for Christmas.
For a few seconds Gary continued to watch him. He glanced toward
the kitchen and slowly ambled towards me. He stopped before the
counter and took another sip of wine.

     "Good vino, this, isn't it?" he asked blandly. I nodded. Gary
paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Hey, I'm sorry about the
woody thing in there."

     I winced. "Huh? Sorry? What on earth for?" I replied uncom-
fortably.

     "Hell, you know." He smiled weakly. "I didn't mean to. If I'd
known,...."

     I shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "It's not like you were
playing with his dick. You weren't were you?"

     Gary laughed and shook his head. "Of course not! I'd never do
that, at least not without asking you first. Don't worry, Chris.
Your boy is perfectly safe around me. Of course, I can't say the
same when he's with Brandon."

     I scrapped the knife I was holding across a carrot. "It's
okay by me."

     "Meaning?"

     "Boys with boys are one thing."

     "Ah?" He smiled. "But it's a different matter with a grown
up?"

     "After what we were talking about earlier today, I'm not sure
about you."

     Gary leaned against the counter. "Did something I said bother
you?"

     "No, not really. It's just a bit strange talking to another
man about his sexual experiences as a boy, that's all."

     "Would it have bothered you as much if I talked about my
first pussy?" Gary joked.

     "It probably wouldn't have been as good a story," I said
truthfully. "You were really having sex with a man at ten?"

     "Yes." Gary smiled, obviously remembering something that had
occurred many years earlier. "You want to know something?"

     He hesitated, looking out the window at the ice-covered pond.
A sudden gust of wind disturbed the snow, sending a glittering
shower of snow crystals from the roof. He sipped his wine again,
then slowly swirled the remainder in his glass.

     "It was wonderful. In fact, I have some great memories of
this place."

     "Such as being in a rainy day in the tent with John?" I que-
ried.

     "That too," Gary grinned. "You know, I lost my virginity
right around here."

     "John was a lucky boy."

     "John? Uh,... yeah him too. Mostly I was thinking of his
dad," Gary laughed.

     "Huh? I thought John was your first."

     "He was. I was doing stuff with him by the time I was ten. We
started off sucking each other's dicks, but boys being boys, well,
it wasn't long before we were going all the way."

     "All the way?"

     "Sure. You have to remember that we lived on a farm. You
don't grow up around animals and not know what sex is all about. I
might have been a kid, but I had no qualms using the back door."

     "How did you and John's father get into it?" I asked awk-
wardly.

     "It was only a few months after John and I started doing it
when I went camping with both of them. I didn't know much about
sex, except that I liked it, of course," Gary guffawed.

     "You sound pretty much like me, only I was a couple of years
older," I admitted.

     "I also knew I wanted to try something with a grown up. So
when all three of us went skinny dipping, I sure wasn't in a hurry
to get my clothes on." Gary hesitated. "Are you sure you want to
hear this?"

     He looked at me with obvious amusement as I put the carrot on
the cutting board, giving him my undivided attention. A sideways
glance into the living room convinced me that Grant was unable to
hear anything we said if we kept our voices down.

     "Sure."

     "We stayed naked until it got dark. When we went into the
tent, of course there was really no point in putting our clothes
on." Gary reflected for a few seconds. "It was all pretty open. I
mean after you've spent the best part of a day naked, there's
nothing left to be ashamed about. Anyway, he told us if we wanted
to have some fun, we should just go ahead and to ignore him."

     "And?" I prompted.

     "We did. Mostly just feeling each other up,... nothing par-
ticularly hot, at least not at first."

     "He watched you doing it?"

     Gary shrugged. "On and off. I could tell he was interested.
Then after a while I guess we got a bit more excited. The next
thing I knew I was lying on my side and John was sticking a couple
of inches in my butt while his father was sucking me off."

     My eyes opened wide. I knew what was coming. My heart
pounded. I was listening with rapt interest to a person who I had
been close friends with for several years recounting his boyhood
exploits. At the time, he had been eleven when he had sex with a
grown man for the first time. It was close enough to Grant's age
that it made no difference.

     Gary smiled, again reflecting on the experience that had
changed him for life.

     "It really is a lot different with a man," he said absently.
"John would do it really hard and fast and I still wasn't happy.
Of course I didn't know why at the time, but something was miss-
ing." He smiled ruefully. "I couldn't get off with John, at least
not all the way. I only had to have his dad in me for a few sec-
onds before I would be shaking like crazy."

     I mutely considered the carrot shavings on the cutting board
as if they held the answer to my dilemma. I was both excited and
curious. I had to know what everything that had happened. I needed
to know the exact details. It was as if Gary's story held the
knowledge I so desperately needed in order to deal with the sud-
denly changed relationship between Grant and me.

     "You mean an orgasm?" I asked uncertainly.

     Gary smiled. He was unashamed and he met my eyes confidently.
"A man is just so much bigger so I guess he was hitting the right
spot. Only it's more than just the size though. The feelings
were,..." He paused, searching for the right word.

     I remembered what Grant had said as he tried to express his
feelings. 'At the end, I thought I was going to die or something.'
It was impossible that I had not hurt him, but at the same time
there was no denying that he had also experienced intense plea-
sure, pleasure that had been both frightening and awe inspiring,
pleasure that had taken him to a place where he had never been.

     "It's hard to explain. It's pretty bad the first time or two
with a man," Gary continued with a rueful shrug. "But, if he's
careful it still feels incredible despite the pain."

     I nodded anxiously. "Why don't you tell me what happened in
the tent with John and his dad," I prompted. It was impossible to
conceal my eagerness to hear more.

     Gary smiled knowingly. "Actually, I was lucky the way it
turned out. John got me really loosened up,... so when his dad
took over, it went in fairly easily. In fact I was real lucky con-
sidering that all we had for lubricant was spit."

     "Spit?" I queried with surprise.

     "It works pretty darn good at a pinch, but you have make sure
you're very gentle if that's all you've got. We tried lots of
stuff over the next couple of years, including mayonnaise once."
He smiled at the memory. "Hell, we even did it with soapy water in
the shower a few times when I stayed at John's house."

     "Soapy water?" I repeated guiltily.

     "Sure. It works okay. It feels slippery enough, but sometimes
it can be downright tender afterwards. I suppose the soap irri-
tates the inside lining or something."

     The way he said it seemed to be nothing short of personal
advice. I swallowed awkwardly. The last thing I wanted was to
Grant to be sore because of what I had done to him.

     "I guess," I replied uncomfortably. I paused, needing to know
what to do. "Uh, so what do you do then, when it's tender."

     Gary smirked. "I found out how tender it can get the next
morning when I woke up. We did it a couple of times during the
night, so as you can imagine, I was fairly sore."

     "I can imagine. It must have been pretty bad?"

     "Mostly I was upset. I remember I cried for a while. Maybe it
was guilt," Gary added selfconsciously. "The first time or two is
pretty hard for a boy when he does it with a man."

     "In what way? The pain?"

     "Partly, but it's more than that. Once we were in our early
teens, John was more than big enough to tear me up. He was nearly
as big as his father by the time he was fourteen. Even though he
gave it everything he had, I still can't remember a time when it
really hurt me, at least not like that. The size isn't all that
important."

     "Because of the shame then?" I suggested. "It's probably
another good reason for a boy to stick with someone his own age."

     "Don't believe it! There is only one reason for a boy to
start off doing it with someone his own age. Accessibility. There
is no other reason. Sure, they are more or less equals. Even if
one would rather be on the bottom, they tend to take turns. How-
ever, with a boy and a man, there are always clearly defined
roles. The boy has to give up something,.... his manhood in a way,
because when you get right down to it, he's like a woman in a
way."

     "I never thought of it that way," I said. "So the pain is as
much psycological as it is,...."

     "Anything else," Gary ended. "That's how it was for me. I was
very nervous the next day. I expect I resented what he'd done to
me. Even then, I still liked him a lot. I just felt,... I don't
know. Exploited, maybe."

     "Were you ever forced to do it?" I asked uncomfortably.

     "Hardly. I was always very willing, Chris. At the time, I
felt like I'd done something terribly bad. All my friends used to
make jokes about perverts, and I guess getting your butt fucked by
a man is about the most depraved thing there is when you're ten or
eleven, but at least I knew what I was after that. I was gay, and
I was scared. My parents would have killed me if they ever found
out. They would drag me to church every Sunday and never know what
I was doing about an hour after I got back home"

     "I expect," I replied glumly.

     "Anyway, after we packed up the camping stuff, we went back
to their house."

     I nodded encouragingly. Suddenly, I wanted to hear more. A
quick glance into the living room was enough to convince me that
Grant was oblivious to us. He was busy assembling a plastic model
of a car without the benefits of glue to keep the pieces together.
There was also no sign of the instructions, which was entirely
normal for him.

     "John's mom was in the house so we went back to the barn. I
discovered the ultimate salve for a sore butt," he laughed.

     "What's that?"

     "Lanolin."

     "Huh? Lanolin?"

     "You know what it is, don't you?" he asked. I shook my head.
"Lanolin is a natural sheep wool oil. You can buy it at any drug
store, usually in the baby care section. It's almost identical to
natural skin lubricant so it's normally used to moisturize and
condition the skin. Women use on their nipples when they're breast
feeding."

     "And there was some in the barn?" I asked curiously.

     "Sure. They had a mare with a real hungry foal," Gary
answered. "It doesn't take away the soreness but it sure helps to
heal the fissures that cause the soreness in the first place."

     "I'll keep it in mind," I said.

     Gary laughed. He looked at me with a strangely curious
expression that suggested he was reading my thoughts. "You want to
know what else happened in the barn?"

     "Sure."

     "Well, I found out that lanolin makes a really lousy lubri-
cant."

     "Huh? Why?"

     "It's much too thick for one thing," he explained with a
broad grin. "If you want something for a sore butt that also
lubricates, my advice is stick with Preparation H," he explained
with more amusement than seemed necessary.

     "I'll keep that bit of useful information in mind," I joked.

     Gary laughed again. "Well, you never know when you might need
to know what to do. However, it sure wasn't the most important
thing I learned that day," he added.

     "Which is?"

     "One of the great lessons in life is the fundamental differ-
ence between a woman and a boy."

     "I think I can figure that one out for myself," I said sar-
castically.

     "It's not what you think. A woman usually needs foreplay to
get her in the mood, but its been my experience that once he's
used to it, a boy is perpetually horny. He only needs foreplay in
order to get his ass ready for action."

     "That's a fairly unique perspective," I quipped.

     "I'm not kidding," Gary said.

     "Well you should know. It sounds like you had a lot of first
hand experience."

     "I did. The first time John must have got me stretched out
because his dad certainly didn't waste any time filling me up
again. In the barn, he must have had his fingers up my butt for
thirty minutes and I was still damned tight."

     "It hurt?"

     "Let's just say that I was glad the barn was a long way from
the house."

     "You did it with John watching?" I asked awkwardly.

     "Sure. Well, we were best friends," Gary acknowledged with a
grin. "Besides after what we did in the tent, neither of us were
virgins. I think there were only a couple of times that I did any-
thing with his dad without John looking on,..." He paused. "... or
taking what you might call a more active role."

     "I can only imagine what that might mean," I taunted.

     "Boys will be boys. I was one horny little kid," Gary admit-
ted for the third time of the day. "Fact is, I couldn't get
enough. I got laid every chance I got. I think I spent every week-
end at their place. A lot of people would say that it probably
wasn't all that good for me."

     "Still, it didn't seem to have done you much harm," I said
feebly.

     Gary smiled, picked up his wineglass and consumed the last
half-inch in one mouthful.

     "I was a lot happier at that age, Chris. I loved both of
them. I had everything what I wanted."

     "Then how did you end up getting married?" I inquired.

     Gary shrugged vaguely. "Looking back, I guess I should have
stayed away from women, but I didn't know it at the time. All my
friends were getting married. Then John moved away to college. It
seemed like the thing to do."

     "How about John's father?" I asked. "It didn't last?"

     "His father was a boy lover," Gary answered pointedly. He
looked at me as if I should understand. The look on my face
clearly said otherwise. "He more or less lost interest when I was
about fourteen."

     "Oh!"

     "That's what it's like," Gary continued. "Being a boy-
lover..... It's very difficult,.... Not only for the boy."

     I was surprised by what he said, less because of his openness
about a subject that would normally never be talked about than by
the sense that he was talking to me because I had questions. He
seemed to understand my confusion, the despair I felt of not know-
ing what to do next, the longing that had come from deep inside me
and suddenly become part of me. He seemed to understand that every
time I saw Grant, I was seeing him in a new light, that of a young
lover.

     "After a while you get used to it. It isn't as bad as it
sounds," Gary added. "You learn to take advantage of the time. It
only lasts a few years before the attraction starts to fade."

     I nodded understandingly. "You can't waste any time?"

     Gary smiled. "I didn't that's for sure. Looking back, I guess
I even took the initiative the first time. It's often that way
with boys."

     "Oh! Well, that's probably the way it should be," I replied.
"Otherwise there would a chance of,..."

     "Seducing him?" Gary finished as I struggled to find the
words. I nodded. "From my experience, you usually don't have to
seduce a boy. If he's interested, he'll let you know fast enough.
Sometimes boys can be quite overt about it."

     "Oh?"

     "Sure. Particularly if they are inclined that way at the out-
set. Even a gay kid may need a little prod in the right direction
after the first time though."

     "Because of the shame?" I suggested.

     "Yes. Like I said earlier, it can be very disturbing for a
boy. I think it comes as something of a shock. Afterwards, worry-
ing about it, knowing what his friends are thinking, not under-
standing what's happening to him, or why he feels the way he does.
It's intense, especially when love is involved."

     "Sounds bad," I commented.

     "It can be. Even the first time, the feelings are absolutely
incredible. It's like something is being torn out from inside you,
but it feels so good, you know you'll never feel the same way
again."



     "So what are you guys talking about?"

     Both Gary and I were startled at the sound of Grant's voice.
He had approached very quietly and was standing in the doorway.
His head was inclined to the side as if still trying to listen.

     "Huh? Oh, not a lot," I muttered. "Just passing the time
while the turkey bakes."

     "What feelings?" Grant persisted.

     "When you get tickled by the two of us," Gary laughed.

     Grant looked confused. "I don't get it. Why would being tick-
led feel like something is being torn out of you?"

     "When we both go for your armpits at the same time it will,
Grant," I explained hopefully.

     He did not question my feeble explanation. He backed away
until he was safely in the living room and out of harm's way. I
gestured to Gary to chase him, which promptly got him running at
full speed. I laughed and went back to my carrots. Some questions
had been answered, yet other questions remained. I balanced the
carrot I had been scraping in my hand. Suddenly I started thinking
of it as a penis, a huge phallus that could be planted in the
heated cavity of a young boy's body...... It was all I could do
not to start sucking on the narrow end of the carrot as my mind
bounced from one surreal fantasy to another.



     Nine P.M., Christmas Day

     As soon as I finished what surely had to be the most unpleas-
ant phone call I had ever had, I slammed the phone down angrily. I
had reason to be angry. I stumped across the floor, stopped at the
fireplace, tossed on another two logs. Then back into the kitchen,
opening the cabinet, filling a glass with two fingers of malt
whiskey. I drank quickly, my head still reeling from what my wife
had just said to me. It was over. Finished! I could wryly add
"kaput", "finis", and "ended". Not that it made any difference. We
were going to get a divorce. Inside I was glad, even relieved, yet
the shock was still there. I sighed and smiled weakly, remembering
my promise to Grant to come up to say good night as soon as I had
finished talking to his mother.

     However, the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was to
see him. I loved him too much to be near him when I was so angry.
He was the only good thing to come from my marriage. I sighed
inwardly. He was an exquisite child, full of life and everything
that a parent wanted in offspring. He was my special treasure. I
could not face him with what my wife and I had just decided, not
yet and certainly not knowing what I had done with him only the
night before. The truth was that I was beginning to realize that
he was everything that my wife was not.

     I swilled the liquor sullenly. At first, at least on the
drive up from the city, I had resented her absence. For a while,
during the telephone conversation, I silently hoped that we could
discuss our problems face to face. Perhaps then, I could have con-
vinced myself that the marriage was still worth saving. Now, angry
and frustrated, I merely shrugged off that possibility for the
fact was that from a distance I had a different perspective.
Truthfully, there was nothing I could say, and probably not a lot
more I would have said even if she was standing before me. I did
not want her in my life any longer. So I stood there, swilling,
occassionally sipping, brooding, resenting her intrusion on my
happiness. What I did not know was that Grant was waiting for me
anxiously upstairs. If I had known I would have gone straight up
to his room.

        I would never forget what had happened during the last day
and night. It was a little longer than twenty-four hours, but it
seemed as if I had expereinced a lifetime of happiness. Yet, while
happy in a way that I had never been before, at that moment I was
also very worried. I inclined my head, listening, thinking, try-
ing to decide what to do next, as if any other decision was possi-
ble. No longer could I hear her angry voice. The silence was both
reassuring and a cause for greater anxiety.

      After long minutes of fighting a losing battle, I had
finally stopped arguing and started listening to a bitchy dia-
tribe that did not help to solve our obvious problems of communi-
cation. There was nothing that I could say to my wife. Her
decision to stay longer in Hawaii was made. She had already
changed the air tickets to delay her return flight. She was not
able to give me a definite return date. It depended on how things
"eventuated", her words, not mine. I tried to listen for another
message, to hear what she was really saying behind the feeble
excuse that she needed to spend more time working on a new project
without the disruptions of the office. My own feeble joke about it
seeming like a trial separation was met with cold silence.

     All the time, my mind was on Grant. Suddenly, I was tired of
talking with her. I was tired of living with her. I thought of
other things, losing my concentration as she went on listing my
all-too-obvious faults. She used the "divorce" word first. I
smiled to myself. Did I really care if it was over? I did not
respond. She used it again, testing it out the way a young boy
says "fuck" for the first time. I wanted to tell her, "fuck you".

     "Well?"

     "Well what?" I said tiredly.

     "Don't deny it."

     "Deny what?"

     "God! You want a divorce as much as I do."

     "I do?"

     "It's been obvious for a long while."

     "Has it?" I replied sarcastically. "I'm not the one who's in
Hawaii."

     "What's that got to do with it?"

     "Nothing. Everything if what's-his-name means more to you
than I do."

     "Oh? It's like that is it?" she said bitchily.

     "Are you trying on the shoe to see if it fits, Sue? I'm not
blind."

     "Maybe it is time we separated."

     "Separated?"

     "I want a divorce."

     "What? But? What about Grant? we always said we'd put him
first. Don't do this to him, please."

     "Don't try to make it my fault when it's just as much yours."

     "For God's sake. Let's try to talk about it."

     "Fuck you!"

      She beat me to it. I shrugged as she eased back from the
precipice, lessened the stress, diluted the poison of her words.
There was no more invective. When I got right down to it, I had
nothing more to say. It was only a matter of minutes before I went
up to rub Grant's back. It was part of the nightly 'good night'
ritual that had started a month ago, the day after Thanksgiving.
Knowing what I now knew, I doubted whether I would be able to
touch him and still control myself. I kept thinking of what gary
had said while I was preparing our Christmas dinner. `Even a gay
kid may need a little prod in the right direction after the first
time'.

     "It's over, isn't it?" I said flatly.

     "Yes, it's over. Look, I don't know how to put this. I know
you're angry. Please don't fight me on this. I don't want it to be
any worse than it has to be."

     "Angry? yes, you could put it that way."

     I took a deep breath. There is always a part of you that
doesn't want to admit defeat. It was worse for the loser. Not that
I would necessarily come off the loser in the divorce. She would
be fair at the property settlement. She was like that. She was
only selfish in her personal relationships.

     "What about Grant?"

     "I've been thinking about what this will do to him." She
paused. "I don't want to hurt him."

     "Neither do I."

     "You want custody, don't you?"

     "Yes, of course I want custody. It's the only thing I want."

     "He'll probably better off with you. I'm always travelling.
It'll be even worse now."

     "Why?"

     "Trevor wants me to be vice-president of human resources for
the company. I'll have a lot more responsibility."

     "Then I should talk to Grant?"

     "I think it would be better if he knew sooner rather than
later, don't you? if you tell him now, he'll have time to get over
it before he starts back at school."

   With the realization that I no longer had any interest in con-
tinuing the marriage, I listened to what she was saying about the
weather in Hawaii. It was her way of saying she had nothing more
to add. The decision was made and it was my job to break the news
to our son.



      After what had happened in the bath tub during the previous
afternoon, after what had happened during the day, it was obvious
that my relationship with Grant had forever changed. It was even
difficult to think of him as my son. But if he was not my son,
then what was he? My lover? I sighed, deep in thought, confounded
by the enigma of being in love with my ten-year-old son. No matter
how much I tried to avoid it, I had a decision to make. Given the
lingering glances we shared during the evening, both of us sensed
that this night was going to be different. During dinner I
couldn't help but be aroused whenever I looked at him. From his
nervousness, I knew that Grant was also excited. I could see it in
his face. I didn't need to take his pulse to know that his heart
was beating much faster than normal. Certainly, mine had been
going at twice its normal speed.

     Even before Grant went upstairs to get ready for bed he was
glancing awkwardly at me, and then quickly avoiding my gaze. He
stuttered slightly when he asked if I would come up and rub his
back. Ever so confident with his boyish bravado, Grant never stut-
tered. His skittishness was quite out of character. I had almost
suggested that we take another bath together. The words had been
almost out of my mouth, but I stopped himself in time. I could
tell he wanted to say something, something very important to him.
I was no different. From the time we finished dinner until the
dreaded phone call to his mother, only one thought had been in my
mind. He seemed unusually shy. After my conversation with Gary I
assumed a reason that had more to do with embarrassment, yet I
really did not understand what was going on in his small tousled
head. I imagined that fear, guilt, shame, perhaps all of them had
combined to change his mood from one that was usually bright and
cheerful, to something that I found disturbing. Was he struggling
with the same powerful emotions as I was? Perhaps it was because
he sensed rejection was on the way. He certainly was frightened of
being gay, a condition that both of us appreciated was very likely
given what had already happened. Like father, like son, I supposed
wryly.

     I sipped more whisky. I should be happy. I should be dancing
with joy. I knew that I should talk with him about it. That was my
job as his father, but I also was lost for words. If only it
hadn't happened. It would be a lot simpler. For both of us, it was
too late to go back. What had happened could not be changed or put
aside, and it hung silently between us like an onerous task that
had to be confronted before we were able to move on.

     On the way up the stairs I stopped off in the bathroom. It
took a moment to find what I needed in the vanity cupboard. Then,
a few more minutes in my bedroom to get out of my clothes. For a
moment I was able to resist the urge. However the demand was
insistent, rising up in my mind until I was subjugated, a victim
of my own lust. It was beyond stopping. Shakespeare's admonition
about inevitability was all that I could think of. I was the
`player' in a drama of my own making.

      There was a faint smile on my face when I entered Grant's
bedroom. Maybe it was from the whiskey I had consumed. Although I
was far from inebriated, a glass had certainly been enough to
affect my inhibitions. Maybe it was from remembering what had hap-
pened the night before. He was turned away from me, giving the
impression that he was sound asleep. I almost left, but something
stopped me. Perhaps it was the residual anger that came from talk-
ing to Sue on the telephone and the realization that our marriage
was beyond the point of disintegrating. Beyond the words which
were clear enough in themselves, I could hear it in her voice. The
stress was not imagined. What was even worse was the feeling that
she was not alone during the phone call. Trevor Foster was with
her, standing by her side like an over-protective knight on an
royal errand. It was very depressing. However, as I stood there in
the hall, I knew I loved Grant so much that if did not matter
whether our marriage ended in divorce. He would always be mine.
She had said as much.

     The boy moved slightly and I heard his sleepy soft sign even
as I came though the open doorway. Was it his way of letting me
know that he was still awake? With quiet footsteps on the polished
wood floor, I closed the distance between us with a few paces. My
heart was beating quickly, and not from the effort of climbing the
stairs. There was another muffled sound from the bed, then
silence. I knew he sensed my presence. Even without looking up,
Grant had to know that I was standing next to him, gazing down at
him, admiring his beauty, trying to find the words to explain how
I felt about him. Seconds passed while I gazed at the slender form
molded under the folds of the comforter. He was perfect, the pic-
ture of innocence and enduring boyhood. He was stunning, snuggled
between the pillow and sheet, his tousled hair glistening in the
dim light that spilled through the doorway. Tortured by waiting,
he finally yielded to an infectious giggle. He twisted onto his
back and playfully grinned up at me.

     "I thought you were asleep," I said softly.

     "I was pretending, Dad." Grant answered.

     His eyes met mine, then darted away. Silently, he pulled the
sheet further down from his body until it bunched just a few
inches below his chest. What little I saw, was flawless.

      "So you're not tired, after all, huh Grant?" I added with
amusement. I edged closer until the bed brushed my knees, still
gazing down.

     Grant nodded gleefully. "I was waiting for you to get off the
phone, Dad."

     His eyes met mine. If he noticed that I had removed my
clothes and was now attired in a bath robe, he showed no sign of
it. Indeed, it did not seem at all out of place that I was ready
for bed before ten p.m. However, from his prone position on the
bed, Grant could not see my bare legs. He could not know that I
had nothing on under the robe, that my penis was elongated and
already half-hard. Without reason to do otherwise, he would make
the logical assumption that I had put on a robe over my pajamas to
keep warm.

     I felt happy, enjoying the familiar warm glow that I always
experienced in my son's company. We were alone, together for the
next three weeks, perhaps longer. Grant wriggled to one side, mak-
ing room on the bed for me to sit next to him. I took up his invi-
tation with a grin.  I sat down next to Grant's legs, leaning back
to switch on the lamp beside the bed.

     "What is to be this time, young man? Do you want me to start
on your front or back?" I asked.

    A playful tug lifted the covers away fro the boy beside me.
That Grant's pajama pants were already removed provoked a slight,
although carefully concealed smile on my part. I gazed down at the
young lean body before me with sexual longing as much as admira-
tion. On reflection, over the last few months I had felt the stir-
ring of desire, but since the events of the previous day it had
quickly become increasingly difficult to think of him as my son.

     Perhaps it was fortunate that Grant's nudity was only par-
tial. The interesting parts of his torso remained covered. His
slender hairless legs and thighs were somewhat darker than normal
under the yellow light of the lamp. The rest of his body was con-
cealed by brilliant-white 'Fruit of the Loom' underpants and a
short-sleeved top of his pajamas. However, his clothing revealed
the underlying form if not actual skin. What I saw was more than
enough to give me an erection.

     I waited patiently as Grant thought for a moment, appearing
oblivious to what seemed to me to be a very obvious interest in
his partially clad body. He shrugged nonchalantly.

     "You pick, Dad."

     "Hm. I don't know. Do you want me to use the car?" I asked
awkwardly.

     The 'car' was a plastic object about the size of my palm. It
had six spherical wheels in three rows of two, each slightly
larger than an inch in diameter. It was ideal for back massages
since at least several of the wheels would be in contact at any
point on his back.

     "Whatever. I think I'd rather you use your hands."

     "Okay. Let's start with a back-rub. It isn't all that late so
assuming you can stay awake, there's plenty of time for a lot
tonight."

     Grant started to turn over. I stopped him by placing my hand
on his hip.

     "Why don't you lie over me instead?" I suggested nervously.

     "Huh?"

     I smiled again, realizing the excitement that I could barely
contain. I found myself contemplating the innocent perfection of
his young body with increasingly hungry eyes. Grant was beautiful
in ways that boys seldom were. He had unruly curls that needed
cutting, large intense eyes, full perfectly shaped red lips, and a
small aquiline nose that added immeasurably to his looks and gave
his face a delicate beauty. His almond-colored skin came from a
distant mediterranean heritage on his mother's side and unlike my
northern complexion, remembered last summer's golden-brown tan
well into the winter.  Brandon paled in comparison.

     Beyond the obvious features that made him exceptionally hand-
some, there were other characteristics that bordered on almost
being feminine. His eyebrows were thin, his long eyelashes were
dark, and his arms and legs were almost totally devoid of hair.
There was barely a trace of faint peach-fuzz to be found anywhere
on his lean body. To cap it all, Grant's shy smile was teasing,
and if it was not for his young age, could easily be construed as
being seductive. The fact was undeniable. To me, ten-year-old
Grant was sensuous in a way that was highly inappropriate.

      I winked and watched Grant's eyes flicker with an interest
that denied the possibility of any sleep in the immediate future.
Neither of us spoke, both accepting a conclusion, that while not
inevitable at that moment, was certainly desired by both of us.
Until yesterday, contact more intimate than an affectionate back-
rub had seldom occurred. Then, without warning, everything had
changed. The more I thought about it, and I had thought about it a
lot that day, the more I realized that what had happened in the
bathtub had not been disagreeable to the youngster. Certainly, he
had been both shocked and ashamed at the end, but that was not
surprising given his inexperience and the intensity of what we had
shared. In those few all-too-brief minutes of spontaneous inti-
macy, our relationship had transformed.

Indeed, it seemed to me that Grant relished his new-found close-
ness with me as a special secret that we shared together. At
least, it was that way for me, but perhaps I was expecting too
much of him. He was an affectionate boy, yet his mother was never
very affectionate with him. He made up for it by drawing closer to
me. I suspected that he had yet to question, let alone understand
why I was different. I hugged and kissed him at every opportunity.
Perhaps he did understand, and at times I had even wondered myself
whether it was mutual. Was it possible that we found together,
what he could not find with his mother, or me with my wife? Either
way, I fervently hoped that Grant felt the same way I did when I
caressed his body.

     Without further coaxing, Grant repositioned himself quickly.
His swiftness and eager smiling complicity provided an acknowl-
edgement that countered his silence. His innocent prevailed
despite my lust. For the moment, I could not attribute his lack of
words to anything other than the many thoughts that had competed
for his attention as Christmas day ended. I felt a surge of
excitement not unlike what I felt when I drove my car very fast. I
felt like I wanted to breath deeply and quickly. I felt Grant's
skin prickle as gooseflesh blossomed over the silky smoothness of
his arms. When he leaned forward to lie face down, I silently
admired the small round globes of flesh beneath his underpants. I
wondered idly whether it would be difficult to get him to take the
rest of his clothes off. For a while one night of the previous
week Grant had been completely naked and I had enjoyed every
minute of his massage. In its own way, that night had been as sat-
isfying as what had happened in the soapy water of the bath tub.

     "Put your butt right over my legs, Grant," I instructed when
Grant lay belly down over me. "That way you'll be a lot more com-
fortable," I added with growing confidence.

     Grant wriggled higher, barely cognizant that in the different
position his buttocks were lifted up in the air. However, it was
certainly a more comfortable position for both of us. He sighed
with pleasure when he felt my hand begin to move in slow circles
along the rippling bumps of his spine. Desire existed within him.
I had no doubt of it, yet in a boy too inexperienced to understand
what he felt, the arousal afforded by my gentle massage became
muted and comforting. It lingered like a faint memory, an ever
present reminder that there was a lot more to life than what he
had already discovered.

     Minutes passed, and Grant snoozed contentedly, his face bur-
ied against his pillow. There was momentary thrill, a sudden
shiver, when one of my hands had finally slipped under his tee-
shirt. It passed quickly for I withdrew my fingers almost
instantly. A moment later, when he had not complained, my hand
returned and glided further along his bare brown back. He sighed
softly, audibly enjoying the sensations of my hand moving against
his silky-smooth skin. My massage technique varied, seamlessly
shifting from slow and gentle caresses over sensitive skin to pow-
erful rubs that used brute strength to stretch bone, sinew, and
muscle. Both sent shivers through him and each and every touch was
enough to tantalize nerves that made him glow with happiness.

     It seemed to me that he was barely aware that his tee-shirt
was being pushed gradually upwards, further and further until it
reached his armpits. Then my hands began to roam freely, from his
neck to the start of his buttocks where they were afforded the
protection of virgin-white cotton. My hands silently flowed along
his spine, down his flanks, across the indentation of ribs, into
the soft underside of his belly until the bed or my legs inter-
vened, down onto the ridges of his prominent hips. Despite the
insistent voice inside my head, my fingers always stopped at the
edge of Grant's white cotton underpants. At least I retained
enough self control to realize that I needed permission to go fur-
ther than that.

     From the underpants alone, I guessed what my wife suspected
but had never voiced aloud to me. Only one time had I given my
wife any real cause for suspicion about my motives over the years,
for I concealed that unspeakable part of me so thoroughly that
beyond my frequent lingering glances at young boys and an overly
supportive posture towards Grant, there was no outward sign of an
inclination that was unnatural. However, it seemed to me that my
wife still took precautions, either guarding against my unan-
nounced predilection, or denying Grant's yet-to-be-determined
sexuality. Even the clothes she purchased for him were dull, con-
cealing his slender prepubescent form. The attention-seeking
fashions that his few friends wore was supplanted by boring func-
tion in what seemed to me to be a vain effort to make the boy
appear sexless. However, in his hip-high underpants, perhaps
especially in his underpants, Grant was anything but sexless.

     I gazed down and admired the contrast between white cotton
and suntanned skin. It was a sight to behold and the thrill I felt
was almost as great as the vivid patterns and shape-revealing
nylon of Grant's Speedo when he went swimming. When he was naked,
nothing was left to my imagination. Revelling in the sight of his
revealed perfection gave me a thrill unlike any other, yet I also
enjoyed filling in the intricate details of form, color and tex-
ture of what I could not see.

     "Let's take your underpants all the way off, Grant," I said
huskily.

     I heard the tremor of excitement in my voice and I searched
for a reason, an excuse to justify removing the band of white
cloth that ensured my son's privacy. I felt guilty, yet I could
not stop myself.

     "That way you'll be even more comfortable," I muttered self-
consciously.

     Grant obeyed merely by lifting his buttocks off my legs. How-
ever, I knew that his desire had been sparked when he shivered
slightly as soon as he felt my hands graze his hips. My thumbs
hooked under the elastic waistband, my other fingers touching the
firm rounded mounds of his buttocks. I felt a weird thrill.
Although it made my heart beat faster, it was very different to
the week before. Then he had undressed himself and I had watched
his buttocks being exposed to view, the underpants being slowly
pulled down his legs until they came past his feet. Then, as now,
being naked from his shoulders down didn't seem to bother him. I
was shaking with excitement, a thrill burgeoning up inside me
until I could barely control myself. That shameful surge also was
different to the previous week, and it was only because of what
had occurred the previous day.

     Without a word, Grant lay down again, resuming the same posi-
tion. I felt the moist warmth of his crotch make contact with a
similarly heated area on my thighs where he had been lying before.
His bare sex was pressed against my leg. That alone was enough to
increase my half-erection to full strength. I breathed deeply and
tried to resist the immediate surge. He lay quietly, obviously
expecting to be touched again, this time on his bare bottom. How-
ever, intuition informed both of us that this time my touch would
be different to before. I could sense that he wanted to be
touched, just as much as I wanted to touch him, but I still hesi-
tated. It would never be the same again between us if I did. I
knew that I should get up and leave him. That was the best thing
that I could do, given how I now felt about him. Alternatively, a
single touch was all that was needed to begin down a different
pathway. If I did, it would not end there.

     I gazed down at the small mounds of his buttocks and again
tried desperately to convince myself to stop. The sight before me
was unquestionably beautiful. There was still a clearly defined
separation between public and private, but it was a sudden change
in color that lingered. A tan line contrasted what had been an
evenly suntanned back only months before, to skin that had seen
the sun's rays only when his mother was not around. Yet even while
Grant waited for the massage to resume, he sent a message to me
that he was willing. He wriggled slightly and I felt the hot
stiffness of his rigid sex poking against my thigh. His hardness
was undeniable. The spike of flesh poked against me. It was all I
could do not to gasp with surprise.

     There was a reassuring satisfaction that came from my silent
admiration of his nearly naked body. His bare flesh was overpower-
ing. Now only his shoulders were covered by the pajama top that
had been pushed up to his armpits. I longed to touch his bare
rump, to feel the smooth cheeks beneath my fingers. My hand trem-
bled with pent-up desire.

      Even as I watched, gooseflesh pimpled his bare buttocks,
although I suspected that it was chilled more by exposure to the
cool night air than anticipation of anything that I might do. I
coughed, breathing heavily. My once-steady hands were nearly out
of control. I contemplated absolute perfection. Bare-assed and up
close, Grant's cheeks were not the full soft hemispheres one would
expect to see on a young boy. Instead, his muscular cheeks were
definitely pinched, smooth and almost as white as polished pearl.
The crack was like a fissure, leading between the firm globes to
conceal a special treasure. With only a slight pressure, I could
have parted the firm flesh to reveal a precious opening that led
to the hidden passage of his no-longer-virgin bowels. Thinking
back, I could remember seeing that part of him only once or twice
since he was out of diapers, yet overnight that tiny orifice had
changed its meaning for me. After just one experience, it had
become integral to our relationship.

     My eye followed the line of vertebrae bumps to the back of
Grant's head. The boy's enduring silence was unsettling, yet I was
so struck by his arresting beauty that I had to say something.

     "You're so beautiful, Grant," I muttered to myself.

     I was  barely aware that Grant smiled contentedly. Unable to
control myself any longer, I placed both hands squarely on the
warm soft flesh presented to me. I touched resilient muscle, not
fat. Grant quivered with the same unsettling thrill that rippled
through me. My desire burgeoned and my heart beat even faster.
Adrenaline surged. I breathed deeply. His body was a gift from
God, the perfection of Nature molded in human form. My palms com-
pletely covered each small butt cheek. The flesh was firm, and
with my fingers spaced out evenly, I followed the smooth curva-
ture, just dipping into the heated narrow valley that invited fur-
ther exploration. I paused, fingertips extended into the
beckoning warmth, but only for a second. The boy's nakedness and
exposed position excited me in a way that my wife had never been
able to do in all the years we were married. It was enough to pro-
voke a heart attack. My heart was pounding, perhaps nearly as fast
as my son's. Without warning, I was breathing quickly, almost too
fast to exhale before I gulped the next breath of air. It seemed
that I had waited for this moment for years, ten years to be pre-
cise. My thumbs lightly caressed Grant's rubbery cheeks where
they joined to his thighs. I could just make out the beginning of
a small scrotum between his thighs.

     "You don't mind if I rub aound your butt, do you?" I asked
cautiously. I hesitated a few seconds. "I want to give you a very
special rub tonight, Grant."

     Grant's head moved slightly, a nod that was neither assent
nor denial. Later he would tell me that he had been frightened at
the time, not because he sensed that what he felt inside to be
wrong, but because of what he wanted me to do. At that instant,
even more so than in the bath tub, he had finally recognized the
desire that he wanted to be loved there. The undeniable truth came
to Grant as an irresistible longing for his bottom to be touched.
He didn't understand why it suddenly had become such an important
part of him. However, his dream was being realized. It was as much
about self-indulgent pleasure and wanting to appease his need for
affection as it was the result of an emerging sexual urge. With
sybaritic intent and now awakened desire, Grant succumbed to an
inner need that had blossomed the previous afternoon and was being
nurtured by the loving touch of my hands.

     "Okay," he murmured.

     My hands lifted away immediately. Grant waited, suddenly anx-
ious for my hands to continue to pleasure his body. Intuitively,
he lifted up slightly and turned his head to the side. There was
no question in my mind that he anticipated that the next contact
with his bare bottom would be more than a simple massage. I gave
way to my lust, unable to hold back. Grant trembled slightly when
he felt my hand being placed upon his firm rump, thumb and fingers
spreading out into the resilient flesh, exposing his hidden anus.
The precious opening was very small, yet having the appearance of
being somewhat swollen. It was a dark node with tiny protruding
lips formed by remarkably, still slightly puckered skin. The sur-
rounding area was clean and fresh smelling, just as I had known it
would be after his bath.

     From the side of his face I could see that he smiled. It was
an innocent smile even though the boy was no longer a virgin. What
I had done to him in the bath tub had seen to that. However,
impulsive passion was not the same as premeditated lust. This was
deliberate and it had an intensity that could not be denied. This
part of him belonged to me. I had not only claimed his innocence
with my savage thrusts, I had taken possession of him. Now, he
belonged to me. No one else had touched him there, not since he
had been toilet trained.

     Yet, the mere sight of his recently violated opening was
enough to make me sigh. In concert, Grant sighed contentedly. He
was just a little bit sleepy and my touch, even though it was
undeniably invasive, reassured him that the gentle pleasure of
the massage was about to be restored. My hand tensed. It was now
or never. While I could try to convince myself otherwise, the fact
was that I had gone into his room with only one thing in mind. It
was the next logical step. I had stopped on the way to his bedroom
for one reason only and that was to get what I needed to finish
what had begun the previous day. With my other hand, I unscrewed
the plastic lid to the tube of Preparation H I had brought with
me. I took a deep breath almost as if it was my last. According to
Gary, it served admirably as both salve and lubricant.

     What Grant felt next was totally unexpected. He jerked away,
startled by the cold dollup of ointment that I placed directly
onto his anus. Instantly his head lifted up from the pillow, his
eyes wide open as he gazed back at me.

     "What's that?" he asked anxiously.

     I froze shamefully. My hand holding the open tube owas shak-
ing.

     "It's,... it's,... something to make you feel better," I
answered weakly.

      "It looks like vaseline?" Grant asked curiously.

     He studied the jar closely, fascinated by the crystalline
bead that covered the tip of my finger.

     "It's,... It kinda like that," I answered awkwardly, quickly
taking my hand away from my son's bottom.

     "Why are you using it?"

     I knew that I looked like I had been caught with my hand in
the cookie jar.

     "Um, ah,... So you'll be more comfortable, Grant." I paused,
feeling my confidence return when Grant appeared to accept my
explanation. "It'll make you feel better. It'll take away some of
the soreness. And it's nice because it's so slippery."

     "Slippery? Why?" Grant queried. Characteristically, he pos-
sessed a dogged determination to satisfy his insatiable curios-
ity.

     I hesitated. "You have to be patient for a little bit longer
and then you'll understand," I said vaguely.

     Strangely, my answer was enough to quell his suspicions.
Grant's head eased back onto the pillow. My hand returned and my
fingers spread his small cheeks apart again. This time I studied
the tiny opening, now coated with the glistening clear gel. My
son's inflamed anus was so small that it seemed impossible for
anything larger than a pencil to pass through. Yet, I knew that
something much larger not only could enter, but had entered. The
dark bruised ring attested to the fact. Perhaps it had been a one-
time miracle, but I was more than ready to give it a second try.

     Cautiously, I brought the grease-slicked forefinger of my
other hand back to the tiny opening. I touched the tiny pucker
lightly and Grant tensed instinctively, his buttocks clenching
with surprising strength. That part of him normally associated
with defecation was being touched by a hand other than his own. It
was different to the way that I had washed him in the bath tub.
The washing was also invasive, yet it had seemed appropriate. How-
ever, what should have been unpleasant, even very disturbing to
him was not. He said nothing, accepting the strange sensations as
being nice, strangely natural, and very relaxing. Within a matter
of moments, his muscular response had faded to a feeble compres-
sion and he breathed deeply with a satisfaction that was as new to
him as it was reassuring to me.

      Then my finger probed gently, burrowing slightly into the
gap that now opened through the wrinkled verge. Grant tensed
again. No doubt he felt my finger pushing, not hard, yet persis-
tently, trying to get deeper into him before his anus tightened
up. He was being progressively violated. It felt good for me, and
I suspected for Grant as well. My fingertip tingled. Was it my
imagination that I could feel his pulse? Grant wriggled as shiver
after shiver rippled along his spine. His hips began to wriggle
back. My finger would go just a little bit deeper every time he
pushed back. I felt the warm tightness creeping along the length
of my finger. Without looking, I knew it had to be going deeper.
It was definitely getting hotter. My experience told me that it
would feel even better the deeper it went, but I also knew that I
had to be patient. Abruptly his anus squeezed and closed, ejecting
my finger even as it backed away. It was enough for now.

      My finger circled around and around, smearing more of the
greasy slime from Grant's crack into the dimple of his suddenly-
taut anus. I traced the line of his perineum back until his thighs
restricted further passage. I closed my eyes, soaking in the deli-
cious warmth that still surged through my fingertip. I could feel
the swelling of his small scrotum just before I could go no fur-
ther. By then, my hand was shaking and my thoughts were unfocused.
I realized that I had to distance myself from what suddenly had
become unquenchable lust. Reason said 'stop', but I could not
stop. I wanted to move Grant's legs further apart so that my fin-
gers could explore the tiny mound of the boy's testicles and even
reach down to find his penis. Instead, my fingers glided back,
again tracing the dividing line that led directly into his crack.
I felt Grant move slightly against me. I was suddenly very aware
that he was repositioning himself, not to be more comfortable but
to allow me better access. It seemed that Grant even pushed back
so that my finger touched his anus again, or perhaps it was my
imagination.

     I quivered with excitement when I realized that his legs were
now much further apart. Grant's willingness was being matched by
my eagerness. Unable to resist any longer, my thumb and fingers
parted the small cheeks even further than before. I brought the
tip of my index finger back to where it had started. Grant seemed
nervous, yet his excited tremble was unmistakable after my finger
circled the greasy rim of his anus several times, then once more,
tested the opening for a way inside. The tension had faded. The
opening was very small, yet instinctively I knew that the entry
could easily be made larger if I was gentle with him. The flexible
opening pulsed, offering moist hot kisses to my fingertip as it
dipped again and again into the hot depression.

     This time, I resisted penetrating, although the building urge
inside was almost becoming unpleasant. Now was not the time to
worry about what was right or wrong. Unable to stop, my finger
pushed carefully, yet resolutely, burrowing deeper. Again,
Grant's buttocks clenched instinctively. However, there was no
way that the boy's sphincter could resist my determined pressure.
Ingress of my purposeful digit was sudden. His no longer virginal
anus opened like a little mouth to gobble up my finger almost to
the first joint. Grant gasped softly, fighting the urge to pull
away, to close his anus tightly like an anemone on the beach. He
wriggled slightly, responding to my finger boring into the tight
hot passage. Inner nerves and the sense of violation finally made
his sphincter clamp tightly around my finger. My inward motion
ceased immediately.

     "Just relax," I muttered. "I promise it won't hurt."

     Grant nodded awkwardly, no doubt wondering as much about what
I was doing as why he felt the way he did. For myself, my finger
was partly inside his bottom and all I could think of was why it
seemed entirely natural for me to be doing it. His head, now rest-
ing on his hairless forearm, turned back over his shoulder to
watch me.

     "Will it hurt like last time?" Grant asked nervously.

     "Does it hurt now?"

     "Not really. It's okay. It feels a lot different to yester-
day," he added.

     "I promise it won't hurt too much," I answered guiltily.
"I'll stop if it hurts too much," I added as an afterthought.
"Just tell me if you want me to stop."

     "Isn't it dirty?" my ten-year-old son asked uncertainly.

     I smiled. The smell was faint, more of soap than feces. Fur-
ther inside, I might have second thoughts, but at that moment I
had no hygiene concerns with the freshly washed boy. I shook my
head, fascinated by Grant's immediate acceptance of that this was
no longer an innocent back rub. Indeed, I wondered whether Grant's
comment questioned habits of hygiene or morality. Rather than
answer the question, I eased my finger back. Did I imagine the
muted sound of a whimper? Slowly, I pushed my finger forward, this
time going well beyond the first joint before I stopped. I felt
the boy's slim body tremble, a slight quiver, the increased pres-
sure of a tightening sphincter before it slackened.

     Grant groaned audibly. In a matter of seconds I had tres-
passed into what should have been forbidden territory, only to
discover that my son was an eager accomplice in the game. I
stopped when the second joint was ready to breach the stretched
aperture. It was a snug fit, made very tight each time Grant's
anus contracted involuntarily. Each spasm tried to strangle my
finger, and between them I thought I actually could feel the boy's
heartbeat. However, from the expression of Grant's face I knew
that it was not particularly painful for him. Nor was it particu-
larly enjoyable, at least not yet. There was no smile to lessen my
guilt.

      His face was turned towards me, his expression uncertain,
yet accepting. The nice feelings had dissipated with actual pene-
tration, yet Grant was obviously tolerating his initial discom-
fort with something akin to innocent devotion. Somehow instinct
told me that the nice feelings would return quickly if I remained
both gentle and patient with him. For both of us, an inner and
until recently repressed need was on the verge of being satisfied
again. In the bath tub, there had been a feeling of inevitability,
a frenzied rush to satisfy an irrepressible need, an uncontrolla-
ble coupling that was nothing more than an explosion of animal
lust. Both of us sensed the different nature of the present expe-
rience. Like me, Grant felt a momentous discovery awaiting him.
Deeper inside his anus there would be wonderful feelings, strange
over-powering feelings that came from a void that could be filled
only by my penis. I needed to be very patient to acheive that
goal.

     "You can't ever tell anyone," I whispered conspiratorially.

     "I know, Dad," Grant answered. "It's the same as yesterday."

     "How does it feel, Grant? I don't want to hurt you."

     "It's okay,... feels,... funny,... It hurts a little bit, but
it's okay."

     "You're so hot inside," I observed breathily.

     The heat and pressure inside a young boy's body surprised me.
Inside, beyond the tightly compressed band afforded by Grant's
sphincter, the muscular grip had all but vanished. There, the
sleek canal became hot and spongy soft while at the same time it
squeezed and flexed, constantly changing so as to shift the stress
and guide my finger to where he wanted it the most. If felt as
though he was trying to suck my finger all the way inside him.
Even when my finger had entered beyond the second joint there were
still no lumps, just the loose moist tissue of an unsullied rec-
tum. I stopped, wanting to penetrate even deeper. The barriers of
taboo had risen like bile from my stomach.

      "You went to the toilet before you got into bed, I hope?" I
asked pointedly.

     Again Grant nodded. "Is it poopy?"

     "No."

     He smiled and answered gleefully. "I went right before I got
in the bath, Dad. Then I got in the bath and washed really care-
fully back there."

     His answer was so pointed that I felt a sudden thrill, having
obtained further evidence of his complicity. No longer did I ques-
tion that Grant was very receptive to the idea of sex play with
me. I knew he was willing. He wanted me to do this.

     "I'm going to put it in all the way, Grant" I said urgently.
"If you want me to, that is? I don't want to hurt you. It doesn't
hurt too bad now, does it?" I added awkwardly.

     "It's okay," Grant said softly. "It feels,... weird,... like
it'll start feeling a whole lot better if you put it in further."

     "I think it just takes a while for you to get used to it," I
said. "Then it'll feel really nice. Like in the bath tub, you have
to try to relax."

     I looked down and watched my finger moving back and forth no
more than a quarter of an inch at time. What I saw amused me. The
pucker of Grant's anus continued to function like little lips,
sealing around my finger so that excess grease was accumulating at
the opening. I wondered how much had actually gone inside the
tight hole because the sides of his buttocks were now glistening
with an greasy sheen. With each inward movement, Grant's anus
seemed to swallow more of my finger while keeping the lubricant
outside. I pushed deliberately. There was a slight resistance
that slowed my progress for a few seconds and then my finger was
completely embedded and transparent gel covered his knuckles.
Grant groaned and his inner sphincter grasped my finger tightly.

     "Does it hurt?"

     "Kinda,.... It feels big, Dad."

     I smirked knowingly. Compared to my penis, my finger was
insignificant in size. Last time, a week earlier, I had barely
touched Grant's small anus before my inhibitions had crushed my
urge. I had felt like a "dirty old man", the words that my wife
had used three or four years ago when she found a booklet of por-
nographic line drawings of boys in my study. I could still hear
her words of condemnation when she confronted me. I denied it
beyond they obvious artistic merit. Then, she even accused me of
trying to pervert Grant by leaving the booklet where he might find
it. She was wrong at the time, but I wondered what she would say
if she saw what I was doing at that moment.

     Smiling, I stopped pushing and caressed Grant's bottom with
my other hand. The spasms were still strong but increasingly
infrequent. At times, it even seemed that the boy was squeezing
deliberately. I twisted the end of my finger like a screwdriver,
gently boring into him. Grant shuddered immediately. Inside
Grant's narrow pelvis, a nucleus of youthful nerves responded to
my careful prodding. Despite the constriction afforded by his
narrow rectum, my finger rubbed deliberately in the region that
produced the greatest response. Immediately, Grant gasped again,
more of a groan, and his legs jerked and writhed. I smirked. I had
hit the target dead center. It had to be his prostate, immature
though it doubtlessly was.

     "Do you want me to stop?"

     Grant's head shook quickly. With my index finger now fully
contained in his rectum, my other hand moved from Grant's buttocks
and casually eased underneath his narrow pelvis. My fingers
brushed against the boy's short erection. It was another sign that
he was not only excited but very willing. Again Grant sighed. He
was shameless, smiling with unbridled contentment. When my finger
began to withdraw from his anus, his body wanted to follow it,
obeying a now-liberated desire to keep it inside. As he lifted up,
my instinct responded and I pushed my finger deeper, deeper until
it could go no further, until my knuckles were hard against his
crack. He writhed again, shifting to a slightly different posi-
tion to accommodate the added sensations. I stopped there and
waited. I could see the effect of the sensations he was feeling.

     Every few seconds part of his body trembled as if his brain
was overloaded and firing off random impulses. His hand flut-
tered, his foot jerked, his shoulders twitched. His face, con-
torted momentarily in discomfort, then beamed. He blinked, then
promptly clenched both hands. Indeed, as Grant's bowels began to
relax, the feelings became even more intense and dared him to take
it deeper. His hips and thighs quaked and lifted up, pushing his
buttocks back against me hand. Despite the fact that all four
inches of my finger had already passed through his anus, he still
wanted more.

     It seemed impossible that the fleshy tube that enclosed my
finger could be both incredibly hard and soft at the same time.
Yet, despite being tight, the lubricant-slicked lining enveloped
my finger with a mushy heat. Minutes passed before I could rotate
it easily. I could withdraw, and re-enter the taut canal without
causing Grant to gasp or grunt involuntarily with sensations that
bordered on being painful. As his sphincter muscle became looser,
I began to move my finger back and forth, agitating the organs in
the depths of the slender body before me. Bowel, prostate, blad-
der, all suffered under my slow stabbing onslaught. Grant's anus
dilated beyond my wildest dreams, getting bigger and bigger until
I could actually see past the sides of my finger into his bowels.
He was very aroused and there was no hiding it. He was sexual,
shameless, sensual. He silently submitted to waves of pleasure
that soared from his quivering sphincter. It grasped, slackened,
and sucked, always demanding continual motion despite the rawness
of tender flesh. His bladder swelled with a pressing need to uri-
nate. His tiny prostate bore the brunt of my strength. It ached,
generating a pressure of its own that became stronger and stronger
until it throbbed. Grant's body shook erratically, rising to the
challenging sensations, yet it was unable to do more, unable to
attain the high point of climax.

     Given Grant's inexperience it was impossible for him to go
all the way to an orgasm so quickly, yet his body achieved the
pleasure that nature had intended. He hovered on the brink, aware
that something lay just out of reach. He was content, yet not con-
tent. His body began to move, instinctively responding to an inner
command that undulated his hips in a parody of intercourse. He
pushed back forcefully, driving my finger into him until it could
go no further. He began to hump, slowly, gently, rhythmically. A
minute passed. Finally, Grant groaned.

     "How does it feel. I didn't hurt you, did I?" I asked wor-
riedly.

     It took Grant a second or two to catch his breath. He looked
at me, his face showing his bewilderment. It was a hard feeling to
describe. It hurt, but it didn't hurt. Nor did it feel good. It
felt strange. He wanted to stop, but he could not stop. His body
wanted to tremble continuously as if he had no control over it,
and it was all he could do not to cry. However, it wasn't hurting,
at least not in the same way it had been a few minutes earlier.
Grant shook his head vigorously. The one thing he did not want to
happen was for me to stop. My finger rotated and levered upward,
displacing his small bladder and pressuring his immature prostate
more than ever before. The urge to urinate was intensified and his
sphincter contracted, clamping around my finger, pulling insis-
tently and with more strength than the slender body seemed to pos-
sess. He was shaking when my other hand slipped under his waist
and groped between his thighs.

     "Jesus! It might be small, but you're hard as iron," I
acknowledged.

     For some reason I had expected Grant's small penis to be
limp. It did not seem possible that he could maintain an erection
in the face of the stimulation I was providing elsewhere. It was
impossible not to smile with pride. The degree of erection was
awe-inspiring and it countered what Grant still lacked in size. It
felt like it was hard enough to snap off if it was bent in the
wrong direction. It was three inches long and totally inflexible.
It felt like a bone sheathed in the softest skin imaginable. I
held it lightly, then increasingly tighter, until it felt like it
was throbbing.

      When there was no complaint, just a muted, compliant murmur,
I began stroking gently. I worked the delicate sheath over the
stiff little rod, my mind racing with lust and barely cognizant of
what I was doing. After less than a minute of luxuriating in a
plethora of sensations that began with the heat that emanated from
my son's squat stiffness, I felt Grant's buttocks clench. This
time, I had no doubt of what was happening to him. An inner muscle
gripped my finger with new found strength and an urgency that was
disturbing. His penis jumped between my fingers. Just three or
four jerks within the space of a second or two before he was done.
A moment later the spasm had passed and the rectal pressure faded.
His sphincter quivered and became even looser when my finger began
to probe again. With my other hand I quickly discovered, albeit
with some surprise, that his penis seemed to have lost none of its
hardness. This time I went full depth into the weakened passage,
searching for the origin of Grant's pleasure. I realized that
although he had achieved orgasm, it was only the first of many.
There were advantages to be a prepubescent boy. Grant was breath-
ing quickly with erratic gasps, his toes and fingers curled up.
Beyond that, he did not seem to be experiencing discomfort.

     "Are you okay?" I asked huskily.

     I really didn't expect Grant to answer. I bored deeper,
twisting my finger into the narrow confines of the boy's bowels
until I could go no further. When my finger slid out through the
small orifice, Grant's buttocks instinctively lifted up to retain
it. I had no hesitation in putting it back. Penetration was not
only remarkably easy, it also seemed painless. I stabbed back into
the mushy heat with more force than necessary. Grant grunted once,
then whimpered quietly when my knuckles were again pressed hard
into his crack. Again I withdrew all the way, and again, Grant's
body tried to follow, his cheeks compressing valiantly to hold it
within him.

     I smiled in disbelief. In the space of just a few moments it
appeared that not only was the youngster enjoying it much more,
but his anus had dilated even further. Now it stayed open slightly
even when my finger was withdrawn Indeed, the opening felt quite
loose on my finger. Suddenly, what had previously been a fantasy,
had become entirely within the realm of being achieved. It was not
only possible that Grant could accept a second finger, but with
luck, he would want much more before the night was over.

     "Bring your legs up," I instructed urgently. "So your butt is
higher."

     Silently, Grant shifted. My finger remained buried, ensconced
securely in the narrow passage, providing both guidance and a com-
forting presence for him until he was crouching over my thighs.
Now, his little rump was lifted up and the full depth of his crev-
ice was exposed. There was no reason, at least not one that either
of us could explain, yet the different position was more agreeable
to both of us. With his buttocks parted, my access was completely
unrestricted.

     "I'm going to put two fingers in you now," I rasped. "It'll
probably hurt a bit, at least at first. It shouldn't be too bad. I
want you to take a deep breath and push back when you feel my fin-
gers going inside."

     "Huh?"

     "Just do what you do when you're trying to poop. Do what you
did in the bath tub."

     I placed two fingers clsoe together. Pushed slightly, bur-
rowed in a fraction of an inch. Grant groaned bravely and pushed
as hard as he could. It felt exactly the same as when he was try-
ing to expel a large stool, except that nothing came out. Instead
something went in.

     "U-a-h-u-w-a," he cried.

     It was a weird sound and I froze. Both of my fingers had pen-
etrated suddenly, already well beyond the first joint. I could
feel Grant's anus squeezing frantically, trying to pass something
from his body. I resisted my first impulse, hoping that a stool
did not appear. I wasn't sure what I would do if it did. I eased
my fingers back slightly the instant that Grant relaxed, but the
deed had been done. He whimpered until the pressure eased to a
mild stress that he could deal with.

     "Are you okay?"

     Grant nodded slightly. "Both your fingers are inside me now,
aren't they?" he said softly. "I can feel them. It feels,....
funny, in my tummy like, but it's not. It makes me feel like I
have to go pee, only I went right before I got into bed."

     "That's good," I acknowledged with a knowing smile. "I
wouldn't want you to wet your bed. I think sometimes it just feels
like that."

     Grant was quiet for several seconds. I knew he was trying
hard to understand the feelings that were raging through his body.
There was a nagging sense that I should stop. It came not from
violating him or doing something against his will, because he was
obviously willing, but because what I was doing was altering him.
My fingers were making the change happen. I imagined that I could
change him forever if my fingers just went in far enough. I held
my hand perfectly still, keeping the pressure constant. The boy's
anus clamped, relaxed, then clamped again. The sphincter pulled
hungrily at my fingers with each contraction.

     "It's,... it's hurting now," Grant gasped through pursed
lips. He groaned again when the stress began to build inside him.

     "You can move around and get comfortable if you want, Grant."

     "Don't stop, okay?"

     "I think it will feel even better when you're used to it," I
swered hopefully.

     I waited only for a few moments before my words had the
desired impact. Grant shifted again, repositioning his pelvis by
lifting upwards so that my two fingers, now halfway ensconced in
his bowels, were no longer pressing into his bladder. When he set-
tled down again, my penis pressed directly against his erection.
He was unaware of the slime being excreted from the tip of my
penis. It was slick and very slippery. My swollen, oozing glans
ground against his scrotum, my throbbing shaft moving alongside
his penis, burrowing between his silky thighs. Grant grunted the
instant my fingers moved, shuddering as new and very different
sensations rushed through him. His anus tried to clamp down but
the muscle was already weakened. The sensations burst free and he
peaked. He quaked and groaned, jerking relentlessly, frantically.
His orgasmic spasm faded almost instantly, replaced by a juicy
firmness that opened into the depths of his twitching rectum. My
fingers pushed in until the orifice was stretched wide, then
levered down. I began to rub across a tiny swelling, a mound no
larger than a marble. It felt like a knob of bone was buried just
behind the boy's rectum.

     Grant moaned, his feet pushing against the bed, his buttocks
lifting higher. He squeezed down, then pushed back up to get even
more inside him, compressing his belly, wanting the agonizing
pressure to go away almost as much as he wanted it go on. He
groaned when he felt the pressure increase to the point where he
could no longer stand it. It was hard to breath with his face
forced against the pillow, but he dared not take lift away. I
could see him muffling his panic in the feathery down beneath his
face. Perhaps he was afraid that I would hear the strange sounds
he was making. Instead it excited me, thrilled me in a way that my
wife had never been able to do during foreplay, or even during the
hurried thrusting that accounted for intercourse.

     It was a frenzied rush when it came to him. He humped against
me frantically, rubbing our penises into a turmoil of rigid, jerk-
ing flesh, mine oozing copious fluid as it began to swell and grow
even harder. I felt my testicles tighten, the first warning sign
that I had only a matter of seconds left. Grant tried to breath,
but he could only gasp without exhaling. It felt like something
was bursting inside him again, like something wanted to come out,
that if he pushed hard enough it would actually happen. It hap-
pened for me immediately after Grant collapsed against me, still
trembling as his frenzied jerking faded. Knowing that my son had
orgasmed, was enough to send me over the edge.

      My penis lunged, taking orders from a primal master that was
intent on ejaculation despite my reluctance to do so with Grant
lying on top of me. With my mind already on sensory overload, it
seemed like it was happening in slow motion and not in the space
of a few all-too-brief seconds. I felt my testicles pull tightly
against my body, the sudden increase in stiffness, the pulses of
rising fluid, the erratic jerking that I could not control. It was
impossible to stop what I had started. After the first few spurts
had sprayed between our bellies, the warm wetness from my body
oozed over his genitals covering them with my milky fluid. I
clutched the boy, pressing hard against him as I continued to
ejaculate the last of my sperm. I was physically exhausted and the
night had barely started.

     It took only a few moments before Grant had recovered suffi-
ciently to raise his head and look at me. He smiled shyly, know-
ingly, agreeably. This time there was no guilt or shame to darken
his countenance. From his expression I could see that like me, he
had just experienced the pinnacle of love. With love came an over-
powering joy that was undeniably satisfying. There was wonder in
his eyes along with the mystifying acceptance of a boy's first
really intense climax. Until then ecstasy was foreign to him, but
from that point on, it was something he would always be able
enjoy. I was not naive enough to imagine that he had not experi-
enced orgasm prior to this, however Grant did not have to tell me
that what we had just done together was very different to anything
he had done with Brandon.

     I nodded slightly and lovingly stroked his back. He settled
down against me, content to have his back rubbed. I expected that
he was also struggling with the knowledge of what we had done, and
I hoped that getting him to relax would help him to accept it.

     A few minutes passed before Grant resumed his normal cheerful
self. He had calmed down, or rather his penis had softened enough
that it was no longer a dangerous weapon. Still shy, he moved back
to his haunches, lifted up and climbed off. He resumed a position
on the bed, lying on his side and facing towards me. He seemed to
be pensive. I was content to let him lie. I stroked his flank,
trailing my fingers from his knee to his waist. I lost track of
time. If this was what it was it was going to be like being in
love with Grant, then I had a lot to look forward to. I had never
known such utter and complete bliss.

      Then when sleep seemed like the only avenue, he startked me
by sitting up. His mind was finally made up. He grinned at me
shamelessly.

     "Hey Dad? Can we take another bath together now?"

     I stretched my legs, sliding my hand across my semen-drenched
belly. I needed a shower. It was sticky and still slightly warm.
There was as much of it on Grant's body as there was on mine, but
it did not seem to bother him. He seemed remarkably at ease given
that my fluid had spurted over his body from his chest to his
crotch. He was covered in wet streaks and he needed a bath. How-
ever that would mean getting up from the comfortable warmth of the
bed. I trailed my finger in it, musing that this very same fluid
had been responsible for bringing Grant into the world. Lovingly,
I reached over and dabbed the edge of the sheet at his groin. Ten-
derly, I and wiped away the wetness I had placed there.

     "A bath? You took one tonight already, didn't you?"

     "Yeah, so?" He grinned from ear to ear.

     "Why a bath?" I asked.

     "You know."

     Grant's voice was suddenly soft and uncertain, conveying his
growing anxiety. I turned to him, saw him stretched out almost
naked beside me. His tee-shirt did almost nothing to keep him
warm.

     "Does it bother you having my stuff on you?" I asked with
guilty concern.

     Grant giggled. "'course not. It's just your baby-making
stuff."

     "Are you cold?"

     "No."

     "Then why a bath?"

     Grant smiled shyly. "'cause," he whispered. I wanted to kiss
him. "You know why, Dad."

     "I'm not sure I do."

     "'cause of,.... You know," he began awkwardly.

     He giggled. Then swallowed. He was a peculiar mix of emo-
tions, floundering in childish innocence, while judging from the
quickly changing state of his penis, his newly discovered lust was
rampart again.

     "Don't you want to do it to me again?" he asked nervously.

     Suddenly it all became clear. In his childish ignorance, he
had associated what had happened with me in the bath the night
before with how we would always have sex. I started to laugh.

     "What's so funny?"

     "You are. We don't have to have a bath together to do that,"
I answered.

      "Huh?" Grant was surprised, if not amused.

     "Of course not. We can do it right here on the bed if you
want."

     "We can? But,... I mean,... do it here? Like what about the
mess, you know if I poop and all."

     "So, we'll put a towel under you." I grinned. "Where on earth
did you get that idea?" I asked.

     Grant pursed his lips and gave me a shame-faced look. It was
very evident he had no intention of telling me, or of revealing
the full extent of his lack of knowledge.

     "You mean,...'s okay here? How?" he muttered with a rapidly
growing smile.

     "How?" I asked. I presumed he needed an explanation of the
mechanics of anal intercourse. I grinned back at him. "It's really
quite simple. You can lie on your back and lift your legs up, or
you can crouch down and I'll get behind you. There's probably lots
of other ways to do it as well. All you have to do is to be in a
position so it can go in nice and easy."

     He smirked. "Not how. Now?"

     I raised up on one elbow. "Now?"

     "That's what I said," he smirked.

     "You mean? You want to?...Right now?"

     Grant shrugged nervously. "Don't you? You wanted to last
night, didn't you?"

     I sighed, still harboring guilt. "That was,... well it was
different Grant. I kind of lost control. I couldn't stop myself."

     "You don't want to do it now?" he asked uncertainly.

     "Uh, well, I,... I guess.... I,... I don't know,... God,
Grant! This is really hard for me."

     "Well? It's hard for me too, you know."

     "It's,..."

     He smiled, appreciating humor that I could not see. "What
you're saying is you don't want to, but you really do. I know you
do. You wanted to do it last night just as much as I did."

     "Then why did you run off?" I asked.

     Grant bit his bottom lip pensively. "I got scared I guess.
When I got out and you were looking at me, I wanted so bad to get
back into the bath with you. Only I was afraid."

     "What were you afraid of?"

     "Nothing." He sighed. "Of what you would think of me. 'cause
I forced you."

     "You didn't force me to do anything. I wanted to," I admit-
ted. "It was a beautiful thing for us to do together."

     Grant smiled weakly, then becoming a little braver, he
grinned. "So what about it? Do you want to do it now?"

     I sighed again. There was no fighting my natural impulse. He
could see that I wanted to. My penis was already lifting up to
point directly at his chest. I needed to make love to him more
than I could stand. Not since I was a teenager had my penis
returned to erection within a few minutes of achieving climax. I
felt the rush of blood, my heart beat increasing to its previous
rate. The mere thought of mounting him, now, in his bed sent a
thrill of excitement such as I had never known with his mother. I
looked him in the eyes.

     "Are you sure?" I asked gently.

     Grant nodded slowly, deliberately, unequivocally. I gave in
jubiantly, yet wondering whether I would suffer the same remorse
again.

     "Okay. Let's try it. I want you to lie on your side and pull
your knees up as high as you can," I muttered.

     I trembled with excitement as Grant positioned himself. His
head was on the pillow, his knees hard against his chest. His
right hand draped over his side, his fingers pulling against his
uppermost cheek to open his glistening crack. Feeling a growing
sense of trepidation, but completely overpowered by Grant's
shameless offering, I wriggled forward until the head of my penis
nudged his anus. Leaning on my elbow, I looked down at the side of
his face. The expression was endearing, if a little disconcert-
ing. His eyes were half-closed as if concentrating. Perhaps he was
trying to decide if he really wanted to do it. His lips were open
lightly. He breathed steadily, slowly. Then his fingertips
brushed against the side of my penis, lifting it slightly higher
so that there was no doubt where he wanted it to go. There we
stopped, both knowing that we should not do what our lust
demanded, but that if we tried, we would succeed and we would not
be able to stop what followed. Eventually, lust won over inhibi-
tion. I pushed gently to let him know what I wanted. Grant pushed
firmly back at me.

     On the Internet I had read stories about young boys and men
having sex. The details of anal sex ran the full gamut. More often
than not, the man's penis slides right in. Sometimes there is a
description that is purported to be realistic, of a bloody and
painful penetration that gradually changes to pleasure as the
boy's anus dilates. Logic says that a considerable amount of pain
ought to be expected when an adult penis passes through a young
child's anus. Given those fictional accounts, I was unprepared
for what happened that second time with Grant. Of course, it
helped that he wanted it inside him, that my fingers had already
considerably loosened the small orifice, that I used a lot of
Preparation H on both of us.

      With my penis pointed directly at the tiny target, I pushed
harder against him. His eyes closed and he tensed momentarily when
I pushed. I could feel him pushing out simultaneously. Some people
describe it as a 'pop' when a man's penis comes out of a preteen
boy's anus after intercourse. That is true, but very few describe
it that way when a penis first goes in. Not that I heard a 'pop'
sound, at least not like a champagne cork 'popping'. The sound I
heard was more like 'Nnnnnngggghhhhhhaaaaoooooowww' as Grant
wailed. However, it felt like a 'pop. One moment, my glans was
wedged outside his anus, the next instant, it was buried within
him, the ridge of my glans just behind his inner sphincter.

     Grant's hot moist pressure overwhelmed me. My penis felt like
it was encased in a very tight tube, which is exactly what it was
except that the tube was alive. Erratic muscular contractions
rippled along the short length of my penis that was now embedded
inside him. Every pulsation made my heart beat faster. I had never
been so aware of ability of my penis to provide me with pleasure.
If I tried to withdraw even a fraction of an inch, Grant's rectum
seemed to surge down and clamp around my penis, holding my throb-
bing organ tighter than a grasping hand. Within him, I discovered
a place that was both soft and hard, smooth and rough, at the same
time. No woman, no amount of masturbation, could feel like this.
It also felt distinctly different to the first time in the bath-
room. For one thing his body seemed to be both hotter and tighter,
but I think I was also more aware of what was happening. The feel-
ing of being held within his firm clutches was exquisite, far bet-
ter than the tactile sensation of his sphincter squeezing against
my finger.

      My penis responded by becoming even stiffer, a hard ramrod
of human flesh that wanted one thing, and one thing only. It was
all I could do not to start thrusting against him. Even though I
was almost as inexperienced as Grant, Gary had made me aware of
the need to go slow, to let him become accustomed to the added
girth as it slowly eased into him. His body trembled and momen-
tarily, instinctively attempting to excrete my penis with power-
ful muscular spasms. I held him tightly, pushing resolutely,
waiting for him to recover control. A few more seconds, and he
squirmed and shuddered from the unexpected onset of another con-
traction. And then, as that last-ditch effort to protect his inner
chamber faded, he deliberately squeezed against me. It was the
sign I needed.

     I pushed, not forcefully or overly hard, but persistently. It
was more than enough. My hard sex slid deeper, gliding on the oily
slickness we shared. There was no friction between my well-
greased penis and his equally well-greased anus. Within seconds,
we passed the point of no return when my penis was about a third
of the way inside him. Each time I flexed my shaft, I thought I
could feel the firm resistance of bone.

     Without warning, Grant jumped, tightening his buttocks and
trying to pull away from the strange pressure within him. The head
of my penis had pushed hard against his immature prostate. He
lurched again, gasping and trembling as my penis flexed instinc-
tively. Each time my penis levered upward, it compressed the tiny
gland behind Grant's pubis. He was conscious of a very different
stimuli, a cacophony of marvellous sensations that cascaded
through him and made his body twitch and quake. Again I paused, as
much to let him get used to the added length as to become accus-
tomed to the tremors that began under his spine. He lay very
still, immobile that is except for spontaneous nervous tremors
that made him quiver erratically.

     "Okay?" I whispered. "I'm going to start now. I promise I'll
stop whenever you tell me to. I don't want to hurt you."

     Grant's only response was an urgent movement of his tousled
head. I could hear and feel him panting for each breath. His
silence was a little disturbing until I realized that he was try-
ing hard to control his body's natural responses. He was forcing
himself to relax, to give himself to me, to ignore the pain, to
accept the discomfort as a portent of a greater miracle. I took a
slow deep breath. The second time was going to be every bit as
important as the first time if only because he was knew more or
less what to expect, and the first time had to have hurt him
badly.

     I began gently.

     For a long while, my thrusts were very slow, barely travel-
ling an inch into his lush heat, before backing away. It bothered
me that each time my penis drove into him, it elicited a muffled
gasp. Yet, he did not move away. Indeed, I reached over his bare
flank and lovingly cradled his penis in my hand. Half-erect, half-
limp, not hard, not soft, teasing the tender rounded tip with gen-
tle squeezes until it stirred back to life. I felt the fullness
slowly return, stretching outward along the length of my fingers
until the head brushed against my palm. I cupped his tiny testi-
cles, rubbing them lovingly as I marvelled that something so small
could be so important to his body. Grant lay silently, with com-
plete contentment while he was being pleasured both front and
rear. There was no rush. My movement slowed until I lay still
behind him, partially embedded, yet not so far inside him that I
was exposed to stimulation sufficient to provoke a climax. He grew
harder with every passing minute, his penis becoming inflexible
and unyielding. It was a boy-boner in every sense of the word,
tumescence within, unbelievable soft outside.

     Finally, unable hold back any longer, I resumed my slow
rhythm. His body had slackened further during that brief inter-
lude. Within the first few thrusts, my inward movement was met
with movement back, impelling my penis to penetrate a little fur-
ther. Slowly, Grant's resistance diminished. His gasps became
soft whimpers, his buttocks clenching when I eased away, shudder-
ing when I entered too far. Then, acting purely on hunch, I began
to stroke into his bowels with short, hard jabs. With my penis
more than halfway inside him, I had no doubts that it was prima-
rily rubbing in the region of his prostate. Immediately, Grant
groaned loudly.

      After a few seconds he trembled and writhed against me.
Lying behind him, I could not see his face, yet I knew it was con-
torted, grimacing in the sudden shock of an approaching orgasm. I
felt his body stiffen, quivering, straining against me, sucking
in air, gasping hard and fast. He bucked and jerked, and I real-
ized he was experiencing the ultimate pleasure of his sex. His
orgasm was short-lived, nothing more than a few seconds of unpar-
alleled ecstasy. His rigid penis throbbed and jumped once, twice,
three times under my fingers, emitting nothing but pure pleasure.

     I paused, poised to continue, enraptured by the knowledge
that I had taken him to new heights. It was a time of constant
discovery. He would never be the same again, but then, neither
would I. Momentarily, I wondered whether his orgasm had resulted
from my forceful abrasion of his prostate, or the stimulation of
his slowly shrivelling penis. Either way, it did not matter.

     I started again, now intent on satisfying my own needs. Each
time my penis thrust into him, he made sounds that were neither
groans or grunts, but which came from deep in his slender chest.
On the out-stroke, he whimpered, tightening his anal muscles to
keep me deep within him. I proceeded slowly, carefully, gently,
always cautiously, yet pushing the limits a little more every
time. Sometimes he locked his anus around my manhood. It was his
way of letting me know that he wanted more. As the passive one,
Grant was at my mercy, his own sex diminishing rapidly until it
was nothing more than a useless appendage hiding between his slim
thighs.

     Suddenly, the nauseating nature of what was happening struck
me. Not that sex with Grant was repugnant. Far from it. It was a
wonderful, joyous thing to share with him. However, he was a boy,
and I was systematically subjecting him to a role that denied his
maleness. What I wanted was not to subjugate him in a passive
role, but to have him as an equal partner, as a lover. Of course,
not all things are possible, and it was unlikely that Grant would
be able to do to me what I was doing to him until he was well into
his teens, yet he could participate in other ways. I lifted his
upper leg until it was perpendicular. That placed my penis between
the sandwich of his small buttocks. While it was not uncomfort-
able, it limited the ease with which I could move back and forth.
Then, I positioned his foot behind my leg, wrapped one arm around
his chest and pulled him into me. My penis sank deeper, penetrat-
ing nearly five inches before a spongy barrier prevented further
entry.

     I reached for his small hand. As if protection was necessary,
it was clasped over his little limp penis. I lifted Grant's hand
away from the now sweaty softness, guiding it down further between
his legs. His finger tips brushed my erect penis where it joined
to my scrotum. Gradually, he explored along the swollen length to
discover where it entered his body.

     "He feels so big," Grant murmured.

     "But does he feel good?" I whispered back.

     "Uh,.... dunno,...."

     "You don't know?"

     "s' hard to explain. 'feels,... really funny."

     I moved slightly, pushing in about inch before backing away.
Two slippery inches came out before I stopped. Grant's anus tight-
ened, gripping to retain my glans.

     "No!" he commanded. "Don't take him out, Dad. I want him in
me."

     "Who's taking him out? Not me, that's for sure," I said
enthusiastically. "This is the best I've ever felt. I might feel
funny to you, but you feel absolutely incredible to me. You're one
incredible kid."

     I pulled Grant hard against me, and kissed his shoulder and
neck passionately. His hand fondled the lower half of my penis,
rubbing in the accumulated juices where my penis disappeared into
him. My hand joined his, holding his small hand in place. I found
myself marvelling that his body could stretch far enough to hold
me, although the tightly stretched band encircling my penis
revealed the stress he was under. The veins and arteries in my
penis were bloated and prominent as the flow of blood was con-
stricted. His hand reached down and grasped my testicles,
squeezed mercilessly, pulling on them, drawing me to him, into
him, returning my penis to its rightful place. He groaned as the
pressure resumed against his prostate and bladder. I stopped mov-
ing, feeling my penis and Grant's tightly stretched rectum puls-
ing together.

     "You can fuck me harder if you want," he said softly.

     I did not use obscenities myself, not even under extreme
provocation. Under any other circumstances I might have lectured
Grant about using words like that, even punished him. Not this
time. I was somewhat surprised that he knew the word, yet it was
entirely appropriate to describe the situation.

     "Are you sure, Grant?"

     "I want you to, okay?"

     I meekly complied with his desire, returning to the slow
undulation that he seemed to enjoy the most. A few minutes later,
the slow rhythm had changed. Forceful pummelling that was two
inches short of going all the way inside him was interspersed with
gentle rocking that barely moved my penis inside him. It was
exactly what he wanted, if his moans of encouragement meant any-
thing at all. And he did encourage me, pleading for it faster and
deeper like an accomplished partner who knows what he needs to be
satisfied, then gasping for breath as the sensations overwhelmed
him. Grant's anus loosened further, becoming succulent as I
stirred his inner membrane, churned the grease to slimy oil, added
my own copious emission of pre-seminal juice. His third orgasm of
the evening was different yet again. It built slowly, like a ket-
tle on the fire getting hotter until it boiled. The fire consumed
both of us, made the minutes vanish, creating a seamless memory of
motion, languid, energetic, a turmoil of emotions. Then, just
when I was beginning to believe that he was not going to reach the
peak again, Grant began to thrust against me.

     "Faster," he rasped.

     That single word, as much as his frenzied pushing provoked my
own orgasm. I felt my testicles tighten as my penis throbbed, the
urgency of impending ejaculation. My entire body was focused on a
single purpose, that of putting semen as deeply as possible into
Grant's body. It was all I could do not to ram against him with
all my strength. I pumped frenetically, felt the torrent rising up
within me, gushing out into the trembling boy. One blast followed
the next, seemingly endless spurts, but in fact only half-a-dozen
that became a drool as . H, his hips made erratic jerks that
matched my own in intensity even if nothing was released from his
shrivelled penis. As the final spasms passed, I clutched his heav-
ing body against me. I kissed his shoulder, nuzzled his sweaty
hair, marvelled that I had made to love to him again. This time
there were no tears, no shameful departure. He was exhausted and
he lay very quietly, content to be held and comforted in his post-
orgasmic bliss. My erection faded quickly, yet it was so deeply
inside him that it did not pull free. My attempt to remove it from
its sloppy hot abode was swiftly dispelled.

     "Don't!" Grant said hoarsely. A moment later. "Don't take him
out."

     "Okay. Does it hurt?"

     "No! You feel so good."

     "So do you."

     "You're so strong. Your arms are really muscular. I never
thought of you as being so strong."

     I grinned and hugged him tighter. I was proud and pleased,
and very aware of the contrast between us. Although the thought
was somewhat abhorrent to me, Grant had inherited many of his
mother's characteristics. Beside Grant's slender body, my body
appeared brawny, my skin unpleasantly rough and hairy compared to
his smooth sleek skin. Enveloped in my arms, he seemed delicate,
almost feminine, as if born to the passive role I had consigned
him. With my aggressive act of love, I had reduced his maleness to
a faint trace that could be erased if I was not careful.

     If there was one thing I regretted that night, it was that
Grant fell asleep before I told him how much I loved him. I was
smitten and part of me wanted him to know how I felt about him.



     DECEMBER 26, 1999

     When I woke up, my penis was still inside Grant. I had fallen
asleep like that sometime after eleven o'clock, resisting the
urge to pull free by rationalizing that it might wake him up. How-
ever, it was more than that. Being inside him gave me such intense
satisfaction, that I began to hope that I could stay there for-
ever. His heat flowed up my penis and seemed to pull me further
into him. My morning erection came naturally. I felt it grow
harder, extending outward into his slick rectum. With only the
slightest assistance from me, it slid along the still greasy tis-
sue until it was two thirds of the way inside him.

     We had done it only one time during the night, but it was
enough to bring both of us to complete exhaustion. That morning,
as I cradled him, snoozing contentedly with his leg draped over
mine and lovingly caressing his warm smooth chest, I was happier
than I had ever been. It was impossible not to think about what
had transpired during the night. At least thirty minutes, thirty
wonderful minutes that were indelibly imprinted on my memory. I
would never forget. Grant would never forget. What had started
with a bath together had reached full blown passion. We were rush-
ing headlong into something for which there was no single, simple
answer. If we were not already, we were quickly becoming lovers. I
smiled, dismissing the immediate guilt that came from knowing I
had twice had sex with my son.

     Was it possible for him to be both a son and a lover? I had
often considered myself as his best friend, well second-best,
because the honor of best friend undoubtedly went to Brandon. And
me, I was not too old for a best friend? I would want it to be
Grant.

      Grant woke up with a start. I tightened my arm around his
chest and held him for the few seconds it took for him to remem-
ber. His head turned, smiling slightly.

     "Hi there, lover-boy," I said. "I was beginning to wonder if
you would ever wake up."

     Grant's lips parted to enable a slight smile. "He's still in
me, isn't he? I can feel him," he said sleepily.

     "Uh huh. You want to close your eyes and go back to sleep for
a while?"

     Grant attempted to grip my penis with his inner muscle. It
was a feeble effort at best, but he was a long way from being
fully awake.

     "He's so big and hard."

     "Of course."

     "He was hard during the night too," Grant said.

     "How do you know?"

     "Because I kept waking up and each time he was big. Only you
were asleep," he added critically.

     He smiled shyly and I wondered what else had happened during
the long dark hours of the winter night. A minute tickled past and
I gently stroked his lean flank. I felt a deep sense of well-
being, contented merely to be inside him, at least until he was
awake enough to be an active participant.

     He sighed longingly. "I wish I could wake up like this every
morning."

     I laughed. "Me too. I never realized you would want to do
this. We could have been doing it all summer."

     "I wouldn't have minded."

     "Neither would I."

     Grant giggled and tried to squeeze the life out of my penis
again. That small muscle hidden just inside his anus was remark-
ably strong, yet it only took a few seconds before the pressure
began to ebb. Each time he did it, my penis became stiffer.

     "Mom would kill us if she knew, wouldn't she?" he acknowl-
edged with a shy smile over his shoulder.

     I nodded slightly, thoughtfully. Grant did not know that his
mother and I were talking seriously about divorce. I wondered how
he would take the news. Not well, I expected. He was not particu-
larly close to his mother, for the simple reason that she was not
close to him. Yet, no matter how much I despised her for what she
had done to me, I resolved not to exploit Grant in order to get
back at her. I reluctantly retracted my penis slowly from the
embracing moist heat of Grant's body. He made one last effort to
keep my penis inside him, and then he turned over to face me,
accepting that sex was momentarily postponed.

     "Grant," I began uncertainly. I took a deep breath. "There's
something we have to talk about," I said gently.

     His eyes cautiously lifted up and met mine. He could hear the
serious tone in my voice.

     "What about?" he asked warily. "About last night?"

     "No! It's not that. Well it is, I guess. It is about us,...
and your Mom," I answered.

     "I'm not that dumb. I'll never tell her," he retorted heat-
edly.

     I smiled. "That isn't it. Grant,..." I began cautiously.

     He regarded me guardedly. I think he knew what I was going to
say. Several long seconds passed.

     "Grant, I'm not absolutely sure about what I'm going to say,
and maybe I'm wrong, but,... well it's likely your Mom and I are
going to get a divorce."

     His lips compressed. Then his eyes closed, as if blocking out
the sight of me could also block out my words. His panic was obvi-
ous. He asked the first question that came into his mind.

     "Because of me?"

     "No! Of course not! Don't ever think that! You're a wonderful
kid."

     "I mean because of what happened last night,.... and before
when we were in the bath?" he added awkwardly.

     I shook my head quickly. "Grant, I think you've realized by
now that things haven't been going okay for your Mom and me for
sometime."

     "Like with the arguments and all?"

     I nodded. "I know how much you hate it when we fight," I
explained. "I hate it too, but sometimes that's how grown-ups are
when things aren't working out."

     "You don't love her, do you Dad?"

     I stiffened. Even Grant could see what should have been obvi-
ous to me. I did not love her, not in the way I was supposed to
her. The romance had gone a long time ago, and new, even the
friendship was evaporating.

      "I think she found someone else."

     "Mr. Foster?"

     Trevor Foster was Sue's employer and the president of Inde-
tech. It seemed that Sue spent every other hour with him, ostensi-
bly working. I breathed out and smiled ruefully.

     "Why do you say that?"

     "She's always on the phone with him," Grant answered.

     "Oh! Well with work and all that, it's only to be expected,"
I tried to explain. My words sounded hollow.

     Grant shrugged. "It doesn't matter though does it, if you
found someone else too," he smirked.

      "You?" I teased.

     His eyes sparkled with merriment. He nodded eagerly. It was
all very simple in the mind of a ten-year-old boy.

     "You're a boylover, and I'm your lover boy."

     "That's true," I agreed with a grin. "A man couldn't ask for
anything more than a boy like you."

     "Will I have to live with Mom?" Grant asked, his face sud-
denly darkening.

     "Not if you don't want to."

     "Okay." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think
she'll want me anyway."

     "Why is that?"

     "Because I'll be in the way, especially if she gets married
again. I know she will. I bet she'll marry that Foster guy she's
in Hawaii with."

     "Even if she does get married again, and I agree with you by
the way about him, it still doesn't mean that she doesn't love
you, Grant."

     "I know. But I'd rather live with someone who wants me
around."

     "Like me?" I suggested. "Because I do want you around, and
not just because of what we do together."

     "Yeah, I know that. So, who's going to take care of us? You
aren't going to get married again too, are you?"

     I laughed. "Hardly. One marriage is more than enough for me.
I guess I'll just have to figure out how to run the washer and
dryer. And of course, if you live with me, you'll have to learn
how to cook. I don't fancy eating peanut butter and jelly sand-
wiches every night."

     "Hey, that's not fair. I'm a good cook," Grant rebuffed. "I
helped cook breakfast yesterday morning, remember?"

     Had it only been that long? It seemed like a long time ago. I
smiled and stroked his soft hair.

      "If I live with you, I could be just like your wife," Grant
giggled. "I bet I can take care of you better than Mom does."

     "You're certainly a whole lot better in bed than she is," I
replied rashly. I regretted saying it as soon as the words were
out of my mouth, yet it was true.

     "That's because you like to fuck ass more than pussy," Grant
smirked.

     I swallowed. "Where on earth did you hear that?" I demanded.

     Grant regarded me with disdain, pursing his lips to indicate
that it was another secret that I was not going to hear.

     "Well?" I persisted.

     "Well, it's true, isn't it?" Grant announced shamelessly.
"That's why you like boys. Because they have nice tight asses."

     "That has nothing to do with it," I rebuked. "Anyway, I don't
like a ten-year-old talking dirty."

     "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck my ass!" he chortled.

     "Don't push it young man," I said, pretending to be angry.
"Or you might feel something back there you don't expect."

     "What? Your big hairy dick?" He was laughing so hard that his
eyes were watering. "Are you going to stick it in me again?"

     "Don't tempt me," I said. "Next time I might not be quite so
gentle."

     "You were gentle? Hardly! It felt like you were punching a
hole though my belly."

     "You better get used to it, lover-boy."

     "Why?"

     "For the simple reason that if you do live with me, I'm going
to fuck that beautiful little ass of yours every chance I get," I
laughed.

     "Yeah, you and who else?" he grinned.

      "Just me, but you're going to be sore."

     I held him down on the bed and spanked his bare bottom play-
fully. One slap followed the last. I made sure it was not hard
enough to hurt, yet hard enough to redden his butt. Grant wriggled
and writhed and shrieked and screeched. We wrestled, tumbling
over the bed until the covers were in disarray and we were breath-
less. However, when the chance came to effect an escape, he jumped
back on top of me. There we lay, both sweating, both painfully
erect. Our sex organs were pressed tightly together. I stroked his
buttocks lovingly, guiltily aware that I had inflicted some pain
during our brief battle. Spanking his butt was something that I
had often done to him during our many wrestling sessions over ten
years, yet strangely, I had never felt the same intense arousal.

     Grant felt it too, even as the heat began to fade away. After
nearly a minute, his pelvis lifted up and he repositioned our gen-
itals so that they were pressed side by side. My penis reached
beyond his navel while his much smaller one was burrowed into the
folds of my scrotum. He moved slowly, oscillating, humping, driv-
ing his hard boy-sex into my groin.

     With both hands grasping his small firm cheeks, I parted his
buttocks and revealed the hidden depths between the glabrous
mounds. I stroked a finger along the length of his greasy crevice
until I found the opening. With only a slight push, my forefinger
eased through the dilated outer ring, pushed into the moist heat,
pierced the inner sanctum of a muscle that was much looser than it
was supposed to be. Then, finding far greater room beyond, I did
the same with the finger of my left hand. Both fingers! Both
together! Both pushed in beyond the second joint, nudging the tiny
lump that formed behind the bony ridge, pushed deeper until he
gasped, until my knuckles could go no further. After a moment I
slowly pulled back to massage the source of his pleasure. He quiv-
ered. He trembled and shuddered. He panted, grunted, and groaned.
Then suddenly, he stiffened. It had taken less than a minute.

      I felt his body become unbelievably tense, limbs locked in
position, buttocks squeezing. He jerked, once, twice, a third
time. Still trembling from the explosion from his immature gland,
he clambered off me and collapsed onto the bed. His right leg lay
over my crotch, possessively staking his claim to me, still shak-
ing as if trying to get the sensations out of body.

     "What happened?" he gasped.

     "Maybe I'm wrong but I bet you just had another climax. I
still don't believe it. I didn't know you were such a horny little
kid."

     "No shit!" he giggled. "That was your fault."

     "My fault?"

     "Your fingers,... How did you know to put them right where I
wanted them. It felt,... so incredible. Like I was going to
explode."

     I cuddled him and tenderly kissed his forehead. "That's the
way it's supposed to be for a boy. Later on, I'll explain how it
happens."

     He smiled warmly and eased his hands onto my face. For a
moment he held me there, tentatively regarding me in silence as if
making a momentous decision. His lips puckered to form the kiss he
wanted so badly to give me. Cautiously, his hands drew my head
down, bringing my lips from his forehead to his mouth. We kissed.
That first kiss was chaste, yet I would never forget it. Grant was
awkward and inexperienced, and like most boys his age, uncertain
about kissing another male on the lips. Until then I had kissed
his forehead, the top of his head, and sometimes his cheek.

     I nodded reassuringly as soon as our lips parted. His tongue
extended and tipped his upper lip. I winked.

     "Not so bad, huh lover-boy? Did you ever think you'd be lying
in bed stark naked and kissing your dad on the lips. What would
your mom say?"

     "Um,... I don't know and I don't care. It was nice, Dad."

     "Sure was." I grinned and slowly lowered my head.

     The second kiss was very different. For one thing, Grant knew
what to expect. For another, he was willing to experiment. It took
nearly a minute before I could coax him into opening his mouth. I
used my tongue to massage his lips, prying between them until he
realized from the increasing wetness between us what he was
expected to do. His soft lips nibbled at mine, then his tongue
came forward with all the awkwardness of a first date. It was
amusing to think that he was no longer a virgin, yet this was his
first real kiss. Breathing through his nose was instinctive. He
did not pull away when he discovered by tongue against his teeth.
He was content to lie before me, testing the mutual union of
exchanging tongues and the strange taste of another person's
mouth. It took another minute before he caught on. Awkwardly our
tongues began to duel, exploring teeth, licking sensuously,
slowly building to greater intimacy. He broke the kiss first.

     "Are you going to fuck me now?"

     I winced at his words, expressing his need shamelessly and
without hesitation.

     "Yes. If that's what you want."

     He reached to the side, fumbled among the things on the floor
next to the bed, finally lifted up the tube of Preparation H.

     "How did that get over there?" I asked. "The last time I saw
it I seem to remember it was on my side of the bed."

     Grant smirked as he passed it back to me. "I took it last
night," he explained.

     I laughed. "You? What did you do with it?"

     He shrugged as if what he was going to say was perfectly nor-
mal.

     "I woke up and you were stiff, and I wanted to, you know,
play around some more."

     "Hm,... And I was asleep?"

     "Yep! So when I had to go to the bathroom I picked it up, but
by the time I got back you weren't stiff any more. It was all I
could do to get him back in my butt he was so soft."

     "Hm. You mean you were really going to, while I was
asleep?..."

     Grant giggled. "I just wanted to try it to see if I could,
you know do it all by myself. Only you had to go and get all soft
before I could do anything."

     I laughed with him as I handed him the tube. "Well lover-boy
it's not soft any more. Anyway, it's about time you took a more
active role. Go ahead and put some of that on my dick."

     He crouched over me, applying more of the glistening grease
than he probably needed to. He was obviously enjoying the act of
lubricating me so much that I did not have the heart to stop him.
Finally, when he had my penis greased up, and more than hard
enough to take him with a single thrust, he lay down again. Now it
was my turn. Gently I placed him on his back, knees in the air
next to his shoulders, his feet firmly held against his buttocks.
He grinned up at me while my penis bobbed up and down, expecting,
wanting, needing to join with him.

     Then, when it was pointed directly at his anus and there was
no longer any question of what was about to transpire, he nodded
once in encouragement. He swallowed, more than a little nervous at
the impending penetration. I closed the gap between us and nudged
gently at his opening. It was not unlike a warning touch, just
enough to know what was on its way. He nodded again and wriggled
slightly so that my glans poked resolutely at his anus.

     He closed his eyes in order to concentrate. It was the first
time he did that, and from that time onward it became part of our
routine. I pushed firmly while I held his feet with my hands. My
thumbs extended downward and pressed into his buttocks, parting
them to improve my access. He tensed. What boy would not tense up
when the blood-engorged head of a man's penis first strikes the
unprotected target head on. There was a momentary illusion, a
silent thought we both shared. 'There's no way on Earth it's going
through that tiny hole'.

     "Push," I instructed.

     I was resolved to do this. Grant nodded slightly. His eyes
were still closed as he focused on the job at hand. His downward
push was weak, barely sufficient. My glans, a supple fleshy cush-
ion over a rigid shaft within, obtained the necessary purchase to
claim entry to his anus, but no further than the flared rim. He
tightened instinctively, his muscles contracting in an irrational
yet highly coordinated effort to expel me. He gasped and tried to
push me away. I held my breath, waiting, hoping he would not
reject me.

     "It's hurts, Dad."

     "I'm sorry."

     Just the sound of his voice was enough to diminish my other-
wise determined urge. I began to back away. Grant's hand grabbed
and held mine earnestly.

     "I don't want you to stop."

     "Then don't fight it," I said gently. "Take your time, Grant.
We know it can fit. We've done it before. You don't have to force
it. Try to make it part of you. You want it inside you. I know you
do. Try to draw it in through your ass. Yes, do it just like that,
work with it, not against it."

     "He feels so big," Grant whimpered. "It isn't even that far
in and it hurts."

     "It'll take a minute or so and it'll stop hurting."

     "It didn't hurt like this the last time," he answered
morosely.

     "I know. You're probably a bit sore inside I think. You have
to try to relax," I said encouragingly.

     I pushed harder and Grant clenched his teeth. He had always
been courageous, and that morning I realized just how brave he
could be. He bore the pain silently, taking three inches before he
shook his head again. Finally I stopped and rested on my haunches.
I had hurt him, yet he still smiled valiantly as he placed his
hand between us. I felt his fingers exploring, ascertaining how
much more was left, how much had already gone inside him. With
less than half of the length of my penis inside him, I began to
move gently, rocking my pelvis just enough that my glans pushed
and pulled within him, but never far enough that it went deeper or
pulled back against his inner sphincter.

       Within his luscious body, the wet heat surged around my
penis, stimulating my erection until it was like a metal rod. It
was all that I could do not to thrust with all my strength and
drive it like a steel spike all the way inside him. Grant groaned
loudly as the sensations ebbed and flowed. The sound of my pumping
penis became louder as I churned the juices inside him into a
sloppy mess. Each push forward displaced the accumulated fluid
until if felt like it was seeping out. Within seconds I was
totally absorbed, thrusting with an animal-like need to fill him
with my seed. The tension faded quickly, his pelvis jerking as he
writhed beneath me. Every few seconds he would shudder. I stopped
moving the instant he clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle
his cry.

     "Man!" he breathed out. "I thought it'd be easier lying down
this way. With it being the third time and all, I didn't think it
would hurt this much."

     "It's bad?"

     "It hurt a bit last night, but it's a hell of a lot worse
now."

     I nodded. "I think you're bruised inside. We did it for a
long while last night. Maybe it was too long for your second
time."

     Grant winced. "Maybe it's just the position, Dad," he said
hopefully. "It really feels different when he's going in and out."

     I was doubtful. If anything, the position we were in was no
different to the night before. Then, lying on his side, he had
been ecstatic, writhing and out-of-control as he took my penis
deeply. I wondered whether I had been too eager.

     "We can try a different way if you want," I said glumly. "I
don't think it will get any better until you get used to having my
cock in your ass. I expect it'll take a while."

     "Do you think it will get stretched far enough?" he asked as
he closed his eyes and tried to blot out the discomfort he was
feeling.

     "I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

     I touched his penis lovingly. Seeing it shrivelled and
retracted and so small that it was barely male made me feel even
worse. Part of me wanted him to be aroused, his penis erected and
showing his masculinity, yet it was dormant. The realization came
slowly. As the truth dawned on me, I felt relief. He was willing
and able, he just wasn't ready to do it again. Grant needed time
to get used to it. His mind might be in the mood for sex, but his
young body needed practice and exercise in order for it to serve
in a capacity other for than occasional intercourse. Carefully, I
eased my penis back. He clamped down, of course, trying to keep me
there, but to no avail.

     "Okay, I think I know what you need," I smiled.

     Grant looked at me from between his knees. "What?"

     "Lesson number two," I teased. "If at first you don't suc-
ceed, you go to plan B."

     "What's plan B?"

     I winked secretively. Then with Grant watching me with wary
eyes, I repositioned myself so that I was on my back. He giggled
when I grabbed his hips and lifted him so that he ended up kneel-
ing above me, his head above my thighs and his groin hovering
above my face, my penis protruding upward. I placed my hands on
his buttocks as he wriggled and squirmed. I pulled him down to me
until he lay on my chest, my head nestled between his thighs. Lov-
ingly I caressed his buttocks, circling my fingers on the smooth
soft skin. I admired his contour, revelling in the firmness, the
curvature, the absolute perfection of his lithe form.

      He was quiet. His only movement was to place his legs fur-
ther apart. I brought my face closer, leaning in to kiss his soft
warmth. My lips grazed his smooth skin, following the lean yet
slightly dimpled roundness of a young boy's bottom. The depth of
his crack was hidden, yet his cheeks parted enough for me to
appreciate that hidden part of him, for the realization to grow
within me that this place was where I had twice made love to him.
It was where I would always make love to him. I caressed his back,
then brought my hands around behind him in a single fluid motion.
My thumbs pressed inward, parting him. That was when I smelled him
for the first time.

     There is a innate aversion to the anus that is entirely human
and deeply embedded in our consciousness. Its excretory function
aside, the smell alone is usually enough to create repugnance.
Perhaps that is why our society views homosexuals with such con-
tempt and believes their most intimate love to be an abomination.
Until that moment I had never considered the anus as a thing of
worship. Indeed, like most people, the mere thought of touching
another person's anus filled me with revulsion. That morning, as I
gazed upon Grant's puffy reddened opening, I was transformed. It
was shiny, oily, small. It had not contracted, remaining open,
perhaps a half inch or more in diameter. There was a smear of yel-
lowish slime from his anus to the underside of his scrotum. It
seemed clean yet there was only one explanation of the color.

     As I looked ,that small orifice seemed to wink invitingly at
me even as it began to resume more normal size. Twice that part of
him had borne the brunt of my love. With it, he taken my penis
into him, kept my semen inside him, yet I had never really thought
about how special it was. Under any other circumstances it should
have been the last thing I would ever want to see, to touch, to
make love to. Yet all that had changed. I loved him. I had made
love to him there. That part of him was what enabled our bodies to
join together.

      My head moved of its own volition, drawn by both sight and
smell. What should have been distasteful, was not. What should
have turned my stomach, did not. I pushed my tongue forward. For a
few seconds I could not bring myself to do what part of my desire
was boldly  me to do. I took a breath, tried to control the raging
conflict that slowed my brain. One voice said 'just do it'.
Another voice said 'it's disgusting'.

      I was surprised by the amount of heat that emanated from his
crack. It was hotter than my tongue. I licked. It tasted strange.
Sour. Salty. Sweet. It wasn't bad. It was unlike anything I had
ever tasted. It was unlike anything I had ever done. It was exhil-
arating. As my tongue came ever nearer his opening, a rush of
excitement went through me. The taste filled my mouth. The smell
filled my nose. Again sweet. Musky. Yeasty. It was intoxicating.
My nose plunged between his buttocks, absorbing the odor. My
tongue plugged his anus, stabbing into hot sloppiness as far as it
could go. I felt Grant's uncertainly. The sudden movement of his
body as he turned back and tried to see what I was doing. I felt
his shock, the apprehension, the unsettling effort to lift away
when he realized what I was doing. I lifted away, aware that my
heart was pounding frantically.

     "What?...."

     I breathed deeply and let it out slowly. "It's okay."

     "You were,...."

     "Yes, I was."

     "Gross!"

     "Not really."

     "Man, you're kidding!"

     "No! It's okay."

     Lovingly I licked him again, my tongue travelling most of the
way along his crack before I could go no further. I squeezed his
buttocks and playfully slapped them.

     "It's not gross. It's you," I explained. "It's just another
part of your body, a very special part, but it's also a part that
I love."

     "You're weird."

     "Am I? Is it so gross, Grant? My cock was in there just a
little while ago. You didn't think that was gross."

     "That was different," Grant retorted adamantly.

     "Why? Because it was my cock?" I answered. "Why is that any
different?"

     He thought for a moment. "It just is. You know why, Dad!"

     "Because it's my tongue in your ass?" I laughed. "I love your
ass, Grant. It's a beautiful little ass. Of course it's not as
tight as it used to be, but it's all mine now."

     "Gross me out!"

     "I'll do worse than that."

     I leaned into him, using my hands to split his buttocks wide
apart. He was exposed, still slightly dilated, wet with my saliva.
Again my nose nuzzled into his crack and my tongue extended, push-
ing into him until it physically hurt. I licked and swirled, stab-
bing erratically. I felt Grant give in to a stronger need. Then,
despite his condemnation of what I was doing, he squirmed and
pushed back. Around and around, in and out, slurping as deeply as
I could reach into his twitching body. By then the taste was gone
and the smell was very slight. By then I was captivated by the
simple act of pleasuring my son. By then I was past caring about
social taboo and hygiene.

      He shuddered, began to gasp, quivering as my thumbs moved
closer, went into his perfect hairless anus, pulling against the
slicked and wrinkled band, barely able to resist ramming one or
both thumbs into him as hard and as far as I could. Instead, I
kissed him. With my lips tightly pressed against him, I sucked and
sucked, suctioning the fluids I had deposited during the night
into my mouth.

     It was very satisfying, perhaps even more satisfying that
taking his virginity. That may seem like a strange thing to say,
but it was. It was an intimate union, a total collapse of a primal
barrier, an undeniable acceptance of who and what I was. A few
times I had oral sex with his mother. I think every married couple
tries that at least once. Often it's a quid-pro-quo, the only way
the man is going to get his penis sucked. I suppose there are a
few men who actually like the taste and smell of 'pussy'. For me,
my wife's hair-covered 'cunt' was a complete turn-off. I only did
it the one time. The smell was strong and the taste was bitter.
Her son was entirely different matter. I knew I could spend the
rest of my life doing it.

     His hips jerked once, then again, then found a timeless
rhythm. He fucked. The motion came easily to him, his thrusting
exaggerated by both his tender age and slender body into a
depraved frenzy. His penis jabbed against my neck hard enough to
leave bruises. His scrotum, now tightly wrinkled, rubbed my
unshaven chin. Within the space of a minute he had become a sex
machine with a single goal. Although breathless, it was impossi-
ble not to laugh as I lifted away. He stopped immediately.

     "Why did you stop?" Grant demanded.

     "You said it was dirty," I teased. I wiped wetness from my
cheek and wondered whether it was his or mine.

     "Did not!"

     "Did too!"

     "I said it was gross."

     "Is it?"

     "Uh,... Um,..."

     "Well, yes or no, lover-boy?"

     "No!"

     "That's better. You like being tongue fucked, huh?"

     "Uh huh." he grinned. "It's hot. It's a lot different to your
dick."

     "And it's not gross any more?" I challenged again.

     "Okay, it's not gross!" Grant admitted with a crude giggle.

     "Good."

     "Do you want me to?...."

     "Suck my cock?" I finished. I thought about it for a moment.
"Is it dirty?"

     "Uh, I'd don't know. I can't see anything. I mean it's got
slimy stuff leaking out the end, but nothing else,..."

     "No shit?" I laughed.

     "Something like that," Grant chortled. "Okay. What do I do?"

     "You mean you haven't sucked Brandon's dick yet?"

     "Brandon?"

     "Yes, Brandon."

     "Um, well,...." He giggled. "Okay. How do you know about
that?"

     I laughed, hiding my surprise in mirth. There really was no
reason why the two boys should not engage in oral sex. In fact,
there was no reason why they should not engage in anal sex, if
that was what they both wanted.

     "Because that's what boys do. There's hardly a boy alive who
hasn't at least thought about it, either getting someone to suck
his dick, or sucking someone else's. Even if you haven't done it,
I'd be willing to bet you've thought about it, haven't you?"

     Grant giggled again. "Sort of."

     "I'm not surprised. Getting your dick sucked has to be the
best feeling in the whole world. You've done it with Brandon,
haven't you?"

     He smiled shyly. "Would you get mad at me if I did?"

     "Never. In fact, like I just said, I'd be surprised if you
two didn't do it."

     Grant looked away, his silence providing the affirmative
answer that I expected. Even though I could not see his face, I
knew what he was looking at my penis and comparing it to Brandon's
small appendage. I knew he was having qualms about taking my penis
into his mouth, not unexpected considering its size and where it
had been. Taking a man's huge penis in his mouth was very differ-
ent to sucking on a boy's tender morsel. I helped his decision by
licking and nibbling at the small wrinkled mound of his testicles.
He giggled uncontrollably until I stopped.

     "That tickles."

     "Uhmsosupoosedtoo," I mumbled.

      Then promptly I sucked both of his tiny eggs between my
lips. I pulled his penis back to my mouth which cause him to wince
because it was so inflexible. I generously licked the little
acorn-sized tip before sliding my lips slowly along it. I was
taken back to my youth. I had sucked Adam Render often enough that
I could recognize every vein in his short hard sex. His penis was
about the same size as Grant's, but I could not remember it being
as hard. I learned what to do over time, developing skill by expe-
rience the way that most boys do. By the time Adam was able to
ejaculate, it was relatively easy for me to prolong his pleasure
or make him succumb at my whim. It wasn't long after that when he
lost interest in his own sex.

     "Ohhhhhhahhhhhh," Grant whimpered.

     I smiled, a somewhat difficult thing to do with your mouth
around a boy's penis. If ever there was a time to smile, this was
certainly it. I did not stop there, needless to say. Sucking hard,
and guiding his testicles with the fingers of both hands, I took
all of Grant's proud boyhood into my mouth. He responded exactly
the same way the Adam used to.

     "Uuhhhhaaoooeeewwwww."

     My next 'trick' was 'ball-popping'. Adam loved it when I did
that to him and I expected that Grant would be no different. I
slipped his saliva-slicked penis out of my mouth. Then I sucked as
hard as I could, pulling the scrotum as tight as a drum. A moment
later, when he probably felt as if his testicles were about to
pulled out of his body, I used my tongue and the air in my lungs
to blow them out. Then, sucking back in and blowing out again,
going as fast as I could while Grant pushed hard against my face
with a surprising amount of strength. I stopped after a minute,
with saliva drooling over my face. He was shuddering uncontrolla-
bly. I suspected that it would have taken only a few more seconds
to bring him to a mind-shattering orgasm.

     Only then, as his impending climax diminished, did I feel his
hand stroking my penis. Yet, what I felt was more than mere touch-
ing of his fingers. There was both wetness and heat and the deli-
cate nibbling of small soft lips as he kissed along my penis. It
felt very different to anything that Adam had ever done to me.
Adam reciprocated as he was duty bound by the unwritten code of
conduct for boys, but he never did it with generosity, using his
mouth to give me equal pleasure.

     I felt Grant's tongue glide along the stretched skin of my
penis, from tip to pubic hair. Then back again. Knowing what came
next, I could not help but groan as the slippery, alive probe came
closer and closer to my glans. I flexed my penis, lifting it high,
hoping he would get the hint. His tongue swiped across the tip,
seemed to pause momentarily, tasting. He stopped.

     "He tastes kinda salty," he said softly.

     "You don't have to," I said reassuringly.

     "I know. I want to, okay?"

     "It's up to you."

     He licked again, this time swirling around my glans several
times. The tip of his tongue worked against my meatus as if trying
to get inside. He stopped again, giggling.

     "Why aren't you sucking my balls?" he demanded.

     "Cause you feel so good," I answered. "Don't be afraid."

     "I'm not. It just smells strange,... but it really doesn't
smell bad."

     "The smell is your's, lover-boy," I said lovingly. "It comes
from inside you."

     "It's kinda like,... I don't know,..." Grant giggled. "It
certainly doesn't smell the way I thought it would."

     "You mean like shit?"

     "Uh huh. It smells okay, kinda like your arm pit when you're
all sweaty, only stronger."

     "Very funny."

     "Dad?"

     "Yes?"

     "I want to know something." He leaned on an elbow and swiv-
elled his head so that he looked back at me. "I figure my butt is
sort of important, but why is it?"

     "Huh? That's rather a weird question after what we did last
night. Why do you think?"

     "I guess because you put your dick in there. But why does it
have to go in my butt?"

     "Well, for one reason that's how two guys make love,  by
doing it there."

     "I guessed that. But like why there?"

     I laughed. "How many other alternatives are there?"

     "I don't get you."

     "Are there any other places?"

     "I still don't follow."

     "Okay. Think of it this way. Remember that time during the
summer when I came into your bedroom and I found you and Brandon
playing around?"

     "Yeah." He smiled shyly.

     "Okay. Remember what I said about how it wasn't wrong if you
wanted to do things together because you were so close?" I said.

     Grant nodded. "Yeah."

     "Well, when you're very close to someone it's only natural to
want to join your bodies together. That's part of being in love
with someone. You want to be part of them. There are only two ways
for guys to join together. One way is sucking each other's cocks.
The other was is,..."

     "Fucking?" Grant finished.

     "You got it."

     "You want to fuck me?"

     "Loving you also means I don't want to hurt you, Grant."

     "I don't mind."

     "There's two ways, remember?" I prompted gently. "Why don't
you try putting it in your mouth?"

     Grant smiled and turned back. He was visibly nervous. He
licked again, less awkwardly as he overcame his fear. It was not
going to bite him. If anything, he had to be careful. His lips
smooched wetly. I felt his hand enclose my penis, lifting it
higher. I licked his anus, probing with my tongue, finding the
entry back into his body. He wriggled, pushing against my face.
His lips brushed my glans, formed a kiss, pushing down, forcing my
penis into his teeth. He lifted away. My tongue was fully
extended, my nose burrowing into his crack. My fingers squeezed
his testicles, firmly, relentlessly. It did not seem to hurt him
yet I was careful not to squeeze too hard. His mouth opened wide
and my penis entered. Not far, but far enough that I could feel
the hot wetness, the softness inside his cheek, the firmness of
his tongue. My hand moved slowly along his spine, cupping his head
just above his neck, guiding him.

     I did not force him. No boy should be forced to go down on a
man's penis. Instead, my hand rested there, letting him know that
I wanted him to keep doing what he was doing. He progressed cau-
tiously, always keeping his right hand wrapped around my penis so
that it could not go too far. He lifted up and glanced back at me.

     "You're doing great, lover-boy," I admired.

     "It's not so hard," Grant said softly. "I just keep bobbing
my head up and down while I suck on him right?"

     "That's the general idea."

     He licked his lips. "He looks like he's having fun," he said
as my penis jerked up and down hopefully.

     "You'd better believe it."

     "Will he shoot in my mouth if I keeping doing it?"

     "Of course, but only if you want him to," I answered. "I'll
warn you just before I come."

     "What do I do then?"

     "That depends on whether you want it in your mouth. Some boys
don't like it. If you don't mind, you can either swallow or not."

     "What do you want me to do?"

     I smiled. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you to keep
it in your mouth. I promise I'll tell you when it's about to hap-
pen. You can decide what you want to do."

     He did not answer. His head moved back. He didn't take my
penis back right away. Instead he nuzzled my testicles and mas-
saged them between his hands. He was learning how to play with a
man's genitals, avoiding the hair-covered parts while giving
pleasure. Then suddenly, his lips settled over my penis and he
took it all the way into his wide-open mouth. He didn't gag. It
wasn't there long enough. He backed away instantly. However, he
had proven to himself that he could do it. There was a momentary
hesitation before his head lowered again. This time there was no
stopping. When he lifted up it was only a moment before he quickly
descended again.

     It was a mystery how he learned to suck. Certainly he was a
little awkward during those first few minutes but it was not as
though he needed formal instruction. He began slowly, going up and
down only one or two inches until he realized that he could go
further if he wanted. He never went beyond the halfway point, but
four inches was more than enough. After that, it did not take very
long. We were both becoming charged with excitement, barely mov-
ing, yet gasping for each breath. At some point, I had replaced my
tongue with a finger and worked at his anus until it was gaping
open. Then I began stabbing back and forth, making sure to hit his
immature prostate every time. It made him jump and grunt, and suck
even harder as we began to hump against each other. I gripped his
head as I lifted up, pumping hard and fast between his lips, into
the hollow hot cavern of his mouth.

     Perhaps I should have warned him. By the time I remembered my
promise, it was too late. I held his head tightly as my penis
became impossibly rigid. Each thrust seemed to further tighten my
testicles. I rammed my finger all the way into his rectum, lever-
ing up and down into his tender intestines, working against that
tiny gland deep within him.

     "Coming! God! I'm coming," I shrieked.

     I flooded his mouth with semen. It spurted out in hot blasts,
the first one or two shots going deep into his mouth, the rest
splashing over his tongue. I had a vague notion that this was the
'manhood ceremony', the proof of my dominance. He took all of my
offering without gagging.

     Then silence, stillness settling over us as my penis contin-
ued to throb. I pulled at his arm, dragging him upward, bringing
his small body onto mine, hungrily seeking his tainted lips. The
taste was strong and his mouth was full of it. He had no hesita-
tion, happily sharing what I had just shared with him. This was
special, and we both knew it. We had joined, exchanged, given
willingly, taken wantonly. This was not something that fathers
did with their sons. Even more than anything that I had done
before, this made us lovers. My sperm was in his mouth, and in my
mouth as well. We sucked each other's tongues, sharing the slimy
fluid until what I tasted was more saliva than anything else. We
parted breathlessly and rolled onto our sides. I stroked the hair
back from his forehead.

     "Well, what do you think?"

     "It was okay," Grant admitted softly.

     "It was okay? That's all you have to say?" I teased.

     "It was nice," he whispered. "It isn't like I didn't want to
do it. I've been thinking about what it would be like for a long
while. I guess I was just scared."

     "Ever since you sucked Brandon?" I asked teasingly.

     Grant nodded slightly. He still was not prepared to talk
about it. He shrugged bashfully and avoided my eyes.

     "You were fantastic by the way, especially at the end. I
didn't think you'd go through with it."

     He smiled. "You made me feel really strange with your fin-
ger."

     "I guess so. You were jumping around and twitching like there
was no tomorrow. Did it hurt?"

     Grant thought for a moment. "Not really. It hurt a little bit
at first, but mostly it felt like your dick was in me, only not as
big."

     I kissed his forehead lovingly. "I expect your butt has to
get used to it. The more you do it, the sooner it'll stop hurt-
ing."

     It was at that moment that I spied the small plastic 'car'
that I used to massage Grant's back. At first the possibility of
another use did not strike me, but in a creative flash, I realized
how it could be used to solve a pressing problem.

     Quickly I sat up. "And I think I know exactly what you need,"
I added.

     Grant regarded me suspiciously. "You want to fuck me again
while I'm still loose back there?"

     I laughed. "No. Not that, although the idea is very tempting.
I have a better idea," I answered as I swung my legs out from
under the covers and stood up.

     "Such as?"

     "You'll see," I replied as I picked up the 'car' and studied
the bright-red plastic wheels.

     The spherical wheels were connected to the 'car' by metal
axles that looked as though they could be removed with a pair of
pliers. Leaving Grant in the bed, I walked down stairs into the
kitchen. There was a pair a pliers in the pantry along with the
two other items I would need--a tube of fast-drying, two-part
epoxy glue and a leather boot lace. Removing the axles took only a
matter of a few seconds. I placed the six balls on the counter and
picked up the boot lace and one of the balls. The hole through the
ball was ideally sized. I pushed the end of the leather cord
through until it reached the other side and pushed out about an
inch. Grinning, I placed it back on the table and picked up the
glue.

     I was almost finished mixing the two chemicals together when
I heard Grant behind me.

     "What are doing?"

     I glanced over my shoulder. "Making you a late Christmas
present."

     "Huh?"

     He walked forward, oblivious to the fact that he was naked. I
felt my penis lurch. I would have to get used to the sight of a
naked boy or I would never get any work done.

     "Wait and see. It'll only take a few minutes."

     I applied the glue to the end of the of the cord and care-
fully eased the ball back down until the end of the cord was no
longer visible. I wiped off the small globule of glue that had
gathered at the hole and then began to feed the five other balls
onto the cord. Grant stood beside me, casually fondling his penis.
He still had no idea what I was making. I wondered what he would
say when he found out.

      With all six of the balls bunched tightly together, I
applied some more of the glue to the cord close to the last one.
The only thing that remained to be done was to pull the last ball
back so that it was over the glue. Carefully I placed the assembly
back on the counter. More than three feet of leather cord remained
after the last ball. For a moment I considered shortening it. Cer-
tainly there needed to be a few inches at the end, perhaps even as
much as a foot in case it somehow managed to disappear inside him.
However, there were going to be times when the extra length might
come in handy to make a 'harness', especially if he was going to
wear it in public.

     "Do you want some hot chocolate?" I asked after a moment's
final inspection of my handiwork.

     "Sure. Okay, now are you going to tell me what that thing is
for?" Grant asked curiously.

     "I'll do better than that. By the time you've finished drink-
ing I promise I'll show you."

     He followed me over to the refrigerator and leaned back. He
fondled his penis absently, stretching the organ down and upward
to see how far it could go.

     "Do you think mine will ever get as big as yours?"

     "Huh? Oh, I expect by the time you're in high school you'll
be pretty big down there," I answered.

     "As big as you are?"

     "Maybe."

     "Mine's already a lot bigger than Brando's," Grant said glee-
fully. "He has a really short one compared to mine. His is really
thick. Mine's what the guys at school call a pencil dick."

     "Damned hard enough to write with though," I laughed. "I
guess you take after me. Long and thin."

     "Your's isn't thin," Grant said dryly. He smirked. "And after
what you did to my butt last night, I ought to know."

     "How many grown-up ones have you seen?" I laughed.

     Grant raised both eyebrows. Unable to keep a straight face,
he chortled, "A few."

     "Well you probably know that there are thicker ones than
mine. I've always thought of a thin dick as being the perfect
shape for a boy," I teased.

     "Why?"

     "Because thin dicks are able to fit through small openings
easier than thick dicks."

     We continued to exchange banter, while Grant went over to the
fireplace and added some kindling and two or three logs. He had a
good blaze going by the time the hot chocolate was ready. I passed
Grant a mug and leaned back against the counter. God, was there
any other boy as beautiful, I thought to myself. He smiled shyly.

     "What are you looking at?"

     "You."

     "Why?"

     "I was just thinking how much I'd like you take you back
upstairs and do disgusting things to your body," I laughed.

     He grinned shamelessly, giving me a look that suggested he
would have been more than happy to take me at my word.

     "Actually, if you must know, I was remembering how cute you
were as a baby. You had a hot little butt even then, except of
course when it came to cleaning your diaper."

     "Ha ha. You're so funny, Dad."

     "So funny I forgot to laugh," I finished. "I wonder if the
glue is dry?" I added as I walked around the counter.

     I picked up the balls. The glue appeared to have set. I
tested it by pulling on the first and last balls. There was no
give. The balls in the middle moved easily. There was about an
inch of play as they slid back and forth. It was ready.

     "You know what this is?" I asked.

     Grant shook his head. "It was my back-rub car till you
destroyed it."

     "I think you'll like this even more. It's a dildo, of a
type."

     "A what?"

     "A dildo. It's a kind of sex toy that people use."

     "It sure looks like weird. What's it for?"

     "It depends if you're male or female." I looked downward, as
if checking Grant's gender.

     "Dad, you can stop being stupid. You ought to know I'm a guy
by now without looking."

     "Okay. Now are you gay or straight?"

     "Like you don't know the answer to that by now as well."

     "After what you did this morning I think I'd have to say that
you probably liked guys more than girls."

     Grant was visibly uncomfortable with that comment, but sooner
or later he would have to deal with similar comments from boys at
school, if he had not already. He shrugged and glanced down at his
feet.

     "I guess so. Why does it matter?"

     "Because if you're gay, this goes in your butt."

     "I know it's a dumb question, but why does it go in my butt?"
he asked curiously.

     "If we're going to keep on having sex, you need to be bigger
inside so you don't get sore. That means getting you used to hav-
ing something rubbing against and stretching your rectum. You're
also going to have to strengthen the muscles inside you. I think
this will do the trick."

     "You mean all those balls will go inside my butt?"

     I nodded. "You might feel a bit full at first. Once you're
used to them, you shouldn't really notice them all that much. Lean
forward over my knees," I said as I sat down on the stool.

     "Where would it go if I wasn't?" Grant joked feebly.

     "I don't know. You wouldn't need it if you were into girls,
or boys your own age."

     I probably should have washed the balls first, but excitement
had total control of me. Grant leaned over me, resting his chest
on the counter and his hips on my thighs. With one hand I parted
his firm little cheeks. His anus looked red and inflamed, not sur-
prising considering the abuse it had received. Short of retriev-
ing the Preparation H from the bedroom, or using margarine, there
was no other readily available lubricant except saliva. It would
have to do. I wet my fingers thoroughly and rubbed them into
Grant's anus. He wriggled slightly, obviously enjoying the slip-
pery sensation of my fingers massaging his tender opening. I
applied more saliva to the balls. It wasn't much better than warm
water, but it would have to do.

     The first ball went in remarkably easily if I overlooked
Grant's momentary squeal of surprise. With the ball centered over
his anus, I placed my thumbs either side of the cord and pushed.
One moment it was like a big shiny-red cherry between two pink
cheeks, the next moment it was gone from sight. Not even the
leather cord was visible as the next ball was pulled into place. I
smiled, realizing that the one inch interval between the two balls
meant that they were separated by Grant's sphincter. He showed no
sign of discomfort. Indeed he squirmed slightly, his buttocks
clenching around the outside ball as if trying to squeeze it
through as well.

     The second ball went in even easier. This time there was no
sound except a slight intake of breath. Then the third ball. He
groaned, doubtlessly feeling pressure against his prostate. Three
balls, three inches. I made a mental note for the next time I made
love to him. His legs jerked slightly, quivering as nervous energy
dissipated. He relaxed slowly. My thumbs moved to the top of the
fourth ball. This one took a little more effort. I presumed
because the other three balls had to push deeper into him in order
to make space. I breathed out as it disappeared past the puffy
lips of his anus. It also looked as if it had been swallowed by a
little mouth.

     The fifth ball needed coaxing. I was patient, a virtue in
itself for a boy lover, but eventually it was obvious that more
force had to be applied. I pushed firmly, both thumbs levering
inwards, my hands grasping each small cheeks and levering out-
wards. Slowly it moved forward. It happened in slow motion, unlike
the first four balls. When the maximum circumference was reached
his anus stretched to become a taut thin band of red. It was
almost as red as the fire-engine-colored ball. It closed slowly,
not popping in like the others before it. Grant groaned and pushed
against me as the balls displaced his insides and pressed against
his bladder.

     "Okay?" I asked with concern.

     Grant's head moved slightly in affirmation. "It hurts a bit."

     "Try to relax," I said as I lovingly stroked his bare back.
"It'll take a few minutes at least. Try not to push them back
out."

     His buttocks clenched, pulling against the one remaining
ball. Although I could not be certain, I assumed that his inner
muscles were already beginning to work against the balls inside
him. There was a muffled 'clunk' sound when the balls collided
within him. I grinned, convinced my assumption was right.

     "Don't overdo it," I said gently. "Take your time in getting
used to it."

     "I can feel them moving them around," Grant said. "Weird!"

     "You ready for one more?"

     "I guess. It doesn't hurt that bad any more."

     Again, my two thumbs pushed. Was I correct in thinking that
Grant was using his inner muscles to help pull it through? Unlike
the previous ball, the last one went in without difficulty. All
said, it was quite easy. With a little practice it would take less
than a minute to push them inside. Six balls, six inches long, an
inch thick. His buttocks continued to tense and contract as he
became accustomed to the new sensations.

     "It feels a lot different to you," Grant said over his shoul-
der.

     "I imagine so. Are you ready to try standing up?"

     "Won't they come out?"

     "Hm, maybe. But that's what this is for," I replied, holding
up the end of the leather cord.

     It was long enough to trail on the floor. I carefully tied a
loop about eight inches long and close to where the cord exited
from his anus. When Grant was standing unsteadily, I began by
bringing the loop up from between his legs so that the two sides
were on either side of his genitals. I placed his hands there to
hold it in place. The end of the cord I placed between his but-
tocks. Then I brought the cord across his hip and through the
loop. Back around, circling the cord as it left his crack, past
the other hip to the other side of the loop. I tightened it and
tied it off. Grant was stark naked except for the thin yellow-
brown leather cord. The result was very erotic. He wriggled his
pelvis, clenching his buttocks. His enjoyment was very evident in
his grin

     "How's that feel?" I asked.

     "Cool! hey, there is no way they can come out now."

     Grant walked a few steps cautiously. He stopped, turned
around and walked back to the counter.

     "Very cool," he smirked. "It feels a bit like,...you,..."

     "Huh?"

      "You know. Like I'm being fucked, only it doesn't hurt a
bit."

     "I expect so. Where on earth did you learn words like that
anyway?" I chuckled.

     "From Brandon," Grant smirked. I gave him an exasperated
look. He laughed. "Now what are we going to do?"

     "Hm,... I don't know. Maybe we ought to get dressed and drive
into town for breakfast," I suggested lightheartedly.

     "Like this?"

     "Sure."

     "You mean with this inside me?"

     "Sure. At least you won't be farting in the restaurant."



     END PART 2. (And yes, there is a PART 3)