Copyright © 2003

By Lee Mariner

The author's copyright ©, and all provisions of the original disclaimer remain in force.  All Rights are Reserved.

This ADULT fantasy depicts homosexual acts.  If you are not of legal age in your locality to be reading this story or should you not approve of such material, please leave.

As always, I appreciate the assistance of my friend, Dean, and his invaluable editing skills.

All of my stories can be found in the Nifty Archives listing of Prolific Author's by using:


I may be contacted at:


Chapter XXXVII

Sometime during the night, Lyle rolled to the other side of the bed; and, half awake, I rolled over on my side facing the window with my back to Lyle.   Blinking  to clear my vision, I tried to calculate what time it was from the pale early morning light that was filtering around the edges of the blinds.  "It must be about five or six o'clock," I thought, pulling the blanket over my naked shoulders and snuggling down into the bed even though there was the vague hint of a tell-tale morning pressure in my bladder.  I felt myself slipping back into the comfortable fog of slumber when I heard a light scratching at the door and Dalton's voice asking, "Carl, may I come in; I need to use the can?"

"Jesus," I groused, stretching my arm out and groping for the light switch on the small lamp beside the bed, almost knocking it over.  "Come on," I said, finding the switch and turning the light on. 

Lyle, grumbling some unintelligible obscenity, pulled the blanket over his head as Dalton, with a towel wrapped around his waist and tucked in to hold it up, entered the room followed by Tip clutching his towel tightly around his waist. 

"Sorry, Carl, I didn't want to disturb you; but I gotta piss real bad," he said with Tip chiming in, "Me, too."

"Don't take too long," I growled as I sat up on the edge of the bed, the urgency in my bladder suddenly increasing at the suggestion.

Twin streams of morning urine striking the water in the commode sounded like ''Horseshoe Falls'', and a vision of both of them milking their half-hard cocks flashed though my head as I heard them talking under their breath and giggling.  When they came out of the bathroom, the noticeable bulge being covered by their towels verified the accuracy of my vision.  

"All yours, Big Brother," Dalton said looking down at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 

"You guys going back to bed?" I asked, the blanket falling away as I stood up stretching in an effort to wake up completely before going to the bathroom.  My piss hard cock waved gently as I walked, and I heard a low gasp as I passed in front of Tip and Dalton.

"It's almost eight o'clock, Carl," Dalton said, glancing at my cock and grinning at me. "Don't you think we should be getting up?"

"I'm not sure that Lyle is ready to get up," I answered as I went into the bathroom hearing him grumbling as he said, "Who in the fuck can sleep with all the yacking going on?"

"Get your ass out of bed, Lyle," Tip said answering his brother.  "We can't stay here all day, Carl and Dalton have things to do, and besides we better be getting back home."

"What the fuck for?" Lyle replied pulling the blanket around his waist as he sat up in the bed.  "It'll be the same shit as yesterday, and I'm getting sick of his crap."

"Is that 'crap' the reason you and Tip came out in the downpour yesterday?" I asked as I re-entered the room.

"Partly," he answered, "but, if you're finished in there, I gotta piss," he said, yawning and stretching as he got out of bed.

Even in a disheveled early morning state Lyle was an impressive looking young man.  HIs smooth lean muscles rippled as he moved toward the bathroom, his turgid cock bouncing with each step.   Dalton looked at me, his eyes twinkling, as Lyle passed us; and Tip was wide-eyed at his brother's unabashed display of his nakedness. 

For a moment the room went silent until we heard Lyle pissing in the commode; and then, moving to where I had dropped my briefs, I said, "Why don't you guys get something on other than those towels."

"I guess we should," Dalton said, glancing at Tip and saying, "Do you want a pair of my briefs, Tip?"

"If it's okay," Tip answered as he picked up his jeans, turning to look at Lyle when he heard him say, "Do you have a pair that I can wear, Carl?"

"Sure do, and it's a little cool in here so you guys better put your jeans and t-shirts on," I answered, pulling a pair of briefs from my open suitcase and tossing them to him along with a t-shirt. 

For a moment, I felt like I was chaperoning three teenagers, and I grinned to myself watching them stealing glances at each other as they hurriedly dressed. 


I could hear Lyle fussing with Tip about something while I was washing up, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.  They both looked a little flushed when I came out of the bathroom, and I could see Dalton was embarrassed from the way he looked at me, and I asked what the problem was.

"Oh, nothing, Carl," Lyle answered. "Tip thinks we should go on home but, I told him there's no reason to just yet."

"There is too, Lyle," Tip said, looking at Lyle, his lower lip trembling as he spoke.  "Carl and Dalton have things they want to do, and you know Dad is gonna be mad at us, especially since we stayed out all night."

"Good Christ, Tip, don't you think I know that?  I know they have things to do, and I know we can't stay here just because of the old man. Even if we could stay, I don't give a good fuck what Dad says," Lyle answered vehemently; clinching his fists and breathing rapidly from his anger. "I'm eighteen, and I don't have to ask his permission to stay out if I want to, or anything else."

I stood watching and listening nonplused as to exactly what the trouble was; but, when Tip slouched down on the bed and started to cry, Dalton sat down beside him putting his arm around Tip's shoulders.  Dalton looked up at Lyle and then at me, his beautiful brown eyes filled with compassion.

"Hey now; come on, Lyle; we don't need this," I said, struggling to get my thoughts together.  "Dalt and I don't know what the problem is; but, from what you said a minute ago, it must have something to do with your father.  So, instead of ranting at each other about whatever it is, why don't you guys finish dressing and clean up.  I'll start breakfast while you are doing that, and then we can talk this out.  Is that okay?"

"It's okay with me," Lyle said, grabbing the towel from the back of the chair where I had hung it.  "I ain't in no rush, at least not like my little brother is," he growled angrily, as he went into the bathroom.

Tip and Dalton were sitting on the bed with Dalton hugging him closely.  I was confused, and perplexed as to the reasons for Lyle's sudden angry outburst and his taking it out on Tip.  Glancing quickly in Lyle's direction as he left, I squatted down in front of Tip and Dalt; and, placing my hand on Tip's knee, I squeezed gently, asking, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he sniffled, "Lyle don't mean nothing by what he says.  He has a lot on his mind, and sometimes gets upset, that's all."

"Okay," I said, glancing at Dalton, and standing up. "But, as soon as he is finished, you guys clean up and come on in the kitchen."

"He'll be okay, Carl," Dalton said softly, looking up at me and hugging Tip's shoulders.

Sucking my gut in, and tucking my t-shirt in, I snapped the waist band of my jeans shut and, breathing in deeply, hesitated for a moment before leaving them huddled together on the bed.


The great room and kitchen area were in a sort of gray semi-darkness, and I turned the lights on.  The coffee pot was still sitting where we had left it on the counter.  While I was rinsing it out and re-filling it with water, I was trying to make some sense out of Lyle's angry outburst at Tip.  "He certainly didn't seem upset last night;" I thought to myself as I measured the coffee and filled the percolator insert.   After plugging the pot into the wall outlet and setting the timer, I went to the front door and looked out at the fog -filled landscape.  The trees and bushes were dripping with the moisture from the fog and the ground was covered with the morning dew, but Lyle and Tip were more on my mind than the weather.  Lyle had mentioned something about a "long story," but he hadn't elaborated on what the story was nor if it was the reason he and Tip had needed to come to the cottage in a driving rain storm. 

The comment that Lyle had made about his age and not needing his father's permission stuck in my mind.   He was eighteen, and he and I having sex in the privacy of the cottage was okay.  On the other hand though, Tip was underage, and even though there had been mutual consent between him and Dalton it didn't alter the fact that they both were minors, and that could be of concern if they were having troubles with their father.  "Damn, Carlton, wait until you have the facts, and stop being paranoid," I said to myself not hearing Lyle come up behind me until he spoke, surprising me.

"Carl, you aren't mad at me because of the way I talked to Tip are  you?"  he asked in an apologetic tone.

"No, Lyle, not really," I answered, startled for a moment before turning my head to look at him.  My t-shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, but it was tight enough to reveal the clean cut definition of his lean chest muscles and the flatness of his hard stomach from the way he had tucked it into the waist band of his jeans.  His auburn hair glistened from being damp, and there was a soft doe-like "I'm sorry" look in the depths of his hazel eyes.

"No, Lyle," I repeated, turning and moving back across the room to the coffee pot with him padding along behind me in his bare feet.   "I don't have any reason to be mad at you," I continued, reaching into the cupboard for coffee mugs. "But you told Dalton and me that there was a long story as to why you and Tip came to the cottage in a driving rainstorm, and you have been dancing around it ever since you mentioned it."

Lyle stood quietly while I poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to him.  He turned away without saying anything and was spooning an inordinately large amount of sugar into his mug and looking for the milk.

"Milk is in the fridge," I said as I went into the living room area of the great room, and sat on the couch that Dalton and I had occupied before they arrived.

Sipping my coffee, I watched as Lyle finished adding milk and sugar to his cup, admiring the fluid movement of his back muscles even though he was wearing one of my t-shirts. His thick auburn hair was shaggy but closely trimmed to the taper of his neck.  He stood facing the counter sipping his coffee, and I let my eyes roam over the tight compactness of his lean muscled body, savoring the pleasure of having introduced him to the more exciting experiences of male sex.  An erotic feeling of reverie settled over me as I sipped my coffee, and I felt my cock swelling as I mused over the events that had transpired between us.  I was so deep in thought that I didn't realize that Lyle had moved away from the counter and was standing at the other end of the couch until he spoke.

"Carl, do you and Dalton get along with your Mom and Dad?"  he asked as he moved around the end of the couch, and sat down.  The sudden directness of his question shaking me from the thoughtful stupor that I had fallen into.

"I guess we do, Lyle," I said softly.  "But, I've never given it much thought.  Why do you ask?" I asked, answering his question; but being a little perplexed as to his reason for asking.

"I was just wondering," he replied, breathing in deeply and hesitating before asking, "Do they know that you and Dalton are gay?"

"I'm not sure whether they do or not; but it is difficult to know what parents or anyone thinks about that subject, Lyle," I answered slowly, watching his facial expressions before continuing.  "Most gay people like to believe that no one knows that they are gay.  From what I have read on the subject and from what some of the people I have talked with have told me about their experiences, parents have a way of knowing without us realizing it."

"I think that maybe our old man suspects Tip and I are," he said, clutching his mug tightly as he pulled one leg up on the couch and leaned back against the arm of the couch facing me with one foot on the floor.

"Would it bother you if he and your mother do suspect that you are?" I asked, repositioning myself on the couch and glancing at the impressive bulge confined in the crotch of his jeans. 

"Yes and no, Carl," he answered taking a sip from his mug and then setting it in the opening between the back of his calf muscle and his crotch as he continued."  I really don't care whether he does know that I am gay, but I do worry about what he might do to Tip if he finds out Tip is gay after I join the army and leave him here alone," he said looking at me, breathing in deeply and sighing almost mournfully as he exhaled.

The room went quiet, and I could feel the concern and sincerity of Lyle's worry about Tip from the way he lowered his head and gazed into his coffee mug.  The windows of the cottage were brightening as the sun cut through the morning mist.  The muffled tones of Tip and Dalton talking drifted from the bedroom, and I wondered whether they were having much the same conversation as Lyle and I were.  Breathing in deeply, I broke the silence between us and asked, "Has your dad said anything that would make you believe he suspects you and Tip are gay?" 

"He hasn't said anything outright, Carl.  It's just a feeling I get when he starts in on us about hanging out together all of the time and never dating girls," he answered softly, his fingers playing with the rim of his coffee mug as he was thinking before continuing. "He says it's not natural for two boys, even brothers, to be together all of the time, and not show any interest in girls."

"It is natural for him to feel that way, Lyle," I said, glancing up as Tip and Dalton entered the room.  "Most fathers, and mothers naturally wonder about those things when they have son's that have reached the age when they should be showing an interest in girls, but that does not mean he suspects you are gay."

"I guess you're right, Carl; but I bet your dad is not like ours," he said turning his head in the direction I had glanced before continuing. "When our old man is drinking, he starts in on us about not having girlfriends; and before long he is giving us smirking looks and talking about faggots and queers, and that what they do as not being natural.  That's what worries me."

As I was reflecting on what Lyle had said about his concerns concerning his father, Dalton and Tip came in the room glancing at us as they moved toward the kitchen counter.  Shifting the conversation away from Lyle, I asked Tip, "What do you think about what Lyle has been telling me, Tip?"

"Not much, Carl. Dad only says those things when he is drunk,  and Lyle knows he won't remember anything about what he said after he sobers up and goes back to work." Tip said, looking at Lyle as Dalton handed him a glass of orange juice.

"Is that why you came over here yesterday, your father was drinking?"  I asked as I got up to re-fill my mug.

"Yeah..., partly that," Lyle started to say when Tip interrupted him.

"We wanted to see you and Dalton before you left, and we were gonna wait until the rain stopped or slacked up first, but Dad started drinking," Tip answered before Lyle could say anymore. 

"I was gonna tell them that, Tip," Lyle barked angrily.

"Maybe you were, but you always beat around the bush instead of saying it outright," Tip answered, grinning at Dalton and me.

"You mean that you didn't tell them where you were going or whom you were going to be with?" I asked, taking a sip of my coffee, and casually leaning against the counter.

"Nah...," Lyle said, hesitating and glancing at Tip as he answered.  "They don't know that we know you and Dalton."

"You haven't told them that you met us?" Dalton asked as I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Jeepers, no, Dalt.  Lyle is right about one thing," Tip said quickly, glancing at the two of us.  "If we had told  them we had met a couple of boys, Dad would have started asking all kinds of questions about how we had met you, who you were, and all of that kind of stuff."

"And he would bring it up later when he is drinking," Lyle interjected.

"Is he that bad?" I asked.

"He is when he is drinking and especially when the weather is bad and he can't work," Tip replied, giving Lyle a worried look.

"What are you going to tell him when you go home, Tip?" Dalton asked, glancing at Lyle.

"Nothing.  It's stopped raining, and he won't be home from work until late this afternoon or evening," Tip said softly, stopping as Lyle said.  "We'll tell Mom that we stayed with a couple of our buddies since it was storming so bad.  As long as we don't get into any trouble, that's usually all she wants to know." 

"What does your mother say about his drinking and the way he treats you and Lyle, Tip?" I asked feeling a little overwhelmed by what they had said about their father and his drinking.

"She usually takes it in stride as long as Dad is only talking," Lyle replied.  "It's when he starts getting loud and cursing that she'll tell us to leave, and she tells him to quiet down.  For some reason he does what she says, and he goes off to bed to sleep it off.  Later on, she will tell us it's liquor talk and not to pay any attention to what he says."

"Most mother's are that way, and she is probably right," I said, setting my mug on the counter and saying, "I don't know about you guys, but I am starved.  How about breakfast?"


Whipping up a breakfast of ham and scrambled eggs with toast took only a few minutes.  While Lyle and I fixed breakfast, Tip and Dalton set the small kitchen table for us and rearranged the living room chairs to face one of the small end tables for themselves.   They were at the giggling and talking-in-whispers stage that most teen-agers go through.  Lyle would glance at them every now and then, and after a few minutes of looking back and forth, he said quietly, "They seem to really like each other."

"Yes," I answered simply without elaboration.

"Do you think they are falling in love?" he asked tentatively.

"In some form, they may be," I replied, noncommittally, glancing over at  Dalton and Tip who were quietly talking between themselves.

After a few seconds, Lyle leaned closer; and, glancing at Tip and Dalton, he whispered, "We had sex just like they did; but, I don't feel like I'm falling in love with you."

"And you don't understand why they may have feelings for each other, but you don't have such feelings for me?" I asked quietly, placing my utensils on my plate and taking a sip of my coffee.

"No, I guess I don't. I like you, and I enjoyed having sex with you, but I don't feel as if I should fall in love with you," he answered as he ate.  "I've learned from having sex with you why I feel the way I do about sex with another man, but I don't know if I could really fall in love with a man."

"How did you feel when you tried to seduce Carla?" I asked, reflecting back on what he had said about his encounter with her.

"Frustrated as hell when she wouldn't let me do anything, but I didn't love her.  Hell, I really don't like her very much," he said, glancing around surreptitiously.  "All, I wanted was to fuck her, and get my rocks off because that's what I thought she wanted," he exclaimed softly.

"If I remember right, Lyle, you said you had to jerk off as a result of her refusing your advances."

"Yeah, she got me so hot that my cock and balls ached, and I had to jerk off," he replied.

"Tell me, Lyle," I said watching his face for a reaction.  "When you started feeling like you wanted to fuck Tip, did you still want to fuck Carla?"

"I did until last night," he answered grinning sheepishly.  "I wanted to fuck Carla but the more I thought about fucking her the more I wondered what it would feel like to fuck a man's ass.  Every time I would see Tip naked, I'd get horny; but he wouldn't let me fuck him.  He always said my cock was too big, but your cock is as big as mine; and, after you got me horny and put spit and cum on my ass and your cock, it didn't hurt too much."

"You enjoyed it as much as I did?" I asked, glancing over his shoulder, and seeing Tip and Dalton going into the bedroom.

"Yeah, I did, a lot," he replied, breathing deeply and looking into my eyes, his shining as he relived his first experience of being fucked.

For a moment, memories of when Jerry had fucked me for the first time flashed though my head, and I repeated what he had told me when we were finished,  "Now you know what it feels like when a man fucks a man, and you will know what to do when you fuck someone who wants it the way you did.  Don't forget foreplay, Lyle.  You don't just want to just fuck someone; animals do that. You want your partner to have the same sensual feelings and desires that you do and to experience all of the pleasure of giving themselves to you."

"Do you think that is why Carla wouldn't let me do it to her?"  He asked.

"It may have been; but, if you are really interested, why don't you try again and see what happens?"  I answered as I slid my chair back from the table, and stood up.

"You gotta be kidding me," he exclaimed.  "After last night, I know what I want; and it isn't Carla,"  he said as he got up, and followed me to the bedroom.

"Hmmmmmm," I thought to myself.  "After last night with Dalton, Tip might have something to say about what his brother wants."