Phelan's Awakening

Chapter 01

By: CJZ♂

The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author.

This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred is purely coincidental.  Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story are meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behaviour.

All comments are welcome and if you wish to contact me, please feel free to email me at

 My other novels in progress can be found under the same category of...


Wolf Creek Falls


Science Fiction or Fantasy


Lycan Bloodline

Please, support the Nifty Archive by making a contribution.

And as always, a great big thank-you to Matt for all his patience, assistance and support.

Other stories coming soon to Nifty...

Science Fiction or Fantasy


Authoritarian/ Beginnings

The Ties That Bind


Michael Christopher Phelan or Mike Phelan as he was called in the Unit was taking a relaxing, yet scolding hot shower in his hotel room.

His fifth shower, since last night.  

But, no matter how many showers he took, how much soap he used, or how hard he scrubbed, Mike still felt impure and extremely filthy.

Mike worked for the Drug Enforcement Administration or (DEA) which is a component of the U.S. Department of Justice.  

He's been working in the Intelligence Division for the last fifteen years as a Special Agent.

But, something happened to him on his last mission.

Something that has left him feeling angry, disoriented and just plain, fucking confused.  

For the past hour, he's held his head under the cascading jet of scolding, hot water and pondered what the hell had happened to him in Colombia.  

Soon, he'd be heading to the airport with his parthner and he couldn't wait to leave this fucking corrupt and backwards country.  

Mike was so pensive on the ride over to the airport, that he didn't speak a single word to his partner Brett.  

Or for the entire six and a half hour plane ride from Bogotá to Boston.  

He felt so ashamed, that he couldn't even look his partner in the eye and he certainly didn't feel like bonding with the rest of the guys about their succesful mission.  

All the other agents were celebrating with drinks and smoking cigars, while retelling their version of events as to how they had captured and brought down a very prominent South American drug lord.

It was a huge victory for the U.S war on drugs and also for their division.  Afterall, they had spent the last five years on this project and it had finally paid off.

Everyone's careers were going to take off after this event and their department would receive all sorts of awards, grants and much needed money and recognition.

The local and international media had already been alerted about the capture of the South American drug lord, El Cuervo (The Crow) by the Americans and they were waiting for them at the airport in Boston.  

But, until the team met with their Director and discussed everything in detail, they could/would not address the media.  

So, as soon as they touched down in Boston, the agents would exit the airport privately, head home and await further instructions.  

But, Mike just wanted to be left the fuck alone on the flight home.  

And so, he sat farthest away from his colleagues and as the private jet took to the air, he stretched his legs, ordered a glass of scotch and closed his eyes.  

Every once in a while, Mike would check his Blackberry and sigh heavily at the many "urgent" messages and emails that needed to be answered.  

Most of these fucking "urgent" messages were from his Supervisor, wanting to know detail by detail of what had gone down in Colombia.  

He scrolled and ignored each one of them, but the only one that caught his eye and attention was the one from his son.

Breandán had sent an email last night and in the email he informed his dad that once again he had made the honour roll.  

That made Mike's face beam with pride and joy.

Mike and Breandán had grown quite close as father and son after living together all these years.  

Mike's wife, Kristen died from childbirth complications soon after Breandán was born.

Breandán was born premature and it had been a miracle that his only son had survived.

And so, after going on a drinking bender and smashing almost everything at home, he looked at his healthy son and promised Breandán that he would get his shit together.

For both of their sakes.

That was fifteen years ago.

Fuck, how times flies.
Throught the years Mike has been somewhat of an absentee parent due to his job, but he hasn't neglected his son or abandoned him, even though he sometimes feels that he has.  
Mike's or Kristen's parents would look after Breandán when Mike had to be away for more than a week.

But, now that his son was getting older, he would have a neighbour check on his son from time to time. 

Plus, he's had the immense help from his beloved Filipino housekeeper, Natividad Enero who's been with the family since before Breandán was born.  

Natividad has been like a second grandmother, nurse, cook, doctor and friend to his son and for that Mike would always be grateful.

But, now that Natividad was getting older and her arthritis was getting worse, it was making it harder for her to take care of Mike's home, plus her own.  

So, her visits were becoming less frequent during the week, but she had taught Breandán to be more independent. 

She had shown him and taught him everyday chores that he could do himself, while his dad was away.  

Simple things like the laundry, how to cook, iron, what bills needed to be paid, what groceries were needed in the home on a weekly basis, etc.  

Mike had seen that in the last couple of months, his son had grown up to be quite the independent teenager.  

Breandán was actually enjoying his new found freedom and newly assigned responsabilites. 

At the same time, he never got in trouble at school, or brought home a bad grade.  And Mike was certain that he wasn't getting into drugs or sex, yet.

So, for the moment, Mike couldn't ask for a more perfect and responsible son.

So, Breandán's email was to make sure that his dad remembered the promise he had made about getting his dad's old '66 Mustang Convertible.  

The deal was, that once Breandán got his driver's licence and kept his grades up through the entire year, the covertible would be his.

Mike smiled at the thought of his son getting his cherry red, '66 Mustang.  

Man, did he love that fucking car.  

But, a promise is a promise.

It was going to be tough to see that car go, afterall that car had been a pussy magnet.  

Mike couldn't even remember just how many girls lost their virginity in the back seat of that car and even perhaps where Breandán was also conceived.

Mike asked the stewardess for another glass of scotch and again closed his eyes.  

He hoped and prayed that the trip had been a dream, but as his partner called him over and waved at him to come over and to join the celebration(which he politely declined)  Mike realized that this was all too fucking real and sighed again.

When the private jet finally landed in Boston, they were greeted by a gusty and bitterly cold, November rain.

In the distance they could see the light of televison crews, police cars and news helicopters circling the airport.  


This was a media circus and the natives were restless and tasted blood.  

But, the media both local and international would have to wait for a proper news conference.  

As Mike and his partner Brett walked silently to their cars, the only thing Brett could say to Mike was, "You gonna be o.k, bud?"

To which Mike simply responded by nodding.

Mike unlocked his Range Rover, threw his duffle bag on the passenger seat and got inside.

His partner Brett dashed towards his car and yelled out.

"You're going to be allright, Mike.  Don't sweat it, buddy.  Call me, if you want to talk about it."

Mike sat in his car and images of what he had done in Colombia flashed before his eyes.

As his partner drove away in his '67 classic Jaguar Roadster, he yelled out to Mike.  

"We did great buddy.  We, did fucking great!  Yeah!"

Mike managed a fake smile and rolled up his window. 

The cold freezing rain was coming down hard and he was soaked to his skin, but he didn't care.

He sat back and looked at himself in the rear view mirror.

"What the fuck is happening to me?   Pull yourself together, Goddammit!  It was part of your fucking job, you had to do it..."

He lowered his head on the steering wheel and with great anger pounded his fists hard into the dashboard.  

Here, he was a 40 year old Special Agent who was having remorse for what his job had called him to do.

"I, had no fucking choice!"

For the last twenty years Mike had earned much recognition, respect and admiration in the Administration.  

And yet, as this very moment, he felt lower than shit.

His grey/green eyes shone brighly under the harsh light of the street lamp and as he shook his head from side to side, he tried to forget everything.  

Afterall, he loved his fucking job and he loved going to work everyday.  

Everything Mike did, he did it with pride and he even looked forward to the daily challanges and obstacles that he had to deal with on an everyday basis.  Both bureaucratic and international bullshit.   

Mike followed his dad's footsteps by joining the DEA right out of highschool and by doing so, he knew he had big shoes to fill.  

But, in the end Mike worked hard, put alot of hours and slowly rose through the ranks.

And all that hard work eventually paid off, for he was now a Special Agent that everyone admired.  

He was the good guy and he did his damm best at catching, prosecuting and throwing the bad guys in jail. 

And in his many years in the Unit, he had captured and stopped many drug dealers from bringing illegal drugs, weapons and drug money into the country.

Everyone at the DEA knew of his clean and flawless record and of his reputation.  

At 6'5" and weighing 230 pounds of pure muscle, Mike Phelan was a force to reckon with.

It was 5:00 a.m. by the time Mike reached his home in the suburbs of Boston. 

He lived in an upscale and gated community where he tried to keep the outside world from reaching his most cherished joy, his son.

It was still raining hard as he walked into his Colonial Revival, style home.  

The house was pitch black and silent, yet nice and warm.  While outside, you could hear the howl of the wind and the heavy rain hitting the roof and windows.


Breandán, his fifteen year old son would be asleep, so Mike tried to make as little noise as possible.  

He set the home alarm, left the duffle bag in the laundry room and quietly and headed upstairs.  

Mike still felt dirty and he wanted/needed another shower.  He actually felt so filthy that he wanted to scrub the skin right off his body.

As he passed Breandán's room, he peered in and saw his son sleeping soundly with his ass sticking up and snoring soundly.  

Ahh, to be a carefree teenager again.

Breandán was a good kid.

The perfect son, actually.

He was an honour student, who had an afterschool job and amid tests, essays, projects and soccer practice, he even managed to find the time to volunteer once a week at the community pool, and teach underprivileged city kids to swim.

Their father/son relationship was rock solid and from an early age, Mike had encouraged his son to come to him if he ever needed to talk about anything and he had emphasized the word anything.

And so like most fathers and sons, they had the talk about the birds and the bees.  

Mike made sure that his son would be well informed about the mechanics of sex and that it wouldn't be like his own father, Mike Senior.  

Afterall, his own dad never spoke to him about sex.

In fact, the old man got uncorfortable whenever Mike would bring up a question, in regards to anything remotely related to the subject.

So, Mike and Breandán spoke honestly and candidly about every topic, everything from sex, drinking, STD's, smoking and especially, the hazards of doing drugs.  

Mike wanted his son to be knowledgeable about the temptations that life had to offer and he trusted his son to make his own responsible decision.  

He then quietly tip toed into his bedroom, closed the bedroom door and sighed outloud.

It was a relief to be back in his warm, cozy, yet lonely bedroom.

He looked around the room and as the heavy wind and rain rattled the bedroom windows, he realized that not much had changed over the years in the Master bedroom.  

His wife Kristen had picked the entire bedroom set, much like she had picked everything else in their home.  

For the exception of their home entertainment system, that's where Mike had drawn the line in their happy marriage.  Afterall Mike had given in on everything else, but Kristen was not touching his home entertainment system.

No, fucking way.  

All his buddies from work had fallen in love and were envious of Mike's 70" Sony, Bravia HDTV home entertainment system.  

The entertainment system was the only thing Mike was "allowed" to keep from his bachelor's day.

Everything else, had to go!

It was a pricey toy, which came with all the latest fancy whistles of modern technology, and had ofcourse had costed him a pretty penny.

But, the house and it's interior down to the cutlery was all Kristen.  She had chosen a relaxed, yet traditional Colonial style look for their home.  

Mike stood by the bedroom door and his eyes were fixed on the King sized poster bed.

Mike didn't need to turn any lights, the violent lighting outside was illuminating the room quite nicely.  

He sat on the bed bench and immediately felt remorse and sickness as he thought over the events that had occurred in Colombia.

God, fucking dammit!

"I need another fucking drink."

Mike was very thirsty and the only thing that would quench his thirst was alcohol.


"I can't!"

"I shouldn't!"

He sighed.

He needed to unwind and most importantly, forget.

But, a shower first.

Mike took off his dress shoes and tossed them in the corner.  Then the shirt and did the same thing.

He sighed again as he looked around the bedroom.  

Everything in this room reminded him of his wife and how happy they had been, until...  

Mike smiled, as he remembered how Kristen burst into a panic a few months before Breandán was born.  

She had had many ideas for their new home, but she had yet to find the perfect, look.

She wanted everything to be perfect, and so she had dragged poor Mike all over Massachusetts and even ventured into neighboring Pennsylvania to check out every single antique furniture store along the way.  

Kristen's hopes crumbled when she couldn't find quite what she was looking for.  

She even pondered with the thought of going with Plan B, which would be a "French Country", look which Mike simply detested.

So, Mike knew what he had to do and he floored it.  

He was now determined to find just whatever the hell, Kristen was looking for their home.  

Afterall, the guys at work would never let Mike live this down.  

He knew that those tough, sons-of-bitches would crucify him, whenever they would come over to watch a game or for a barbecue.

They would be merciless, if his home, his castle was decorated in fucking lavender, sunflowers and fucking vintage, over-priced wallpaper.

Mike and Kristen had just about given up with their search, when they drove into picturesque, Lancaster County.  

And it was here on the very first antique store "Samuel's & Jacob's handcrafted furniture" that Kristen found exactly what she had so been looking for.

It was in an old Amish handcrafted furniture store that dated back to the early 1900's.  

Kristen found everything from the King sized Poster bed, to the cherry triple dresser, her lingerie chest and his bachelor's chest.

"I miss you, Kristen."

Mike walked over to his nighstand, picked up the last picture he took of his wife and shed a tear.


He slammed the frame on the nightstand and stood up.

Mike took out his wallet, keys, badge and gun and set them on his bachelor's chest.

"This is bullshit, man up.  Don't be such a fucking pussy!"

Mike looked at himself on the bedroom mirror.  He hardly recognized himself.  

He looked so tired and he had huge bags under his red, irritated eyes.

The last couple of weeks had been tough, both mentally and physically on him and his team.

He caught himself in the mirror and he nodded at the masculine imposing frame that was looking back at him.

The incredibly wide shoulders, the big muscled arms, the hairy pecs that potruded in two solid masses of muscle.

He had a small waist and his dress pants shifted loosely around his waist, held up not by a belt, but by his taut bubble butt.

He started to undress and take off  his wet clothes.

His torso spread out wide and then he pulled the undershirt off over his head, baring his hairy armpits.

He tossed the wet shirt aside and his pecs settled thick and heavy on his rib cage when he lowered his gigantic arms.

There was a nice tapering of hair too, spattering on each side around his tits.  

Then the neat straight line that ran down the center of his abs and disappeared under the waistband of his boxer shorts.

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband to shove his boxers down, when he heard a faint, sleepy voice coming from the hallway.

"Dad?  Is that you?"

Mike shook his head.  

That sounded like Breandán.

"Breandán, I'm sorry if I woke you up.  I'm heading for the bathroom.  I'm just going to take a quick shower."

Mike shoved his boxers down and his big and hefty cock, hung out proudly.  

Not yet fully hard, but it was getting there.

That's weird?  Why am I getting hard?

The thick bulging veins were slowly expanding and would soon awaken and demand attention.

"When did you get in dad?  I didn't hear you come in."

Breandán was now in the Master bedroom and getting closer to the bathroom.


Mike had never been the prude around his son and Breandán had seen him naked many times.

But, at this moment he had a massive hardon and that wasn't something that he wanted his son to see.

Why, the fuck?  Am I getting hard now?  

Mike darted into the shower and quickly turned on the hot water.

Fuck!  That felt nice.

The extremely hot jets were burning his skin raw.

Breandán had caught a quick glimpse of his father as he rushed into the shower.

"Hey dad, how are you?"

Mike was still rock hard, so he faced the wall and soaped up.  The bathroom was starting to fog up due to intense heat.

Unfortunately, the kid was now getting a rear view of Mike's ass.

Mike had installed a squere shower a couple of years ago and the door was crystal clear.  

One could clearly see in and out.

Breandán blushed for a second and quickly looked away.  

For a brief moment, he thought he had seen his dad's dick, fully hard.


That was all Breandán could come up with, as he caught a glimpse.

His dad's dick must have been at least 12 inches long, fully hard and as thick as a baseball bat.

"Hey there, sport.  I'm beat, I'm just going to take a quick shower and get under the covers."

Breandán was trying to look away.

kew word, trying.

But, he would take quick glances on and off.  

He got a good look at his dad's hairy, bubble butt and the massive bull sized, hairy balls that hung extremely low.

Wow, that was some heavy sack.

Breandán blushed again and didn't know which way to look.  

And as he looked towards the mirror, he could see his dad soaping up a massive and raging, uncut fuckstick.  

Holy fuck!  

Breandán then slowly stepped out of the bathroom.  

Afterall, he never had seen his dad in this manner.

Naked, yes but not with a gargantuan hardon.

Breandán then got a surge of proudness as he saw his father.

Not only was his dad a kick-ass Special Agent, but he was also hung like a horse and definitely a man's man.

Breandán smiled, walked out of the bathroom and said under his breath.

"I don't know how you carry all that around, dad."

And as he closed the door behind him, said.

"I'll see you in the morning dad.  Love you..."

Mike's face was scarlett red, due to the situation he was in.  

He shook his head and couldn't believe that his son almost caught him with a raging and intense hardon.

He sighed and managed to respond.

"I love you, too sport.  I'll see you in the morning."

The door closed and Mike went on to take care of business.

To be continued!